Where the hell was Redfern? Why had he not heard from the bastard? There could only be one reason: He had failed. Again.
Or perhaps Redfern has it in his mind to cross me somehow? A combination of unease and fury tightened his hands into fists. Surely Redfern wouldn't be stupid enough to attempt such a thing. Geoffrey forced his hands to relax, then flexed his stiff fingers. No, Redfern might not be a scholar, but he was no fool. He knew better than to cross him. Yet if he were foolish enough… well, then, it would be the last foolish thing Redfern ever did.
Bending down, he gently petted Thorndyke's silky, fire-warmed brown fur. The dozing mastiff lifted its massive head. "Ah, Thorndyke, if only Redfern were as trustworthy as you, I'd not be in this mess."
Thorndyke made a sympathetic noise deep in his throat. Geoffrey patted his smooth head one last time, then rose to once again pace the room. This time he halted at his desk. Grabbing a piece of vellum, he composed a quick note. Not bothering to summon Willis with the bellcord, he strode into the foyer and handed the note to the butler.
"I want this delivered. Immediately." He rattled off Red-fern's direction. "If he's there, wait for a reply. If not, leave it."
"Yes, my lord."
"I'll be at my club. Bring any correspondence from him there as soon as you have it."
********
Redfern held the wax-sealed letter in his hand. He knew who it was from. He didn't even need to read the bloody thing to know what it contained. He hadn't answered the persistent knocking on his door, not retrieving the note until the man had finally left.
But now the hour of reckoning were at hand. And he'd failed. Failed to find the ring, failed to get rid of Mrs. Brown. How had his plan gone so awry? Oh, things had started off swimmingly, with Mrs. Brown even presenting herself in the garden, like a gift, saving him the trouble of snatching her from the house. Even coshing the bloke in the alley hadn't proved much of a problem.
Yes, with the two of them well out of the way and tied up nice and pretty, he'd nipped back to the town house. Only had to find the ring. Then he could finish off Mrs. Brown. Would have to get rid of the bloke as well. The earl surely wouldn't want any witnesses flappin' their gums. Maybe he'd even ask the earl for a bonus, seein' as how he had to kill two people instead of one. Yes, things were lookin' rosy indeed.
But after searching for over an hour, he hadn't found the ring. Panic edged down his spine. If he didn't find that ring, he wouldn't get his blunt. But he'd looked everywhere. Had even put everything back in its place so no one would suspect anything. He'd just have to tell the earl there just weren't no ring-a prospect that cramped his belly.
The earl's final words had echoed in his mind. Find that ring. And if you do, I want her gone. Well, what the bloody blue blazes were he supposed to do with Mrs. Brown if he didn't find the ring? Kill her? Let her go?
He'd think about it on his way back to the warehouse. Surely by the time he arrived he'd know what to do.
Yet when he'd returned, all that were left of Mrs. Brown and the bloke had been a pile of cut ropes. Bastard must have had a blade on him. Bloody rotten bit o' bad luck that was. Never in his entire career had circumstances thwarted him so. But the earl wouldn't be interested in hearin' about no unforeseen circumstances.
Now, with a trembling hand, he broke the seal and read the terse message. Sweat broke out on his brow. There were no mistaking the earl's meaning.
He had to find that ring. Today.
If he didn't, he were a dead man.
And Lester Redfern had no intention of dying.
********
Allie exited her bedchamber clutching the letter she'd just sealed. Walking quickly down the curving staircase, she entered the foyer. She'd expected to see Carters, but instead a young footman stood near the door.
"I'd like to have a letter delivered," she said. "To the earl of Shelbourne's London residence."
"Of course, ma'am." He held out his gloved hand. "I'll see to it at once."
Allie handed over the missive with a prayer that the earl was indeed in town. Hopefully Lord Robert had already sent off his note. He should have… she'd left him in the breakfast room over two hours ago. Surely enough time for him to go home and compose a short letter.
"Was there something else, Mrs. Brown?" the young man asked.
"No, nothing. Thank you." She looked both ways down the corridors fanning out from the foyer. How best to spend her time while she awaited a reply? She needed a diversion, something to keep her mind occupied. Otherwise she'd simply resort to pacing.
"If you're looking for Lord Robert," the footman said, "he's in the billiards room."
"Lord Robert is here?”
"Yes, ma'am. In the billiards room." He pointed down the left corridor. "Second doorway on the right. If there's nothing further, I'll see to your letter."
"Thank you," she murmured.
She looked down the left corridor. He was here. In the second room. She should avoid him and his disturbing presence. His laughing eyes that held secrets. Yes, she should return to her bedchamber and read. Take a nap. Something. Anything. Her mind knew it, as did her heart.
Her feet, however, knew nothing of the sort and promptly headed down the left corridor.
The second door was ajar. Pushing it open a bit more, she stood frozen in the threshold and simply stared. Lord Robert stood with his back to her, clearly studying the billiards table, a long tapered, highly polished stick in one hand. He wore the same buff breeches as earlier, but he'd discarded his jacket. A snowy-white shirt stretched across his broad shoulders. Her gaze wandered slowly downward, taking in his trim waist and the snug fit of his breeches. Her gaze settled on his backside and she swallowed. No matter what else she might think of him, there was no denying that Lord Robert was very… finely put together.
An involuntary sigh of pure feminine appreciation sneaked past her lips-a sigh he apparently heard, for he turned around. And instead of staring at his buttocks, she suddenly found herself staring at his…
Oh my. He was indeed very nicely made. She'd suspected so after their close touching last evening, but now there was no doubt.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Brown."
His huskily voiced words yanked her from her stupor, and her gaze snapped up to meet his. Dark blue eyes assessed her with a questioning, yet somehow knowing look. Heat rushed into her face, and she barely resisted the urge to clap her palms to her flaming cheeks. Perhaps if she prayed hard enough, the parquet flooring would yawn open and swallow her. Dear God, he'd caught her staring. And not simply staring, but staring at that.
Determined to regain her composure, she lifted her chin and raised her brows. "Good afternoon, Lord Robert. I didn't know you'd returned."
"Returned? I never departed."
"I thought you'd left. To write the letter you promised."
"I wrote it and sent it off ages ago. Borrowed a sheet of Austin 's stationery. I trust you completed your own correspondence?"
"Yes."
"In that case, perhaps you'd care to ride through the park? The weather is exceptionally fine."
The thought of sharing a carriage with him, sitting close enough to breathe in his masculine scent, near enough to study his teasing eyes, and watch his lips curve upward with that devastating, devilish grin, was terrifyingly tempting. And therefore absolutely out of the question.
"No, thank you," she said. "But please don't let me stop you from enjoying the afternoon." She inwardly cringed at her stiff tone. She hadn't meant to sound so abrupt.
But instead of taking offense, he laughed. "Ah, but I am enjoying myself, honing my game." He nodded toward the baize-covered table. "Do you play?"
"I'm afraid not."
"Would you like to learn?"
An automatic "no" rose to her lips, but she hesitated. She desperately needed some diversion, and she was very fond of games. Her gaze drifted over the table. It was easily twelve feet long and six feet across. Certainly big enough to maintain a s
afe distance from him… much more distance than a carriage could provide.
"Why, yes, I believe that would be lovely." And safe.
"Excellent. It's a very simple game. Only three balls-one red and two white-and a few rules. All the rest is practice, skill, and a bit of luck." Striding across the room, he lifted another tapered stick from a holder on the wall, then returned to her.
"This is a cue," he said, handing her the stick. "The object of the game is to be the first to score the number of points we agree upon."
"How does one score points?"
"Several ways." He went on to describe the game, explaining unfamiliar terms such as "potting," "cannons," and "in off." Leaning over the table, he demonstrated as he spoke, educating her regarding cushions, pockets, the balk line, and the "D."
"Any questions so far?" he asked when he finished.
"Not yet, but I'm certain I'll have dozens once we begin." In truth, the game sounded quite simple.
"Then let's start you off with some practice shots. The proper way to hold the cue is like this…" He demonstrated, and she mimicked him. "Good," he praised. "Now line up your shot, slide the cue stick back, then bring it forward, nice and smoothly." His actions mirrored his words. The tip of his stick hit the cue ball, knocking it into the red ball, which rolled across the baize surface and fell into the corner pocket. "That shot would earn me three points for potting the red ball." He retrieved the ball from the pocket and placed it back on the table. "Now you try."
Holding the stick as he had, she leaned over the table. Taking careful aim, she slid the cue stick toward the cue ball. And missed it completely.
Humph. She tried again. This time she firmly struck the ball. It shot up and forward, sailing off the table, and landed on the carpet with a dull thud.
"Oh, dear," she said, dismayed. "This is more difficult than it looks. I'm sorry. As much as I enjoy games, I fear I do not excel at them." A memory suddenly assailed her, tightening her grip on the cue stick. She and David, sitting in their parlor near the fireplace. He'd tried to teach her to play chess, but quickly lost patience with her when she moved her pieces incorrectly. Shaking his head, he'd heaved a long sigh. "Obviously the game is beyond you, Allie."
She shook off the remnants of the past and looked at Lord Robert. Not the tiniest hint of impatience glimmered in his eyes. In fact, he appeared wholly amused.
"Quite good for a first attempt," he said with an approving nod. "Much better than mine. I broke a window my first game. To this day Austin is fond of telling anyone who will listen about my 'shatteringly' poor performance. And I tell anyone who will listen that my performance was merely a reflection of my teacher's dubious talents." He retrieved the ball and set it back on the table. Then he walked around the table to stand behind her. "Try it again. I'll help you." Reaching around her, he placed his hands over hers on the cue stick. "You just need to get the feel of it… like this."
And suddenly she did get the feel of it… of his warm, hard body pressing against her back from shoulder to thigh. Of his large, callused hands covering hers.
"You're gripping the stick too tightly. Just relax."
If her lungs hadn't ceased functioning, she would have huffed out an incredulous breath. Relax? How could she possibly hope to do so while his body surrounded her like a heated blanket, cloaking her in an onslaught of sensation?
"Ease up your grip, and move your arm smoothly. Like this." His breath ruffled the hair at her temple, rippling tingles down her spine. With his hand covering hers, he moved her arm slowly forward and back, demonstrating the motion. But all she could concentrate on was the feel of his muscles bunching against her arm and back. The sensation of his skin touching hers. He'd rolled back his shirtsleeves, and her gaze riveted on his strong, sinewy forearms, dusted with dark hair. A brush fire of heat rushed through her, overwhelming her with its intensity.
Step away… get away from him! Her inner voice all but screamed at her. But it had been so long since anyone… a man… had touched her. Held her. She simply couldn't deny herself the pleasure. Her eyes drifted closed, and for one insane instant she allowed herself to absorb the feel of him. Just one more second… he's behind me… can't see me… he won't know…
Robert raised his gaze, intending to adjust his stance to offer further instructions, when his eye was caught by a movement across the room. There, reflected in the small mirror hanging on the opposite wall, he saw her. Standing in the circle of his arms, her eyes closed, her face flushed, her full lips slightly parted. She looked beautiful. Sensual. And aroused.
Everything inside him stilled. Heart, pulse, breath. A delicate shudder ran through her, a feather-soft vibration against his chest that reverberated through him.
Her silky hair tickled his jaw, and he had only to turn his head to touch his lips to her temple, yet he didn't dare move. Couldn't move. He was spellbound, riveted by the sight of her, of them, together. He drew in a slow, shaky breath and his head filled with her delicate floral fragrance.
Desire hit him low and hard. His jaw clenched, and he tried to will away the heat coursing through him, but there was no stopping it. Damn it, he shouldn't be feeling this toward her. He barely knew her. She lived an ocean away. She remained in mourning… Her heart belonged to another man.
Another man? Perhaps. Yet as he watched the color rising in her cheeks, felt the quickening of her breath, there was no denying that her body responded to him. He'd seen it earlier, when he'd turned around and caught her staring at him, but he'd convinced himself that that was an aberration. But this… this heat they clearly both felt, was very real. Fright-eningly so. And if he didn't move away from her, she would be left in no doubt exactly how much heat she inspired in him.
With an effort that cost him, he released her. Stepping back two paces, he watched her in the mirror. Her eyes opened slowly, then she blinked several times. She swayed slightly, and he fisted his hands at his sides to keep from reaching for her. Her tongue peeked out and moistened her lips, and it was all he could do to swallow his groan of longing.
In that instant, however, she clearly recalled herself. Her eyes widened, and crimson flooded her cheeks. Her back went ramrod stiff, and her knuckles turned white around the cue stick. There was no mistaking her distress, and guilt slapped him, branding him a cad. You have no business touching her. Smelling her skin. Desiring her.
Hoping to put her at ease and dispel the tension thickening the air, he said, "I think you've got it now." Damn it, his voice sounded like he'd swallowed a mouthful of gravel. Clearing his throat, he moved to the end of the table, putting more distance between them. "Try it again."
She stared at the table. What was she thinking? Was she angry with him? Should he apologize? He hadn't meant to touch her-
Liar. His inner voice sliced off the falsehood before his mind could even finish the thought, and shame filled him. Indeed, he rarely indulged in the useless exercise of lying to himself, and there was no point in doing so now. He'd wanted to touch her. Desperately. And billiards had offered him a seemingly innocent excuse to do so. But God help him, the lust she inspired was the furthest thing from innocent he'd ever experienced.
Well, he'd simply have to stop touching her. Yes, that should be simple enough. No more touching. He drew in a much needed deep breath, and her scent wafted into his head. Hmmm. Breathing around her was not a good idea. Unfortunately, that would be harder to avoid. His gaze skimmed over her and his jaw tightened. She was bent over the table, her full lips pursed with concentration. Desire skidded through him and he looked away. No more looking, either.
Yes, that was his plan. No more touching, no more breathing, no more looking. Or at least, no more breathing than absolutely necessary.
Cheered by his ingenious plan, he forced himself to focus on the game and his role as teacher. Keeping his distance and his gaze firmly trained on the table, he offered pointers and advice. Within an hour, she'd improved immensely and he suggested they begin a game.
&nb
sp; "It's the best way to develop your skills," he assured her.
She agreed, and they began. Thirty minutes later, after he'd made an exceptionally tricky shot, she remarked in a dry voice, "I believe someone spends entirely too much time playing this game."
For the first time since enforcing his ingenious plan, he looked directly at her. It proved a mistake. Her full lips were pursed in a way that immediately generated thoughts of kissing, and a gleam of wry humor sparkled in her golden-brown eyes. His heart thumped, then galloped. And now that he'd looked at her, he couldn't look away.
Slowly straightening from his position leaning over the table, he raised his brows and arranged his features into an exaggerated, haughty expression. "Too much time?" He affected a sniff. "Sounds like the sort of comment a player who was lagging in the score would mutter."
"Hmmm. Exactly how much behind am I?"
"You've scored a total of twelve points. Very impressive for a beginner."
"And your score?"
"Three hundred and forty-two."
She nodded her head solemnly. "I haven't a prayer of winning, do I?"
"Not this game, I'm afraid. But you show great promise."
"I'm abysmal."
"Merely inexperienced."
"Awkward."
"Unpracticed," he corrected.
An expression he couldn't decipher came into her eyes. She studied him for several seconds, then said, "You're remarkably patient."
And you're remarkably lovely. He shoved the unbidden thought away and offered her a lopsided grin. "I'm certain you don't mean to sound so surprised."
A delicate blush colored her cheeks and she averted her gaze. "Forgive me. It's just that…"
He waited for her to continue, but she merely shook her head. Setting her cue stick on the table, she made him a bow. "In light of the news that I trail you by three hundred and twenty points-"
"Three hundred and thirty, actually."
"-and that my chance of winning is slim-"
"Nonexistent."
Whirlwind Affair Page 9