Wild Desire

by Lori Brighton

  Yet Colin didn’t want to wake. To wake would mean accepting the fact that he would feel like hell. No, sleep was good. Very, very good.

  A long and loud sigh grated his nerves and tore him from the dredges of unconsciousness.

  With a groan, he rolled onto his side. Something poked him in the ass. Something hard and sharp. Slowly, he lifted his lids. Light stabbed his irises, momentarily blinding him. Sand had been thrown into his eyes; it was the only way to explain the grainy feel. He groaned again and blinked until the ceiling came into focus. A stain marred the white plaster, threatening to leak water onto his head. He frowned. He was in the parlor, on the settee. Why wasn’t he upstairs in his bed?

  “Uh-hmmm,” someone cleared her throat.

  Yes, it was a her. The sound was too delicate for a man. He turned his head, although the movement sent the roomspinning. A woman stood next to him, wearing a soft blue gown of the European style with a tight bodice and flared skirt that ended at trim ankles securely strapped in black boots. One boot, which was tapping annoyingly against the floorboards. Pale, delicate hands were folded neatly in front of a narrow waist.

  Slowly, his gaze traveled up to her chest, barely noticeable under the high collar of her bodice. He frowned. Something was wrong with the way she was dressed … too prim … too proper. Further still his attention moved to a long, elegant neck, up to a pointed chin. Finally, he settled on her lips, lips that hinted at lushness, but were currently pressed into a tight line.

  He blinked, taking in the entire picture of her. Dark tendrils hung around a pale Botticelli face. While eerie amber eyes were surrounded by thick, black lashes. He sucked in a breath. For a moment, he thought he stared at Sarah. But no, Sarah’s eyes were blue. Her body shorter, fuller. He shook the unease from his mind.

  This woman … well, she certainly wasn’t his usual pick; they often looked much more delighted the morning after. Still, a woman was a woman, and with her hair loose about her shoulders and her lips relaxed and soft, he knew she’d be beautiful.

  A smile tugged at his mouth but he could manage to lift only one corner. “Morning, darlin’.”

  He didn’t think it possible but her lips pressed even more tightly, hiding them altogether. Who in God’s name was she? Perhaps she was the new maid he’d ordered last week, although he’d been expecting a native. Was she a captain’s wife down on her luck?

  “Excuse me,” she demanded, her English accent so sharp it could have cracked the plaster.

  He winked, trying to lighten the mood. “Sure, why?”

  She sighed again and looked heavenward as if praying for patience. “You’re lying on my book. I’d like it back.”

  He lowered his gaze. From under his tan breeches, he could just see the top of a novel.

  The Lifecycle of the Butterfly.

  “Sounds delightful.” The reason for the sharp pain. His confusion mounted, as did his interest. What sort of maid read about butterflies? “I wondered what that was.” He rolled onto his side, his back to her, and looked over his shoulder. “Go on.”

  Her lips parted on a gasp of outrage. “You … you don’t expect me …”

  “What?” He glanced down.

  She, apparently, didn’t wish to go near him … backside or any other part. He frowned. Definitely not some chit he’d brought home last night. Her eyes narrowed and she snatched the book from the settee. He rolled onto his back and studied her, attempting to make sense of the situation.

  Her eyes flashed with what he could only assume was anger. Who the hell was she and how had she gotten into his home? Slowly, his gaze traveled the sitting room, looking for answers. A chair was broken, a table overturned, and the remains of a vase lay in the corner. Something had obviously happened. He raked his brain, attempting to remember last night’s events. He’d gotten word that Henry had been seen near a gambling hell. He’d gone there to get answers, only to be forced into playing cards with a very large, very bald man named Marco. After that, his memories seemed to blur.

  The woman spun around and started toward the stairs. Then, apparently thinking otherwise, she paused and faced him. “I’ve endured months at sea to get here, only to realize that India is much hotter than I’d thought. I’ve been almost killed … twice. Once by you, I might add. And have recently uncovered that my cousin is a murderer. I only want to lose myself in a book.”

  He winked. “Why don’t you lose yourself in me instead.”

  Like Queen Victoria preparing to behead a servant, herface grew brilliant red. “You … you are a scoundrel and a coward.”

  He quirked a brow. If anyone else had called him a coward, he would have had the person’s head on a platter. For some reason, he was amused by her outburst. Apparently, he’d offended her, which was rather typical where he was concerned. “I’ve killed men for such comments, you know.”

  Looking completely unimpressed, she hugged her book tightly. “Ha, I doubt you’re capable of killing anyone. At least you weren’t last night.”

  Last night? Colin’s confusion mounted. “What was your name?”

  “Ugh,” she sighed and started toward the steps.

  “Who are you?” he demanded before she could escape.

  “Colin,” Ella’s calm voice interrupted their argument. She swept down the stairs in a light green dress in the gauzy native material. Her face was flushed, her golden hair long and wavy as it floated around her shoulders. She certainly looked better than she had a year ago, when he’d first met her and she’d been half-dead.

  Suddenly, everything came back.

  Marco.

  The blasted man had suckered him into a game of cards and Colin had been only too happy to oblige, thinking he’d get some answers about Henry. But the only thing Marco wanted was Colin’s money. Colin had barely escaped with his hide still attached.

  He’d arrived home with Marco’s thugs close behind him. And of course, he’d happened upon Leo’s cousin. He should have remembered the moment he saw her. The same eerie amber eyes that Leo had, but on her, for some reason, they seemed more intense, different, sexy as hell. Of everything that had happened, kissing her was the most vivid of his memories.

  “Do not be rude to Bea,” Ella demanded.

  His gaze jumped to the woman who stood on the stairs next to Ella. Was this the same person whose soft flesh he’d fondled only last night? A woman any man would want in bed? And now, damn, she looked like a nun about to slap him with a stick.

  Standing next to Ella, he couldn’t help noticing the difference between the two. Ella wore her traditional sari with ease, a scarf over her head, and in this heat, she’d be grateful for the clothing. Bea, on the other hand, looked as if she were still in England. Tall and thin, her hair a dark mahogany next to Ella’s lighter locks. And whereas Ella was smiling, always smiling, this woman seemed to wear a permanent frown. Yet there was something about her that made him want to tease, to taunt until he broke her. He never could resist a challenge.

  “Cousin.” Ella swept forward and leaned down to kiss his cheek. “You need to shave.” She wrinkled her pert nose. “And bathe.”

  He laughed and managed to sit up, even while his head pounded with the slightest movement. “And the compliments continue to arrive.”

  He wore the same clothes he’d worn last night. A white linen shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows and tan trousers. Perhaps not his finest look, but he was far from resembling a street urchin. But he supposed the clothes stank like smoke and stale beer. Hell, he did need a bath.

  Bea was looking at him smugly. Apparently she agreed with Ella’s comment.

  “Who’s she?” He said the words just to annoy her when he knew very well who she was.

  Red bloomed to life across her cheeks and she looked away. Damn, if the color didn’t heighten her attractiveness. He’d met women like her before, especially in England. Beautiful, but cold inside. Like Sarah. His jaw clenched and for a brief moment he had to look away.

  “Colin,”
Ella admonished. “It’s rude to speak aboutsomeone as if they’re not present when clearly they are. Besides, I introduced you last night but you were apparently too foxed to remember.” She sighed and turned toward Bea. “Bea, this is my cousin Colin Finch. Beatrice Edmund, Leo’s cousin.”

  He forced his thoughts from Sarah. One small reminder and she was back in his life. He stood and bowed low, a mocking movement. As punishment, pain shot through his skull. He cringed, pressing his fingers to his temples. “Let me get this straight. We’re cousins, Leo and Bea are cousins, you’re married to Leo. Does that mean Bea and I are related?”

  “I should hope not,” Bea muttered.

  Her arrogance bothered him more than he let on. Colin quirked a brow. “My, doesn’t she have a sharp tongue.”

  “Colin,” Ella reprimanded. “Behave, please.” She slowly turned, taking in the small parlor. “You have a lovely home.”

  He laughed. Typical Ella. Marriage and riches hadn’t changed her. She was obviously being polite. “I wouldn’t call two bedchambers, a parlor, and kitchen a lovely home.” Hell, the walls weren’t even plastered but still the same rough stone used to build the place. If he’d known they would be here so soon, he would have searched for better living quarters.

  He sighed, stretching his arms over his head, his tight muscles relaxing. “Where is your beast of a husband?”

  Ella smiled, truly smiled, her face lighting with a happiness he didn’t understand, and frankly, didn’t know if he wanted to. The cynical part of him wanted to roll his eyes, but a part, deep down, was mesmerized when they were together. How two people could feel such an intense affection was beyond him. Ridiculous. He wouldn’t believe it if he hadn’t witnessed their love himself.

  “I’m here,” Leo said, moving down the narrow steps past Bea. He ducked under the overhang and filled the room with his size and arrogance.

  Really, it was getting much too crowded in his smallhome. Alone, the two-story, two-bedroom abode had been plenty large, but with three others, he felt the pauper who could only afford a shack. It didn’t help his pride knowing that his three guests typically resided in a castle. He was suddenly aware of how sparse his sitting room was.

  Settee and chair occupied the room, no paintings, no flowers, no wallpaper on the stone walls. His only form of décor, a vase, lay shattered upon the floor. What would Sarah think of his home? The thought brought a wry smile to his face. Sarah wouldn’t be caught dead here.

  Leo didn’t hesitate, but approached his wife and slung his arm around her waist, drawing her up hard against his body like the animal he was. Completely unconcerned with propriety, he pressed his mouth to hers.

  “Christ,” Colin snapped and turned away. “You could save that for the bedchamber, you know.”

  Bea swept to the only window in the parlor, drawing his attention to her. She brushed aside the beige linen curtains he’d nailed to the sill. Her back straight, she feigned interest in the scenery. So much like Sarah. Same chillness evident in her stiff bearing. Same ethereal beauty. Same dark hair. An odd pang stabbed him in the chest. Not heartache, no, he’d gotten over Sarah long ago. Regret, perhaps?

  He swallowed hard. No. This Bea wasn’t Sarah. Sarah was married to an earl, probably had a baby by now. Bea was Leo’s cousin and he supposed he’d have to attempt a cordial politeness. He could pretend, at the least.

  He spared a glance at Leo and Ella. They still embraced, whispering sweet, nauseating nothings to each other.

  Curious and oddly drawn to Bea, Colin made his way across the room. “Not much for scenery.”

  She stiffened at his approach, but didn’t bother to look at him. He wasn’t sure what she was watching. The glass was covered with dust. He supposed he should have cleaned the place. But it was a rarity anyway to get a house with glasswindows. With a sigh, he lifted the edge of his shirt and swiped at the window until a circle of clarity formed.

  He followed her gaze, taking in the dirt road out front, the many stone buildings pressed tightly together. People scurried down the crowded streets, their feet stirring the dust, their voices and shouts muffled through the window. Different people, different-colored buildings, yet the hectic pace rather similar to any city anywhere in the world.

  “‘Tis odd,” Bea said softly, drawing his attention to her. “It’s so pale, the buildings, the sky, the roads, all shades of beige. Yet the people are so brilliantly dressed as if to make up for the lack of color.”

  He was surprised by her insight, even more surprised when she glanced up at him through those thick lashes as if judging his reaction. And why the hell was she suddenly being so nice? Something flickered across her gaze, an emotion she wrestled with. She smoothed her hands nervously down her skirt, her attention dropping to the floorboards. Perhaps she felt she needed to give him a chance for Ella’s sake.

  An olive branch he’d be forced to take.

  “All right, answers, Colin,” Leo demanded, apparently done pawing Ella.

  Colin frowned, and reluctantly turned away from Bea. Leo always demanded things. Never asked, and he was the one being reprimanded for being rude?

  Colin slumped into the only chair in the sparse room, annoyed and exhausted. “I was getting answers. To get answers from Marco, you need to play cards and drink.”

  Ella frowned and settled on the settee. She smoothed her Indian skirt primly around her, the golden bracelets on her wrists jingling with the movement. “And there’s no other way to gather information from this man?”

  He flashed her a brief grin. Women. They were so oblivious to the real world. “Not without losing your head … or worse.”

  Leo paced in front of him, the man’s arms crossed against his chest like a lord holding court. He’d tied his long, dark hair back with a leather strap, not that it did any good. The man still looked like a heathen. “And what information did you procure?”

  Hesitating, Colin glanced at Bea. She stood at full attention now, watching him through curious eyes. How much did she know? How much could he admit in front of her? Damn, he wished he could remember more of last night. But the moment the intruders had been taken care of, he’d passed out on the settee. What had Ella and Leo told her?

  “It’s all right, Bea knows that Henry stole my necklace.” Ella gave him a tight smile. “I told her last night. I also told her about Henry. How he tried to kill not only Leo, but me as well.”

  The missing necklace. He didn’t need to read minds to know that was all Bea knew. She had no clue what he and Ella really were, what they were capable of. He gave Ella a brief nod of understanding.

  “I still don’t understand.” Bea started pacing, passing her cousin Leo, the book clutched to her chest. “Why didn’t you tell Grandmother?”

  “We did,” Leo replied, stopping.

  She paused, face-to-face with her cousin. The surprise evident in her eyes. “But … why didn’t she tell me? Henry was a cad, truly, but a murderer? And all for some supposed necklace that leads to a treasure? It’s ridiculous.”

  Ella shrugged, but there was no look of offense upon her face. “Who knows why she didn’t tell you. As for the necklace, it might be ridiculous, but he believes it’s true.”

  Bea looked at each of them in turn. “And this is the real reason why we’re here?”

  Neither Leo nor Ella offered her a response.

  “Is that why we stopped in Italy? Did you think the necklace was there?” Her voice hitched slightly.

  “Yes,” Leo replied.

  “You … lied?” She was hurt, obviously. He could see that in the trembling of her full bottom lip. But she didn’t understand the direness of their situation.

  “I did get something from Marco. Henry is supposedly heading south,” Colin murmured, deciding to change the subject.

  Leo frowned. “For?”

  Colin shrugged, glancing toward the kitchen. He was hungry, tired, and his head ached, but he knew they would not relent until he answered their questions. “Bombay, mos
t likely.”

  “We must find him, Colin.” Ella’s voice was soft, but he didn’t miss the underlying desperation. She feared for their safety, but mostly he knew she wanted to end this for all their sakes. Henry had owned that necklace for over a year now. If he found a way to the statue, Colin and Ella would be as good as dead.

  Colin gave Ella a brief nod. He of all people knew how important that necklace was. “Today we’ll speak with a man who deals in antiquities. He was the last to see Henry and may be able to help.”

  “Wonderful,” Ella beamed. “I’ll fix you some breakfast. I assume you haven’t a cook in this … fine establishment?”

  “We aren’t all earls, you know,” Colin bit out, raking his hands through his hair.

  “Be careful,” Leo said, following his wife toward the kitchen. “Your voice reeks of bitterness.”

  Colin settled his hands on his hips. “Ha, bitterness. You can take your title and …” But Leo had disappeared into the kitchen.

  Bea shifted and he was reminded she still stood there, book clasped in hand. How much, exactly, did she know? Perhaps he could catch a few minutes alone with Ella and find out.

  She glanced hesitantly toward the kitchen. She was probably worried that if she followed, she’d find Ella and Leo insome embarrassing embrace. Cold Englishwoman who had probably never been kissed … before last night.

  He smirked, amused by her innocence. “Never seen a man and woman embrace, Queen Victoria?”

  Her eyes narrowed into mere slits, her contempt obvious, but she said not a word.

  He winked. “Feel free to use my room to read, darlin’.”

  She tilted her chin and spun around, starting up the steps. “Wonderful and feel free to bathe while I do.”

  Colin’s smile fell. So much for that olive branch.

  Chapter 4

  Feel free to bathe.

  The comment still rankled Colin hours later. Who was she to come into his home uninvited and tell him he stank? The woman was enough to drive a man to drink. No wonder she wasn’t married. Still, for Ella’s sake, he’d bathed and put on clean clothes. It wasn’t Ella’s fault her husband’s cousin was a snobbish prude. Cold and taunting, Sarah had been that way at first. She’d been a challenge, a challenge he thought he’d won. She’d had the last laugh.