‘We gotta get out of here, Spike. The noise of the shot’ll have the watch here. What will we do with her?’
‘Bring her with us. I’ve got a score to settle with the bitch.’
Venetia tried to control the panic.
‘I do not think so.’ A voice sounded from a little away, a voice that was low, but so deadly and certain that it cut through the night like an arrow, and made her heart tumble with recognition: Linwood.
‘Who the hell are you?’ Spike asked.
‘That is irrelevant. Move away from the woman.’ The expression on Linwood’s face did not alter. It was closed, indifferent almost. And all the while his gaze remained fixed and steady on the villain. There was an unnerving stillness about him, a calm that was more dangerous than any swagger or shouted bravado. The very air was ripe with danger, the threat so real that only a complete fool would fail to recognise it.
No one moved. No one spoke. But Venetia felt the villain’s fingers tighten around her arms.
And even though she was waiting for it, holding her breath in expectation, Linwood’s move, when it came, still shocked her. He lashed out quick and deadly as a viper, the wolf’s-head of his walking cane flashing silver in the moonlight as he swung it to land hard against the head of the villain who held her, sending the villain reeling and freeing her. Then Linwood kicked the leg of his accomplice that held her bullet. The man screamed with pain as he crumpled to writhe in agony on the pavement.
Linwood did not even look at the men he had felled. Just walked up to her and, taking hold of her arm, guided her briskly away down the street. By the time the doors of the surrounding houses had opened and lanterns were being held aloft, Venetia and Linwood had been swallowed up by the darkness. Only when they turned the corner into the next street, the street in which she lived, did Venetia stop and stare up into his face.
‘What are you doing here? I thought that you were still at Razeby’s. I thought you were...’ Eating fruit from a courtesan’s naked body like every other debauched gentleman in the marquis’s dining room.
‘The after-dinner entertainment was not to my taste.’
Her eyes searched his, looking for the lie and finding no hint of it.
‘And then I learned that you had decided to walk home alone.’ He sounded as if he were distinctly not amused. His face was as stern as when he had faced the two ruffians. ‘A foolhardy decision, Miss Fox, and I had not thought you foolish.’
She flushed beneath the harshness of his criticism, knowing he was right and balking all the more because of it. ‘I had no mind to stay in that house a moment longer. Besides, I was not exactly defenceless.’
‘So I saw.’ And she was not sure if he meant what he said or was being ironic. Her cheeks burned hotter. They both knew what would have happened had he not arrived.
‘Next time, wait for me.’
‘Next time?’ she demanded, her temper sharpened by her wounded pride. ‘I believe you are a trifle presumptive, my lord.’
He said nothing, gave no hint of reaction upon his face. Just looked at her and there was something in those dark eyes that made her feel ashamed of her pettiness.
‘Forgive me,’ she murmured, glancing away. ‘I am grateful for your intervention.’
She turned her eyes back to his and they looked at one another through the darkness. She should feel as afraid of him as the two ruffians that they had left behind. But what she felt was wary curiosity and physical attraction, not fear.
‘I will see you safely home, Miss Fox.’ He did not offer her his arm. He did not smile.
She gave a nod, knowing that she was close to ruining all that she had worked upon with him, knowing that she should say something to redeem herself and the situation, but unable to do so. She felt uneasy, uncomfortable, shaken more than she wanted to admit. Not by the two men, but by Linwood.
They walked side by side, in silence, an awkwardness between them that had not been there before, only stopping when they reached the front door of her home.
‘Goodnight, Miss Fox.’ She felt as if there were a hundred miles between them, that all of the rapport that had flowed between them earlier in the evening had gone, that she was in danger of losing the game when it had barely begun. He rapped the knocker on her front door, then walked away.
‘Linwood,’ she called out, before she could change her mind.
The dark figure stopped by the railings. He turned slowly and looked at her, and the light of the nearby street lamp illuminated him in its soft yellow glow. She walked slowly towards him, ignoring the front door opening behind her, walked right up to him, her gaze never breaking from his, reached her face up to his and brushed his lips with her own.
‘The next time I will wait for you,’ she said softly.
She saw something flicker in the darkness of his eyes, then she found herself in his arms, his mouth upon hers, kissing her.
Linwood’s mouth was masterful. He kissed her and she forgot what any of this was supposed to be about. He kissed her and Venetia had never known a kiss like it. Her heart thundered, her pulse raced, every inch of her skin shimmered with a desire that was all for him. She had never experienced anything so raw, so powerful, so shockingly arousing. Her body melded to his, her arms winding themselves around his neck as she clung to him, wanting him with a passion that roared in her ears and fired her blood to unbearable heat. His tongue stroked against hers, lapped, teased, enticed, and her own leapt to meet it. He kissed her and everything else in the world seemed to slip away and the heat for him, the desire for him, roared with a primitive ferocity.
She broke the kiss, drawing her face back and staring into his eyes, those dark dangerous eyes that hid so many secrets. She was shocked at her loss of control, shocked at the strength of feeling coursing through her, at the blatant physical desire that had her body pressed to his and a heat scalding the tender skin of her thighs. She stepped back, opening up a space between them, feigning a control she did not feel.
They stared at one another through the darkness, both their breaths loud and ragged in the still silence of the night. The tension hummed in the small space between them. She did not trust herself to speak, only to turn and slowly walk away into her bright-lit hallway. Only then did she glance back to find him still standing there, watching her. Their eyes met once more before the door closed and her butler turned the key.
She sagged back against the solid support of the thick oaken barrier, wondering if he was standing out there still. Her legs felt weak. She touched a finger to her kiss-swollen lips.
‘Are you all right, ma’am?’ Albert, her elderly butler, peered at her with concern.
She nodded. ‘Perfectly.’ She forced a smile to allay the worry from his face. But it was a lie. Venetia was not all right. She felt hot, aroused and more disturbed than anything by her reaction to Viscount Linwood.
‘There is no need for a night porter tonight. Miss Sweetly will not be home until tomorrow,’ she said and made her way towards the large sweeping staircase.
‘Very good, ma’am. I’ll send Daisy up to attend you in your bedchamber.’
‘Thank you.’
* * *
But even when her maid had helped her to change into her nightdress and Venetia had climbed beneath the bedclothes she could not sleep. She could not even lie still, let alone close her eyes. There was a tension throbbing through her that had not been there before. Her body felt restless and twitchy, her mind, milling a thousand thoughts.
The after-dinner entertainment was not to my taste. Linwood’s words seemed to have etched themselves upon her brain. It should not have mattered to her in the slightest. Even if he had climbed upon Razeby’s dining-room table and ridden Miss Vert before them all, such an act paled in comparison to what he had done. And yet Venetia found that it did matter, very much. He had not stayed
to indulge a base appetite with the other men. He had come after her. And only because of Linwood was she lying here safe now within her own bed. There was a heavy irony in that. And in the fact that she was attracted to him...and he to her. She squeezed her eyes shut, knowing that it made her objective both more difficult and easier at once. The sooner she discovered something useful against him, the sooner all of this would come to an end. But she would have to be careful, careful in a way that neither she nor her brother had ever contemplated. Careful not of Linwood, but of her own response to him.
Chapter Four
Linwood stood alone in his rooms, gazing down into the dying embers of the fire. The open newspaper still lay on the table behind him, the London Messenger, the newspaper that Linwood owned, discarded where he had left it earlier that day. The last rallying flicker of the flames danced upon the crystal glass held within his hand, burnishing the brandy within a rich deep auburn. He swigged a mouthful, relishing the smooth aromatic burn against his tongue and the back of his throat, and for the first night in such a long time he had not given a thought to Rotherham.
Her image was etched upon his mind. It seemed that he could still smell the faint scent of her perfume and taste her upon his lips. And just the memory of that kiss, of her body against his, and all that had flared between them, made him hard. He wanted Venetia Fox. He had wanted her since that first night on the green-room balcony. Linwood had had his share of women, but none compared with her. She was a woman more beautiful than any other. Intriguing. Irresistible. And it seemed that the attraction that he felt for her was reciprocated. There was definitely something of a connection between them. Desire rippled through him. Maybe Razeby was right. Maybe a little distraction would be no bad thing. Maybe then he would be able to sleep at night without first drinking half a bottle of brandy.
He set the glass down on the table, and as he did so his eye went to the article uppermost on the neatly folded page; the same article he had read and reread since yesterday. Lord Dawson of Bow Street announces that the shooting of the Duke of Rotherham was murder. His arousal was gone in an instant. His mind sharpened. The problem was not going to go away. He had the horrible feeling that instead of the ending it should have been, Rotherham’s death had started something, something that, if not contained, would destroy them all. He could not afford distraction, even distraction as enticing as Venetia Fox, not when he had a murder to hide. He lifted the bottle of brandy and topped up his glass.
* * *
Venetia was still out of sorts the next afternoon. Because of what had happened the night before with Linwood. Because he had not yet called upon her, even though, had he called unannounced, she would not have received him. And because of what Alice was now saying as she sat opposite her in their drawing room.
Venetia studied her friend’s face, the pallor of her skin and shadows beneath her eyes that betrayed a night spent not in sleep, and the triumph and the excitement that radiated from her every pore.
There was an uncomfortable silence, in which Alice had the grace to blush.
‘You have accepted Razeby’s offer.’ Venetia could not keep the disappointment from her voice.
‘He’s offered me two thousand a year, and the house in Hart Street. How can I refuse?’ She paused. ‘Please understand.’
‘You are placing yourself at his mercy, Alice. What happens when he tires of you and takes a new mistress?’
She shrugged. ‘If it happens, then I’ll move on and find another protector.’
‘When it happens.’
‘I’m going into this with my eyes wide open, Venetia. I’ve made up my mind.’
‘Flirt with him, tease him. Sleep with him if that is what you so truly desire, but do not give yourself into his power.’
‘It’s too late,’ said Alice. ‘I’ve accepted him.’
‘It is never too late,’ said Venetia.
‘Really it is.’ Alice’s gaze met hers. There was a small silence. ‘I want him,’ she said simply, as if that explained it all. ‘I want this. Please be glad for me, Venetia.’
Venetia gave a sigh, followed by a smile of resignation. ‘If you are happy, then I am glad.’
Alice smiled. ‘And what of you, last night? Linwood came looking for you. Did he find you?’
‘He did.’
‘And?’ Alice demanded.
‘He walked me home.’ She made no mention of the ruffians who had attacked her, or of Linwood saving her.
‘You really do like him, don’t you?’ Alice looked worried.
She could not like a man like Linwood. Not when she knew the secret he was hiding. And yet... She thought of the way he had not taken part in the feasting upon Miss Vert; the way he had come to protect her, instead. And the dark sensual attraction that simmered between them. ‘He is different to any other man I have met.’ It was the truth.
‘Venetia...’ Alice chewed on her lower lip. ‘You should be careful of Linwood. He’s not a good man.’
A chill stirred in Venetia’s blood. Her gaze sharpened. ‘That is the second warning you have given me of him, Alice. If there is something I should know...’
Alice bit her lip again as she always did when she was uncertain or worried.
‘I concede I have an interest in him, if that makes a difference in your decision to speak.’
‘I swore I’d never tell, but...’ Alice hesitated. ‘I think you need to know, Venetia...the part with Linwood at least.’
Venetia nodded, her senses quickening, her heart beating that bit faster. ‘Go on.’
‘It was when I worked for Mrs Silver. Linwood came to her House of Rainbow Pleasures and—’
Venetia felt her stomach contract and a sudden sick feeling of dread. ‘Linwood was your client?’ she whispered in horror.
‘No!’ Alice glanced up, shocked at the suggestion. ‘Not mine, or any of the other girls. No,’ she said again and frowned as if the memory was unpleasant. ‘He came for information. Offered a fortune for us to betray one of our own.’
‘One of your own? I do not understand.’
‘The identity of one of Mrs Silver’s girls. As you know, none of us ever revealed our faces or our real names in full. But this one girl, well, it was a bit more than that. We were all sworn to extra secrecy over her. Paid a lot of money to keep our mouths shut. So I can’t speak of her, but I can tell you that Linwood offered much money for even the smallest scrap of information on her.’
‘He wanted her?’ Venetia’s voice was quiet.
‘Not in the way you’re thinking. There was a big scandal over the girl and a certain eminent nobleman. Linwood wanted information, for himself, for his father and their newspapers. He owns the London Messenger, you know.’
‘I did not,’ said Venetia, making a mental note to inform Robert of that fact at their next meeting.
‘He’s dangerous.’
‘Did he threaten you?’
‘No, nothing like that. He and his father are reputed to have been up to all sorts of shady dealings. He’s handsome, Venetia, handsome as the very devil, and with something of that same darkness about him. I would that you would take Devlin or Hawick instead.’
‘I do not want Devlin or Hawick.’
There was a silence.
‘Then be very careful over Linwood, Venetia.’ The same words Robert had used. ‘He is cold and untouched by emotion. Nothing affects him. Linwood may make for an exciting lover, but...he’s dangerous.’
And Venetia meant to discover precisely how dangerous.
* * *
Linwood sat in his box in the Theatre Royal that night and watched Venetia Fox upon the stage. That she could absorb him in the story she was weaving upon the stage, even though he had seen the play already, rather than studying the woman herself, was testament to her acting abilities
. He dragged his attention away, swept his gaze over first his mother and then his sister sitting by his side. Marianne’s focus was intent upon the play, the emotions that played across her face showing that she was caught entirely in the fate of the character Venetia was portraying. There was a contentment and a confidence about his sister these days, and Linwood was glad of it. His eyes moved to the man responsible, her husband who sat on the other side of the box, Rafe Knight.
He waited until the interval, then left with Knight to fetch the women refreshments.
‘You saw yesterday’s copy of the Messenger?’
‘Of course.’ Knight’s mouth tightened. ‘The Bow Street office has discovered that Rotherham did not die by his own hand.’
Linwood thought of the rumour of suicide, the seeds of which his own newspaper had sown.
‘Murder or suicide, either way there will be an end to it now,’ said Knight.
Linwood shook his head. ‘There will be questions and digging into the past. An investigation risks stirring up that which should remain hidden.’
‘The bastard is causing trouble even from beyond the grave.’
‘Maybe you should leave town, take Marianne to the country for the winter.’
‘We’re better off here, knowing what is happening. If the truth comes out...’
Linwood felt his face harden. ‘It will not come out. I will see to that.’
The two men looked at one another with respect. Neither liked the other, but they were united in a common cause.
Knight gave a nod. ‘You have not asked me.’
‘And you have not asked me,’ said Linwood. ‘It is better if we leave it that way, for Marianne’s sake.’
Knight gave a grim nod of agreement.
* * *
It was the night after Linwood had brought his family to the theatre. Venetia’s night off, if attending Fallingham’s ball could be described as such a thing. She was so busy keeping track of where Linwood was in the ballroom that she did not notice Hawick’s approach.
Harlequin Historical February 2013 - Bundle 1 of 2: Never Trust a RakeDicing With the Dangerous LordA Daring Liaison Page 28