His eyes darkened. As if another log had been placed on the fire, the room erupted in heat. He leaned forward, his presence sucking the air from the room. The rake sitting under his skin appeared before her eyes; the purr of his words set her skin alight. “Did your friends never tell you that if you play with fire you will get burned? Don’t start something you have no hope of winning.”
They sat as if time stood still. Staring at each other, a hunger burned low in her gut, and for the first time since her marriage her body responded to the temptation of a man. She cursed under her breath and the moment was broken.
She wanted to fan herself but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Instead, she cleared her throat and asked, “Will you help me?”
He sat silently watching her, his eyes never leaving hers as if he was trying to see into her soul. She wondered for a moment what he saw. A bitter widow, a damsel in distress, a beautiful woman, or a woman fighting for survival—or perhaps all those things, for that is what she saw every day in the mirror.
“What do I get in return? You have already pointed out I have no need of money and I already own the painting.”
Her heart closed the doors to the fortress around it. The doors his honesty had pried slightly ajar. Of course, no man does anything without payment. Her body tensed. “I told you. I will not prostitute myself.”
“Good. That would be no fun.”
She slammed her empty cup on the side table and stood up. “This is not a game. My life is at stake.”
He slowly rose to his feet. She should have stayed seated as he towered over her, and any semblance of being the one in power faded. He brushed a finger down her cheek.
“So much passion. So much control. I’d love to see it all unleashed.”
Her mouth dropped open at the seductive velvet tones of his voice. She could not suppress a shiver when his finger continued to stroke her flushed cheek. “Don’t…”
“Don’t what? Help you? I want to help you, very much. All I ask in return is that you let me try to seduce you.”
Lord help her. Her body screamed to run. Yelled at her to say no. But she needed him. She took a step back and thank goodness his hand returned to his side.
“Try to seduce? That’s all? No tricks?”
His smile turned cocky. “That’s all. No tricks, but you must agree to let me try properly. That means outings, dinners, being in my presence when I wish—sometimes, or often, or alone.”
She wrapped her arms around her waist. “But I say when you must stop. I can say take me home at any time. If I don’t like where you take me I may leave. If I don’t like what you are doing you must stop.” They weren’t questions. They were her terms.
He bowed before saying, “Of course. I would not be an expert seducer if I held you captive.” He stepped closer and the smile was gone. The hard, panther-like features were back. “I want you to give all of yourself to me freely. That will be my reward, my prize, and I look forward to the day you honestly surrender.”
She drew herself up to her full height and gathered her rollicking emotions. “I agree but I warn you now. I’m a woman who lost everything because a cad seduced me. I may have been stupid as a young girl but I have learned my lessons well. I will not be easy to seduce.”
He had the audacity to laugh. “You have yet to learn about seduction and I am no cad.” His smile faded. He must have noticed her fear. “Besides, even if I win, you don’t lose. Your seduction will lead to nothing but pleasure. How does that make you a loser?”
She had no answer. When her legs began to shake she decided to retake her seat. She indicated with her hand for him to sit also. “Let me tell you what I know of the night Carmichael died.”
She proceeded to tell him of the witnesses who had been drinking with him until after midnight in the tavern. Of Squire Seaton, who had ridden part of the way home along the cliff tops with him, but had turned off toward his farm, and then how Carmichael’s body had been found the next morning on the small beach with his head bashed in.
“And where were you, my lady?”
She had expected this question. “I was home all day and all night as my staff will attest to.”
“Then it would appear Rotham has no case.” His eyes narrowed. “You think he could bribe or fabricate a witness?”
“I don’t know. That is why I need you. Find out what Rotham is up to and ensure that my husband’s drunken accident does not get laid at my feet.”
He nodded his head slowly. “Is there anyone else who could have wanted him dead? That would help immensely.”
“You obviously did not know Carmichael. He was a charmer before he’d strike like a deadly snake. The list of men—people—who’d want to harm him is long.”
Lord Clevedon looked at the clock on her mantelpiece and rose to his feet. “Good. It helps to be able to cast suspicion elsewhere. Rotham has to prove you had a hand in it, not just surmise. That is harder to do when others may also have wanted him to fall off that cliff.”
She stood, too, hating how his lordship towered over her. But the years of her marriage had taught her that often her mind was as powerful a weapon as a man’s fist. “So you’ll help me?”
He stepped toward her and taking her hand raised it to his lips. But it was not her knuckles he kissed. He turned her hand over and pressed a soft kiss to her palm, causing her to snatch it back. “From what you have shared with me, casting doubt on any evidence Rotham finds should be easy. As for seducing you into my bed, now, there is the real challenge.”
Their eyes locked and heaven help her she could not tear her gaze away from the heat in his molten eyes.
It wasn’t until after Lord Clevedon had left, with his sandalwood-spiced scent still clinging to the air, that the answer to his earlier question of what did she have to lose, hit her.
She could lose her heart.
She’d lost her heart once to a man who didn’t deserve it, and she was still paying for that mistake. The idea of losing it a second time to a man who only valued the seduction, scared her almost as much as Rotham did.
Because Lord Clevedon could so easily win.
Chapter 3
Stephen hadn’t wasted any time learning all he could from the Runners about the circumstances of Carmichael’s death. He placed the last missive on his desk and sat back, rubbing the nape of his neck. It did appear to be an accident just as her ladyship stated.
Yet something about Lady Penelope bothered him. She was too cool, too collected. Usually, a woman under this sort of pressure was flustered, scared. He noted none of those emotions. His gut told him she was hiding something.
He’d been reading information for most of the afternoon and it had only been when Joseph entered and turned up his lamps, ensured the staff had lit the fire in his study, and he’d inquired about his lordship’s dinner arrangements, that Stephen realized it was dark outside.
He was expected at Alex’s townhouse for dinner but he’d lost all appetite. The evidence was all pointing toward an accident, yet…For a moment he contemplated if she could be guilty but he knew how to recognize guilt, and when she’d said she did not push her husband off the cliff he believed her.
If he didn’t hurry with his investigation, they would have enough not to arrest her, but perhaps to start questioning her and then gossip would do the rest. Being a duke’s sister still held some sway but soon her brother would be unable to protect her. If, as he suspected, a servant could be paid to step forward and say she was not in her room that night…
He dashed off a note to Alex begging off dinner and sending his apologies to Hestia. He said he’d call around tomorrow and explain. He strode to the door and yelled out for Clarke, his valet, as he pounded up the stairs to his bedchamber.
“No need to yell, my lord. I have your dinner garments ready.”
“Change of
plans, Clarke. I’ve decided to send a late acceptance to Lady Fenchurch’s ball.”
Clarke’s mouth fell open. “A ball? A society ball?”
He laughed at the comical expression on his valet’s face. Normally, Stephen avoided ballrooms the way a gazelle ran from a lion. “Lady Fenchurch is the Duke of Sandringham’s current mistress.” He inwardly laughed at Clarke’s confusion. Stephen wanted a word with Penelope’s brother. If she didn’t have the protection of her brother’s name, his time was shorter than he needed.
* * *
—
Nightmare, thy name is ball.
Mothers with marriageable daughters could smell a bachelor better than a shark could smell blood. Arriving late and making a quiet entrance did not save him.
He’d already been at the ball for over an hour and he still had not had a chance to speak with His Grace. Instead, he’d had to dance with several young ladies whose names he could not even remember. Worse still, his mother was here and the light in her eyes when she spied him across the floor made his gut clench tight.
She had been subtly, and now not so subtly, hinting that he needed to find a wife and settle down. How could she think he would have children knowing what happened to his father? Did she have any idea of the weight that knowledge loaded on his shoulders? Some days he thought he’d sink and the quicksand would swallow him up.
And he didn’t care.
“Good evening, Mother.” He leaned down to press a kiss to her cheek.
“Clevedon, what a surprise. I wish you had let me know you were attending. We could have come together. You should have escorted your sister.”
“It was a last minute decision. I’m here to talk with Sandringham.”
His sister Chloe didn’t need him. She had beauty, grace, and most of all a large dowry. What he didn’t know was if she had the same problem with her eyes as he did. She was probably too young at twenty for the signs to show. His other two sisters, both now married, were also still mid- to late-twenties so again, there were no signs.
He hadn’t wanted to raise it with her or his mother until they were all married. He didn’t want their chances of making fine matches ruined with the hint of a disability in their bloodlines.
His mother’s fan halted in midflutter. “So the gossip is true.”
The word “gossip” was often associated with him but still, it made his smile tighten. “Gossip?”
“I may have heard from a very discreet friend that you had gifted a very expensive painting to Lady Penelope. The wealthy daughter of a duke, even though a widow with no offspring, would make you an excellent wife. If rumors are to be believed, she hated her husband and I suspect wifely duties were infrequent or nil.”
Blast. “Who else knows of my gift to Lady Penelope, Mother?”
She smiled as if the cat had finished the cream. “Oh, just a few of my closest friends. I always knew it would not be a young debutante you took to wife.”
This was not the time or place to disillusion her of her ridiculous notion.
“Have you seen Sandringham?”
His mother laughed. “So determined. You must want her very much.” He remained silent. “Fine. I saw him slip into Lady Fenchurch’s library, but I would not disturb him. The lady is with him.”
“Thank you. If you will excuse me I have to talk with the duke.”
* * *
—
Stephen didn’t bother knocking but he also did not barge in. He slipped quietly through the library door. The sounds of passion drew him toward the fire where he saw Lady Fenchurch riding her duke; her gown hung open and her bountiful breasts bounced until the duke cupped them in his hands.
Society would deem him perverted for wanting to watch, but there was nothing more honest, beautiful, and spiritual than the act of passion. Soon he would never see the beauty of the act. He would be able to feel and scent, that was true, but men are such visual creatures. He closed his eyes and listened. The sounds the couple made flooded his ears. He listened for several moments and pictured what they were doing to each other. As the sounds grew louder his body finally began to stir.
But his eyes…He wanted them to open. He needed to see. Desperately. His breathing choked in his throat. His heart wanted to pound out of his chest. As if in a buried coffin he wanted to claw his way up to the light. He had to see…
His eyes flew open and he saw Lady Fenchurch’s head thrown back as she cried out in pleasure. The duke gripped his lover’s hips as if his life depended on it as he gave one final thrust, and Stephen watched the veins in the duke’s neck bulge with blood as His Grace came.
It was only when the lady slumped forward over the Duke of Sandringham that Stephen cleared his throat, stepped forward into the firelight, and spoke.
“Pardon the intrusion, Your Grace, but I need to have an urgent word.”
His Grace simply laughed. “Watching again, Clevedon. Not a lot to see through all these clothes.” He lifted Lady Fenchurch off himself. “Surely, there is nothing so urgent that I cannot steal intimacies with my mistress without being spied upon.”
“Not spying, merely enjoying,” and he winked at the lady who blushed and gave him a come-to-me look he recognized. “It’s regarding your sister.”
“Which one? Good God, you don’t wish to marry one of them, do you? That would be splendid.”
“One of them? How many do you have?”
The duke stood and rearranged his clothing. “I have four unwed, oh, and of course Penelope, who is widowed.”
“My, a time-consuming task to find them all suitable marriages. Alas, a marriage is not why I am here.” At the duke’s raised eyebrow Stephen looked at Lady Fenchurch and said, “Perhaps a private word, Your Grace.”
The duke sighed and pressed a kiss to Lady Fenchurch. “Give me a few moments with Lord Clevedon. You need to get back to your guests anyway.” With a pat on her bottom she was gone, slipping into the corridor where they heard her greet Lord Kingsman.
“What is this about, Clevedon? It better be important to interrupt me so and to be rude enough to stay and watch without an invitation this time.”
Stephen indicated for the duke to sit while he poured them both a drink. He moved to lean against the mantelpiece after the duke took his drink. “It’s about Lady Penelope.”
Sandringham’s glass stopped at his lips. He lowered it back to the side table. “What has Penelope to do with you?”
Did the temperature just drop or did the fire simply need more coal? “I happened upon her at Sotheby’s the other day. She tried to outbid me on a Wilson landscape.”
“A painting? I’ve never known her to be an art collector. Why this sudden interest in my sister?” His Grace didn’t look pleased and suddenly took a deep guzzle of brandy.
Stephen took a slow sip as the duke pondered on his sister’s behavior. Finally, Stephen said, “Do you know why she is in London? Have you called on her, or she you?”
“I don’t really see how this is any of your business. All I’ll say is my sister has my protection, so if you—”
“Good, because she has asked me to look into her husband’s death.”
“This again. She has this absurd notion that Rotham thinks she had something to do with Carmichael’s death.”
He hesitated before saying, “She is a perceptive woman and from the little investigation I have carried out it would seem someone is investigating her husband’s death, and the evidence collected so far is pointing to her guilt.”
Sandringham sat up straight. His face took on a ghostly appearance. “Rotham wouldn’t dare. I’ll see him chased from England if he as much as tries to implicate Pen.”
“Oh, I think he dares. He’s in dun territory. If your sister is found guilty of his murder, Rotham claims all that is hers.”
“God damn. Why did she not c
ome to me?” The duke rose and began to pace.
“Pacing is not going to do her any good, nor is making a fuss with Rotham. We should let Rotham think we have no idea as to what he is up to while I find the truth of Carmichael’s death.”
Sandringham stopped pacing. “I bet Rotham was behind his brother’s death.”
“That thought has occurred to me. I have ascertained that Rotham had no idea that Carmichael had changed his will in favor of Lady Penelope, but from the evidence I’ve seen, it does look like an accident. He was drunk, riding home alone along the cliffs. He could simply have slipped and fallen.”
“Could? You think there is more to it. Bloody Rotham. Hasn’t Pen been through enough?” The duke swung to face him. “If he’s in dun territory I could subtly begin to make life very difficult for him. I could buy up some of his markers.”
Stephen thought for a moment. “Don’t do anything yet. Give me time to conduct my own investigation. I’ll tell you when to begin to put pressure on Rotham.” They sat in silence until Stephen said, “If it wasn’t an accident it might not be Rotham. It could be an angry husband, a scorned lover, or a simple thief. Rotham may be following a false trail and clutching at straws. He wants it to be Lady Penelope as he benefits.”
“That is what worries me. He may find out the truth and bury it just to frame Pen.”
“True. Your sister has left seeking help for far too long. Why did she not come to you?”
The duke closed his eyes and sighed. “My father disowned her for marrying Carmichael. I should have protested more. I did warn Carmichael not to mistreat her, and it was I who suggested she bargain her wealth for an heir. I had no idea Carmichael would die so soon, though. When Father died I reached out to her but she said she preferred to stay in Essex. She is not the young, carefree, loving girl I used to know.”
Stephen was not surprised. She had her world destroyed by a snake that played on her emotions. Her father had turned from her and so had her friends and society. Lady Penelope would unlikely ever trust anyone again. She likely did not trust her brother. And she certainly did not trust him, for that matter.
Drawn to the Marquess Page 3