Between the Devil and Desire

by Lorraine Heath

  He cocked his head to the side. “What are you doing here, Olivia? Trying to steal my ledger?”

  “I’m not the thief here, sir.”

  “No, you’re not. So what did you want?”

  She felt so terribly silly. “Brittles said you had yet to eat, so I brought you something.”

  He gave her a look that made her think he was considering devouring her. She spun on her heel and went to the desk, moving the tray closer to the chair on the other side. “It’s lamb and potatoes. You really should eat.”

  “Should I?”

  She cleared her throat. “I prepared the tray myself.”

  “I haven’t servants to prepare trays?”

  “You’re making this so blasted difficult.”

  Jack studied her, tried not to think about how his hands had spanned her waist. He didn’t want to remember how he’d awoken to find her hovering over him. How close her lips had been to his, how with the slightest of movements he could have known the taste of her. He was not in the habit of denying himself pleasures, but she was dangerous in ways he didn’t care to examine.

  “Are you trying to make amends?” he asked.

  She looked over her shoulder at him. “I’m trying to be a bit more pleasant.”

  “Pleasant, is it?” He got out of the chair, went to the table in the corner, and lifted the top from a decanter. “Would you care to join me?”

  “No, thank you. You do like your spirits, don’t you?”

  “Been drinking gin since I was eight. See no reason to stop now.” He walked to the desk and removed the lid covering the plate. The delicious aromas hit him, and only then did he realize he was famished. He took his chair.

  “Brittles said you didn’t eat yesterday afternoon. Do you often work without taking the time to eat?” she asked.

  “I can’t stand hovering females. Either sit down or leave.”

  To his immense surprise and pleasure, she sat. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  He cut off a bit of lamb and popped it into his mouth, savoring the flavor. “I work during most meals. Time not working is time spent not making money.”

  “You care a good deal about money.”

  “I care only about money.”

  “Is that the reason you agreed to the terms of the will?”

  He chewed, swallowed. “Yes.” He tapped the knife against the plate. “Why are you here?” He waved his hand over the plate. “Why this?”

  Glancing down at her hands, balled in her lap, she shifted in her chair before lifting her gaze back to him. “I may have judged you unfairly. In every situation, I have thought the worst. I thought the inspector was here to arrest you. I thought your bookkeeper was a prostitute. I thought you’d done something to hurt Henry. I’m trying to apologize and I’m not very good at it.”

  “Don’t apologize often?”

  “I’m not often wrong.”

  In a heartbeat, she’d gone from contrite to haughty. He preferred her that way, displaying her steel rather than her softness. But even with the steel, she possessed an uncommon beauty. It hadn’t been entirely noticeable when he’d first met her. It was as though with each moment’s passing, he noticed more things about her and those in turn enhanced her beauty. She had the faintest dusting of freckles across her cheeks, and he imagined her playing outside without benefit of a hat or parasol. He imagined her first Season and all the gentlemen who would have swarmed around her.

  “Why did you marry him?” he asked.

  She glanced at her hands again, as though she kept the answer hidden there. “My father wished it.”

  “Lovingdon was considerably older than you.”

  She nodded, lifting her gaze to his. “But he was my father’s friend. He needed an heir for his respected title. And I was a dutiful daughter. I did as my father wanted. In my world, Mr. Dodger, daughters tend to obey their fathers.”

  “Were you a dutiful wife?” Before she could answer, he said, “My apologies. That question was uncalled for. Obviously when it comes to polite society, my conversational skills are lacking.”

  “Based upon your reputation with women, I’d have thought you’d have exceptional conversational skills.”

  “When I’m with women, my mouth is usually occupied with things other than talking.”

  She blushed profusely. He didn’t know why he took pleasure in bringing the color to her cheeks. He’d like to do it with a great deal more than words. But she was an aristocratic lady, and he knew that simply touching one put a man in danger of having to take a trip down the aisle—a trip he had no plans to ever make. Besides, he wanted no claim on her. He wanted her married, so he could shuck off the responsibility of raising her son.

  “You seemed very insistent you didn’t want to marry Briarwood.”

  She looked down at her hands again. “If I should ever marry again, I would like very much for it to be my choice and my decision.”

  Unfortunately, that attitude was going to cause a problem for Jack. It indicated a delayed process and he wanted her married very soon. “So if you could choose to marry anyone, who would he be?”

  She looked up, startled. “I’d not given it any thought.”

  “Oh, come now. Surely over the years, someone caught your fancy. At a dinner or during a ball. Perhaps you danced with him and thought you’d enjoy something more.”

  “I was married.”

  “I’m not suggesting you had an affair, because God knows you’d never do anything inappropriate, but thinking about it isn’t wrong. Surely you thought about it.”

  “I did not, sir. Never.”

  To his utter amazement, he realized she was speaking the truth. Never to fantasize about the forbidden? He couldn’t imagine it.

  “All right, I’ll give you that you probably never thought about getting close to any other man, but surely you liked someone, found someone else pleasant to be around. I could arrange for him to visit you here so you could come to know him better—”

  “I’m in mourning.”

  “So you keep reminding me when it’s not necessary, Olivia. Quite honestly, it’s evident by your attire. You look ghastly in black, by the way. Have you anything in violet?”

  She stammered out a few sounds. He raised his hand. “Never mind. We can address your clothing later. Here’s the thing. You don’t want me to be guardian of your son. I don’t want to be guardian. The simplest solution to both our problems is for you to marry. And I’m willing to help in any way I can. I’ll bring the suitors to you. Who do you fancy?”

  “It would be entirely inappropriate for me to take male callers.”

  “Of course, it’s inappropriate. That’s the reason we’ll do it discreetly.”

  “When a woman is in mourning, she’s not to issue invitations.”

  “You won’t. I will.”

  She stood up. “I’m not sure why I bothered to try to make matters right between us.”

  And he didn’t know why he kept trying to make them un-right. “Sit down.”

  She hesitated.

  “Please.”

  With a nod, she sat. “Henry likes his dog very much.”

  The change in topic startled but pleased him. “As well he should. Cost me a fortune.”

  “So he told me.” She smiled, and again he was struck by how approachable it made her appear. If she were his, he thought he’d always seek to make her smile. “He wasn’t quite certain how to go about holding a confidence since you didn’t give him anything to actually hold.”

  “That must have been an interesting conversation.”

  “I daresay it was most enlightening.”

  He should have taken more care about explaining things to the lad, not that he was particularly bothered his mother knew the truth of the situation. He just didn’t want it to get back to Chesney.

  “How did you know?” she asked.

  He finished chewing the remarkable lamb and swallowed. “Pardon?”

  “Helen. Henry’s nanny
. You were suspicious of her from the start. Henry told me she kept a stick in her pocket and would whack him on the hand if he displeased her. Those aren’t his precise words, of course, but they are the gist of what he confessed. How did you know she was frightening him?”

  Something was shifting between them, something he wasn’t quite comfortable with. But he was also weary of the bickering. Until he could get her married off, they’d be living in this house together. Might as well do it amicably. “When I was very young, for a short time, I lived with someone who hurt me. While I was frightened I stammered. I’m certain people stammer for all sorts of reasons, so perhaps one thing had nothing to do with the other. Plus he is a boy, and they are not by nature so terribly well behaved.”

  “What you said about Lovingdon earlier, about taking your task as guardian seriously—things between us might not have been quite so difficult had you voiced it to me sooner.”

  “Quite honestly, Duchess, I’m not certain I realized it myself until I spoke the words. I’m as baffled as you by your husband’s choice of guardian, but I like this house and everything in it. I intend to keep them.”

  “As long as you’re good to Henry, I shall strive to be more gracious.”

  He wasn’t quite certain he wanted her gracious. He preferred her with a bit of fire in her. “You’re the late Duke of Avendale’s sister.”

  She seemed surprised he knew that information. “Yes. My father died a month after I was married. My brother inherited the title. He recently died, leaving the title to his son. I have no other immediate family. Do you?”

  She’d uncharacteristically shared so much personal information with him in one go that it took him a moment to realize what she was asking of him, and when he did realize it, he laughed and lifted his glass in salute. “No. Not in the traditional sense anyway.”

  He downed the gin, laid the knife and fork on the plate, and covered the dish. “Thank you for bringing me the meal.”

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it.” She rose. “I do hope you’ll have a physician look at your cheek. I would hate for it to get infected.”

  “I suppose you’re right. A scar would ruin my good looks.”

  “You’re assuming you possess good looks in the first place.”

  “Are you implying I don’t?”

  “I’m implying it’s conceited to state you’re handsome.” She lowered her gaze again, then lifted it. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I thought—”

  “That the boy was in danger. If a mistake is to be made, Duchess, I prefer it go the way it did this morning.”

  “You care about Henry.”

  “Not in the least. But he’s my ward. If he’s harmed, it’s more trouble to me.”

  She leaned over his desk. Her lavender scent teased him and her lips were so tantalizing near. “I’m not quite sure I believe you, Mr. Dodger.”

  She lifted the tray and nearly hit his nose in doing it. His fault for not noticing he’d been moving toward her.

  “Believe it, Duchess,” he said, striving to regain the control slipping away from him.

  “I don’t believe I shall.”

  With that, she turned and strolled across the room, her backside swaying.

  Something was happening, something very dangerous. He was beginning to let down his guard. And he couldn’t afford to do that. It could spell disaster for him. He’d spent a lifetime erecting the walls around his heart. He wasn’t going to let a lovely widow tear them down.

  Chapter 11

  With her back pressed against a mound of pillows and her arms wrapped around her drawn-up legs, Olivia sat in bed, stared at the ornate door leading into the dressing room, and strained to hear even a whisper of Jack settling in for the night. Every once in a while she’d grow dizzy and realize she’d been holding her breath.

  Late that afternoon, he’d sent her a missive informing her he’d not be available for dinner and she was free to dine with Henry. She didn’t like that he thought he was in charge of her schedule. She also found it interesting he’d chosen not to find her and tell her in person. Was he avoiding her? Could it be that he was not comfortable with their relationship shifting away from adversarial? She hardly knew what to make of the man, but she was certain of one thing: he’d not intrude on her here. In spite of everything the ladies had ever said about him, she was discovering he did have some semblance of a moral compass. One that was a bit skewed perhaps, but still on occasion it seemed capable of pointing in the correct direction. At least where Henry was concerned.

  She was certain he’d honor his word and not seek out her bed. She struggled against the tinge of disappointment. Not that she wanted him to quietly open that door and walk serenely—

  No, that had been Lovingdon’s way. Jack Dodger would burst through, fervor in his stride, virility emanating from every pore. He would be demanding, his hands exploring greedily, his tongue eliciting pleasure—

  With a low groan, she pressed her forehead against her knees. He would not come through that door. It was ludicrous to allow such carnal thoughts to run rampant through her mind. What did it matter if he was sleeping in that room? Two doors separated them. She’d not hear him breathing or tossing or turning. She’d not see his bare feet as he walked around in his nightshirt.

  She raised her head, burrowed her chin into her knees. Would he even wear a nightshirt? Of course he would. All gentlemen did. But then Jack Dodger was no gentleman.

  She couldn’t envision him donning a nightshirt. Oh, she needed to stop thinking about him. Glancing at her clock, the time surprised her. It was past midnight. As he’d yet to arrive in his chamber, he’d probably gone to the club. How silly of her to think otherwise, to have spent precious time listening for an arrival that would never come.

  She needed a distraction. She’d go to the library and find a book to read. Anything to take her mind off of Jack.

  She slipped out of bed and drew her wrapper around her. Picking up the lamp from the bedside table, she made her way into the hallway. She descended the stairs and walked to the library. This time of night no footman was about. Opening the door, she was stunned to see Jack sitting at the desk, poring over ledgers. Why wasn’t he at the club and how could she retreat? She realized with a mounting sense of dread that she couldn’t, because she’d drawn his attention. “I thought you’d gone to your club.”

  Shaking his head, he leaned back and stretched his arms over his head. “I had some things to attend to here.”

  He came to his feet, perhaps finding his manners as an afterthought. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

  Because I can’t stop thinking about you hardly seemed a prudent confession.

  “I’m not sure. I thought finding a book to read might help to lull me to sleep.”

  “I’ve found that only works when it’s a dull book.”

  She couldn’t imagine him reading a book for pleasure. She assumed he took his pleasures from more carnal avenues. Feeling her cheeks warm with that thought, she eased closer to the desk. “When do you sleep?”

  “A few hours here and there. I’ve never required much.”

  She glanced at the various ledgers strewn over the desk. “You certainly devote a lot of your time to your finances.”

  “Actually, it’s your finances I’m studying.”

  Surprised by his words, she jerked her head up. “Why would you care about my finances?”

  “I suppose it has to do with my humble beginnings.”

  She laughed. “I can’t see anything about you being humble.”

  He didn’t seem offended. Instead he indicated the couch near the window. “Have a seat and I’ll explain to you what I’m thinking.”

  It was late, she was in her nightgown, and they were alone in the library. She could barely envision anything more improper—unless they were alone in his bedchamber. Still she was hesitant to leave. She’d always been glad when Lovingdon spent a bit of time with her, but it was because his visits had offered a respite from loneliness. Jack wa
s offering her nothing more, and she could no longer deny her curiosity regarding him. He was not at all as she’d originally envisioned. She had a desire to explore this newly discovered facet to him.

  She strolled as nonchalantly as she could to the couch. Little tremors were dancing beneath her skin, and she hoped he couldn’t discern that she was nervous. Sitting, she watched as he moved lithely to the table in the corner and proceeded to splash the contents of one of his bottles into two glasses. He carried both snifters between the fingers of one hand while carrying the decanter in the other. After setting the decanter on a table beside the couch, he extended one of the snifters toward her. She hesitated—

  “My finest brandy. Come on now, where’s the harm? You’ll not go to hell for a bit of indulging.”

  “Does God whisper in your ear, offering those truths?”

  He offered her his tantalizing grin. “The devil, more like.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me at all. I suspect you’re good friends.”

  “The very best. Now, drink up. It’ll help warm you.”

  “I’m not cold.”

  “You’re shivering.”

  “Must you always be so observant?” She took the snifter from him and drank. The liquid burned her throat, her lungs, brought tears to her eyes.

  He reached over and patted her back, the heat of his hand burning through the material of her clothing. What would it be like to have flesh upon flesh? She fought not to contemplate the possibilities.

  “Careful now, brandy is meant to be savored, not gulped.”

  She took a deep breath as the warmth settled in the pit of her stomach. She thought it was from the liquor, but perhaps it was merely his nearness. His presence was almost overpowering, as though he were larger than life. From the first night, she’d noticed that he dominated any room—any conveyance—he occupied. It was part of the reason he unsettled her. He was not a man ever to be ignored.

  “I’d not expected you to appreciate fine things.” She fairly wheezed the words, which made him grin.

  “I’ve long appreciated the finer things in life. Why do you think I’ve worked so hard to acquire them?”