Far Too Tempted

by Emma Wildes

  When her visitor had been announced, Jessica had felt almost ill, expecting the worst. Now a warmth spread throughout her whole being, body and soul. She drew her friend toward the settee by the window open to the gardens. The breeze felt sweet and light. “Can you stay a few minutes? I’ll ring for tea.”

  Rebecca sank onto the cushions and arranged her skirts. With a lifted brow, she said, “Of course. It sounds wonderful. And while we drink it, you know you have to tell me.” Rebecca leaned forward and dropped her tone. “How was it?”

  Jessica blinked and then blushed. She could feel the heat rising into her face as surely as she could remember the feel of Alex’s body next to hers. His scent, the way his mouth moved against her skin, the taste of his kiss…he had taken care with her, she knew that. And then, that morning at dawn, it had been she who was wild his arms, seeking the incredible pleasure he’d taught her existed.

  One dark brow slowly inched upward and Rebecca gave a low, unladylike whistle. “The look on your face might just be better than words.”

  Jessica laughed, a hiccup of sound. “That’s good, because there are no words, Beck.”

  * * * *

  “Here, we’ll start this way.” Marcus handed Alex a glass of brandy. By tacit agreement, they had ruled out a tavern room or their club as too public to have such a volatile conversation. Dressed once again in their regular clothes, they had arrived back at the Mayfair mansion and gone straight to Marcus’s study with nothing but a curt word to the butler that they did not wish to be disturbed under any circumstances.

  Alex sank into a leather chair and watched his brother pick up a gleaming silver letter opener and stare at it, turning it idly in his fingers. Marcus set it down abruptly and said in his best lord-of-the-manor tone, “What were you doing there, Alex?”

  “As you guessed, I was following you. Not, I may add”—Alex let the pause hang—“for the first time.”

  Marcus looked darkly perturbed. “Why?”

  “I know about the Committee.” It was a quiet revelation.

  “Damn all. Forget why. How?”

  “The murders.” Alex couldn’t help the cynical twist to his mouth. “Did you know that the wounds I received at Badajoz were convenient? The War Office thinks so.”

  “The War Office thinks a lot of things.” Marcus took a quick sip from his cup. “Explain yourself.”

  Alex knew his older brother well enough to understand that if he wanted to get Marcus to cooperate, he would have to tell the truth. “My new mission is to apprehend whoever has become so, shall we say, opposed to your activities.”

  “You?” Marcus frowned. “I don’t think I understand. I thought you still held a command in Spain.”

  “I do.” Alex shifted a little uncomfortably. “It’s a long story, but the gist is that I uncovered a smuggling ring some months ago, part luck, part deduction and the courage of some good men. Several key spies were caught, munitions retrieved, and a blow delivered to the French supply lines. I hardly feel it qualifies me to track down a deranged killer, but someone does. It was made clear to me that the local authorities are not to be involved.”

  “God, no.” Marcus vehemently shook his head. “Out of the question.”

  “Someone agrees with you. My orders are clear—discretion and all due speed in finding this madman.”

  That declaration was greeted with silence. Marcus stared at his glass as if it held the secrets of the ages.

  Contemplating the tips of his dusty boots, Alex said as casually as possible, “I am greatly hampered by not knowing the purpose of the Committee, Marc. My superiors told me who you are, not what you are.”

  Late afternoon sun lying across the rich oriental carpeting, the sound of one of the children laughing in the garden, the muted noise from the street…all those things blended together. Marcus still said nothing.

  With a fierce inward curse, Alex lifted his gaze to study his brother’s face. It was impassive, his return stare straightforward. He said urgently, “Come on, man, help me.”

  Marcus shook his head. “I can’t tell you. We are sworn to secrecy, I gave my word. None of us must betray our purpose.”

  “To hell with your word.” It was a bitter and impatient declaration. “This task is impossible enough. The killer has a reason he is picking you off one by one. Help me to understand his motive and I can understand him better, and perhaps smoke him out.”

  Marcus grimly shook his head. “Alex, you know I would trust you with my life—”

  “That’s just it”—the interruption was smooth as silk as he explained succinctly—“you are trusting me with your life, Marc.”

  “Damn all, Alex, don’t ask me to betray my word.”

  Alex heard the waver in his brother’s voice with well-concealed triumph. “Under the circumstances, don’t you think the other members would not only understand, but wish you to tell me? It’s their lives as well. You can’t tell me the lot of you aren’t frightened. I would be if some madman wished me dead but wasn’t going to offer me the option of a fair contest. Flatterly was garroted and then perched like some dressmaker’s dummy in a theater, for God’s sake. He was no coward, an excellent pistol shot and on his guard. Don’t any of you ask yourselves how it could happen?”

  “Of course we do.” The reply was hot and blue eyes flashed. “What do you think, that we are all such arrogant fools we believe we aren’t vulnerable? All anyone would need to do is threaten Ariel and the children and I would gladly weave the wire around my own neck for their sake.”

  “Then, for their sake, as well as yours, tell me. Why do you and Pickford and the rest of you meet in that hellish spot? Why the dark secrecy? Why the costumes and switching of carriages? “

  “Alex—”

  “Bloody hell, Marcus, three men are dead! You won’t have a committee soon for whatever it is you do.”

  “We spy for King George.” The words fell into the civilized room. Marcus went to stare out over the summer shadows falling on the trees outside the window.

  After a moment, Alex asked cautiously, “Spy? How?”

  Marcus’s smile was more a grimace. “We are all either wealthy men with influence or retired military officers who wish to contribute to the satisfactory conclusion of this war. Between us we finance and oversee a network of operatives who send us information on both the French…and the British. The War Office has been known to whitewash, or just plain lie, to not only the public but our sovereign. The corruption in our ranks is not unknown to you, it can’t be.” He turned and spread his hands. “You can thank us for seeing some very inept men stripped of rank and replaced with better officers. You can also thank us for some of the information Wellington uses to track the French. For that matter, he can thank us for becoming a lord.”

  “I thought we had our own network—”

  “Oh, brother, we do.”

  Alex felt his fingers tighten around his glass. “Well then, why? Why would we need you?”

  With obvious passion, Marcus declared, “You are fighting a war there. We are fighting it here. We advise the Monarchy, and since we do it voluntarily and at our expense, he trusts us to not have our baser interests in mind. When he decides something against the recommendation of his ministers, you can rest assured it comes from us. We can’t be bought, bribed or blackmailed.”

  Alex lifted his glass to his mouth and drained it, nearly choking on the fiery stuff. He swallowed with a small cough. “So, what you are telling me is that there is a legion of demoted officers, thwarted spies and perhaps even some of the king’s ministers wanting you all disbanded and even dead.”

  Marcus nodded. “That’s what I’m telling you.”

  “Well, that narrows things down,” Alex muttered gloomily.

  * * * *

  He obviously still didn’t feel he owed her an explanation or an apology for his behavior. Jessica was torn between amazement and outright fury. So preoccupied during dinner he barely spoke a word, Alex hadn’t done anything to
even remotely acknowledge her existence except to very absently escort her to her chair. To make matters worse, his dark mood seemed to have rubbed off on Marcus as well. Both of them had spent the late afternoon in the duke’s study, and they had gone right back there after dinner.

  Jessica paced across the unfamiliar room again. Her belongings had been taken to the suite reserved for her husband during his brief London visits at the mansion, bedroom, sitting room and dressing area all austerely furnished in a masculine style. She heaved a sigh and pensively wandered over to a large window with her hairbrush in her hand.

  It was a lovely night. That was at least something, she told herself in melancholy contemplation. The warm night air drifting inside reminded her of home.

  She leaned against the sill, staring out into the darkened regions of the back gardens. When Alex finally did come to join her, maybe she would exact a pledge that she be allowed to return to Berkshire, whatever his mysterious business in London might be. Alex had promised to take her to Braidwood before the arrival of that ill-fated and secretive note, and she still felt a throat-clogging longing for her childhood home after the recent tempestuous changes in her life.

  Pale moonlight filtered downward over the well-planned avenues of flowers and trimmed shrubs. A nightingale called from somewhere distant, the sound lonely and muted. A late-afternoon shower had brought the earthy smell of damp soil and fecund vegetation to the light breeze. The poignant tightness of insecurity in her chest, Jessica looked blankly at the midnight view and wondered if the tenderness of the night before and the passion of the morning had been only a summation of her worst fears.

  How many women had awakened after a night in Alex Ramsey’s arms only to find that the skillful lover who had bemused and captivated their senses was nothing but a charming stranger, uninterested in anything more than physical union?

  It could be her life, married to a man who—even if he kept his pledge of fidelity—never found a deeper feeling for her.

  Jessica took in a breath, then stopped, arrested. She blinked again, harder, and squinted. Something moved down below her window, like a detached shadow, black against the grayish reflected light and darkened shapes of the trees. As she watched in surprise, it crept in unmistakable stealth across one of the paths and shimmied to crouch and blend in sinister form to a gnarled yew.

  Someone was creeping through the gardens, she realized with a jolt of misgiving. With a light push on the casement, she leaned out farther to watch the intruder.

  “He jests at scars, that never saw a wound…” The teasing whisper came from behind her.

  With a gasp, Jessica whirled around, realizing that she had been so absorbed in her observation of the interloper that she hadn’t heard Alex come into the room. His crooked smile was tinged with obvious weariness and he came forward and stopped by the bed, reaching up with long fingers to tug at his cravat. In his normal tone, he said, “Sorry about the quotation but you looked a little like the infamous Juliet, leaning out her window and pining for Romeo.”

  “Someone’s out there.” She hadn’t meant to blurt it out so abruptly, but he had startled her, and the traitorous leap of excitement in her blood every time she saw him was disconcerting.

  Alex went very still, his hands at his neck. “What?”

  Steadying herself with a swift intake of breath, Jessica said, “There’s a man creeping through the garden. See for yourself.”

  In two seconds Alex was beside her, his broad shoulders blocking the window, his eyes narrowed. “Where, Jess? It’s dark out there.”

  “To the right side of the path. By the yew.”

  “By the…” He stiffened. “Oh yes, I see him now.” He turned and looked at her, his blue eyes blazing with a sudden intensity that made her want to step backwards. He caught her shoulders. “Jess, listen to me. Go tell Marcus, hear me? Tell him what you saw and that he’s to arm himself. Whatever he says, tell him that he’s not to come outside for any reason. Both you and Ariel stay away from the windows. Don’t dismiss the order.”

  Letting her go, Alex jerked off his half-tied cravat and then tore off his coat, tossing them both on the bed. To her horror, he reached down and pulled out a very businesslike-looking knife from his boot and then went back to the window to peer out once more. He hissed, “Damnation, I don’t see him anymore.”

  “Alex…” Her voice wobbled in protest. “Go warn Marcus, Jess.”

  Before she knew it he was gone, slipping out the door. She could hear the thud of his footsteps pound down the hallway toward the stairs.

  Numb and standing there for a second, she had to fight the urge to fly back to the window and watch whatever happened next. Grabbing her skirts instead, she ran to the door to go rouse the duke and duchess.

  Chapter 13

  At the French doors off the dining room, Alex took a deep breath and steadied himself, half-concealed behind the heavy velvet draperies. If a famed French spy and assassin really lurked outside, he hardly wanted to catapult himself right into the man’s path. Courage was one thing, foolhardy impulsiveness another. If he’d learned anything from his time in Spain, it was cautious advance in the face of an unknown enemy. He grasped the handle of the door and slowly turned it, carefully easing it open. The soft smell of flowers and moist night air greeted him as he slipped outside.

  The man had been on the side of the house where the long windows downstairs gave a view of two formal parlors, a billiards room, the library and Marcus’s study. At the very back of the huge house were the kitchens and servants’ quarters, but Alex reasoned his quarry would not be interested in either of those. Walking lightly as possible, he ducked beside a box hedge that bordered the garden path and crouched there, surveying the darkened landscape with a keen, roaming glance.

  No movement. Nothing but night birds with their melancholy voices and the languid scent of overblown flowers.

  Hell.

  The possibility the man might already be inside the house sent a small chill up his spine. Not only was Marcus in grave danger, but Jessica and Ariel were in there too, not to mention the children. Alex had hoped to catch their unwanted visitor before he gained entrance to the house, but…

  His sweeping gaze stopped short, focused and locked.

  There he is.

  A tall silhouette sprang into view as if rising from a grave, only paces away. The shadow was black from head to toe, aside from the gleam of something long and metallic in its hand.

  So they were both armed. His own knife was held at ready, and while he might be more handy with a sword—after fighting hand to hand more times than he could count—he knew how to use the weapon he had, and use it well.

  The man edged along the wall and reached upward, the reflection of his hand showing in the black glass of the library window. As Alex watched, the thin blade of the weapon slid between the frame and jerked upward, nothing more than the slight click of the opened latch giving notice. With slow and measured movements, the intruder eased open the long window and rose up, an eerie silhouette against the darkened room beyond.

  Perfect.

  Alex waited until the man was partially over the sill before he moved. In a sudden sprint from his position behind the hedge, he came around and pounced on his victim, grabbing him from behind by the back of his dark cloak and jerking him downward with all his might. He heard a grunt of surprise as the figure slipped off the sill and landed in a small, leafy bush under the window. Brandishing his knife, Alex leaned forward, intending to put it at the man’s throat. “Don’t move. Upon your life.”

  Half-sprawled in the bush, the man didn’t heed the command, instead delivering a smashing kick to the knee that took Alex by surprise and sent him staggering backwards. Quick as a cat, the man was on his feet, coming to the attack with diabolical ferocity, swinging his blade first and then a fist after, putting Alex on the defensive. As he parried one particularly vicious swing, Alex managed to slash the man’s arm, hearing both his gasp of pain and the sound of re
nding cloth. His knife came away red in the moonlight.

  The injury seemed to only infuriate, not subdue, his opponent. The next attack was violent and straightforward, sending them both crashing to the ground. Alex landed on the bottom, the breath going out of his chest in a rush as the full weight of his assailant came slamming down on top of him.

  The man was masked, his eyes mere glitters through the slit in the cloth. Likewise, all of his clothing was dead black, right down to his cloak. For a split second their faces were inches apart and harsh breathing filled the air. Then, with a heave, Alex freed himself, his opponent sprawling on the moonlit path. However, before he could even gain his feet, the other man was up with that same supple animal grace, his knife flashing as it jabbed forward.

  It caught Alex in the shoulder, slicing through his lawn shirt and sending a line of fiery pain across his barely healed wound. He staggered backwards and hit the hedge, a muffled curse escaping his lips. To his surprise, instead of following the attack with the same ruthless skill, the man simply stopped for a moment and stood there with his cloak moving in the breeze; then he lifted the wicked-looking knife to his forehead in a quick, small salute.

  A moment later he was gone, like a wraith melting into the darkness.

  * * * *

  There was blood on his shirt, his neck, and a swelling dark bruise just beneath his left cheekbone. Hair rumpled, dirt on his breeches, his normally handsome face set in a scowl, Alex looked every inch a man who had just engaged in a furious and brutal brawl. As Jessica watched, her husband dropped into a chair, waving away a hovering Ariel. “Let it be, it’s just a scratch.”

  Her hands shook. In fact, her knees were also trembling, threatening her balance. Against the doorjamb of the duke’s study, Jessica felt a little like a tower of jelly about to dissolve into a sticky puddle.