Free Dangerous to Love by Rexanne Becnel

Will you play?” she asked the countess as she led Valerie into position in the middle of the floor. “Or shall I be forced to hum?”
    Ivan followed the unlikely sounds of a discordant piano melody mingled with the singing of a woman of better than decent voice. He’d spent the last few days with Elliot on Regent Street, drinking and whoring within an inch of his life. To his immense disgust, he’d discovered it did no good to behave abominably if the crotchety old bitch did not hear of his actions. Why he’d not thrown her out on her ear was hard to say. His only explanation was that he was bored. If nothing else she and her new companions would be diverting. So he’d come back tonight to torment her in whatever way seemed most appropriate. And to see if he could torment the strikingly lovely Miss Lucy Drysdale.
    The last thing he’d expected to hear was music coming from the second parlor.
    The scene that met his eyes was equally unexpected. The old grande dame sat at the pianoforte, like a raven perched over the ivory keys, playing a creaky version of one of society’s favorite melodies of the moment. Meanwhile, Miss Drysdale danced with an exquisite young blonde, taking the male part to the younger woman’s hesitant role.
    He stood in the half-opened door, sheltered by the shadows, and watched their antics, fascinated and annoyed all at the same time.
    It was Miss Drysdale who was singing. Her voice was throaty and low, not the shrill warble that was currently so fashionable. Likewise she was too tall for the current mode, and her hair too dark. But she was not too tall for him. And dark though her hair was, it seemed nevertheless to catch every light in the room. Her tresses fairly gleamed with streaks of lustrous gold and fiery red.
    As he stared at her, he felt the unexpected rise of desire. But it was the younger girl he was interested in, he told himself. Not the chaperone. He forced himself to focus on her instead—his cousin, of course. The girl Miss Drysdale was to protect from him.
    What a sparkling little diamond she was, he now saw. With her blond hair she glittered like a silvery jewel. She was small and fair, with blue eyes, he would guess. Only blue would suit that soft, pink complexion.
    He grinned at the thought of the game that awaited him. Women had never been much of a problem for him. Even those who’d thought him merely a penniless navy man or an amoral smuggler had not been very hard to seduce. They’d wanted to be seduced and the fact that he’d been a totally inappropriate man had not deterred them in the least. It was even worse now that he was so eminently marriageable—or so able to afford a very expensive mistress, depending on the sort of woman he was dealing with.
    This innocent, fresh from the countryside, would present no problem at all—except perhaps to generate some genuine show of enthusiasm on his part. Then again, perhaps this one had a brain in her head. Perhaps this one could speak on subjects beyond the latest French dress patterns and the number of pairs of gloves stacked in her bulging armoire.
    Then the song ended. The dowager countess looked up, their gazes locked, and Ivan wouldn’t have cared if his cousin was an ugly, tongue-tied imbecile. She was forbidden to the likes of him? By damn, but he would have her.
    But not to wed. Never that. No, he would woo her. He would steal her heart. She would cry copious tears on his account and turn down every suitable fellow who offered for her. She would vow to become a Catholic and retire to a nunnery if she could not have her one true love. In short, he would see to it that she made her entire family frantic with her obsession with the man denied to her. Especially her great-aunt, the high-and-mighty Dowager Countess of Westcott. But marry her? Not bloody likely. He would never marry any woman of the ton.
    He clenched his jaw and his nostrils flared in anticipation of the battle to come. As for Miss Lucy Drysdale,