Of these men, Miles St. John was the only one Luc had any liking for, and if not for the company the man kept, he thought they might have been, if not friends, friendly acquaintances. St. John, while part of Padgett’s circle of friends, had always been cordial and polite and held himself at arm’s length from some of the greatest excesses of vice practiced by the others. That St. John was here now made him thoughtful. There was sharp intelligence behind those green eyes and Luc knew from experience that St. John was nobody’s fool, but those traits could be used for good or evil... . Was it possible that St. John was the real power behind Nolles? It was a disturbing idea.
No introductions were necessary, all of the men had all been Charles’s friends and Gillian and Sophia had met them previously; Luc knew the gentlemen from his time in London. Stanley had a passing acquaintance with them, and until recently had emulated them, but that was before closer acquaintance with Canfield had shown him the error of his thinking.
Stanley had not seen Canfield since the fellow had departed High Tower, and the stiffness between the two men was noticeable. Luc gave Stanley credit for being polite, but aloof; Stanley clearly wanted nothing to do with Canfield. The reaction of the ladies was precisely the same and Luc’s mouth tightened when, not at all rebuffed by his cool reception, Canfield sidled his horse next to Gillian’s.
Canfield smiled and leaned over to whisper in her ear. She flushed and glanced away, her gaze meeting Luc’s. The uneasiness and revulsion in those lovely eyes was obvious, and Luc reacted without thought, swinging his horse around so sharply that the hip of his horse bumped the shoulder of the mount Canfield was riding. The collision between the two horses nearly unseated Canfield and gave him something to think about other than pressing his attentions where they weren’t wanted.
Canfield’s horse shied violently and half-reared; it took Canfield a moment to control the plunging animal. By the time he had the horse under control, Luc had inserted his mount between Canfield and Gillian. His face red, Canfield glared at Luc. “Watch where you’re going—you damn near caused an accident,” he snarled.
“Forgive me,” Luc said coolly, “I did not realize you were there.”
Embarrassed, Canfield burst out, “Bloody Frenchman! I’ve a good mind to—”
“Now gentlemen,” interrupted St. John smoothly, “let us not squabble in front of the ladies. No one was hurt”—he smiled at Canfield—“except for perhaps your pride. It was an accident.” An edge to his voice, he added, “Let it go.”
Grumbling, Canfield moved his horse to the edge of the group. The other gentlemen crowded forward to flirt with Gillian and Sophia.
“Such a shame,” drawled Padgett, his icy blue eyes lingering on Gillian’s bosom, “that you have hidden yourself away in the country since even before dear Charles’s death. London is poorer for the lack of your delightful presence.”
“ ’Tis true,” chimed in St. John, his lean face crinkling attractively when he smiled. “This past Season was a dead bore. However, if a pair of such entrancing ladies as yourselves would have graced the soirees and balls ...”
Sophia laughed. “And you, sir, have kissed the Blarney stone once too often.”
Green eyes smiling, St. John clutched his heart. “Nay, beautiful lady, how can you say so? I speak most sincerely. You have wounded me.”
Gillian gave an amused snort at the exchange, and St. John’s attention swung to her. “Do you doubt my words, fair lady?”
Gillian shook her head. “Oh no, dear sir, it would never do for me to contradict such a gentleman as yourself.” The amusement in her eyes belied the demure tone.
St. John studied her for a moment, thinking that she looked quite fetching in her amber velvet riding habit... . His gaze sharpened and he said slowly, “That’s a lovely brooch you’re wearing. A family piece, perhaps?”
Gillian flushed and the amusement died from her eyes. “No. My husband gave it to me shortly before he was ...” She swallowed. “Before he died.”
“Did he now? I wonder where he purchased it.”
“Good Gad,” drawled Stanton. “Have done, St. John. Can’t you see you’ve brought up a distressing memory for the lady?”
St. John immediately launched into an apology that Gillian politely brushed aside, and while she was grateful for Stanton’s interruption, she shivered when his dark eyes moved over her. Like Padgett, his gaze lingered a little too long here and there, making her feel as if she was half-naked. Canfield continued to ogle her and she was relieved when Luc brought the chance meeting to a close. She liked St. John, but Padgett was irritating, Canfield made her uneasy, and Stanton ...
Eager to put the gentlemen behind her, Gillian kicked her horse into a gallop and followed closely behind Luc as he led them from the road and into the rolling countryside. Sophia and Stanley were right behind her.
It was a cold unpleasant ride through the falling dusk. Within minutes it began to rain in earnest again and by the time the lights of High Tower appeared, it was a shivering and wet quartet that rode into the courtyard. Luc would have departed at that point, but surprising himself and everyone else, it was Stanley who said earnestly, “Darkness is not far off and with this storm, it would be madness for you not to accept our hospitality. I suggest that you dine with us and if necessary stay the night.” He smiled, the first natural smile he’d ever given Luc, and added, “Besides, Uncle Silas would have my head if I allowed you to ride away in this weather.”
Luc laughed, thinking that Gillian’s brother might have some redeeming qualities after all. “Thank you,” Luc said. He cast an eye at the blowing rain and added, “I will accept the chance to warm myself by the fire. If the weather continues as it is, I may have to avail myself of your kind offer of a bed.”
Silas was delighted at Luc’s arrival with his nephew and nieces, and when Stanley mentioned his offer of a night’s hospitality, Silas quickly seconded the idea.
“Of course, you’ll stay,” Silas said warmly. The matter settled, Silas turned his attention to his nieces. Sophia was her usual handsome self and Gillian looked fetching, her trim figure accented by the military air of her riding habit. Gillian was laughing at something Stanley said, her eyes gleaming almost gold between her dark lashes, her cheeks rosy from the cold, and noting Luc’s eyes fixed on her vivid face, he smiled to himself. With the gaze of a connoisseur Silas studied Gillian once more, deciding that the topaz and diamond pin nestled against her bosom was the perfect accent. “That’s a pretty bauble you’re wearing, my dear,” he commented.
Her smile fading, Gillian said, “Thank you. Charles gave it to me.” Picking up the skirt of her riding habit she murmured, “And now if you will excuse me, I’ll go change.”
“That’s an excellent idea,” said Sophia and followed her from the room.
The two younger gentlemen also departed, Stanley to change for dinner, Luc to be shown to his room for the night. Luc had no other clothes with him, but a robe was quickly found and while he warmed himself in front of the flames on the hearth in his room, his outer clothes were whisked away to be brushed and dried by the fire in the kitchen. When his clothes were returned, Luc redressed and joined Stanley and Silas downstairs minutes ahead of the ladies.
Silas noticed Stanley’s change of attitude toward Luc immediately. Throughout the evening, with satisfaction, he watched the interplay between the two younger men, noting that Stanley no longer bristled at every word Luc said and that his manner was more open and friendly. Luc was, of course, Silas thought fondly, his usual entertaining and charming self.
Silas found it a most informative evening. The interplay between Luc and Stanley was not the only thing that caught his attention. Gillian’s covert glances at Luc when she thought no one was paying attention inflamed hope in his frail chest—as did the way Luc’s gaze strayed repeatedly in her direction... . He was an old man, but he remembered well those heady first days of falling in love, the uncertainty, the sudden thrill when eyes met, the anxiety
and the urgent yearning that was never far away. He smiled. Unless he missed his guess, Gillian and Luc were a good distance down that rose-laden path.
A match between his younger niece and Luc was Silas’s secret and most longed-for desire. The idea hadn’t occurred to him full-blown, but as he’d come to like and know Luc, the notion had crossed his mind that it was a pity that Gillian hadn’t married someone like his young friend, instead of that bastard Charles.
That thought, once planted in Silas’s brain, didn’t go away and over the months, the more he’d considered it, the more he thought it was a perfect solution for both Gillian and Luc. Luc, because of his birth, and Gillian because of that blasted scandal, were alike in many respects. Society tolerated them, but Luc would never be welcomed into any of the great families of the ton and those same families would be appalled at a marriage between Gillian and one of their members.
Luc’s relationship to Viscount Joslyn gave him a position and entry denied many in his situation but it didn’t change the fact that he was born a bastard and had made his way in the world by his wits. Silas nodded. Luc had done well and while he might be more acceptable these days as the owner of a fine estate, it was unlikely any of the formidable matrons and high-stomached lords of the ton would allow him to marry into their families.
No, Luc and Gillian were a perfect match as far as Silas was concerned, and it was apparent, at least to him, that they were very much attracted to one another. Of course there was that troubling scandal and gossip surrounding Gillian, but he suspected that if Luc set his sights on her, his young friend wouldn’t let a little thing like murder stand in his way. He grinned. A lesser man, yes, but not Luc. If he loved her, Luc would take her and the devil be damned! Luc would also, Silas decided shrewdly, move heaven and earth to prove her innocence.
Silas’s gaze moved to Gillian. Luc would sweep away any obstacles in his path, but the problem, and Silas recognized that there was a problem, the problem was going to be his dear niece. His mouth tightened. Damn Charles Dashwood! The bastard had taken an innocent young woman wildly in love with him and twisted and trampled over those tender emotions. Offering her to Winthrop! Beneath the table, Silas’s veined hands clenched into fists. By God! Besides any other crimes that could be laid at his feet, for that dastardly act alone Charles wanted killing.
It wasn’t surprising that after Charles, Gillian was mistrustful of men and had no desire to remarry—and that scoundrel Canfield, he thought disgustedly, had done nothing to endear the male sex to her. Silas saw the problem clearly. On the surface Charles and Luc were painfully similar, both men being blessed with a quick charm, a handsome face and a clever mind. And both were gamblers... . Would Gillian, he wondered, be able to put Charles’s cruel and careless indifference behind her and see that beyond generalities, the two men were nothing alike? Would she realize that with Luc she’d always be treasured and safe? Or would she allow the past to destroy what might be her only chance for happiness?
Chapter 14
What had been merely unpleasant weather turned into a snarling storm and when he retired around midnight, Luc was lulled to sleep by the sound of rain and wind lashing against the walls of High Tower. Once the storm passed, a few hours before dawn, the absence of sound woke him—that and a particularly vivid dream of Gillian writhing naked beneath him.
His body wound tight, knowing that sleep would prove elusive, Luc cursed, threw back the covers and, reaching for the borrowed robe, slipped into it. The garment fit snug through his broad shoulders, the sleeves stopped above his wrists and the hem hit him above his ankles, but it covered his nakedness. Tying the belt around his waist, he walked over to the dying fire and tossed on a few pieces of wood. Remembering that Meacham had pointed out the decanter of brandy and snifter that had been left for him on a small table near the bed, he walked back and poured himself a snifter.
Spotty moonlight filtered into the room from the French doors that opened onto a narrow balcony, and taking his brandy with him, he opened one of the doors and stepped outside. The night air was cool and damp, but not so cold and wet that it drove him back into the warmth of the bedroom. Clouds scudded across the sky, and with a sea-scented breeze blowing in from the Channel ruffling his black hair, Luc stood near the stone balustrade that framed the balcony and sipped his brandy.
The trailing clouds obscured the moon, but there was enough light filtering through for Luc to make out shapes and shadows. The balcony on which he stood was one of several at the rear of the house, and he guessed each accessed a bedroom; a five- or six-foot gap between the balconies gave a measure of privacy.
As the minutes passed, the raw need that fueled the most erotic dream he’d ever experienced ebbed—as did his fierce erection—but the image of Gillian’s face, flushed with desire, her soft mouth rosy and swollen from his kisses, did not.
This evening, with Gillian unbearably near, had been an exercise in torture, he decided. The candlelight had caressed her pale shoulders rising above the sage-green silk gown she wore, making Luc wonder how sweet her skin would taste at that tempting juncture where her neck and shoulder met, and her scent ... All throughout the evening, Gillian’s perfume, a blend of pinks and peonies, tickled his nose, and erotic images of lying her down naked amidst a garden of summer blooms flooded through his brain. It had indeed been an evening of torture. Torture to sit and smile and act the part of a gentleman when every nerve, every instinct, demanded he snatch the tantalizing sprite from her home and family and, using her body as he willed, ease the hunger that clawed through him. At least, he reminded himself, he’d been able to control that mad impulse. He grimaced. Barely.
He took a slow swallow of his brandy, considering his obsession with Silas’s niece. There were two solutions, he finally concluded, and neither one pleased him. He could marry her, take as his wife, a woman suspected of murdering her husband. Or he could take her to bed, seduce the niece of his good friend. Diantre! What in hell was he going to do about Gillian Dashwood?
Feeling as near bewitched as he’d ever been in his life, Luc scowled. The honorable thing would be to marry her, he admitted, but he balked at shackling himself to a woman suspected of murdering her first husband. A question popped into his mind. If she had murdered her husband, why, he wondered, had she done so?
An arrested expression on his handsome face, he stared into the night. Emily and Cornelia had repeated what they knew of the affair, both admitting that it was only gossip. Gossip that had credence in fact: Charles Dashwood was dead and he’d been murdered. But had his wife murdered him? Was it possible her story of being struck on the head after finding Dashwood dead was true?
Luc’s lips twisted. Ah, Christ! The woman had bewitched him. Here he was making excuses for her, grasping at straws. Her poor murdered husband had probably made excuses for her, too, he thought disgustedly, right up until the moment she’d stuck a knife in his ribs. But that didn’t change Luc’s basic problem. He wanted her. And he suspected he was willing to risk his life to have her.
Moodily he stared out into the darkness. There was another solution, he admitted finally; he could simply walk away from the temptation Gillian presented. Cut the connection to Silas and the inhabitants of High Tower. He scowled. He had too much fondness for Silas to do that. His friend would be hurt and wouldn’t understand why Luc no longer came to call.
Lost in his thoughts, he was unaware of the click of a door as it opened onto the balcony next to his, nor did the movement of a slight figure drifting toward the edge of the balcony catch his eye. It was the scent ... the scent of pinks and peonies that broke his concentration.
At the first whiff of that evocative scent, the image of Gillian as she’d been in his dream, naked and writhing beneath him, leaped into his mind, and he was instantly and infuriatingly erect once again. Certain the scent teasing him was his imagination and proof of how far gone he was, he snarled, “Zut! I am mad.”
The feminine gasp from the next balcony spun him
in that direction. His breath caught. Standing on the twin to his balcony, wearing a filmy white garment, was Gillian. It was too dark to see her face clearly, but the small form and the cloud of dark hair swirling around the slender shoulders identified her—that and the scent he thought of as hers and hers alone.
Since the moment she’d laid eyes on him at The Crown, Gillian had been painfully aware of Luc Joslyn. She tried to ignore him, tried to ignore the sudden thump in her heart, the leap of her pulse whenever their eyes met, but to no avail. He fascinated her, and though she fought against it, she could not keep her eyes off him. It didn’t matter whether it was that lean, dark face, the broad shoulders or the elegantly muscular body—they all held her in thrall. All through the evening she’d endured the forbidden images of his features taut with desire and his beautifully masculine hands fondling her breasts before sliding lower... .
Her whole body aroused, her nipples peaking beneath her chemise and gown, heat and moisture pooling between her thighs, she’d bid everyone good night and fled to her rooms. But there had been no escape—he’d come to her in dreams, and when she’d woken with the memory of his mouth on hers and his big body locked with hers, she hadn’t been surprised.
What did you expect? she demanded, as she’d left her bed and shrugged into a lacy wrapper. That you’d dream of angels and cherubs after an evening spent being seduced by the mere presence of Luc Joslyn? She snorted. She couldn’t even blame him. Not once had he done anything but treat her politely. Damn him!
Knowing that sleep was impossible, and glad that the storm had passed, she pushed open her French doors and stepped out into the night. The breeze cooled her cheeks and ruffled her hair as she walked to the edge of the balcony. Leaning against the stone parapet, she stared blindly into the darkness.
Until he’d spoken, she’d been no more aware of Luc on the next balcony than he had been of her. To find the object of her dreams standing only feet away sent a wave of color flying over her face. Across the space that separated them, she stared at him, her lips half-parted in shock and despair.
Desire Becomes Her Page 23