Collector of Hearts Page 5

  To make matters worse, he’d not seen the girls at any of the gatherings he’d attended this week either, and he had looked. He’d nearly got eyestrain from looking. He should have known they would attend musicales and small more intimate gatherings in order to avoid him.

  He had found it mildly amusing, at first, that they were trying to avoid him at all. Until, that is, he realised they were successfully doing so. This was most annoying. He’d even sat in a hackney for an hour this morning waiting for them to emerge from their townhouse. He had followed them about while they shopped. Then slipped back to their lodgings and harassed a poor maid into finding out what the young ladies’ plans were for this evening.

  He looked at Arabella now. Her beauty had grown tenfold in five days. By now he would have had a woman teetering on the edge, usually in his bed, or hers. But this was different. She was different. For some reason, he needed to make a point with her, stubborn little chit that she was. He was used to getting what he wanted in the time frame he dictated. But, he had to remind himself, Miss Fleming was no lonely married lady and this was not his usual game. And so his tactics must be different.

  Earlier in the day he’d had the devil of a time convincing Quinn to even come with him tonight.

  ‘I must know what your plan is.’ Quinn was persistent in his questioning; Robert had to give him that.

  ‘It’s really rather simple. I’ll let her play her game to the point where she concedes the game to me and then...’

  ‘And then?’

  Robert smiled. ‘I’ll heroically let her go. She will be ever so grateful to me for the lessons learnt.’

  Quinn frowned and pulled at his waistcoat, as he was apt to do in times of unease.

  ‘I never said it was the most gallant plan, but virgins are off the menu. You know that.’ Quinn didn’t look convinced. ‘Cheer up, Shacklesbury. It’s a good plan. I’m good at this, remember?’

  ‘And Isabelle?’

  ‘Ah, the fair Isabelle.’ Robert made a fuss of sighing before saying, ‘She holds no appeal to me.’

  ‘And you will not seduce either of them?’

  Robert used his finger to draw a cross over his heart. ‘I promise.’

  Quinn exhaled a breath. ‘I will be keeping you to that promise.’

  ‘Of course. To the opera then?’

  Quinn smiled as he nodded. ‘To the opera.’

  Now, as the intermission loomed, he had to decide on how he would get a moment alone with Arabella. It would be tricky. The theatre was packed tonight, but he was confident that opportunity would not let him down.

  He’d noticed Lord Tremaine was not present; interestingly enough, Lord Tremaine was beginning to intrigue him more and more. It was unusual for a father to leave his beautiful virginal daughters with only their mother for protection. Not that he was complaining, but still, it was odd.

  He and Quinn waited until the curtain descended for refreshment. The hordes filtered out of the boxes to then loiter in the hallways and on the stairs.

  ‘We should go over and make our greetings.’

  ‘You go.’

  Quinn turned and looked at him inquiringly. ‘And what will you be doing?’

  Robert grinned. ‘Observing.’

  Quinn narrowed his eyes at Robert for a moment.

  Robert lifted a brow.

  Quinn sighed dramatically before he walked off towards Lady Tremaine and her daughters.

  Robert watched Quinn bow firstly to Isabelle and Arabella and then to their mother and Lady Franklin as he was introduced. Isabelle’s joy was clear but Arabella had a slight frown on her brow as she looked around the crowded vestibule. Was she looking for him?

  A group of young ladies lured her away to the refreshment table. He watched her smile, laugh and sip from her glass. She was distracted though, not giving her companions her full attention. Her eyes did not stray far from her sister. This was his chance. He ducked and weaved through the crowd towards her.

  When she saw him, her eyes grew large. She looked around, no doubt trying to decide the quickest way back to her sister and mother. He changed pace to stroll casually towards her and he knew he had her when she stepped around a refreshment table and behind a marble pillar. He was there before she even got to the stairs. The pillar provided some privacy but his little quarry was not happy.

  ‘Go away,’ she hissed at him. As far as salutations were concerned it wasn’t the worst he’d had hurled at him, but perhaps the bluntest. Moving further towards the corner, she pretended to be fascinated by the veins in the marble pillar.

  Robert kept his distance, his smile easy on his lips. ‘Oh, but I can’t. Not now.’

  Miss Fleming must have realised her position and changed tack, for she turned towards him with narrowed eyes and lifted her chin. ‘Why are you here, Lord Shelton? I would not have thought you an admirer of the arts. The artists, perhaps... In which case, are you not in the wrong place?’ Her tone was low and mocking. ‘I believe backstage is where you will find them at this time.’

  He chuckled softly. ‘How very perceptive of you, Miss Fleming, but such cheap bedfellows are not really to my taste.’ He moved further into the space behind the pillar.

  ‘Not innocent enough for you, my lord?’ Her words as tart as a lemon.

  He raised a brow. ‘It is not your innocence I am attracted to. If anything, it’s a damn nuisance. But I see you are determined not to heed my advice of last week.’

  ‘I do not recall any advice.’

  ‘Oh, yes you do. I saw those men trot in and out of your parlour every day. If only you could hear the things they say, Miss Fleming. Your delicate little ears would be all aflame.’ He smiled at her gasp. ‘I assure you, continue as you are and you may as well lay yourself bare for them to feast upon.’

  ‘Do not be ridiculous. I will never submit to your charms.’

  Charms? ‘I may be a scoundrel, Miss Fleming, but let me be clear. I am most selective when it comes to guests in my bedchamber and I don’t believe I have invited you... yet.’

  Miss Fleming looked like she wanted to choke him. It was glorious.

  She looked around her before hissing. ‘You have no right to talk to me in such a way. You are the most vulgar and obscene man I have ever met.’ She turned away from him.

  Tut, tut, tut, Miss Fleming never turn your back on danger. Unless of course, she thought him no threat. In which case, she was deluding herself. Was she hoping he would leave? A few insults would not put him off.

  He was aware of their surroundings though and kept his voice low. ‘Have you been consulting your dictionary, my dear? Vulgar and obscene are such nasty words for a young lady.’

  She twisted back towards him with a flourish. ‘Yes, actually. Under Shelton, and imagine what other words I found there?’ she asked with a mocking smile.

  Robert’s body reacted almost violently and he became acutely aware of a tightening in his trousers. Arabella was so very appealing when she was annoyed.

  ‘I am just bursting with anticipation,’ He replied, his eyes moving to her heaving décolletage. Good Lord! Blinking rapidly, he tried to concentrate and clear the haze of desire that had taken over his eyesight, not to mention the rest of him. By God, this business was getting out of hand. Such a reaction to a woman had not happened to him in an age. He was at an opera with hundreds of people around them, but had she given him the slightest encouragement he would have pulled her into his arms and kissed her breathless.

  ‘Seducer, philanderer, debaucher, and libertine, to name but a few,’ she spilled forth with venom.

  Robert pulled his gaze away from her fierce expression with a smile at her inventiveness. She had tilted her chin nearly to the ceiling. Arabella’s rapier-edged tongue only made him want to duel intimately with it—with his own. Her eyes flashed with displeasure as she waited for his response. He wasn’t surprised to find himself smiling, for she certainly had spirit and wasn’t willing to back down. He admired that; he admired nearly
everything about her. He found her refreshing too, in an annoying kind of way.

  ‘Oh, I am impressed. How on earth did you know they were my middle names?’ He grinned, feeling like he had just trumped her at cards. It felt like a victory, however minute.

  For a moment, Arabella forgot to breathe. There was something in his smile, in his almost playful manner, in his eyes. He was enjoying himself. At her expense! His smouldering cockiness emitted a primal message from his body to hers. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to brush that lock of hair back in place or hit him very hard. She resisted the urge to do either in such a confined space. It only made her even angrier with him. ‘I want you—’

  ‘Splendid,’ he interrupted. ‘I knew you would come to your senses eventually.’

  ‘What? No! I want you to go and leave me alone!’ She pointed over his shoulder.

  ‘Have you always been so contrary?’

  She growled in frustration and crushed the delicate material of her gown between her fingers. ‘Leave, before I am forced to look for assistance,’ she warned.

  ‘Under one condition, my fair Miss Fleming.’

  ‘There are no conditions to which I would acquiesce when it comes to you, Lord Shelton!’ Her polite facade was slipping fast. But who was she really angry at, him or herself? Her tone was getting higher and more distressed by the second and she had no wish to be in the scandal sheets. Or have her father put in a position where he would have to defend her honour. She’d seen her father shoot before and she was sadly confident Shelton would kill him with ease.

  ‘All I’m asking for is one dance at the next ball. I can’t do much damage there, can I? You can practice your unique version of flirting while keeping your partner’s toes intact.’ His look was boyish and expectant.

  Something inside her tingled. It curled and spun within her, expanding and spreading through her whole body like a fever. What was happening to her? She tried to keep the strange feeling under control. She could not let him see how he affected her.

  Arabella pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. She didn’t trust him, but if it would get him away from her right now, she would do it. If he stayed much longer she wasn’t sure what she would do, but whether she kicked him or kissed him, neither was a good thing so she had to get him away, and quickly.

  ‘All right, one dance,’ she conceded.

  Shelton grinned stepping back and away from her. ‘Good girl,’ he said.

  Arabella didn’t dare look up to his eyes so she looked at his chin. She could see the shadow of his beard and the lips that tugged up at the corners. A pulling sensation made her take a step closer to him. His buttons came into focus and she blinked to clear her head. Looking up, she found his eyes burning into her very being. Such beautiful, deep-blue eyes. Her heart started thumping even more wildly in her chest and goosebumps appeared on her arms. Surprised by her body’s reaction to him, she gasped. He seemed to be coming closer.

  His breath was warm and smelt faintly of some kind of liquor she wasn’t able to identify. She closed her eyes then opened them again, blinking rapidly, but did not look up at him, embarrassed by her behaviour.

  ‘Until our dance, Miss Fleming.’ He bowed, turned on his heel and left.

  Arabella watched him disappear into the crowd, whose voices now seemed so loud in her ears. Peering around the pillar she saw Isabelle still standing with their mother and Lord Shacklesbury, the three of them in deep conversation.

  Arabella took a breath. She had been so confident of getting rid of Shelton for good, and now? Now she felt like she might never get rid of him. She should have slapped him. That had been her plan, hadn’t it? She couldn’t have, of course, not in the middle of such a crowded room. He had manipulated her nicely; not only had he procured the promise of a dance but had made a fool out of her as well. Her heart was still racing.

  Damn you, Robert Mallory!

  ‘Please, join us,’ Lady Tremaine said to Lord Shacklesbury as Arabella rejoined them at last. ‘The company of a gentleman such as yourself would really round off our evening. You must say you will.’

  ‘Well, if you insist.’ Shacklesbury made pains to offer his arm to their mother and their little party ascended the stairs together.

  Arabella had been distracted as they mounted the stairs, but upon taking their seat she smiled. Having Shacklesbury with them left Shelton all by himself, which was just as he deserved. She purposely avoided looking across the theatre but could just picture him frothing at the mouth when he realised they had quite literally stolen Shacklesbury for themselves.

  Frothing didn’t come even close to what was coming out of Robert’s mouth. He was seething. The buoyancy he had felt after his conversation with Arabella soon deflated to the consistency of a flat balloon at Vauxhall Gardens. How dare Quinn take advantage of a situation Robert had set up? And it had taken a good few hours too. Quinn had helped not one whit and yet, there he was, reaping the rewards. He deserved to be horsewhipped, the bastard.

  Robert looked again through his glasses at the group as they laughed and sipped their champagne. Isabelle smiled up at Quinn in admiration and he noticed Arabella kept touching him on the sleeve, pointing out things on the stage. Good God! What was going on here? This was definitely not how he had envisioned this night to be. Arabella was supposed to be touching him like that, not bloody Quinn!

  He should have left, saved himself the agony, but he didn’t. Instead, he stayed for the whole thing, whilst torturing himself by staring at them exclusively until they had left their box. He imagined he would have a chance to interrogate Quinn in the carriage on the way home, but after waiting a half hour in the cold it became obvious his friend had accompanied the ladies home and any interrogating would have to wait until tomorrow.

  Chapter 5

  Arabella would be his.

  The window was much higher than he thought, although the trellis he was climbing seemed quite sturdy. He would soon be at her window and then he would take her in his arms and kiss her like he wanted. The night would not be a total failure after all.

  He felt like Romeo climbing up to his Juliet. He looked down and saw that he was wearing, for some reason, purple tights, which weren’t at all his colour. They made his legs look rather skinny and pathetic. And they itched. Why was he even wearing them?

  The pale-yellow light from the window above beckoned him like a siren’s song. Every muscle in his body strained as he attempted to climb faster.

  Hand over hand, up the ivy trellis he went. Her window was close now. Soon he would be accepted into the warm and inviting arms of Miss Arabella Fleming. He had wanted her from the beginning and now she would be his. She would find he was capable of not only playing the game, but winning it too.

  He reached the windowsill and pulled himself up to look in. The room looked suitably feminine from this vantage, with pretty silk wallpaper and dainty furniture.

  He felt a frown form between his brows. Where could she be?

  Ah, in bed. He smiled then.

  He shoved at the window. It wouldn’t budge.

  He banged on the window frame but she slept on.

  His fury intensified. This was not happening, not to him. He was the Collector of Hearts!

  He roared his anger through the glass and used all his might to thump at the window, but his voice held no volume and his fists no weight. None of this made sense. What was happening?

  The trellis began to tremble.

  His footing gave way...

  Robert lurched up in his bed. Sweat drenched his body. His breath came in great heaving gulps as if he actually had just climbed up a bloody trellis. What the hell was that? Not a dream. A nightmare.

  Bloody, bloody hell! Granted, she wasn’t exactly his, but … Calm yourself, man, it was just a dream. Just a nonsensical, impossible, ridiculous dream.

  He wiped a hand over his damp face and looked around him. Yes, he was in his bed and it was still not dawn. He looked down at his bare legs. Thank the Lord, they
were still well developed and hairy and … his.

  Why would he have such a strange dream and why of all things had he been wearing purple tights? He shook his head but the discomfort of the dream remained, etched into his mind, like a bad tattoo.

  This situation was getting more ludicrous by the day. Quinn seemed to have managed to snaffle the affections of the Fleming women, even their mother, at the opera. Something had to be done, but what?

  Robert got up, naked as the day he was born, and surveyed his bed. It was well rumpled. Blankets and sheets every which way, but for no good reason, which only irked him even more.

  It was far too early to go banging on Shacklesbury’s door. So he was going to partake of some very strong coffee and an egg and then go horseriding in the park to rid himself of some of this tension. After he would go to Quinn’s to get an explanation for last night’s defection. He hoped for his friend’s sake it was good.

  ***

  The frigid, frosty temperatures of last week had given way to a mild morning of hazy sunshine and shape-shifting clouds. Robert was in no mood to appreciate the scenery of Hyde Park or the ever-changing sky.

  His head was consumed with all manner of disturbing things, even more so than usual. He let Galahad have his head until the poor beast was exhausted. Robert guided his faithful steed off Rotten Row and began to walk him back to the gates.

  He’d ridden for hours and yet it had accomplished nothing, other than to give him a headache. Or perhaps it was the result of his cravat nearly choking him, no doubt his valet’s revenge for the early rising. He briefly considered going home and back to bed, but the thought of going there alone was not one that he particularly wished to make a reality.

  Robert let his horse meander where it willed while he gazed lazily from under the brim of his hat at the passers-by.