Sweet Enemy

by Heather Snow

  Could she love him? She couldn’t say if she even knew what love was. Her entire life she’d surrounded herself with cold science, never giving that softer emotion the slightest consideration. It was as foreign to her as the concept of electrochemical dualism would be to someone like Lady Jane.

  Desire, Liliana understood. She may not have experienced it before now, but it was a natural phenomenon, a measurable physical response to stimuli.

  But love?

  She slipped out of her room carrying a lit candle and went to the hall bookshelf. She pulled the fourth book from the right and removed the key from her dress pocket. She inserted it and turned. A click later, the shelf opened and Liliana stepped inside.

  The passageway was cool. Of course, this morning she didn’t have Geoffrey pressed against her. Nor would she ever again.

  Liliana crossed the first turn, where she would have gone left to the study, and instead carried on straight into the tunnel that led to the family rooms. Coming to the first door, she pressed her ear to listen. Of course, without knowing the thickness of the door, would she even be able to hear if someone were occupying the room? What she wouldn’t give for a spy hole.

  After hearing nothing for several moments, she inserted the key Geoffrey had given her, hoping it opened all of the doors. She turned it clockwise. “Yes,” she whispered as the door opened.

  Liliana stepped into a bold red room, trim gleaming white with gilded edges, the lines clean and cold. A portrait of Lady Stratford hung over the fireplace. This must be the countess’ parlor—she seemed the type to hang a likeness of herself in her own space.

  After what the old valet had told her of his suspicions, Liliana had to consider Lady Stratford a viable suspect. What had Geoffrey called her? Lying, manipulative and deceitful? Perhaps whatever activities had gotten her father killed may have been centered around the countess rather than the late earl.

  It made some sense, really. No one ever suspected a woman, particularly not men. Liliana knew all too well that most men didn’t think women capable of having a brain, though her father certainly wouldn’t have been one of those. Still, if Lady Stratford was the guilty party, then killed her husband barely more than two weeks later, perhaps because he’d discovered what she’d done—well, that would wrap things up neatly.

  Liliana moved to the desk. Opening a drawer, she found only writing implements and other sundries. She moved to the next, searching for a handwriting sample to compare. She found a packet of vellum and reached out for it, yet she hesitated before opening it, her mouth going dry. What would she do if the countess’ handwriting matched?

  She firmed her lips and flipped open the packet. A list of names marked the first sheet. Scanning them, she realized it was a prospective-brides list. Nineteen girls, including herself, listed in one handwriting, another three in a different scrawl that she recognized as Josslyn Wentworth’s.

  Lifting the page, she found copious notes about each of the girls. Dowry of £50,000 or Niece to the Duke of Clarendon or Atrocious table manners, but her mother bore five sons. There were stars by Lady Jane’s name, of course. Notes the countess would make, yet the handwriting was not the one Liliana was looking for. She released the breath she’d been holding. Another dead end.

  She scanned to see what the countess had written about her. Orphan, upstart, completely unsuitable!!! Liliana smiled. All true.

  She made a cursory search of the rest of the room but, as expected, found nothing. She placed everything back where she found it and let herself into the passage.

  Now to find the room that housed the late earl’s belongings. She’d just have to try each door until she reached the right one.

  Placing her ear at the first, she heard murmurs of female conversation. Likely the countess’ room, as it was next to her parlor. Liliana moved to the next. Hearing nothing, she entered.

  The moment she stepped into the room, she knew it belonged to Geoffrey. It was as if he lingered in the air. His spicy scent, always overlaid with mint, tickled her nose, bringing a sensual memory of him on the chaise, of her bringing him pleasure. Her body flooded with warmth, the now familiar moisture gathering between her legs. My goodness, is that all it took to make her hunger for him, now that her body knew what to crave?

  Liliana forced her focus on the room. The walls were covered in a rich tan silk, the large poster bed and furnishings simple but sturdy. Spartan, yet elegant, like the man who lived here.

  The bed coverings were plush, a solid color that brought to mind steaming cups of chocolate. And rumpled. The counterpane was pulled back and the indention of a large body dimpled the sheets. It seemed Geoffrey had taken her advice and returned to sleeping in his bed rather than on the floor. Liliana couldn’t resist bringing her head close to the pillow and breathing in…Spice and mint permeated the linen, filling her senses. What would it be like to awaken with that scent in her nose every day?

  Fool. Why did she torture herself with things that could never be?

  Curious, she bent down on hand and knee to see if he had reinforced the mattress with slats as she’d suggested.

  A black leather volume caught her eye immediately. Her heart sped up as she reached under the bed to retrieve it. Pulling it into the light, she realized it was the same black book she’d nearly broken her neck to reach that very first night. She’d scoured the place for it since then, and it had been here in Geoffrey’s room all along.

  Had he been hiding something after all? She couldn’t fathom it, not after the way he’d kissed and stroked her—Liliana rolled her eyes. She’d done all that to him as well, and she’d been hiding much.

  She brought the book up, laying it on the bed. Did the evidence she’d been seeking lie here? She flipped the cover open, anxious to finally discover what Geoffrey had taken such pains for her not to see.

  At first, Liliana did not believe her eyes. She flipped a page, then another. Sir Isaac’s ghost…

  A bleating laugh gurgled from her lips. She was unable to control it. Really, how could she?

  It was a book of etchings. Highly erotic etchings, quite well-done in her limited opinion, of couples in flagrante delecto.

  No wonder Geoffrey had been so desperate to retrieve the book from her, given that he’d just accused her of trying to trap him. He must have—

  Liliana gasped as mortification swept over her, remembering how she’d tried to scoot out of the library, book in tow. Did he think she’d known what was in it? He must have thought her rather fast. A reluctant smile curved her lips…She’d proven him right on that, she supposed.

  Liliana closed the book, sliding it back where she found it, then sat upon her bottom, pulling her knees up and resting her folded arms atop them.

  Everything she’d suspected when she’d arrived at Somerton Park had turned out to be something else altogether. Maybe she’d been wrong. Maybe this absurd moment was a sign that she should end this and move on with her life.

  If she gave up on her search, she’d never have to tell Geoffrey that she’d deceived him. Yes. She could let him remember her as a pleasant diversion, a lovely memory. She felt herself nodding. She must divulge what Witherspoon had shared about his father, of course—having lost a father to nefarious means, she couldn’t leave Geoffrey in the dark about that. But Witherspoon had practically volunteered that information. Liliana wouldn’t have to explain a thing, and then perhaps she and Geoffrey could—

  Could what? Go on as they were now? She dropped her head down onto her folded arms. Of course not. No, in two more days this house party would be over. She would leave as she’d come, without answers and destined to a life alone. Geoffrey would likely go on to marry Lady Jane, or someone like her. Someone well connected, who would dedicate herself to being a perfect wife.

  He would be happy, and he would do great things in the world. And so would she, albeit on a much lesser scale.

  That’s what she should do, she decided as she unfolded herself and rose.

  Af
ter she looked at that one last place. She’d never be able to live with herself if she left the stone unturned. She’d find Edmund Wentworth’s belongings, and if they, too, turned out to lead nowhere, she’d put the matter to rest for good and cherish her last two days in Geoffrey’s arms.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  G

  eoffrey stepped past a group of men who’d stopped to chat after the early hunt. He was anxious to return to the manor and find Liliana. He couldn’t wait to tell her how well the negotiations had gone with some of the more influential men in English politics. And he had her to thank for it, as he’d used several of her more persuasive arguments to sway them to his side. “Enjoyable morning, Stratford,” the Earl of Manchester called out.

  Damn. Geoffrey stopped and turned back.

  The older man waved him over and clapped him on the back as he joined them. “Though had I known that we were the fox and you the hunter, I may have kept to my bed.”

  A raucous laugh followed the earl’s remark. Geoffrey stiffened. Perhaps things hadn’t gone as well as he’d thought.

  Manchester harrumphed, the wispy tips of his graying mustache moving upward on the exhalation. “That’s not saying I don’t respect your tactics. You military men and your strategies. Wellington is forever vexing me with his maneuverings.”

  “Indeed,” answered another man, a viscount whom Geoffrey had been targeting for quite some time as a potential ally. “But there are many things about your plans that I, for one, approve of.”

  “Same here,” said a third.

  “But you know, of course, Northumb is the key, my boy,” Manchester said, as the others murmured their agreement. “He and that brother-in-law of his in the Commons. If I were you, I’d cement his promise now while the arguments are fresh in his mind. Northumb isn’t one to go back once he’s given his word, but his attention can be fleeting.” Manchester tipped his head toward Northumb and Wakefield, who were walking ahead, deep in conversation. “I understand Northumb is fond of brandy after an invigorating hunt. French, preferably. Missed it sorely during the war.”

  Bollocks. Seeing Liliana would have to wait until later. Geoffrey thanked Manchester and hurried after Northumb and Wakefield instead. Slowing his pace as he neared them, Geoffrey affected an easy smile. “Gentlemen,” he acknowledged, coming along beside Northumb.

  “Stratford.” Northumb was a small man, given his great influence. Indeed, standing next to the man, Geoffrey estimated Northumb to be shorter than Liliana, who was admittedly tall for a woman. Yet his voice boomed, as many great orators’ did. “Nice shooting this morning. Had my doubts, hearing like I did that you’d let a woman unman you on the practice field.” Northumb chuckled. “Say it isn’t so, man.”

  Geoffrey winced inwardly. He didn’t need to give the notoriously fickle Lord Northumb anything to distract him from the important matters at hand. “In truth, it was Lord Aveline who outshot me, though Miss Claremont did certainly give the man an advantage.”

  Northumb humphed. “Never tangle with a headstrong woman, son. Better to surround yourself with well-behaved ones. Like my Jane.”

  “Yes,” Geoffrey said. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Northumb had never before actually mentioned Lady’s Jane’s name in connection to him. He had always been more subtle than that. “Your daughter is a lovely girl, a great compliment to you.”

  Northumb eyed him, then nodded. “She is. Interesting ideas you presented this morning.”

  “I am gratified you found them so,” Geoffrey said, relieved the conversation was moving to politics. Yet he had the feeling the subject of Northumb’s daughter wasn’t closed…He only hoped the two wouldn’t prove to be entwined. “I’d value your further opinion. Yours, as well, Wakefield,” Geoffrey added in deference to the beefy gentleman accompanying them. “Perhaps over a drink later? At your convenience, of course.”

  Northumb pushed out his lips, his eyes narrowing in contemplation. His expression brought to mind the image of a wizened old cod, one well accustomed to swimming through the rough waters of Parliament. Geoffrey knew firsthand that politics could be a vicious pond, full of big fish and small, most angling for their own inclinations with wicked hooks and barbs. The reforms this country so desperately needed, the ones Geoffrey was committed to seeing through, would not always endear him to his peers. He’d do well to learn what he could from Northumb on how to survive it all with most of his scales intact.

  “Now’s as good a time as any,” Northumb said.

  Minutes later, the men settled themselves in the library. When all three had cut-glass snifters of expensive liquor in their hands, Northumb went straight to the point.

  “You could have a real future in the party,” Northumb said, propping his ankle on the opposite knee and negligently resting his brandy on the arm of the chair. “I wasn’t so certain last year, when you came up like a green pup, but I can see you learn from your mistakes. Liverpool was right to assign this task to you.”

  Geoffrey leaned forward, setting his glass on the side table. “It’s not my future I’m concerned with, but Britain’s. Yes, this bill starts with employing the men I care most about, but it extends beyond that. More jobs mean less criminals. More industry equates to stronger economic—”

  “So you’ve said,” Northumb interrupted. “I am unconvinced. And three quarters of a million pounds is a lot of money that could be used elsewhere. Don’t you agree, Wakefield?”

  “I do,” came the matter-of-fact reply from Northumb’s companion.

  Geoffrey sat back in his chair smoothly, picking up his snifter along the way. He held Northumb’s gaze as he took a sip, yet the tips of Geoffrey’s ears burned with anger. He shouldn’t be surprised that Liverpool had shared the details of the bill—Northumb was a powerful man. But Northumb would also then know that the prime minister supported the bill, which should have been enough to ensure Northumb’s support as well. This hesitation was pure politics.

  “I care about the country, too,” Northumb said, “but do you know what I care more for?” Northumb glanced over at Wakefield. “Family. A man’s family is what truly matters in this world. And the alliance between strong families is the pillar that holds our nation together.”

  He’s trying to use my passion for the Poor Employment Act to force my hand in marriage to his daughter. Geoffrey kept his expression purposefully blank. Well, as blank as he could while clenching his teeth together. Hell and damnation, the man was no better than Geoffrey’s own mother.

  “I like you, Stratford. You’re bright, you’re forward thinking, you’re loyal and you’re a patriot.” Northumb stood, downed the remainder of his brandy and set the glass on the wooden table with a clink. Wakefield rose as well, bringing Geoffrey to his feet. “Think about what I’ve said. Family sticks together.” Northumb pinned Geoffrey with a cool gray stare. “Family votes together, too.”

  Geoffrey remained standing long after the other men departed, a sick feeling twisting his gut. Faces flashed before him, of his men, gaunt and hungry. Of Tom Richards, when Geoffrey had found him several months ago, begging on the street. Of women and children whom he knew would be helped if this bill passed.

  Maybe he could get the bill passed without Northumb’s support. The group of gentlemen he’d spoken with this morning had seemed convinced. Yet, only weeks remained before the vote. There might not be time to sway enough others, particularly if Northumb came out against it. And if the bill didn’t pass, it would be at least another year before Geoffrey could try again. What would become of his soldiers and their families then?

  Geoffrey rolled his neck, pushing back his shoulders to release the tension and lengthening his spine, as Liliana had shown him. He noticed only a twinge of discomfort. Normally, after such a jarring hunt, he’d be in agony.

  In only a few days of listening to Liliana, the quality of his life had improved immensely, in more ways than one. And she was quickly becoming the only person truly on his side, the only person w
ho wanted nothing from him but himself. He longed to talk to her, even about this unusual situation, certain that she would understand. When had she become his safe haven?

  “Congratulations are in order, I hear.”

  Geoffrey’s head snapped around to look over his shoulder. His mother stood in the entrance to his study, where she must have been concealing herself. If the bookshelf-door had been open even a crack, she’d have had no trouble hearing the entire conversation, and judging from the triumphant smile on her face, she had.

  “You’ll have to ask the girl, of course, but it’s clear her father has already given his blessing. I know her mother has.” The countess brought her hands together. “As do I, not that you care. Lady Jane is an excellent choice, everything you could hope for in a wife, and you’ll be guaranteeing the passage of your bill, to boot.”