The Pleasure Seekers Page 4

  The marchioness’s smile was a mere baring of teeth. “I hear from your cousin that you dabble in art.”

  Bliss doubted Court had used those words. “Yes. My most recently dabbling was Marie Amelie d’Orleans.”

  Her hostess gaped. “Princess Marie Amelie? The newborn daughter of King Louis? That Marie Amelie?”

  Bliss nodded, feeling petty in allowing the woman to bring her down to her level. “Though I hold no fondness for the king, the fee helped several orphanages.”

  “Fee? You mean you were paid?” The stunned look on Lady Buxton’s face clearly expressed her opinion on the subject.

  Women were not supposed to make their own money. They were expected to be wholly dependent on whatever a man chose to give them. But since the Good Lord had kindly gifted Bliss with two arms, two legs, and a brain, she had no intention of letting any of that atrophy while waiting for a man to direct her life.

  “Yes,” Bliss admitted, “though there is work I do strictly for myself.” Paintings no one wanted, because of the subject matter. People didn’t want their own shame staring them in the face day after day; better to just ignore it and pretend it didn’t exist.

  “Certainly your family can’t approve.”

  “Oh, yes. They approve.” Her mother, mostly. Her father merely tolerated her passion for art, in the hopes that it would go away and she would settle down with some perfectly boring lord who possessed little in the way of intelligence, and who would expect her to pop out one child after the next like a dutiful wife.

  Lady Buxton gave Bliss another looking-over, as if there was something she had missed on the first inspection. “Perhaps I will allow you to paint Horatio.”

  “Horatio?”

  “My dog.”

  Bliss refrained from a very unladylike retort. Instead she smiled indulgently and glanced out over the crowd, more than ready to be quit of the woman. She would even welcome the heathen from the stables at that moment.

  As though discerning her thoughts, the marchioness said, “I heard about the incident in the stables. How frightening for you. I hope you weren’t hurt.”

  “I was in no danger, as long as I did not stand in the way of true love.”

  “Khan is a brute, I admit, but quite a splendid stud.”

  As was Khan’s owner.

  “He only required a few stitches and should be good as new in a week or so.”

  The reminder of the stallion’s injuries made Bliss feel thoughtless for not having been more concerned about his condition. She loved horses and had practically lived in the Exmoor’s stables as a little girl.

  Guilt settled on her shoulders. She was not generally so careless, but her mind had been preoccupied with images of turbulent eyes and tousled hair. Then she had been accosted by the owner of those eyes and that hair, and all thoughts other than anger, and an unsettling warmth low in her belly, had filled her.

  “Excuse me, won’t you?”

  The marchioness inclined her head. “Certainly.”

  Bliss made a quick exit, stepping out onto the balcony for a breath of fresh air. She had never much liked balls; no wonder she had been such an abysmal failure during her first Season. She had refrained from repeating the debacle the following year. She simply didn’t fit in with these people: the things that interested them didn’t interest her. She needed stimulation, adventure. A challenge.

  Dark eyes and a harsh, forbidding mouth intruded into her thoughts. Now there was a challenge, a man who refused to be tamed.

  The memory of the stranger’s large hand on her arm brought a shiver to Bliss’s skin despite the warmth of the night, and her gaze was drawn down the slope of the hill leading away from the house toward the stables. Suddenly she very much wanted to see Ciara and Khan.

  Suddenly she wanted to be anywhere but here.

  Four

  My Lady, tempted by a private whim,

  To his extreme annoyance, tempted him.

  Hilaire Belloc

  Ciara whickered as Bliss entered the stables. She had pilfered two apples and a few sugar cubes before slipping out undetected, hoisting her skirts, and hurrying down the slope.

  She was slightly out of breath and her hair had come free in a few places, the silky strands tickling her neck and upper chest. A trace of humidity lingered in the air and clung to her skin.

  A cool night breeze blew in through the open stable doors, scented with the salt tang of the Bristol Channel and the heady smell of damp earth from a light afternoon rain. Just above the faint sounds of the crickets rose the distant boom of the surf crashing against the rocks.

  Bliss felt at peace here. She could understand why the earl’s son was compelled to “haunt” this place; she would be greatly tempted to haunt it herself. It was as though the world began and ended at these very cliffs, as if God had conspired to make the grass greener and the air sweeter.

  Ciara nudged her hand, bringing Bliss back down to earth. She rubbed her mare between the ears and fed her one of the sugar cubes. “I know. I’m getting whimsical. But you’re not one to pass judgment, considering your behavior this afternoon. Shame on you for allowing the first stud that comes along to have his way with you. Don’t you know men don’t like women who are too eager?”

  “Only men who are fools, you mean.”

  Bliss whirled around at the sound of the deep, male voice that had plagued her thoughts for most of the day. She found the great, muscled titan leaning against Khan’s stall, the door now reinforced, an additional partition raised.

  Most of the man’s body was in shadow, which was why she hadn’t spotted him upon entering. But she could see his eyes, and they put her to mind of a wolf just rousing from his slumber as he glowered faintly at her from the darkness.

  “It’s not nice to sneak up on people,” she said reprovingly, trying not to notice the deep V of his shirt, which brazenly displayed an indecent amount of tanned flesh, or the snug, buff-colored breeches that gloved his muscular legs.

  A bottle of brandy dangled from his long, lean fingers. He tapped it rhythmically against his left thigh, the only outward sign that anything disturbed him. Was it simply her presence that unbalanced his equilibrium? Or was he still harboring resentment from that morning?

  “There wasn’t any sneaking involved,” he finally deigned to reply, his voice a deep thrum. “I’ve been here the whole time.”

  “Well, you should have alerted me to your presence. It would have been the polite thing to do.”

  “Ah.” He nodded. “Well, I never do the polite thing. Life would not be nearly as enjoyable. If I didn’t behave in such a deviant manner, I would have missed your little speech and subsequent fidgeting.”

  His remark made Bliss realize her fingers were clutching at her skirt. She immediately dropped the material, cursing his perception. “I’m not fidgeting.”

  “You’re a bundle of nerves, and valiantly trying to quell the impulse to flee. What’s the matter, my lady? Worried I’ll begin foaming at the mouth?”

  Bliss scoffed. “You, sir, worry me not a whit.” Liar. “If you knew me at all, you’d realize how far off the mark you are.”

  His brow notched up in a skeptical taunt as he lifted the bottle to his lips, his gaze rolling over her in a brief appraisal, trying to make her uneasy. Which he did, but she would go to her grave with that truth.

  Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, he held the bottle out to her, the look in his eyes clearly challenging. “Come on. I won’t tell.”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Not as much of a tiger as you appear to be, hmm?”

  It annoyed her that his prodding very nearly had her snatching up the bottle to prove him wrong. “Not as much of a drunkard as you appear to be.”

  Something that might have passed as a smile briefly tipped up the corner of his lips. “So you decided to return to the scene of the crime, did you?”

  Discomfited by his accurate assessment, Bliss averted her gaze. “I’m simply gettin
g a breath of fresh air.”

  “Well, we have plenty of that here, so inhale as much as you like. I’ll just watch.”

  Bliss hated that his penetrating gaze unnerved her even the smallest bit. “What are you doing here at this time of night?”

  “I could ask you the same thing. Do you make a habit of spending time in stables dressed like a tart?”

  His purposely taunting remark and manner infuriated her. “You despicable wretch! I’m tired of your snide comments and wounded mien. If you don’t like how I’m dressed, then don’t look at me.”

  “I didn’t say I didn’t like how you were dressed.” Once more, that brooding gaze moved slowly over her, lingering long enough on her breasts to make her want to squirm, before resuming the torture all the way down to her slippered feet. “In fact,” he drawled, once more meeting her eyes, “I like it quite a bit.”

  A shiver chased over Bliss’s skin. “I’m delighted. How could I possibly have lived another day without your approval?”

  A glitter of amusement sparked in his eyes before the shadows obscured his face. “The sapphires are a nice touch, too, Your Highness.”

  The jibe pushed her temper over the edge, and she flung the apple at him. He caught it cleanly, taking a big bite and treating her to a mocking grin.

  “It’s for your horse, you odious man.”

  “Ah, the lady’s prodded by a guilty conscience,” he taunted, offering the remaining apple to Khan, who inhaled it from his palm. “What do you think, lad? Her Royal Highness deigns to feel compassion for you after Her Royal Horse spread her thighs and ruined you. This should be written down in the annals of history as a miraculous event.”

  Bliss ached to hit him. Never had a man been so outright belligerent toward her, or spoken to her so rudely. He didn’t make a single pretense of treating her like a lady. But worse, she wasn’t sure if what she was feeling was entirely anger.

  “You’re insane,” she told him. “Completely uncivilized, like some wilderness animal.”

  “Did you hear that, Khan? The lady thinks we’re barbarians. Maybe she’d like to find out for sure.” His eyes glinted with wicked intent as he started toward her.

  Bliss grabbed her riding crop from the peg outside Ciara’s stall, thrusting it toward him as though it were a sword. “If you think I won’t use this to bash your stupid head, think again.”

  He could overpower her. They both knew it, and yet he stopped, though not far enough away for Bliss’s peace of mind. One lunge and he would be on her.

  He inclined his head, then put the brandy bottle to his lips for another swig. Boozing cur. Why couldn’t he look like the others of his ilk, who hunkered down in alleyways waiting for the tavern to open so they could resume their life of dissipation?

  Instead he had to be all dark and glorious, a layer of stubble roughening his chin, adding to the aura of danger that radiated from him in waves.

  With his head tipped back, Bliss took the opportunity to absorb the full length of his body, the shirt that strained across his well-defined chest and emphasized his enormous arms, the waist that showed not an ounce of fat…and the breeches sheathing his loins in the most distracting way.

  The sound of him clearing his throat brought her gaze snapping up. He regarded her with a raised eyebrow, an ironic lift to the corner of his mouth. “Like what you see?”

  Bliss prayed he couldn’t make out her flushed cheeks in the dim light. “Not in the least. In fact, I was thinking that you look like an inmate from the asylum.”

  A moment of silence descended, then his booming laugh shook the rafters, the seductive timbre vibrating along her nerves disconcertingly.

  When his humor abated, he said through that maddening half-grin, “You are the most aggravating female I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet.” His tone and the look in his eyes told her that he didn’t entirely hate her, which she shouldn’t give a fig about, but she did nonetheless—a completely irrational reaction. “You think I’m a rude, arrogant boor, don’t you?”

  “Among other things. Is bathing outside your sphere of experience?”

  “Ah, so you like your gentlemen well groomed, their hair neatly combed, their cologne an exotic blend of spices rather than that of hay and dirt. My apologies, Your Highness.” He sketched a mocking bow. “Had I known you’d condescend to visit us poor wretches here in the lower realms, I would have donned my finery and engaged an orchestra.”

  “Stop calling me Your Highness!”

  “My most profound apologies. Certainly I don’t want to upset your delicate constitution. So do you have a name? Or should we commoners simply bow and scrape and call you ‘milady’ in the most reverent undertones?”

  “Bliss,” she snapped. “My name is Bliss.”

  “Bliss.” The way he said her name sounded like a caress, before he added, “Certainly a misnomer.”

  “Go to blazes.” She spun on her heel, needing to leave before she did something that she might regret.

  “There she goes, running away again,” he taunted. “I have to say I’m surprised, Khan. I thought she had more backbone than that. But wait. She’s stopping. Now she’s turning. I think she intends to do us harm, lad. Is that it, Lady Bliss? Do you plan to whip us into submission with your crop?”

  At least ten different retorts rose to Bliss’s lips, none of them remotely ladylike, and he would be expecting that. So she returned his unflappability with her own.

  “Why are you out here malingering in the stables? Afraid to step into the light? Don’t know how to dance, perhaps? Or is it that you don’t want people seeing you eat with your hands?”

  That worked. His jaw knotted and his eyes narrowed. “You really are a bitch, aren’t you?”

  “As often as you are a bastard. Now, if we’re through exchanging barbs, I’ll bid you good night.”

  She had barely turned when he demanded, “So what’s the real reason you came out here?”

  Bliss told herself to simply walk away, and yet some form of insanity took hold of her brain whenever she was near this man. “As the apple already suggested, I wanted to see how your horse fared. Believe it or not, I am not completely devoid of compassion. My only mistake lay in the assumption that your odious self would not be here.”

  “I guess I should feel hurt that you don’t desire my company.”

  “I’m sure you prefer it that way.”

  “You don’t have a clue what I’d prefer.”

  Bliss wondered at what point in this man’s stunted evolution he had devoted himself to being an ass. “Well, let me set your mind at ease and tell you that I have no intention of tying myself into Gordian knots trying to unravel the complicated mystery you present. I suspect it would be a feat not even a mystic could accomplish.”

  “You’re unmarried, aren’t you? Can’t find a man who enjoys being flayed alive by your rapier wit?”

  “I can’t find a man who possesses enough intellect to keep me interested.”

  “With a name like Bliss, one might wonder where your interests lie.” He sent a pointed look at the bodice of her gown. Cad. “Dare I ask how you got that name?”

  “In the usual fashion: my parents. More specifically, my mother, who rarely bends to conformity. She blames it on her French heritage. When I was born, she said she had never known such bliss.”

  “Ah, that explains your irrationality. You’re partly French.”

  “And what nomadic tribe do you hail from?” She hated to think it, but she might actually be enjoying sparring with this aggravating cretin.

  “Mother England, I’m afraid. Didn’t the cultured tones give it away?”

  A splendid retort was on the tip of Bliss’s tongue, but he suddenly shouldered away from the post he was leaning against and closed the distance between them.

  The crop lay against her leg. He slipped it from her loose grip and tossed it behind him. He towered over her. She should be afraid, yet she was curious more than anything else.

  “No mo
re quips?” he said in a prodding tone, heat blazing from him as though he carried the sun’s rays beneath his skin.

  Her gaze roamed the breadth of his shoulders, the thick, corded strength of his neck, the harsh jut of his jaw, up to eyes that warned her away, yet dared her to try something.

  “What is it that you want from me?” she murmured.

  The way he looked at her told her she should know. “So did the glorified jackasses inside find your attire—what little there is of it—to their liking? Were they fawning over you like a pack of slavering idiots? Or did you shun them all with a wave of your regal hand?”

  Bliss studied his mouth as he spoke. It was so firm and full, so capable of the most disarming of smiles, when he chose to bestow it upon mere mortals. What would that mouth feel like against hers?

  “You should have been there to find out,” she replied, a breathless quality to her voice that had not been present a moment before.

  His warm breath fanned her cheek as he leaned down. “You forget, I like to malinger in dark places.”

  Bliss wet her suddenly dry lips. “Why is that, I wonder?”

  “You never know what you might discover. Patience, I’m coming to see, can be a virtue. Perhaps the only virtue I possess at this moment.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Who do you want me to be?” His head dipped to her throat, his silky hair teasing her cheek as he inhaled slowly. “Flowers and fruit. Roses, orange, a hint of vanilla. And heat. Why are you so hot?” The question was spoken in a husky whisper that turned her inside out.

  “B-because it’s very warm in here.”

  “No, it’s not. In fact, the breeze coming off the ocean is rather cool.”

  All Bliss felt was him, encompassing her without having laid a finger on her. “Your name. What is it?”

  “If I tell you, will you let me kiss you?”

  “No.”

  “Then I’ll kiss you anyway.”