“Of course not—” He glared at her. “What are you going to do now?”
“Find someone else, obviously.”
“Don’t you dare!” In three strides he was across the room, barring the door before she could march through it. “Where did this lunatic idea come from?”
He had wedged himself between her and the door. Bathsheba had never been so close to him—nor to any man who exerted this sort of pull on her—but she refused to back away. He was only half a head taller than she, but her pulse skipped a beat as she looked up at him.
“The usual urges, Liam,” she said, quietly but firmly. “How can I write about lovemaking all day and not wonder if I’m describing it accurately?” Not to mention lying awake at nights perishing of curiosity about the heights of bliss one could achieve, with the right lover.
He looked like a storm cloud, dark hair curling wildly against his loose collar and his eyes turbulent. “Who would you ask?”
“I’ve spent enough time among the rakes and scoundrels of London to know it won’t be impossible to find one willing to toss up my skirts. I had hoped to avoid it being a stranger, but—”
“Sit down,” he growled. He jerked his head toward the chair she had just vacated.
Surprised, Bathsheba sat down.
Watching her closely, Liam paced the confines of his cluttered office. He combed one hand through his hair, mussing it even more, and Bathsheba’s stomach contracted involuntarily. No, she didn’t want it to be a stranger . . . She wanted to learn passion from a handsome, slightly dangerous man, and Liam fit the bill in every particular. The fact that he knew her, respected her, treated her as an equal for good and for ill, just made it even more logical that she should ask him.
The fact that she found him wildly, irrationally attractive ought not to figure into it, except as a private measure of delight for her. At first she had feared that was a fatal weakness in her plan, as his answer would matter far more to her than it should, but she had persuaded herself it was worth the risk. What was the harm in giving in to her secret infatuation?
But who knew he would turn into a stuffy prude at the first mention of a casual affair? Bathsheba spent her evenings haunting the edges of society. Everything she’d overheard indicated that rakes wanted precisely that: not love, not attachment, nothing but a few passionate nights in bed.
Of course, she’d also heard that rakes enjoyed the chase, the thrill of pursuing a reluctant woman, and she’d just scotched any prospect of that. But when she thought of how long it would take to entice Liam into wanting her, then pursuing her, pretending reluctance, before finally succumbing . . . Who had time for that? She wanted to know now.
Finally Liam stopped pacing. “Why do you think you need more experience?” A bit of the flush returned as he spoke the last word. “Lady X sells quite well; just keep on doing what you’re doing.”
“It’s getting stale,” she tried to say, but he slashed one hand.
“Bollocks. Just write more of the same. People love it.”
“It’s boring me.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Boring! You wrote of an encounter in Hyde Park in the last installment.”
Her mouth turned down. All the excitement of that chapter had revolved around the prospect of Lady X getting caught with her lover making love in a stand of trees not far from the carriageway. Bathsheba understood all about the sick terror of getting caught doing something illicit and risking being exposed and humiliated. What she didn’t know, at least not well enough, was the craving for another person that would drive someone to risk everything for those few minutes of rapture. “I can’t keep writing stories where the sole source of tension is the location of the encounter.”
“Why not?”
She threw her arms wide. “Where else would you have me set a story? In the British Museum? Onstage in Drury Lane? If you suggest a Royal Drawing Room, I shall slap your face.”
He waved one hand irritably. “Of course I would never suggest that. You’ve never been—”
Blessedly, he stopped before finishing it, but Bathsheba knew what he meant. She’d never been anywhere half so elegant and wouldn’t have the first idea how to describe a Drawing Room reception at St. James’s Palace. Since it was true, she didn’t dwell on the faint sting of the words, but seized on the fact that he’d proved her point. “Exactly! I’ve never been to the Court of St. James, so I couldn’t possibly write sensibly about it. The same is true of this other matter. However, while I am highly unlikely ever to receive an invitation to St. James’s, I bloody well can find a man to take me to bed.”
For some reason, whenever she swore, Liam took her more seriously. He did this time as well, dropping into the chair beside her. “I just don’t think it’s necessary,” he argued.
Bathsheba could see the fight had gone out of him. “That’s why you’re the publisher and I’m the author,” she said firmly. “It’s not your place to have good story ideas. Your job is to take full advantage of my good ideas. Don’t worry, Liam. I promise to be discreet and not betray any hint of the truth in a tale.”
He stared at her for a long moment. “Why me?”
Again Bathsheba’s stomach clenched involuntarily. Was he relenting? Something hot and exhilarating bubbled up in her chest for a moment before she forced it down. “Because it’s for our joint business,” she said aloud, reminding herself as much as telling him. “Because I know you and believe you would be discreet—it not being in either of our interests to reveal it. And because the rumors about you are impressive—” She stopped and had to look away as his gaze grew faintly amused. “Are you reconsidering?”
He leaned forward. “Bathsheba,” he said in the soft Scottish drawl that always caused unwarranted tremors to shiver through her. “Are you trying to seduce me?”
Yes. She would die before saying it out loud. “Would it be faster to try to hire you?”
Liam laughed. “You couldn’t afford me, love.” He sat back and ran a speculative gaze over her. Bathsheba tried not to feel the way her nipples hardened as his gray eyes lingered on her bosom. If any other man had ever looked at her breasts that way, she couldn’t recall it. “But for business . . . You know the way to my heart. I’ll do it.”
She blinked. “Lovely.”
“Where do you propose to conduct this reseach?”
“Er.” She hadn’t worked that out. In fact, she was only now realizing that she hadn’t truly expected him to agree. “I’ll let you know.”
But he’d seen. His eyes now gleaming with satisfaction, Liam surged out of his chair. “No, no, I’ll arrange it.” He gave her a look, the hint of a smirk curling his mouth. “Based on my greater expertise in the subject.”
Bathsheba’s wits had been somewhat scrambled by the lightning-fast change in his attitude. “Lovely,” she repeated in the same blank tone.
Liam crossed his arms over his chest—rather a broad chest, now that she looked at it anew—and smiled. Not a smirk, not a ruthless twist of his lips, but a sensual expression that hinted of wickedness beyond her wildest imagination. Which was what she had wanted, but perhaps not quite what she had expected. “It will be, love,” he promised. “It will be.”
Chapter 2
“What scandals are you exploiting these days?” Angus lined up his cue and squinted at his ball.
Liam sipped his whisky. “As many as I can find.”
His brother grunted and made his shot, scoring a cannon as his ball hit two others. “It’s not like you to keep something from Mother.”
“Mother hears at least as much as I print in the paper.”
Angus cocked his head and made another shot, sending Liam’s ball across the green baize and almost potting it in the corner pocket. Almost, but not quite.
Liam grinned vindictively. He and his brother played cutthroat billiards rules; any foul wiped out all a player’s points in a round. It was a tradition of theirs after Sunday dinner at their mother’s home. At times Liam suspected she�
�d bought this billiard table strictly to lure them here. Thin-lipped, Angus stepped aside. Liam did not intend to yield the table again. He set down his glass and reached for his cue.
“I can tell you’ve got something.” Angus picked up the piece of lambswool they used to clean the cues. In a competitive fit, Angus had had a cue made to his personal specifications. Liam had mocked him for that, even though he’d secretly had a custom stick made as well, an exact match in appearance for those in his mother’s cabinet, and substituted it for one of the ordinary cues. Since Angus only used his personal cue, and no one else played billiards on Mrs. MacGregor’s table, the replacement had gone unnoticed.
Now Liam hefted his perfectly weighted cue stick and surveyed the table. He did so enjoy ruining his older brother at billiards. “Two guineas a round, was it?”
“One,” said Angus curtly. “Wake me if you ever make a shot.”
“Go ahead and close your eyes,” murmured Liam, calculating the angles and lining up his plan of attack. “Perhaps then you won’t bawl like a child when I trounce you.”
“Who’s the new woman writing for you?” Angus asked just as he made his shot.
Liam swore at him. “That’s cheating.”
“Just idle conversation,” protested his brother with a gleam of false sincerity in his eyes. “Mother’s been dying to know.”
He glared. By some miracle, his shot hadn’t gone too far awry and he’d scored a point. Not the two points he had lined up, but it meant he kept control of the table. “It’s not really her concern, is it?”
While his father had fretted over Liam’s choice of profession, his mother had been entranced; now her son was privy to all the choicest gossip in London. Mrs. MacGregor’s favorite stories were about the Royal family, but anyone with a title was almost as good. The scandalous doings of her betters consumed Mrs. MacGregor’s attention.
Liam knew his mother read Tales of Lady X; he brought her every installment, along with copies of the Intelligencer’s scandal and gossip columns. She adored both, and never stopped trying to guess the identities of both authors. Fortunately Liam was used to fending off his mother.
“No,” said Angus, drawing out the word, “but it’s so intriguing that you won’t tell her, even after she vowed to be bound by secrecy.”
“We both know that would last as long as it took for her to call for the carriage and drive to Mrs. Lachlan’s home.” Liam recognized the questioning as a ploy to distract him again, and consequently said nothing else until he’d made his next shot, and the one after, clearing the table and winning the round.
Grim-faced, Angus slapped a guinea on the green felt. Now they both had to play around it, and whoever racked up the most points in an hour collected all the guineas on the table. At this point, Liam didn’t even remember the proper rules of billiards, but he didn’t care. The times he walked home, pockets heavy with Angus’s guineas, were celebratory occasions.
“You know,” Angus said casually, cleaning his cue and preparing for the next round, “some fellows mutter against you for hiring women.”
“Envious bastards,” was Liam’s languid reply.
“And women who write such scandalous things, too,” Angus went on. “Ladies cavorting with all manner of men!”
Liam gave a bark of laughter. Either Angus had started reading Lady X, or he’d been listening too much to their mother. “As if they would turn down a woman who wanted to seduce them! Men haven’t any high ground to stand on when it comes to seduction.” He poured more whisky for both of them. “You’ll have to trust me on that last bit, of course.”
Angus cursed and took his shot. To Liam’s private disgust, he scored another point. “What the bloody hell does that mean?”
“Merely that I doubt women stroll into the bank and try to seduce you.” Liam spoke soothingly, as if he were gently explaining some gross injustice Angus had no choice but to tolerate. No doubt he did; while Liam had got their mother’s fair skin and wavy dark hair, Angus was nearly identical to their father, ginger-haired, red-faced, and built like a bull.
His brother raised his eyebrows. “And do they stroll into the newspaper offices and offer to raise their skirts for you?”
In spite of himself, a small smile curved Liam’s lips. “On occasion.”
Angus started. “No!”
“Are you ceding the table?”
“No!” Angus lined up a shot, then abandoned the pose. “Not really. You’re having fun with me, eh?”
Liam sipped his drink and said nothing.
Angus threw down his cue. “By God, you bloody liar! You can’t mean it. What woman—? Why? And when the bloody hell—?” He shook his head in disgust. “I’m done.” He turned and stomped toward the door.
“Wait,” said Liam in mock disgust. “Such a poor sport you are, to leave before the game is done.”
His brother stopped in the doorway. “Admit you were lying about women offering to raise their skirts for you.”
“Can’t.”
“Won’t,” scoffed Angus.
Liam raised his glass and cocked his head in admonishment. “Can’t, because it’s true.”
“Who?”
“I’ll tell you who when hell freezes,” Liam shot back. “What sort of gentleman do you take me for?”
For a long moment Angus glared at him. “Is she a fetching lass?”
He sipped his whisky and pondered it. Was Bathsheba fetching? Because she was the only woman who’d ever offered him such a proposition. She wasn’t a beauty in the usual sense, but there was something about her. He knew she could be quiet and unremarkable when she wanted to be, but she had a spine of steel and a mind to match. When she set her sights on something, woe betide the fellow who tried to deny her.
How ironic that she’d set her sights on him. A faint smile curved his mouth at the memory of her blunt request. “She’s not a conventional beauty,” he finally said, “but she’s arresting all the same.”
Reluctantly Angus came back to the table. “Why you?”
Liam bared his teeth in a wide smile. “My devilish charm and irresistible masculinity.”
His brother roared with laughter. “Money! She wants to snare you in the parson’s noose, now that your gossip rag is profitable.”
It was profitable thanks to Bathsheba. Her Tales of Lady X outsold the newspaper. Even he hadn’t predicted that much appeal in them. But the result was that Bathsheba was making as much as he was, since they split the profits evenly. She wrote them, he published them . . . and he kept her identity an absolute secret. Her own brother didn’t know she was the author, even though Daniel Crawford did business with Liam at times.
So he simply shrugged at his brother’s goading comment. “Perhaps.”
That seemed to appease Angus. He gave a patronizing smile and held out his glass. “Pour us another, would you? I can’t let you walk away with my money.”
An hour later Liam did walk away, eight guineas richer. Angus had made a variety of halfhearted threats and curses, which always buoyed Liam’s mood even more than winning his brother’s money. Angus departed after muttering once more that Liam was a damned liar, claiming women were chasing him. Liam had held his tongue and made a show of collecting the guineas, going so far as to whistle a jaunty tune as he did so. That, he knew, would bother Angus more than any quarrel ever could.
Still . . . He didn’t like that Bathsheba was an object of gossip, even if no one knew her name. For a moment he considered reneging on his agreement, but only for a moment. The last thing he wanted to do was let her venture out into London in search of a man to ravish her. He freely admitted it had never occurred to him to seduce her, but now that she’d planted the thought, damned if it hadn’t taken root and pervaded his brain.
And she wanted it to be passionate and wild, to throw her world off kilter and leave her dazzled. What exactly did she expect, he wondered. Liam knew she haunted the public assemblies and pleasure gardens, ostensibly in search of material
for her books, but she must have seen quite a bit. The dark groves at Vauxhall had hosted more than their fair share of illicit seduction and hasty coupling.
His mouth curved at the thought. That must be what she anticipated: a frantic bout of thrusting up against a tree, the laughter of other guests audible over the pants and moans of the copulating couple. That was rather how Bathsheba had described the encounter in Hyde Park between her heroine, Lady X, and the notorious rake pursuing her.
So did she picture herself as Lady X, willing and ready for a quick tupping in dangerously public places? Liam thought not. The woman he knew guarded her privacy, and knew how to hold her tongue. She might think she was Lady X, might even want to be Lady X, but he knew better.
All his life Liam had delighted in upsetting people’s view of him. His father had wanted him to be a banker, like his brother, and Liam went into newspapers. His mother wanted him to marry one of her friends’ daughters, and he never managed to stay interested in a woman for more than a few months. His brother expected him to fail, or at least come beg for help, and Liam had chosen to live on bread and ale and sleep in his office when his business struggled. And now Bathsheba probably thought he would throw her on a sofa and take her like an animal, quick and to the point.
Well. Now that he pictured doing it, that might happen—eventually. His blood heated at the mental image of Bathsheba on his sofa, back arched and hair undone as he held her hips and drove into her.
But first, he meant to show her how delicate, how deliberate, and how thoroughly delicious his seduction could be.
Chapter 3
Bathsheba was sitting down, ready to work, when Liam’s message arrived.
Mary, the new maid, brought it in. “Just delivered for you, ma’am,” she said eagerly. “It’s from Mr. MacGregor so I brought it straight up.”
Bathsheba took the note she held out. It was so lovely to have servants again, after the long period of poverty, followed by the clandestine printing operation that dominated the house during production of Fifty Ways to Sin. Mary was a bit too interested in everything, but she was young, and she had accepted without question Bathsheba’s instruction that certain messages—from Liam, mostly—must be delivered without Danny being the wiser. As much as Bathsheba might scoff about not needing her younger brother’s protection, the fact remained that he was the head of their household, and if he discovered what she was doing, he would protest.
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