She nodded in acquiescence and passed through the door he held open for her. Prepared to be reasonable, she turned to face him. “While it is none your business, I received a last-minute invitation from a friend to go to Primrose Hill for a picnic.”
“It is my business, Miss Yelverton. You told Maria you planned to stay at home this afternoon. I want the truth. Where did you go and with whom?”
He spoke as if a naughty child stood before him. Anger at his arrogant assumption of control bubbled to the surface. “Are you calling me a liar?”
“If the cap fits—”
“How dare you.” She headed for the door.
His hand shot out. Warm on her upper arm, his strong fingers held her fast. He swung her around to face him. Energy charged the air, prickling the back of her neck. She drew in a sharp breath.
He muttered something under his breath and dropped his hand as if he, too, had been burned. Cool air replaced the heat of his hand. “You will not leave, Miss Yelverton, until I have an answer.”
Her heart thundered. She resented the need to dissemble. If he were not such a despicable rake, she would not be forced to prevaricate. “I have said all I intend to say. Now if you will excuse me...” She sidestepped him.
In a swift, unexpected motion, he caught her chin, forcing her to look up at him. His fingertips fired her blood and heat raced to the center of her being. Her breathing quickened. Just like on the balcony, she stood transfixed, caught in the dark aura of his presence.
His mouth, cut and swollen, hovered a mere inch away from hers, sensuous, compelling. She could feel his warm breath on her cheek. He smelled of...witch hazel?
Blue flames flickered in sapphire depths as he gazed into her eyes, his expression intense, watchful.
Longing unfurled deep within her. Her body swayed towards him of its own volition.
No! Not again. She jerked her chin away.
His broad chest filled her vision, rising and falling in a controlled rhythm, as if he barely controlled his anger. “You went to Ogden, didn’t you?” His tone was savage. “You arranged to meet him.”
He thought her morals as bad as his own. He’d learn differently when she spoiled his sport with Cassandra Eckford. “Let me pass, please.”
He caught her by the shoulders, his grasp strangely gentle given the heat of his anger. “Not until you tell me the truth.”
His dark expression and the bright fury in his eyes gave her pause. He looked ready for murder. She took a deep breath and spoke calmly. “I told you. I went on a picnic with friends. We played consequences. We listened to a band and I read.” She rummaged in her reticule, yanked out her book and waived it under his nose.
He stared at her for a long moment, his gaze fixed on her mouth.
Breathless, she let her hand fall and licked her lips.
A sigh hissed between his clenched teeth. He pulled her close and pressed his lips against hers.
Soft and warm, their pressure stifled her gasp of shock. Pleasurable shivers slid down her back to the pit of her stomach and emptied her mind. The heat of his body warmed her, his grip softened, one hand sliding over her back in gentle strokes. Steel hard against hers, his body thrummed with a tension she felt in her heart and her soul. As if she’d always known him, her body molded to his familiar shape. His thigh pushed between hers, his hip deliciously pressed against the curve of her stomach, her breasts flattened against his chest. Instinctively, she arched into him.
A sharp in-drawn breath broke the silence. Hers? His?
Utter madness. Folly. This man destroyed everyone in his path.
She pulled away, desperately seeking to still her shaking limbs and catch her breath. She had lost her senses. “I think we better agree this never happened.”
Puzzlement and yearning lingered in his expression. Fire flickered in his eyes then banked to white heat.
His lip curled in a sneer. “Do you say the same to Ogden?” He ran his gaze over her face and down to her heaving chest. “And does he make you feel like that?”
“Enough! I will not tolerate your insinuations. The viscount is a gentleman, unlike...”
Pain shattered his brilliant gaze. He grimaced. “Unlike me.”
Her stomach squeezed at his hurt. Wishing her words unsaid, she gentled her tone. “My lord, I am telling you the truth. I am sorry if I worried Miss Allenby, but I truly expected to return before she did. I will beg her pardon immediately. Please excuse me.”
“My apologies.” His expression remained remote, disdainful. Clearly he did not believe her for a moment.
The urge to convince him of her innocence opened her mouth. The sardonic twist to his lips stalled her words. What was the point? Why would she care what he believed?
She swept past him and out of the door.
Simon watched the sway of her curvaceous hips, the swirl of her violet gown. He controlled the urge to recapture her in his arms, to force her to yield her passion only to him.
He cursed softly. Much more of this, and he would carry her up to his room and make sure he had the right to question her every waking moment and to kiss her whenever he wished.
He stilled. Marriage. The word choked him, even as longing clawed at his heart.
Bloody hell, he had lost his reason. Honeyed lies dripped from her tongue, just like the rest of her kind. Hadn’t he learned his lesson? This was lust, pure and simple and any woman would fill that primal need.
Love was an emotion promulgated by self-serving women and madmen like Byron. It was designed to trap a man and break his spirit. He knew better than to be caught.
He strode across the hall and entered his study. He had no intention of becoming cup-shot like Dev but a fortifying brandy would not come amiss.
He heard the echo of her voice down the corridor as she spoke to his cousin in the drawing room. He paused in the doorway, listening...soft tones, beautiful face, intelligent, full of passion. Nothing that was for him.
He slammed the door shut.
CHAPTER SIX
Dev pushed away the plate of White’s famous roast beef he’d barely touched.
“You’re going to fade away to skin and bone.” Simon wanted to give his friend a good shake. It was early evening and already bleariness dulled Dev’s eyes.
“No appetite,” Dev said, picking up his snifter glass and swirling the golden liquid. The square fingers clenched for a moment. He tossed back the brandy in one quick swallow. “How’s the arm?”
“Merely bruised. Don’t change the subject. Brandy might dull your appetite, but before long it will take what’s left of your brain.” Dev needed something other than Genevieve Longbourne to think about.
The man answered by refilling his glass, lifting it in a silent toast to Simon and gulping it down.
Simon glared at him. “The attack was deliberate.”
“Any idea who’d want to kill you?”
Simon grimaced. “Might it not be someone after you? They weren’t explicit.”
With a flash of his former self, Dev grinned cheekily. “Jealous husbands are more in your line than mine.”
Simon grinned back, relieved to see Dev wasn’t totally incapacitated. “No more married women for me, no matter how much they beg.” No woman at all, until he got rid of Victoria. Cassie’s mother wouldn’t wait indefinitely for him to finalize their bargain. Simon poured himself a brandy. “Ladybirds from now on. Less baggage.” Unlike virtuous young ladies with violet eyes and hair as black as night.
“There’s going to be a gnashing of teeth and beating of breasts among the noble matrons of the ton if you keep to that maxim,” Dev jibed.
Simon shrugged.
Dev cupped the glass in one large hand to inhale the fumes. “So who do you think was responsible for the attack?”
“How about one of your old enemies? Europe is rife with intrigue now Napoleon’s been put away. Everyone jockeying for position.”
Dev looked glum. “Jesus. What I’d give to be back in the serv
ice. Anything to alleviate this bloody boredom and—” He shook his head. “I shot my bolt there. Castlereagh’ll never have me back. Not after Longbourne complained.”
“What about Longbourne? He hates you enough after what happened with Genevieve.”
“Aye. And he’s sneaky enough. But what reason would he have? Genevieve gave me the right about the last time I saw her and now she’s engaged to the duke of her dreams. Damn his eyes.”
Simon sipped at his brandy. Though he’d served England nobly over the last years of war with France, Dev’s cover had been stripped away along with his political aspirations. Once thought to be one of Castlereagh’s up-and-coming young men, Dev’s aborted attempt to elope with Longbourne’s sister had ended his career hopes. Simon stared into his glass.
“There’s Ogden?” Dev suggested.
Simon considered the issue dispassionately. Ogden hated him. With good reason. “It doesn’t make sense. If I die, so does the golden goose. He’s nothing to gain except revenge, and a great deal to lose.”
“I thought you were going to stop paying him.”
He wanted to. “Father’s will makes it mandatory. Actually, it would make more sense if I killed him.”
Dev poured another brandy.
A long night stretched ahead. Courageous and honorable, Dev had fallen for a cold-hearted woman. Genevieve was a fool to pass him up. He’d make a good husband—kind, generous to a fault and with no skeletons in the family cupboard. The perfect man for Victoria Yelverton. The thought of Dev with Victoria slid, like sharp steel, into his ribs. “I need a favor.”
Dev flicked an eyebrow. “What?”
“Maria has me escorting Victoria to the theater and an endless list of balls. Join me tomorrow night at Covent Garden.”
“Ye gods, no. Not my style at all.”
“Damn it, Dev. I’m dying here. I need some moral support around these damned society wenches, some decent male conversation.”
“I can’t do it. I might run into Genevieve.”
Simon leaned back into the leather wingback chair and took a deep swallow from his snifter. “You can’t go running like a rabbit into a burrow every time Genevieve is in London. You’re going to have to face her sooner or later. Talk will die down all the quicker if you get it over with.”
Dev looked unconvinced.
“Besides,” Simon continued, “if there really is someone out to get me, or you, we should stick together and see if we can’t catch the bastards.” There was no one he’d rather be in a fight with than Dev. When he was sober.
The other man’s expression brightened. “It makes sense.” He leaned forward. “If they do try again, we’ll know for sure it wasn’t a random robbery. If we catch them at it, we might be able to figure out who is after whom.” He groaned. “How many routs did you say?”
Simon repressed the pang of guilt for appealing to the man’s protective streak. “Never mind the balls, I think we have Almack’s on Wednesday.”
“Curse you. You failed to mention that.”
Simon smirked. “Listen, no drinking on this mission until the ladies are safely off our hands.”
“I can do that. Starting tomorrow.”
Simon certainly hoped so. He got up and stretched his shoulders. “How about a hand of piquet? I need to relieve you of some of your fortune.”
Dev heaved to his feet. “Not here, though, Sin. Let’s go somewhere we can get as pickled as herrings and no one will care. Somewhere they have warm and welcoming ladies.”
The prospect of Dev as drunk as a wheelbarrow was no more enticing than the thought of a fille de joie. The last thing Simon needed was a woman. At least, not the kind he could have. He sighed. “You’re going to kill us both.”
Dev looked suspiciously pleased.
Simon steeled himself. He would do anything to oblige his friend. It was little enough he could do and after tonight, he’d be too busy escorting Victoria to drink himself to death in some hell. Dev liked Victoria; he’d indicated as much at Corby’s ball. She would make an excellent diversion and an even better marchioness.
Simon tasted the bitter ashes of loss. How could that be when she had never been his? He clenched his jaw and slapped Dev on the shoulder. “I know just the place for us.”
Green Park offered a delightful vista. Clear blue skies lightened Victoria’s mood as the breeze blew away her worries about the impending interview with Travis. Perhaps he’d heard from her aunt at last.
With the emerald grass bedewed with yesterday’s rain, the park provided a haven of pastoral quiet in the heart of bustling, dirty London. Even the air smelled fresh for a change. A distant herd of cows sheltered in the shade of an oak so ancient it counted its age by hundreds and a goose-girl chivvied her flock toward the water. Victoria breathed in the sense of peace.
It brought back memories of other days like this, when she was young and carefree in her old home in Kent.
Trailed by Elsie, her maid, Victoria tramped across the open grass uncaring of the wet and mire creeping up the hem of her gown. She avoided the pathways, where officious nursemaids and their charges dodged puddles turned steel-bright by the early sun.
Fortunately, Travis had ridden out long before Victoria reached the breakfast room, and since Maria never rose before mid-day, it left her free to do as she pleased. At Golden Square, Victoria had run the household. And before they were forced to come to London, her work raising funds for a Parish school had occupied much of her time. The trivial social round and enforced idleness of her current situation left her enervated. Certain a brisk walk would set her to rights she inhaled deeply and picked up her pace.
“Victoria.” The figure of a man crossed the grass to meet her.
She squinted into the sun. “Lord Ogden.” She greeted him with a smile and a nod.
“I hoped I might find you here,” he said, taking her hand and raising it to his lips.
She continued walking and he strolled at her side. “Did you?” Cassandra Eckford must be otherwise engaged. She quelled the uncharitable thought. She had no right to care where he went or with whom.
“I believe I know your habits well enough by now.” He swung his cane with jauntily. “It’s a fine day and, unless you have your nose glued to a book, you are walking out. Green Park is close to where you currently reside, quiet enough to suit your tastes and so, voila....” He bowed with a flourish. “Here I am.”
Irritated by his faintly condescending tone, Victoria frowned. “Am I indeed so predictable?”
An eyebrow rose as if he sensed her mood. “I would not dare say such a thing, but even Michael remarked on your penchant for early morning walks.”
Those last few months, Michael hadn’t expressed an interest in anything except his horses, the precision of his cravat and his bouts of gambling with the viscount. “I didn’t think he’d noticed.”
Ogden stopped and grasped her hand for a moment, squeezing her fingers. “You are wrong, my dear. Your brother worried about you. Your lack of a dowry grieved him. He always hoped to win enough at the tables to restore your fortunes.”
Cold enveloped her. Michael had lost everything because of her? It could not be true and yet deep in her heart, she feared it might be. “He knew I didn’t care about money or position. I just wanted us to be happy, the way we were before Mama died.”
Before her father, racked by guilt, drank himself into a stupor and let everything slide away from him. If only she had tried to find out what troubled Michael, instead of tearing into him about his drinking and gambling each time he set foot in her drawing room.
Ogden shook his head sorrowfully. “Incorrigible young rogue. I tried to talk to him, but you know how he was. He was always certain the next turn of the die would be in his favor. I had no idea he would dare join Travis’s table. He’d lost everything by the time I arrived.”
Victoria closed her eyes against the shattering memory of Michael’s last moments. Ogden had often listened to her talk of her brother’s f
olly. To discover she had caused his recklessness pained her beyond belief.
“Come, you need to sit for a while.” He guided her to a bench set beneath a spreading oak.
Dawdling behind them, her maid Elsie was chatting with a nursemaid from a neighboring house. The little boy, about three years old, took advantage of his keeper’s distraction. Stomping in a puddle at the far reaches of his leading strings, he giggled as muddy water soaked his petticoats.
The little scoundrel. Victoria chuckled.
“I admire so much about you, Victoria,” Ogden said, one arm stretched behind her along the back of the seat. “So full of good sense.” He stared at the ground, his expression solemn. “I simply cannot help wondering... Well, it really is none of my business, I suppose.”
Her heart sank. “Wondering what?”
He took her hand. “I’d like to think we are more than friends.”
An uneasy prickle skittered down Victoria’s back. She had dreaded this, and knowing he also pursued Miss Eckford, it gave her a slightly queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. She eased her hand from his.
A muscle flickered in his jaw. “Victoria, I care about what happens to you. As your brother’s closest friend, I can’t help wondering why you would accept the hospitality of a man like Travis.”
She hardly understood it herself. As Michael’s friend, perhaps she did owe him some explanation, some assurance that nothing was untoward. “Somehow Travis learned I had nowhere to go after Michael’s death and he insisted he had some responsibility for my welfare.” She no longer believed Michael had lost her to Travis in a wager, though she certainly wasn’t going to mention that to Ogden.
“You must be careful, Victoria. His reputation is less than stellar, and the gossips know not the half of it.”
His barely veiled insinuations made Travis sound evil and a strange desire to defend him hovered on her lips. “Travis wants me gone just as much as I want to leave. I’ve barely seen him and Maria Allenby is a formidable chaperon.”
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