Page 28 of Her Sort of Scoundrel
If he returned home, he suspected sleep wouldn’t come easily if at all.
But it was what he should do. It was what the honorable, scandal-free man he’d vowed to become would do.
He hailed a hansom, and a horse and driver stopped at the curb in front of him a moment later. Dash looked up at the cabbie to shout his address to the man, and his throat felt rusty as he took a breath to utter the words.
“The Helix Club,” he called up instead and then climbed into the carriage.
Apparently, Fiona was right. He was an impulsive man.
* * *
The young manhad marvelous fingers and eyes like dark, rich honey, but Fiona couldn’t dispel the feeling that this had been a mistake.
She’d come to this club on a few occasions. It was a unique establishment that welcomed ladies and gentlemen alike—all seeking discreet, uncomplicated companionship for an evening. She knew many came seeking lovers, but such a goal was not a requirement.
Tonight, Fiona had come because she could not dispel the knot of frustration after her encounter with Dash at the department store. She’d been a fool to give in to her feelings, her urge to touch her mouth to his.
She’d done precisely what she’d vowed to herself she would not do, and there was nothing worse than feeling she could not trust herself.
So she’d come out tonight, seeking relief from the humming need inside her. Not necessarily a lover, but a man she could talk to, touch, perhaps kiss. A kiss to wipe away the memory of Dash’s heated breath against her skin.
The young man sitting down thigh to thigh with her on a brocade settee had caught her eye the moment she’d stepped inside the lush club. Blond and stocky, he was everything Dash was not, but still pleasing to the eye.When he’d noticed her watching him, her cheeks had flushed. Not with shame for her bold perusal but because she’d recognized him as Paul Elliston, the son of a nobleman who’d been friends with her late husband.
She’d turned away, not wanting another encounter she might regret, but he’d pursued her to the settee she’d chosen. Once they’d begun conversing, she’d found his flirtation amusing. A pleasant distraction if nothing else.
He made the wild claim he could read palms, though she suspected it was a flimflam that would allow him to touch her. Now, as he traced what he claimed was her “life line” across the stretch of her palm, she noted the appealing length and shape of his fingers. The warmth of his touch, the pressure not too light nor too hard.
But it ignited nothing in her more than an acknowledgement that an attractive young man was touching her in a seductive way. Inside herself, she felt no temptation to give in. Only a sense of disappointment that she was here with him rather than anyplace else with Dash.
“Were you planning to meet someone here tonight?” Paul asked her in a bemused tone.
“I don’t know what I was looking for,” Fiona told him honestly. She’d been in a restless mood and had felt drawn to the club.“Well, I’m glad you’re here.” Elliston turned her hand, then bent his head and brushed his lips across her knuckles.
It all felt wrong. He was attractive, patient, and yet persistent, and yet it all felt wrong. She pulled her hand from his grip.
“Would you excuse me for a moment?” She stood without waiting for the young man’s reply. She’d promised him nothing, and he acknowledged that with the tilt of his head.
Fiona made her way to a quiet room set aside for those who simply wished to nurse a drink or have a moment away from the noise of the main club floor. In the room’s low light and private cubbies, one could find a moment of peace, or a moment of pleasure if one did it quietly.
Fiona just needed to take a few breaths and clear her head. In truth, now that she was away from Elliston, she longed to go home. Even if she’d spend all night wondering if Dash felt as miserable and restless as she did. Once she’d decided, she made her way back out to the main salon, offered Elliston a departing wave, and headed for the door.
Then she heard a voice she could never mistake and froze.
From across the room, through the din of various conversations, she heard Dash’s low gravelly voice say, “Not this evening.”
Fiona knew she should go. He had as much right to be here, to seek some relief from the desire they’d stoked in each other, as she did.
But her feet wouldn’t obey, and her head seemed to turn off its own volition.
And all she could see was the emerald green of his eyes. He was looking back at her, and somehow the crowd in the club had thinned so that it felt as if they were the only two people in the room.
Fiona held her breath, unsure if she should sprint for the door or approach him.
He made the decision for her, standing up from the chair where he’d been seated next to a voluptuous red-headed beauty and striding straight toward her.
“Dash,” she whispered when he was but a few steps away, but he didn’t stop, didn’t hesitate. His determined stride eating up the space between them, he approached and reached for her wrist, and moved past her, tugging her along with him.
He led her back toward the room she’d exited and scanned for an empty cove. A half circle space, surrounded by a plum velvet drape stood empty, and Fiona followed him there.
