The Dark One Page 2

  Was this some bizarre dream? Armond was almost tempted to pinch himself. Women didn’t proposition him, at least not this kind of woman. Lady Rosalind Rutherford, tempting morsel that she was, was either as insane as his family was rumored to be, or up to something. He glanced away from her sinful mouth and tried to gain control of himself. It was something he did well . . . control.

  He didn’t lose his head over dark-haired angels. Losing one’s head could go hand in hand with losing one’s heart, and Armond couldn’t afford to do that . . . ever.

  “Did you hear me, Lord Wulf?”

  Since it seemed as if everyone in the grand ballroom had ceased their own business and now stared at them, Armond took her arm and steered her toward the dance floor. Her waist was incredibly small beneath his hand. He swept her into the dance.

  People were shocked, as they should be, to see a Wulf dancing, but Armond tried to concentrate on the steps so long ago taught to him. He was surprised that he remembered, but he did, and together, he and the young lady twirled, their bodies in perfect accord, almost as if one were an extension of the other.

  “You dance very well,” his new neighbor commented, nibbling at her full lower lip. “But I had hoped for more.”

  “More?” He suddenly felt like an idiot who couldn’t string an intelligent sentence together in her presence.

  “You’re holding me quite properly,” she pointed out. “Given your reputation, I assumed you’d be less formal. There’s not much to find shocking about your manners.”

  Armond felt it was his duty to enlighten her upon the subject. “The fact alone that you are dancing with me, I as sure you, is shock enough for those present this evening.” When his comment didn’t seem to satisfy her, he asked, “Would you have me ravish you?”

  Her raven brows, perfectly set upon her forehead, furrowed. She pressed her lips together as if in consideration. “I had hoped to avoid such drastic measures but now realize that might indeed become necessary. Could you? I mean, would you mind terribly?”

  He nearly missed a step. Would he mind? Was the young lady daft? No, she wasn’t daft? No, she wasn’t daft; her lovely eyes sparkled with intelligence.

  “What game are you playing, Lady Rosalind?”

  Rather than answer, she scanned the crowd. He naturally did likewise, his gaze falling upon a group of young debutantes staring at them, their faces flushed with obvious excitement over seeing him dance. Was her earlier approach some sort of bet among friends? A dare? Had she decided to make her debut into society on a grand scale?

  Perhaps she simply wanted notice—a night that would set her apart from every other beautiful, eligible young lady who’d come for a season in London.

  “My wishes are most sincere, Lord Wulf,” she said, her gaze returning to him. “I am very disappointed in your good manners thus far this evening. Your reputation falls short of my expectations. If you have no desire to assist me, perhaps I should find someone who will.”

  His infatuation diminished somewhat. Armond had spent the past ten years being the brunt of society’s jokes. He didn’t mind being feared or whispered about, but he wouldn’t be made to look the fool. When the lady started to pull away, as if she meant to leave him standing alone like a throwaway, he jerked her up flush against him.

  “If it’s compromised you want, you’ve come to the right man,” he assured her. “And I promise that you won’t be disappointed. There’s nothing short about me, Lady Rosalind.”

  He steered her toward the edge of the dance floor, plans of where they could find privacy uppermost on his mind. Lady Rosalind had foolishly fired his ardor. She had thrown down a gauntlet, and if she wanted something to giggle about with her silly friends, he’d damn sure give it to her.

  Chapter Two

  Lord Wulf led her through two side doors left open to allow the night air into the stuffy ballroom. Dazed by her own daring, Rosalind followed him past a small garden and out to the street, where carriages sat lined and waiting for their occupants to return from the ball. Her heart pounded so loud and fast she thought it might leap from her chest. Despite her bold actions, her knees shook. She was desperate, and desperation could often be disguised as bravery.

  When Rosalind had first spotted Armond Wulf among the guests at the Greenleys’ ball, she imagined her mouth might have dropped open and drool might have dribbled down her chin. She’d never seen a more handsome man. He was tall but lean, like a great hunting cat. His hair brushed the shoulders of his finely cut coat and was a rich golden color, reminding her of her home in the country, of wheat ripening in the fields. His eyes were blue—dark, turbulent like the sky during a thunderstorm.

  His face was finely etched, his jaw strong and square. His mouth could only be described as disturbing, his lips neither too full nor too thin but sensually shaped. His brows and lashes were surprisingly dark for a man with his blond coloring, and his skin was tawny colored, as if he spent a great deal of time out-of-doors. When he’d arrived at the Greenleys’, every woman in the ballroom had turned to admire him. . . . Then the whispers began.

  Once she’d learned his name, Rosalind realized he was the neighbor her stepbrother, Franklin, had warned to stay clear of. Wulf had been missing since her arrival in London, but his return tonight couldn’t have worked out better for her. Rosalind had formed a plan. A plan to ruin her stepbrother’s schemes for her and, she hoped, to find herself banished back to her late father’s country estate, where she longed to return.

  “Thomas, jump down and find something to do,” Wulf called to the driver upon reaching his carriage.

  Rosalind’s cheeks blazed. What must the driver think? She couldn’t worry about that. Not at this point.

  “For how long, Your Lordship?” the man asked.

  Wulf ran his stormy blue gaze the length of Rosalind and back again. “For a while.”

  Nervous, Rosalind glanced behind them toward the house. Franklin might come looking for her and spoil everything. “Could we drive during, that is, while we . . .” She couldn’t complete the question.

  “Interesting,” he said. “Change of plans, Thomas. Take us around a few times; then bring us back when you hear me rap upon the ceiling.”

  Thomas nodded. “Briggs is off sharing a pint with a few of the other footmen. Should I get the door for you, My Lord?”

  “No.” Wulf opened the carriage door and, rather than assist Rosalind up, lifted her in a no-nonsense manner and deposited her inside. He climbed in and slammed the door.

  The moment grew awkward. Rosalind had no idea what to expect. She sensed that Lord Wulf was angry, but angry about what? She’d offered herself to him. Wasn’t that what all men wanted? To climb beneath a woman’s skirts given the first opportunity?

  According to her stepbrother, that was exactly what men wanted. The carriage lurched forward. Rosalind glanced at the door. They weren’t moving fast enough to cause her serious injury were she to jump.

  “You have made your bed now. You’ll have to lie in it.”

  She looked at him. The interior of the carriage was dark, the lamps unlit, and she couldn’t see his expression. “My offer was sincere. I will see my end of the bargain fulfilled.”

  Lord Wulf sighed. “We are no longer within eyesight of anyone at the Greenleys’. No need to keep up the pretense.”

  Pretense? Had he mistaken her invitation? Rosalind needed him to perform a service and thought he understood the exchange. He’d looked at her as if he was willing enough earlier. Everywhere his eyes had touched she’d burned, not with the heat of embarrassment but with something else. Something her sheltered existence had not prepared her for. Something wicked.

  “But you should learn that not all men are to be toyed with. Me being one of them.”

  So, he didn’t believe the offer she’d made was a serious one? Of course he wouldn’t. Rosalind supposed it was a rare occasion for a lady of good breeding to approach a man and request that he ruin her reputation. Perhaps there was stil
l a chance to rescue herself from the path she’d taken.

  “Maybe I should have given the matter more thought,” she admitted. In the darkness, she cut her eyes toward him. “If we return in all haste, our absence might go unnoticed.”

  He laughed, but the response did not sound sincere. “No chance of that happening now. You wanted to create a scandal, Lady Rosalind, and you did. And you used me for whatever gain it is you hope to secure yourself. Although for the life of me, I can’t figure out what that might be. Perhaps you will enlighten me upon the matter?”

  Rosalind couldn’t. It was none of his business really. She’d only given him one task to perform; after that, she need never see him again. But she had approached him with her own gain in mind. The return of her freedom. Escape from her stepbrother and his foul plans for her. Escape from Franklin at any cost.

  Her courage renewed, Rosalind said, “I’m surprised that you’d demand explanations, Lord Wulf. I doubt that another man would.” She felt rather than saw him turn to look at her. Even though she knew he could not see her, she raised her chin. “I thought that I could count upon you. You—”

  His mouth suddenly found hers in the darkness. She’d been speaking, so her lips were parted. Rosalind tried to clamp them shut, but he captured her chin, holding her in a way that didn’t allow her to shut him out. He tasted like champagne and fresh strawberries.

  The kiss was punishing, as if to teach her the lesson he’d claimed she needed to learn. Rosalind’s natural instinct was to struggle. A small whimper of fear escaped into his open mouth. Suddenly he pulled back, staring down at her.

  “You’re hurting me,” she whispered.

  He released his firm hold upon her chin. His fingertips grazed her cheek, as soft as the flutter of a butterfly’s wings. Slowly, his face bent toward her again. The brush of his lips against hers this time was gentle. She found the sudden contrast more disturbing than she had his brute force. Rosalind was accustomed to abuse. She was not schooled in seduction. But he obviously was.

  His tongue traced the line of her bottom lip, warm, moist, seeking. Some instinct uncurled within her and she opened wider to him. His tongue slipped into her mouth, teasing, exploring, evoking shocking sensations that she had never felt before.

  “God, you’re sweet,” he said against her lips, and the husky timbre of his voice sent heat racing to her most private places.

  When he captured her lips again, she let him guide her, followed his example, and reveled in the way their lips merged perfectly together. Rosalind had only been kissed once—the gardener’s son when she was twelve. Her first kiss had been awkward and unimpressive. This was nothing like that. This was like nothing she’d ever experienced or even imagined.

  He slanted his mouth across hers and deepened the kiss, and her arms crept up around his neck, her fingers twining in his long, silky hair. She had trouble catching a normal breath, as did he, for the sound of their ragged breathing filled the silent carriage. She was suddenly hot all over and she didn’t mind what he did to her. She didn’t mind it at all.

  The carriage hit a rut and bounced them apart. Rosalind landed against the seat on her back, but he was there a second later, nearly on top of her. She couldn’t say why the sight of him looming over her, his face hidden by shadows, excited her. Only that it did. He’d unleashed something that had been slumbering inside of her for years, and she had no idea how to call sanity back. He bent toward her.

  His teeth grazed her neck, sending shivers down her spine. He paused against the strong pulse beating at the base of her throat. That he should do so momentarily alarmed her, she didn’t know why. Then he captured her mouth again, and all thoughts of fear fled.

  When he suddenly cupped her breasts, Rosalind regained a little of the good sense he’d stolen from her. She nearly jerked away from him. A foolish response, she admitted a moment later. If she couldn’t allow him to touch her intimately, how in heaven’s name could she allow him to despoil her?

  Determined to see her reputation ruined, she kept still. He kissed her again—a long, languid kiss that almost made her forget where his hands rested . . . almost. His thumb dipped inside of her low-cut gown and grazed her nipple. She jerked automatically, but the response did not deter him. Slowly, his thumb circled her nipple until the crest hardened into a tight pebble. The sensation drew a soft moan from her lips. Her back arched, as if she could force herself more firmly against his hand.

  Her mind fogged by passion, she didn’t realize that he slid the straps of her gown off her shoulders until the night air caressed her fevered flesh. She immediately tried to raise her arms and cover her exposed breasts. He anticipated her reaction and captured her wrists, pulling them up over her head.

  “Are you afraid of me?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Rosalind wanted to answer, but then no, that wasn’t entirely the truth. “I’m afraid of what you make me feel,” she answered.

  “Do you want me to stop?”

  Again, her first response was to answer, “Yes.” His voice, naturally deep, had lowered an octave. The sound of it skittered along her nerve endings and brought a desperate longing. She had longed before, for home, for family, but never for a man. She should tell him to stop, but she had to fight the morals taught to her. Rosalind couldn’t stop him if she truly wanted to foil her chances of making a suitable match. What man in his right mind would have her once it became common knowledge that she’d been ruined?

  “No. Please don’t stop.”

  He hesitated long enough to worry her. What if he refused? What would she do then? And how humiliating to offer herself to a man who didn’t want her. When he didn’t continue, she worried that the problem might not be with her but with him. She’d heard of such things.

  “Do you have a problem with your . . .” She wasn’t sure what to call it.

  “Conscience?” he asked.

  She felt exposed, lying half-naked beneath him. The issue needed to be resolved, and quickly. There was no point in barking up the wrong tree.

  “Can you not perform?”

  He pressed against her. “No. I don’t have a problem.”

  Armond Wulf might not have a problem, but she suddenly did. His had not been an idle boast earlier. There was nothing short about him. She swallowed down her sudden trepidation.

  “Please continue then,” she urged him.

  Slowly, he lowered his head to her breasts. He took her hard nipple into the warm, wet recesses of his mouth and sucked. She nearly came up off the coach seat. He held her down and sampled one breast, then the other. His tongue did indecently sensual things to her nipples, circling, swirling, then again, drawing her deep into his mouth to suck.

  Her stomach muscles tightened, as if his mouth drawing against her breasts was somehow connected to the response. Even lower, she felt wet, hot between her legs. She arched up against him and would have tangled her fingers in his hair had her arms not been pinned at her sides. He moved back up to kiss her again. As his tongue moved deeper into her mouth, his hips pressed against hers, creating a sensual rhythm that left her breathless, shaken, desperate for something more.

  She throbbed for him—ached, lusted, fell into a deep abyss of sensation, aware only of him, of her, of their heated responses to each other. He tugged at her gown, settling it farther down her waist.

  In the darkness, he left her, sitting to struggle with his stock, then tugging his fine lawn shirt from his snug trousers. All the while he tugged, he stared at her. Rosalind couldn’t see his features clearly in the carriage’s dark interior, but oddly enough, she saw his eyes.

  They glowed . . . like the night eyes of an animal. Gooseflesh rose on her arms. Her hand snaked up to shield her throat, perhaps in an unconscious gesture.

  The light from a street lamp suddenly threw the carriage’s dim interior into stark brightness. She saw him clearly in the flash. He was still breathtakingly handsome, his shirt gaping open to reveal smooth, tawny flesh, but his eyes, they had not c
hanged. They were filled with a radiant blue light. She gasped at the strange sight. Abruptly he looked away from her; then he took his cane and rapped sharply upon the ceiling.

  “Cover yourself.”

  He practically growled the words at her. Rosalind scrambled up, embarrassed that the street lamp had revealed her half-naked state to him a moment earlier. She pulled her gown up over her breasts, dazed by what had just happened between them . . . and by what had not happened.

  “When we return, you are to go directly to your carriage and ask your driver to see you home,” he instructed. “You are to speak to no one. I will have a message sent to your stepbrother. You became ill, understand? You had your driver take you home as soon as I saw you safely to your carriage.”

  She paused in her flustered attempts to right her appearance. He gave her an alibi she didn’t want. “Are you saying that I should lie about where I’ve been and what I’ve been doing?”

  Straightening his own clothing, he responded, “Only to those of importance. By all means, share your experiences with your young friends in secret. I hope I gave you what you wanted.”

  He had not. She was still as chaste as when she’d left the Greenleys’ ball with him. Chaste if not untouched. And Rosalind had no friends to share her secrets with. What did he imply, and worse, why wouldn’t he finish what he started?

  “You don’t want me,” she suddenly understood. Something about her had repulsed him. Perhaps her boldness with him.

  Wulf turned to look at her, but she couldn’t see his eyes this time in the darkness. She wondered if she’d seen them glowing oddly to begin with. Maybe it had been a trick of the moonlight.

  “The game is up, Lady Rosalind.” His tone was cold, though she still felt his body heat curling around her. “I played along. I’ve given you gossip to tell your spineless little friends. I’ve made your debut into society a memorable one. Be glad that I didn’t give you more than you bargained for.”

  The carriage came to a halt. He jumped out and held the door for her. Rosalind let him assist her down, too confused to do anything but follow his lead. Her knees were, weak, a reaction from either the passion they had shared or dread of facing the consequences of her actions. Armond steered her along the line of waiting carriages.