“What?” Thomas asked.
“You know full well what.”
“Devil take it, determined to get in there before me, eh?”
“She refused.”
Thomas raised a brow. “She did? I’m surprised. It appears you know her better. Are you sure it was not just you she found repugnant?”
“She made it very clear that it was being a mistress that repulsed her—not me.”
Though Evan was beginning to wonder if he had not gone about it the wrong way. Women were never his strong suit. He’d never had to woo a lady and nor did he ever intend to. His title and wealth were enough of an enticement for him to forgo unnecessary frivolities. Funny, he had not thought Miss Claremont to be the type to need romantic entreaties.
He stole a look in her direction. She sat on the chaise longue by the bay window, far from the other women, head buried in a book. If the three ladies noticed her distant demeanour, they made no comment on it. As it was, Harriet was regaling them with talk of the French fashions, having recently made a trip over there for a new wardrobe.
Thomas followed his gaze and rolled his eyes. “Harriet cost me a fortune and yet she is demanding to go back shortly.”
“And you think you could maintain a mistress too?” he asked quietly.
“I couldn’t see Miss Claremont costing quite so much. She seems a low maintenance sort of a woman.”
“You will still ask her, will you?” Evan gripped the playing cards.
“No, I shall not set myself up for a fall.” He grinned. “If she refused you, I suspect I have little chance. You’re far wealthier and of more importance. What chance does a lowly man such as myself have? Really, I should be grateful to you for testing the waters.”
“You are more handsome though, Brother,” Evan put in.
“True enough. Maybe I shall give her some time.”
Forcing down the frustration threatening to burn its way up his throat, Evan offered a thin smile. “Maybe you should.”
Evan hoped in time Miss Claremont might come around to the idea but the way in which he had behaved... Damnation, he had acted no better than an animal. He had been so close to kissing her, to tasting those divinely shaped lips, but fear had widened her eyes and he would never forget her slender body trembling against his grip.
The week was drawing to a close. He would be returning to Hawksley Manor for a while and then would be on to London. Who knew what Miss Claremont would do? The idea of her penniless and struggling did strange things to his heart.
If only he could think of some way of changing her mind.
“Miss Claremont,” Lady Stanley piped up, drawing everyone’s attention.
“Yes, my lady?” Miss Claremont lowered her book.
“Will you not play for us? I have not heard you play all week and you are far too quiet for my liking.”
“Lady Stanley, I would rather—”
“Will you not indulge an old friend?”
Evan spotted a suppressed sigh as she placed down her book. “Of course I will, Lady Stanley.”
Evan tried not to stare at her when she swept past to the grand piano. He attempted not to admire her trim waist defined by a pale pink gown and the arch of her neck or the way her curls caressed it like a lover—like he wished to. When she sat, she tilted her head, displaying more flesh and his mouth grew as dry as the desert. How would that elegant neck taste?
Inhaling deeply, he let it out in a long, low huff. He would never know and he could swear that would plague him to the grave.
Their card game forgotten, both he and Thomas watched her play. She was talented and her nimble fingers moved swiftly across the keys. Such fingers could be put to so many good uses. An ache grew in his trousers, and he forced himself to stare at the floral arrangement just behind the piano instead so as to keep up the pretence of enjoying her performance while ensuring he didn’t enjoy it too much.
The fact she played so well spoke of her mother’s devotion to her education. Mr Claremont had been proud of his mistress’s determination to ensure the girl did not want for anything. Unfortunately no amount of education could make up for lack of rank.
And while she played well, a certain appearance of disinterest on her behalf somewhat spoiled the performance. She was so accomplished perhaps, that it did not test her. Miss Claremont, he decided, was a woman who needed stimulation and excitement.
Damnation. It seemed even when he tried to think of her in any way not relating to the bedroom, his mind drifted back. He knew of many ways he could provide stimulation and excitement. From what he had seen, she would prove a fiery bed mate.
“Say, Miss Claremont,” his brother called when she finished. “Will you not join us for a game of whist?”
Evan held back a groan. If he was to witness his brother trying to charm Miss Claremont, he may end up going insane.
“Oh no, Thomas—” she protested, turning on the piano stool.
“Come, I insist.”
Darting a glance at the other ladies, she was clearly deciding whether to argue with Thomas and cause a scene. Funny how she didn’t give him the same consideration. She seemed more than happy to call him out at every occasion. Did she really feel some affection for his brother?
“Very well then.” She stood and sat to his right.
The small square table allowed little room for movement. Her skirts brushed his leg and a foot met his shin. She flushed. “Forgive me.”
“Nothing to forgive,” he grumbled, gaze firmly on the cards as he dealt them and handed them out.
While they played, he watched her as closely as possible without catching her attention. She called Thomas by his first name and smiled readily for him. Really, she was nothing but charming to him, yet she never looked at his brother the way he sometimes caught her looking at him. Never did her lips part or her breasts heave against the confines of her gown.
Evan snapped his gaze away when he felt it traitorously sneaking down to the breasts in question. If he was not careful, he would embarrass himself in front of the entire party. His brother smiled, both brows raised, and Evan shot him a warning look. The last thing he needed was for his juvenile younger brother to be teasing him about this blasted attraction.
Miss Claremont reached for a card at the same time as he did and their fingers grazed. Both pulled back their hands, and he realised it wasn’t even his turn. He curled his hand as a simmering sensation prickled through it. For the first time that evening, her gaze held his and he saw it... that tell-tale darkening of her pupils and the intake of a deep breath.
Smugly, he set down the King of Hearts and grinned at his brother. Whatever was between them was not over yet—not while she looked at him so. It might take some persuading but he still intended to take Miss Lilly Claremont as his mistress, whatever it took.
***
Lilly crumpled the letter, went to fling it in the empty fire and paused. If she put it in there a servant could read it. She unfolded it and scanned the words again. How could she have doubted Lord Hawksley was anything but a greedy, manipulative man? To think she had briefly thought there might be some kindness in the man.
But her cousin’s letter and Lord Hawksley’s belief he could have her as his mistress had put paid to any softer emotions she might have felt toward him. Why, he had seemed to assume she would be so grateful that a man like himself showed any interest in her that he expected her to fall to his feet and thank him for the honour!
Somehow, he knew of her situation. It might be temporary while her inheritance was in trust, but she supposed she might as well be destitute. Her father had always intended to provide for her after his death, even though her cousin Henry received the bulk of the estate. Unfortunately his untimely death meant she had to wait another two years. Why he had believed her young cousin could manage her inheritance better than she, she didn’t know, but it was typical of men to believe a woman could not deal with such responsibilities and he had been an old-fashioned sort.
/> She huffed. Now she had to confront Lord Hawksley about this letter. Murderer or not, he was making demands of her cousin—asking for her father’s debt to be repaid. Lilly knew enough about her father’s shipping business to know that a lot of the money was tied up in investments and owed to him from clients. Such a sum could not be repaid instantly, and her cousin was intending to push forward with his plans to rent out her home. Where would she go?
Lilly chewed on the end of a finger. Would Lord Hawksley harm her cousin if he didn’t pay? Now she thought about it, killing the man who owed him money seemed thoroughly illogical but her cousin had been convinced, putting forwards these supposed rumours as proof.
She shook her head. From everything she had learned of her father’s relationship with the marquess, it seemed more and more unlikely he had been involved. Even Thomas had mentioned how shocked his brother had been to hear of his death and it appeared Lord Hawksley had written to a magistrate friend to push for an investigation. Everything she had believed was crumbling.
She needed to find out more. Perhaps she should write to Henry. She pulled out a piece of writing paper and paused as she caught sight of Lord Hawksley through the window, strolling about the gardens. He was headed down to the fountain. Her heart fluttered as she recalled the last time they’d met in the gardens.
Casting the paper aside, she pushed away from the writing desk and straightened her shoulders. Perhaps she should confront the marquess after all.
Lilly smoothed her lemon yellow gown, checked her hair in the mirror and scurried downstairs. She caught sight of the marquess not far from the fountain and though he walked at a slow pace, in her gown she had little hope of catching up with him unless she ran. “Lord Hawksley!”
He paused, rotated slowly and though the sun was setting, the grey light highlighted his surprised expression. He waited for her to near and tipped his hat.
“Miss Claremont.” He surveyed the gardens and presumably came to the same conclusion she had. They were alone.
“Lord Hawksley, could I have a word with you?”
“Shall I escort you back to the house?”
“No, I should like it to be a private word.”
He glanced around and nodded, motioning to the stone bench at one side of the fountain. Tucked behind the trees, even the nosiest of people would not be able to see them. Lilly twined her fingers together and tried to ignore how close he was to her as they sat. One slight movement and their legs would brush. In his evening wear, he cut a fine figure. The perfect fit enhanced his broad shoulders and, with his necktie slightly loose, she could not help recall a time when she had seen it discarded. Lilly clenched her legs together.
“Well then, Miss Claremont, whatever can I do for you?”
Gaze ahead, she studied the line of trees—anything to keep her from actually looking at him. The tumult of emotions racing through her mind prevented her from saying anything for several moments.
“Lord Hawksley,” she began and clamped her mouth shut. She tightened the grip of one hand on the other until her fingers ached. “Lord Hawksley, you know my cousin, Mr Henry Claremont?” Lilly turned her face and met his gaze head on, regret instantly jabbing her insides at giving into temptation.
“I do.” His dark gaze remained indifferent. How hard the man was to read.
“He... he has written to me of his plight—”
“And what plight is that?”
Lilly licked her lips. Why was she even attempting this? The marquess would never listen to reasoning or... or begging. She suppressed a shudder and prayed it didn’t come to that. “He tells me the estate owes you much money.”
“Does he indeed? How unusual for a distant relation to be sharing his money woes with—”
“A woman like me?” she asked, wincing at her defensive tone. Why did he always bring out the bitter side of her? Did she sound bitter to him too?
Perhaps she was bitter. Her father had been beaten to death after all. The pain he must have endured made her eyes burn. Could it really have been ordered by this man though?
“I meant no insult.”
She lifted her gaze to his again and saw, for the briefest moment, a flicker of concern. “You seldom do, my lord, yet you are quite practiced at insulting me.”
“You are quite practiced at provoking me,” he shot back.
Back straight, Lilly kept her gaze on him though the urge to run away and hide under a bush made her fidget on the cold stone bench. “My lord, I have sought you out to ask you to maybe consider... that is, my father’s estate cannot cover such a debt. I was hoping you might—”
“Write off the debt?” Two dark eyebrows arched high. His cold, impervious expression fired her anger at the same time as making her shudder, as if stoking a fire then drenching it with ice water.
“Yes,” she responded weakly.
“Do you suppose your father didn’t intend to pay back the debt?”
“No, of course not. My father honoured all of his agreements!”
“Am I to forget all debts owed to me perhaps?”
“I am not saying that...”
“I am surprised Mr Claremont would send you to do his bidding. Was that your original intention of coming here, perhaps? To persuade me to release him from this debt? You must be fond of this cousin indeed. Does he offer you some riches or something else in return for your service?”
Bitterness tinged his tone, and she frowned. Her first indignant reaction fizzled away as the mask of indifference slipped. For the briefest moment, desperation seared that mask, hunger clawed to be free.
She drew in a long breath, felt the night air steel her resolve. “You may be used to dealing with people with ulterior motives but Henry has offered me nothing. I do this of my own free will. You knew the money was tied up, did you not?”
“I did and I did not pressure you father to repay, but how good a man can this cousin be if he is sending a lady to do his begging?”
“I-I...” Could she share the shame of being about to be made homeless to this man? The words would not come. How could she tell him of her woeful situation and bear his censure?
Lord Hawksley narrowed his eyes and his lips tightened. Why did he always make her feel as if she had done wrong?
“Did you intend to use your feminine charms on me perhaps?”
“I intended nothing of the sort. It is quite clear, my lord, that you have me marked as a woman of ill repute, but I can assure you I’m nothing of the sort.”
“A pity.” He shifted marginally closer. With the sun setting behind him, his large silhouette dwarfed her vision as she twisted to eye him. “That would have been one way to persuade me.”
Lilly gasped. Was he serious? The tiny curl of his lip told her he was teasing but his gaze remained stern, his brows knitted tightly.
“You expect me to pay off his debt with my... my body?” she hissed the last part.
“Well, now that you suggest it...” Those sensuous lips quirked.
Deep inside, a twinge of need made itself known. Lord, what was wrong with her?
“My offer still stands,” the marquess prompted.
Lilly studied him. If only there was some hint as to what he was thinking. After the way she had turned him down, she had thought it likely he would never speak to her again. And now he had declared he wanted her in his bed. To repay a debt! Would that make her no better than a whore?
Yes, her mind whispered. But in the eyes of society she had already sunk that low. Before she was born, her fate had been decided. Had her father been richer and titled, society might have overlooked her illegitimacy but because his wealth had been earned—because he had worked hard to accumulate it—she would never be accepted. The unfairness of it all made her throat sting. She might not want a place amongst them, but to not even be allowed a chance frustrated her to no end. How much good could she do for the world if she had not been snubbed?
“You would write off the debt?” she asked quietly. The flash of h
is eyes made her heart jolt.
“Yes.”
“And... and provide for me financially?”
“Of course.”
She didn’t need extra money to survive once she had her inheritance but think what she would do with it. Her dreams of pursuing education for women could be achieved—perhaps she could even set up her own college. Not to mention an insight into her father’s business dealings would help her track down her father’s killer. If it was not Lord Hawksley, it was someone else and the marquess had far more connections in London than she did. Lilly thought it likely she could find out much from him and clear up any doubts about his innocence. She curled a fist. Justice for her father, helping her family and funds to pursue her dreams. There had to be a downside to this deal.
Lilly smirked as Lord Hawksley eyed her. She would have to give up her body to him. Her skin pimpled underneath the taffeta of her gown. Her innocence seemed a small sacrifice—she never intended to marry—and the twisting excitement inside her pushed her to say yes. Why this disagreeable, arrogant man excited her, she did not know.
“You shall want for nothing, Miss Claremont,” he pressed, closing the gap between them so his leg brushed hers through her gown. He removed his hat, ran a hand through his thick, dark hair, making it delightfully dishevelled. Her fingers twitched with the urge to thrust them into that hair and feel its smoothness. Hat placed on the bench, he brought a finger to her chin and used it to tilt her face. “I shall look after your every need.”
“And I suppose I shall look after yours?” Her voice escaped as a harsh whisper, as though he had captured it and already claimed it as his own.
“Yes.”
His blunt honesty didn’t surprise her. It further solidified her belief in his innocence—that he was just a victim of gossip. Was she fooling herself that he might be innocent to give her an excuse to say yes? To give into a desire so strong it pulled her along like a strong tide?
Perhaps.
“Perhaps?” he queried.
She realised she had spoken the word aloud. Gaze firm, she nodded against the support of his finger under her chin. “Yes.”
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