The door closed behind them, and Bella’s heart hammered in her chest. The pungent stench of sweat, boiled cabbage, and smoke made bile rise up in her throat.
James put her hand on his sleeve and wove his way to the bar. They passed a table of men holding cards, who eyed Bella with lascivious interest. One of the players, a drunken man with a bald head and a black patch covering one eye, leered at her, his lips twisting into a fearful grimace.
Repulsed, Bella inched closer to James and tightened her grip on his sleeve. He pulled out an empty bar stool. “Sit until I can spot Reeves.”
The bartender approached, and James ordered two cups of ale. Turning his back to the bar, he surveyed the room above the rim of his tankard.
“I don’t see him,” she said.
“I’ve no doubt he’s here.”
As Bella scanned the common room, the door opened and a group of eight men entered. Dressed in mended corduroy jackets and patched trousers, they looked like farmers passing through with their goods. They made their way to an empty table in the center of the room. One of them held back. He was dressed differently in simple trousers and a blue cotton shirt, which proclaimed he was not with the group of farmers, but nonetheless, his attire was nondescript enough to fit in with the other bar patrons. He wore a hat with its curled brim pulled down, but something about his mannerisms and stance was disturbingly familiar... .
“I see Reeves,” James said, interrupting her thoughts.
Bella’s head turned to follow his stare and all thoughts of the stranger were forgotten as she too spotted Reeves in the corner, his back to them. She slid from the stool and followed James closely as he elbowed his way through the crowd. He grasped the man firmly on the shoulder from behind.
Reeves jumped and whirled around. “What the hell—”
Clearly deep into his cups, it took him several seconds before his eyes widened in recognition. His attire was slovenly, his shirtfront stained, with missing buttons. His bloodshot eyes traveled from James to Bella before returning to James. Bella couldn’t fathom he was the same man who had sold her Wyndmoor Manor. Sir Redmond Reeves had presented himself with a dapper top hat and cane accompanied by a sense of snobbery so frequently associated with a man of his rank. This Sir Reeves before her looked like a criminal drunkard from the rookeries.
“Your Grace,” Reeves said. “What an unexpected surprise.”
James led Bella around and held a chair for her, taking for himself the one across from Reeves.
“Did you honestly believe you could get away with such a scheme?” James asked.
“Whatever do you mean?” Reeves asked.
“Apologize to the lady.” James’s voice, though quiet, had an ominous quality.
Bella spoke up. “Why would you do such a thing as to sell the same property twice?”
“I fell upon bad times,” Reeves whined.
“That’s your excuse?” James said.
“You must understand,” Reeves pleaded. “I had a solid streak of luck at the gaming tables when I was last in London. I was at the same table as the old Duke of Blackwood when he said that he wanted to sell a property in Hertfordshire. I was up a bloody fortune at the time, and I thought it a good investment. Afterwards, my luck at the tables changed, and I was hounded by a bloodthirsty moneylender. Rather than lose an arm, I sold Wyndmoor Manor to the widow here.”
“Then what possessed you to sell it to Blackwood, too?” Bella asked.
“I thought it would be sufficient to cover my debts, but the damned moneylender demanded so much in interest! Then you came around,” Reeves said, pointing to James. “You wanted the place so badly and quickly too ... and, well, the idea came to me to sell it again, and I prepared another deed. I figured the lady would leave when confronted by a duke.”
“You thought wrong!” Bella cried out.
“Where’s the money?” James asked.
“I don’t have it!”
James’s eyes narrowed to slits. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not. I swear to it. I had to pay the moneylender,” Reeves said.
“You’re coming with me to be tried for fraud. But first you owe the lady an apology,” James said tersely.
Reeves’s beady eyes shifted to Bella. “A female that looks like her can work off her debt. I can’t!”
A low growl erupted from James’s throat. He stood and dragged Reeves up by his shirtfront. “I’ll personally see to it that you rot in jail.”
Panicking, Reeves grasped his tankard of ale, and drew back his arm, but James ducked and it sailed through the air, hitting a burly man with a torn jacket at the next table.
The man jumped to his feet, his face a menacing mask of rage. “You son of a bitch!” Tall and broad-shouldered, he carried perhaps twice Reeves’s weight. In one powerful move, he overturned his table and lunged for the smaller man.
Within seconds, the crowded room burst into pandemonium. Chairs scraped across the wooden floor, and fists flew in a blur. Bella was swallowed up by the crowd as prostitutes shrieked, glass bottles shattered, and the sounds of flesh pummeling flesh surrounded her. A man reached out to grasp her waist. She kicked his shins and he released her with a grunt.
“James!” Bella shouted.
She lost sight of James amongst the throng, and panic welled in her throat.
A solid hand like a steel band clasped her arm. She whirled, intent on landing another kick, when a deep, powerful voice stopped her. “This way, Bella!”
James’s eyes were fierce as he led her toward a back door. He fought his way as they went, dodging fists and landing punches. She spotted Sir Reeves sprawled on the floor, his nose bloody. James pushed through the rear door onto a cobbled lane.
She gulped in the fresh night air. It was dim, without torches or gas lamps, and her eyes had to adjust from the bright, smoky interior of the inn to the dark back alley. Bella bent forward at the waist, breathing heavily.
She heard the scrape of booted feet and jerked around to make out a shadow of a man smoking a cheroot, leaning against the building. The smoke wafted to her like a slithering snake. The distinctive acrid odor of the tobacco triggered a sickening memory of Roger circling her, a cheroot in his hand, as she had stood shivering and naked in her bedchamber.
The stranger did not approach, and in the dim light she could make out the hat with its curled brim. Without a doubt she knew he was the same man she had spotted inside the bar. The clouds parted and a faint shaft of moonlight illuminated the side of his face, revealing a glimmer of fair hair.
Bella’s breath stalled in her throat.
It couldn’t be!
Roger arisen from the grave?
Impossible. She was hallucinating after the violent experience of her first bar brawl. She took a deep breath, forcing the panic at bay. It had been months since Roger’s death; she refused to allow his foul memory to haunt her.
“Are you all right?” James asked.
“Yes.”
“Let’s get back to the carriage.”
She couldn’t agree more. He led her across the street to where the carriage awaited. The driver hopped down when he saw them and opened the door.
“Hurry and let’s be on our way,” James told the driver. “The lady isn’t well.”
James lifted her into the carriage and settled beside her. It was only after the carriage started on their journey home that she realized she was shivering. He gathered her into his arms, and her cheek rested against his broad shoulder. For several long minutes, he simply held her.
“You’re safe now,” he whispered in her ear. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Tears welled in her eyes. She would have sold her soul to have a man speak such words to her months ago, to take away the constant fear and worry she had experienced both before and after Roger’s death. Then she remembered who held her and why she was where she was.
“I’m fine now,” she said, trying to sound calm.
He didn’t rel
ease her, and she didn’t push away. His linen shirt caressed her soft cheek, and the protectiveness of his strong arms felt blessedly good. His spicy, masculine scent was exhilarating, unlike the foul odor of smoke and unwashed, perspiring bodies that permeated the Black Hound.
“I’m sorry about Reeves,” he said. “I had hoped he hadn’t spent all of the money.”
Lifting her face from his shoulder, she looked up at him. “Were you serious about seeking his arrest?”
James’s eyes held a sheen of purpose. “I still am. I intend to contact the local magistrate. If by some miracle Reeves is not imprisoned, then I’ll go after him myself. He won’t get away unscathed.”
Despite the warmth of his arms, a cold wave entered the carriage, and she actually felt a ribbon of sympathy for Sir Reeves.
Blackwood’s unaccustomed to losing, and he’s never been swindled before.
He was a confident man, used to getting his way once he set his mind to a task. She did not doubt that he was a successful barrister, shrewd and determined. Hadn’t he escaped a life of dependency on his family? If James Devlin hadn’t been in such a hurry to purchase Wyndmoor Manor, Bella suspected he would have caught on to Sir Reeves’s ruse.
“I would never have forgiven myself if you were hurt,” he said.
“I insisted on coming, remember?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m responsible.”
“No man is responsible for me.”
“I beg to differ,” he said. “You placed yourself in my care the moment you agreed to share a residence with me.”
She studied him beneath lowered lashes. Light from the lamps on the sides of the carriage illuminated his incredible blue eyes. His look was intense, as if she were one of the many beautiful ladies that must have flocked around him in London.
“Do you always get what you want, Your Grace?”
“It’s James, and yes.”
“How boring.”
“Indeed.”
Reaching out, he traced the edge of her cloak, where the tie rested against her throat. Then with his hand, he caressed her cheek and ran the pad of his thumb across her full bottom lip.
Her hand rested on his muscular chest, and she could feel the strong, steady beat of his heart through his shirt. The longing to slip her fingers beneath the fine linen and caress his skin simmered in her blood. Breathlessly, she watched him lower his head to capture her lips.
His kiss was swift and passionate. She unfurled for him, like an eager flower at the first touch of dawn. She parted her lips and his tongue swept inside, tasting and touching all she offered. She nestled closer to the blissful warmth and hardness of his body in wonder as desire flooded her limbs. So this was passion, what all the silly young girls had tittered about at the garden parties she had attended as an innocent seventeen-year-old. This was what she had never experienced during her marriage.
He lifted his head and trailed his lips along the slope of her neck, then licked the shell of her ear. She gasped, her fingers curling in his shirt.
“You taste of strawberries and woman,” he murmured, “and I have a strong weakness for strawberries. What am I going to do with you?”
You can keep kissing me, she thought. Then she stretched up and kissed him instead. Her fingers speared through his thick, dark hair, and he moaned.
His hand outlined the circle of her breast. Her breath caught, and her nipples firmed. His fingers traced her nipples through the muslin of her gown, his touch light and painfully teasing. Ripples of wanting ran through her, pooling low in her belly. Just as it had been at the lake, all logic and reason fled and her senses reeled. They were alone in a carriage. His strong arms cradled her safely. It was pointless to resist his seductive, leisurely expertise when she had no desire to escape his embrace.
She arched into his touch, and his hand slipped inside her bodice to caress a sensitive swollen nipple. His palm was fiery hot, as hot as she felt. His other hand moved to her waist and pulled her close. Tearing his lips from hers, he kissed a path down her throat and licked the swell of her breasts above the fabric of her dress. Sweet heaven! His breath was warm and moist. Her heart thundered in her ears, and it felt as if her body were melting against his.
The sway of the carriage changed to a stop-and-go motion, but she paid no heed until James lifted his head.
“We’re home,” he said.
Home. What an unusual choice of words for him to use. Bewildered, she glanced at his face, and was struck by his expression. His indigo eyes blazed with unmistakable lust and another emotion—something akin to fierce determination.
“My offer still stands, Bella,” he said, his voice gruff. “I’ll reimburse you for whatever you paid Reeves.”
His words struck her like a bucket of ice water across her heated skin. She withdrew from his arms, moving as far from him as the bench allowed, and pulled together her scattered thoughts.
What on earth had she been thinking to kiss him like that? He was battling lust, yes, but nothing more. He hadn’t forgotten their dispute, and had chosen the precise moment to fling his offer in her face. Whereas—to her complete and utter shame—she had been caught up in passion.
He is a successful barrister and practiced seducer, she reminded herself. Masterful persuasion is his style, no matter the methods used.
Fury simmered in her blood. Fury at herself and the coldhearted man sitting beside her.
“Wyndmoor Manor is not for sale, Your Grace. And neither am I.”
Not waiting for assistance, she gathered her skirts, flung the carriage door open, and jumped down on her own. Head held regally high, she marched into the house.
James watched as she slammed the front door behind her.
Bella Sinclair was proud. It was why she had insisted on accompanying him to the Black Hound to face Sir Reeves tonight. It was why she refused his offer of reimbursement and insisted on fighting a duke. It was why she had purchased an isolated country property rather than travel to London.
Yet she hadn’t fought him in the carriage. She had capitulated to his expertise with a fiery passion that had surprised him. He had been in control—or so he had thought—until she had pulled his head down to deepen the kiss.
Thereafter, his prized control had been sorely strained.
He wanted to make love to Bella with a yearning that was staggering. Thoughts of property deeds had nothing to do with his lust. He recalled the tantalizing ripeness of her breast filling his hand—the weight, the perfect smooth skin, the pebble-hard nipple that made his mouth water—and he felt a hunger so fervent that it weakened his resolve. His plan to woo her, to seduce her and bend her to his will, was at risk from his own weakness. He forced himself back from the unbridled hunger, for he was all too aware of what emotional trap lay there.
A trap that, no matter how delectable the woman, he had no intention of falling into.
Chapter 11
Bella woke the following morning with newfound determination. She had planned on meeting Wyndmoor’s tenants soon after arriving at the manor, but when the Duke of Blackwood’s shadow had darkened her doorstep she had been distracted by his legal claim. She had made a mistake. There was no better way to establish her position than to present herself to the tenant farmers as the new owner.
Last night’s debacle at the Black Hound had proved that the stakes were higher than ever. She hadn’t realized what a formidable opponent James truly was. If his kiss was sufficient to raise her passion, then he held a power over her that she must never allow to be unleashed. He cared only for the property, not the country widow that accompanied it.
Donning her riding habit, Bella made a quick stop to the kitchens to seek directions to the tenant farms and to gather a basket of fresh sweet rolls before heading to the stables. The young, red-haired lad was busy polishing tack.
“Would you please saddle my mare, Bobby?”
“Aye, my lady.” He reached for a side saddle that hung on the stable wall, then went for her horse.
“Where are you headed this morning?” A deep male voice spoke behind her.
Bella jumped. She whirled to spot James in the far corner of the stables, holding the reins of an enormous black stallion. He walked forward, his gaze lazily appraising her.
Memories of last night came back to her in a rush. She recalled resting her cheek against his broad shoulder, the strength of his arms as he held her after the frightful bar brawl. Then there had been his passionate kisses and his tantalizing touch on her breast.
Heat stole into her face along with renewed humiliation. His practiced seduction had been carried out with expertise. His kiss, his caress had upset her balance, and she had eagerly responded. His thoughts, however, had never been far from seeking her gone from Wyndmoor.
Their eyes locked, and the annoyance in her voice was ill-concealed. “My whereabouts are none of your concern, but if you must know, I’m going for a ride.”
“By yourself?”
“Yes.”
His lips curled into a smile, and she had the distinct impression he knew she was recalling last night’s intimacy. His eyes lowered to the basket on her arm. “That smells like fresh baked bread.”
She spoke quickly. “I’m picnicking.”
“Alone? At nine o’ clock in the morning?”
“Fine,” she snapped. “I’ve decided to visit my tenants for the first time.”
He brightened. “We must truly have a psychic connection. I planned on doing the same this morning.” He reached out to lift the checked fabric covering the basket she carried and peeked inside. His stomach grumbled loudly. “Your rolls do smell delicious. You will certainly be greeted more enthusiastically than I will.”
She slapped his hand. “You should have eaten breakfast with the Hardings.”
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