Libertine Lord, Pickpocket Miss
Auteur·e
Bronwyn Scott
Lectures
15,0K
Chapitres
8
Chapter 1
Vienna, 1823
Julian Burke surveyed the glittering ballroom with a predator’s eye. “Who shall it be tonight?” the Viscount St. Just murmured quietly beside him. The other two gentlemen with him laughed knowingly.
In the months Julian had been in Vienna, the routine of seeking out a lively partner had become a weekly, sometimes nightly ritual. His reputation as a libertine was firmly established and the women didn’t seem to mind. Vienna was a city bursting with energy, drawing people from all over Europe to its ballrooms and palaces. Exciting places drew exciting people. Wallflowers and virtuous debutantes did not populate this crowd with any great regularity.
Julian rather liked these continental women. They were mature. They understood the rules of the game. They accepted the fact that affairs ran their course, and expected nothing more.
Julian’s gaze passed over the ballroom again, lighting on the figure he’d been visually pursuing all evening. Time and again, he’d come back to her; his eyes were drawn to her movements on the dance floor, the saucy tilt of her head and her easy smile. “That one, St. Just.” He nodded in the woman’s direction.
“Ah,” Valerian Inglemoore, Viscount St. Just offered approvingly. “She’s very beautiful, very vivacious it seems. I have noticed her too. She is also younger than your usual sort, Burke.”
The other two gentlemen, Truesdale and Mathison, eyed her appreciatively. “Good choice, Burke,” Truesdale said, lifting his preposterous quizzing glass. “She’s quite lovely. I don’t see how I missed her.”
Mathison elbowed him. “You were too busy looking at the brunette on the other side of the room.”
Julian clapped St. Just on the back. “I am off to conquer the fair maid’s heart. I’d ask you to wish me luck but I won’t need it. I will be on the dance floor with her in ten minutes.”
St. Just raised an eyebrow at his friend’s cocky farewell. “You don’t have a place on her dance card.”
“A minor technicality.” Julian shrugged. “I will give you gentlemen good-night. I doubt I’ll be seeing you again this evening.”
“Be careful, Burke,” St. Just replied as Julian melted into the crowd.
Julian squared his shoulders and began to work his way to the woman’s side. He would be careful tonight. He’d been right when he’d said he wouldn’t need any luck. Tonight was all about acting on the planning he’d done during the last several weeks. St. Just knew, as the others didn’t, that his true purpose in Vienna was to reclaim for England a diamond jewel set currently in the hands of the evening’s host, a French comte. The jewels were upstairs in a safe. But he couldn’t go haring upstairs without making his presence known downstairs first. That’s why he’d picked the lively young woman.
Everyone, except Truesdale obviously, had noticed her. Her smile alone would have drawn people to her. Her entire being radiated a certain magnetic joie de vivre. The fact that she was positively beautiful was simply an added benefit. There was no question in Julian’s mind that this lovely creature broke hearts on a nightly basis wherever she went. Of course, his heart was in no danger. She was welcome to work her wiles if she liked, but in the end, all he wanted from her was one dance, enough to get him noticed so that when and if the hue and cry went up about the missing jewels, people would only remember he’d spent the evening dancing if they connected him to the incident at all.
Julian approached the little group she was with as the orchestra struck up a waltz. “Mademoiselle, I believe this dance is mine.” Up close, her beauty was breathtaking, Julian noted objectively. Her hair, the color of pale gold, and the smooth ivory sheen of her skin gave her the look of a fairy princess straight from a child’s book of tales.
A look of confusion flitted briefly across her heart-shaped face. She scanned her dance card. “I believe you’re mistaken, monsieur. I have elected to sit this one out.” Her tone was gracious, but something in her eyes did not match the politeness of her rejection. Those sharp green eyes were not the eyes of a delicate princess. They were a hoyden’s eyes, and right now they were dancing with mischief, challenging him. He would answer that challenge with one of his own.
“Perhaps you were just waiting for the right partner. Please, the music awaits.” How fortuitous. This dance was empty, the only dance not spoken for, although it struck him as odd that she would sit out the waltz. Julian offered her his arm, reissuing his challenge. This time, she took it.
Julian swung them on the floor, marveling at the way she felt in his arms. His hand fit smoothly at the small of her back and she let him draw her to him as if they weren’t strangers. He liked the Viennese style of waltzing better than the version danced in England. Holding a woman so close, feeling her reactions as they moved from contrachecks to fleckerls, he could tell if she was worth bedding. This one definitely would be, Julian reflected, guiding them through a passing change at high speeds.
She laughed up at him, enjoying the moment. “You dance very well, Julian Burke.”
Ah, so she knew him. “My reputation precedes me. I fear you have me at a grave disadvantage, miss.”
She laughed again; if sunlight had a sound, it would be this. “Of course I have you at a disadvantage. A woman’s reputation should never precede her.”
Julian smiled at her sharp rejoinder. She was beautiful and witty. It was definitely too bad he didn’t have time to seduce her. His body wanted to argue that point. His eyes kept straying to the sweep of her décolletage and the high, firm breasts it put on display to their best advantage. In the dance, those breasts were just two tempting inches from his chest. In his mind, he could imagine the weight of them in his palms with alarming accuracy. His hand at her waist could feel the feminine indentation and the soft flare of her hip beneath her layers of clothing. The beginnings of an arousal were starting to stir, and he knew from long years of experience they would be magnificent together.
“You can put aside whatever lascivious thoughts you may be entertaining behind that smile, Mr. Burke,” his light-footed angel said bluntly. “You cannot seduce me. I will not be another of your conquests.”
“Are you certain?” Julian saw no reason to apologize or to lie, although he was stunned she’d found him to be so transparent in his thoughts. His partner was clearly up to the task of managing him, which in itself was a novelty. He pulled her even closer, until her body was flush with his, and whispered in her ear, “Why don’t you let me try and we’ll see if you’re right?”
An English debutante would have slapped him across the face and stalked off the dance floor, but the woman in his arms merely laughed as if he’d said something humorous.
“How, precisely, would you go about it then, Mr. Burke?”
The cheeky vixen! It was all Julian could do not to throw back his head and laugh in the most conspicuous way. Julian could not remember when he’d been so utterly enchanted with a woman. He wanted to flirt with her simply to see what she’d do next. And she wanted him to. In spite of her claims to the contrary, she was intrigued by him.
Julian still held her close. He took advantage of that proximity now. “I would start with strawberries and champagne beneath a spring moon on a clear night,” he whispered huskily. “I would slide this gown of yours off your arms and down to your waist. I would lay you on a blanket of softest wool and let you revel in the sensation of the wool at your back and the light spring breeze playing across your naked breasts before taking them in my warm palms, in my mouth.”
When he paused, waiting to gauge her reaction to his boldness, part of him expected her to be scandalized at such talk. No part of him had expected her to simply look up at him and say, “And? Surely there is more than that to your seduction, Mr. Burke.”
Julian gave her a dark look. “My dear, this is but a sample. Anticipation, not expectation, is the essence of any sensual encounter. To tell you everything would give you nothing to look forward to.”
She was about to respond when the dance came to an end and with it, the end to the magic they’d woven between them. It was time to go to work, but Julian pushed aside thoughts of the task. The diamonds were in a safe. They could wait a few more minutes. Perhaps he could at least steal a kiss for pleasure and for purpose. His minx needed a quick lesson in playing with fire. “Would you like a glass of champagne?” Julian solicited, moving them toward the veranda and the privacy of the night.
She looked up at him with her green eyes, her whole face shining with enjoyment. “Champagne would be perfect. Shall I wait for you outside?”
Julian grinned. He couldn’t have planned it better himself. He found a footman with a tray and grabbed two glasses, congratulating himself on a quick mission. He’d feared the time it would take to wend his way to the refreshment room. Those congratulations were short-lived, however. When he returned to the veranda, it was empty. There was no sign of his lovely partner. She’d given him the slip. It was then that Julian realized she hadn’t given him her name.
Omens didn’t get any clearer than that. Julian swallowed his champagne in a single draft. His mysterious dance partner had played the role he needed. He’d been noticed on the floor. Apparently that was all he was going to get from her. Now it was time to get to work.
