A Scoundrel of Consequence

Cassandra stared up at him. Those glowing eyes burned into hers, suffusing her with a growing aura of warmth. ‘I—I do not care to dance.’

‘I insist. After all, this is a ball and that is what people do. You—do dance?’

Her smile was feral. ‘Of course I do. I prefer not to.’

‘You distress me, Miss Greenwood.’ His mouth twisted in a lightly mocking grin. ‘You give me no grounds to hope for better things.’

‘Nor should I,’ she returned pertly. ‘I’ve told you, I do not like these occasions.’

He laughed briefly. ‘You seem to take special delight in reminding me. But I am not convinced. There isn’t a woman alive who doesn’t like to dance—and I do not believe you are any different, Miss Greenwood.’ William peered at her closely and took note of her uneasiness. ‘I’m right, am I not?’

Cassandra tilted her slim nose upward as she turned it in profile to him. ‘I meant what I said.’

‘Tell me, Miss Greenwood. Why do you resent me? Can it be that it is because my secretary failed to deliver the donation—or is it more of a personal nature?’

Indignant colour stained Cassandra’s cheeks. ‘You’re right, of course. I do resent you, but not for the reasons you state.’

‘Then would you please enlighten me.’

She looked at him direct. ‘It is to do with my sister.’

‘Your sister?’

‘And your cousin.’

‘Edward?’

‘Yes.’ She turned towards the dance floor and observed Emma about to take to the floor in a lively country dance with Edward Lampard. Her annoyance was raised to new heights. ‘It may have escaped your notice, Captain Lampard, but your cousin and my sister have danced two dances together and are about to embark on a third. My sister is just eighteen years old and her reputation is about to be ruined before she has been launched into society.’

Totally unprepared for the turn the conversation had taken, William’s eyes sought out Edward, seeing him with the same young woman he had been dancing with earlier. ‘That young lady is your sister?’

‘Yes. Unfortunately, the two of them have developed a fondness for each other.’

‘A fondness?’

‘Exactly.’

‘Edward is a sensible, sensitive young man. Speaking as his older cousin, I can only applaud your sister’s taste.’

‘He is neither sensible nor sensitive if he cannot see that he is in danger of ruining her reputation,’ Cassandra argued. ‘Because of the time they spend together, I believe my sister is about to be compromised by your cousin. Everywhere we go we bump into him—be it in the park, at a soirée or the theatre. I am certain these meetings are not coincidence and are pre-arranged in some way known only to Emma and Edward.’

‘Pardon me, Miss Greenwood, but you are contradicting your own words. Did you not imply that you find the rules and restrictions that govern polite society utterly ridiculous? If you feel that way, then why should your sister’s reputation matter to you so much?’

Cassandra sent a cool glance skimming over him. Having her own words quoted back at her was disconcerting. ‘What I said applies to me, Captain Lampard, not my sister. She is a different matter entirely. When I said what I did, I was giving an honest opinion.’

William’s lips twitched with ill-suppressed amusement. ‘Do you have an aversion to my cousin, Miss Greenwood? If so, I find any preconceived ideas you might have about him being a scoundrel insulting and deeply offensive. Perhaps you’re afraid that scoundrels run in the Lampard family—and maybe you see him as some kind of threat?’

‘I do not consider him as much a threat as an inconvenience.’

Laughter twinkled in his eyes. ‘I can see how confused you must be. It is a wholly perplexing problem you have there.’

Cassandra’s cheeks became flushed with indignation. ‘Are you laughing at me, Captain Lampard?’

‘Heaven forbid, I wouldn’t dare. Now, shall we dance? I will even say please if that will persuade you.’

Cassandra did not want to be persuaded. She did not want to dance with him. She did not want to become better acquainted. Still, if it meant a large subscription to the institute, then she could at least be pleasant to him for a short while. Besides, if sufficiently provoked, he might be tempted to risk creating a fuss to gain what he sought.

When William saw her hesitate, he smiled. ‘Come, Miss Greenwood. People are beginning to stare. Your reticence only heightens my determination. I will have this dance, otherwise I might very well change my mind about the size of my donation. The amount will be considerably smaller than it would be if you were to partner me on the floor. Should your colleagues at the institute find out, they would never forgive you.’

Quite unexpectedly she smiled pleasantly and William almost reeled under the impact. Her eyes seemed to contain sparkles of light and a soft rose tinted her cheeks. Her lips parted over even, white teeth that shone, and a small dimple in her cheek caught his eye. Her smile deepened, and so did the dimple. He was momentarily transported and utterly speechless.

‘I suppose I could dance with you for the sake of civility.’

‘And a generous donation,’ he was quick to point out.

‘Of course—but this sounds very much like blackmail to me, Captain Lampard.’

‘You might say that,’ he murmured softly. ‘I would prefer to call it persuasion.’

‘Very well. I am persuaded. I surrender.’

Decorously presenting her with his arm, he laughed. ‘I was hoping you would,’ he said quietly. ‘If we continue in this fashion, Miss Greenwood, we might even become friends.’

Cassandra smiled thinly. ‘I would advise you not to place any wagers on that, Captain Lampard.’

‘I might be tempted,’ he said, with more meaning than she realised, leading her forward on his arm as the musicians played a waltz. ‘I am not averse to the odd gamble.’

A sudden hush settled over the guests as those present turned, anxious to appease their curiosity. What they saw amazed them. Cassandra Greenwood was taking to the floor with Lord Lampard—well, he always had been able to charm every female within sight—and it went to prove that the prim Miss Greenwood was no different from the rest after all. But the fact that she was to dance with Captain Lampard—his first dance since returning to London—caused other gentlemen she had declined to dance with in the past to consider their attraction. Aware of his reputation as a rake, they were admiringly speculative.

Taking Cassandra in his arms, William’s hand slid slowly, possessively, about her trim waist, drawing her close. ‘I sincerely hope you were telling the truth when you said you do know how to dance, Miss Greenwood, otherwise you will make a laughing stock of us both,’ he murmured, his wicked, sensual mouth turning upward in the faintest of cynical smiles.

‘Just because I don’t usually dance, doesn’t mean that I don’t know how to, so lead the way, Captain, and I will follow.’

‘My pleasure, Miss Greenwood. My pleasure. For this one dance, forget your institute, your children and your fund raising and be a young lady of the ton, intent on enjoying herself. Take it from me, it’s more fun than trying to extract money from society’s elite.’

So saying, William whirled her round the floor. His senses were alive with the elusive perfumed scent of her, to her supple young body. Getting to know Miss Greenwood could be very pleasurable indeed. Deliberately, he drew her closer so that his hips brushed hers and he felt a tremor pass down her spine. His imagination began to run riot and he dwelt on the thought of what it would be like to plunder those soft lips and make love to her. His blood stirred hotly and his body was beginning to react in such a way that he had to force the thoughts aside.

It would have surprised—and gratified—him to know that Cassandra’s thoughts were not so very different from his own. Beneath her fingertips, his beautifully tailored claret jacket was without a crease. Smelling pleasantly of sandalwood and brandy, he moved with elegance and grace, but, light as his arms were, she could feel the steel beneath.

Her eyes were level with his broad, muscular shoulders. Every inch of his tall frame positively radiated raw power and leashed sensuality, causing her to remember every scandalous story she’d ever heard about him. Handsome, sinful—strangely the thought excited her. How could she claim uninterest in the man when his mere presence could so effectually stir her senses? Lifting her gaze to his ruggedly hewn features, she met his knowing eyes, seeing something relentless and challenging.

‘You dance well, Captain Lampard.’

‘Suddenly you’re an expert?’

‘I know the difference between good and bad. Tell me, do you always get what you want?’ Cassandra asked.

‘Usually,’ he replied. ‘Perhaps because I’m totally selfish, arrogant, inconsiderate and a complete scoundrel—or so I’ve been told by those who know me. It’s the way I was raised, you see—having people pander to my smallest needs, to gratify my every whim.’