A Tempting Ruin (GreenFord Waters #3)

by Kristin Vayden

  Now if she could only control the fluttering of her heart whenever she thought of the handsome man downstairs… the very gentleman she had to avoid at all costs.

  Especially when all she wanted to do was the exact opposite.

  CHAPTER THREE

  LORD NEVILLE TUGGED ON HIS CRAVAT as Trenton opened the door to the guestroom he'd be using while staying with Lady Southridge. The room was neat and clean, finished in navy and sky blues with a large bed dominating the corner of the room. Light spilled through sheer curtains that were accented by heavy draperies on either side of the windows. There was no fire in the hearth, but the room was tolerably comfortable in spite of that fact.

  "Will there be anything else, my lord?" Trenton's voice broke through Neville's inspection of his lodgings.

  "No." He turned to the elderly man.

  The butler narrowed his eyes slightly, regarding him coolly.

  Neville raised an eyebrow in query. But Trenton simply huffed and left.

  All his life, Lord Neville had thought of butlers as emotionless, opinionless, and invisible. Of course, he been lucky to find the only one in England that was capable of intense hatred. Of him.

  Bloody blessed day.

  His misfortune continued into the next several days as his unfruitful search proved more and more vexing with each passing moment. He had scoured the gardens, investigated the stables, and asked servants, all the while pretending to hunt the countryside. The whole bloody farce was wretched, yet he saw no other option available.

  Yet.

  He was beginning to think this Bev character was a bloody ghost.

  Or simply part of Lady Southridge's imagination.

  Which was why he'd demand to see her.

  It was supper, and, as was polite, Neville joined his hostess for the meal. Upon making mention that he'd never met the illusive Bev, he tried a more direct approach.

  "Lady Southridge, I do believe it is imperative that I meet with your lady's maid, especially since she was in London at the time of Beatrix's abduction."

  "Lord Neville…" Lady Southridge barely glanced up from her soup. "…I do believe we've already discussed the shy nature of my lady's maid. I'll not have you interrogating her," she replied succinctly.

  "It's a matter of great import, Lady Southridge."

  "Do you think I have not already questioned the poor girl?" Lady Southridge's green eyes flashed irritation as she speared him with a gaze.

  "Of course you have. I wouldn't expect any less. However… you may not have asked the correct questions."

  "And you would?"

  "Undoubtedly."

  "The answer is still no."

  "Are you hiding something?" Neville asked, his tone steely smooth.

  "How dare you accuse me, in my house—"

  "I did not accuse, I simply inquired," Neville replied, keeping his tone polite.

  Lady Southridge glared at him then set her spoon down. "Very well. You'll meet Bev, and afterward I'll expect you to continue your search… elsewhere. Agreed?" she asked, placing her hands on her lap, her gaze direct.

  "Agreed." He lifted his napkin and set it aside, nodding once. Finally. He took a deep breath. "I'll look forward to making her acquaintance. Tonight." Neville offered a smile toward Lady Southridge, but she didn't return it; rather, took a long sip of wine.

  Which, to him, spoke volumes.

  "BLOODY HELL."

  Beatrix about dropped her book as Lady Southridge burst into the room swearing like a sailor.

  "Pardon?"

  "You may never speak those words, my dear. Pretend that I did not either," Lady Southridge spoke sternly as she strode to Beatrix' wardrobe and began rummaging through it.

  "Can I help you?" Beatrix stood while carefully evaluating the odd behavior of Lady Southridge.

  "Yes, no… wait."

  Beatrix felt her mouth drop open as Lady Southridge withdrew a deep mud-colored dress. "I do not remember that…" she replied as Lady Southridge studied the ugly garment approvingly.

  "Oh, yes… I know. I had Molly put it in here just in case. I do think it will be perfect. Here, put it on." Lady Southridge brought the dress closer, and, with each step, the hideous nature of the dress grew.

  "Have I no other option?" Beatrix asked carefully, feeling the need to take a step back with every step Lady Southridge took toward her.

  "No. We have no other choice. Lord Neville is all but insinuating that I'm hiding something from him. All because you—the Bev-you—has not made an appearance. And, while I'm perfectly fine with him questioning my sanity, the bloody man won't leave till he sees you! So, see you, he must. Now, turn. I'll ring for Molly, but I'll get us started."

  Beatrix closed her eyes and turned. After the tinkling of the bell, she felt the chilled fingers of Lady Southridge begin to tug at the buttons on the back of her day dress.

  "My lady! Allow me to assist," Molly's voice interrupted a few minutes later as Lady Southridge was just finishing.

  In short order, the dreadful garment was buttoned up. When Molly finished, Beatrix glared at her reflection in the mirror. While the cut of the dress wasn't atrocious, the color certainly was. The hue was the same exact shade of prune syrup if it were mixed with mud. Neither a purple nor a brown, the dress simply made the statement of ugly without any effort.

  "Perfect." Lady Southridge breathed.

  "Odd, but I have the exact opposite reaction," Beatrix shot back.

  "Now… Molly, do you have the silvering?"

  "Pardon?" Beatrix felt her eyes widen. This was not part of the plan. "I'm going to be grey?"

  "No, dear!" Lady Southridge replied with a cheerful grin.

  Beatrix sighed heavily in relief.

  "You're simply going to have a few distinguishing streaks of silver."

  "No. No, I refuse." Beatrix picked up the hem of her skirts and began to walk away from Molly as she approached her with some sort of cream and a brush.

  "You must! I said you were old!"

  "That was not on the character description!" Beatrix replied, taking evasive steps from the approaching Molly.

  "Oh good! You memorized it then," Lady Southridge replied, a pleased tone to her voice.

  "Of course I did. I've had nothing to do for the past three days!"

  "Beatrix… he will recognize you immediately if we don't do somethi—"

  "I'll wear a veil," she spoke in desperation. And it truly was brilliant because there was no way in heaven or earth that she wanted Lord Neville to see her in this dress.

  "Oh… a veil would work nicely. You may put away the silvering, Molly."

  The maid placed the lid on the container, but Beatrix didn't take a step toward either woman till the vial was put away. Just in case.

  "You'll need to lower your voice as well," Lady Southridge instructed as she pulled out a sheer layer of black veil from a trunk in the corner of the room.

  "What else have you hidden in my room?" Beatrix asked skeptically.

  "Oh, this and that."

  "Ah." Beatrix eyed the veil and then glanced about the room.

  "We must make haste. He's expecting us."

  "Why so soon?" Beatrix asked as they arranged the veil about her face.

  "Because it lends the air of transparency."

  "Says the woman wrapping a veil around my head," Beatrix replied with a hint of sarcasm.

  Lady Southridge smacked her shoulder. "If I made him wait till tomorrow, then he'd suspect something—"

  "Because this dress and that veil aren't a disguise at all."

  "Impertinent child! Let me finish. If we have you come down to meet him on demand, it makes it seem like there's nothing we're trying to hide. Now, let me take a good look at you."

  Beatrix sighed and waited.

  "Very good." Lady Southridge tugged on her hand and led her out of the room.

  The hall was much darker with the thick veil over her face. The material was sheer enough that she could see through it but dark
enough that her features were hidden in shadow. Hopefully, that would be enough.

  "He's waiting in the red parlor," Lady Southridge spoke in hushed tones. "And remember, don't speak unless absolutely necessary… and then either whisper, and I'll translate, or lower your voice."

  "Yes, ma'am," Beatrix spoke contritely, like a proper lady's companion. In a way, it was thrilling to play a part, to be in on the secret; it helped alleviate the tension the truth of the situation lent.

  As they approached the door, Lady Southridge turned, studied Beatrix's veil once more, then opened the door.

  "Ah, Lord Neville, may I present my lady's companion, Mrs. Beverly Blithe."

  Beatrix held her breath. Even through the veil, she could easily discern the cool slate-grey of his eyes, the smart cut of his evening jacket, and the way it accentuated his broad shoulders.

  As if reliving the memory of their shape, her hands heated and prickled with awareness, with the intense desire to feel him once more.

  He stood and walked over to her, his gaze taking her in, studying her; from the top of her head to the base of her dress.

  The bloody, blasted, hideous dress.

  That the man didn't wince once was truly notable.

  "Ah, we meet at last, Mrs. Blithe." He held out his hand, and Beatrix took it, her body immediately responding with a flash of heat, a flicker of desire.

  "She prefers Bev." Lady Southridge interrupted Beatrix's moment, and she tugged at her hand, pulling it from his grasp.

  "Very well. Bev, do you speak?" he asked with a tilt to his head. He placed his hands behind his back in a casual manner, but his eyes gave him away.

  He knew.

  Or he thought he knew.

  Dear Lord, how was she ever going to pull this off?

  "I speak," Beatrix murmured lowly, barely resisting the urge to clear her throat from the awkward effort of communicating in such a low tone.

  Upon hearing her voice, a smirk flashed across his face.

  "I'm sure Lady Southridge has communicated to you the reason for my visit here at Breckridge House?" he asked then turned to pace a few steps away.

  Beatrix nodded as his sharp gaze flickered to her.

  "I feel compelled to ask if you have seen Beatrix Lamont. It is of the utmost importance that I find her." He took at meaningful step toward her.

  Beatrix shook her head once more.

  "I do apologize for pulling you from your evening, Mrs. — Bev." He nodded once and then turned to Lady Southridge.

  "Thank you for so quickly attending to my request. Since I have nothing further to do here at Breckridge House, I do believe I'll take my leave in the morning. Thank you for your hospitality." He bowed once and then left.

  Lady Southridge watched his departure then turned to Beatrix, fanning herself as if greatly relieved. They waited in silence for a minute or two then returned to Beatrix's room.

  "That was unbelievably simple! I cannot believe how well that worked!" Lady Southridge was all but giddy with enthusiasm, her relief palpable.

  "Indeed," Beatrix agreed. But something was off.

  Lord Neville was far too… aware of her in the room for him to make such a quick judgment on the negative.

  All that night, even amidst Lady Southridge's constant affirmation that they had fooled Lord Neville, Beatrix felt the nagging sensation that they were missing something.

  Her tension eased somewhat when Molly notified her of his departure the next day. She even went as far as watching his chestnut gelding leave the stables. Yet peace was not fully hers, so she decided to take solace in her favorite place in all of Breckridge Estate.

  The orangery.

  Lady Southridge had offered to accompany her, yet truthfully, she simply wanted some solitude.

  So, after securing her bonnet, she made the short jaunt to the welcoming building, inhaling the rich scent of growing botany within. She passed several rows of orange trees, studying their green foliage.

  "Good afternoon." Lord Neville's voice broke through the serene silence of the orangery, startling Beatrix and causing her heart to practically take flight. Quickly she spun to face the man speaking, a hand covering her heart as she willed the racing cadence to abate.

  His grey eyes took her in with a calculating glint as he lazily stood from his perch on the alcove bench.

  There was nothing for it; he knew. It was useless to pretend otherwise. "Hello, Lord Neville. Were the theatrics to your liking?" Beatrix asked with a saucy lilt to her tone as she watched him close the distance.

  He clapped slowly, drawing out the gesture. "It might have fooled me…" he replied offhandedly as he shrugged.

  "But?" Beatrix asked.

  "It was your hands."

  "Pardon?" Beatrix asked, confused as she lifted her hands and inspected them.

  "When you're nervous, you tend to touch your fingertips to your thumb in succession. It's a telling habit."

  "I do?" Beatrix asked as she studied her hands once more then turned her gaze to the man before her.

  "Yes."

  "How did you know—"

  "The library."

  Beatrix caught her breath then released it slowly, but she could tell by the spark in his gaze that he hadn't missed her reaction.

  Damn the man.

  The library… it was nothing. Rather, it should have been nothing.

  "Oh." She tried to recover.

  His amused chuckle caused her to narrow her eyes, but, rather than show any remorse, his grin grew.

  Becoming more devastatingly alluring by the moment.

  Heaven help her, but she was helpless against the man. She shouldn't be. There had been just a few stolen moments shared… nothing lasting.

  Nothing that should create such a draw.

  But it was there, nonetheless.

  "You're doing it again." He glanced down to her fingers then met her gaze once more.

  Sure enough, she felt her fingers pause as she realized he was indeed correct. How was it that she had never noticed that about herself, yet he, a… well, not a total stranger… had memorized such a nuance?

  "Be that as it may…" Beatrix straightened her shoulders and took a few steps to the left, avoiding his direct approach. "…what is it that you want?" she asked in a clipped tone.

  "The truth," he replied softly, tilting his head.

  "Concerning?" Beatrix asked, taking another side step toward a leafy orange tree.

  "Concerning why you're here, of course."

  "I would think it's obvious," Beatrix replied loftily as she wound around the orange tree's trunk, keeping an eye on the approaching lord.

  Lord Neville clicked his tongue and shook his head, all the while sending her a mischievous grin that melted her insides. "Miss Lamont, we both know that I'm after far more than the obvious… or, in this case… what you wish for me to believe. I'll warn you that I'm not so easily deterred."

  "Oh, is that so?" Beatrix sent him an arch look. "It would seem that you are quite… easily startled," she shot back.

  His gaze narrowed as he paused in his approach. "What made you create such an assumption?"

  "Why, the library of course." She bit back a grin at the irritated flash in his gaze upon turning the tables back on him.

  "The library? Tell me, Miss Lamont, was that before or after I compromised you?" he asked with a dark grin.

  "You — oh! You know very well that—"

  "That if any matron of society had stumbled into our cozy little interlude you would have been ruined… which was why I walked away. Walked… not ran… as you just implied."

  Beatrix bit her lip and glanced away, hating that he was right and had used her shortsighted attempt at victory to turn her own wit against her.

  Miserable man.

  "You did leave… the next day, that is," she reminded him, watching his expression as it was fixed upon her.

  "I did," he replied then took another step toward her.

  She placed the tree between them
but peeked around the trunk. "Why?" she asked, unable to meet his regard as she spoke.

  "Why?" he repeated softly.

  Beatrix swallowed her cursed pride and glanced up, compelled by her curiosity to be brave. "Why did you leave so abruptly?"

  "For being so expertly compromised—"

  "Oh bother." Beatrix rolled her eyes and stepped away, irritated, and gave her back to the lord. "It was a kiss—"

  "Perhaps for you…" Lord Neville's hand grasped hers and halted her recession.

  Just as she remembered, his hand was warm, enveloping hers completely. A shiver of delighted expectation ripped through her as she slowly turned to face him. Blinking, she waited as his gaze roamed her features and settled on her lips.

  "As I was saying… for being so expertly compromised…" Amusement danced in his expression. "…you're truly innocent. I do believe I will have to remedy that," he whispered as he leaned in and brushed a whisper of a kiss across her jaw.

  It was as if a thousand butterflies took wing in her belly as she caught the masculine scent of his skin so close to hers. She should reprimand him for taking such liberties…

  But she rather liked that he was.

  He withdrew and studied her, as if asking if he should continue. Reaching up, Beatrix stroked his jaw, memorizing the texture of his slight stubble as it tugged at the fabric of her glove.

  Without hesitation, he pulled her in, meeting her mouth in a kiss that was as intense as it was powerful. Strong arms enveloped her, drawing her into the lee of his commanding presence. His kiss demanded she return the passion, and, without a thought, she kissed him back, instinctively. His flavor was familiar and igniting, comforting and compelling all at once. The soft scent of the orange grove swirled around her, adding to the magic of the moment. His teeth tugged at her lower lip as he pressed against her, reminding her of the power in his arms. Reaching up, she allowed her fingers the delight of exploring the planes and ridges of his shoulders, adding to the attraction already smoldering within.

  His fingers traced up her arms, teasing the ribbon at her neckline then lacing behind her head as if removing himself from a sweet temptation. His kiss gentled as he continued to playfully nip at her lips. Beatrix held him close, losing herself in the moment, committing every nuance to memory as she traced his lower lip with her tongue as he lingered.