Stranger in My Arms(57)

A well turned-out, utterly civilized man, one would think at first glance… but on closer inspection, there was something exotic and mysterious about him.

As she stared at him, she experienced a moment of doubt that frightened her.

He must be her husband, she told herself. He had the unmistakable look of the Crosslands. Besides, no stranger could have come this far, fooling Hunter’s friends and family and his own wife, and daring to present himself to the ton tonight… It went beyond audacity. It bordered on insanity. He must be Hunter.

Floundering in sudden anxiety, Lara could not look at him. “Very presentable,” she said, her voice brittle and light. He came to her, touched her, his fingers sweeping over her bare upper arm, tracing the edge of her neckline, stopping at the high curve of her left breast.

Lara couldn’t stop the wild ascent of her heartbeat, the uncontrollable response that made her want to press her entire body against his. She held still, quivering slightly with the effort, baffled and yearning and alarmed.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” she heard him say.

“More beautiful than anyone or anything on earth.” He leaned closer, and she felt his mouth at her temple. “You need more pearls with this gown, at your neck, waist, wrists… Someday I’ll cover you with them.”

Lara’s hands fluttered at her sides. She wanted to rest them on him, touch him, but she clenched her fists to keep them still. The diamond ring had turned around on her finger, the rose-cut stone nestling tightly in her palm. “You don’t have to give me jewelry,” she said.

“I’ll give you half of England before I’m through.

I’ll build back our fortune ten times over, you’ll have everything you’ve ever wanted. Jewels… land … a dozen houses filled with orphans.”

Lara looked up into his teasing dark eyes, and to her relief, the shadow of doubt faded. She was still nervous, of course, hoping that the plan to divert him tonight would work, but the other matter… the suspicion over his identity… suddenly seemed ridiculous.

“Twelve orphans is all I’m asking for,” she said.

“Although I want the orphanage enlarged sufficiently to accommodate twice that number. I have no doubt we’ll easily find children to fill the extra places.”

Hunter smiled and shook his head. “God help anyone who stands in your way. Including me.” He fingered one of the pearls in her hair and smoothed his fingertips over the shining braid. “Why have you become so passionate about children?” he murmured.

“Is it because you’re barren?”

Strange, that the word that had once wounded so deeply had now lost its power to hurt. In a way, Hunter’s matter-of-factness seemed to absolve her of the guilt and unhappiness she had once felt. The barrenness was not her fault, and yet she had always felt responsible. “I don’t know,” she replied. “It’s just that there are so many children who need someone to help them. And if I can’t be a mother, I can at least be a sort of benefactress.”

Hunter stood back and stared at her, his eyes so clear and deep that cinnamon lights seemed to flicker in the coffee-colored irises. “You remember what happens at one o’clock,” he said quietly, with no taunting or mockery.

Lara’s stomach seemed to flip, her nerves thrilling unpleasantly. She managed a slight nod, her chin dipping a half inch: It seemed that he wanted to say something else, but the instinct to let well enough alone kept him silent. He returned her nod with a wary one of his own, and Lara realized that he expected her to welsh on the bargain. The thought interested her-what would he do if she simply refused to sleep with him?

Would he be angry, demanding, sullen? Would he try to seduce her, ravish her, or simply wash his hands of her? * * * Carriages lined the long drive leading to Hawksworth Hall, while crowds of servants and footmen worked with smooth efficiency to convey the members of the ton from the vehicles to the entrance hall.

Lara and Hunter stood together, greeting and exchanging pleasantries with each new arrival. Hunter performed his duties with competent charm, but Lara was aware of a tension in him, a reined-in impatience that betrayed his longing to be elsewhere.

The ballroom and surrounding halls echoed with conversation and laughter, as guests exchanged witticisms with well-oiled ease. They swarmed around the row of heavily laden buffet tables, filling china plates with cold meats, puddings, eggs stuffed with caviar, pastries and salads, exotic fruits and marzipan sweets. The uncorking of wine and champagne bottles provided a steady staccato beneath the rapturous hum of the guests, while lilting music drifted from the musicians’ bower in the ballroom.

“Lovely!” Rachel exclaimed, joining Lara when she was finally able to move freely among the guests. It occurred to Lara that her sister had lost weight recently. Her fine bones were too prominent. Even so, Rachel was exceptionally pretty, her skin like rich milk, her eyes a swirling mixture of green, brown, and gold. The dark amber silk of her gown draped softly over her slender figure, its scalloped folds barely covering the little gold sandals on her feet.

Lara was amused to note that more than a few men were staring openly at her sister, despite the fact that she was a married woman. Of course, the so-called gentlemen of the ton were rarely fazed by such insignificant matters as marriage vows. She herself was receiving a few admiring glances, though she ignored them coolly. The men who cast flirtatious comments and glances at her now were the same ones who had avoided her like the plague when she had been a poverty-stricken widow.