It was hard not to think of it with her looking like an angel in that gown of frothy white silk. Dainty red and green rosettes on the hem danced about her ankles, and her throat held only a single gem—an emerald that was no match for her sparkling eyes. He couldn’t wait to see those eyes shining up at him as he took her, to see her smile only for him, and not for all these fools who’d come to see the “scandalously hasty” wedding.
Then he saw where she was heading, and he tensed. What did she want with Pinter? The far too handsome, amiable, and upstanding Pinter?
He was just about to see for himself when a familiar voice arrested him.
“Glad to catch you alone at last.”
Giles turned to face the Viscount Ravenswood. “Thank you for coming. I was rather surprised to see you accept my invitation. I wasn’t sure if you could make the time for it.”
Ravenswood’s smile was strained. “Actually, I hadn’t planned to come, but my superiors wanted me to speak to you.”
“About what?”
“Continuing with your work as an operative. They’re willing to offer you some strong inducements to stay—a title, more pay . . . a few political favors, if that’s what you wish.”
He sighed. “Ravenswood, I don’t want—”
“I know. I told them you’d refuse. But they wanted me to ask.” He stared off across the lawn. “Unfortunately, we do have one more piece of business we need to discuss.”
Giles went on the alert. “Oh?”
“I received a letter from Lord Newmarsh.”
A weight settled on Giles’s chest. That was one name he’d thought he was done with for good. “Is he still living abroad, as agreed?”
In exchange for his help in unveiling Sir John Sully’s fraud, Lord Newmarsh’s name had been kept out of the affair and he’d been given a pardon . . . on the condition that he leave England permanently.
“He is. He’s in France. His letter said that he wishes to meet with you.”
Giles stared at him, his gut twisting into a knot. “Me? Why would he ask you to set up a meeting with me? Does that mean—”
“That he knows you stole the papers from his house that were instrumental in convicting Sir John Sully?” A pained expression crossed Ravenswood’s face. “Yes. He says that if you don’t come, he’ll tell the press about what you did.”
The blood roared in his ears. Damn, this couldn’t be happening. “How did he find out?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t say in his letter.”
Giles raked his fingers through his hair. The one man who had the most reason to see him ruined now knew what he’d done. There was only one way he could have learned of it. From Minerva’s books.
But that made no sense. Surely there weren’t enough clues for him to have put all that together. And why would he be reading gothic novels, anyway?
Ravenswood took a sip from the champagne glass in his hand. “He wants you to meet him in Calais. He said he’d give you until next week. There’s a steam packet service that can have you in Calais in eleven hours.”
Frustration roiled in his belly. “I just got married, for God’s sake.”
“You don’t have to go. I suspect he’s bluffing. Why would he stir up all that old business again by going to the papers? He got out of it without his name and reputation being blackened, and he’d risk that happening now? Never. From all reports, he’s made a comfortable life for himself in Paris. He doesn’t need this.”
“I can’t take the chance.”
“It could be a trap. He might want revenge.”
“Newmarsh? I doubt that. He was never a violent man. More likely, he wants something from me. This is blackmail, pure and simple. I have to see what he wants.”
They stood a moment in silence. Giles watched his wife having an intense conversation with Pinter, and despair rolled through him. He’d sworn to be done with secrets, and he’d meant it.
But he couldn’t tell her this. If by some small chance it had happened because of her books, she would blame herself.
“You could always take your wife with you to Calais.”
He could. It would be easier to pass off a change in their wedding trip plans than to explain why he was abandoning her for a couple of days right after their wedding. “I may just do that. If I can figure out a good excuse for it.”
“Masters, I realize I told you that you can’t speak of your connection with us to anyone, and I certainly wouldn’t want you spilling any state secrets, but I know I can trust you to be discreet in what you say. She is your wife, after all. Besides, the matter with Newmarsh happened before you started working for us. You have every right to speak of that to her. If you feel you can trust her—”
“It’s not that.”
But it was. Minerva wasn’t used to keeping secrets—look at how she’d spilled her own family secrets to him. All she would have to do is let something slip to one person, and his past could very well unravel. Plus, Minerva had a tendency to use things in her damned books.
She wouldn’t if you asked her not to.
Wouldn’t she? How could he be sure? “I’d just . . . rather not tell her. It’ll be over after this. It will all be behind me.”
That way he didn’t have to risk that she’d let his secrets slip. He wanted a fresh start with her. He could have it, too. All he had to do was hide his activities this one time. It was really only a small deception.
So why did it seem like an enormous one?
He gritted his teeth. For God’s sake, why was he even worrying about this? Any other man would tell his wife to mind her own business and be done with it.
But he wasn’t any other man. And Minerva definitely wasn’t any other woman.
“One more thing,” Ravenswood said.
Giles eyed him askance. “That wasn’t enough to ruin my wedding day?”
“It’s nothing like that. I just thought you’d like to know about that map you asked me to look into.”
“The one Desmond Plumtree had.” Having found nothing in property records, Giles had drawn up a copy for Ravenswood and asked for his help.
“One of my men says he recognizes it. He just can’t remember from where. He’s going to look into it and let me know. By the time you come back, we should have some answers for you.”
“Good.” It was very good. Perhaps it would be enough to make his wife forgive him if she happened to find out that he’d kept one small secret from her.
No, nothing would make her forgive him after the way she’d made him promise to be truthful.
So he’d just have to make sure she didn’t suspect anything. He’d put this matter of Newmarsh behind him without involving her; then he could have his life back at last.
Chapter Seventeen
It was nearly evening by the time they left the wedding breakfast. As soon as their carriage was headed to London, Minerva glanced over at her new husband. Her husband. That would take some getting used to.
Especially since he seemed distracted. “Are you all right?” she asked.
He blinked, as if jerked from some deep reverie, then smiled at her. “Perfectly all right.” Taking her hand, he slowly peeled off her glove. “I’ll be even better once we reach the house.” He kissed each finger. “When I can show you exactly how all right I am.”
“You could show me now,” she said, emboldened by the fire in his gaze.
“Sorry, darling, but I’m not going to bed you for the first time in a carriage.” His gaze trailed down her with leisurely appreciation. “Much as it tempts me, I want you to be comfortable.”
“I doubt that waiting will help me be comfortable,” she said tartly. “From what I hear, the first time is always difficult for a woman.”
“Are you frightened?”
“Of that?” She snorted. “Hardly. If it were so very awful, my sisters-in-law wouldn’t be leaping into my brother’s beds with astonishing regularity.” When he laughed, she added, “Besides, I trust you. I know you’ll do your b
est to make it easier.”
He squeezed her hand, then released it. “Can we talk about something else? All this discussion of what we aren’t going to do until we reach the house is only making me think about it more.”
She looked down to see his breeches looking rather fuller than before. “Perhaps I could help with that,” she teased, reaching to touch him.
Grabbing her hand, he pressed it back into her lap. “Not now,” he said firmly.
With a sniff, she settled back against the seat. “I do hope you’re not going to turn into a stick-in-the-mud like Oliver.”
“Turn into one?” he echoed, a peculiar note of irony in his voice. “I don’t think you need worry about that.”
“I don’t know—you have a lot of very high-in-the-instep friends.”
“Like who?”
“The undersecretary of the Home Office. I had no idea you knew such lofty people.”
He seemed to withdraw into himself. “Ravenswood and I went to school together. We’ve known each other for years.”
“So it’s not a . . . business thing then?”
A strange look passed over his face. “I’ve never had to represent him as a barrister, if that’s what you mean.”
“Your conversation at the wedding didn’t look entirely pleasant, and you spoke to him quite a while.”
“I could say the same about you and Pinter.” He scowled at her. “What were you two discussing, anyway? You seemed awfully chummy.”
She eyed him askance. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous of Mr. Pinter.”
“Certainly not,” he said stiffly. “You’d never be attracted to such a ‘stick-in-the-mud.’” He shot her a sidelong glance. “Would you?”
Oh, that was too good to pass up. She pretended to contemplate the idea. “I don’t know. He’s quite good-looking. And there’s something very enticing about officers of the law . . . all that masculine energy devoted to seeking justice.”
“I seek justice,” he said.
“But you’re an attorney—it’s not the same.”
“You mean, it would be more enticing if I pranced around town waving a pistol and hauling people out of taverns whether or not they’d done anything wrong.”
“I give you fair warning—if you ever start prancing about town, I shall leave you.” She burst into laughter. “I’m teasing you, you clodpate. Surely you can tell by now that I won’t ignore any chance to tweak your nose.”
He stared hard at her. “You haven’t answered my question.”
No, she hadn’t. She was hoping he’d forgotten. The last thing she wanted to do was lie to him. “Mr. Pinter and I were discussing the work he does for Gran—you know, the investigative work.”
“Ah. Has he found out more about Desmond?”
“No.” She figured that was true, since they hadn’t discussed it. “But I understand that you did.” Desmond and his family had been at the wedding, of course, and given what they all suspected of him she’d found it hard to be civil. But Giles had turned it into an opportunity. “Jarret told me you asked Desmond a number of questions in the guise of a newcomer to the family. Did you learn much?”
“Just that he claims not to have been on the estate in twenty years.”
“And you think he’s lying.”
“Don’t you?”
She sighed. “Probably. But Oliver hasn’t found anything in the estate papers that resembles that map.”
“Well, we’ll know soon enough if he’s been going to the estate.”
“What do you mean?”
Giles smiled. “I set a trap for him.”
That got her attention. “How?”
“I told him I’d discovered that Lord Manderley was planning to buy a house near Turnham and would be moving into it in a month or so. Plumtree is not going to want to run into a fellow he owes money to. So he’ll step up his efforts to finish his project, whatever it is.”
“What do you plan to do, lie in wait for him every day at the Black Bull?”
“No need. I paid the inn a visit earlier in the week and engaged the services of one of the grooms. He’ll let me know when Plumtree shows up. Then I’ll follow him and find out what he’s up to.”
“Oh, Giles, what a brilliant plan! You’re always so clever.” She smiled up at him. “If you want, I’ll get Celia to send me a current map of the estate so you can compare it to what you remember of the other one.”
“That would be useful.”
They both fell silent. She wished he would sweep her into his arms and kiss her. Or, for that matter, tease her. He seemed too solemn. It worried her.
So she tried to pass it off by making small talk. “What time do you plan for us to leave for Bath tomorrow?”
He shifted on the seat. “Actually, I was thinking we might change that plan.”
“Oh?”
“Bath is hot in the summer. Certainly too hot for us to spend standing shoulder-deep in a pit of steaming water. So I thought you might prefer something more interesting.”
That certainly raised her curiosity. “Like what?”
“France.”
She broke into a broad smile. “Paris, you mean? Oh, that would be wonderful! I’ve always wanted to see the Champs-Élysées. And the Louvre . . . But wait, I thought you said you couldn’t leave London for that long.”
A look of chagrin crossed his face. “I’m afraid that’s true. Paris is too far, but I was thinking . . . perhaps Calais?”
It was hard to hide her confusion. “But is there anything to see of note in Calais?”
“There’s the ramparts and Calais’s Notre Dame church. It’s not as impressive as the Notre Dame in Paris, of course, but still pretty. Best of all, they have French food and French shops and some very nice hotels.”
“I suppose.” At least in Bath there would be dancing and plenty of sights.
His smile turning heated, he took her hand again. “I’m not sure we’re going to want to do much looking about, anyway.” Lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed her wrist, making her pulse dance madly.
Ah, so that’s what he was about. In Bath there would be a great many important people who would expect to visit with them. Perhaps he wanted to be somewhere it could be just the two of them, enjoying themselves. The more she thought about it, the more intriguing it sounded.
He went on in a low, coaxing voice. “You do, after all, have Rockton acting as a French spy. You should get a flavor for the country before you write any scenes where he visits France.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I thought I wasn’t supposed to write about Rockton anymore.”
He shrugged. “You don’t have to stop writing about him. Just make him less . . .”
“Like you?” she said, smothering her smile.
“Exactly.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to kill him off? I could give him a spectacular death, with blood and guts spilling all over the place, and a dying speech to rival one of Shakespeare’s.”
He frowned. “You said that with entirely too much relish.”
“Oh, dear. I must strive to better hide my murderous intent. It wouldn’t do to have you guess the many ways I could—”
He kissed her—a quick, brusque kiss. Then as she stared up at him, a teasing smile on her lips, he cupped her head in his hands and kissed her with the leisurely enjoyment of a man who knows what he wants and how much time he has to gain it.
When he drew back, she murmured, “I thought you said we couldn’t do this until we reached the house.”
“I changed my mind.” He proceeded to nibble on her ear, his breath tickling her cheek. “Think of this as the first course to an all-night feast.”
“Oh, no,” she said in false solemnity. “I think we should wait until we reach—”
This time his kiss was all-consuming, the kind that made her want and ache and need more. She slid her hands up about his neck, and he pulled her onto his lap.
“You were saying?” he murmured.
&n
bsp; She kissed him, and that was all it took to have him devouring her mouth and fondling her breast through her gown and generally driving her to utter distraction. This part of marriage might make the rest of it worth it.
Still, she noticed he practiced restraint in the carriage. He kissed and caressed her, oh yes, until they were both breathing heavily and his arousal was stiff enough beneath her bottom to bludgeon someone with. But he touched nothing beneath her clothes.
It was driving her insane. “For a rogue, you’re very circumspect,” she whispered against his mouth.
“And you aren’t circumspect enough, mon petit mignon,” he murmured. “I will have to walk into our house, you know. No one can tell what state you’re in beneath your clothes, but everyone will be able to see what state I’m in.”
She cast him a solemn glance. “Good. I like you better when you have no secrets.”
He drew back to stare at her with a shadowed gaze. “You like me better under your thumb, you mean. But if you think you’re going to drag me about by my . . . er . . . arousal, Minerva, think again.”
“Trust me,” she said earnestly, “if I wanted to do that, I could do it as easily as this.” She snapped her fingers.
“You think so, do you?”
“I know so.” Not for nothing had she watched her sisters-in-law handle her brothers. Giles liked her for her body. And she would make good use of that if she had to.
“I haven’t been that susceptible to a woman’s charms in years, minx,” he drawled. “I want you very badly, but I’m not the sort of man to lose his brains to desire. I made that mistake once. I’ll never make it again.”
She eyed him closely. “When did you make that mistake? Or is that another thing you refuse to tell me about your past?”
The carriage rumbled into London. Though the noise of workers going home and calling to one another filled the air, inside the carriage all was silent as a snowfall. Giles shifted her off of his lap, then angled himself so he could stare into her face. “Do you really want to know about something I did with another woman?”
How to Woo a Reluctant Lady Page 20