by Olivia Drake
He stalked after her in pursuit. As she veered to avoid him, her spine bumped into the bedpost and his hands closed around her waist. Rory found herself trapped against him, her bosom pressed to the muscled expanse of his chest. His fingers languidly stroked her hips through the gossamer silk of her robe and nightdress, causing a heated disturbance inside her.
He bent his dark head to nuzzle the side of her neck. “You needn’t play the shy damsel. We both know that you’re experienced in such matters.”
His warm breath tickled her skin. He dropped a series of spellbinding kisses along the line of her jaw. As his teeth nibbled her earlobe, a shivery sensation spread downward through her body and pooled in her belly. Her legs turned to jelly, and she twisted her head in an effort to escape his relentless assault. Her heart pounded so hard that she could scarcely think straight.
Dear God, what was she to do now? He’d refused to heed her protests. She had to find some way to stop him without sparking his suspicions.
“You can’t afford me,” she blurted out. “I come at a very high price.”
The tip of his tongue laved the hollow of her throat as if to taste her essence. “I’m sure we can arrive at an agreeable arrangement. And I must say, as fetching as this negligee is, I find myself wanting to strip it from you.”
Lord Dashell drew back to tug at the sash of her robe. She ached to feel his bare skin against hers, to lie with him in the bed and let the weight of his body cover hers. The hunger was so enticing that it threatened to overwhelm her. It resurrected memories that had been buried for eight years, when she behaved so recklessly that she’d lost her family, her reputation.
And this time, there would be no almost to the act. She would be subjected to its full completion.
In a panic, Rory acted on instinct. She lifted her arm and whacked the prayer book hard against his wrists.
His hold on her loosened. He jumped back, cursing a blue streak. Rubbing his arm, he glared at her. “What the devil! Why did you do that?”
“To stop you from assaulting me.”
“Assaulting? You were enjoying it! I felt you tremble.”
“Out of fear. I was trying to get away, that’s what.”
“Why so prudish all of a sudden?” His lips tightened in a sneer. “Are you truly afraid I can’t meet your price?”
“I only said that to dissuade you. But even then, you wouldn’t listen.”
His livid gaze flicked to the volume in her hand. “Why do you have my prayer book, anyway?”
She clutched the small missal like a shield against her bosom. “Because … because it’s the real reason why I came to your bedchamber,” she said on inspiration. “I needed to fetch it for your mother.”
“My mother.”
“Yes.” Rory embellished the fib. “Lady Dashell couldn’t sleep. There is a particular prayer in here that she asked me to read to her.”
“How peculiar. A few minutes ago, I poked my head into her room and she was snoring like a top.”
His iron-gray eyes held blatant disbelief. If only she’d thought of the prayer-book excuse earlier. Now she had to lay it on thick—or he might guess that she’d been searching for the stolen letters. “She must have fallen asleep while I was gone. You see, it took some time for me to locate the book. She thought it was in your bookcase, when it was actually in your bedside table.”
“Oh?” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “Exactly which passage did she wish to hear?”
Rory nervously riffled the pages. Since she wasn’t standing beside the candle, the shadowed print was difficult to see. “I can’t quite recall. I believe it had something to do with asking God’s mercy for one’s sins.”
“I see. So why didn’t you tell me this the moment I walked in?”
His lips were compressed, his expression calculating. He doubted her flimsy excuse, and she feared he would continue to poke holes in the lie. Better to distract him by going on the attack.
She lifted her chin. “You would never have believed me—just as you don’t believe me now. In fact, it might do you well to pray for mercy, too, my lord. You’re courting Miss Kipling and offering carte blanche to your mother’s companion all at the same time. Have you no sense of honor?”
A muscle tensed in his jaw. The mention of Alice Kipling seemed to have a sobering effect on Lucas Vale. Or perhaps it was the attack on his character. Any gentleman would bristle to have his honor impugned. The last trace of sensual warmth vanished, restoring his face to that familiar harsh façade.
His glower spurred an uneasy tingle down her spine. Had she pushed him too far? A man who would stoop to extortion wouldn’t hesitate to take whatever else he wanted. He could force himself on her without fear of reprisal. No one would believe she hadn’t come here for seduction, given her checkered past.
“I shan’t disturb you any longer,” Rory said with a brashness that went only skin-deep. “I’ll take this missal with me in case her ladyship awakens during the night.”
She started briskly for the door. In two quick strides, he stepped ahead to block her path. His solid form posed a barrier that brought her to an enforced halt. “You aren’t going anywhere, Miss Paxton.”
Though her heart fluttered like a frightened rabbit’s, she gave him a challenging stare. “I thought we’d settled the matter. I’ve no interest in your ungentlemanly offer.”
“I want a word with you about Alice and what you did today—or rather, yesterday.” He pointed to the pair of chairs by the fireplace. “Sit down.”
“It isn’t proper for us to be here alone.”
“You should have considered that before setting foot in my bedchamber. Now do as I say.”
As tyrannical as his mother, he closed his fingers around Rory’s upper arm and marched her to the hearth, giving her a little push into one of the green armchairs. She sank down against the plump cushions, gripping the prayer book in her lap.
Lord Dashell looked furious enough to kill. When he picked up the fire iron, she half feared he meant to strike her, and she tensed her muscles to stop him. But he merely turned around and stirred the glowing embers on the hearth, then added more coal. Within moments, a welcome blaze warmed her. She hadn’t realized how chilled she was or that goose bumps covered her skin.
He propped the fire iron against the mantel. Then he stood over her, his hands planted on his waist, pushing back his coat to reveal his lean waist. “Do you want to know the reason why I looked in on my mother? It was to see if you were still awake, Miss Paxton.”
“Me?”
“Yes. But no sooner did I step into the room than my mother stirred. I decided that this confrontation could wait until morning.”
“That sounds perfectly sensible. It would be wise to postpone any discussion for the light of day after we’ve both had some rest.”
When Rory started to rise, he took a menacing step closer until she resumed her seat. “This isn’t a discussion,” he growled. “It is an interrogation. You will tell me everything I wish to know. Right now.”
“Fine. Interrogate away, my lord.”
“The staff had strict orders not to speak of Miss Kipling in front of my mother. So why were you gossiping about her?”
“I knew nothing of any such orders.”
“Then you ought to have had the intelligence to work it out on your own. Once you mentioned Alice, you must have realized straightaway that the marchioness knew nothing about her. Even a simpleton could have comprehended that I wished to introduce Lady Dashell to Alice myself. So what idiocy made you invite the Kiplings to this house without my permission?”
He was shouting by the end of that speech. Unnecessarily, but at least he wasn’t probing her reason for being in his bedchamber anymore.
Rory resented having to tilt back her head while he towered over her. She suspected he had remained standing in order to intimidate her. But if truth be told, she felt more comfortable with his icy manner than his seductiveness. “It wasn’t idiocy,” she s
aid. “It was your mother’s request. You know how demanding she can be. And you did say that I was to humor the marchioness and to keep her occupied.”
“Not by discussing my personal life with her.” He jabbed his finger at Rory. “Nor by taking it upon yourself to invite guests into my home.”
“It’s her home, too. Anyway, it wasn’t I who invited the Kiplings, it was your mother. I was merely the secretary taking her dictation. I could hardly gainsay my employer on my first day, could I?”
“I am your employer! You answer only to me. Is that clear? And I must say that you showed extremely poor judgment in failing to stop her scheme.”
She watched him pace back and forth. As much as it pained her to admit, he had cause for anger. Once she’d realized the marchioness hadn’t been told about the girl, she ought to have kept mum about Alice Kipling. The visit had been a disaster.
“I presume you saw Miss Kipling tonight at the ball,” Rory ventured. “What did she say about meeting your mother?”
“She is convinced that Mama despises her. The poor girl was frightened out of her wits. I had to expend a good deal of effort to calm her.” He pierced Rory with a sharp stare. “I understand my mother threw a candlestick at her.”
“Not very accurately,” Rory said to minimize the incident. “The Kiplings were nearly out the door by that point. Anyway, I would never have allowed Miss Kipling to suffer harm.”
“Yet you allowed a great deal of verbal harm,” he snapped. “It must have been brutal, judging by Alice’s reaction. Tell me, what exactly did my mother say to them?”
“She wanted to know the size of Miss Kipling’s marriage portion. And she wished to meet your affianced bride. To see for herself if the girl is worthy of becoming marchioness.”
“Alice and I are not affianced,” Lord Dashell snarled. He ran his fingers through his hair, mussing the coffee-brown strands. “And my mother has no say in whom I choose to marry, anyway.”
“But her ladyship is bound to take an interest. You are her firstborn son, after all. And she must be bored spending her entire life in that dreary bedchamber. Have you ever looked into providing her with an invalid’s chair? I believe she would benefit from going downstairs or even outdoors for a drive.”
He glared balefully. “Don’t you think I’ve already fought that battle with her? She’s stubborn to a fault! And don’t try to distract me. I’ve a good mind to send you packing for the trouble you’ve caused.”
No. He mustn’t do so. That would ruin everything.
Weary of craning her neck at him, Rory surged to her feet. “If you dismiss me, then who will care for your mother? She and I got on famously today. She’s strong-willed, but so am I.”
“I should rather think of you as deceptive, Miss Paxton. That prayer book was not the real reason you came in here. You’ve been lying to me.”
His sudden shift in subject alarmed her, and she tightened her fingers around the missal. “Surely you cannot mean to accuse me again of plotting to seduce you. If you’ve only insults to say, I must bid you good night.”
When she tried to walk away, he caught her by the arm. “I was referring to a different plot of yours.” He plucked the book out of her hand and flung it onto the bed, where it landed against the pillows. “You are apparently unaware that my mother no longer prays. When she suffered her accident, she abandoned her faith and cursed the Almighty.”
Rory felt a cold quiver. The pressure of his fingers on her upper arm prevented her escape. “People change. Perhaps she’s regained her religion.”
“She has that same prayer book on the shelf in her bedchamber. I saw it there only the other day. She would have no need to borrow mine.”
“So she forgot where it was.”
“No more excuses, Miss Paxton. You and I both know why you’re here, why you’ve been telling me these tall tales.”
“Oh? Why don’t you enlighten me?”
His hands manacled her upper arms. “You’re a common thief. You were looking for valuables to steal.”
Her jaw dropped. His startling accusation made her want to both laugh with relief and spit in his face. Did he truly not realize that her interest was the letters? The letters that he had stolen?
Anger crowded out her surprise. How ironic that he of all people should brand her a criminal! “Don’t be absurd. If that were the case, I’d have chosen a much wealthier man as my mark. Everyone knows you’re destitute. I doubt you even have any jewels left to steal after all your investments went sour.”
He frowned. “My investments— Where did you hear such a thing?”
“What does it matter?” She tugged at his hold on her. “Release me at once or I shall scream!”
“Go ahead. It will save me the trouble of ringing for a servant to send for the police.”
“Yes, why don’t you call in the law? I’d be more than happy to tell them all about…” A remnant of sanity made Rory clamp her lips shut.
“Tell them about what?” His face harsh, Lucas Vale gave her a little shake. “Talk to me! And this time, you had best speak the truth. I’m heartily sick of your lies and fabrications.”
“I’ve nothing to say to you!”
“Yes you do, by God. You came into my house under false pretenses. You’re a blasted thief and I’ll see you swing for it!”
He yanked her toward the door. She tried to dig in her heels, but his grip was too powerful. Fear and fury raged within her. He intended to have her hauled off to Bow Street Station. She’d land behind bars in Newgate, for the magistrate would certainly believe a nobleman’s word over a mere female’s—and a ruined one at that. She could not hope for any help from Kitty, either; her stepmother would deny sending her on this mission.
Lord Dashell would go scot-free. He would send her to the gallows when he was the criminal, not her!
With all her might, she wrenched herself away from him. Her silk sleeve ripped, but she paid no heed. “Stay away from me! You’re the thief! You stole those letters from Kitty. And you will give them back to me!”
“Letters?”
“Now who’s pretending? You know perfectly well I’m referring to the letters you took from my stepmother.”
“I know nothing about any letters. This is just another of your ploys.”
His haughty scorn made her come unhinged. It was the last straw in a night of frustration. She launched herself at him, battering his hard chest with her fists. “Scoundrel! Villain!” Whack! Whack! “Don’t you dare sneer at me like that!” Whack! Whack!
Lucas froze in disbelief as a feminine ball of fury attacked him. He knew how to fight. Like any gentleman, he’d learned the art of fisticuffs in the boxing ring for the purpose of exercise. But never in his life had he been assaulted by a woman.
He thrust up his hands to deflect the worst of the blows. “Calm down!”
“Don’t give me orders!” Whack! “You’re the one at fault here.” Whack! “And I won’t let you get away with it!” Whack! Whack!
When she tried to hit him again, he caught firm hold of her shoulders and held her away, only to have her foot flash out and kick him in the shin. It hurt like the very devil. “Ouch! Damn it, Rory. That’s enough!”
“It isn’t enough. I won’t stop until you’re locked in prison where you belong! And don’t you dare address me by my given name!”
She tried to kick him again, but Lucas feinted to the side. Thank God for long skirts. They prevented her from maneuvering as fast as him. She wriggled against his hold, panting, glaring at him as if he were the devil incarnate. Her strenuous efforts loosened a lock of black hair and it dipped across her eye.
She brushed it away with an irritated flick of her hand. “I want those letters back! Or—or I’ll tell Alice Kipling that you propositioned me. I’ll see to it that she never marries you! Now let me go!”
Lucas had no interest in any other woman at the moment. Not when Rory stood before him, her dark eyes sparkling with fury. Her enchantingly pretty
face revealed the ferocity of genuine anger. For the first time since he’d walked into the bedchamber, he felt certain she was speaking the truth.
But … letters? Why would she think he had taken them? He barely even knew her stepmother; they were merely nodding acquaintances.
Compelled to get to the bottom of this mystery, he soothingly rubbed her shoulders. “I promise, I’ve not stolen any letters. Not from your stepmother or anyone else.” When she parted her rosy lips in protest, he added, “I presume that is why you were prowling here in the middle of the night. You were looking for those letters. I can guarantee that you did not find them.”
“Only because you’ve hidden them very well!”
Lucas shook his head. “For pity’s sake, use your common sense. If I had taken those letters, do you seriously believe I’d have hired you to work in my house? And don’t you think I’d have guessed immediately what you were up to when I found you in my bedchamber tonight?”
He had assumed Rory came to seduce him. The blaze of that realization would be forever seared in his memory. She had stood near his bed, the light from the candle behind her revealing the womanly curves beneath her silky negligee. He’d desired Rory Paxton ever since he’d met her eight years ago, and there she was, a stunningly beautiful gift of fate.
It irked him now to recall how swiftly his body had responded to her presence. He’d gone half mad with desire, in a fever to get her into his bed, coaxing her though she had protested. From where had all those suggestive utterances come? He knew little of charming women—nor did he wish to know. It had always seemed a skill more suited to libertines.
Until Rory.
Have you no sense of honor?
Her insult had stopped him cold. It had snapped clarity back into his passion-fogged brain. He could not dally with a penniless, ruined lady. Not when he was about to propose marriage to an heiress. Duty required him to make a grand alliance. He had an obligation to provide for his family and to preserve his holdings. Once he wed, he intended to be faithful to his chosen bride. He could not have a mistress, too. He’d vowed never to be like his father, a lecher who’d carried on with hundreds of females.