Sweet Enemy

by Heather Snow

  Marry Lady Jane and achieve his goal. It seemed so simple. And so damned manipulative it turned his stomach. God, how he abhorred when people tried to force his hand.

  And what of Liliana? This morning, when he should have been entirely focused on securing votes for the bill, instead he’d felt her absence like a deep well within him. He could no longer fail to acknowledge that when he was with her, he felt full. Whole.

  He hadn’t felt that way in years.

  Nor did he wish to give that feeling up.

  But could he sacrifice the well-being of so many others by refusing Northumb’s “offer”?

  Mother paced past him in short, quick strides. “Let’s see…We’ve selected St. George’s for the ceremony. I can have the London house ready for a proper wedding breakfast in only a few weeks. And—”

  “We’ve?” Geoffrey’s jaw tightened as Mother’s face went pale. She wouldn’t have…He closed his eyes. She would. “What did you have to do with this?” Geoffrey barked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Mother,” he growled.

  The countess rolled her eyes with an exasperated huff. “I only gave Lady Northumb a bit of intelligence.”

  “Who then, in turn, told her husband how exactly to put me over a barrel,” Geoffrey muttered.

  “That was rather crass,” Mother admonished. “All we did was help you to make the best decision for you, and now you will be—”

  “I’ll not marry Lady Jane,” Geoffrey said, the weight of the past few minutes floating off of his chest and pulling the corners of his lips up as it rose past his face.

  The countess whipped around, narrowing her sharp gaze. “What? Don’t be a fool. What will you tell Lord Northumb?”

  “I’ll tell him that if he loves his country, as he says he does, then he’ll support the bill on its merit alone, and that if he chooses not to, then he’ll face me again next season.” Geoffrey advanced upon the countess, actually taking glee in what he was about to say.

  “And I’ll tell him I’ve already chosen a wife.”

  “Who?” The countess’ chin lowered and a perplexed frown crossed her face a moment before her eyes widened and her nostrils flared. “Geoffrey! You—you—can’t be serious,” his mother sputtered.

  “Oh, but I am.” It was probably a sin against God, how much satisfaction Geoffrey took saying those four little words, what with the whole “honor thy parents” dictate. Yet months of purgatory, perhaps even hell, would be worth it for the look upon his mother’s face. It would certainly be worth it for the lifetime of heaven that awaited him in Liliana’s arms. “Liliana Claremont is exactly what I want in a wife. She’s intelligent, compassionate and completely honest. In fact, I’d wager she doesn’t have a deceitful, manipulative bone in her body, and to me, that is the only qualification that matters.”

  Geoffrey left his mother standing in the library, his step light and relatively pain free. This afternoon, he’d seek out Lord Northumb and make his position clear.

  Then tonight, when Liliana joined him in the library, he’d ask her to be his wife.

  It was in here. She knew it. The connection between her father and the Wentworth family lay somewhere buried in these dingy, dust-covered trunks. She’d felt it when she’d entered the unused room—a tingle that danced down her spine like the fat brown spider gliding across its gossamer web in the unswept corner.

  There was no doubt these were Edmund Wentworth’s belongings. In addition to being precisely where Geoffrey had said they were, there was an ornate EW inscribed on the brass key plate of the largest trunk. Liliana traced her finger over the initials, much as she had the seal on the letters that had brought her to Somerton Park.

  Rather than the excitement she’d expected to feel at this moment, a great sadness weighed upon her. There was nothing to be done but to finish her search. Liliana pushed up her sleeves and surveyed the stacks of boxes and trunks. From the amount of dust and cobwebs covering them, she could well believe they had been up here for thirteen years. Liliana swiped her hand across the top of a nondescript wooden box, brushing clean a swath the width of her palm.

  She used her hand to clear the rest of the lid and frowned. There were pry marks on the edges, and the lid lifted easily, the lock broken.

  The box was stuffed with papers that were yellowed with age. They were also quite disarranged, as though they had been thrown in without care. Or, given the pry marks, searched through hastily. She pulled a handful. There were receipts, bills and descriptions for what seemed to be normal personal items. Liliana took a few moments to scan through them but saw nothing to draw her attention. She did the same through the rest of the box before placing the lid back on it and moving it to the side.

  She chose a medium-sized trunk next. It came open with no effort, the lock also broken. Someone had definitely searched through Edmund Wentworth’s things before her. Liliana peered inside, only to find more papers. She sorted through a few to sample their contents.

  Her hand began to shake as she came upon a packet of folded vellum tied with a burgundy ribbon. She untied the knot, her fingers fumbling. When she opened the packet, letters written and signed by Edmund Wentworth, late Earl of Stratford, stared up at her. She closed her eyes. The handwriting on the pages was the same as that on the letters she’d found in her father’s study.

  Somehow, she’d always known it would be, but actually seeing it with her own two eyes pierced her. The same elaborate E’s, the same flourish on the S’s and O’s.

  Liliana scanned the letter quickly, her heartbeat pounding in her ear. It was a missive written to the curator of the British Museum, agreeing to provide funds for the renovation of an exhibit. She was sure that had nothing to do with her father, who to her knowledge had no interest in antiquities, but that wasn’t what made the letter valuable.

  Tears burned her eyes, her nose, the back of her throat. She finally had a tangible, concrete link between the late Earl of Stratford and her father’s death. She carefully folded the letter with the incriminating handwriting and placed it in the pocket of her dress.

  Now all that was left was to see if her father’s return correspondence might be somewhere in this dusty graveyard of papers, the last record of a man’s life.

  Liliana resumed delving through the trunks. She found Edmund Wentworth’s certificate of membership into the Society of Antiquaries, dated 1782. She found more papers, journals detailing descriptions of architectural discoveries, all in the earl’s hand. She found bills of lading for ships importing crates from Greece, Egypt and India, amongst other exotic places. It all looked quite aboveboard, as far as Liliana could tell. Nothing suspicious. Nothing that spoke of treason. Nothing that mentioned Charles Claremont directly or in passing. Nothing that told her anything more than what she already knew.

  Finally, she came to the last trunk. It was filled with bric-a-brac, a letter opener, a magnifying glass, a polished stone…the odds and ends of a life that made no sense to someone who didn’t know the owner. There was also a book, a hefty tome some four inches thick. Odd that it wouldn’t be in the library with the rest of the books.

  Liliana used both hands to lift it out of the box, nearly tossing it as it flew upward, much lighter than she’d expected. This wasn’t a book at all, but something else. She ran her hands over it, marveling at the realistic page edging, the supple leather cover. Then she opened it.

  It was a book, after all, but one cleverly sliced and converted to hold a secret cache, a cache of letters. Her father’s familiar script leapt off the page and Liliana’s vision blurred with tears.

  Sorrow and outrage bubbled inside her, warring for supremacy. There was no doubt now that she’d been on the right trail all along, which brought a sweet stab of justification, yet profound regret tempered it.

  As much as she’d been anticipating their upcoming rendezvous in the library tonight, she now dreaded it tenfold. She had no choice but to tell him the whole truth. Geoffrey would be devastated. And
worse, there was no way to avoid his realizing that he had been used.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  L

  ight filtered into the passageway from the open bookshelf. Geoffrey must have left it cracked for her and was likely waiting just beyond the door, anticipating a much different encounter than what lay in store. Liliana’s steps faltered and she hugged the wooden box to her chest. She tried for a deep breath, but her lungs refused to expand. That was all right. She could manage on minimal oxygen for a time—this would be over soon enough.

  She needed to look at the next few moments as she would a festering wound. The more quickly she cut, allowing fresh blood to flow and cleanse, the faster healing could begin. For Geoffrey, that was, not for her. She would never be whole again. The infection ran too deep, and her immunity was spent. He had invaded her system and she feared she would forever bear the scars.

  When she stepped through the opening, Geoffrey turned. He must have sensed her presence, as she’d made no sound. A slow smile spread over his face and lifted even the corners of his eyes. A particular warmth shown from his gaze—not the heat of passion, though a flicker of that banked emotion flashed in the blue depths—but something more tender.

  Something that made her want to weep.

  “You’re here,” he said, his shoulders relaxing as if he’d worried she might not come. He crossed the room toward her. “I thought this day would never end.”

  Geoffrey stopped before her. “I have much I wish to share with you, but first…” He opened his arms, reaching to embrace her.

  She couldn’t let him touch her. If she did, she’d be lost. Not knowing what else to do, she thrust the box out in front of her, blocking him.

  Geoffrey pulled up short, blinking. His gaze darted to the box, then to her face, and he gave her a questioning look.

  She shook the box, once, continuing to hold it out like a shield, but Geoffrey took it with both hands and, without giving it another glance, sat it on the table near her and stepped easily into the space he’d cleared.

  “But first,” he repeated, dropping his head as he simultaneously angled his mouth toward hers. She was prepared for the flash of fire in his kiss, so the gentle brush of his lips instead sent a piercing ache through Liliana’s chest. His hands glided over her shoulders and back. His touch conveyed warmth, caring…beyond just the sexual. How had she missed that? And how much more would that hurt him when she confessed all?

  Geoffrey tightened his embrace, breaking the kiss to nestle his cheek against her temple. The piercing ache sharpened at this display of affection, coming to a razor point when he breathed in deeply and released a contented sigh.

  “I never used to care for the smell of apples, you know. The taste, either.” He dropped his mouth to her neck, and Liliana shivered as his tongue tasted her. “Yet every morning for the past week, I’ve demanded apple tarts drizzled in honey for my breakfast,” he murmured. “Cook thinks I’ve gone quite nutty, but I can hardly explain why I crave them so all of the sudden. Do you know why?”

  Liliana shook her head, unable to utter a word as his mouth returned to feasting upon her skin, just below the lobe of her ear this time.

  He brought his lips up a fraction, his hot breath brushing her as he whispered, “Because I dream of you in the night. I awaken so hungry for the taste of you on my tongue that I am nearly mad for it. I cannot even wait until our morning ride, so desperate am I for you.” He lifted his head, pulling his torso away from her while retaining his hold. Liliana opened her eyes to find his gaze intently upon her.

  “Yet the substitute never truly satisfies.” He let his words sink in before the corner of his mouth twitched. “I fear I shall become quite portly if this continues. The barrage of sweets cannot be good for my health. As I see it, there is only one cure, and that is to have you beside me every morning when I wake.”

  Liliana’s stomach dipped wildly. What was Geoffrey saying? She must put a stop to this madness. She reached an arm toward her box of evidence. “Geoffrey, I’ve brought—”

  His kiss cut her off, and she closed her eyes against the growing hunger she sensed in him. But it ended as abruptly as it had begun, leaving her spinning.

  “I can’t imagine what you’ve brought me.” He let her go, walked to the hearth and fetched something from a shelf. He returned carrying a long, narrow box of his own, plain and undecorated. “But I insist you open my gift first.”

  He thought she’d brought him a gift. This couldn’t be any more awful. Liliana shook her head forcefully. “No, I—”

  “Indulge me,” he said, almost a plea, as he held the offering out before her. An indefinable emotion lurked in his cobalt eyes, and Liliana reached for the box, unable to disappoint him.

  She took it, turning it gingerly in her grasp. It was lighter than she’d expected and gave the impression of fragility. What could he possibly have gotten her and why?

  “Open it.”

  A terrible idea, yet Liliana still lifted the lid from the box. She reached inside and felt the cool kiss of glass against her fingertips. Curious, she circled the neck of the object with her fingers, pulling it from its container.

  She gasped. “Oh my.” A thick glass matrass emerged. The vessel was well made and oval shaped, with a long neck for distilling. Chemical glassware was not inexpensive—or easy to obtain. He must have gone to some trouble, yet it was the key tied around the matrass’ neck by a silken ribbon that drew her attention—another key, given to her in good faith. She glanced up at Geoffrey, who watched her avidly. “What is this?”

  “It’s the key to my folly,” he said, “which I hope to convince you to convert to your laboratory when you agree to become my wife.”

  The matrass slipped from Liliana’s fingers. The heavy glassware did not shatter but rather made a dull clank as it struck the Aubusson rug and rolled off onto the wooden floor.

  Geoffrey’s rich laughter joined the rotating rattle as he grasped both of her hands. “Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for, but as long as you say yes, it will do.”

  Liliana tried to tug her hands away, but she couldn’t seem to muster the strength. Had Geoffrey just asked her to marry him?

  A hysterical giggle slipped out before she could silence it, and all she could think of was how Aunt Eliza would finally be pleased by something she’d done.

  But that ridiculous thought was quickly followed by a burst of pain behind her breastbone that brought tears to her eyes. Dear God. Geoffrey had asked her to marry him.

  And, oh, how she wished she could forget everything else and say yes.

  The realization shocked her to her toes and at the same time devastated her. Liliana succeeded in pulling her hands away and turned from him, crumpling onto the chaise like a moonflower when touched by the morning sun.

  A rustling of fabric alerted her that Geoffrey had followed, but she couldn’t turn to him. Couldn’t face him.

  “Liliana?” His warmth registered, seeping into her leg where he knelt beside her. “Sweet, look at me.”

  She took a deep breath and complied. His intense eyes contracted with concern, which only made her feel worse. How beautiful he was, this compassionate soul—an honest man who put others’ needs before his own. She should have known, should have known by the way she’d opened herself to him, how she’d responded to him from the beginning. She should have known, but she hadn’t.

  And now, as he reached up to touch her face, she could no longer deny the glaring fact. She was in love with Geoffrey Wentworth.

  “Tell me what is the matter.” He ran his hand behind her neck, cupping it while skimming his thumb along her jaw. “I knew something was wrong last night. I shouldn’t have let you go without…”

  His voice faded away. Oh, he was still speaking, but she could not focus on what he was saying.

  Dear God. She was in love with Geoffrey.

  Liliana shook her head, words failing her. She was in love with him. And now that she was aware of it, it ros
e in her, like an experiment gone wrong, boiling over until it couldn’t be contained—

  “I love you.” The declaration spilled from her lips.

  Geoffrey stopped speaking midsentence, his mouth remaining open as if it hadn’t quite gotten his brain’s message.

  She shouldn’t have said it, but she wouldn’t take it back. She’d never expected to say the words to any man. Yet they were the most honest words she’d ever spoken. When this was all over, at least she could console herself with that. Geoffrey, on the other hand, was certain not to believe anything she’d said or ever would say again.

  He remained on bended knee, seemingly not breathing, apparently stunned.

  This was her moment, her one moment to show him her heart. He might decide her words were all false, but maybe, just maybe, if she could make him believe her love was true by her actions, then he would forgive her when the rest came out. Maybe he would understand. Maybe they could have a future.