"For a time," Dominic said, rising. "Perhaps Germain will show himself if I make myself conspicuous. I'll let you know where to reach me if I decide to leave."
"Very well. But take care."
It was past midnight when Dominic reached his own townhouse in Berkeley Square. His valet, Farley, showed no surprise when he called for a bath and evening clothes to be laid out. A short time later, Dominic was once again travelling through the streets of London, his destination, but not his intent, as specific as before. He had chosen an invitation at random from the stack set aside for his perusal—one for a ball of no particular distinction.
His arrival created quite a stir, just as he had expected. The Sixth Earl of Stanton was rarely seen at such events, but the title Dominic had inherited from his grandfather, as well as his wealth, assured his welcome.
Dominic surveyed the crowded ballroom with a cynical smile. What better way to make his presence known to Germain than to appear at a glittering social function? If, as Manning suspected, Germain was interested. But Manning's intuition was seldom wrong; it had served Dominic well a number of times in the past. Of course, he thought with a regretful sigh, the timing could have been better. Because of Germain's arrival, he would have to reformulate his plans. Instead of availing himself of Julian's hospitality, he would have to stay in London to flush Germain out of hiding. But if Charles Germain wanted to find the Earl of Stanton, then find him he would.
The ball had proved to be flatly insipid, with two exceptions, both old acquaintances. The first was his closest friend, Jason Stuart, the Marquess of Effing. Jason was in the process of taking his leave when Dominic arrived, but he delayed his departure long enough to exchange a few words and extend an invitation to dinner the following evening. The second exception was Dominic's ex-mistress, Denise, Lady Grayson.
Dominic had strolled out of the cardrooms after an hour of play and spotted her amid a court of admirers. She was hard to miss. Her blond beauty stood out like a cool candleflame, and tonight it was accentuated by a vivid, rose-colored gown. So why had he been reminded of russet tresses and flashing blue- green eyes?
As he stood watching Denise, his shoulder propped against a pillar, he had found himself unconsciously comparing the memory of Brie's slender, supple body and sweet, warm lips to the elegant vision before him. Oddly, Denise came out the loser. Her hair was far too pale, her figure too voluptuous, her mouth too artificial. She lacked a certain vitality, a freshness that the country beauty had in abundance. But then Denise was also missing the fiery temper.
Dominic had been startled out of his comparison by her approach. Denise smiled coyly, extending a slender white hand for him to kiss. "Darling, for these past five minutes and more, you have been looking at me as a wolf looks at his supper. Am I the lamb?"
Forcibly repressing the memory of his vixen, Dominic bowed over her hand. "No lamb," he said gallantly, "but certainly a delectable morsel." His lips lingeringly brushed the tips of her fingers, eliciting the response he expected: Denise shivered.
"Dominic, it has been so long," she said huskily, desire written plainly on her features, an invitation in her eyes.
He had accepted wordlessly, easily slipping into the old patterns. There had been one major advantage to their past relationship, aside from the obvious. Denise was a woman who knew how to keep silent. He had escorted her to her home, dismissing his coachman with instructions to return in the morning. Within moments of reaching her bedroom, Denise had wound her scented arms about his neck. But while his body had automatically responded to her touch, in his mind a memory had warred with the present.
Now, standing at the window, the cold attacking his bare skin, Dominic's mocking smile was for himself. An imagination run riot was unique in his experience. He had behaved like a veritable schoolboy. While making love to Denise, he had shut his eyes to the writhing creature beneath him and let a memory invade his whole being. The ripe luscious body became younger, firmer, while the blond tresses darkened to burnished auburn. The mouth he plundered so ruthlessly became Brie's, and she had responded to his kisses with a sensuousness that left him hungrily demanding more. She was a wench made for loving, with flaming hair and eyes like the ocean. A sweet fire exploded in him. . . .
Slowly the image had faded, leaving him shaken and spent. Thankfully, Denise had rolled away and gone immediately to sleep. She had not even stirred when he left her bed, seeking escape from the odor of her heavy perfume. Brie's scent had been heather and sunshine, the freshness of spring. . . .
Frowning, Dominic banished the thought. He was making the little termagant into a perfect paragon of loveliness. With a swift motion of his hand, he opened the window, inviting in a blast of snow-sweetened air.
The February weather was as capricious as a woman, Dominic thought cynically. Only a few days ago he had been caught in another storm, one far more serious. He and Jacques had been lucky to reach Julian's hunting box. Dominic had only gone there on a whim. He had been to Ireland in search of stock for his latest venture—a racing stud—but he hadn't wanted to return to London just yet. He had detoured through Leicester, even though he had doubted the change in location would be sufficient to dispel the boredom he had been feeling lately. He had been pleasantly surprised to find Brie. The challenge of pursuing her had made his visit far more enjoyable than he had expected. Too bad his sport had been interrupted by Manning's messenger.
The journey to London had seemed longer than usual. Dominic had spent the better part of it in deep speculation, with Brie at the center of his thoughts. What an enigma, a spitting vixen one moment, a warm passionate creature the next. Dominic smiled to himself as he remembered how she had fought him when he had tried to brush the snow from her hair. She had cut a ridiculous figure in her common boy's garb—but God, what a beauty! Even dressed as a common stablehand, the wench had aroused him. Herprotector, if there were one, was wise to keep his beautiful possession hidden deep in the country.
Staring out at the night without seeing, Dominic recalled her stormy eyes and the way they sparkled with tears when she had found herself his prisoner. How vulnerable she had looked, with her long fringe of lashes brushing her wet cheeks, her soft red lips quivering with dismay. How he had wanted to kiss away her tears, to soothe the fear in her eyes.
He had not meant to frighten her in the first place. He had only intended to tease her, to depress the pretentious haughtiness she had adopted with him. But when he had tasted the sweetness of her mouth and felt her lithe, slender body respond to his lovemaking with that curious mixture of innocence and desire, he had wanted her in a way he had not wanted any woman in a long while. She was refreshingly natural, like a wild creature of the forest. She seemed unbound by the conventions that made either prudes or whores of other women.
Once more Dominic found himself contemplating her station. Her cultured voice indicated that she was not a commoner, while her bearing and authoritative manner were too pronounced for a servant, even a lady's maid. But no self- respecting lady of his acquaintance would be caught dead in the faded gown Brie had worn, let alone a pair of men's breeches. Perhaps she was the by-blow of some local landowner. That would explain her proud but wild conduct. It might also explain why she had had to resort to becoming some elderl
y gentleman's mistress.
Dominic frowned. The thought of Brie belonging to another man was decidedly disturbing. But he would rectify that as soon as he returned to the country. Seducing her might prove to be a delicate task, of course. First he would have to lure her away from whichever gentleman had the pleasure of keeping her, and then he would have to tame the little wildcat. Except that it was not just a matter of taming, Dominic reminded himself. He would have to overcome her reservations as well. He wanted her willing, not flinching with apprehension. He wanted to have her warm body arching eagerly against his, to have those taut, provocative breasts burning against his chest. . . .
Dominic's eyes glinted as he imagined the enticing sensation of Brie lying naked in his arms, her silken limbs entwined with his, her pleasure matching his own. He could half feel her slender hips thrusting sweetly against his loins.
No, he had not expected to find anything quite like Brie when he had accepted Julian's invitation to the quiet countryside. Dominic slowly traced the thin red welt on his cheek where her riding crop had bitten his skin, and then he laughed softly. The willful beauty would not escape him so easily at their next meeting. She would pay for her rashness—a price of his choosing. The wildcat would learri to sheath her claws and purr at his slightest touch.
So vowing, Dominic firmly relegated the images of Brie to the far recesses of his mind and shut the window. As he turned away to dress, he spared a glance at Denise wrapped in her warm cocoon.
He regretted the impulse that had led to his renewed involvement with her. It had been a mistake, of course. Old affairs, like sleeping dogs, were best left undisturbed. Indeed, he had only taken advantage of Denise's availability in an effort to dispel a frustrated desire for a stormy-eyed temptress.
Unbidden, the vision of Brie returned and Dominic felt a swift tightening of groin muscles as his body tensed in anticipation. Brie held out her arms to him, beckoning, teasing, taunting, her glorious hair spilling down to hide her slender, womanly curves. . . .
Yes, most definitely he would return. He would find her, track her down if need be. And, yes, punish her for kindling this painful desire that threatened his rational mind. Soon, Dominic told himself as he silently let himself from the room. This business with Germain must be dealt with swiftly, and then he would be free to pursue his vixen.
During the following week, the Earl of Stanton was seen frequently about town in the company of various females, although Denise was not among their number. Dominic made little progress in his search for Germain, however, and by the time he met Jason at White's club on St. James Street a sennight later, he was beginning to lose patience.
The two men settled in one of the reading rooms where they could talk in private. Dominic stood before the fireplace, gazing intently into the flames, while Jason relaxed on a plush leather sofa.