784. The Devil's Waltz (Anne Stuart)

Synopsis from Barnes & Noble:
Christian Montcalm was a practical man, if a destitute scoundrel, but his plan to bed and wed the delectable Miss Hetty Chipple would take care of that sticky wicket. However, there was a most intriguing obstacle to his success.

Annelise Kempton desired nothing more than to come between this despicable rogue and the fortune (and virtue) of her young charge. Certainly, Annelise understood the desperation that comes from hard times, but Montcalm would fail -- she would personally see to it. All that stood in her way was a man whose rakish charm could tempt a saint to sin, or consign a confirmed spinster to sleepless nights of longing . . . to give the devil his due.

My rating: 4 stars

Excerpt:

"Who the hell was that?" Crosby demanded. "You told me you were meeting the heiress."

Christian Montcalm turned to look down at his slightly inebriated friend. Crosby had never been the most reliable of his cronies, but then, Christian didn't tend to consort with reliable people. "The dragon got in the way. Don't worry—there'll be other chances."

"You're the one who should be worried. If you don't come up with some money soon you'll be in the river tick."

"Nonsense." He shoved the loose strand of hair away from his face. "There'll be cards tonight, and I can make more than enough to tide me over until the engagement can be announced."

"But you can't always count on the cards, old man. They don't always fall your way."

Christian smiled. He wasn't about to point out to Crosby that not only was he absurdly lucky when it came to cards, he was also skilled and unscrupulous enough to do something about it if the cards misbe haved. "I don't expect to have any problem." He turned his gaze back to the tall figure of the woman marching away from them. She was almost out of sight, which was a pity. She was really quite diverting—more interesting than the tiresome beauty was. His conversation with Miss Chippie, when he wasn't stopping her mouth with temptingly chaste kisses, consisted of an unending line of compliments. For such a beauty she demanded constant reminders that she was, indeed, unmatchable. It was very tedious.

The dragon was far more interesting. True, she was no young maiden, but he'd had mistresses far older than she and enjoyed them tremendously. She couldn't be much more than thirty, making her younger than he was, a thought that amused him. She spoke to him like a maiden aunt, scolding a naughty boy.

Ah, but he was a naughty boy. And he had every intention of becoming a great deal naughtier. And the dragon was just the sort of woman he could make mischief with.

He wouldn't, of course. He was a pragmatic man, and he'd set his sights quite clearly on Miss Hetty Chippie, the underbred, over-rich, delectable morsel who'd just been snatched from him. Marriage to a compliant young heiress was just the thing to smooth his way for the time being, and even if Hetty seemed to have a mind of her own he had little doubt that he could control her. He had enough tricks up his sleeve to keep her docile and well behaved—sex always had the most interesting effect on virgins, and there were any number of ways he could manage to throw her off balance. And it would be most pleasant, given that trim little body of hers.

Then, when she grew tiresome, as they always did, he could further his acquaintance with the dragon, which he suspected would be far more interesting and a much greater challenge.

How would she look without her spectacles? How would she look without her clothes? She would have long legs to wrap around him, and he was connoisseur enough to see that despite her general skinniness she had a decent bosom. Yes, she'd strip quite nicely.

As soon as he could talk her into it.

But first things first. "We'll go play cards, Crosby," he said pleasantly. "And then perhaps I'll decide to attend Lady Bellwhite's soiree so I can further my suit."

"With the heiress? Or the dragon?"

Christian glanced down at him. Crosby was never the brightest of men, but every now and then he was surprisingly astute. Or perhaps Christian had been too transparent. No, that was impossible. He'd spent years perfecting his charming, impassive facade.

"How well do you know me, Crosby?"

"Well enough."

"Then you know I am, in all things, a practical man. Miss Chippie will become the future Viscountess Mont-calm, and if the dragon gets tumbled somewhere along the way, then so much the better."

"You're an inspiration," Crosby said fervently.

"Indeed," Montcalm murmured as the dragon disappeared from sight. "I know."