His Wicked Charm

by Candace Camp

  “One would think.” With a long sigh, he leaned back against the glass. “The truth is, you tangle me up inside. I don’t understand it. I don’t like it any more than you do. But I can’t seem to help myself.” He paused, then added quietly, “If I avoided you before, it wasn’t because I dislike you.”

  “No?” Her eyebrows shot up.

  “No. I like you more than I should for my own peace of mind.”

  “If you like me, then why do you tease me all the time?”

  He looked startled. “It’s clear that you grew up without a brother. Didn’t any boy ever tug your pigtails because he liked you?”

  Lilah stared. “Well, I...I don’t know.” She shook her head. “Not really. Anyway, that makes no sense. Why would you want to irritate someone if you like her?”

  “I tease you because...I enjoy the way your eyes sparkle and your cheeks flush.”

  “But it’s because I’m angry!”

  “Perverse, isn’t it?” He leaned in. “I like your snapping at me. Your humor. That frown you make, with the little lines right here.” He brushed his fingertip between her eyes. “It’s fun to see your real self pop out from behind that social mask.” He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “I love causing you to lose your vaunted control. Making you as stirred up and uneasy and confused as you make me.”

  He dropped his hand and pulled back. Silence stretched between them. Lilah thought perhaps Con was as surprised by his words as she was. Finally, pulling her thoughts together, she said tartly, “Then you have certainly succeeded.”

  “I’ve spent a lifetime perfecting that particular skill.” He smiled and stood up, reaching a hand down to her.

  Lilah took his hand. He held it too long, but she didn’t mind. As they strolled down the corridor to her door, she said, “I apologize, too. I said a number of things I used to believe about you, but I don’t really think them any longer. You’re inordinately irritating, but...” She raised her eyes to his as they stopped outside her bedroom door. “You have a good heart and a good mind. And I don’t dislike you either.”

  Con laughed. “I’ll take that as high praise from you.” He released her hand, stepping back. “Good night. Sleep well.”

  “Con...” Lilah said as he started away, and he turned back, his eyebrows raised in question. “Today on the train...when you kissed me? I enjoyed it, too.”

  Lilah turned and slipped inside her bedroom.

  * * *

  WELL, THAT CERTAINLY destroyed any chance he had of going to sleep quickly.

  He had kissed Lilah before and thoroughly enjoyed it. But it was one thing to steal a few kisses, to tease her into blushing and taste the sweetness of her mouth. This morning’s kisses had been something else altogether. Passion had roared up in him so hard and fast, so hungry, that for a few minutes, he had been oblivious to the world.

  Knowing that Lilah enjoyed it, having felt her flame up in ardor, absolutely incandescent...well, that changed everything. Before it had been flirtation and fun. This was dangerous. This was the sort of hunger that turned a man blind and stupid, that sent him rushing toward something he knew was absolutely wrong.

  Everything inside him thrummed with the desire to follow his instincts. But all the complications and barriers that made wooing Lilah a dangerous proposition were still there. If she were anyone else...but she was not. However rash Lilah might think him, this was one time when he had to be careful. It was no longer only he who might suffer. There was his brother. Sabrina. Lilah herself.

  He took off his jacket and cravat and unbuttoned his waistcoat, then poured a glass of whiskey from the decanter Vesta had thoughtfully provided. Dropping into the chair, he considered the puzzle of Lilah Holcutt. Con had never been able to resist a puzzle.

  How the devil could the practical, sensible, self-admittedly unimaginative Lilah have sprung from this fantastical home? It was too bad this wasn’t the place they must search. It was bound to have secret staircases and hidden rooms. Priest holes. Doors behind tapestries, bookshelves that swung out. Even dungeons—after all, Lilah said it was built on top of an ancient castle.

  Come to think of it, perhaps Lilah wasn’t all that different from her home. She had the same quality of secrecy, of things hidden beneath the surface. He had seen glimpses of the personality beneath her polite mask—in her laughter, in the way she joined in his hunt for the kidnappers. Most of all, in the heat and hunger of her kiss. The longer he knew her and the closer he came to her, the more he discovered that he didn’t really know her at all.

  Why did she never visit this house? Yes, it was strange, which would not appeal to Lilah, but it was her childhood home, which usually made a person fond of a place. Then there was the way she had acted with her aunt. Vesta had seemed overjoyed to see Lilah, but Lilah had been distant.

  He remembered the sight of her standing stiff in Vesta’s arms, enduring her embrace, not welcoming it. Vesta was the sort of flamboyant character who would discomfit Lilah. But there had been more there than embarrassment. Not exactly dislike, but something...hard.

  And why had Lilah, at the age of twelve, gone to live with her other aunt in London? Lilah had said it was because her father felt she needed a woman’s guidance. But why, when she already had an aunt living with her?

  He wondered how Lilah had felt, what she thought about being sent away. She seemed fond of her Aunt Helena, but still, it must have been painful. Lilah said little about her father. Indeed, she rarely talked about her family or childhood at all. Wasn’t that a trifle strange in itself?

  Con had given her half a dozen stories about his family and childhood on that long ride in pursuit of the kidnappers. Lilah had told him nothing. The only reason he’d learned anything about her father was because he’d questioned her about the key.

  Lilah hadn’t wanted him to see her house; he’d seen the mortification on her face. He was certain it was the reason for her reluctance to invite him. That was a relief, of course, but now he had to wonder why it embarrassed her so.

  Barrow House was peculiar, obviously, but he couldn’t imagine why she would think a Moreland would object to oddity. Least of all him. But perhaps it was the opposite—that she feared he would be attracted to it, that it would rouse his curiosity. Or that he would see something in Lilah, too, some aspect she didn’t want revealed.

  That was an intriguing thought, and he spent the rest of his drink on it. After that he went to bed. He fell asleep thinking of Lilah.

  He wasn’t sure what awakened him, but his eyes popped open and he lay for a moment, listening. There was nothing but silence. Only the creaks and noises of an unfamiliar house. But he was wide-awake now. With a sigh, he swung out of bed and went to the dresser to open his pocket watch. Two o’clock.

  Going to the window, he pushed aside the drapes and gazed out at the night. The moon was almost full, palely lighting the landscape below him. He could make out the dark shapes of trees and shrubbery, the broad pathway leading into the center of the garden.

  A white figure moved below him. His heart gave a jump, then he smiled at himself. It was a real person, no phantom, just a woman in a white nightgown. He leaned closer to the glass. Why was a woman walking in the garden in the middle of the night?

  It was Lilah. She was too far away and the light too faint to see her clearly, but he recognized that fall of hair even in the fainter light from the moon. What the devil was Lilah doing outside at two o’clock in the morning? And dressed only in her nightgown?

  Stunned, he watched her move along the path, then turn left and walk out of sight into the shadows and trees. She was not hurrying, but neither was it the ambling, aimless walk of a person taking a stroll. She had a destination. But what? Why? Even on a warm summer night, what would make the very proper Lilah leave her bedroom wearing only a simple shift?

  His first thought, his only thought, was that
she was meeting someone. Meeting a man—one she knew quite well if she was wearing nothing but a nightgown. Something hot and acidic bloomed in his chest, such an unfamiliar feeling that it took a moment to recognize it as jealousy.

  Con pulled out his shirt and began to dress, then stopped. What was he doing? Was he actually going to follow her? And what did he intend to do if he found her in the embrace of a lover? He had no claim on Lilah.

  He turned back to the window, torn. It wasn’t jealousy, just his usual insatiable need to know. He had no right to be jealous, no hold on Lilah. A few kisses, no matter how torrid, did not make a relationship. Oh, the devil. Of course he was jealous.

  At that moment, she walked back into view. He let out a breath, the knot in his chest easing. Thank goodness he hadn’t made an idiot of himself by running out after her. But why had she sneaked out of the house at this hour, only to stay no more than five minutes?

  If she had met a lover, surely she would do more than exchange a few kisses with him. For that matter, if she had a lover here, why hadn’t she come to Barrow House in the last two years? But if not a lover, who then? And why?

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  LILAH CRAWLED OUT of bed the next morning, feeling almost as tired as when she’d lain down. But she was determined to be at breakfast. As taken as Aunt Vesta had been with Con, Lilah wasn’t going to count on her aunt sleeping late.

  She rang for Cuddington to help her dress, and to Lilah’s surprise, the sour-visaged maid turned out to be an artist with hairstyles. She rolled Lilah’s hair into one of the popular new pompadour styles, and though Lilah had not yet worn her hair that way—she never liked to draw attention to herself by being on the front edge of fashion—she was as eager as Cuddington to try it out here in the country, where no one would see. Except Con.

  The result was enough to make even Cuddington smile, and the expression on Con’s face when she walked into the dining room was deeply gratifying. He came around the table to pull out her chair, his eyes straying back again and again to her hair.

  “Good morning, Miss Holcutt. It promises to be a lovely day.”

  “The fog has lifted?” Lilah asked.

  “It’s absolutely sunny out there, but I was referring more to being with you all day.”

  Lilah raised a disbelieving eyebrow, but she couldn’t hold back her smile. Had Con meant it last night when he said he liked her? Or maybe that wasn’t what he said; maybe he had just told her he didn’t dislike her. It was so distracting talking to Con that sometimes she lost track of what he was saying.

  It was impossible to carry on a private conversation with the butler and a footman bustling in and out with breakfast, so Lilah made no mention of their purpose or plans. “I trust you had a pleasant sleep.”

  Con made an affirmative noise and fixed an oddly intent gaze on her. “What about you? Were you up and about last night?”

  “Goodness, no, I retired for the night as soon as we parted.”

  “The moon was almost full. It was so bright I could clearly see the garden, even in the middle of the night.” He paused, almost as if waiting for something, then continued. “So I got up and spent a few minutes looking at it.”

  “Indeed?”

  “Yes. It was bright enough to have taken a stroll.”

  “Was it? I’m afraid I’ve never been out in the garden so late.” Lilah was finding this chitchat hard going. She wished the servants would leave.

  “You haven’t? I thought I saw you there.”

  “Me?” Startled, Lilah glanced up at him. “I wasn’t in the garden.” A frown began to form between her eyes. “I can’t imagine who would have been. One of the servants, I suppose.”

  Con simply looked at her for a long moment, then shrugged. “Perhaps I was dreaming.”

  “Yes, that’s probably it.” Lilah sent the butler for more toast, and after he left the room, she swung back to Con. “I do hope you won’t mention that again. The servants will be sure to decide you saw a ghost. They’re dreadfully superstitious here.”

  His look was assessing, but he said only, “No, of course. I shan’t say a thing.”

  They fell silent as they ate. Lilah felt his eyes on her, but she did her best to ignore it. She wondered if there had actually been someone there...perhaps some maid having a tryst with a lover? Lilah hoped Con would keep his promise and not quiz the servants about it. Even worse, what if he broached the matter to Aunt Vesta? God only knows what sort of story she would concoct.

  “I thought we’d ride over to Carmoor this morning.” The sooner she could get him away from her aunt, the better.

  “Why don’t you show me around Barrow House first?”

  “Here? But why? That will hardly help us find the, um—” She paused, remembering the butler, who was once again standing by the door. “What we’re looking for.”

  Con grinned, leaning forward to murmur, “Very stealthy, Delilah.” He settled back and, returning to his normal voice, said, “It helps to get the lay of the land first, before one starts an investigation. Besides, Barrow House is interesting. We could explore the maze.”

  “How did you know there was a maze?”

  “I took a turn around the garden before breakfast and saw the hedges. Thought it must be a maze.”

  “It’s completely overgrown,” Lilah protested. “It’s not safe. I was never allowed to go in there by myself.”

  “Then you must be eager to see it now.”

  “Not really.” There was something unnerving about the maze’s dark green depths, the ever-narrowing passages. “Why would anyone want to get lost?”

  “I think the idea is more to find what’s hidden at the center. Aren’t you curious?”

  “No.” She fixed him with an exasperated gaze. How was it that Con always managed to bring up bothersome topics? “My father took me in there once because I kept insisting.” She remembered her anxiety, the hedges looming so high, so dark around her, the untrimmed branches and twigs reaching out to snag her. Her chest tightened. “There’s nothing there to see.”

  “Very well.” He shrugged. “I’ll explore the maze later myself.”

  “Con, no. You’ll get lost.”

  “I never get lost. You know, perhaps we should talk to your aunt before we go.”

  She should have foreseen this. Of course he would want to talk to Aunt Vesta, and God only knew where that would lead. It would be impossible to keep him away from her aunt. But at least she could delay it. “No, let’s explore the maze.”

  Con looked faintly surprised at her reversal but said nothing. Later that morning, Lilah led Con out to the maze. The hedges had grown taller, their branches straggling out every which way and turning the walkways even darker.

  Branches stretched and curled from either side, narrowing the pathway, in some places even knitting together enough that Con had to push them aside in order to pass through. An odd, stifling feeling settled over Lilah, confirming her dislike of this place.

  “Lilah, you need not come,” Con said softly. “I can go on alone.”

  Lilah stiffened her spine. “Nonsense. I can’t have you vanishing in the maze.”

  His eyes drifted over her face. “Very well.” They started forward again, Con taking the lead. “Tell me about this maze. Who built it?”

  “I don’t really know. It was here when my father was young. He got lost in it once as a child. That’s why he wouldn’t let me into it alone. Weren’t mazes popular during the last century?”

  Con shrugged. “No doubt Alex could tell you better than I. But I think they’ve been around long before that. Didn’t the Tudors have them?”

  “Then perhaps it was planted by the first Holcutt.” Lilah was glad Con had thrown out a conversational gambit. While she concentrated on his questions, she could ignore the tightness in her chest, only vaguely aware of the twists and tur
ns Con took.

  They reached an intersecting path, and Con paused, frowning faintly as he looked first one way then the next. Lilah pointed straight ahead and started forward. “I think this is the correct way.”

  “No. We should turn here.” He took her arm, halting her. An odd look crossed his face. “Yes. I’m sure. It’s this way.”

  “How could you possibly know?” Lilah asked. Confidence was one thing, but Con could be annoyingly stubborn in his certainty.

  “It just makes sense,” Con replied vaguely.

  With a shrug, Lilah followed him. It was small of her, she knew, but a part of her hoped they would find themselves in a leafy dead end. Con released her arm, but he kept his hand on the back of her waist in a gesture Lilah found oddly—and irritatingly—reassuring.

  They turned again, and there, in front of them was the center of the maze. A sundial marked the spot, a wrought iron bench facing it. The bench had been overgrown by ivy, and the vine had inched over the stone foundation on which the sundial sat. Tendrils crawled up the pedestal.

  Lilah turned to Con in astonishment. “How did you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Go directly to the center. Not even one wrong turn. Father told me no one ever managed it on the first try.” Lilah narrowed her eyes. “Did you come here this morning and figure it out beforehand?”

  Con burst into laughter. “Delilah Holcutt. You are an exceedingly suspicious soul.” He moved closer, smiling down at her. “No. I didn’t sneak in earlier so that I could astound you with my directional skills. I told you I was good with maps and directions. I generally can tell which way is north.”

  “There is no map of the maze.” Lilah planted her hands on her hips. “And I don’t see how knowing east from west could help you work your way through a maze.”

  “Then I suppose it must be luck.” He grinned. “Or maybe I do have a mystical ability after all. I’m a human compass.” As Lilah rolled her eyes, Con turned to examine the sundial. The pedestal was made of stone, the face of copper, long since oxidized. “I wouldn’t think a sundial would work very well, here in the middle of these hedges.”