Sweet Enemy

by Heather Snow

  Liliana caught Penelope trying to contain a sympathetic smile and failing miserably.

  Mrs. Means swept Liliana’s curls into an artful coiffure, efficiently pinning it into place.

  Liliana tried one last tack. “I’m sure you make too much of Stratford’s interest, Aunt. I’d wager he was only showing a host’s concern over the welfare of an ill guest.”

  “Young ladies don’t wager,” Aunt scolded automatically, then flashed a triumphant smile. “Yet you would lose. The Northumb girl did not show this morning, either, and I heard nothing of Stratford asking after her.” Aunt Eliza reached out and pinched Liliana’s cheeks. “I don’t know how you did it, but you’ve definitely caught his interest, gel,” she said slyly.

  Liliana’s fake illness quickly became real. This was not going at all how she’d planned.

  In short time, she was stuffed into the full-skirted round dress. Aunt Eliza slapped a blue parasol into Liliana’s hands as she was pushed toward the door. She could see no way out.

  Fine. She’d give in—for now. She needed to determine exactly why Stratford was suddenly interested in her. And when Aunt Eliza wasn’t watching, she’d do everything she could to ensure she lost the earl’s attentions.

  Only then could she resume her search.

  * * *

  Aunt Eliza hurried Liliana and Penelope down wide stone stairs and through a small courtyard surrounded by a living wall of hawthorn. A break in the tiny lacework flowers opened to an expanse of parkland just east of the house, where the tinkle of laughter and glassware rang on the air.

  As they breached the hedgerow, Aunt slowed their pace to a leisurely stroll. Liliana scanned the assembly. It seemed the entire household had turned out for the al fresco event, along with several new faces. Everyone smiled easily into the pleasant sunshine. Round tables covered with flowing linens and fresh flowers were scattered beneath a grove of trees.

  Chaises had been brought out as well, and several matrons had taken their spots in the shade, but the majority of guests milled around an open field to Liliana’s right. Ladies in their lavender and pink and pale yellow dresses stood out on the green lawn like so many Easter eggs collected in a giant’s basket. They gathered in small groups, twirling their matching lacy parasols, gossiping. They flirted coyly with passing gentlemen while angling for position to watch what appeared to be a sporting exhibition.

  Liliana’s steps faltered, overwhelmed as she was by the conviction that she didn’t belong in this world. She’d never wanted to be part of these impractical pursuits, this superficial society that Aunt Eliza forever pushed upon her. Her father had understood that, had encouraged her to follow where her mind would lead. Whereas Aunt Eliza had always maintained that Liliana would outgrow her silly love of medicinal science and settle into a life more appropriate for a young lady. A fierce ache pierced her for all that she’d lost.

  “Come along,” Aunt said, reaching back to capture Liliana’s elbow. “We’re just in time.” Aunt wove them through the crowd with the expertise of one long accustomed to navigating a crush. When they emerged from the pastel swarm, Liliana caught her first glimpse of Stratford since his shocking “lesson” in propriety.

  Discomfiting ripples of heat flowed from her middle straight through to the tips of her fingers and toes. Odd, but it was as if she could feel him against her even now. She hadn’t been surprised by the curiosity that had gripped her when she’d given in to his kisses—after all, she was nothing if not inquisitive. Any good scientist worth her sodium chloride was.

  But what still heightened her every nerve until she thought she’d go mad with wanting? What elemental force made her physically desire a man whom she not only did not know but could never trust?

  Chemistry. That’s what they called it, but chemistry unlike any she’d ever studied. As blood rushed to her cheeks, she drew a calming breath, trying to force the infernal blush to subside. Stratford didn’t deserve the satisfaction of knowing he unnerved her.

  He stood with several gentlemen, conversing casually, a half smile playing about his lips. Like a handful of other men, Stratford wore no coat and was instead dressed to compete in sport. He’d donned tawny breeches and a plain cotton shirt that opened at the throat to reveal the strong column of his neck. Liliana swallowed in time with him, her eyes fixed upon the bob of his Adam’s apple.

  She flushed, feeling foolish. Ninny. One couldn’t expect men to battle one another frilled up in cravats, now, could one?

  The bright of day did little to diminish Stratford’s darkly sensuous appeal. Why should he, of all men, draw her so? Whatever the reason, she couldn’t deny that Stratford affected her as no other had. Although she longed to scorn him after last night’s humiliation, a part of her yearned to explore this appalling attraction, and that was as impossible as it was shameful.

  Aunt Eliza stopped as she, Liliana and Penelope neared the marked field—directly in Stratford’s line of sight. Very craftily done, indeed. Aunt was rewarded when Stratford pulled away from his companions and started toward them.

  Liliana tamped down her anxiety. He hadn’t informed Aunt Eliza that he’d caught Liliana out of her room last night, but would he now? Was he only waiting to dress her down in public to complete her lesson? Her gaze latched onto his face, searching for any indication of his thoughts, but his chiseled features revealed nothing.

  “Good afternoon, Lady Belsham, Miss Belsham,” Stratford greeted as he joined them. He insinuated himself right next to Liliana.

  She shifted uncomfortably, his presence overwhelming and subtly charged. Liliana caught a hint of mint—wintergreen, and stronger than it had been last night.

  “Miss Claremont,” he said, turning his vivid blue eyes to her. “I am relieved to see you looking so well.” He gave her a practiced smile. “My compliments on your fetching ensemble.” He lowered his head, his voice rumbling against her ear. “Much better suited for catching a husband than your dress of last night,” he murmured.

  His warm breath brushed against Liliana’s neck. Her ears turned hot with a mixture of confusion and rising ire. Did he mean he knew she wasn’t hunting a husband last night in her drab, dark attire? Or did he mean he still thought her a husband hunter, only much improved by a wardrobe change? Either way, she should be offended. She opened her mouth to set him down, but Aunt Eliza’s encouraging smile stopped her. “Why, thank you, my lord,” Liliana said sweetly, loud enough for Aunt to hear. “It’s so kind of you to notice.” She turned to Stratford and muttered low, “Too bad your manners don’t extend to private company.”

  His facile smile slipped. “We need to talk,” he whispered. He turned back to Aunt Eliza. “Lady Belsham, might I steal your niece away for a stroll?”

  Aunt beamed. “Of course.” She nodded at Liliana. “If you feel up to it, my dear?” All three pairs of eyes turned to look at her expectantly.

  Liliana dearly wished to say she most certainly did not feel up to it—that she’d rather walk with the devil. As he stood there with his dark good looks, she decided he might very well be Lucifer. Was that jab about catching a husband designed to put her at ease, lull her into thinking he didn’t know why she was here? Why did he really wish to talk with her?

  He raised an impatient black brow in challenge, and Liliana narrowed her eyes. He knew she didn’t want to go anywhere near him, blast him. He also knew she couldn’t risk him opening his mouth about last night.

  He offered his arm.

  Aunt Eliza discreetly cleared her throat.

  Liliana cursed under her breath. “A stroll would be lovely.”

  Chapter Five

  G

  eoffrey clasped Miss Claremont’s slender hand and tucked it securely in the crook of his arm. For a moment, it seemed she might snatch it back, but after a brief hesitation she settled her gloved fingers on his forearm. Yet her annoyance broke over him in waves. He swam in dangerous waters. He’d behaved despicably last night, and she had every right to be angry with him. G
eoffrey glanced over at Miss Claremont—Liliana. He’d kissed the woman. He might as well make free with her name. She looked straight ahead, tension creasing the corners of her pursed lips. If she pressed them much harder, they would quickly turn as blue as the muslin caressing her bosom.

  In his experience, a piqued woman was a volatile one. He had no wish to face his mother should Liliana work herself up to accusing him of ungentlemanly conduct, witness or no.

  He was half surprised she hadn’t already. Now he intended to find out if she meant to.

  Geoffrey placed his hand over hers where it rested on his forearm. “We both know ill health is not what kept you from breakfast this morning. You look far too becoming to be indisposed,” he said, glancing over at her. And she did. Her skin glowed a creamy gold in the afternoon sunlight, and her hair glinted like copper coins when she turned her head. He wasn’t the only man to notice, he saw with no little disgruntlement. “Which makes me wonder…what reason would you have for not joining us this morning?”

  Liliana’s face paled. Then bright flags of color splotched her cheeks and, if possible, she pressed her lips even more tightly together. Behind her stony expression, Geoffrey glimpsed a flicker. Guilt. No doubt about it.

  Liliana maintained her silence, yet she could not hold his gaze. She looked away.

  Geoffrey sighed. She had been plotting something this morning, some way to use his behavior last night to her advantage.

  He’d lost control of their kiss. Even an innocent like her would recognize that he desired her. No doubt she’d spent the hours dressing just so, turning herself out perfectly to entice him. By absenting herself, perhaps she’d thought to whet his appetite a bit further.

  His gaze raked her and desire coiled through him, twisting his gut with sharp longing.

  Smart girl. Bloody hell.

  And still she said nothing.

  “Come, now, Liliana. Don’t say it’s maidenly distress that’s got your tongue.” He lowered his voice, partially to keep from being overheard but also to disguise the huskiness that entered his own tenor. “I know from the way you responded to my kiss last night, distress is far from what you feel.”

  That got a reaction. The amethyst glare she leveled on him burned a path straight to his groin. Geoffrey sucked in a breath. Yet behind her outrage, he recognized awareness in Liliana’s eyes. And confusion. Grim satisfaction settled over him.

  “You are quite correct, my lord,” Liliana bit out around a tight smile.

  Geoffrey gave her a quick nod. Good of her to admit she’d been affected by their interlude and was equally unsettled by it.

  “Distress is not what I feel,” she continued, “so much as”—she tilted her head and raised a chestnut brow—“indifference.”

  Geoffrey stopped abruptly, bringing Liliana awkwardly to a halt beside him. Indifference? He stared at her.

  Her lips twisted, her other brow rising to join its sister.

  Geoffrey narrowed his eyes. Indifference his arse. While he might not be sure exactly what else she wanted, he knew when a woman wanted him. And by God, Liliana Claremont wanted him.

  “And, yes,” Liliana continued, slipping her arm from his and stepping ahead. “I admit I did prevaricate slightly about being ill this morning, but not for whatever reasons you think.” She continued walking, not even bothering to see if he followed. “I simply wished to avoid an awkward situation,” she said. She waved a hand backward in his direction. “For you.”

  “For me?” Geoffrey snorted, disliking the way his voice ended on a high note. He trailed behind in an effort to hear her, like a damned lovesick boy.

  She turned to him then, her violet eyes squinting slightly in the afternoon sun as she once again stopped. “Why, yes. To save you the embarrassment of having to apologize, of course. I know how men detest admitting they are wrong. However, since you’ve forced the issue, I suppose the only polite thing to do is to listen to your offer of contrition.”

  Geoffrey choked.

  Liliana tilted her head, giving him a smile that was both irritation and condescension yet fell short of actually being rude. Just.

  Firming his jaw, he took a sharp breath through his nostrils. Had he lost his brass? Twice in two days he’d let a woman turn the tables on him.

  He eyed Liliana for a moment, noticing the stiffness with which she held herself, the rapid rise and fall of her breasts with each breath, the flurried irregular blinking of her eyes. The vision calmed him. He recognized bravado when he saw it.

  She actually wanted to retreat. His every instinct told him so. Could she have been telling the truth when she’d insisted she had no designs on him? She wasn’t acting like a woman who wanted his attentions. Not like…

  He glanced around the park, eyeing the legions of women and their mothers who were also eyeing him—and all but salivating and licking their lips. Geoffrey made a decision.

  “Quite so, Miss Claremont,” he said, smoothly recapturing her arm and settling it again on his as they resumed walking. “I do owe you my deepest regrets. That is precisely why I requested this stroll. In fact, as an olive branch of sorts, I insist you accompany me for the rest of the afternoon activities.”

  She blanched. “Accompany you?” Liliana gave a quick shake of her head. “Thank you, my lord, but that’s quite unnecessary. Your apology will suffice.”

  Geoffrey gave her his best smile. “Oh, but I insist. It will give us a chance to start our friendship anew.” He patted her hand where it rested on his arm, gratified to elicit another shiver, to see her curtain of insouciance slip a bit. “Come,” he said as he led her toward the open field where the afternoon games were ready to commence.

  He looked out over the grassy green field, which had been staked out in a rather large rectangle. He shook his head at the festooned ribbons looped through the posts. His mother had coined the afternoon festivities “A Return to Chivalry.” Each contestant was to choose a lady to champion, whom he would later escort to dinner and a supper ball. He knew she expected him to squire either Lady Emily Morton or Lady Jane Northumb, two of the most eligible debutantes in attendance. Geoffrey had been furious at first. But now he smiled to himself. Mother would be the furious one when she saw his selected companion.

  He cut his eyes to Liliana. She was tugging her lower lip between her teeth, likely trying to think of a way out of his company.

  Why? Spending the afternoon with him wouldn’t hurt her. Besides, she’d pricked his pride, and the strictly male part of him couldn’t let that stand.

  Geoffrey knew he would acquit himself well on the field. His years spent in the military gave him a distinct advantage over the country gentlemen he’d be competing against. In his experience, women were drawn to that prowess, and he was fairly certain he could remember how to turn on the charm.

  He’d be damned if by the end of this night Liliana Claremont would still be claiming indifference to him.

  “Newton’s apple,” Liliana muttered, the curse falling from her lips as naturally as said fruit fell to the earth when dropped. She considered it almost blasphemous to use Newton’s name as a curse, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to take the Lord’s name in vain, and to her, Sir Isaac was the next best thing.

  Stratford led her to the front of the crowd and deposited her on a chair nearest the field of play. Brows around them rose, and envious glares speared her when he lifted her hand to his lips, making the tips of her ears burn.

  Or perhaps it was the way Stratford wickedly caressed the underside of her wrist beneath her glove as he bowed.

  “I do hope you enjoy the exhibition,” he murmured low, so only she could hear. A benign statement, but the way he said it sent a hot shiver through her.

  Liliana could manage only a nod.

  Stratford flashed her a devilish smile and departed to join a gathering group of gentlemen.

  Feeling eyes upon her, Liliana shifted, smoothing her skirts and tucking one foot behind the other. Her fists balled in her lap
. She hated being under scrutiny.

  She clenched her teeth. She also hated being delayed. She should be searching for her father’s letters this very moment.

  Liliana watched Stratford from beneath her lids. She’d done her best to put him off, but instead it was as if he’d dug in his heels.

  Her stomach fluttered as she released a shaky breath. She raised two fingers to her temple. Never could she remember feeling such confusion, such a jumble of nerves and unknowns circling her brain, causing a nauseous churning in her middle.

  She’d thought for sure that she’d been caught when he asked the reason for her absence this morning. Liliana wrinkled her nose. Insulting him probably hadn’t been the appropriate reaction to his charges, but it was the only thing she could think of to distract him from his interrogation. And now she still didn’t know whether he suspected her or whether he was just—