A Notorious Proposition

by Adele Ashworth

  He lifted one corner of his mouth. “Then I’ll unseal it.”

  “If you can,” she said very skeptically.

  “If I can,” he repeated, amused. “If not, I’ll go in through the cellar with all the spiders.”

  She snorted. “And I can check from the master bedchamber to find the entrance there.”

  “Alone?”

  “Of course alone. As you so properly mentioned before, I can’t very well be seen with a gentleman in a bedroom.” Her eyes widened with growing anticipation. “I’ll check it today, in fact, since we can’t examine the tunnel until nightfall.”

  “But don’t go in without me if you find an entrance,” he warned. “The same danger applies.”

  She said nothing to that, then, “So what will you do while I’m investigating the house?”

  He eyed her speculatively for a moment, then exhaled a long breath. “Actually, I’d planned to call on Desdemona’s mother today, though I think your idea of first getting a clearer idea of the tunnel system in the house is better. I don’t suppose her sister and mother will disappear in the next day or two, so there’s no fear of learning nothing by waiting.”

  Startled, she brushed his compliment aside. “You intended to visit them without me or the necklace?”

  Growing contemplative again, he lifted his arm to rest his elbow along the back of the bench. “Ivy, you were extremely angry with me yesterday,” he reminded her as he lowered his voice. “I wasn’t certain I’d ever see you again.”

  The memory of his provoking her into fumbling through his trouser pocket brought a fresh surge of mortification to the surface. She cringed inside, but decided this might be the opening she needed to discuss the subject that truly had her baffled, and, if she were honest with herself, deeply troubled.

  Abruptly, she stood and walked forward a few feet so that she stood on the edge of the lake, watching raindrops spring up from the surface of the water.

  “I think you know that wouldn’t have happened, Garrett,” she scolded softly. “We certainly would have seen each other again unless you suddenly left Winter Garden and gave up your glorious quest for the Martello diamonds.”

  He remained quiet for a moment, then replied, “So are you confessing your interest in them as well?”

  Anger flaring, she pivoted to face him. “I implied nothing of the kind. I have no interest in anything but—”

  “Ghosts, I know,” he cut in caustically, features taut. “Tell me why you’re really here, Ivy.”

  That blunt order shocked her. Her mouth dropped open a little as she stared at him, his stark gaze assessing her with intensity.

  Pulling her hands from her pockets, she wrapped her arms around her belly in a manner of self-preservation. Defiantly, she countered, “If we’re going to be confessing secrets to each other, I insist you start first.”

  His brows drew together in puzzlement, but he didn’t refuse her demand. Silence lingered until finally, in a voice edged with suspicion, he submitted. “What secret do you think I’m hiding from you?”

  She inhaled a shaky breath, summoned her courage and murmured, “We were lovers once, because of your very deft seduction ability. I’d like to know why you’re no longer attracted to me as a woman.”

  She had no idea what to expect from him, how he would respond, react, but she never anticipated the sheer incredulity that crossed his face. His eyes and mouth opened wide, his features went slack, and for a second or two she thought his response might stem from her mere mention of a sexual interlude between them. But it really didn’t matter. She said what she had to say, and she would wait for an answer.

  Suddenly he drew a long, staggered breath and stood, shoving his hands in the pockets of his coat. For several uneasy seconds he just watched her intently, his gaze traveling up and down her figure. And then he began to stride slowly toward her.

  “Perhaps, darling Ivy,” he murmured, “I think the love affair started with you.”

  She gasped.

  He continued, “Perhaps you were the seducer.”

  “That’s insane,” she whispered through clenched teeth. “I—I wouldn’t know how—”

  “To seduce a gentleman?” he cut in, voice low, eyes clouded with mistrust as he stopped in front of her and gazed down to her face. “You know a man would need nothing more than to look at you to feel desire in his veins.”

  She didn’t know whether to laugh at such a scandalous thought, or cry out in frustration. But his comment warmed her completely. “Garrett, I am not an idiot. I know exactly what happened between us in London, then way you talked to me, made me promises, how you—”

  She simply couldn’t say it.

  Huskily, he prompted, “How I what?”

  She swallowed, feeling unbearably too near him of a sudden, unable to verbalize the heartache, unwilling to admit she had needed him.

  “How I what?” he asked more forcefully, taking a step closer so that he looked down upon her, his legs brushing against the bottom of her pelisse.

  She glanced around for intruders who might be listening to their most intimate conversation, knowing her cheeks flushed hotly, her stomach fluttered, and wishing they’d be interrupted by someone. But it was not to be, and standing there alone with him now she knew she couldn’t begin to draw away from his commanding presence even if she wanted to.

  “Look at me, Ivy,” he murmured.

  She hugged herself tighter as she once again raised her lashes to meet his formidable gaze. He watched her with a calculated, building awareness she sensed as a coiled web of tension and grief and a shred of resentment.

  Abruptly, he clutched her jaw with his palm and pushed her head up to scrutinize her face.

  “Do you think yesterday was easy for me?” he asked harshly as he towered over her, “when you walked in a gown that teased me because it hugged every curve, when your breasts rubbed my arm, and your tempting backside touched the most sensitive part of me as you moved in that passageway? Do you think it’s easy for me to be here with you now, in this town, and not want to take you again, to feel you beneath me, clinging to me in passion as you did before? Do you think I don’t want to remember how perfect you felt?” Eyes stormy, teeth clenched, he pulled back enough to lower his gaze very gradually down and up her figure, taking in every detail. Finally, in a fierce whisper, he admitted, “Oh, yes, Ivy, I notice you as a woman, and my greatest fear is that you will forever haunt my dreams.”

  She had no opportunity to absorb her absolute shock at his disclosure, her amazement at his candor, for as the final words left his lips she felt a jolt of something carnal from him, something erotic and far beyond anything she could ever mention to a soul—a vibrant charge of sexual energy that made her legs go weak and her heart start to race.

  “I won’t be your lover again, Garrett,” she whispered defiantly even as she visibly began to tremble.

  For a flash of a second she thought he might smile. And then his mouth clamped down hard over hers, taking the breath from her, devouring every thought with a groan of triumph deep in his throat.

  He wrapped his arms around her, yanking her tightly against him as he continued his assault on her lips. She fought him for a moment, attempting to twist herself out of his embrace, pushing her hands against his chest, and yet she couldn’t begin to overcome his strength and insistence with her own. He tormented her, struggled with her, and then finally ignited that part of her deep within that she had sworn always to defend.

  Ivy reeled, and then gave in to the madness, clutching the sleeves of his coat, kissing him back with a fervor that defied every rational thought. His tongue violated her mouth with an aching need, and she gave as he did, moving her hands to cup his face, holding him possessively, tightly, for fear that he would vanish. The memory rushed back, of his taste, his scent, the feel of his hard body pressed against her, and she moaned in his arms, ignoring the cold, the rain as it pelted them in a fierce rhythm of its own. He clutched her bottom with one palm,
her head with the other, his breath coming fast and hard, and even beneath the thickness of wool she could feel the tension in his body, knew how she affected him physically and that the passion they shared would never, ever be quenched.

  And then, just as quickly as it had started, it was over.

  Garrett reached up and grabbed her wrists as he tore his lips from hers. In a breath of anguish, she jerked her hands free of his grasp and squeezed her eyes shut, but even as she attempted to run, he wouldn’t let her go.

  He held her tightly, his arms wrapped around her as she fought in vain to pull away. Rage filled her, and she clenched her fists and struck him in the chest once, twice.

  “Stop it, Ivy,” he said in a heavy rasp. “Stop it.”

  She calmed a little, and he cupped her head in his neck. “I hate you, Garrett,” she whispered breathlessly against warm, wet skin.

  He inhaled deeply as he rubbed his chin across the hood of her pelisse. “I know.”

  She stood in his arms for a time, listening to the steady rain, to his quick-beating heart, relishing the closeness, terrified of it. Finally, he loosened his grip, and she straightened, gathering her courage and attempting to gather her thoughts as she stepped away from his powerful form.

  She had no idea what to say after such a display of inappropriate and uninhibited passion. She turned her back to him, eyes closed, a palm over her mouth, feeling frustration and a fresh surge of fury bubble just below the surface at his skillful attempt at showing her just how easily he could seduce her again.

  “There’s a man missing, Ivy,” he said huskily as he pushed his gloved hands back into his pockets. “There are diamonds to find, visions of your brother in danger, and it all revolves around this town, around us and why we’re here with each other again. That’s the only problem we need to solve now.” He paused for a second or two, then added, “I’ll be at the tunnel entrance at eleven tonight.”

  She had no idea what to say, but he was right, as Garrett always seemed to be. She nodded, and then, with determination, her gaze avoiding his, she stepped past him and began to walk with hurried steps toward the path that led to the safety of the house.

  Chapter 8

  At ten minutes past ten, Garrett left the inn. He felt only the slightest trepidation in exploring the tunnel, as he’d had the entrance unsealed secretly two weeks before he’d come to Winter Garden. Nobody had investigated it yet, as he’d given strict instructions to his staff to avoid it, and he trusted them to follow his orders as they had for years.

  But he wanted to enter it with Ivy. He wanted to gauge her reaction, to get closer in learning her secrets, and in truth, to watch the excitement envelop her again.

  He shouldn’t have kissed her today, shouldn’t have allowed her to seep into his skin and gut-punch him with her clever female wiles and firm determination never to be his lover again. She obviously had no idea what a challenge such a statement could be to a man, especially one who hadn’t been with a woman in longer than he cared to admit.

  It both excited and troubled him that his desire for Ivy stirred something so deep, but not close enough to a satisfying memory. Yet the moment his lips touched hers, he accepted the perfection and satisfaction he’d felt from her two years ago. He didn’t remember the incident precisely, but he knew those feelings had existed.

  He hadn’t been all that surprised to see her standing in the inn, looking for him early in an attempt to unsettle his routine should he have one. He perceived a cleverness in her that most women in his experience didn’t possess, and he enjoyed it. In truth, he enjoyed her. She was unique—intelligent, bold in tongue, and very, very beautiful to look at. He could look at Ivy all day long and not get tired of the view.

  But she wasn’t a painting. She was a full-grown woman who’d once experienced passion in his arms—a passion only she could recall in detail. And he had done something, said something, during that intimate time together that made her despise whatever desire she felt for him now, that she absolutely knew existed. He didn’t for a minute believe that she hated him, but somehow, in some manner, he had hurt her.

  Garrett groaned within as he turned the southern edge of the path and stared at his darkened house in the distance. His shoes made a faint crunching sound as he walked along the forest floor, though the night was still, quiet, the full moon darting in and out of quick-moving clouds.

  He’d been prepared to tell her of his memory lapse this morning, to explain the sequence of events as he knew them, to disclose his knowledge of her dark secret—until she mentioned her brother. Just hearing his name brought the shield up again, and her explanation of a vision of him in danger left him subdued. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe her exactly, but that he didn’t know how much might be a lie designed to bring down his guard and confess.

  Garrett knew she was after the diamonds. He’d sent her the note that asked for her help in recovering them. But there was more. He sensed her anticipation, which in itself amused him. Yes, he felt a bit guilty for keeping the secret of his title from her, but until he learned the depth of her brother’s involvement two years ago, it was a secret he would keep for now. He would reveal it eventually. Until then, they would both remain pawns in someone else’s power, which now remained his greatest worry in Winter Garden.

  The diamonds were in the house. They had to be. And yet until they knew exactly what had happened to Benedict Sharon, there could be no certainty. And since he’d vanished from the Rothebury estate, Garrett concluded he couldn’t have left through the tunnel to Portsmouth, still sealed at the time, so therefore he and the diamonds were in the house, concealed or hidden, in one of the passageways. The man simply couldn’t be so elusive as to disappear to the Continent without someone being the wiser.

  As he reached the edge of the property he turned south, where the forest thickened and the path disappeared. The tunnel entrance was only half a mile walk or so, and he covered the distance in only a few minutes.

  He’d brought a small lantern with him, though he didn’t need it as yet, the moon being enough to see by as it darted in and out of the clouds. His head had ached all day, but the fresh, cold air either helped or disguised it, and for now he felt better. He’d foregone a hat, but donned his gloves and his warmest wool clothing beneath his twine coat, thankfully dark in color. On a night like tonight, they shouldn’t be noticed by anyone.

  At last he reached the small clearing where the door to the tunnel remained concealed beneath twigs and dirt. After a quick glance in all directions, he dropped to his knees, placed the lamp at his side, and began to clear the area. Ivy would be arriving soon, and he wanted to have it opened beforehand.

  It took almost no time to find it—a small four-foot-square door made of old natural oak. For a time the door had been nailed tightly shut and hidden beneath the brush, but it was now unsealed as he’d requested.

  Garrett swept pine needles off the right edge, where a flat brass handle lay flush with the wood. It took only a moment to lift and turn it, though it took several tries before he was able to push it into position to hear the click release because of the dirt that remained inside the lock. He knew the authorities had planned to fill the tunnel with debris so that it couldn’t be used again, but Benedict Sharon, Baron Rothebury, had refused since this particular entrance, as it curved down, led onto his property. As the new owner, Garrett would eventually have it filled himself, but not until he revealed himself to all in Winter Garden as the Marquess of Rye.

  He almost laughed at the thought of what his mother would think of him kneeling in the dirt and opening a secret entrance to a tunnel in the forest. Probably feign a faint and excuse herself to bed for a day, mumbling how disappointed she was in her eldest son and his refusal to adhere to duty. But then, as with many things in his life, she would never know.

  A cracking of a twig in the distance brought his senses sharply back to the present. He remained motionless, knowing it was probably Ivy but uncertain enough to take precaut
ions.

  Only a few moments later he spied her through the trees as she walked into the clearing, her body draped in darkness as she apparently wore the same woolen wrap she had this morning.

  “You’re early,” she whispered, moving quickly to his side and kneeling beside him.

  “As are you,” he replied just as quietly. “Not thinking of entering without me, were you?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped, her voice low as she chanced a glance over her shoulder. “How is it sealed?”

  She’d pulled her hood over her head completely so that he couldn’t see her face, but he could tell from the quickness of her words that she felt the same excitement he did.

  Grinning, he said, “It wasn’t sealed, just nailed shut. I was able to pull the boards off easily enough.”

  She seemed to believe him because she scooted closer.

  “Then let’s go in.”

  “Back up a little,” he said, motioning with a hand.

  She did as he asked without question, and as soon as her feet were off the door, he tugged once, then again, harder, until he heard it give way.

  There was no rush of air this time, only a gentle creak of rusty hinges as he opened the door completely and laid it flat on the ground.

  From his right, he lifted the lantern and lowered it into the crawl space, holding it as far down as possible as he pulled a match from his coat pocket with his free hand and struck the tip on the door. Quickly, he lit the lamp, blew out the match, and dropped it into the darkness.

  “Hold this down,” he whispered, “so the light can’t be seen from the forest.”

  “I should go—”

  “No,” he cut in, “this time I’m going in first. I don’t want you falling if the ladder gives way.”

  “Well, I don’t want you falling, either,” she returned in soft sarcasm.

  The irritation in her voice made him smile.

  “Shh. Don’t argue, Ivy.”

  She mumbled something under her breath, then did as he requested, taking the handle of the lantern from him and holding it steady a foot or so inside. Moving as fast as safely allowed, he sat on the edge of the opening and very slowly placed his weight on the first rung of the wooden ladder. As soon as he assured himself of its strength, he continued until he’d stepped on the fourth rung, then lifted the lantern from Ivy’s grasp and began to descend into the dark.