Let's Misbehave Page 7

  ***

  James appeared beside their table. “With your permission, Seb, may I invite Miss Evans to dance?”

  His presence broke the spell that entranced Sebastian. “If she wishes.”

  “It would be my pleasure.” Lilly glanced coquettishly through her eyelashes at James as she rose and took his outstretched hand.

  Sebastian watched them move around the dance floor, her precise movements a perfect match for James.

  She didn’t step on his toes, Sebastian noted wryly.

  They made a beautiful couple; the two fair heads bent close, their faces animated. Lilly chatted and laughed with James, displaying none of the reserve she usually exercised with Sebastian.

  James was certainly a more attentive partner than he had been of late, and Lilly blossomed in the glow of his attention. But he did not envy James now.

  His heart ached.

  If only he hadn’t tied himself to Lilly, she’d be free to marry a man who loved her. And he’d be free to marry Gabrielle. Even as he thought it, his heart lifted, and he smiled.

  Yes. No matter what his parents thought, no matter what the world thought, if he were free he’d ask her to marry him. And if she didn’t want marriage, he’d even accept that, too. He would accept anything, as long as he could be with her.

  He caught the wink of light from Lilly’s hand as she circled beneath the chandeliers in James’ arms, a stark reminder that he wasn’t free to do as he pleased.

  What a mess he’d landed them all in. But he could fix it. He could be a cad and break his engagement. For the first time in his life, he gave serious consideration to behaving like a reprobate.

  ***

  Song after song battered through Gabrielle’s defences. Though she chose none of them, the lyrics all spoke to her; about the power of love, the importance of love. She tried to avoid Sebastian’s heated gaze, tried to force her eyes to stay on the dance floor where couples swirled. Most were oblivious to the music, none more so than James and Lilly.

  Her most constant suitor had turned fickle at last, in the presence of a woman far better suited to him in temperament than she would ever be. She could only smile. She’d told James often enough over the years that she was not the right woman for him.

  But no matter how she fought it, her eyes were constantly drawn back to Sebastian. He sat alone at his table, and she perceived an aura of trembling eagerness about him, as though he reached out to her across the space. The same desire throbbed through her. The remembered thrill of his hands on her body, of his kiss, turned the blood in her veins to molten lava.

  She was unaware how her desire had crept into her voice until the bandleader turned to her with a wink and said, “He’s a lucky man who put that kick into your voice.”

  She blushed.

  “We haven’t done your theme song, yet. I think it’s time for Let’s Misbehave.”

  Without waiting for her acquiescence, he directed the band to play.

  It was the last song on earth she wanted to sing. So often she’d sung this song with pride, flouting her freedom, her wantonness. Now it served only to remind her of the gulf that existed between her and Sebastian, of her troubled past that made her so completely wrong for the man she loved.

  The upbeat syncopated rhythm of the opening bars drowned out the sounds of the room about her. She took a deep breath and sang.

  “You could have a great career,

  And you should; yes, you should.

  Only one thing stops you, dear:

  You’re too good, way too good.”

  She was aware, with the heightened senses of an experienced performer, that her audience loved this song. But today she sang it for one man alone.

  “If you want a future, Darlin’,

  Why don’t you get a past?

  ‘Cause that fateful moment’s comin’ at last…”

  She knew he was remembering her dancing naked in the moonlight. Molten heat rushed through her. She carefully avoided looking at him. Could he possibly feel the same for her, this lust that burned stronger because it was fuelled by love?

  “There’s something wild about you, child,

  That’s so contagious, Let’s be outrageous—let’s misbehave!”

  The orchestral interlude took over, the music rising and swelling. She allowed herself to meet Sebastian’s eyes, burning bright with thoughts only she could appreciate: the yearning to be free and wild, the longing to love and be loved, the desire to misbehave.

  As the music rose once more to a crest of emotion, she lifted her voice, high and clear, and poured her heart into the words.

  As the last notes died, she turned to the bandleader. “That’s all.”

  “Thanks, sweetheart. You’re a star, as always.” He gave her another broad wink, and the band breezed into a Latin dance rhythm.

  Gabrielle made her way around the dance floor. She forced herself to remain gracious with the well-wishers who wanted to speak to her as she passed by. She desperately needed fresh air and quiet to fight back the tears pricking against her eyelids. She reached their table. There was no sign of James. Grabbing her clutch bag, she headed for the door.

  ***

  Sebastian watched Gabrielle leave the room and rose to chase after her. He knew those final verses were meant for him. As she’d sung, he’d caught a glimpse into her heart and seen his own love mirrored.

  He knew without a doubt what he had to do.

  He had taken only a couple of steps when James and Lilly materialised in his path. Over Lilly’s shoulder, he saw Gabrielle disappear through the doors, but his punctilious sense of duty reminded him it was not his place to go after her. Not yet. He was not so far beyond honour that he could chase after Gabrielle without first breaking his engagement.

  He would let Lilly down gently. Though she’d find out in time he’d left her for another woman, he would not hurt her more by admitting to this fierce connection he felt to another woman.

  “Did you enjoy your dance?” he asked, forcing himself to be civil.

  “It was lovely,” Lilly’s eyes sparkled and her voice had a hint of breathiness, he noted with detachment. “I’m dying of thirst. I need more tea.”

  She sat, and James hovered beside her, pushing in her chair. A spark of annoyance ignited in Sebastian. Did James not know that Gabrielle needed someone now, that she should not be alone?

  “Your partner is leaving,” Sebastian said coldly.

  A quick flush of guilt crossed James’ face as he glanced around. He had clearly forgotten all about her.

  Lilly blushed prettily as James kissed her hand in hasty farewell and headed after Gabrielle.

  Sebastian sat down again and mechanically poured tea and milk into Lilly’s cup. He had an urge to call a waiter for something stronger.

  Lilly sipped the tea, contemplating him through narrowed eyes. “You should go after her.”

  He looked up, startled.

  “You love her.”

  Sebastian started to deny it but found he could not. He would not lie to Lilly. “I am so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. But it would be dishonest of me to marry you when I love someone else.”

  Lilly set down her cup and pinned him with a direct gaze. “If you love her, then you should be with her.”

  How simple she made it sound. She didn’t know the weight he’d placed on himself—not as Gabrielle had understood. Even though she’d disagreed with his choices, she’d honoured them.

  “We are to be married in a week. If I jilt you now, especially for a nightclub singer, your reputation will be tainted by the gossip.”

  An impatient look crossed Lilly’s face. “I never believed you to be such a fool. Your reputation will be hurt more than mine. I’ll have to put up with a lot of false sympathy until some other scandal diverts everyone’s attention. People will whisper at first, but they’ll forget soon enough.”

  He had not seen Lilly this way before. She was wiser and more resilient than he’d given her credi
t for. Not a child after all, but a woman.

  Exasperated, she waved her hand in the air, as though brushing aside his concerns. “Years from now, no one will even remember that your wife once had a reputation for being a bit wild. And who today hasn’t had their share of a little mischief?”

  Her voice softened. “I’m sorry, Sebastian, but I cannot marry you, even if you changed your mind. I admire you and respect you, but I don’t love you. I’ll admit I was in love with the idea of being married, of seeing more of the world than my parents have ever allowed. But seeing the way you look at Gwendolyn, I realise how wrong I was. I don’t want new experiences half as much as I want a man to look at me the way you look at her. I’d much rather face a little embarrassment now than spend my life married to a man who loves someone else. I deserve better—and so do you.”

  “Your parents…?”

  “I’ll speak to them. I’ll make it clear that I’m the one calling off this engagement.”

  He took her hand and held it between his own. “I don’t deserve you.”

  “You’re right. You don’t. Now go after her.”

  Sebastian sprang to his feet, filled with an extraordinary lightness. “Thank you.”

  He raised her gloved hand to his lips in a final farewell. Then he dashed out the wide doors into the hotel foyer. Through the glass front entrance, he could see a hackney cab stop at the kerb beside a waiting couple, huddled beneath an umbrella.

  “Gabrielle,” he called out, pushing past the doorman. About to step into the cab, she paused and turned at the sound of his voice.

  “You left without saying goodbye.” He stopped before her, scarcely aware of the rain falling around them. “Lilly has called off the engagement.”

  Hope dawned in her face, but he could see Gabrielle was not yet ready to give in to it.

  She looked to James, holding the umbrella over her head, though she hardly seemed to see him. James took a step back, not nearly as reluctant as he’d once been to leave Gabrielle’s side.

  “May I offer to escort Lilly home?” he asked.

  Sebastian nodded, without removing his gaze from Gabrielle’s face. James withdrew his umbrella and walked away.

  ***

  At last, Gabrielle allowed herself to look up into his eyes. They were ablaze with light. Not with the furious passion she’d seen there before, but with something infinitely rarer and more powerful.

  Love.

  “It still would never work between us,” she said, clinging to reason even as joy surged through her.

  “Why not? I love you, Gabrielle. You love me. That’s all that matters.”

  The thin, incessant rain soaked into her coat and her hair clung to her cheeks, but she didn’t care. Her breath hitched. “I won’t let you throw your life away for me. Who will respect a politician with a wife who was a nightclub singer?”

  “It’s too late for you to try to save my reputation.” He laughed.

  She’d never seen him look so happy. So free.

  “You know better than anyone I don’t want to be a politician. I want you. Now that you’ve shown me what my life can be like, I can never go back to that life. I can’t live without you, Gabrielle.”

  Hot tears of joy slid down her cheeks, mingling with the rain. “Your family will hate me.”

  But nothing now could stop the bubble of laughter that escaped from her. He wanted her. He loved her. Enough to throw away his honour for her. Nothing else mattered.

  “My father will get over his disappointment quickly when he hears you’re the daughter of a Viscount.”

  “Are you getting in or not?” interrupted the grumpy cabbie.

  “We’re getting in,” said Sebastian, holding the door open.

  She slid onto the leather bench seat. Sebastian sat beside her, shutting the door and enclosing them in their own private bubble.

  “Where to?” asked the cabbie.

  “Anywhere, as long as it’s dry and private,” Sebastian said.

  “Wardour Street,” said Gabrielle, pressing her body into his. “As fast as you can.”

  Then Sebastian’s hungry mouth was on hers, ending all conversation.

  *

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  Acknowledgments

  “Let’s Misbehave” music and lyrics by Cole Porter, written 1927 for the 1928 musical Paris.

  Though the song was published and available, the number was pulled from the show for being too risqué and did not premiere on Broadway until much later.

  Rights owned by Alfred Publishing. www.alfred.com

  All rights reserved. Used by permission.

  Thank you for reading Let’s Misbehave. If you enjoyed this novella, read on for the opening chapter of Dear Julia.

  Chapter One of Dear Julia

  Dust swirled out in a thick, choking cloud as plaster and debris crashed to the floor. The cloud cleared, and Rosalie lowered her handkerchief from her face and coughed. In the yawning hole where the monstrous Victorian mantelpiece had been, a pile of broken bricks now lay in their own ashes. Something pale caught her eye amongst the rubble.

  “What is that?”

  One of the workmen bent to pick it up. “It’s a letter, miss.”

  He handed her the envelope, and she wiped her handkerchief across its grimy face to reveal paper yellowed with age and a name printed in a neat, square script, a man’s handwriting: Julia.

  Not just a letter. In one corner she felt the distinctive weight of something else. Curiosity growing, she turned the envelope over. No name or return address. She frowned. “It must have fallen behind the mantelpiece.”

  The man shrugged, disinterested, and she forced her attention back to the room. “Clear the bricks, and tomorrow you can install the new mantel.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  They began the clean-up, and Rosalie moved to the window, holding the letter up to the light.

  Against the sharp autumn sunlight she could see a shape silhouetted within the envelope. A ring. Even through the paper she could tell it was very old, delicate and ornately filigreed. And undoubtedly valuable.

  That settled it. Whoever the letter had been intended for, it had to be delivered.

  Anna sat at the kitchen table, shelling peas. She shook her head as Rosalie entered. “I hope you haven’t ruined that pretty dress.”

  Rosalie looked down at herself. She was covered head to toe in a film of grey dust. She shrugged. “It’s just a dress. Look what we found.”

  She held out the envelope to Anna. “Do you have any idea who Julia is?”

  Anna shook her head and took the letter. “No idea. But Mrs. Wallace in the post office is sure to know. She knows everything about everyone around here.”

  “Excellent idea. It’s the perfect afternoon for a walk into town.”

  “Not in that dress, you won’t.”

  Rosalie grinned. “I guess not. And I’ll have to wash my hair, too, before I go.”

  “I’ll put some water to warm by the fire. Why your father couldn’t have got the plumbers in before we moved in, I’ll never know.”

  It was a familiar grumble, and Rosalie laughed. “We’ve lived in worse places. And I’ll have this place shipshape in no time.”

  Anna rolled her eyes. “I have no doubt of that, Miss Rosalie. And the rest of the village too, I’m sure. Heaven help them.”

  ***

  The tiny Somerset village of Stogumber lay amidst green fields, almost within sight of Exmoor. It was a pretty place, soft and sleeping beneath the pale sky, a world away from the bustle and noise of London.

  Rosalie strode across the cow pasture that lay beyond their tangled garden, her heeled boots sinking into the soft earth, then climbed the stile into the narrow and winding lane that led into the village. Dappled light slanted down between the trees, casting intricate patterns across the ground,
a reminder of the ring and letter she’d locked carefully away in her jewellery box.

  A bell chimed as she entered the general store that doubled as a post office, and the grey-haired woman behind the counter looked up. “Good afternoon, Miss Stanton. How may I help you?”

  Rosalie smiled engagingly. “I’m looking for a little information on our house, and my housekeeper suggested you might be able to help.”

  The older woman leaned forward across the scarred wooden counter, eyes bright with undisguised interest. “I hear you’re installing electric lights, and an electric water heater.”

  If she’d already heard about the water heater, then Rosalie had come to the right place. Mrs. Wallace was without a doubt the village gossip.

  Which meant she had to tread carefully. She’d tell Rosalie what she wanted to know, but she’d also spread the news of the ring around the village before Rosalie had walked home. And Rosalie had no intention of facing down a line of doubtful claimants.

  So instead she perched on the high stool before the counter, as if settling in for nothing more than a cosy chat. “It’s the history of the house I’m interested in. I gather it’s stood empty for a couple of years. Before that, who lived there?”

  “Alice Peabody stayed there a few years, before she got sick and went to live with her son, down Devon way.”

  “Did she live alone?”

  “There was a companion. Now what was her name?” Mrs. Wallace’s nose wrinkled as she thought. “It was a flower name. Violet, or Ivy, or something like that.”

  “And before them?”

  “Before them was the Fortescues. Gentry, they were. Old Grandfather Fortescue built the house with money he made out of the railways.” Mrs. Wallace dropped her voice, as if discussing something scandalous. “He’s the one who insisted on the bathrooms.”

  Rosalie sent up a prayer of thanks for the long dead Mr. Fortescue’s forethought. And for Mrs. Wallace. At least now she knew Julia must have been a Fortescue. But how could she ask outright without arousing Mrs. Wallace’s curiosity? “Where are they now?”