Chapter Seventeen

She was dancing with Lord Osbourne.

Hugh had spotted Ellie as soon as he stepped foot on the ballroom floor. Her red hair was like a beacon, drawing him in like a drowning man. She looked stunning in a green gown of hugging silk. Her hair had been styled in an elegant chiffon with curls framing her face. A green emerald was nestled between her breasts in her low-cut bodice. He recalled her soft flesh, her strawberry-tipped nipples that had him salivating to lick and lave, her soft cries as she reached her peak.

He’d been starving for a glimpse of her. For two days, she’d isolated herself in the office of the Raven Club and had rarely ventured out.

Hugh had tried to focus on his work, tried to push her from his overheated mind. The additional boxing matches had started, and he’d extended invitations for champions Tom Crib, Bill Richmond, and Gentleman Jackson to attend. Everything was going according to plan. If only he could focus on his goal to win the club.

Christ. She’d gotten under his skin. Again.

And here she was dancing with the most disreputable rake in all of London. Hugh’s own reputation paled in comparison to Osbourne’s.

“Lord Deveril?”

Hugh reluctantly tore his gaze away from Ellie toward the feminine voice to see Lady Fabry standing before him. She curtsied, showing a good amount of cleavage, then slowly rose to meet his gaze.

“We did not have ample time to converse at Lady Emberly’s garden party, my lord. I was happy to hear of your safe return from your service in the army,” she said.

They hadn’t had time to speak because Hugh had been quick to dismiss her. “Yes, thank you.” He looked over her shoulder and tried to keep his eyes on Ellie and Osbourne.

Isabelle cocked her head and studied him like he were an interesting piece in a curiosity cabinet. “You haven’t changed in appearance, my lord.”

“It has only been five years.”

“Much can change in that time, don’t you agree?”

“Yes, you are married. Lord Fabry, correct?”

An expression flashed in her eyes then was gone. “Lord Fabry just celebrated his seventieth birthday.”

The difference in their ages was as clear as the gleam of interest in her eyes as she looked at him.

“Birthday wishes to your husband,” Hugh said.

He glanced at the dance floor. Ellie laughed at something Osbourne said as they met and parted with the quadrille. He couldn’t hear the tinkle of laughter, but he could feel it deep in his bones. Damn.

The dance ended, and the orchestra played a different tune.

The waltz.

Of all the rotten luck. Hugh watched helplessly as Osbourne took Ellie in his arms and whirled her across the dance floor. She smiled up at him, and jealousy reared like a hungry beast inside him.

Hugh’s fingers clenched at his sides. He wanted to stride up to the couple, wrench Osbourne away, and punch the man square in the nose.

Just then, the couple spun and Ellie looked up, making eye contact with him. Her gaze darted to Lady Fabry standing close to him, her hand on his arm.

A flicker of emotion passed over Ellie’s face—pain, resentment—but she turned away as the dance continued.

No. This is not as it seems.

“I’ve thought of you over the years.”

“What?” Hugh turned to Lady Fabry, his brow drawn.

“I’ve thought of you,” she said, smiling coyly. “Of what occurred in the gardens between us. Our kiss.”

Lady Fabry’s words fell on deaf ears. All he heard were the strains of the orchestra as they slowed, then ceased. Hugh watched, helpless, as Osbourne escorted Ellie out the open French doors onto the terrace.

A raging jealousy overtook Hugh. Not on your life, Osbourne.

Lady Fabry stepped closer and tapped Hugh’s chest with her fan. “It’s quite stuffy in here. Perhaps you would escort me onto the terrace.”

Somehow Hugh retained his affability, but there was distinct hardening of his voice. “I’m sure Lord Fabry would be more than happy to oblige you as his wife.”

The lady’s eyes narrowed a fraction, but Hugh turned away.

He was going to the terrace, but damned if he would escort Lady Fabry with him.

…

“A lovely night for a lovely lady.”

The compliment flowed smoothly from Lord Osbourne’s lips. Ellie saw him for who he was. A seducer of women. She saw, and she didn’t mind. He was perfect to distract her from the couple inside the ballroom.

Memories of Hugh surfaced in her mind. She pushed them aside.

No.

She would not think of him and a certain lady together. Pain inched inside her chest, twisting like a knife. She grasped the iron terrace balustrade and faced the gardens, then squeezed her eyes shut.

“Ah, you are thinking of him,” Osbourne said, his voice as smooth as brandy.

“I’m trying not to.” Denial didn’t even cross her mind.

He pressed a hand to his chest. “You may use me to forget him. Truly, I do not mind.”

She laughed. She couldn’t help herself. He was a scoundrel of the worst sort. But he didn’t try to hide his true nature.

Unlike the devil marquess.

“May I escort you on a tour of the gardens?” Osbourne asked.

She gazed down at the gardens. Lanterns lit paths and created a whimsical, romantic atmosphere. The sweet scent of flowering shrubs filled the air. An intricate maze wound through the grounds and offered the perfect seclusion for a romantic tryst. A Chinese-inspired gondola could be seen in the distance.

She knew Osbourne’s intent if she allowed him to take her on the path. He’d try to kiss her.

Would another man’s kiss erase Hugh’s from her mind? The shrubbery below blurred as the thought took hold, like a cold fist in her chest.

“Well, well. What do we have here?”

As if she had conjured him, she started and turned to see Deveril standing in the entrance of the French doors. The ballroom chandeliers illuminated half his face, the other half shrouded in shadows. From what she could see of him, he looked angry.

And jealous.

He had no right to exhibit either emotion.

“Lord Deveril. I should have known,” Lord Osbourne said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hugh asked.

Osbourne shook his head. “Nothing of consequence. You may occupy the terrace by yourself. I was just about to escort the lady on a garden tour.”

“Like hell you are.”

Osbourne cocked an eyebrow. “Pardon?”

Hugh stepped away from the French doors and onto the terrace. “You heard correctly. You will not be taking the lady anywhere. I will do the honors.”

Ellie gaped at him, stunned. How dare he? “You have no right.”

Hugh met her gaze, and a muscle ticked at his jaw. “I have every right.”

Ellie turned away and looked at Osbourne. “Pardon Lord Deveril’s rudeness, Lord Osbourne. He must have helped himself to too many glasses of our host’s champagne this evening and is acting quite boorish.”

Osbourne looked more amused than angry. “You need not apologize on his behalf, my dear. However, I shall take my leave before Lord Deveril feels inclined to challenge me to a fight.” He shot a hasty look at the marquess. “His pugilistic talents have been widely remarked upon.”

Lord Osbourne bowed, then returned to the ballroom, leaving her alone with Hugh.

Coward. So much for using him as a distraction, she thought.

“For a scoundrel, he has intelligence,” Hugh scoffed.

Ellie’s temper flared, and she glared at him with burning, reproachful eyes. “Why are you here?”

“We need to talk.”

“You said everything that needed to be said the other afternoon.”

He outstretched a hand. “No. I have not.”

She shifted to avoid his grasp, her fingers clutching the balustrade. “Go back inside, my lord. Lady Fabry is waiting for you.”

“You must know that she approached me. She means nothing to me.”

“Just as she meant nothing five years ago?” Ellie bit her lip. She shouldn’t give him the satisfaction of letting him known how badly the past still troubled her.

Hugh lowered his hand. “I explained what happened then.”

“Yes, you did. You kissed her because you thought it best for me.” She still could not fathom his behavior, his complete lack of trust in her ability to handle the truth.

“Ellie, please. It wasn’t like that.”

“It was precisely like that,” she snapped. “You arranged for me to see you kiss that woman rather than gather your courage and tell me your parents did not approve of our match.”

“I didn’t have a shilling to my name. It was for the best.”

“Best for whom?”

Rather than hear his answer, she spun away, but he stopped her by grasping her arm. His expression was intense, hot. “You may damn me for the past, but not the present. Never the present. Have you forgotten the afternoon we shared together at the club?”

“It was a moment of weakness. Nothing more.” Her voice sounded weak even to her own ears. Unwanted images of their lovemaking rose fresh in her mind.

His stare drilled into her. “I don’t think so.”

She tugged on her arm, but his hold was relentless. “One afternoon does not mean anything. Especially to a man such as yourself.”

“You’re wrong. It meant everything to me.” Reaching out with his free hand, he caressed her cheek with the backs of his fingers.

Despite her anger, awareness shivered through her, unwelcome. The longer he stared at her with smoldering possessiveness, the harder it became to resist the tiny tremors in her limbs. He must have sensed her weakness and he stepped closer, releasing her arm to press both hands on either side of her on the iron balustrade, caging her in. She had nowhere to go. Her gaze lowered to his mouth, and she had the insane urge to lick the perfect seam of his lips.

“You were a virgin, Ellie. Despite what you think of me, I am a man of honor. I should do right by you and tell your brother.”

Her gaze snapped to his, and she stared at him in horror. “You wouldn’t dare.” Her breathing was ragged, desperate.

“I would.”

There it was again. His insistence that he had her interests in mind. Her own mind was a crazy mixture of anguish and fear. “What do you want?”

“You.”

“Me? Or the Raven?”

He hesitated for a heartbeat. “Both. If I have you, then we both get the Raven.”

She didn’t trust his motives. Not when he’d admitted to ruining their past and not giving her the opportunity to fight for their youthful love. There was also more involved than his highhandedness. More that he didn’t know and that she couldn’t confess. He would never approve of her association with Violet Lasher, let alone how the two of them planned to aid Lady Willoughby.

She was convinced more than ever before that she had to win the club and not allow Hugh to distract her with false promises or claims of honor. And most damaging of all, he did not mention love.

Because he does not love you. He never has.

Another type of pain seared her heart, the deep-seated pain of an old wound ripped open. She needed to keep the ultimate prize in mind. She had no intention of ever permitting a man to decide her future. Never again.

“Promise you will not whisper a word to my brother,” she said, then winced at the clear desperation in her tone. He couldn’t suspect there was more.

He removed his hands from the balustrade and met her gaze. After a moment of utter stillness, when she was aware of her pounding heartbeat, he nodded once. “I promise. For now.”