The Deadliest Sin
Page 13
She lifted her chin defiantly, unaccustomed to the aggression swelling deep inside, eager to test his limits, to stir in him the savagery that so many said was lurking just beneath the surface. “You have been away from civilization far too long, sir, that you fail to recognize the truth when you encounter it. The failing is yours, not mine.”
“Christ, you have no idea,” he growled, his mouth lowering to just a breath above hers. “I don’t know why I bother myself.”
“Precisely,” she breathed.
“Don’t be so quick to agree for once.” The last was an ominous threat and should have served as a warning.
His mouth descended over hers, hard and unforgiving. She stiffened with indignation, yet all words, all anger left her when she felt the heat of his mouth. She could gather no resistance as his fingers laced into her hair and she opened her lips to the first incursion of his tongue. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew she was lost and she could no longer deny that she wanted it, whatever the cost.
Her fingers twisted into the lapels of his greatcoat, losing themselves in the wool and then the linen covering his chest. His mouth released hers in a rush of breath while the gaslight swam in the miasma of darkness and her head fell back beneath the onslaught of his lips on the exposed skin of her neck. It was madness, with Lowther waiting for Strathmore, with the threat of discovery, and the sharpness of the mulberry bush scraping her right cheek.
Pushing it all to the side, she felt his silky hair spring against her sensitized fingertips. She pressed his head closer as he lowered his mouth to her lips once more, the heat of his breath inflaming her as his miraculous sleight of hand parted her cloak and the modest wool shawl covering her bodice. Parting the fabric, his lips swept the highest curves of her breasts, before he cupped and nearly pushed them from her bodice. With a soft murmur, he slipped his tongue into the exposed valley, drawing a long, lingering breath from her.
“Tell me,” he murmured, drawing back infinitesimally as his thumbs teased the swelling peaks until they ached. “Tell me now that you don’t want this.” His lips traced a path along her neck before catching her full bottom lip.
She couldn’t speak. She forced a swallow, summoning every last shred of rational thought available to her. Dear Lord, the situation was impossible. She turned in his arms, as far as he would allow her. “This always happens. Between us. It isn’t right.” She took a deep, steadying breath. “And it isn’t the truth.”
“And what if it is?”
“It can’t be.”
“Go back to Gower street,” he said while her fingers awkwardly rearranged her bodice and shawl. He pulled the cloak securely around her shoulders. “We shall finish this tonight.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, even though she knew exactly what he meant, her mind screaming denial while her body said otherwise. Something in his eyes told her he knew exactly the confusion that was overtaking her.
“You continue to lie to yourself.”
“And your arrogance continues to astound me.”
“It shouldn’t. A moment ago I could have taken you here on the cold ground and you would have welcomed it.”
The gaslight shimmered and her hand shot out to deliver a stinging slap to his jaw. Her stomach heaved when she saw that he barely flinched, didn’t register the faintest response. What was becoming of her that she could not control her emotions, that she should resort to such actions?
She swallowed hard, the lump in her throat precluding further words. Aware of Strathmore’s cool, unflinching regard, she pushed aside the shrubbery and propelled herself onto the pathway as if chased by fiends.
She took a few steps, the tall trees and buildings swimming in her vision. Then she began to run, the dampness fanning the heat flushing her face, cooling the tenderness of her lips. The choice was not hers. She had to keep Strathmore close—to dance with the devil. Because the farther away from her he was, the more dangerous he would become.
Chapter 9
Strathmore stepped from the darkness of the late evening and into the dimly lit hallway.
“Welcome, Lord Strathmore,” said Lowther, leaning out of the shadows and into the yellow light of the sconces. “I wish I could congratulate you on a job well done, but we both know otherwise.”
Strathmore gave a swift incline of his head. The scent, taste and feel of Julia Woolcott lingered, but he ruthlessly put her from his mind.
“I prefer to use my time wisely. So let’s get on with this.”
“I intend to, never fear.” Without hesitation, the older man brushed by him in the hallway and into the drawing room, pausing only to glance over his shoulder contemptuously. “I should have thought following my instructions concerning Julia Woolcott would have been child’s play for a man of your experience.”
Of all the reasons Strathmore possessed to despise Faron’s lieutenant, none had ever proven half so compelling as the cavalier manner in which Julia’s name spilled from the man’s lips. For a short moment, Strathmore imagined what it would feel like to have Lowther’s thick neck clamped between his hands.
“It should have been so simple.” Lowther waved a fist in the air, his head cocked. He leaned against one of the glass topped tables, at ease in the unusual chaos of the room, folding his arms over his barrel chest. “You may count yourself fortunate that I reported your failure to Faron with a certain tact and diplomacy. He can be somewhat unreliable these days.”
Strathmore jutted his chin toward the atlas which contained the map of Africa and the Nile. It lay closed beside Lowther’s elbow. “Faron would like to meet with me as much as I would like to meet with him.”
Lowther gave a one-sided smile. “So you believe.”
Strathmore offered no reply.
Lowther drew himself up with supreme self-satisfaction, as though entirely in control, one hand smoothing his vest contemplatively, the other pushing aside the atlas with a careless shove. “You probably don’t realize it, but Julia Woolcott is only an instrument in the universe of Faron’s making. Completely disposable once she has served her purpose.”
Strathmore gritted his teeth into a smile. He forced the words from his throat. “Is that so? You never did tell me the reason for Faron’s obsession with the Woolcotts.”
Lowther regarded him through narrowed eyes. “And you never told me the reasons behind your obsession with discovering the source of the Nile.”
“It’s what I do.”
“Ah yes, the penchant for exploration—which leads, of course, to a fixation with the Big Prize. I can’t help wonder why you do it, risk everything, leave your family behind, sacrifice comforts and endanger your life—all for what? Not to mention involving yourself with the Woolcotts.”
“You contacted me, as you’ll recall.”
“With an opportunity that Faron sensed you could not refuse,” said Lowther loftily. “The man has a keen and enviable understanding of human nature.”
“Only one among his many talents, I hear.”
“You surmise correctly. But tell me, Strathmore, why didn’t you finish up with Miss Woolcott? I’ve heard that you had your hands all over her at Eccles House. Was that purely for effect?”
Strathmore’s eyes glittered. “It was required, given the circumstances. We were not invited to attend high tea, as you’ll recall.”
Lowther’s features hardened. “Then what in bloody hell happened? And why are you keeping Miss Woolcott at your town house here in London? With you.”
“Before I answer that question,” replied Strathmore, strolling over to the bookcase from which he and Julia had watched undetected, “I should like to inquire as to why you saw fit to send a none too friendly emissary to my town house. With a pistol. I thought you trusted me.”
“Trust is not the issue.”
“For the moment, it appears as though Miss Woolcott met a particularly sordid end at Eccles House. Information that, I take it, you delivered to Montfort. That was the point, was it not?”
Strathmore shoved his fists into his trouser pockets lest he find his hands around Lowther’s throat. He could not account for the simmering rage that lent his voice a hoarseness he hoped would be mistaken for contempt. He was usually slow to anger but since meeting Julia, he could not rely on the customary discipline of his cool nature. “You promised to get on with it, Lowther.”
“I did, didn’t I?” With his hands behind his back and his chest leading like a ship in full sail, Lowther continued his pacing. “I hazard a guess you have developed an unfortunate affection for Miss Woolcott, which rather complicates the situation.”
Strathmore grunted and tried his best to thrust haunting memories from his mind. He casually surveyed the bookshelf behind Lowther’s back. “You are obviously not the judge of character that Faron is. Circumstances led me to take a different course of action regarding Julia Woolcott.”
“From my understanding, she is a rather peculiar, sheltered young woman. Hardly the sort to take up with the set at Eccles House—which is precisely the reason Faron thought to have her killed in such a dramatic and sordid manner. It would cause her aunt the greatest pain. Diabolical, no?”
Strathmore didn’t trust himself to answer. “Why come to me with the proposition in the first place?”
Lowther arced a brow. “You and the great man have so much in common. Your various interests, to begin with.” He added slyly, “Of which you are totally aware. Otherwise you would not have taken up the assignment with such alacrity. It’s your very enthusiasm, that thirsty ambition, that has convinced Faron you deserve another chance.”
Leaning over one of the glass cases to survey its contents of dung beetles, Strathmore said, “How generous. I take it you have another assignment for me. To prove my worth to Faron.”
Lowther snorted. “You’re very clever, my lord—which is precisely what has me worried.” He momentarily stopped his pacing, giving Strathmore a strange look. “Beaumarchais warned me.”
Strathmore’s head snapped up, his suspicions confirmed. “No surprise to me. Although your acolyte looked more than comfortable enjoying the entertainments at Eccles House.”
“Beaumarchais is a curious sort of rogue and his sole qualification is as a hanger-on whose loyalty can be purchased with money and favors. As you no doubt have guessed, he is a notorious philanderer with an unhealthy and possibly destructive fascination with actresses and the like. I needed a pair of eyes and he, of course, was more than eager to supply them.”
“You trust him?”
“As much as I trust anyone. It has served me well to have Beaumarchais in my pocket.” He paused, sending Strathmore another odd look. “As I have you in my pocket—although I concede that your price is of an entirely different nature from his.” Lowther extracted his pocket watch with a flourish. “Ah, look at the time.” He slapped the watch closed in his palm. “As it turns out, you don’t have much time to spare, Strathmore.”
“Imagine that,” Strathmore muttered.
“You want this badly, don’t you? This Nile business. A crowning achievement for the intrepid explorer and discoverer, Lord Strathmore.”
Strathmore scowled at the glass-encased zebra. “This is becoming tedious.”
“You will admire the particular genius of my request, once you hear it.”
“Of your design or Faron’s?”
“You doubt my abilities in these matters?” Lowther pursed his lips in disapproval. “I have decided that since you’ve initiated a liaison with Julia Woolcott—and don’t try to deny it, Strathmore—we shall challenge you further. To test whether you can fulfill your promise to Faron as well as your promise to the young lady in question.”
“I made no promises to her.”
Holding up a palm in protest, Lowther said, “Hear me out. You will see that my proposition has a particular elegance. You can prove yourself both to Faron and our Miss Woolcott with one supremely gallant gesture.”
Strathmore suppressed a curse. He sensed Lowther would tip his hand soon.
“I believe the time is upon us for action,” Lowther continued tonelessly. “As you well know by now, Miss Woolcott has a sister, to whom she is very close.”
A chill sliced through Strathmore.
Lowther smiled for the first time, his gums peeling back over his teeth. Their eyes locked. “Don’t think you can play me for the fool again, sir. As it is you’ve pushed me to limits no other would ever think to attempt. I shall not disappoint Faron—nor will you.”
“This isn’t necessary,” Strathmore said softly.
“I say it is.”
Strathmore went rigid, fists clenching against his thighs to keep from smashing Lowther’s grin from his face.
“Simple, really, for a man like you.” He held up a fleshy palm. “Save the obligatory speeches. Words, I’m afraid, won’t suffice this time. Never fear, you will have ample opportunity to convince me you are a man worthy of the great Faron. You should thank me, Lord Strathmore. Your opportunity beckons.” Lowther’s gaze darted to the curtained windows. “Oh dear, I do believe that my carriage has arrived.”
“Miss Woolcott’s sister.” Strathmore narrowed his eyes. “What have you done with her?”
“Nothing yet.” He paused for effect. “She has been kidnapped. You have three days to find her. Simple enough.”
“Or you plan to have her killed.”
“Not precisely,” Lowther replied, a maniacal light settling deep in his eyes. “I’m not going to kill Rowena Woolcott. Because if you get to her first, and I’m sure that’s entirely within your abilities—that particular honor will be yours.”
Julia stood in the library of Strathmore’s town house, waiting. It was well past midnight. Through the window she stared at the puddles dotting the cobblestone drive, fighting demons she wished she’d never had to confront. Had she stayed at Montfort—but that was impossible.
As for Strathmore—she needed only to say his name. He was like a damned opiate, no matter that he was simply using her, no matter that he would do anything to achieve his own ambitions, and no matter that such a man should stir only disgust and contempt in her, and not the mindless, overwhelming desire so fierce she shook with it.
Backing away from the window, Julia felt a chill seep into her bones. The rain had begun again, but it was unable to drown out the small voice that flared in the recesses of her mind. She was ashamed to admit it, but she wanted him. She needed him, in so many more ways than one. Alexander Francis Strathmore.
The house was quiet, most of the servants already abed. Julia found him on the first floor in a small study off the main hallway. He was standing with his back toward her, in front of a dying fire, and she knew he sensed her presence. They both pretended otherwise and she took the time to memorize every dark angle of his shoulders, imagining the clean sweep of his jaw, the slight hook of his nose, his wide mouth. She already knew that mouth to be capable of igniting a firestorm within her and those beautiful hands were capable of sending her into a realm she had never before imagined.
The fire bathed him in a warm light, reflecting in the sheen of his dark hair. He turned his profile toward the doorway, the shadows casting his features into brutal angles. His chest expanded with his breathing, drawing Julia’s attention. They did not acknowledge one another. She stood poised on the threshold, her whole body tense with wanting. She would not lie to herself. She wanted to feel that sculpted hardness pushing against her breasts, to smooth her open palms over his ridged belly, the impressive bulge in his trousers, and the iron of his thighs. Her mouth was dry as thoughts of Montfort, her fears for her aunt and sister, receded into the night.
She might never
have the chance again. Strathmore exuded an overwhelming, compelling masculinity far outside her ken. A breath escaped her lips and his gray eyes finally sought hers. Something leapt in their depths, mirroring the dying embers of the fire, before his expression shuttered closed.
Her gaze went to the fire, then to the floor, and then slowly lifted to him. She knew what she had to do. Her feet moved awkwardly over the parquet floor until her fingertips brushed his shoulder. In one swift motion, his arm snaked around her waist, and he drew her between his parted thighs.
“Strathmore,” she said, the name a plea.
“Don’t.” He ground the word out. “I know why you’re doing this.”
Julia struggled to retain her composure beneath his intense gaze. “No, you don’t. You are always telling me not to lie to myself—you said so this evening at Torrington Place. Now I am taking your advice to heart. I do not lie when I say that I want you, Strathmore, with no reservations and no hesitations.” She stopped herself and then added with all the honesty her heart could bear, “But only if you want me.”
Darkness glittered in his eyes. “You only believe that you want me.”
“Why are you challenging me? I know what I want. You said only tonight that we must finish this.”
“Not what I meant.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t have to do this to ensure that I’ll help you find Faron.”
“This has nothing to do with him.”
“You have no ulterior motives?”
“None,” she answered with her heart in her mouth. She held her breath and felt the world tilt beneath her feet. She wanted him to touch her as no man had ever touched her before. “What I’m feeling is natural, overwhelming. And inevitable. Isn’t that what you have been telling me since the first moment we met?”
His hand caught in her hair and forced her eyes to his. “You should be more careful, Julia.” For the first time there was hesitation in his voice but she ignored it, reveling in the feel of his hard thighs straining against her.