Free WANTON by Cheryl Holt

standing close, whispering in his ear and occasionally resting a palm on his shoulder.
    On seeing him exhibit such a marvelous keyboardist’s skill, Amelia was flabbergasted. She’d viewed him as an obstinate, rude dunce but, apparently, he had a positive quality, that being a very fine musical talent.
    She couldn’t imagine how he’d ever focused long enough to acquire it, and for a lengthy interval she observed him. Ultimately, he finished with a flamboyant whisk of his fingers across the keys and declared himself parched and ready to imbibe. His audience had been gaily entertained, and they clapped their appreciation. He stood and bowed with a flourish.
    Clearly, there were facets to his personality she hadn’t considered. Maybe he wasn’t a complete wretch. Maybe he had a few attributes that might make him worth knowing.
    She wandered away, ambling down the verandah to return to the party. Before she reached the door, a man emerged, and she was unnerved to discover it was Mr. Drake. He was alone, Mrs. Nipton nowhere in sight.
    He walked to the stairs as if he would proceed down into the garden. His path took him directly by her, and she braced, recognizing that this was the exact sort of encounter for which Barbara had been preparing her.
    Amelia flicked her wrist, her fan whipping open precisely on cue. She waved it slowly, then started toward him. He nodded a greeting, not really seeing her, and she murmured, “Hello, Mr. Drake. Fancy meeting you here.”
    He frowned, stumbled to a halt, and whirled around. He appeared greatly confused.
    “Miss...Hubbard?”
    “Yes?”
    Evidently, she’d rendered him speechless. He searched for something to say, but couldn’t decide what it should be. Eventually, almost in accusation, he snarled, “What happened to you?”
    “What happened?” she innocently replied. “What do you mean?”
    “Don’t play games with me, Miss Hubbard. You’re wearing a very expensive gown, and your hair is...” He was at a loss to describe her intricate coif, so he simply pointed at it. “What have you done to yourself?”
    “I’m attending Lord Penworth’s ball, Mr. Drake. I could hardly come looking like a pauper.”
    “You are a pauper, and I know my father. He’s much too miserly to have bought you any clothes.”
    She chuckled and cooled her face with the fan. “No, he definitely didn’t buy me any clothes.”
    “So where did you get them?”
    “I don’t think that’s any of your business. We’re not affianced. In fact, we’re not connected in any way at all, so you have no right to inquire, and you certainly have no duty to worry.”
    “Are you still my father’s guest?”
    “No.”
    She moved away as if she’d continue on, but to her delight and amazement, he rested a hand on her arm to stop her.
    “Where are you staying then?”
    “With a...friend.”
    “What friend?”
    “Again, Mr. Drake, it really isn’t any of your business.”
    “Perhaps not,” he agreed, “but you’re so naïve and unsophisticated.”
    “If you keep complimenting me like that, I’ll get a big head.”
    “You’re strolling around by yourself. You’re a lamb among the wolves.”
    “Yes,” she grinned, “and I’ve met some very handsome, very rich wolves too. I’m having the night of my life.”
    “Husband hunting, are you?”
    “Absolutely,” she concurred, and she wasn’t lying. He was the husband she was hunting. He just didn’t realize it.
    He pulled her nearer, and it was thrilling to stand next to him. He exuded a stimulating energy that charged the air—as if sparks might ignite.
    “Where are you staying?” he demanded again, his voice low and urgent. “Who is this new... friend of yours?”
    “Lord Penworth’s mother. I’m sure you’ve heard of her.”
    He actually gasped. “You’re staying with Barbara Middleton?”
    “Yes, and she’s teaching me everything she knows.”
    His jaw dropped, as Barbara had hoped it would, and if Amelia hadn’t been