Hunting the Hero (The Wild Randalls 4)

“Almost a year now.” She shrugged. “I never stay long in any one place. You?”

He couldn’t help but smile. Her pretense that she didn’t know anything about him was unnecessary, but endearing. “This is my first visit, but I have lived in Wiltshire my whole life. Where are you from?”

She glanced away. “Many places. The details are unimportant.”

His wife had once complained that he stuck his nose into other people’s private affairs far too often. Like many in society, he enjoyed a good story. It wasn’t his place to ask, but he couldn’t help but be intrigued by the woman he wanted to bed. He offered a wry smile to his companion. “So, you are Calista?”

“I am this year.” She laughed at the confusion that must have shown on his face. “Do names matter to you?”

He frowned at the odd answer. The idea that she was someone else completely didn’t sit easily on his conscience. “Yes, names are important.”

“Then if you don’t care for Calista you should pick another.” She lifted her hand and twisted it in the air. “Names are like hats. They must suit the situation or be exchanged with no regrets or excessive sentimentality. A much-loved, jaunty riding hat has no place in a ballroom, for instance. I’ll answer to any name you care to call me.”

Constantine sat back in shock. He didn’t believe he could do that easily. “Have you no name at all?”

She smoothed her gown with dainty fingers. “I’ve had many. None that I’d care to claim.”

“That’s absurd.”

Her eyes grew shuttered. “The world is absurd. I didn’t make it that way. I just try to live in it peacefully.”

How could she be so jaded, so dismissive of sentiment? She hadn’t the experience for such ennui. Or had she? On an impulse that defied good manners, he captured her face in one hand and studied it. Smooth, flawless skin, delicately arched, dark brows, but the brown eyes beneath held a world of weariness no fledgling woman should ever know. She was quite a bit older than he’d first imagined. “You’ve a face that confounds the passage of time. I took you for a young girl, not a mature woman, when I first saw you.”

Her brow rose, her lips twisted into a smile of amusement. “If you prefer very young girls I am sure Linnie will only be too happy to acquire one for you and provide me with another challenge.”

He turned her face this way and that. “That is not what I meant and you know it. When I look at your face, I see innocence, but your eyes say otherwise. How old are you?”

Her smile dropped away in an instant. “Old enough to wish men would not ask for the recounting of my years.”

A reluctant smile tugged at the corners of his mouth at her answer and he let go her face. Women were often considered on the shelf at nineteen. He j

udged the days of her being a blushing debutante were long gone. “Old enough, then. I shall ask no more about your age.”

He sat back, seeing her with new eyes. A fine, compact body, firm and supple. A sweet handful of pleasure to be had for one night. However, she was honestly dishonest about the things that mattered most in his society. And still, the idea of bedding her only increased in appeal. She was nothing at all like his wife. He would certainly be exploring new territory.

The woman leaned back in the settee, a smile playing on her lips. “From what I’ve gleaned of you this evening, I expect you to be very demanding in bed.”

Constantine started, rather shocked to have a woman come straight out and say she saw through his attempts at moderation and control. But then he deduced Calista meant to keep him on edge, prevent him from settling into any sort of easy comfort with her. What a devilishly crafty bit o’muslin she’d turned out to be. “Does that bother you?”

The woman rose, lifted her skirts to kick off her shoes, and then straddled his thighs. The warmth of her limbs penetrated his and he set his hands to her hips to hold her steady. Her fingers toyed with his hair and she pushed it this way and that with a critical eye. “That you are hard to please is a challenge to make our association more pleasant. I do not expect you to be gentle with me if you do not wish to be. I’m not fragile. You cannot hurt me.”

Guilt returned to sink its claws into Constantine’s soul. A man could easily hurt a woman in ways he never imagined in the beginning. He shifted beneath Calista, doubts crowding his mind. For a small woman she was remarkably hard to ignore. Would he be able to control himself when he had her completely at his mercy? Surely he would not become so addled with lust that he’d neglect to withdraw when he should. He brushed a few strands of hair back from her eyes. “I would not mean to hurt you, but it is possible. You should hold me accountable for my actions if I cause you lasting harm.” He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “If I should get a babe on you, please send word to me. That’s why I want your name.”

She shrugged and then fiddled with his cravat pin. “As I said, names are unimportant. It is unlikely I will conceive when I never have before.” The matter-of-fact pronouncement of her barren state eased his mind somewhat. If she never conceived his child, then he would be free from further guilt and worry.

He lifted his chin as Calista removed his cravat. When she leaned forward, brushing her breasts with seeming innocence across his cheek as she stretched to lay the white fabric over the back of the couch, he held back a groan. The woman was an unbelievable tease. When she resettled, she was much closer.

Constantine slid his hands around her back, holding one exactly on the bumps of her lower spine. He massaged a small circle. “Were you ever married?”

“Good Lord, no. Why on earth would I want a husband?” Her brow rose and she wagged a finger in his direction. “Oh, you’re still fishing for a last name with which to categorize me. Names are restrictions meant to confine us to one situation. It’s not the same for men. They may behave however they want. A man may have a reputation as a seducer without censure. Far different if you’re a woman and lacking the burden of a husband or even a prior one to add the slimmest veneer of respectability.”

No name and no prior husbands. Intrigued even further, Constantine slid his fingers lower, taking his time, determined to seduce Calista into revealing more of her inner thoughts without her realizing it. He grasped her bottom firmly. “So you have never been tempted by a man before?”

Her nails scraped over his skull, causing gooseflesh to cover him again. “Tempted, yes. Many times. But not foolish enough to want to keep one around for long.”

He moved to stroke her covered thigh, then teased his way beneath her gown, eager for the night to culminate and for Calista to want him as he wanted her. “So who are you? Really?”

“A woman in need of a handsome man to please her.” She laid her fingers across his lips to silence his next question and then brushed them across the surface until his skin tingled. “Close your eyes, my lord. You’ve all night to prove you’re the one.”