The Irresistible Miss Peppiwell (Scandalous House of Calydon 2)

“I will retire for a few moments, I believe,” Phillipa murmured. She turned then froze. She blinked twice, but Anthony’s tall form remained. A shot of excitement raced down her spine making her grip the glass of champagne too tightly.

Damn!

She’d thought Anthony’s appearance that morning at the park had been the devil tempting her. He had featured in several dreams last night that had left her shaken and needy. She had gone for an extra-long morning ride to rid herself of the sensual visions she couldn’t shake. Only to find her body all too sensitive to the feel of the muscular horse beneath her. And then to run into the man himself… Lord. It had been pure torture.

She groaned as his gaze swept the crowd and zeroed in on her.

She emptied her drink in a single swallow, and glared at him.

His gaze caressed her lips, and despite herself, she shivered. Averting her eyes, she scanned the ball, hard-pressed not to notice the many feminine gazes aimed his way. Her lips curved. They all thought they were being so sly, whispering behind their fans.

Her mother threw her the most delighted smile as he sauntered toward her with animalistic grace. Damnation. He was singling her out!

Excitement burned inside at the realization that he deliberately sought her from among all the beautiful young ladies swooning over him. She knew nothing good could come of a closer acquaintance with him, but for the moment she banished the thought and simply watched him with a soft hunger nipping at her insides.

He gazed at her with a determined intent that frightened her more than a little. She’d felt his intensity that night in the garden at Lady Graham’s ball, and had been intimidated. He looked dashing in a single-breasted purple waistcoat, black tails, and well-fitting trousers. His buttoned shoes shone, and the severe style of his haircut did not detract from his raw masculine beauty.

“Are you given to stalking, Lord Anthony?” She surprised herself by inquiring. The scent of him aroused the most curious sensation inside her. He smelled of sandalwood and an elusive fragrance she could not place. The deep sensual pleasure she felt at such a mere acquaintance staggered her.

His emerald eyes traced her figure. She wore a deep golden silk gown, cut low above her bosom. Phillipa knew she looked fetching with her tresses tamed into an artful cascade, tendrils caressing her nape and forehead. However, she got the feeling he’d mentally stripped her bare, and it unnerved her.

She ignored the pleased smile from her mama, her aunt, and the wink of Payton.

“Stalking, Miss Peppiwell? I think it a grand coincidence that we frequent the same social events, don’t you?”

Despite herself, a smile teased her lips at the rakish grin he threw her way. “I suppose I could accept your presence at the park this morning.”

“I really happened to enjoy my early morning run through Hyde Park.”

She narrowed her eyes as she met the mocking in his gaze. “And why, pray tell, are you at Lady Blade’s soiree?”

“Pleasure, Miss Peppiwell. Solely for pleasure.”

She told herself she would not ask.

He moved closer and said in an undertone. “Since you are so rigidly holding onto the question you are bursting to ask me, I will be a gentleman and enlighten you. I find I am intrigued by a certain redheaded ice maiden with freckles and the most delightful lips I have ever tasted.”

She found it difficult to maintain her cool facade in the face of her thundering heartbeat. She stood at a loss. She had no idea how to respond, without betraying the physical desire his words elicited. Her hands tightened even more on her glass. He gently removed it from her hands, handing it to a passing server.

“Wouldn’t want it to crack,” he said mildly.

A prickling sensation raced down her spine. Her eyes slashed from Anthony’s, and she saw Orwell watching her from his post at the refreshment table. She stiffened. He had not been invited, Elisabeth had sworn. Her hands shook. His persistence was becoming terrifying.

She had allowed Lord Anthony to sweep her from his clutches at Lady Graham’s ball, but she admitted she was not sure Anthony’s grasp was any safer. He was a far more sensual and sneakier predator, one she should avoid at all cost. Especially so, considering that she feared that she might be his willing prey. He provoked the most alarming desire with a mere caress or the gentle brush of his lips across hers. The invitation to sensual indulgence she saw in his eyes shook her to her core.

“Would you care to take a twirl in the garden?”

Her gaze whipped from Lord Orwell to meet the dark invitation that shone in his expression. He had the most beautiful, expressive eyes—dark and rich, holding secrets like the forest. “I cannot. Not without inviting unwelcome speculation.”

“I thought speculation incapable of affecting you.”

She arched her brow sharply. “Why would you think that, my lord?”

“You rode astride.”

She did not miss the dip in his voice. “You have formed conclusions about me from the way I ride?” she asked, nonplussed.

“Was I wrong? I thought you were not one to bend to conventions.” His voice lowered further still. “Had dared to hope the freedom you seek to indulge in…lay in more than riding without a sidesaddle.”

Her breath strangled. Perhaps she was mistaken, but the wild beat of her heart told her she wasn’t. His eyes had stripped her to the skin, and she couldn’t understand how, from a fleeting encounter, he could have gleaned something so profound about her. It was as if he sensed her weakness, like a wolf saw a lamb.

A glitter shone in his eyes, and she fought the leaden heat surging through her limbs, recognizing it as desire.

He wanted her. Possibly enough to pursue her. But to what end? Suddenly, she was petrified. “My lord, I—”

“Anthony.” His gaze never once wavered from her face.

She swallowed, and persisted. “Really, I—”

“Come now, Phillipa,” he chided, “I want to hear my name on your lips. Are we not friends? Intimates, even?”

She stared at him mutinously, but the teasing that danced in his eyes pulled a reluctant smile from her lips. It wasn’t as if she could deny the shocking extent of his knowledge of her person.

And the miraculous thing was, he didn’t condemn her for it. Didn’t consider it an open invitation to disrespect her, as did Orwell. Lord Anthony seemed to…enjoy…her adventurous nature.

“Very well. Anthony.”

His obvious pleasure at her capitulation warmed her, and she was afraid her protective shields were lowering much too rapidly. Not that they’d stopped him before…

“Now, if we are unable to twirl the garden, what other pleasures may we partake in?” he mused.

“If we are to be friends, my…Anthony, there must never be a repeat of what occurred in the garden the other night.” She hated to speak of her indiscretion but she must be firm.

His brows lifted and a rueful smile edged his lips. “Forthright little thing, aren’t you?”

“I assume honesty is frowned upon amongst your other acquaintances?” She slid him a sidelong glance from under her lashes. She did not wish to be coy, but she thought if she gazed at him openly, her desire for him would be far too evident.

“On the contrary. Honesty is welcomed.” He held out his arm. “A dance, then?”

She did not trust his slow sensual perusal of her. Not knowing how to deal with him, she could only nod. She followed mutely, her heart thumping as he escorted her into the ballroom, her dance card dangling from her glove.

Why had he singled me out? Not tonight, for that was fairly clear. But the very first time, at the Calverts’ ball, where she’d kept herself so carefully cold and closed off, doing her best to stay aloof and unapproachable. She burned to ask, but truthfully, she feared his answer. She had already blundered erroneously with Orwell, and it was a miracle that she was not already bleeding from the vicious claws of Society. Another slip, and she would be finished for certain. And she coul

dn’t do that to her family. To her father, and her sister, who both needed her to succeed.

Anthony swept her into a waltz, the strong grip of his arms easing her into the beautiful dance. She twirled gracefully, the arousing strains of the violins igniting delight in her. The smile that burst from her lips could not be contained as she hummed to the captivating music.

“You like to dance?”

“I love dancing and music. It is one of those rare times when I feel alive.”

He focused on her face and she lowered her gaze, fighting the urge to converse freely.

“Please do not.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You seek to hide behind that high wall you have erected around yourself. Please, for tonight, if only for this dance, I beg that there be honest discourse between us.”

Her hand tightened on his reflexively. It unnerved her that he knew she had erected a barrier. Lord Hoyt had surprised her with his assessment of her at Lady Graham’s ball, but Anthony’s keen perception terrified her. She had only encountered him a few times. He should not be able to see into her so deeply.