Sweet Enemy

by Heather Snow

  Blowing a wayward curl from her face, she straightened. She raised her left foot and stepped up another awkward rung. She eased her other foot from the ladder, extending her stance wide to rest her toes on a lower shelf. Liliana’s heart galloped, spurred by her precarious position. Holding on with her left hand, she reached with her right. Her middle finger brushed the spine of the book, the leather soft and supple. She stretched harder, triumph bubbling into a smile as her fingers slipped between the book’s cover and the wood. She wiggled it loose.

  A sharp click echoed from below.

  The ladder shuddered beneath Liliana just as the book came free. She wobbled and let the book drop, clutching the bookcase with both hands. She shifted some of her weight to her right foot, no longer trusting the ladder.

  The book hit the floor with a resounding thud.

  Liliana strained to look down over her shoulder. Suddenly a bookcase shifted as if trying to open as a door would, but the ladder blocked its path.

  “What the hell?” came a muffled voice. The bookcase moved again, slamming into the ladder this time. A jarring crash rent the air, and the ladder shot from under Liliana.

  She shrieked, panicking in an effort to hold on. Without the ladder for support, gravity ripped her from her hold and she fell.

  Flailing, Liliana grasped at thin air. She wrenched herself around, trying to catch at anything. She squeezed her eyes shut, preparing for impact.

  “Ooomph.” A masculine groan of pain followed.

  Liliana squeaked as she was jerked upright against something solid and warm, smelling of soap and spice and…mint?

  Her eyes flew open to meet an equally shocked gaze of indigo blue, framed by thick black lashes. She failed to catch her breath, either from fear or from the fact that the Earl of Stratford’s muscled arms held her crushed against him.

  It hardly mattered. Breathing was the last thing on Liliana’s mind.

  In the dim light she watched, fascinated, as those eyes lost their surprise and narrowed in confusion. Then they softened and sharpened all at once. Was that possible? Indigo melted into warm cobalt, a blue fire that heated Liliana from within. She felt his gaze all the way to her toes, which she realized had yet to touch the ground.

  She noticed other things, too. Like the fact that she held on to him for dear life, grasping his shoulders, his silky jacket crushed between her curled fingers. That her chest moved in unison with his, her breathing having sped up to the same rhythm. That her breasts felt heavy and soft crushed against his harder, muscled pectorals, yet her nipples had tightened and sent tiny bursts of sensation through her as they brushed against her clothing with each breath.

  Her gaze raked his face, long and sculptured, with dark brows that slashed over hooded eyes. The veriest hint of evening stubble darkened his jaw.

  Stratford’s gaze dropped to her lips. Liliana nervously wetted them, and his eyes flared. For an endless moment he stood there with her suspended in his arms, the lengths of their bodies pressed tight against each other.

  Eventually, Stratford released an uneven breath and lowered her to the floor. The intimate glide stole Liliana’s breath, the friction tantalizing her, confusing and exhilarating. Her feet touched the cold wood, startling her out of her sensual haze.

  But not as much as his words did.

  “If you think getting yourself ‘discovered’ alone with me will win you a husband, Miss Claremont,” the earl said, ice in his voice, “you are sadly mistaken.”

  Chapter Three

  L

  iliana Claremont’s gasp of outrage sent her flying from his arms. The sight might have amused Geoffrey…if he weren’t so damned irritatingly aroused. Her shocked expression, the delicate hand spread across her chest in a “how dare you accuse me” gesture. Oh, she was good. No doubt about that. Geoffrey ruthlessly shoved aside the part of him that wondered, given their recent embrace, what else Miss Claremont would be good at. He exhaled as the burning pain that speared through his lower back eased a bit. He shouldn’t have held her so long. Geoffrey willed his discomfort into the background and instead focused on the fiery woman standing before him.

  Her eyes sparked, sending embers sizzling through his chest. The flame she’d roused when he’d met her earlier this evening flared back to life. He squelched it.

  Geoffrey raised a brow, waiting to see what excuse she would give.

  Miss Claremont took a deep breath and stiffly lowered her hand to her side. Her pouty lips opened, then snapped closed and firmed. Geoffrey thought he could actually see her mind working through the accusation he’d leveled at her.

  He watched this transformation from accused innocent to affronted angel with fascination. God, she was exquisite—for a conniving little actress.

  “I beg your pardon?” Her husky voice sounded purposefully controlled.

  “As well you should,” Geoffrey snapped. “I thought the chit who tried to corner me on the terrace tonight had nerve.” He shook his head. “Not as much as the industrious mother-daughter pair who staked out the hallway to my chambers, however.” He glared at Miss Claremont, taking in her dark attire. “But at least they didn’t skulk around in shadow waiting to pounce.”

  “I am not skulking,” she retorted, her voice high.

  “No?” Determined to shed more light on this absurd situation, he snatched a spill from the jar above the mantel, lit it from a sconce, then lit the fire. Satisfied, he faced her.

  Her violet eyes still glared at him from her flushed face. Heat streaked through him once more. She was even lovelier in the increased light. The wisps of chestnut hair near her brow had dampened into clinging curls. He remembered how she’d looked a moment ago, when he’d held her close. It was easy to imagine how she’d look in the throes of passion. Too damned easy.

  Geoffrey snorted. Probably what the little minx was counting on. “It is common knowledge amongst the staff that I frequent the library at night.” He suppressed the need to rub his lower back and instead waved his hand in an irritated swipe. “It would be nothing for an enterprising young miss to ferret out that information and use it to her advantage.”

  And nothing for me to fall for it, as his quickening blood would attest.

  Damn his mother for inviting all of these title-chasing vixens here.

  Ever since he’d inherited the bloody title, women threw themselves at him shamelessly. While some men might relish the attention, Geoffrey couldn’t. He knew it wasn’t him they wanted. For once, he’d like to meet a girl who wanted Geoffrey, not the Earl of Stratford.

  Instead, he was always on guard. He’d already thwarted two husband hunters tonight. Third time’s a charm…His eyes widened as a sick dread grabbed him.

  “I presume your aunt is ‘conveniently’ posted outside?” He stalked to the entrance, ignoring Miss Claremont’s gasp, and wrenched the doors open, determined to set Lady Belsham straight before sending her and her intrepid charges packing, lateness of the hour be damned.

  Relief washed through him at the empty hallway, mingled with an odd sense of deflation. He closed his eyes briefly, then turned on his heel and marched back into the library, careful to leave the doors open.

  “You couldn’t be more mistaken.” Miss Claremont’s chest rose and fell rapidly. “I did not come here tonight hoping to find you, and my aunt is most definitely not lurking in the hallway. Contrary to what you and she might think, not every woman’s world revolves around catching a man.”

  Her words hung between them. Geoffrey furrowed his brow. What was her game? “Then why are you here?”

  Her eyes darted around. “I…I couldn’t sleep, so I thought to borrow a book.”

  “I don’t mean tonight,” Geoffrey clarified. “I meant, if you didn’t come to this party in hopes of snagging a suitor like every other female in this house, why are you here?”

  Miss Claremont looked discomfited by his direct question. Geoffrey didn’t care. He believed in getting to the point. Life was too short to prevaricate.


  He let the silence draw out—a tactic he’d always found useful. He’d learned long ago that most people were uncomfortable with silence. To fill it, they’d blurt out the most revealing things without thinking.

  It surprised him how much he wanted to hear what she’d say.

  Her pearl white teeth tugged at her lower lip as she scrambled for an explanation. That she didn’t have one cemented his suspicions. Naive girl. Any good husband hunter would know to at least bring a witness.

  “My cousin desired a companion,” she offered finally, with a shrug. “As I thought a jaunt to the country would be ideal, I decided to join her. I understand Somerton Park’s gardens are lovely.”

  He smiled. “They are,” he acceded, all politeness, as if her excuses weren’t a desperate attempt to salvage the situation. “The woodland and lakes are also spectacular. I do hope you find time to explore whilst you are here.”

  Her smile faded. “I will.”

  Geoffrey shook his head. She had to realize he didn’t believe a word.

  Not want a husband, indeed. What woman didn’t? His eyes traveled over her burnished curls, which glinted in the dim firelight, taking in her pixielike face. He held her gaze for a moment before moving to her lush lips, her slender neck. He imagined he could see her pulse beating strongly in its delicate hollow. The dark dress she wore concealed ample curves, but his body tingled as he remembered the feel of her. Miss Claremont should have no trouble finding a husband, beautiful as she was. No man in his right mind would turn her out of his bed.

  Just the thought of her in his bed made Geoffrey’s loins tighten.

  “Surely you can understand my mistake,” he said, hoping his emphasis conveyed his doubt. “I wasn’t expecting to encounter anyone here.”

  On the contrary, he’d wanted to escape the snares of the determined ladies who already hounded him. He’d also planned to go over Somerton Park’s accounts again. Frustration had been gnawing at him for weeks. He knew he was missing something in the complicated mess that was the Wentworth finances, and he was anxious to get it sorted. Particularly if the discrepancies he’d noticed might be related to the blackmail threat he’d received last week.

  Yet a different frustration swirled around him now, growing with each moment in Miss Claremont’s presence.

  “Nor was I, my lord,” Miss Claremont said, bringing his attention back to her. A delicate pink stained her cheeks, though it could as easily be from irritation as from embarrassment. “And while I suspect it was you who knocked me from my perch,” she said, glancing pointedly at the bookshelf, which now stood open to reveal the hidden passageway from which he’d entered, “I suppose I must thank you for your timely rescue, nonetheless.” She raised a chestnut brow.

  He’d be damned if for a brief moment he didn’t feel badly for deigning to enter his own library. Geoffrey tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. She wouldn’t turn this around on him so easily. He’d had enough of being manipulated for one day and more than enough of calculating women. Left unchecked, Miss Claremont would likely grow as devious as his mother. Unless someone dissuaded her from that path, showed her she could not play games without consequence.

  “I wouldn’t offer thanks yet,” he murmured. Miss Claremont’s haughty expression slipped as he moved to the open doors of the library. Yes. Enlightening Miss Claremont would be a service to unsuspecting men everywhere, and besides, something about the woman tempted him fiercely. He couldn’t deny that he wanted to taste her.

  And since he was certain no one else was near, he could think of nothing he’d rather do than show the scheming Miss Claremont what happened to young ladies who placed themselves alone with men in darkened rooms.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice rising. “Surely there’s no need to call attention…”

  Her voice trailed off as Geoffrey drew the double doors closed. The audible click of the lock echoed in the now silent room.

  Geoffrey turned to face her. Her eyes shone bright in the low light, and she glanced toward the opening in the bookshelves as if it offered escape. She visibly tensed and shifted on her feet. Good. She should be wary. He smiled as he advanced upon her.

  “Why would I wish to call attention to us, Miss Claremont?” he asked lightly, stepping closer as she backed herself against a bookcase. “As I’ve made clear, I have no intention of being found in a compromising position.” He stopped directly in front of her and rested his hands on the shelves on either side of her waist.

  Her amethyst eyes widened. With a directness that both surprised and inflamed him, she searched his face. Her gaze dropped to his mouth, and her pink tongue darted out to wet her own lips. By God, the little minx was curious. Geoffrey sucked in a breath, curiosity tingling through him as well.

  He suspected if he kissed her, she wouldn’t protest. She was nervous, yes, but he could see desire on her face, hear it in her breathing, smell it on her skin—a heady ambrosia that drew him. He leaned in closer and inhaled her scent. Apples and…lemon verbena? Unfamiliar with women’s fragrance, he could be sure only that she smelled clean and crisp.

  Miss Claremont’s voice snagged as she asked, “A-and this is not compromising, my lord?”

  “Ah,” he drawled, “that is the rub.” He brought one hand up to her nape, using his thumb to caress her cheek and jaw, steeling himself against the jolt of pleasure he received just from touching her. She would be the one learning a lesson here tonight, not him. “To be well and truly compromised in society’s eyes, my dear, one has to have a witness.”

  Her eyes flew to his, uncertainty lightening them a shade to the most alluring lilac.

  “As there is no one here but you and I,” he whispered, “I could taste you.” He brushed his lips against hers in a light caress. She trembled but did not jerk away. “Touch you,” he murmured, trailing a finger down her neck to nearly graze the swell of her bosom before detouring to her delicate collarbone. Her chest hitched beneath his touch. “Anywhere,” he purred as he took her lips in a kiss meant to scandalize.

  Geoffrey swallowed her surprised gasp, coaxing her lips open with little effort. Apples and lemons enveloped him. Christ, he’d never get the scent of her out of his memory.

  She accepted his tongue with a hesitation that told him she’d never been kissed. His instincts whispered to hold back, but then she returned the kiss with a fervor that fired his blood.

  He couldn’t stop his hand from sliding into her silken hair, tugging it from its pins as he luxuriated in the feel of her tresses. His other hand held her still so he could explore her mouth fully. He couldn’t get enough, couldn’t get…

  Only when he heard his own moan did Geoffrey recall where he was, and with whom. He sucked a deep breath through his nose and gentled the kiss.

  He wasn’t a cad, after all. He just wanted to teach her a lesson in managing men, particularly him: Don’t even try it. He indulged himself with one last lingering taste, then stepped back from Miss Claremont, shaken at how ragged his breathing still was. He couldn’t let her see how she affected him. He waited until she opened her dazed eyes and smiled grimly.

  “I can do all that and still not have to marry you in the morning,” he stated flatly.

  Her gasp felt like a slap, so much so that Geoffrey grimaced.

  She raised a trembling hand to her lips, her eyes accusing. The confusion and hurt Geoffrey saw in her expression stilled him, taking the edge off of his righteous anger. Damn, but she looked so innocent. Could he have been wrong about her intentions?

  She lowered her arm, eyes narrowing as her hands fisted at her sides. “You scoundrel,” she uttered, low.

  Geoffrey stood up straighter and gave her a curt nod. An apology formed on his lips just as a sharp spasm clinched his back, turning his words into an involuntary grunt of pain.

  Miss Claremont’s eyes widened and her head tilted slightly to the side. Her gaze took on an assessing look he didn’t care for.

  Now that his mind had o
nce again seized upon the pain from his war injury, it sharpened. Geoffrey gritted his teeth, struggling to give no other outward sign of his discomfort. He needed to get off of his feet. He needed a drink. He needed Miss Claremont to leave.

  “Just so,” he clipped. “Now, I suggest you return to your room. Un—” Another spasm seized him, stealing his breath. “Uncompromised.”

  The euphoria that had coursed through Geoffrey while he’d kissed her quickly lost its hold as pain overrode his senses. He tried to relax the knotted muscles around his lower back, praying she quit the room before he disgraced himself by groaning aloud.

  But she didn’t. Rather, she opened her mouth, seemed to think better of it and closed it again. Did she plan to give him a much deserved set down? Well, he bloody well wished she would get on with it and leave.