London's Most Wanted Rake by Bronwyn Scott

small show of strength. It served to make the appeal for assistance all the more sincere—here was a woman who didn’t ask for help often, but she’d asked him. He would be feeling quite assured. She was careful also to avoid Channing. No good would come of being too closely associated with him. It would make Seymour wonder why she’d simply not asked Channing for help, why seek out a stranger when Mr Deveril was prepared to dance attendance on her?
    Channing was among the first wave of guests to head upstairs. She waited and exited with the last so that Seymour could clearly see she was unattached. Not that such visual evidence meant anything at house parties when one dissected the logic of it. Everyone knew there would be several furtive journeys in the dark to various bedrooms not one’s own before the sun rose.
    Alina opened the door to her bedchamber and stifled a scream. She would not give Channing the satisfaction of knowing he’d startled her. The arrogant man hadn’t even bothered to be furtive. He’d come up and directly helped himself to her bed. There he lay, hands behind his head, legs crossed at the ankles and looking entirely too comfortable. She boiled to take him down a notch. ‘I think the rule is that you’re supposed to wait until the house settles for the night.’
    Alina set down the lamp on the dressing table and crossed her arms. For all her bravado, she was startled to see him. After his lecture at the stream about the need to protect her reputation, this seemed to do the opposite. ‘Did anyone see you come in?’ She had just put the next step of her plan in motion and it depended on convincing Seymour she was alone.
    ‘Of course not,’ Channing scoffed at her worries, arrogant in his own way.
    ‘What are you doing here? I’m sure there’s nothing that can’t keep until morning.’ Alina unfastened her pearls. ‘Unless it is an apology for kicking me all night.’
    Channing snorted. ‘I kicked you twice and you deserved it. You were flirting with Seymour. Which raised a burning question in my mind. I don’t think I could sleep without an answer.’
    ‘If I tell you, will you go away?’
    Channing shrugged. ‘Maybe. This bed is pretty comfortable, though.’ He paused and fixed her with his gaze, the humour fading. ‘Why is it you insist on seeking out men you don’t like?’
    There was a great riposte in that, but this was not the time for teasing. ‘What makes you so certain I don’t like Seymour?’ Alina slowly pulled the pins from her hair, gathering her thoughts. It was easier to think when she was doing something. There was less time for her brain to be distracted by the sight of Channing lying on her bed.
    ‘You wanted to eat him alive at cards tonight, not exactly an attitude that matched the soft colours, and innocent pearls.’ Ah, Channing had noticed. He was far too perceptive. ‘Whatever “business” you have with Seymour, I’m starting to think it’s not friendly.’ And now he was meddling, too, just as she’d feared.
    She shook down her hair, letting it fall over her shoulders. Channing shifted on the bed. He was in a poor position to hide any effects of her toilette . Well, good, let him be the uncomfortable one for a change. ‘Are you going to come over and help me with my gown?’ She made a show of reaching for the impossible back fastenings.
    Channing rose from the bed and came to her, standing close enough to smell, close enough to kiss. She thought she had him, aroused and distracted. Even in dark evening clothes, the former was evident. But apparently she hadn’t succeeded with the latter because his answer surprised her. ‘No. I am not going to help with that gown. We both know what will happen if I do. It won’t stop there.’ His words were a whisper between them, part anger, part a seduction of his own. ‘I don’t want you like this, Alina. I’m not a game. I will not be used.’
    Alina would not retreat. Her arms went about his neck,