by Lois Greiman
In a moment he was skimming the contents. Pearl ear bobs, a pair of hat pins, and a half dozen rough stones strung on a leather thong. For a woman of Lady Tilmont’s wealth it seemed a paltry collection. He glanced around the chamber again. Surely she had more. Perhaps she kept his mother’s ruby hidden from her husband, not wanting to explain it. Or maybe she was even more heartless than he believed and had pawned it off as if it was of no more consequence than a bauble won at the fair.
The thought tore his heart, but suddenly the door to the hall shifted. He jerked toward it.
Clarette stood in the opening. Her gaze leapt to his. Her lips parted. Water sloshed from the glass she held in her hand.
“I can explain,” he said. “Don’t scream.”
For a moment he thought she would, but finally she pursed her lips, stepped inside and closed the door behind her. They stared at each other. No more than four feet separating them.
“Very well. You may begin,” she said, but for the life of him he could think of nothing to say. It wasn’t as if he had never been found in a woman’s bedchamber before. It was simply that the lady in question was generally well aware of his presence at the outset. Seconds ticked away. “Wickerdoodle?” She raised her left brow the slightest degree. “Are you going to explain or shall I have you removed from this property?”
“Ahh, yes, explanations.” He cleared his throat and wondered how exactly she would have him removed. Piece by piece or all in one dead lump? “I thought I saw someone climb up to your…” He tilted his head toward the balcony. “…to your room.”
The second brow joined the first near her hairline. “Was it you?”
He managed a low laugh. “No, Lady Tilmont.” It seemed a good time to use her title. Familiarity was likely to encourage that piece by piece removal he had contemplated earlier. “No. I was watching your—” He stopped, saw the trap, and tried to back away. “I was outside, enjoying the night air, when I saw someone in the chestnut beside your window. I attempted to ascertain—”
“What were you doing watching my window?”
“I wasn’t ‘watching’ your window, my lady. I simply—”
“It just happened to be in your line of vision?”
A hundred ridiculous explanations zipped through his brain, but he squelched them all, trying to catch his balance. “Have you a wish to hear this or not?”
Taking a careful breath, she set the water on her bedstead and seated herself on the mattress. “I’ve always enjoyed a good yarn.”
He scowled at her. “How did you get so jaded?”
She tilted her head a little, as if asking if he really intended to try that tact, and he lifted a hand in concession.
“Very well, then. I admit this looks…Well…one might think…” He cleared his throat. “This isn’t what it seems.”
“And how does it seem, Lowwick?”
Suffering saints. “Well, one might believe…” He shrugged, not quite able to control his grin. “…that I hoped to seduce you.”
She delayed several heartbeats before she spoke. “And you don’t.”
He opened his mouth to assure her that he did not. But he was trying to convince her of his innocence, not his stupidity. “Well…” He chuckled a little. “…any man with a pair of…” Wrong strategy. He smiled. Her eyes were very steady, as if she had not a fear in the world. Should she not be afraid to find a man in her private chambers? At least a little? “I don’t deny that I am drawn to you.”
The slightest hint of a smile tilted her summer raspberry lips. As if she had no desire to be flattered but could not quite help herself.
He took a careful breath. “You are not exactly beastly to look upon, after all.”
“Go on.”
He found his stride carefully. “I am certain you’re aware of your comely countenance, my lady.”
She shrugged one shoulder and suddenly seemed like nothing more than a timid girl softly blossoming to womanhood. Lovely, kind, innocent. “If I am such a rare beauty, why does everyone leave me?” There was sadness in her tone now, uncertainty in her eyes.
“Everyone?”
There was a beat of silence, then, “My husband for one.”
“He must be mad,” Sean said, and found that he almost believed it to be true.
She smiled forlornly. “He is not mad.”
“Foolish he is, then,” he said. “For you are beauty itself.”
She glanced away. “I’m passing fair, I suppose. But…well…” She paused. “Perhaps you have noticed that I can be a bit…a bit sharp at times.”
The understatement somehow tickled him. He chuckled quietly. “The sharpness only makes the softness more appealing.”
She flickered her eyes to his. They were as big as the walnuts that grew near the byre. Soft and lovely and deep with hope. “Do you mean that?”
“Certainly I do. Look at you. You have…” He paused, finding he had somehow lost his breath as his gaze settled on her lush mouth. “You’ve the most kissable lips I’ve yet to see.”
“I do?”
“Aye,” he said, and taking the few steps between them, slipped a hand behind her supple back. “Your lips beckon—” he began, but in that moment she lifted a dagger from some unknown location and poked his belly with the tip.
“What the devil are you doing in my room, Wickson?” she asked.
Chapter 11
Sense came slowly back to Sean’s feverish brain. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. How the fook had he possibly forgotten who he was dealing with? She was the woman who had stolen his brother’s dreams, who had promised his family a future, only to abscond with their past.
“Ahh, well,” he said, glancing carefully at the dagger she held in one competent hand. “As I’ve said, a body should never be—”
“Without a foine blade.” She mimicked his brogue with disturbing accuracy. “But that’s not what I asked, is it, lad?” she said, and pressed the tip of the dagger a little harder into his shirt. He stifled a grimace.
“There was someone in the tree outside your window,” he said, easing back a half an inch.
“So I’m told.”
“I feared for your life.”
She shifted the blade the slightest degree and almost smiled. “Did you?”
“Yes.”
“And where do you suppose we might find the miscreant now?”
Here’s where it got tricky. “I don’t know.”
“Perhaps you should have followed him instead of coming here.”
“I feared he might have done you harm.”
She arched a dubious brow at him. “And it never occurred to you to come through the front door to check?”
She held the dagger like one who knew how to use it. He, too, was fairly well schooled in the use of blades, but where the bloody hell had she been keeping this one? “I had no wish to frighten anyone.”
Her lips twitched a little. “So you slithered through my window.”
“Irishman rarely slither,” he said. “Sometimes we slink. Occasionally we—”
She pressured him further with the dagger tip. “Why are you here?”
“As I’ve told you, lass—”
“I’d like the truth.”
Her eyes were as steady as the steel. Indeed, she rather looked as if she might actually pierce him. “As I said…” he began, but then something clicked in his head. He scowled. “Tell me, my lady, have you an aversion to cotton?”
“What are you talking about?”
“This…” He raised a hand, indicating her ensemble. It was entirely black. Except for her feet. They were bare. And, oh…she had rather enchanting toes. He brought his mind back to the moment at hand. “Not that I would have any way of knowing, being a confirmed bachelor as I am, but aren’t most nightgowns made of cotton? White cotton? And isn’t the belt a bit uncomfortable while you’re abed?”
For a moment something flashed in her eyes. It might have been fear, but it was more likely ir
ritation. The knife disappeared with the slightest flick of her wrist. How the bloody hell did she manage that?
“I have no wish to cause problems,” she said.
He watched her, waiting for more.
But she only sniffed as if he were entirely daft. Which might or might not have been true. “You said yourself that I am irresistible.”
“Comely,” he corrected. “I said you were comely.”
“You said I was beauty…” She paused, all but rolling her eyes with impatience. “I don’t want to tempt the servants beyond their endurance.”
He stared at her, finally raised his brows and hoped to hell she would go on. She didn’t. “And?”
“And so I dare not wander out unless I am fully clothed. Even to fetch a glass of water.”
He waited, fascinated, for her to continue, but she refrained. “So you’re a’feared of arousing Gregors’s baser nature should he see you in less than your full regalia.”
She paused a moment, as if trying to think of others whose base natures might be aroused. “Yes.”
He managed to keep a straight face. “What of your feet?”
She scowled.
“Your feet,” he said. “They’re naked.”
“I think he can probably—”
“And quite adorable,” he added.
Curling her toes, she made them disappear beneath her dark hem. Sean could no longer resist a grin as he lifted his gaze to hers.
“He’s a hundred years old, you ken.”
“Who’s—”
“Gregors. He’s a hundred if he’s a day.”
She pursed her lips. “I doubt he’s far past eighty. Besides, I’ve little reason to believe men become more disciplined with age.”
“What of rustier?”
She raised a brow.
“Perhaps he’d like to…” He waved a hand at her darkly attired form, including her tiny toes. “I simply don’t believe he could,” he said, and damned if it didn’t almost seem as if she blushed.
“Who are you?” he asked, and watched irritation flash again in her eyes. It wasn’t until that instant that he realized she’d never looked frightened. Not even when she first opened the door. She’d managed surprised, perhaps, but not fear. “You knew I was here,” he breathed.
“What are you talking about?”
“When you came in…” He motioned toward the door. “You were expecting me.”
She laughed softly, as if he were predictably foolish. “Perhaps I am as irresistible as you—”
“‘Comely,’” he corrected.
She gave him a curved smile. “Perhaps I am as irresistible as you think, but that doesn’t mean I often find strange men in my boudoir.”
“But it does happen.” His tone sounded strange. Jealous almost.
“What?”
“Sometimes you find strange men in your…” he began, but when her eyes flickered with amusement, he managed to return to the matter at hand. “Why the devil are you fully dressed?”
She was all but laughing out loud now. “Hoping to find me otherwise, Wickerhammer?”
“No. I—”
“No?”
“I…Fook it!” he said, and pushed splayed fingers through his hair. “Aye, I was.”
She was staring at him.
He laughed at her expression. “Suffering saints, woman, you’ve the tongue of an adder, but the body of a goddess.”
She blinked, actually blinked, perhaps taken aback for the first time since he’d met her.
“So…” He shrugged expansively, taking advantage of her silence. “Do you wish to lie with me or nay?”
Her mouth formed a perfect O. Her eyes were just as round. “Are you…Is that really why you came here?”
He’d considered a couple other reasons. They had sounded ridiculously unbelievable. Even if they were true. “Why else?”
“I…” She shrugged. “I don’t know. To rob me, perhaps?”
He drew a deep breath. “I’m not much of…” He shook his head, thinking. “Thievery…me da would be sore disappointed.”
She plopped down on her bed. “But he wouldn’t mind if he knew you were trying to seduce a married woman?”
“I wasn’t jesting when I said you were irresistible.”
She looked at him askance. “I thought you’d only said I was comely.”
He grinned. “You must drive your husband mad.”
She scowled a little. “Do you think that’s why he left?”
Her voice was soft again, but there was no way of telling if she was sincere or conniving. He was going to have to assume conniving. “’Tis as good a guess as any,” he said.
She shifted her gaze slowly to the jewelry box. “She is rather abrasive isn’t—” she began, then snapped her gaze back to his.
He stared at her in bewilderment. “‘She’?”
“I meant—Oooh!” she sobbed, and pulling her feet onto the bed, dropped her head into her palms. “You’re right. Absolutely right. Sometimes it seems as if I am two different people.”
All right then, this was rather surreal. “How so, lass?”
“I have to be…” She pulled her head out of her hands. There were tears in her eyes. He reminded himself that she was the devil, but holy saints, there were tears! “I have to be so strong.” The words were whispered.
He stepped a little closer to hear her.
“Strong?”
She waved to her surroundings. “You think I want to live like this? Alone? Surrounded by servants who hate me? Who know—” She stopped, swallowed, lowered her voice. “Who know my husband wants nothing to do with me.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” he said, though in fact her husband had said just that. Nevertheless, he sat on the edge of the mattress and reached for her hand.
“He wasn’t here a full day before he fled.”
“Well…” Her skin was marvelously soft beneath his thumb. “He was called away on business, most like.”
She blinked up at him. Her lashes were wet. “He doesn’t love me.”
No. He didn’t. And suddenly that truth seemed oddly sad. “Maybe he just hasn’t had time to come to know you,” he said.
She shook her head, cleared her throat. “His father had to pay him to marry me.”
That, he hadn’t heard. “Come again,” he said.
“The old duke.” She managed a smile. It was weak at best. “He wants an heir. Apparently he thought I’d make good breeding stock.”
“I’m certain you’re wrong.”
She blinked, lashes heavy with silver droplets. “You’re certain he doesn’t think I’ll be good breeding stock or—”
“I’m certain your husband finds you as enchanting as I do.”
“The duke said that if my lord could produce a child in a year’s time, he wouldn’t disown him. But even with that, Richard wants nothing to do—” She cleared her throat and shrugged.
He canted a brow.
“Well…” She used her free hand to sweep the far side of the mattress. It was notably empty. “He’s not here, is he?”
“But surely he…” He paused, trying to think how to say it. “The two of you have—”
She blushed brighter. The autumn apples of her cheeks bloomed with color. If she wasn’t honestly embarrassed, she was a damned fine actress. “Yes, of course.” She wouldn’t look at him. “And I had hoped…” She paused, then shook her head. “But I’m not with child.”
She looked so sad, so beautiful and fragile and brave, it all but broke his heart. He squeezed her hand.
“Might you want help with that?”
Her gaze smacked into his.
“Me apologies. I don’t—” he began, but in that instant she leaned closer to him. He felt his desire tighten painfully as she gazed up through dewy lashes.
“You, ummm…you don’t want help with that, do you, lass?”
For one wild moment he almost thought she would answer in the affirmative, but finally she g
lanced down and pulled her hand from his. “I was a courtesan, Mr. Gallagher. Did you know that?”
“A—” He’d run out of words. Alastar hadn’t mentioned that fact, and it seemed fairly significant. “A…” He shook his head.
She drew a deep breath. “You can’t even say the word.”
“You were a courtesan?”
“It sounds so much better than whore, doesn’t it?”
“And your husband, lass, does he know?”
She nodded. “As does his father. Perhaps that was why he thought I could be so easily bought.”
He could think of nothing to say. So she was a prostitute. And yet, looking at her now, he couldn’t blame his brother for being besotted. She was enchanting, mesmerizing.
“In actuality, I’m the daughter of Count von Racowitza and a peasant woman named Luiza.”
“A count and a peasant.”
She smiled disarmingly. “I am told Luiza was quite beautiful.”
“So you’ve noble blood.” His tone was dubious.
“’Tis not a story easily believed, I know.”
“If you’re aware of your heritage, why not petition your father for funds instead of becoming…” He shook his head again.
“A prostitute?” She shrugged. “The countess has been known to hold a grudge.” The corners of her mouth lifted a little. “And a gun.”
He drew a deep breath and scowled.
She chuckled at his obvious doubts. “’Tis just as well you don’t believe me.” She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “If you were to repeat it, I would deny everything.”
“Why?”
“We’ve done what we could to become lost in this country. Taken various names, kept moving.” She scowled, immersed in thought, drowning in years far past. “But they might yet find us.”
“I suppose…” he began, then, “…‘us’?”
It took her a moment to find his gaze again, but when she did, her eyes were as steady as steel. “I don’t actually know if my sister yet lives.”
“You had a sister?”