No Earls Allowed (The Survivors #2)(102)

Rafe tried to place the woman’s voice. He thought she might be the wife of Lord Chesterton. She was young, far too young for Chesterton, who was his father’s contemporary. Rafe might think Chesterton a fool for marrying a woman young enough to be his daughter, but that didn’t mean he wanted to cuckold the man.

“There you are!” she said, just as the light from a candle illuminated the cloakroom.

Rafe squinted and held up a hand, even as he realized the small, crowded room offered no opportunity for escape.

“You found me,” he said, giving her a forced smile. “Now it is your turn to hide. I shall count to one hundred.”

“Oh, no!” She moved closer, her skirts brushing against his legs. “I found you, and I want to claim my prize.”

“Your prize?” he asked in mock surprise. He knew exactly what she wanted for a prize. “What might that be? A waltz at midnight? A kiss on the hand?” He moved closer to her, forcing her backward.

She bumped against the wall of the room, and he put a hand out to brace himself while he gazed down at her.

“I’d like a kiss,” she said breathlessly as she looked up at him. “But somewhere far more interesting than my hand.”

“More interesting, you say?” He leaned close to her, tracing his free hand along her jaw and down the length of her neck. “Close your eyes, then, and I will kiss you.” His fingers traced the swell of her breasts, and with a quick intake of breath, she closed her eyes. Rafe blew out the candle, plunging them both into darkness. He leaned forward, brushed his lips across her cheek, and then bolted.

As he slipped into the servants’ stairway, he heard her call after him. “Rafe! Play fair.”

“Never,” he murmured and climbed the steps with deliberate motions. Perhaps he could use the servants’ corridors to find another staircase that would lead him out of the hall. He reached a landing, turned a corner, and Lady Willowridge smiled down at him, the plume in her turban shaking with her excitement.

“Looking for someone?” she asked in her smoky voice.

Rafe took her hand and kissed it. “You, my lady. Always you.”

She was the last person he wanted to see. She was a widow and had claws as sharp as any tiger. Once she sank her nails into him, she would not let go.

When he lifted his hand, she yanked him toward her. She was uncommonly strong for a woman, he thought as he attempted not to stomp on her slippered feet. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and tilting her head back so he could feel the diamonds in her coiffure against his hands, she offered her mouth.

Rafe rolled his eyes. He could simply kiss her, but he’d been in this position before, and she’d tasted like tobacco and stale coffee. Why not give her a little thrill and give himself a reprieve?

Rafe slid his arms along hers, lifted her hands over his head, and spun her around. She gave a little squeak when he pressed her against the wall, pushing his own body against hers and leaning down to whisper in her ear, “Do you want to play a little game, my lady?”

She tried to nod, but her cheek was plastered to the wall. “Oh, yes,” she said, her breath coming fast.

“Do you feel my hand here?” He touched the small of her back.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Close your eyes and imagine where I will touch you next.” His hand slid over her buttocks.

She closed her eyes.

Rafe stepped back. “No peeking.”

And he took the rest of the stairs two at a time and burst into the servants’ corridor. A footman carrying a tray of wineglasses raised his brows, but Rafe wasted no time on explanations. “Where is the exit?”

“To the ballroom, sir?”

“Dear God, man. No!” Rafe looked over his shoulder to make sure Lady Willowridge had not come for him yet. “To the street. Preferably a back alley.”

“You just came from that exit, sir.”

“There must be another.”

“No, sir.”

“Rafe Beaumont!” He heard Lady Willowridge’s footfalls on the staircase. Panicked, he grabbed the servant’s coat.

“Ballroom! Quickly!”

“Through there.”

Rafe pushed on the panel and stumbled into the assembly rooms, where an orchestra was playing a waltz. Men and women twirled under the lights of the crystal chandeliers while the tinkling of laughter and champagne glasses accompanied the music.

A girl seated against the wall next to the panel gasped. “Mr. Beaumont!”

Rafe looked at the wallflower and then at the door he’d come through. It would not be long before Lady Willowridge deduced where he had gone.

“Dance?” he asked the wallflower.

She blushed prettily, then gave him her hand. He led her onto the floor and proceeded to turn her about in time to the music. After a minute or two, Rafe let out a sigh of relief. Why had he not thought of dancing with wallflowers before? They were unmarried and therefore relatively safe, not to mention he enjoyed dancing. He could dance all night. He could dance with every wallflower in atten—

Rafe’s eyes widened and he met the wallflower’s gaze directly. “Miss…uh?”

“Vincent,” she answered sweetly. “Miss Caroline Vincent.”

“Miss Vincent, your hand has apparently wandered to my…er, backside.”