by Anne Stuart
There was nothing hurried, nothing rough about his kiss. Once he took charge he took his time, slow and steady, kissing her with a thoroughness that left her weak in the knees. She never thought she particularly liked tongues, but she liked his. No, she loved his. Any doubt as to his checkered past was now thoroughly dispelled. No one could kiss like this without a very great deal of practice.
She moaned, swaying against him. Who would have thought a kiss could be like this? It was heavenly, distracting, almost...arousing. She could feel a strange flutter in her belly, an odd sort of ache in her heart, and she let her hands slide up his strong back, pressing herself closer against him as the kiss went on. And on.
"Mr. Pag—“ Dodson’s voice broke off in embarrassment as the butler realized what he’d walked in on.
He was in the midst of trying a hasty retreat, but it was already too late. Simon had released her, setting her away from him with calm deliberation before turning to the butler. "Yes, Dodson?" His voice was completely calm. One might have thought he was totally unmoved by the deep kiss he'd just shared with her, but Lina wasn't fooled. His breathing was almost imperceptibly quickened, and she thought she'd felt burgeoning arousal against her stomach.
Yes, most definitely, since he turned his back to both her and Dodson and seemed suddenly fascinated with the wide expanse of well-manicured lawn. She should feel smug, triumphant. Instead she wanted to curse Dodson.
"I beg pardon, sir. I didn't meant to interrupt. Lord Rohan has arrived."
"What?" Lina shrieked as Simon was dismissing the butler.
Simon turned his head to look at her. "Viscount Rohan," he said. 'Thomas's dear friend. I went to see him after I visited with you, to request his presence at Montague's bedside. Thomas had asked for him as well as you.”
"And when were you going to tell me?" she demanded, her discomfort over the truncated kiss making her testy.
Except in fact it hadn't been truncated. He'd had time to kiss her quite thoroughly, and his hands had just slid down to her narrow waist. If they'd covered her breasts she had no idea how she'd react. No truncation, it was a promise, rather.
"I didn't realize I needed to present a list of Thomas's guests for your approval."
"I don't give a bloody hell who comes and goes here. It's Rohan who's the problem. He..." Her voice trailed off as Rohan came out onto the terrace. He wasn't his usual graceful self. He had a decided limp, a black eye and bruising on his face.
"Good morning, Lord Rohan," Simon said. "I'm happy you were able to come so quickly. You're feeling quite recovered from your ordeal?"
Adrian made a bow. "It was trifling," he murmured. "Lady Whitmore, you are looking as beautiful as ever. I'm delighted to see you."
"Your servant, my lord,” she said, giving him a brief curtsy. She couldn't tell whether he was surprised to see her or not. It seemed highly unlikely that he would have come here if he'd known Charlotte would be in residence, but Adrian Rohan had always been an enigma.
"Are you here alone this time?" he asked.
She was saved from having to answer by Dodson's reappearance. "My lord Montague is awake."
"You've timed your arrival perfectly," Simon said in an easy voice, annoying Lina even more. Personally she thought his timing was execrable, but there was nothing she could do about it. They all filed into Monty's bedroom, and Lina took a moment to appreciate its outrageousness.
Monty had always had a flair for the dramatic, and his bedroom was a fitting backdrop. The bed was huge, a rival to the Great Bed of Ware, though the rich brocade hangings seemed better suited to a sultan's palace. There were cupids and seraphim and sea monsters carved into the bedposts, and enough pillows tucked behind Monty to outfit half of London. The French doors were open to the wide terrace and the spring air, but a fire was blazing in the huge stone fireplace as well.
Monty was sitting up, and if his thin body was even more wasted, his eyes were alight with mischief. He didn't look quite at death's door, thank God, though Lina couldn't help but wonder what games he was up to now. "How delightful to see you all!" he said in a strong voice. "I'm so sorry I was asleep when you arrived—that damned doctor keeps giving me laudanum and it makes me sleep too much. Lina, you're looking exquisite as usual. I'd say the same for you, Adrian, except you look as if an angry husband caught up with you. Whose wife did you make the mistake of seducing?"
Adrian laughed, leaning against the bedpost as Lina took the seat beside Monty and held his thin hand. "No wives recently. They all wanted to leave their husbands for me, and you know how boring that is.”
"Dear boy, send their husbands to me and we'd all be happy," Monty said, the immediate strength of his voice fading somewhat. "But we're missing someone, are we not? Where is your so-charming cousin, Lina?”
Lina kept her face averted from Rohan's. She didn't want to see his expression. Pleasure or discomfort would be equally bad. Charlotte needed to keep her distance from Rohan, at least until they knew...
She refused to consider the possibility. "She's taking a nap, Monty," she replied. "We drove all night to get to you, darling. Some people aren't as resilient as I am." She did her best to keep her shoulder between Monty and Pagett. She was going to have to escape, to get upstairs and warn Charlotte before she blundered in on Adrian's presence. With ample warning she could spend the time in bed until Adrian left. The stomach grippe was a totally reasonable complaint. In fact, she ought to start embellishing, to set things up for Charlotte's sake so that her disappearance didn't seem odd.
Too late. The opposite door to Monty's ceremonial bedchamber opened, and Charlotte popped her head in, looking human again.
"Come in, dear girl!" Monty said in a fair approximation of his most florid voice. "So kind of you to visit this poor invalid."
Charlotte had known Monty for years, and she moved into the room with the smile on her face masking the concern in her eyes. "You're looking well, my lord."
“I look like death and you know it," Monty said charmingly. "Have a seat and tell me all about what you've been doing. Rohan, get the girl a seat."
It would have been comical if Lina weren't so worried. Adrian Rohan had been hidden by the lavish bed hangings. Charlotte took one look and blanched, and for a moment Lina wondered if her stalwart Charlotte was going to faint for the first time in her life.
But Charlotte was made of sterner stuff. A moment later she had dropped a curtsy, murmured a polite greeting and taken the chair that Simon, in the first act she approved of, had been quick to provide.
"So here we all are," Monty said cheerfully, his voice weak, his eyes alight with a curious mischief. One might almost think he knew what had gone on between Charlotte and Adrian, but that was impossible. One might almost think he'd been privy to that absurdly ill-advised kiss she'd given his straitlaced vicar. Or he'd given her, in fact, when he'd turned things upside down.
But he couldn't know any of these things. Lina wanted to reach out with her other hand, clasp Charlotte's in support, but Monty was clinging tightly, and Charlotte was doing a magnificent job of looking human again.
"Here we all are," Rohan said in his lazy voice. "So what have you got planned for our entertainment. Monty? Surely you're not going to wither away in front of us? We need a full recovery."
"Wish I could oblige you, dear boy," Monty said faintly. "I used to lead you all a merry dance, did I not? But I'm afraid my dancing days are over."
"You don't need lo dance, Monty," Lina said soothingly. "You just need to stay with us."
"For as long as I can. In the meantime, Lina, I'm delighted you brought your cousin. And Rohan, I'm delighted you didn't bring yours. Etienne is far from my favorite person in this world."
Rohan looked startled. "I hadn't realized that. Is there a reason?”
“I knew him in Paris years ago. You were just a child then, but I never trusted him."
"You never said anything about it before," Rohan pointed out.
“I'm dying," Monty
said flatly. "I can say what I want and no one can object. People have to do my bidding."
“Hardly," Lina said with a laugh.
“You're all here, aren't you? I have things I want to say to all of you, and I'll need privacy to do it. I'm certain you can manage to amuse yourselves while I meet with each one of you.”
"Of course we can, Monty," Lina said. "Charlotte and I could use a walk after being cramped up in a carriage for so long."
"Ah, but I wish to talk to you first, precious," Monty said.
Lina opened her mouth to object, but Charlotte had already risen briskly. The color was good in her pale face, and she seemed perfectly recovered from her early-morning bout of illness. Clearly she'd been worried for naught, and the Charlotte she knew was perfectly capable of making short work of Adrian Rohan should he offer any kind of insult. Besides, he was far more likely to run in the opposite direction. The viscount went through women like water and a repeat engagement would be unheard of.
"And Simon, dear fellow," Monty added. "I gather there's a leak in the church roof and your sexton is somewhat fond of the bottle. In fact, he's a total inebriate.”
"He is, indeed." Simon had a wry look on his face. "However, he's been an inebriate for the past ten years, and the roof has had a hole in it for at least three. Is there any particular reason you wish me to deal with it today?"
"No time like the present," Monty said innocently.
Rohan pushed away from the bedpost and moved to Charlotte's side. "I believe we have our orders. Miss Spenser." He held out his arm, and Lina wondered if Charlotte would refuse. But in another minute they were gone, out onto the terrace, with Simon Pagett disappearing in the opposite direction.
"You're a very bad man, Monty," she said evenly. "I never would have thought you capable of matchmaking. You always had too much respect for human individuality.”
"I always had too much respect for the trouble I could cause. Nowadays it doesn't matter -- I won't be around to worry about it. So tell me the truth, my precious. Do you like him?"
Lina considered it for a long moment. "I don't actively dislike him," she said carefully. "But I don't think he has any intention of offering for Charlotte, or for anyone, and it would take more than subtle threats to bring him up to scratch."
He stared at her for a long moment, seemingly mystified. "My dear, there are times when you astound me." He hesitated, as if he would say something else, then shook his head. "Never mind, my dear. There's none so blind as will not see." She stiffened. "What are you talking about?" Monty's smile was a ghost of his usual insouciance. "I'll tell you later, precious. When you're ready to hear it."
The moment they stepped outside onto the wide terrace Charlotte yanked her hand away from Adrian's arm. "What in God's name are you doing here?" she demanded.
His slow, lazy smile was as devastating as it was infuriating. "You left me high and dry, my dear Miss Spenser. We have unfinished business."
"No, we don't." She hid her hands in her skirts so he wouldn't see she was trembling. Her common sense, which had fled the moment she caught sight of him, was slowly returning. She could only hope her equanimity would return as well. "I'm sorry, I'm being absurd. There is no way you could know we'd be here. I'm sure if you did, this would have been the very last place you would have appeared."
"As you say." His voice was enigmatic. "But in truth Montague is my dearest friend. I would have been here no matter what monsters I had to face."
Her smile was brittle. "Only one monster. Lord Rohan," she said. She allowed herself a moment to survey his battered countenance. "What happened to you? Did fate finally deliver you the comeuppance you so richly deserve?"
"Why would I deserve a beating? What great crime have I committed? You willingly put yourself in my hands. I would have released you any time you requested it." His expression was limpid, innocent, but Charlotte was unmoved.
"I didn't willingly get in your carriage yesterday. At least, I didn't know it was yours," she corrected, scrupulously honest. "As for several weeks ago, tell me truthfully. Would you have been able to unlock the door when I first requested you do so? Or several times thereafter?"
"No," he said, and she believed him. For a moment.
"And could you have had someone come to unlock the door if you requested it?" she persisted.
This time his smile was slow and rueful. "Yes." She stared at him. She should have raged, stormed, she should have stomped away, she should have accused him of every crime imaginable. And yet all she wanted to do was cry in relief. He'd wanted her.
He could have had anyone, he wasn't trapped in that room with her. He'd chosen her. He'd kept her.
He was looking at her quizzically. "Aren't you going to slap me?” he said. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't—I'm in a great deal of pain already, though I expect in your case it's not much of a deterrent. So we've established I deserved this beating. Did I deserve to die?” She made a concerted effort to get past her emotions. "Die? Was someone trying to kill you?"
"I was set upon by street ruffians, who were clearly intent on killing me. If Pagett hadn't shown up we wouldn't be having this conversation."
She ignored the dark pain in her heart at the thought. "Why would someone want to kill you? Of course, that's a ridiculous question—I would like to kill you. I'm sure countless other women would as well. But I think that most of us wouldn't have bothered hiring thugs—we'd rather have the pleasure ourselves. Who have you offended?"
He seemed amused. "Most everyone, though I would presume not to the point of killing me. If someone wanted me dead I would think they'd challenge me to a duel. Of course, I'm a fairly lethal shot, and if someone challenged me I could choose the weapons, so perhaps my enemies are cowards. Right now you're the only one I can think of who'd want me dead, and while I sympathize. I don't think you'd have time to arrange it. I'd just left Curzon Street when they set upon me."
"You live on Curzon Street," Charlotte pointed out. "Why were you leaving there?"
For a moment he looked uncomfortable. And then he laughed. "I may as well be truthful. I was going to see if I could find some way past Lady Whitmore and finish what we'd started."
The day was very quiet. She could hear the sounds of birds in the distance, the quiet hum of bees in the late-spring flowers. A soft breeze had picked up, pulling at his hair so that it fell into his face. She wanted to reach up and brush it away, but she kept her hands still.
"I assumed you would have taken care of the problem yourself," she said, then wished she'd kept her mouth shut as his smile widened.
"My hands are not nearly as much fun as yours. Though I suppose I could have closed my eyes and pretended..."
It was awful being so fair-skinned—she could feel hot color slain her cheeks. "I beg your pardon," she said. "That was most improper of me."
“Aren’t we past the point of being proper with each other?"
"I think we should do our best to return to that state. We're likely to run into each other on occasion, and we'd be better off pretending we never…er…never…”
"Tupped?" he offered helpfully. "Swived? Shagged? Screwed? Fucked? There are any number of words for it."
"Are they all so ugly?"
He moved closer to her, as if he couldn't help himself. "I don't think they're ugly at all. They're honest. Physical. Arousing. Come to bed with me."
The last followed so suddenly upon the previous words that for a moment she didn't comprehend. "I beg your pardon?"
"You heard me." His voice was low and hungry. "Come to bed with me. It's a huge house—no one will walk in on us. We'll find a place. A nice, private place. I want you, I've been driven mad with wanting you, and nothing I do seems to change it. Take my hand and come with me."
The blood was pounding in her body. In her ears, between her legs, in her heart. Time seemed to stand still. Now was the lime to claim her revenge. Now was the time to finish it for good. To say "no, thank you" very politely and walk away. Th
ere were hundreds of other women he could have. He was poison for her, beautiful, glittering poison. Walk away, she told herself.
He put his hand out, his long, gorgeous fingers outstretched to her. She stared down at them, and to her astonishment she saw a faint tremor.
"Yes," he said. "I'm shaking, I want you so badly. What do you want me to do, Charlotte? Beg?"
She knew the answer, they both knew the answer, but neither of them spoke it. He'd make a terrible husband—he'd whore and gamble and drink and break her heart.
"What do you want, Charlotte?" he said again, sounding almost angry.
She met his hard blue eyes. "You."
21
He took her hand in his, his grip sure and steady, and led her into the house. She followed him almost in a daze. Was she really doing this? She most certainly was.
He was lying to her, of course. Not for one moment did she believe he was so caught up with longing for her that he'd throw caution to the winds. And yet he seemed to be doing just that. A romp between the sheets at a notorious gathering was one thing. With a pillar of the church and a vengeful Lina around there was a good chance he'd be forced into marry her.
So why was he taking such a chance?
He said he'd been mad with wanting her. The madness she could believe. The wanting was more of a question. He'd let her go last night, and she still wasn't sure who'd won that particular battle. If she thought she'd proven she could walk away from him, she'd failed. He might be convinced she was invulnerable. She knew she couldn't think, couldn't eat, couldn't sleep. All she could do was long for him.
No, he must be lying about how much he wanted her. Once more he was trapped someplace without a more beautiful, experienced alternative. But he was such a lovely liar that she was willing to believe him.
Just as she'd believed him when he told her they were both trapped in the room near the abbey, and he'd lied about that as well. He could have had anyone else, and he'd chosen her.
In the end, his reasons didn't matter. This was her choice, her decision. She wou1d have him, for an hour, for a day, for as long as he wanted. She was tired of lying to herself.