How to Woo a Reluctant Lady

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How to Woo a Reluctant Lady Page 10

by Sabrina Jeffries


  “Come on, let’s go,” Desmond said.

  She jumped, afraid for half a second that he’d found them out. Giles stopped his caresses, cocking his head and setting his gaze once more on the end of the screen.

  “We’re losing daylight,” Desmond went on. “I shouldn’t have lingered to watch my cousin race.”

  Footsteps sounded, heading for the door. “Would’ve been worth it if you’d won some blunt off the bloody arse,” Ned retorted.

  “Don’t remind me. I should have known better than to bet against Gabriel. Damned bastard probably fixed the race somehow.”

  Minerva tensed. Drat her cousins and their resentment of her family. Why must they always say such nasty things?

  The door opened. The sounds of footsteps passing into the hall made her catch her breath. She only released it when the door closed, though the snick of the key turning in the lock had her groaning.

  Leaping from Giles’s lap, she said, “We have to follow them.”

  Giles rose with oddly stiff movements. “There’s no way we’ll even get back to my curricle before they’ve disappeared on the road. But if they’re going to the estate, we can look for them there.”

  “I suppose that’s true.”

  She tied her bonnet on as he headed for the door, his picklock in hand. “Either way, we need to get out of here before they decide they’ve forgotten something else.”

  Nodding her agreement, she watched as he picked the lock again. They left and headed for the stairs, only to halt when they heard Desmond’s voice waft up from below. “What do you mean, you want me to leave? I paid good money for my room.”

  “I can’t have your sort hanging about with important people staying here,” the innkeeper said.

  “My sort! I’ll have you know—”

  “I always thought you were a suspicious one, talking about hunting grouse when there’s none hereabouts. And his lordship’s anxiety confirmed my suspicions.”

  “His lordship?” Desmond cursed loudly. “I suppose one of my cousins saw me and is causing trouble. If those Sharpes—”

  “Sharpe isn’t the man’s name. You just be on your way, do you hear? Pack up and leave before he gets wind of your being here.”

  “Who is this man?”

  “Lord Manderley, and a fine gentleman he is, too.”

  “Manderley is here?” Desmond squeaked.

  Minerva’s gaze shot to Giles. “I thought you made him up,” she whispered.

  His eyes gleamed with mischief. “Why invent things when the truth will serve? It just so happens that your cousin owes Manderley a lot of money.”

  “How do you know?”

  He flashed her an enigmatic smile. “Your brother wanted me to look into Plumtree’s finances. So I did.”

  She’d thought that Jarret had asked him to look into the situation involving Desmond and Gran’s will, but she wasn’t going to argue the point just now.

  Desmond’s panicked voice rose from below. “If Manderley is here, I’m leaving.”

  Oh, dear. She glanced to Giles, but he was already tugging her in the direction of their room. They’d barely gotten inside and shut the door when they heard Desmond stomping up the stairs with Ned.

  Though she knew he couldn’t see them, she caught her breath and held it until she heard boot steps passing down the other hall.

  “We can’t leave until they’re gone,” Giles said. “Can’t risk running into them.”

  She eyed him with deep amazement. How did he manage to maintain such an unsettling calm? “While I stand here shaking, with my heart pounding and my entire body tense, you act as if this were all in a day’s work for you.”

  A shutter came down over his features. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  There he went again, behaving as if his actions were perfectly logical when they both knew they weren’t. One way or the other, she was going to make him admit what he had been up to that day at Newmarsh’s. It had finally occurred to her that she had the perfect way to do it: accuse him of the one thing she was certain he was not. The one thing he wouldn’t like being accused of.

  “Admit it, there’s a reason you were in Lord Newmarsh’s study that night, a reason you know how to break into inn rooms and stay calm in the face of danger.”

  “And what reason might that be?” he bit out.

  “It’s quite clear to me. You’re a professional thief.”

  Chapter Seven

  Giles laughed, which made her frown. But he couldn’t help himself, considering what he’d been afraid she was going to say. “A thief. You think I’m a thief. Based on nothing more than my ability to break into your cousin’s room.”

  “And the fact that I saw you stealing something years ago. That you’re comfortable sneaking into people’s houses. And adamant about not being interested in my fortune. Clearly you have another source of income.”

  That banished his amusement. He strode toward her, anger fueling his movements. “Is it really so hard to believe I might make a decent living at what I do? That I might be clever enough to succeed as a barrister and command high fees?”

  She stared him down. “Well, you must admit—”

  “No need to admit it, when you’ve decided to admit it for me, with your vivid imagination and your talent for fiction.” He backed her against the door. “So this is what you’ve been doing with that keen mind of yours: turning me into a criminal mastermind.”

  “I wasn’t—”

  “Yes, you were.” He braced his hands on either side of her, his temper getting the better of him.

  She met his gaze steadily, apparently not the least intimidated. “What am I supposed to think when you break into rooms and lie so easily?”

  “I’m not the only one who lies easily,” he shot back. “You lie daily with your pen and think nothing of it.”

  “That’s not the same—I’m telling stories. People know that.”

  “Do they? Everyone speculates that Rockton is your brother.” He leaned closer. “And just a short while ago you played the part of Lady Manderley without a qualm, yet I’m not accusing you of being a criminal. I’m not questioning your character.”

  She sniffed. “I was only trying to help you find out about Desmond.”

  “Which I was doing for your family’s benefit. And this is the thanks I get—accusations and insinuations.” He glowered down at her. “You know what this is really about? You hate the fact that you’re attracted to me. So you’re inventing new levels of villainy in hopes that it will keep you from desiring me.”

  She drew herself up. “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. You’re merely trying to distract me from asking perfectly sensible questions—”

  He kissed her. What else could he do? He was trying to distract her from asking questions, and she was far too clever to fall for it. But there was some truth to his words, whether she admitted it or not.

  He’d seen the flare of need in her eyes when he’d caressed her earlier, felt the sharp increase in her breath. She wanted him. And he damned well wanted her. He’d already spent half the day aching for her, tempted beyond endurance by her lush mouth and delicate wrists and the dainty ankle he’d glimpsed when she’d leapt into his curricle. Having her squirm on his lap had been the last straw.

  God, she was sweet to kiss. For a woman with a reputation for tearing men to ribbons with her tongue, she had the softest mouth he’d ever known. He could lose himself in it so easily.

  He could lose himself in her so easily. And that would be a mistake. The last time he’d let his cock lead him, he’d nearly ruined two people’s lives forever. So he should keep a firm clamp on his urges, not let them loose.

  But how was he supposed to do that with Minerva? She shredded his control with every arch of her perfect body. Her hands were about his neck now, dislodging his hat, which went tumbling to the floor. He could feel her fingers in his hair, and it made him want her fingers in other places, doing other things
. . . God save him . . .

  “Intriguing as this is,” she murmured against his lips, “it won’t make me stop asking questions.”

  “Are you sure about that?” He dragged his mouth down and beneath the lacy ruff at her collar to suck her neck.

  “Quite sure,” she said, though she quivered beneath his lips. “I’m not . . . a flighty schoolgirl anymore.”

  He drew back to stare into her beautiful green eyes. “Not for one moment of your life have you ever been flighty.”

  “Then call it foolish.” She tipped up her chin. “I was too foolish to realize I was merely a moment’s amusement to you that night at the masquerade.”

  The pain in her eyes made him wince. He’d hurt her more than he’d ever realized. “Not that, either.” He kissed her temple. “Just too young. And in the wrong place at the wrong time in my life.”

  “A likely excuse. I haven’t been ‘too young’ for some time, and it’s taken you nine years to even kiss me again. At this rate, you’ll only advance to ravishing me when I’m forty.”

  He dearly hoped he’d be ravishing her at forty. And thirty-five and twenty-nine and the day after tomorrow.

  Or today. That would certainly move this process along.

  “If it’s ravishment you want . . .” He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed, where he tossed her down onto it.

  “What the devil!” she exclaimed. “You’ll crush my favorite bonnet!”

  She started to rise, but he climbed on the bed to lie half on her, his arm manacling her waist and his leg trapping one of hers. “Oh, I plan to do more than crush your bonnet, minx.”

  Her eyes sparked a warning. “Be careful, Giles. I might decide to scream.”

  He lifted one eyebrow. “Then you’d have a fine time explaining why you’re screaming about your ‘husband’s’ advances.” He began to work loose the frogs holding her pelisse-robe together.

  When he opened it to bare the upper swells of her breasts to his gaze, she dragged in a heavy breath. “Perhaps I’ll tell the truth, then,” she said shakily, though she didn’t try to close her gown.

  His pulse jumped into a frenzy. “That you’re not really my wife? That you lied about that? Let me take a room for us? Let me get you alone? I should like to hear that conversation.”

  Warily she watched as he bent the cup of her corset down to reveal one linen-shrouded breast. His breath caught in his throat. It was every bit as pretty as he’d expected—full and pouty, with a rosy nipple that pebbled beneath his stare. He cupped the ample flesh in his hand, relishing the instant fire that flashed in her gaze.

  “How clever of you . . . to make it be . . . my fault,” she breathed as he lowered his head to suck at her succulent breast through her shift and tongue her hard nipple.

  She gasped but didn’t stop him.

  “Shall I take the blame, then?” he rasped against the damp linen, his throat raw with need of her. “For wanting you? For craving the taste of you? For trying to drive you as insane as you’ve been driving me?”

  With a moan, she buried her fingers in his hair and urged him back to her breast. “Have I been driving you insane?” she whispered.

  “You know you have.” Why was she letting him do this? Why wasn’t she protesting?

  It didn’t matter. Ever since that damned Valentine’s Day ball, he’d had too many dreams where she lay beneath him, willing and eager. And now that he was living that dream, he wasn’t going to stop.

  He shifted his body so he could lift her skirts. “All I’ve been able to think of ever since we danced,” he murmured, “is how I want to touch you.” He slid his hand up under her petticoats to smooth it along her stocking-clad calves. “How I want to fondle you until you cry out your pleasure.” He reached her garters and moved higher. “To plunder your soft body in ways you can’t imagine.”

  Her chest rose and fell with her rapid breaths; her eyes were wide but not the least afraid.

  She ought to be afraid. He was reaching the end of his tether. She felt so good beneath her skirts, her skin as silky and warm as rose petals kissed by the sun.

  Finding the tender place between her legs, he slipped his fingers inside the slit in her drawers to touch her curls. She was hot and damp for him, and he might explode just knowing that.

  When he bent his head to suck her breast again, she dragged in a harsh breath but still managed to murmur, “So tell me . . . the truth. Are you a thief? Or perhaps . . . something worse?”

  At first her question didn’t register. He was too caught up in filling his hands and his mouth with her lovely flesh. When at last her words sank in, disappointment crashed through him. So that’s why she was letting him touch her. She thought to use her body to distract him, to get him to answer her questions.

  He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or groan. Clearly she didn’t know whom she was dealing with; two could play this game.

  Deliberately he cupped her between the legs, enjoying how her eyes went wide in shock. “Why do you care?” he rasped. “You don’t intend to marry me anyway. So what does it matter if I’m a thief?”

  Her breathing was unsteady. Good. He wanted her as unsettled as he was. “Perhaps it’s . . . simple intellectual curiosity,” she choked out.

  “Like this little interlude? Is that what you’re doing with me, sweet? Satisfying your intellectual curiosity?”

  He dragged his finger up her delicate cleft until he found the luscious center of her passion, then thumbed it until she let out a cry of surprise.

  “Oh . . . my word . . . Giles . . .”

  “Or perhaps you’re reconsidering the idea of marriage to me,” he went on. “That’s why it’s so imperative that you know my true character.”

  Though she squirmed beneath him, her face growing flushed, she shook her head. “I want . . . to be left alone to . . . write my books.”

  “Then you shouldn’t do things like this . . . let me touch you, taste you.”

  Nor should he. Since seduction hadn’t been her purpose, he would be a true scoundrel to continue. But he was rapidly forgetting he wasn’t a scoundrel anymore. She smelled too sweet, tasted too delicious. And he wanted her too badly.

  Only half-conscious of what he did, he rubbed himself against her thigh, seeking relief for the rising ache in his cock.

  She blinked and grabbed his hand. “What’s that in your pocket? It’s a pistol, isn’t it? I knew you were up to something suspicious.”

  With a laugh, he forced her hand down to his “pistol” and rubbed it along his flesh, an action that was as much pain as pleasure for him, since he knew that was all he would get to do. “It’s not a pistol, minx. It’s what happens to a man when a woman arouses him beyond his control. Do you understand?”

  The hot color rising up her neck told him that she had caught on. “I-I didn’t realize . . . that is—”

  A knock came at the door.

  “Damn it all to hell,” he gritted out under his breath. “What do you want?” he called out.

  His tone must have been too sharp, for there was a long pause. “My lord, if I might have a moment of your time . . .”

  With a sigh, he glanced down at Minerva. “Looks like you’ve been spared for now, sweetiekins.”

  Pushing off the bed, he walked slowly to the door to give his cock time to calm and her to fasten up the frogs on her pelisse-robe. He found his hat lying near the bed and put it on, then waited until she had left the bed before he opened the door. “Yes?”

  “I just wanted to inform you that Mr. Plumtree is gone, my lord. So you needn’t worry about encountering him in the halls.”

  “Actually, sir, we’ve decided to leave the inn ourselves,” Giles said bluntly.

  “What?” he squeaked. “Why?”

  “My wife doesn’t like the room.”

  As if on cue, Minerva came forward. Though he could see she was shaken, she managed a theatrical sniff. “It has an unpleasant odor, sir. And I would swear I saw a rat run under the
bed.”

  “I beg your pardon, my lady, but we do not have rats,” the innkeeper protested. “And if there’s an odor, perhaps another room—”

  “Sorry, my good fellow, but we’re leaving.” Giles handed the man a number of sovereigns. “I hope this will make up for any inconvenience we’ve caused you.”

  The innkeeper stared at the coins, and his eyes brightened. “Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord.”

  “Come, my dear,” Giles said, holding out his arm.

  As she took it, he dared another glance at her. The flowers on her bonnet were a bit crushed and her clothing a little disordered, but nothing that anyone would probably remark upon. She’d been lucky. She just didn’t know how lucky.

  As they headed down the stairs, he murmured, “Don’t ever do that again.”

  Her gaze flew to his. “What?”

  “Taunt me into losing control with you.”

  “Is that what I did? I thought I merely pointed out that you’ve been rather inattentive for a man who claims to want to marry me for something other than my fortune.”

  “Did you want me to be more attentive?” he asked seriously.

  She wouldn’t look at him as they headed back to the curricle. “Of course not.”

  “And now?”

  “Do as you please. It matters nothing to me.”

  Yet something had changed between them. The air that had been charged with sensual energy before fairly crackled with it now. Until today, she’d been denying that she wanted him. She no longer could.

  Her tone hardened. “You gave the innkeeper an awful lot of money. And there’s that signet ring you’re wearing. Tell me, how exactly did you come by all of that?”

  “Are we back to your absurd suspicions?” he growled. “Hasn’t it occurred to you that it would be difficult for me to find a fence for my goods when I’m working as an officer of the law? I’d risk exposure by any criminal who recognized me at the courthouse.”

  “Then what exactly are you—”

  “I don’t know whether to be flattered that you think me such a clever criminal mastermind, or insulted that you think me so devoid of good character.” He steered her through the people still milling about near the course. “Except for when I took those papers, I’m not a thief, Minerva. I swear it on my honor.” He shot her a long glance. “Unless you think me too much a scoundrel to have any honor?”

 

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