Collector of Hearts Page 3

  Their large brown eyes clearly showed they had been told of his reputation. This did not worry him, even though the lovely Lady Stapleton was standing with them, her eyes daring him to do something scandalous. What a delicious bonus, for there was nothing quite like a dare!

  He stopped in front of them, and put his finger to his lip, contemplating, as he watched them watch him. He turned his attention to Lady Stapleton and she gave him a seductive flutter of her eyelashes. He dutifully bowed and kissed her hand. Flicking his gaze sideways, he caught one of the pigeon pair still watching him closely, so he winked at her. She blinked back in surprise. He wanted to laugh, but of course, that would be rude, so he straightened instead. No need to frighten them off, not just yet anyway.

  Generally, thinking with one’s equipment led to disaster, but his equipment had impeccable taste and he trusted it implicitly. He’d learnt long ago to keep his heart out of the matter completely.

  ‘Lady Stapleton, I have not seen you for near on a month. Wherever have you been hiding your most curvaceous self?’ He knew how to play Lady Stapleton; she’d been an easy conquest, her husband a neglectful coward and a fool. Her soft blush made him smile nevertheless. The decidedly female snort of disbelief from his right he hadn’t been expecting, but when he looked over at the two, they stood like statues, innocently looking at him.

  ‘I have been safe behind my husband’s doors, Lord Shelton,’ Lady Stapleton replied, her eyes twinkling. With sins remembered, he was sure, but he wasn’t naive enough not to notice the twinkle held a hint of hatred. They all ended up hating him, in the end. It was the way of the game.

  ‘How very matrimonial,’ he said. ‘And your friends here, have you been hiding them, behind the safety of your husband’s doors too?’ he asked, turning his attention and his gaze to the two little peas that stood nervously beside her.

  ‘These are Lady Tremaine’s daughters, Miss Arabella, and Miss Isabelle,’ she stated. ‘They’re twins.’

  ‘You don’t say.’ He moved to stand in front of them for a closer look. How adorable they were, with their chocolate-coloured curls bobbing and their eyes flashing like they were scandalised to their silk-stockinged toes. He noticed one raised her chin higher in a defiant stance while the other hid. He smiled. Not quite so identical in all things then. They were not tall, but not in the order of miniature either. They had pleasing complexions, nice little trim figures, proud chins, and lovely long necks. Altogether they were a charming pair, if not a little on the young side, but that could be forgiven. Nearly anything could be forgiven, except maybe clubbed feet and humps, but as they possessed neither, their age didn’t detract from their loveliness.

  ‘I’ll wager you two are a handful,’ he said and was pleased by their confused looks. They were innocent, countrified girls, through and through. Just the thought of identical naked bodies in his bed made him throb with anticipation. He did not have any intention of indulging. He did not play with virgins. It didn’t mean he couldn’t have a bit of fun at their expense. He regarded them for a moment longer and then turned again to Lady Stapleton. ‘Would you mind pointing out who is who?’

  She bit her lower lip.

  So she had no idea either. He allowed himself a small laugh and then reached out and absently took the hand of the first twin, pulling her forward. ‘And which one are you?’

  She quickly pulled her hand out of his. ‘Lord Shelton, I am aware of your … reputation, and I want you to know any familiar behaviour will not be tolerated.’

  There were a few gasps from the crowd gathered, then a few giggles. No doubt at her ignorance.

  Robert paid no heed to the twittering masses. He rarely did. ‘I see,’ he said, and then repeated his question. ‘Which one are you?’

  She lifted her chin higher. ‘I imagine I’m the left one.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘The left one. Did you not ask me which one I was, my lord? I am on the left of my sister; therefore, I must be the left one.’

  The other one giggled then coughed behind her hand when he gave her a sober, rather unimpressed look. It was the same one he now aimed at the left one.

  ‘Your name, girl, what is your name?’ one of the fellows in the assembled crowd asked her. Robert smiled.

  She frowned at the fellow, at him, at all of them.

  ‘She knew very well what I was asking her,’ Robert announced. ‘This can only mean she’s either forgotten her own name, or she hasn’t one.’ This received more chuckles from the crowd.

  Miss Left bristled but stood her ground. He could only admire her for that.

  ‘I am Miss Arabella Fleming. Though don’t bother memorising it, for despite your reputation, my lord, your tricks won’t work on me.’

  This caused a united gasp from the assembled crowd.

  Robert raised a dark brow. Fine. Challenge issued and challenge accepted and he’d be damned if he wouldn’t have both of them, just for the hell of it. He smiled his most roguish smile.

  ‘Miss Arabella.’ He let her name roll off his tongue and then took her hand again in his, piercing her with a deliberately serious gaze. ‘My dear girl. My reputation is something that will not and cannot be ignored. The fact you have come to my notice is but a prelude to the game ahead.’ With that he kissed her hand, making sure his lips lingered a little longer than was acceptable, and then let it slip slowly from his grasp.

  ‘Jusqu’a ce que nous ne recontrons de la nouvelle, ma belle.’ Then, turning gracefully, he disappeared into the crush.

  Until we meet again, my beautiful one, she translated in her head. Arabella stood motionless, her hand still hovering in the air and her mouth slightly parted.

  ‘Bella, you didn’t ask him about the duels,’ Isabelle joked from beside her.

  Arabella blinked twice in rapid succession before turning towards her sister. ‘Did you see what he did? What he said?’ she asked, still stunned by the man’s audacity.

  ‘He speaks French beautifully, don’t you think?’ Isabelle asked with a smirk.

  ‘This is not at all funny. The man is …’ Arabella fisted her hands in frustration.

  ‘Depraved is the word I think you’re looking for,’ Lady Stapleton offered.

  ‘Yes, exactly, good word, depraved,’ Arabella agreed. ‘Utterly depraved.’

  ‘He’s very handsome, though. Did you see those eyes? Lord, I thought I was going to faint dead away,’ Isabelle said in a hushed, excited tone.

  ‘I think the man is detestable, and what did he mean by “prelude to the game ahead”?’

  Chapter 3

  London

  The housekeeper, Mrs Frye, arrived at the girls’ bedroom door the next afternoon to announce there were several gentlemen were waiting for them in the parlour. Their mother sent word she would join them as soon as she was able.

  Arabella turned to Isabelle. ‘I thought that surely after last night, Mother would take her chaperoning duties a little more seriously.’

  ‘I’m sure she will.’ Isabelle squeezed Arabella’s hand. ‘Could you arrange for some tea, please Mrs Frye? Those gentlemen must be thirsty after waiting so long.’

  ‘The tea is already on its way, Miss Isabelle.’ The housekeeper bobbed a curtsey then took herself off downstairs.

  ‘Oh, Arabella, I wonder who is here? Do you think Lord Fullum might be waiting for us? He was ever so nice last night and he dances almost well. He only stepped on my toes twice,’ Isabelle joked as she turned her attention to the final touches of Arabella’s hair.

  ‘Which one was he?’ she asked. ‘The one with the pink waistcoat or the one who smelt like Father’s stable?’

  Isabelle furrowed her brow. ‘You know, I can’t quite remember. I was too busy watching his feet, but I certainly hope Lord Fitzmichael is down there, or is it Fitzpatrick?’

  She looked at her sister in the mirror. They both fell into bouts of laughter.

  At the parlour door, they paused to pinch each other’s cheeks, then with a
big breath, Arabella nodded to the footman to open the door. She took Isabelle’s arm and they sailed through the doorway together.

  They gasped as they took in the room. It was empty except for two men, one of whom Arabella recognised, worst luck, the other she didn’t.

  Then she saw the flowers. They littered the room in a colourful chaos. She glanced at Isabelle, who returned her look of dismay.

  ‘What’s going on here? What has happened to all the other gentlemen?’ She did not direct the question at either man in particular.

  ‘’Tis a conundrum to be sure.’ The Collector of Heart’s deep voice vibrated through the room.

  Lord Shelton turned away from the window. Her heart stuttered. He was even more affecting in the light of day, with the afternoon sun highlighting his dark hair.

  He shrugged. ‘We arrived. They left. Some were in quite a hurry, too, were they not, Shacklesbury?’

  The other man didn’t look at all pleased, she noted. He was a handsome man with sandy-brown hair and light hazel eyes, but he was shorter and more stockily built than Lord Shelton.

  ‘I’m afraid so.’ Shacklesbury tugged at his waistcoat as he too came forward.

  Robert dismissed Quinn’s unimpressed expression. He had informed his friend of his rather interesting night when he met him for breakfast at their favourite coffee shop on Bond Street this morning. When he mentioned he intended to call on the twins, Quinn insisted on coming too.

  He suspected it was because Shacklesbury was as curious as he himself had been last night. Quinn said it was to make sure he behaved.

  Behaved! Ha.

  However, he had not anticipated finding so many other rivals when he arrived in the twin’s parlour. He made quick work of scaring the other men out, in a way only he could, with deliberate threats all veiled under carefully chosen words that even the biggest fool could not have misunderstood.

  ‘Let me introduce you to my friend.’ He walked forward to the two Fleming girls. ‘This is Viscount Shacklesbury, the only man whose opinion I actually listen to. Shacklesbury, these are the Misses Fleming, Arabella, and Isabelle, or left and right, depending. Only don’t ask me which is which, for I have yet to quite figure it out myself.’

  The girls were wearing matching afternoon dresses with a light floral pattern of pink rosebuds, which complimented the blush of their cheeks.

  ‘Not that he ever takes my advice,’ Quinn replied with a smile. ‘I am delighted to meet you both.’

  Robert couldn’t help but smile as well. The girls were charmingly adorable. Still too virginal for his tastes but the whole trip was worth it just to see the look on their faces when they realised what he had done. What he was capable of.

  He could tell Quinn found them as fascinating as he did. His friend was perhaps more circumspect in his appraisal than he tended to be but the man still had eyes and he was definitely looking.

  ‘We are pleased to make your acquaintance, Lord Shacklesbury,’ said one of the girls. It looked like the other girl was still in shock at having the Collector of Hearts in her parlour. He refused to think it was because of Quinn, even though she appeared to be mesmerised by him. It took two tugs on her sleeve from her sister to get her to curtsey.

  He watched them perform for his friend. They were even more enticing this morning than they had been last night. However, because they were so lovely, he’d had to use all his powers of persuasion to get those silly young pups out of their parlour. Quinn had told him he could have been a little kinder about it but, well, he hadn’t wanted to.

  ‘Now all the niceties are over, shall we have tea?’ He flicked his coat-tails out of the way and sat down.

  Arabella stared at Lord Shelton. The audacity of the man. He lounged as if he owned the room, as if he owned the whole house. It was disturbing the way he made himself familiar when they had met only briefly the night before. Even then, they had not been properly introduced.

  ‘Do you mind telling me what is going on here?’

  ‘I believe we are about to have tea and some charming little cakes.’ Lord Shelton eyed the plate of lemon cakes.

  She frowned. ‘Lord Shelton, I’m afraid there has been a mistake.’

  Isabelle nodded as she looked up from pouring the tea.

  ‘Oh?’ Shelton accepted his cup of tea and sat back in his chair, a picture of masculine ease.

  All he needed was a newspaper and a pipe and he could be her father. Although, with the way his eyes were probing her, she dashed the last thought. ‘No, I think, that is, my sister and I, well, we …’

  ‘I think I understand so far, Miss Fleming.’ Lord Shelton never took his eyes off her.

  She tried not to get flustered, she really did, but how did one tell someone he was not welcome when he was making himself so at home?

  ‘Good, because I don’t think my father …’

  He folded his arms, smiling all the while. ‘Yes? Your father?’

  ‘Would approve of you... being here.’ Blast him for making her brain all muddled.

  ‘Most fathers wouldn’t.’ Shacklesbury accepted his cup of tea from Isabelle with a smile which was friendly, unthreatening, and so unlike Lord Shelton’s.

  Isabelle actually blushed. Arabella didn’t have the time or inclination to worry about Lord Shacklesbury right now.

  ‘Miss Arabella, my dear,’ the Collector of Hearts picked up another cake, ‘it matters not whether your father approves. I am here and he is … not.’ He popped the cake in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully while she stood in confusion before him.

  ‘It is obvious you have no intention of courting one of us.’ They all looked at Isabelle, who blushed again.

  ‘Court?’ Shelton laughed. ‘I do not court, Miss Fleming. I am the Collector of Hearts.’

  It was said with a calm that made her want to grab the teapot from Isabelle and pour the contents over his arrogant head.

  A slow grin stole across his face as if he knew what she was contemplating. His whole expression changed into something very dangerous to one’s equilibrium, which didn’t help her already frazzled nerves at all. She grasped the back of a chair for support.

  ‘I really think you should leave.’ She gave him her best glare.

  ‘I really think you should calm yourself and have a cup of tea.’ Lord Shelton returned her regard, seemingly unfazed by her ire. ‘I do, however, admit to being somewhat in a quandary over you two,’ he said with a dramatic sigh. ‘I am, you see, trying very hard not to be greedy.’

  Isabelle put the teapot down a little too loudly and Lord Shacklesbury nervously cleared his throat.

  ‘I beg your pardon? Do you really think either one of us would fall for your tricks?’ Arabella asked.

  The seriousness in Lord Shelton’s expression should have made her run from the room, but she couldn’t move. Pinned as she was by his midnight-blue stare. Though his reputation would suggest it, she did not expect he would be so bold, so blunt as to hint at his wicked intentions out loud.

  ‘Shelton,’ Lord Shacklesbury warned.

  Shelton half turned towards his friend. ‘Did you want me to deceive these fine young ladies, Shacklesbury? Lead them a merry chase? Promise them the sun and the stars?’ He returned his attention to her. ‘Honesty is a virtue. Isn’t that what they say? What do you think, Miss Fleming?’ he inquired, picking up his tea again.

  ‘I think I’d like you to leave. Now!’ She pointed towards the large mahogany door. Her face felt hot with anger but her belly felt the uncertainty of her brave words. She should have known a man of his reputation would behave like a beast, but she would be lying if she didn’t acknowledge something deep within her had been thrilled to see him standing tall and handsome by the window.

  ‘Calm down, Miss Fleming. I am not here to ravish you,’ he countered, standing up.

  Although she should have been relieved at his words, she was sure he would ravish her, and thoroughly, if she had given him the slightest encouragement. He was wearing a dark b
rown jacket over a rich gold-and-fawn waistcoat with tan breeches and Hessians. He looked every inch a gentleman, but she knew he was anything but. He was the worst kind of scoundrel. He was the Collector of Hearts.

  ‘Then why are you here?’

  ‘Curiosity... mostly. Perhaps I am merely trying to help you.’

  ‘And perhaps I am the Queen of Sheba.’

  This made him laugh, which in turn made her quiver from her head to her toes. He was closer to her than he had ever been, even last night. She could see the sparks of silver in his irises. She took in his immaculate dress and overwhelming body size. Even as he brought his body towards her, smiling that damned arrogant smile all the while. Even while her heart sped up so fast it threatened to evacuate her body completely. Even as she inhaled the spicy scent, which wafted over her as he came closer and invaded her senses.

  ‘Time to go,’ Lord Shacklesbury announced from behind them.

  Lord Shelton made no move other than to keep staring at her. It made her shiver and her breath shorten.

  ‘You think every man you meet in a ballroom is going to be a gentleman? That because he brings you flowers it means he has good intentions?’

  She lifted her chin in a show of defiance, because part of her wanted to show him she was not afraid of him.

  ‘Shelton, I really must insist.’

  ‘One moment, Shacklesbury. I am about to impart some much-needed information to Miss Fleming here.’

  ‘I am sure it can wait until another time,’ Isabelle chimed in.

  ‘We do not need such advice from the likes of a man like you, Lord Shelton.’ Arabella wished he would not stand so close to her.

  ‘Indeed, for you are such an expert in the ways of the ton, are you not? It’s all a game, Miss Fleming. And if you don’t know how to play, you will lose.’ Robert watched as she bit her bottom lip. Her cheeks were flushed pink, her lips a tantalising shade of rose, and all without the aid of paint. ‘They are all waiting to deceive you, make a mockery of you, ruin you. Be warned. Do not fall for their flattery and peace offerings. You scold me for being honest but believe me, you will yearn for honesty before the season is through.’