The Bluestocking and the Rake (Hearts in Hiding 2)

Slowly she sank down to the floor in a pool of ugly grey skirts, her gaze fixed upon his weak chin, his trembling mouth, his evasive light eyes.

He had robbed her of her virtue and stolen her future.

What could be worse than being bound to this cheating coward for the rest of her days?

Chapter 5

Miles lounged in one of the comfortable wing-back chairs that had been arranged in conversational clusters about the salon and yawned. Not that he should be bored. Lord Deveril’s entertainments for the gentlemen of the ton were often the highlight of his social calendar.

After dinner at his club on a Thursday, if there were nothing else on offer, he would take himself off to his lordship’s handsome townhouse on Half Moon Street, partake of a copious amount of fine brandy, and watch the entertainment.

Sensual dances performed by graceful cythereans, interspersed with astonishing feats of agility by half-naked women who were discreetly whisked into back rooms by admiring patrons, was standard.

Not that Miles was one of those who succumbed to the allure of easy sex. He liked his women well-bred. The highly-strung opera dancer with the face of an angel who would whine when she didn’t get everything she wanted, or threaten to embarrass him in public, wasn’t for him.

His last dalliance with Lady Hector had been pleasurable enough, though not remarkable, but had ended four months ago when the passion had simply drained away. Miles feared he was forever condemned to the same happening within months of his heart being engaged. To date, he’d not sustained interest in a female for long.

Which was why, when he cast his eye across the floor and saw an exquisite creature in Egyptian Red silk reclining gracefully upon a chaise longue by the window, in conversation with another female as magnificently attired but not nearly as striking, recognition and searing desire were a particularly potent combination.

Mrs. Graves? He looked again. Surely the demurely-clad, nunnish wife from Madame Plumb’s couldn’t be this stunning creature with the golden ringlets cascading from her pearl-encrusted comb? Surely Mrs. Graves wouldn’t reveal such a tantalizing amount of creamy breast straining at a bodice of crimson silk?

He studied her from his distance of some yards, trying to ascertain if tricks of the light could account for his belief that the rippling golden hair, artfully coiffured so that it was both regal yet made a man want to run his hands through it, belonged to the woman with whom he’d briefly danced at his old friend’s salon three months before.

Distractedly, he responded to a question put to him, surprised to find a glass of brandy pressed into his hand and a voice murmur in his ear, “Ain’t she a sight for sore eyes?”

“Why, Harry, I didn’t know it was you.” Miles turned to greet the friend he’d not seen in some weeks.

“And I didn’t know it was her.” Harry pointed to the vision of loveliness that had arrested Miles’s attention. “Mrs. Graves. Lord, it took me some time to put two and two together. Had to do some mighty intense investigations when I thought I was going soft in the head.”

“What did you learn?” Miles couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. Mesmerized, he watched her rise gracefully with the other woman and cross the richly-carpeted expanse of floor, apparently to speak to another female who had waved them over. In the center of the room, the ladies were accosted by Lord Deveril, who lowered his head to murmur something in Mrs. Graves’s ear. Intimately, Miles thought with a surprising spurt of jealousy.

Then to his Miles’s horror, Lord Deveril briefly slid his hand from Mrs. Graves’s cheek to the swell of her breast, before whispering something else in her ear, raising one eyebrow, and chuckli

ng suggestively.

Miles had expected her to react in outrage. After all, three months earlier, she’d been the buttoned-up nun hiding her bounteous assets beneath a demure gown of unexciting cut.

Instead, she gracefully inclined her head, as if acceding to his lordship’s no doubt outrageous proposal. What was she about?

“Lord Deveril’s new mistress,” Harry whispered excitedly. “A cracker, ain’t she? Diamond of the first water and all that.” Suddenly, Harry’s excitement drained away and he looked crestfallen. “If only I’d known when she was seated all but next to me at Madame Plumb’s. If only I hadn’t been so hungry that night, I might have had my hunting instincts on higher alert and made her the offer that Lord Deveril obviously did that night.”

“What are you saying?” Miles was shocked. “Lord Deveril’s mistress? Why, she’s the wife of that namby-pamby boy who had nothing to say for himself all evening, and who whisked her away as soon as she danced with his lordship.” He shook his head in wonder as he murmured softly. “Lord Deveril? They only met that night.”

“Don’t you have a keen memory of it all?” Harry raised his eyebrows, then grinned. “Turns out it was a sham marriage between our Mrs. Graves—though of course that wasn’t her real name—and the green boy. But Venus was on the make, and she left her namby-pamby boy when his lordship offered her all this.” Harry raised his arm and made a sweep of the room encompassing its lavish fixtures and fittings. “And why wouldn’t she? I hear his lordship is besotted. He’s bought her a pair of high steppers and her own carriage, and she shares the best milliners and dressmakers with Princess Caroline. No expense is spared to please the goddess.”

Miles, whose gaze hadn’t left her, was listening to Harry, but he smiled suddenly when Mrs. Graves glanced over her shoulder and intercepted his look. She acknowledged him with the barest tilt of her head before she continued her regal progress across the room.

Miles was surprised at his reaction. Yes, he was piqued that she seemed to have no recollection of him when they’d danced together, though she’d made such an impression on him.

He had to speak to her, at the risk of satisfying himself that wasn’t the case. Excusing himself, he wandered over to address a friend who happened to be standing within a couple of yards of his lovely quarry. She, meanwhile, seemed to exude a languid grace that intrigued and disturbed him. Could it be the same woman who’d sat at their table at Madame Plumb’s? If it were, how could she be so changed in three months?

Accident favored him. Mrs. Graves’s companion deserted her just as Miles turned away from his own departing friend.

“A pleasure to see you again, Mrs. Graves,” he murmured, noting her hot flush, which was the only outward manifestation of any discomfort on her part. There now was no evidence of the shy young woman of three months earlier. “You appear greatly altered. Could you perhaps have been playing a role for someone’s amusement when I saw you at Madame Plumb’s?”

She raised an eyebrow. “That is a bold statement, my Lord.”

“Bold, yet anyone would remark upon it; your transformation is so…extraoardinary.”