The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection Volume 2(142)

"That's a rather big sigh for a dance. Would you like to sit?" Will asked.



"No, not at all. I was just thinking of absent friends."



His jaw tightened. "Anyone in particular?"



"The Rakehells."



"Pardon me?"



She laughed lightly. "My brother's set are all known as the Rakehells. They were inseparable during the war. They are like one big extended family. They would love this. Enjoy meeting you. Jonathan would be only too happy to tell you of his experiences at Cuidad Roderigo and Badajoz, and show you his tattoos."



His brows lofted. "Tattoos?"



"They used them to identify themselves in case they were killed. An old army tradition, apparently."



He nodded. "Yes, I know of the custom. Parks has one on his chest. The sword Excalibur, I believe. Very fine. Got it to cut a dash, don't you know."



She completed the figure in the dance, and resumed her explanation. "Anyway, whenever they get together, they drink a toast, and Jonathan makes them all show their tattoos. They have these matching ones of George and the Dragon on their chests, here." She pointed. "Most beautiful workmanship."



"I see." His jealousy over the thought of her viewing any other bare chest than his own nearly choked him. "And this man Jonathan. You're fond of him?" Will forced himself to ask.



"Yes, of course. His our vicar. He and his sister Sarah are very dear to us all. Now that he's married at last, we shall be even closer. At least I hope so. After all, I shall be here in Ireland, so it could be difficult."



Will was inwardly relieved to hear that this paragon was safely married.



She pressed on, "And his sister has unexpectedly just married another of the Rakehells we did not even know was still alive, Alexander Davenport."



Will stiffened and they missed a step. "Davenport, you say?" he asked in a tone which he just managed to keep level.



"Yes. Completely a shock to us all, but they appear to be blissfully happy by all accounts. He was blind, with no memory. Sarah helped him and they fell in love."



"How is he now?"



"Very well. Still some problems with his eyes and back, but his memory has returned for the most part."



"Good to hear it."



At her puzzled look he said, "We're always happy to hear about a comrade recovering from their terrible experiences."



She shook her head. "Oh, but I never said he was in the war."



"Oh, um, but you said all the Rakehells served," he said quickly, trying to cover over his error.



She nodded. "Most of them, true. But he was different, apparently. A merchant or something. I didn't get quite the whole story in the letter, I'm afraid. Sarah was too busy gushing over her joy, especially with the baby on the way."



"I see. My mistake, sorry."



Elizabeth once again had the sensation that she had missed something, but he swung her around the set so enthusiastically that she was forced to concentrate on keeping up with her very skilled partner.



Only when the dance came to an end, and he put one hand upon her back did she feel that familiar shudder of desire again.



Will had allowed himself one light intimate touch on the bare flesh between her shoulder blades and could feel the desire rocket within him.



Her body seared his like a branding iron. His only saving grace had been that she had not touched his left shoulder again or else he would have been truly lost. He did not dare mention what had happened in the cave. He did not want her to feel cornered, obligated to him in any way. Nor did he wish her to feel ashamed of what they had shared. It had been delightful and natural, not disgusting.



And what would be the point anyway. She was clearly not for him. A Duke's daughter, with such a set of the companions as the Rakehells, well, it was a wonder one of those paragons had not swept her up into matrimony already.



The evening now at an end, Will was forced to relinquish her scintillating company. Elizabeth shook his hand as she said good night, and then turned to take her leave of the other guests as if he had already been dismissed from her mind completely.



He sighed, seeing it was pointless to linger. She was already being surrounded by Parks and Fitzsimmons bidding her effusive good nights. He could not say anything about the cave. He needed her to forget she had ever been there.



But as he watched the other men, his noble notions of giving her up grew like so many leaves on the wind. The spirit of competition, as well as his own passions, rose to the challenge. He had made her respond in the cave, not them. She might be wanton, but his ligh touches that evening had convinced him that it was a great deal more.