Lily put one foot in front of the other and tried to do as he ordered. He leaned toward her, mimicking a lover’s concern.
“Your father must miss you,” he murmured in her ear. “Do you know he walks out every evening after dinner since you left?” He has Papa watched—of course he does.
“What do you want?” she whispered back between clenched teeth.
“Why, the pleasure of your company. You’ve run from me all week. You will talk to me now.”
Lily’s knees threatened to buckle when he led her to French doors and out into the shadows.
Chapter 2
Lily’s head slammed against a solid wall. After Volkov pulled her down the terrace, he pushed her through an open door into a dark hallway.
“What did you tell him?” Volkov hissed.
“Nothing. I told him nothing.” Her breath heaved. Volkov stood so close the familiar scent of bergamot and lime overwhelmed her senses. Once she had welcomed his touch, allowed him liberties. Now his very smell turned her stomach. Over the ringing in her ears, far from her revulsion and terror, Lily heard the faint sound of the waltz being played in the ballroom. Volkov’s touch made her skin crawl
“Liar.” He leaned closer, his face inches from hers. His breath reeked with whiskey and yesterday’s dinner. “I warned you to stay away from Glenaire. Don’t tempt me to change my mind about protecting your reputation. A few words in the right ears and your marriage hopes will die an untimely death.” The last word slid slowly off his tongue.
Lily swallowed her rising gorge.
“What did you tell him?” he repeated.
“Nothing!” she insisted, her anger growing. “You both ask the same questions. He demands to know what I say to you.”
She pushed against his chest, but the man didn’t budge. “I gave him the same answer I give you: nothing.”
“If my man in Thessaloniki is compromised, your father will pay with his life. Do you understand me? Fault will lie on your head. If you hadn’t been so nosy, you would not be in this position.”
“I’ve forgotten his name.” She lied. Shame and regret overwhelmed her. She had allowed herself to be lured to Volkov’s apartments. He had hinted at marriage. He had led her step by tempting step into sensual desire in a series of trysts until she lost all common sense.
“You know enough,” he snarled. “You listened at the door.”
“Yes, I listened.” Thank God for the interruption. “I heard enough to know what a fool I had been to allow myself to be seduced by a man who wanted only what information he could suck out of me.”
“Dear Lily”—Volkov smirked—“your tidbits about your father’s dealings with the Ottomans proved useless. Information wasn’t all I wanted.” He ran a hand down her neck to cover her breast. “If you had stayed instead of slipping out my bedroom window like a thief, you would know how much more I expected from you.”
She pushed harder, but he pinned her arms. When he leaned in for a kiss, she turned her head and kicked her knee up. He jerked away before she could hit his vulnerable parts.
Instead of cursing as she expected, he laughed. “If we had privacy, I would show you how much I like my women feisty. As it is, I’ll leave you. For now.”
Lily tried to slip out of his slackened grip.
“Remember your father,” he murmured against her ear. “A gentleman who walks alone in a strange city? So many things could happen.”
Lily’s eyes widened in panic.
Volkov smirked. “Or to an unmarried-and no longer eligible-woman in London, for that matter. Though that would be a waste.”
He pushed away. “Avoid Glenaire, Lily. Don’t make me question your loyalty.”
Richard stood in the open door and watched Volkov swagger down the hallway. Lilias Thornton sagged against the wall.
“Don’t make me question your loyalty.” What the hell did that mean? Loyalty to whom? The damned woman went off with that worm as soon as I warned her away.
Richard saw them leave across the crowded dance floor and made it to the terrace in time to see them slip into a darkened hallway. A couple, intent on romance, came out behind him and forced him to slow his pursuit.
By the time he turned into the door, Volkov leaned in like a lover to whisper in her ear. The look on her face when Volkov slithered away, made his guts clench. Whatever just passed between them wasn’t gentle.
When he stepped inside, she jerked upward. Is she trembling? If I didn’t know better, I would believe she’s afraid.
“Volkov,” he said.
“What of it?” she demanded, pulling herself upright and lifting her green eyes to his.
He saw defiance, yes, but he thought he also saw fear.
“Did he hurt you?” The bastard.
“No.” Her voice broke. “It is nothing. If you’ll excuse me . . .”
“You’re afraid.”
The defiant chin shot up. “What exactly do you want from me?” The chit has backbone. I’ll give her that.
“What does Volkov want?”
“Nothing. I keep telling you that.”
“What I just saw didn’t appear to be ‘nothing.’” He moved closer. He saw her tremble and reached out a hand to steady her. Fear without a doubt. Volkov will pay for this.
“What aren’t you telling me?” he asked softly. Russian machinations and Richard’s overwhelming responsibilities faded behind concern for this frightened woman, faded but didn’t disappear.
“Nothing you need to know. It is—” she hesitated. “Personal.”
Nothing that man does is entirely personal.
“I doubt that. What Volkov does impacts England. What did he mean about loyalty? Where does that loyalty lie?”
She swayed a bit at that, and he reached out his other hand, gently holding her shoulders and pulling her closer until they were inches apart. A fine rose scent wrapped around his senses.
“With my family,” she rasped, her eyes on his. “And with my country.”
“Then talk to me about Volkov.”
“I can’t.”
“You’re afraid to.”
She turned her head away, unable to look at him.
“He threatened you.” He didn’t need to ask.
She bit her lip. He thought she wouldn’t reply.
“Not me,” she whispered at last. “At least not primarily.”
He waited. There has to be more. Talk to me Miss Thornton. The rose scent drew him in; he shook it off.
“Tell me what you know,” he demanded. “Whatever it is, I can fix it. There is nothing I can't manage if I have all the facts.”
Suddenly, she snapped her head up. “You want to know everything about Konstantin Volkov? Call my father home.”
“What?”
“He’ll come if the Foreign Office orders it.”
“Thornton is in the middle of delicate trade negotiations,” he began, thinking out loud. If Volkov is involved, Thornton needs to come home. Another thought struck him.
“You asked him to come and he refused.”
She didn’t respond; she watched him steadily.
Richard stared back, eyes fixated on her mouth.
Dear God, her lip is quivering. Richard’s entire consciousness narrowed to a need to soothe her quivering mouth. He leaned closer until his own touched hers. She startled.
“You don’t need to fear me,” he murmured against her lips. He felt her mouth soften. He explored her mouth with care, absorbed in the sensation.
The woman responded tentatively, moving under his lips, and he forgot his purpose entirely. Desire to comfort gave way to desire to take. Just a taste, a small taste of what I’ve wanted all evening. When the tip of her tongue touched his lower lip, he deepe
ned the kiss, probing and demanding.
She shocked him with a response that matched his. A red cloud of desire consumed him. He slid his hands up her arms to cup her face. When she didn’t pull away, he put one arm around her waist and pulled her until her body touched his, from his knee to his chest, her soft curves warm against him.
When Lily tried to push him away, Richard had to blink to clear his vision. He had her against the wall, her skirts bunched in one hand, her bodice askew. My God, what madness!
He pulled his hands from her bodice and leaned on the wall, one hand on either side of her, breathing heavily, his head hung low.
“I’m sorry,” he began. He felt like a fool and hated it.
“You’re just like him,” she spat.
“I beg your pardon?” His loss of control had left him disgusted with himself, yet her accusation outraged him. I’m nothing like Volkov!
She pushed him away.
“You’re no better than Volkov. You will use any means to get what you want,” she said, rearranging her dress. “You make me sick, both of you.”
His irresponsible behavior left him with no response to that.
“Now I can’t go back in there,” she went on, looking down at her disheveled gown. “My entire reason for being here lies in tatters, and you, sir, are to blame. I trust what just happened, that much at least, will stay between the two of us. I can’t afford the notoriety.”
She started to leave but turned back and glared at him. “You owe me. Call my father home,” she demanded before she stalked away.
Her clear voice grated on his memory. “I can’t afford the notoriety!” How odd! Any other chit would try to trap me into marriage.
He knew he ought to feel gratitude, but he felt nothing but anger. He had behaved like a damned fool. Watching her, wanting her all evening, offered no excuse. Richard Hayden never lost control. Never.
Damn the woman anyway.
Richard drew breath to clear his thoughts. He would call John Thornton home; she could be sure of that. And he would stay away from Thornton’s tantalizing daughter, as far away as he could.
Chapter 3
By the time the footmen began clearing the soup course the following evening, Richard profoundly regretted not taking a firmer hand with the seating.
Will’s Catherine, as hostess and Countess of Chadbourn, sat at the head of the table. Sahin Pasha, the guest of honor, sat to her right and Richard to her left. The countess commanded a remarkable range of knowledge. Having glossed over politics and recently published books, she engaged Sahin in a comparison of the flora and fauna of the English countryside with his native land. The bluff, avuncular man happily described flat farmlands and the rocky mountainous region of Cappadocia.
Their conversation progressed, as it ought. Richard’s problem lay with the two young ladies next in line, given their places at his mother’s request no doubt. The two had been after Richard like hounds on the scent all week.
Lady Jane Ashbourne sulked to Sahin’s right, spouting banal comments about primroses and expressing horror of a world without them. She came just short of insulting their guest.
Lady Sarah Wharton preened to Richard’s left. She ignored everyone around her while she kept up a dogged effort to engage Richard in a conversation about the probable social events in the coming season. Whenever he nodded politely, Lady Sarah took it as encouragement, and Lady Jane cast a sour frown in her direction.
From the far end of the table, holding court to the right of their host, his mother watched serenely, a satisfied smile firmly in place. He had no doubt who placed the two bloodhounds near him.
“But surely a landscape devoid of flowers must depress one!”
He looked across at Lady Jane—pretty enough, with good bloodlines, but utterly lacking in sense. As his hostess, she would cause an international incident within a year of marriage.
Lilias Thornton would know what to say. That thought came unbidden, as did the urge to look down the table at the woman herself who, lacking title or station, sat safely beyond the massive silver epergne that marked the middle of the table. Lilias sparkled up at Walter Stewart and his ilk, junior diplomats all, obviously enjoying the conversation. She would make one of them a good wife. The thought irritated him.
“I would prefer the beet root to the asparagus,” Lady Sarah declared, not quite keeping annoyance from her voice.
Stop staring and pay attention to the chit next to you!
“Of course.” He gestured to a footman. The footman brought the dish, and Richard did what manners demanded. A gentleman always offered the lady next to him her choice. He wondered briefly where his manners had scattered, glanced back at Lilias Thornton, and looked swiftly away.
He offered Lady Sarah her choice of fowl.
“The duckling, please,” she beamed.
This one had impeccable manners. If she found the presence of a Muslim at her table troublesome, she hid it well. Lady Sarah possessed a suitable dowry and background for the wife of a future duke. Their fathers were cronies when not locked in rivalry. Perhaps I ought to consider her.
Moments later his mind wandered again. He caught himself glaring at Walter Stewart, who leaned too close to Lilias. Raise your damned eyes above the woman’s décolletage, Stewart!
The next thing he heard came from Lady Sarah. “But your eminence, isn’t Greece part of your homeland also? All those islands?”
Richard held his breath. He did not want a discussion of political tension at dinner. That could wait until the men were alone.
Sahin smiled as a grandfather might at a simple child. “Greece lies under the protection of the Ottoman Emperor for sure, my lady. It is as you say, quite beautiful.”
Lady Jane wrinkled her nose. “How can it be Greece and Ottoman?” she asked.
Before Richard could respond, Sahin Pasha spoke. “How does your Scotland lie with in the United Kingdom?”
“My father calls the Scots barbarians in a wild land,” Lady Jane sniffed.
“Not so!” Lady Sarah objected. Catherine, Sahin Pasha, and Richard all looked at her. Lady Jane glared.
“My cousin has a manor near the borders,” Lady Sarah continued. “It is quite, quite beautiful. The company is cultured, even if the weather is not what one might like.”
Richard looked at Lady Sarah more closely. Yes, perhaps I should consider this one. It would at least relieve me of my mother’s machinations.
“Ah, but part of Greece’s attraction lies in its weather,” Sahin responded.
Richard let Catherine steer the conversation into the safer realms of temperature and thunderstorm. He glanced down the table again. This time he caught his mother’s frown. She glared at Lilias.
When Catherine finally rose, Richard sat back in relief. He watched the ladies troop out, forced his gaze away from Lilias Thornton, and caught a martial look on his mother’s face. Perhaps he should avoid joining the ladies altogether.
Lady Sarah Wharton took the place next to the Duchess of Sudbury on a brocade sofa. Lily watched with less detachment than she liked.
Other young ladies, including the sour-faced Lady Jane, clustered around, peeping like so many ducklings vying for place. Whatever else this house party intended, the competition for the Marquess of Glenaire waged fast and furiously. Yesterday that amused Lily.
Suddenly the entire marriage stakes wearied her. She longed to escape to her room. Petite, blond, and assured of her own worth, Lady Sarah represented everything Lily was not.
In three days at Chadbourn’s house party, the girl had emerged as the catch of the season, and she clearly had the duchess’s endorsement. Lily could have viewed her as competition, except Lady Sarah’s quarry lay far above Lily’s touch.
What would the little darling think if she knew her pr
ecious marquess had kissed me?
Memory of Glenaire’s mouth on hers vibrated through Lily’s body. She had been restless since she had let Volkov touch her intimately. Now the marquess set every nerve on edge.
She couldn’t deny that she found him attractive, but even if fear of Volkov didn’t poison any attraction Glenaire held, the man himself would quash what pretense she might have made of seeking his attention.
“Yes, Sarah, do play for us,” the duchess pronounced. Everything that woman says sounds like a pronouncement, Lily thought. She watched Lady Sarah spring into action, watched the duchess’s beam of approval, and watched the others follow her with false smiles and calculating looks.
Enough! Lily rose to seek her hostess and take her leave, relieved to turn her back on the tableau by the pianoforte. She spied the Countess of Chadbourn at the far end of the room and stepped quickly in that direction.
“Miss Thornton! Do come sit,” the countess greeted her. “We were discussing A Modern Prometheus. Have you read it?”
“Frankenstein?” Lily asked, diverted. “No, actually. Is it quite the horror people say?” An older woman moved so she could sit by the countess.
“Oh quite!” Lady Chadbourn said, “But the delicious part is speculating on its anonymous author.”
“The preface is by that poet Percy Shelley,” one of the woman put in, “but it seems unlikely he wrote it.”
Dangerous Weakness Page 2