Hadrian was about to retort—the more he annoyed his father, the better–but then he had a more entertaining idea. “Precisely, which is why I intend to look for some sea holly today.”
Her eyes widened, and that smile still teased at her mouth. “Sea holly? Whatever for?”
In the vivid flesh, her lips were even more entrancing than in his dream. “Loath as I am to admit to any accompanying character flaws, I do suffer from a weak constitution,” Hadrian said.
She narrowed her eyes at him. He didn’t blame her, for he was perfectly hale and hearty.
“What the devil are you talking about?” the marquis demanded. “There’s nothing wrong with your constitution.”
“No?” Hadrian stifled a grin. “You’ve always said I lack manly vigor.”
“Nonsense,” his father said predictably. No one but he was permitted to criticize his progeny. “All my sons excel in—” He stopped, as Lord Valiant, that most potent of the potent, instantly came to everyone’s mind—even Miss Raleigh’s, judging by the twitch of her lips.
Lord Gentry snickered. The marquis turned on him, snarling. “Quiet, you!”
“Perhaps the family’s share of manly vigor was dealt out unevenly by the Almighty,” Hadrian said. “Val certainly makes up for my lack of it.” Not only had Lord Valiant been disinherited and banned from Staves Court forever for debauching an innocent whilst still at Eton, but he had also made a point of flaunting his shocking reputation.
Had he bedded Lettice Raleigh? It seemed possible, as they were known to be friends. What a distasteful notion, and yet Hadrian could hardly blame him if he had.
Another advantage of leaving Staves: Hadrian would be able to associate openly with Val once again, although it would mean forcing Gentry, who had very little courage, to handle communication between Val and their mother. Clandestine correspondence had been tolerable during the war years, which Val had spent spying on the Continent, but he’d been back in England for over a year now.
Lord Staves purpled. One of these days his rage would result in an apoplectic fit. “How dare you mention his name in this house?” he shouted. “He is dead to this family! Dead, do you hear?”
“But not to his new wife, one hopes,” Hadrian said. Gentry stifled a laugh, then cringed at his father’s snarl of rage. Hadrian had never understood his elder brother’s abject obedience, especially now that they were all adults.
“Now, now, Lord Hadrian, don’t agitate your father,” Miss Raleigh said with that same faint smile. She was cooing again. He should dislike it. He should certainly disapprove, but it had the opposite effect on his cock.
Surely she hadn’t developed an interest in him. That would make the next several days abominably awkward. He was adept at fending off unwanted advances, but something about Lettice Raleigh was different from other women.
She smiled more widely, a twinkle in her dark eyes. “You are perfectly correct about the restorative effects of sea holly. I always have a supply of the candied root ready to hand.” The tip of her tongue touched her upper lip. “It’s excellent for boosting a man’s…vigor.”
His was already boosting a little too well, thank you very much. Luckily, the tablecloth covered the evidence.
“I suppose you know all about that, Miss Raleigh,” Lord Staves said.
Hadrian didn’t. “Dash it all, Father—”
Miss Raleigh put a gentle hand on Hadrian’s arm. “My dear Lord Hadrian, pray don’t take his lordship’s comment amiss. I have indeed studied the effects of many remedies, so your estimable father is entirely correct.”
A tic appeared beside Lord Staves’ eye. His face reddened. His fist clenched about his fork.
With difficulty, Hadrian muffled a snort. “Then you’ll take a walk with me today and show me the sea holly plants?”
“I should be delighted.” She gave his arm a gentle squeeze. Her touch sent tingles down his spine that went straight to his already interested groin. “But not if it causes dear Lord Staves distress.”
The marquis kept his mouth shut but went white about the lips. For the first time ever, Hadrian witnessed his father controlling his temper.
He struggled not to laugh out loud. “Excellent, perhaps we can harvest some. I sense that I shall need some vigor very soon.”
~ * ~
If she hadn’t known it was all a ruse, Lettice might have been taken in by Lord Hadrian’s blatant response to her implied invitation. Oh, he was interested—any man would be—but he didn’t want to be.
Nor did she. She had never liked using her wiles before, but in spite of herself, she’d enjoyed flirting with him. Perhaps it was because most of the men she’d been ordered to beguile had been unappealing in a number of ways. Lord Hadrian was most definitely an attractive man.
The door opened, and Lady Staves drifted in, followed by Miss Devoe.”
“Good morning, everyone,” she said. “One of the grooms just brought in the mail.” Lord Staves remained put, but the other three gentlemen stood to greet the ladies, Lord Hadrian more slowly than the others. Lettice cast a furtive glance at his breeches. She had to credit him with quick thinking. His napkin, casually held in one hand, concealed the affected area.
Definitely not lacking in manly vigor—a good thing, since he probably knew as well as she that sea holly was harvested in the autumn. He wouldn’t get to prove his manliness to Lettice, though. She would take great pleasure in leading him absolutely nowhere.
Yes, she would enjoy turning the tables on him and his father, but she wished she understood him a little better. In one way, he was like all other men. An erotic dream, a look, a touch, and he was smitten; she knew the signs. And yet, why had he publicly aggravated his father by bringing up the subject of Lord Valiant? This seemed unlike the man who had connived with Lord Staves last night to further her ruin.
Lady Staves passed the Morning Post and a letter to her husband, before heading for the sideboard. The marquis broke the seal and read the missive, frowning. Lettice tensed.
“Another fool historian wants access to the archives,” the marquis said. “A dashed nuisance, but not surprising; our records are amongst the best, if not the best, in all England.”
“Indeed they are,” said Lord Hadrian. “Who is he?”
“Fellow named Pilgrim, writing from an inn in Tunbridge Wells. Never heard of him, needless to say, but he claims to be affiliated with Christ Church—our college in Oxford, you know. Every son of Staves goes there after Eton.” He shot a glower at Lord Hadrian as if daring him to mention the one son who hadn’t.
Duty bound, Lettice said, “I’ve heard of him. He has written some interesting papers on medieval banquets.”
“In the unlikely event that I want your opinion, Miss Raleigh, I shall ask for it,” Lord Staves retorted. “I shall direct my secretary to write to Christ Church. The fellow will just have to kick his heels in Tunbridge Wells until I get an answer.”
Lettice’s heart sank. Doubtless the Master of the Incubi had planned for this eventuality, but how long might she be stuck here? She didn’t know how much bad behavior she could summon whilst staving Lord Hadrian off. She’d become competent at luring men into sharing confidences during the war, but she’d always extricated herself before it was too late.
She would stick to her guns as she always had. If matters went too far, she would simply leave, in which case Mr. Pilgrim would have to do without her help. Relieved at having made a decision, she took a sip of coffee.
“I’ve heard of Mr. Pilgrim,” Lord Hadrian said.
Lettice choked, spewing coffee on both the tablecloth and her shawl.
“I haven’t met him, but I know of him,” Lord Hadrian said, blotting the tablecloth and passing a napkin to Lettice, who couldn’t stop coughing.
“Tell me. Get on with it,” said his father.
“He gave a presentation at the Antiquarian Society, but unfortunately I couldn’t attend. Bainbridge speaks highly of him, Father. Whiffy Bainbridge, you
know—my old schoolfellow.”
“Is that so? Then I shall have to allow him access. Bainbridge’s father is a good friend of mine.”
Lord Hadrian took the coffee pot from his brother and refilled Lettice’s cup. “I can be ready in about an hour, if that suits you,” he said.
“Very well,” she said, casting a glance at him before taking refuge in her coffee. Lord Hadrian had indeed read the letter…but hadn’t mentioned it to his father, it seemed. Lord Staves might be playing a part, but she doubted it. He was barely containing his dislike of her, even to further his vile plot.
More important, why would Lord Hadrian pretend to know of a historian who didn’t exist?
CHAPTER FIVE
“You read my letter,” Miss Raleigh said the moment they reached the path that meandered toward the Thames estuary.
Hadrian had anticipated this conversation but not how she would broach the subject. She should be outraged or at the least disconcerted. Instead, she merely offered him that same half-smile...but it wasn’t reflected anymore in her eyes, which were cool and almost hard.
Good, because when she warmed up, he responded like a fool.
“Why did you read it?” she asked.
“You seemed upset, and I wished to know why.” Ruefully, he added, “Curiosity is my besetting sin.”
“It overrides good manners? Reading another’s private correspondence is hardly the mark of a gentleman.” She showed no anger, merely disdain.
“I don’t gamble, I don’t drink to excess, and I rarely fornicate. Surely I can be allowed this one small sin.”
“You will have to take that up with your Maker,” she said. “Why did you pretend to know of Mr. Pilgrim?”
“To help you out,” he answered promptly.
She gave a tiny snort. “That’s flummery, Lord Hadrian.”
“Not at all. If I understand correctly, you decided to stay a few more days because you are obliged to help him with some undisclosed task.”
She gave the same sensual shrug as yesterday, and once again it spoke to his libido. Perhaps he should find himself a mistress—although it was hard to imagine any woman as appealing as Lettice.
She said nothing. Did she realize that her unwillingness to speak about it made her secret all the more intriguing?
“Therefore the sooner he gets here, the sooner you can help him, and the sooner you can leave,” Hadrian said.
“A glib explanation.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m sure your curiosity drives you far more than any kindness to me.”
No, he really did want to do her a kindness, although his motives for that became more confusing by the minute. “Perhaps half and half.”
“And to what should I attribute your unexpected impertinence to your father this morning?” she asked.
He grinned. “It’s fun to annoy him. May I assume that was your motive in suddenly turning flirtatious?”
She laughed–a deep, rich chuckle that went straight to his loins. “You may. But if he sends me packing, I shall lose nothing. Surely you risk far more by antagonizing him.”
“It would take more than a little flirtation to make him throw me out. Disowning one son made him appear stern and upright. Disowning a second would make him seem a fool.”
“Particularly a son with such a pristine reputation,” she said with that faint smile. “But of course no lack of manly vigor.”
Once again, his libido took notice, but he mustn’t allow himself to be disconcerted. “No, I am merely discreet. My father’s views on manliness are–” He stopped himself; he shouldn’t discuss his father with this woman he hardly knew, no matter how much he wanted to.
Why did he want to? It couldn’t be because of this unexpected attraction. He’d had to stop himself from discussing his parents with her yesterday too, and that was before she’d become flirtatious. He was in the habit of keeping his feelings to himself, but he was comfortable talking to her. He enjoyed it very much. How strange and unexpected.
“Wild oats followed by marriage, with discreet liaisons thereafter,” she said. “It’s not an uncommon attitude.”
“No,” he said, “but why should everyone should be obliged to follow the same path? He–” Hadrian stopped himself again. “I shouldn’t discuss him.”
“How very proper you are,” she said. “In that way, you are your father’s son.”
“No, I’m not,” he retorted.
“No?” she asked, again with that faint, provocative smile.
He’d done his best to be proper—not a hypocrite like his father, but truly proper—but now, damn the woman, he would poke right back. “To return to your letter,” he said, “why was it signed with a phallic symbol?”
~ * ~
She felt herself pale; she sensed his immediate regret at upsetting her and his equally quick decision not to apologize and withdraw his impertinent question.
He’d taken offense at being compared to his father, when of course he was exactly like the marquis in that he was plotting her ruin. Worse perhaps, because he pretended to be open, well-intentioned, and sincere…
If she hadn’t overheard that conversation, she would be sure he was sincere.
“If I say I don’t know what you’re talking about, will you believe me?” she asked.
“Not a chance,” he said.
“I thought not.” She sighed. “In that case, I shan’t answer you. It’s none of your business.”
“But my curiosity is aroused,” he said. “Is it perhaps…the symbol of a secret society?”
Far too close to the truth. She forced a laugh. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
“It reminds me of something I’ve seen before, although I can’t recall where. Perhaps in the archives.”
“Unlikely.” And yet she shouldn’t be surprised. That Lord Valiant was an incubus meant there had probably been others amongst his ancestors, since the tendency ran in families. The symbol of the incubi wasn’t the same as that of the succubi, and versions of both varied, but the erect penis was an obvious link. Those earlier incubi and succubi should have destroyed the messages—that was one of the rules.
“I’ve been digging through them ever since I was a boy, so it’s likely I saw something years ago but didn’t record it. Since my father’s purpose in having me go through the archives is to glorify the family, he wants me to burn anything to our discredit.” He sniffed fastidiously. “Involvement in a secret society based on carnal activities would certainly qualify.”
She clamped her mouth shut on a retort. He made the gifts of the incubi and succubi sound vile and degrading. Which they were at times, but certainly not always. Succubi and incubi had been instrumental in exposing many traitors and spies, both in England and on the Continent. Not only that, they could bring great pleasure, even healing. Just last Christmas, Lord Valiant and his wife Lucie, a succubus, had worked to bring another couple together, largely through erotic dreams.
“Fortunately, my father never looks at the archives, so he has no idea what they really contain,” Lord Hadrian said. “I have never burned anything I found there. Archives must be preserved, not destroyed according to whim.”
Ordinarily she would agree with him, but these particular archives must not come to light. She dare not protest nor let her consternation show. He had guessed most of it already, and she mustn’t give him reason to guess more. She raised languid brows. “How fascinating, but your family’s archives have nothing to do with my correspondence.”
“No?”
He was giving her a taste of her own medicine, but she didn’t have to take it. “No, how could they?” She stopped and turned. “Since it’s not the season to harvest sea holly and we both know it, let’s go back to the house.”
“Very well,” he said. “I’m eager to get to the archives. If you won’t assuage my curiosity, they will.”
She couldn’t stop him from going through the archives, but she made a point of watching him for the rest of the day. It was her duty t
o find any missives signed with phallic symbols and burn them.
She thought he might ask her more questions, which she dreaded, or show her one of his finds, but he did neither. Instead, he went about his work, plied her with tea and macaroons, and was once again his polite, civilized self. This seemed strange considering his mission to seduce her, but perhaps he had changed his mind or was playing an even deeper game than at first.
He was certainly more perceptive than she’d thought. She wished he weren’t so curious, but she couldn’t fault him for it. She wished she didn’t want to like him, but she couldn’t help herself. The false Lord Hadrian was a charming man in whose honesty and sincerity she foolishly longed to believe.
Ah, well—only a few more days and she would never have to see him again.
In the meantime, a little more sensual torment was in order. She would send another dream. Lord Hadrian would respond to it, flirt with her some more, enrage his father further, and end up frustrated when Lettice gave him the cold shoulder.
Eventually, everyone went up to bed. Once Lord Hadrian had had enough time to fall asleep, she closed her eyes and conjured up an erotic dream more powerful and explicit than the night before. She visualized a blatant invitation, bared breasts and a touch of thigh, her hands seeking the fall in his breeches, a hint of desperation in the way she caressed his erect member. Her legs parted, pleading for his touch.
A torrent of desire washed over her as she let the dream fly. Aghast, she opened her eyes. What was wrong with her? She never lost control, certainly never became aroused. She never let a dream approach the point of penetration either, for fear it would turn sour. Protecting her virginity at all costs for so long now made her panic at the thought of losing it, even in her imagination. No man enjoyed an erotic dream where the seductress turned into a clawing, screaming fury.
Well, perhaps some did. She had known at least one of those.
But Lord Hadrian wasn’t that sort. He would now be busy satisfying himself by dwelling on the images in the erotic dream, and then he would fall asleep again. She would send him another, even more vivid dream in the small hours. With less sleep and too much arousal, he might forget about being curious—and this time, she wouldn’t lose control.
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