“Good.”
Business and pleasure so rarely mixed, in his experience. And if she meant to do him harm, well, it was a risk he was willing to take. He would have an answer for his investigation in that case—though if it came to a battle for survival the odds of her making it back into Lord Ebberling’s hands would be considerably diminished. Finishing off his glass of wine, Nathaniel stood and went to find Laurie. His brother would more than likely call him names again, but as he had just experienced the rarest of things, he didn’t much care which epithets Laurence showered him with. Because he’d just been surprised.
Chapter Four
Doing everything she could not to hurry her steps, Emily returned to her post at the lectern by the main doorway. Was the Earl of Westfall the reason for that whisper of uneasiness she’d felt curl up her spine this morning?
Of course, that was likely utter nonsense. She hadn’t believed in portents or signs from above since she’d been five years old. But the younger brother had mentioned something about searching the Tantalus for thieves, and that had been enough to begin her heart pounding. If this wasn’t about her, that was well and good, but clearly it was about someone, and quite possibly someone here. None of the Tantalus girls, as the club’s members had taken to calling them, were unblemished angels. What they were, however, were her friends. Her odd little scandalous family. And no harm was allowed to come to any of them while she had any say in the matter.
If protecting them meant tricking a handsome, slightly dull earl into thinking she meant to let him bed her in order to discover what, precisely, he was after, well, she’d invited less attractive men to her room and actually slept with them. She sent a glance toward his table, but he’d already left the Demeter room, no doubt to dispose of his brother. Dull, handsome, and with poor vision. If he wasn’t present to make trouble, if she was overreacting—which she desperately hoped she was—he might well have been perfect for her. She sighed, attempting to ignore the warmth spreading through her. It had been a while, but this was about discovering what he knew. Suspicion and sex made poor bedfellows.
As she finished totaling up the number of luncheon guests and the amount of alcohol consumed, she caught sight of Lucille looking hopefully in the direction of the Persephone, the nearest gaming room. She’d never made a habit of poaching men from her companions—heaven knew there were more than enough to go around—and this wasn’t poaching, precisely. It would certainly appear like it to Lucille, though.
If she’d discovered one thing in the past few years, it was that men enjoyed talking about themselves, particularly when they were relaxed, well complimented, and distracted. That had been a happy coincidence, though, as mostly what she’d been after with her bed companions was—well, she wasn’t certain what it was, but she did enjoy men and their companionship. Generally, and under a very narrow set of conditions.
Taking a breath, Emily walked up to Lucille for the third time that afternoon. “I need a word with you,” she muttered, taking Miss Hampton’s arm.
“What now? I’ve barely spoken to anyone. Except for Westfall, but he invited me back to chat with him.”
“Yes, I know. I … Lord Westfall is going upstairs. With me.”
Lucille scowled, her face darkening. “That is not fair, Emily. I told you I meant to pursue him. How could you?”
“He asked,” she returned, though at best he’d intimated, and after she’d directly invited. “You said he mentioned looking into a theft. I need to know if one of our friends is in trouble.”
“Then just ask whom he’s after.”
“I can’t do that, and you know it. I need to be a little subtle, for heaven’s sake.” Even if it didn’t concern her, but especially if it did.
“I don’t like it. You’re stealing him.”
“I am not. You may have him back tomorrow, unless I discover that we need to keep him away from the club.” She paused. “Would you wish to be the one to go up to Lady H and say you’ve been intimate with a man and now you need him to be banned?”
“No, I’d rather have that be you,” Lucille returned grudgingly. “But if he ends up offering for you, I’m going to be very cross.”
“I don’t think that’ll be a worry, Lucille. I’m not going to actually be with him, anyway. He merely needs to believe we’ll be together.”
“That’s deceitful.”
For heaven’s sake, she wasn’t going to spend the afternoon discussing her motivations and methods with Lucille Hampton. Particularly when she was fairly certain there was a ready alternative to asking him upstairs. But getting him drunk would take too much time, she decided. And they wouldn’t be doing anything—or she wouldn’t be, anyway. A man could become quite distracted with a strategic use of compliments and hands, after all. If it came to that.
She just resisted glancing over her shoulder after him. The poor fellow might not even require more than a seductive glance and a whisper—which would be beneficial for asking questions, of course, but as for her … Well, if he turned out to be merely pretending to know something in order to make himself more interesting, she could always invite him back for an actual liaison.
Emily drew a breath. She could invite him back, that was, depending on whether she could turn Lucille’s attention elsewhere. “Look,” she said aloud, inclining her chin. “Lord Burkiston is gazing at you.”
That wasn’t strictly true, either, but it served both to mollify Miss Hampton and to send her swirling off in the opposite direction. Lucille might have been a better bed companion for Lord Westfall than Emily would turn out to be, but he could mean to murder them all in the night and the bouncy brunette would never notice as long as he told her she had pretty eyes. Emily knew herself to be more cautious than that. And more alert for trouble, certainly.
As the clock hands tipped toward the hour, she handed her ledger over to Jenny Martine and made her way to the dining room’s privacy door. For a moment she thought Westfall might have changed his mind, because the space around the entry stood empty. That could be a complication—especially if he’d actually learned something. Lucille did like to prattle on, after all. And the tingle in her fingertips was merely nerves over how easily she would be able to sway him to talk.
On the positive side, even with the sliding spectacles he wore, Lord Westfall was not at all hard on her eyesight. She lowered her gaze for a moment. Lucille could easily find another wealthy aristocrat over which to hover and dream. By necessity Emily had to be more particular. And even if easily manipulated men were dull, they did help dispel the night’s shadows. Just not tonight. Not until she was certain this rather comely gentleman was of no further use than that.
“Are we to look as though we’re meeting coincidentally, or may I acknowledge your presence?”
Emily started at the low voice directly behind her. Heaven’s sake, he was quiet, especially for a man who walked with a limp and a cane. “Just follow me,” she intoned, and pushed open the door.
She nearly ran into Pansy in the narrow hallway, but other than sending her companion a suspicious look, Miss Bridger paid them no mind. And as Pansy had a distinct dislike for the male of the species in general, no one Emily brought into the club’s private area would have earned her scowling friend’s approval.
With Westfall on her heels, she climbed the stairs, then skirted the bustling common room for her bedchamber at the end of the hallway. Her roommate, Lily Banks, was still working at one of the roulette tables, but as she slipped into the small room, she reached around to pull the scarf from the inside handle and loop it around the outside one.
“You’ve done this before,” Westfall commented, following her actions with his eyes.
“If you were expecting virginity, you’ll need to visit a bawdy house and pay extra for it,” she returned.
For just a moment his expression became surprised. Then the amused, befuddled look returned to his lean, attractive countenance as he set his cane down against the back of the room’s one,
plain chair. “You’re quite cynical,” he announced unnecessarily. “Now, how do we go about this?”
She eyed him for a moment, taking him in from his longish mahogany hair to his spectacles to the pleasant curve of his mouth and the way she had to look up to see all of that. He must be two inches over six feet, at least, exceptional for one of the inbred gentry. But then he looked more like a professor than an earl, anyway—a very fit, lean professor. “You’re not a virgin, are you?” she queried. It would certainly make things easier if he was.
Westfall grimaced. “No, I am not. I only meant that this seems very … well ordered. Do we kiss passionately? Do I undress you, or merely myself? Do we fall onto your rather narrow bed or sink bonelessly to the floor?”
Emily laughed, then stifled the sound with a cough. There were times—admittedly brief ones—when she wished she could invite someone interesting upstairs. Handsome and fit-looking were enough to warm her bed, but a strong jaw didn’t necessarily translate to good conversation. But then, good conversation could only lead to trouble. And this encounter was about getting him to talk; her own pleasure could wait for someone who wasn’t possibly looking for trouble.
Stepping up to him, she pushed the jacket from his shoulders. Hm. No additional padding there; the muscle was all him. Before she could begin kneading his shoulders or something, she turned her attention to his cravat, untying the rather simple knot and drawing it from around his neck. “How did your brother react when you packed him off in your carriage?” she asked, lowering her fingers to the buttons of his dark blue waistcoat.
“With offended outrage,” he returned, his gaze on her hands. “But that’s nothing new, so I was unmoved.”
“And are you unmoved now?” she continued, pulling open the waistcoat and pushing it down his arms. In another moment or two she would have him answering any question she asked.
“What do you think?” Stirring into motion after several moments of stillness, Westfall reached out and tugged on one of her sleeves, lowering it down her shoulder and exposing her right breast. Before she could react, his long, elegant fingers brushed across her nipple, then pinched it lightly.
Unexpected arousal shivered down her spine. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Lord Westfall was supposed to be befuddled and easily manipulated. Trying to slow her breathing, Emily mentally shook herself. She could manage a pleasurable pinch or two in exchange for the information she needed. “Why don’t you remove your spectacles?” she suggested aloud. Being unable to see should—would—leave him more off balance. “We don’t want them broken, do we?”
His light green eyes narrowed for the briefest of heartbeats, and then he pulled the metal-rimmed things free and set them on Lily’s dresser by the door. As she studied his face again, she decided she preferred him with the spectacles on. Without them, he seemed less harmless. More … sharp. More predatory. She drew a breath, taking a half step back as those light eyes met her gaze. The sensation running down her spine, though, wasn’t fear or trepidation. It was far headier than that.
Abruptly he blinked and reached up to rub the bridge of his nose. “Damned things,” he murmured. “I can’t tell a button from a beetle without them, but they are tiresome, all the same.”
“Oh. No doubt,” she returned. “You—”
“I have to feel my way,” he interrupted. Sliding a finger around the ribbon that belted her waist, Westfall tugged her up against him. Before she could announce that she preferred to avoid kissing, he bent his head, capturing her mouth. Heat speared through her. That was not a kiss of sentiment; as his tongue tangled with hers, hot and insistent and very capable, what she felt from him was pure, forceful lust. Good God.
He slid his hands down to her hips, pulling her up against his lean body. The hard bulge pressing against her abdomen made her catch her breath. When he lowered his head, shifting his attention from her mouth to flick his tongue across the sensitive nipple of her exposed breast, she gasped.
Clearly he was no fumbling virgin. That realization should have had her scrambling to compose another strategy to get him talking to her. In a moment. First, she pulled the hem of his shirt from his trousers. When he lifted his arms, she tugged the white superfine over his head and then dropped it to the floor. She couldn’t seduce him when he had on more clothes than she did, after all.
Even fully dressed he’d looked lean and fit, and she saw nothing—nothing—to dispute that assessment. Emily ran her palms from his shoulder across his chest, and down to his waist. Hard muscles flexed beneath his skin, sending her own body humming. Mm. As bookish as he appeared, he clearly used his body as well as his mind. She drew another quick breath. What she needed to do was gather her thoughts back in and decide how best to get the questions she had, answered. She needed to back away, to—
“Turn around,” he ordered, his voice low and rough.
Before she could consider objecting to being dictated to, Emily found herself facing away from Lord Westfall. With swift fingers he untied the ribbon that gathered her deep green gown beneath her breasts, and then pulled the soft silk down her shoulders and over her arms and past her hips.
Her gown puddled to the floor. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that she was supposed to be seducing him, and that he should have been the one having difficulty thinking coherently. It was only because of the kiss, because she wasn’t accustomed to kissing. That had to be the reason she shivered as his hands wove into her hair, sending pins and clips clicking to the wooden floor. Her long red-brown hair, carefully ironed straight, fell past her shoulders nearly to her waist.
Westfall spun her to face him again, back her into the door, and nearly lift her off the floor with the force of his kiss. His hands teased at her nipples, pinching and tugging until she moaned. Oh, this was too much. Too unexpected. Too heated.
She grabbed his waistband, unbuttoning his trousers frantically, shivering again when he licked her ear and his wandering fingers slipped down her stomach, past her curls, and touched her between her thighs. The tent at his crotch made unfastening him difficult, and when he closed his mouth over one breast, she jerked and nearly tore the last button off.
Finally she shoved his trousers down to his thighs. Steady, Emily, she practically screamed at herself, trying for calm and logic and reason even with his fingers dipping inside her. “Very nice,” she managed, running a shaking finger along the hard, jutting length of him.
“Likewise,” he murmured, turning them so he could push her backward onto her bed. Or was it Lily’s bed? Blast it, she didn’t care.
With his boots still on and his trousers around his thighs, he followed her down, kissing her again until she could barely breathe. When he sank lower along her body, licking first one breast and then the other, Emily tangled her fingers into his dark, disheveled hair and made a whimpering sound that came unbidden from her chest. More. She wanted more.
Shifting down further, Westfall gripped her knees, lifting and parting them before he moved forward and licked where his fingers had danced. Emily jumped, sensation and heat and lightning shooting down her spine and up again. Writhing, digging her fingers into his hair, she wondered how a man who looked like a scholar could have more than ten fingers and one tongue, and where he’d learned to use them so well.
Finally he straightened again, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he moved up the length of her again. His eyes had that predatory look to them again, but this time it made her damp. Fumbling, Emily reached into her night table and produced a goat intestine with a black ribbon tied at one end and open at the other. “If you please,” she managed, still shaking.
Wordlessly he fixed it over his manhood, tying the other ribbon to hold it in place, then placed his hands on either side of her shoulders. Emily took a shallow breath as his impressive cock brushed the inside of her thighs. Westfall settled over her, lowering his head to nip at her shoulder as he canted his hips forward and slid deeply inside her.
With another hel
pless moan, Emily dug her fingers into his shoulders and arched her back. She loved that sensation, the heated fullness of an aroused male, his weight across her hips, the warm push of his breath in her ear. She drew tighter and tighter as he plunged into her, the rhythmic creaking of her bed and their labored breathing, the slap of flesh against flesh, adding to her arousal.
Finally she burst, burying her cry in his hard shoulder. Westfall slowed his pace, then sat up, his knees bent, and pulled her legs around his hips as he continued his assault. She looked up at him, at his heated expression with his gaze focused on where they met, and she came hard and suddenly all over again. His hands closed on her breasts as he rocked into her deeply. With a low groan he emptied himself, shuddering.
Almost immediately he pulled out of her and rolled onto his back next to her. For a long moment Emily listened to the sound of his panting and felt the hard, fast pounding of her heart. That had been … shattering. She blinked. There was— She needed to— There was something— She needed to discover. Think. She needed to think.
“I nearly went to White’s for luncheon today,” he said, his eyes closed and his breathing still heavy.
Questions. She had questions. Managing a chuckle, she stroked her hand across his chest, running her fingers through the light dusting of hair there before she began a series of hopefully languid circles around his nipples in a slow figure eight. “That would have been a tragedy,” she breathed, attempting not to note the responding tingle down her spine as she felt his muscles flex and relax again. Oh, she hoped his mind was as muddled as hers was. “You wanted to show your brother the Tantalus, I presume?”
The Handbook to Handling His Lordship Page 5