To Bed a Libertine. Amanda McCabe

had to be made of more. It had to mean something.

      “Don’t you remember the fun we had?” Sally whispered, her lips sliding over his cheek. “It can be that way again.”

      Her mouth met his and he kissed her back. Maybe he did need fun, a woman to inspire him. Sally was warm, buxom, pretty, and her kiss tasted of wild nights cavorting through Covent Garden. She tasted of freedom from cares and responsibilities. She held on to him tightly, pressing her body to his.

      But it was all wrong. Sally was the past, everything he was done with. He wanted something else, something elusive and yet so very important.

      He put his hands at her waist and eased her away. “I’m not so much fun anymore, Sally my love.”

      She pouted but gave in, going back to talk to her friends. Tristan went to the window and stared down at the street below. It was late afternoon, the light turning chalky-pink at the edges, and not many people were out and about. They were all at home, getting ready for the evening’s balls and routs and plays. He should be doing the same. He was expected at a musical evening given by his parents’ friend Lady Russell, quite different from the nighttime entertainments he used to enjoy. It wouldn’t do to show up in his paint-splattered shirt.

      As he studied the patterns of light on the cobblestones, a phaeton rolled past, its wheels clattering. It was a woman at the reins, he saw with surprise, and not just any woman. A vivid vision of a woman in a deep red carriage dress and little feathered hat, a beribboned whip brandished jauntily in her hand.

      She had red hair, deep as the sunset, pinned up loosely under her hat and bouncing against the pale curve of her cheek. The dying light gleamed on those curls, turning them to molten flame. A wide smile touched her pink, sensual lips at the joy of speed. Of life.

      She glanced up as she passed his window and their eyes met for one brief instant. That flashing moment sent a jolt of heat through him, a lightning bolt of desire. She was beautiful, but more than that she seemed alight with spirit.

      She waved that whip at him, laughing, and then she was gone.

      Without stopping to think, Tristan bolted out of the studio and dashed down the stairs to the street. He scanned the lane frantically, but she was out of sight. He couldn’t see her even when he ran to the corner.

      But he would find her. He had to.

      Chapter Two

      “Ah, Contessa de Erato,” Mr. Price, a friend of Sir Walter Chase’s, said happily as Erato stepped into the foyer of Lady Russell’s Mayfair town house. “I am so happy you could attend our little musicale tonight.”

      “It was most kind of Lady Russell to include me at the last minute,” Erato said, offering him her gloved hand. “Everyone in London has been so welcoming. I must spend more time here in the future.”

      “I hope you will. It is not often we have visitors from Italy, especially one who collects antiquities. Have you considered my invitation to attend one of our Antiquities Society events?”

      “I would be honored,” Erato said. Such an invitation fell perfectly in with her plans, as the Chases were active members of the society. It would give her an excellent opportunity to keep an eye on Calliope Chase and Lord Westwood and see what happened.