Kisses and Scandal (A Survivors Series Anthology ) - Shana Galen Page 0,111
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.”
She smiled prettily. “I know. It is wonderfully round and firm.”
Christ, he was doomed. If her father did not kill him, one of the ladies he’d abandoned—he spotted both Lady Willowridge and Lady Chesterton scowling at him—would.
Rafe danced toward Phineas, catching his eye and giving him a pleading look. Phineas merely glared back at him, his expression clear: You wanted this ball.
What had he been thinking?
Miss Vincent squeezed his arse, and he nearly yelped.
“Would you prefer to find somewhere more private?” she asked, fluttering her lashes.
Rafe was always surprised at how many women actually fluttered their lashes and thought they looked appealing. To him, it always looked as if they had something stuck in their eyes.
“No,” he answered.
Dear God, would this waltz never end? Just then, he spotted Lieutenant Colonel Draven.
Draven never came to these sorts of affairs. He’d probably come tonight because three members of his troop were in attendance. He spotted Rafe and gave a grudging nod of understanding when he spotted Rafe’s predicament. Rafe gave his former commanding officer a look of entreaty as he turned Miss Vincent one last time and separated from her as the music ended. He bowed, prepared to promenade her about the room. He might take bets on who would kill him first—herfurious father, the irritated Lady Willowridge, the abandoned Lady Chesterton, or the icy Mrs. Howe. He’d forgotten that he’d left her in the supper room.
“Excuse me, miss. I do not mean to interrupt, but I must claim Mr. Beaumont for just a moment.”
Draven put a hand on Rafe’s shoulder and pulled him away from Miss Vincent. Draven didn’t wait for her response. His word was an order and always had been.
Draven led Rafe away, and Rafe tried to walk as though he had not a care in the world instead of running for his life. Draven steered Rafe through the assembly rooms, past numerous ladies who would have stopped him if Draven hadn’t looked so formidable.
The lieutenant colonel led Rafe down the stairs, past a row of liveried footman, out the door, and into a waiting hackney.
Once they were under way, Rafe leaned his head against the back of the seat. “That was too close.”
Across from him, Draven shook his head. “Lieutenant Beaumont—”
“Shh!” Rafe sat straight. “Don’t start bandying about titles. Do you want someone to hear?”
Draven stared at him. “Mr. Beaumont, I can see your popularity has been something of a...mixed blessing. Why do you not simply tell the ladies you are not interested?”
“I try,” Rafe said, settling back again. “But it always comes out all wrong. Not to mention, females tend to water when I reject them, and I hate to see a woman put a finger in the eye.”
“You don’t mind if a woman cries, as long as you don’t witness it.”
Rafe frowned. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. Do you think I’ve left a trail of weeping women?”
Draven barked out a laugh. “No. I think most women know what you are.”
Rafe straightened. “And what is that?”
“A man who flees even from the word ‘matrimony.’”
“Not true. I attended Mostyn’s wedding.”
“And I seem to recall a greenish tint about your gills the entire time.” He held up a hand to stay Rafe’s protest. “But I didn’t come to discuss marriage. I have an assignment for you.”
A sensation much like a mild bolt of lightning flashed through Rafe. “For me?”
“Yes.”
Rafe could not believe his good fortune. Finally! His chance. “But the war is over.”
“There are still dangerous people about, and the Foreign Office asked if I knew anyone who could take this assignment.”
“And you thought of me?” Rafe cleared his throat. “I mean to say, of course I came to mind directly.”