The Pleasures of Passion: Sinful Suitors 4

by Sabrina Jeffries

  “Listen,” he broke in, “I’m only asking you to give me a chance. You’re right. We are different people now. But not so different that we don’t still have this between us. So why not take it slowly? Continue with our pretend engagement, but actually treat it as a courtship. Get to know each other as we are now.”

  She eyed him warily. “Is this your roundabout way of getting me to comply with Lord Fulkham’s scheme again?”

  “Damnation, it has naught to do with—” He choked down a string of angry words. She was intentionally provoking him. Because she didn’t yet trust him not to break her heart again. And truth be told, he wasn’t entirely easy with her yet, either.

  All the more reason they should take some time to be together. So he forced himself to be calm and not rise to her barbs. “I don’t give a damn about Fulkham’s scheme. If you don’t care if your father hangs, then I bloody well don’t, especially after what he did to you.”

  Catching her hand, he lifted it to his lips for a kiss. “But even if you refuse to help Fulkham, I will court you. I’m not giving up on us this time, Bree.” He sucked in a ragged breath. “Unless that’s what you really want, and then I’ll honor your wishes. But I don’t think it is.”

  The fact that she didn’t instantly refuse emboldened him. “Look at it this way. We have a unique opportunity. We’re already considered betrothed by the world. So we can court without anyone thinking twice about it. If it doesn’t succeed, then you can do as you initially planned and jilt me. Go back to your estate and closet yourself away from me and the world.”

  He pulled her closer. “But if we can find what we once had, wouldn’t that be worth it? If you can come to trust me . . .”

  “So I can have my heart broken again the next time you decide to . . . to fight a duel and flee the country?”

  That made him laugh, in spite of everything. “I’m not fighting any more duels, sweeting.” He grinned. “Unless they’re fought over you, and then you can come with me.”

  She eyed him askance. “And take my son, too? And have him leave his inheritance behind? And his family?”

  Bloody hell. “All right, bad joke,” he said sourly. “The point is—”

  “The point is that you haven’t considered my life, my situation. You want to start again as if nothing happened. Yet so much has happened to me. It has changed me. I don’t think you realize how.”

  “Then let me find that out. What’s the harm in it? That we might fall in love again? That doesn’t sound awful to me.”

  “Of course it doesn’t. Love isn’t the same for a man.” She made a vague gesture in the direction of his trousers. “For men, it’s just about that. For women—”

  “I don’t think women are as different from men as you suggest,” he said softly. “I never forgot you, Bree, and that was without ever having you in my bed. I never stopped missing you. And I daresay you were the same. You never learned to love Trevor, after all.”

  “No, but I tried. Hard.” She drew her hand from his, and wandered over to the plane tree. “Has it occurred to you that perhaps my heart is . . . permanently broken, which is why I could never love my husband? That after fighting so hard to cut you out of it, I can never let you—or anyone else—back in?”

  He refused to let her see how her words tore at him. “No, that has not occurred to me, because it’s absurd.”

  She flashed him a wan smile. “That’s the problem. You truly believe it’s absurd. But perhaps you shouldn’t.”

  A voice came from beyond the garden. “Brilliana? Are you still out here?”

  Lady Pensworth. Deuce take it.

  Bree shot him an apologetic glance. “I’ll be in shortly, Aunt Agatha!” she called out.

  There was a long pause before the old battle-ax answered. “All right. But don’t be too long.”

  Stepping up to him, Bree whispered, “She’ll question your poor footboy until she gets the truth out of him, and then she’ll be in here demanding to know what we’re up to. I’d better go.”

  He caught her by the arm. “Just think about what I said, Bree. Give yourself tonight to consider my proposition.” When she looked as if she might make some protest, he added, “We can court respectably. No bed play.”

  A rueful laugh escaped her. “You really think you can manage that.”

  “I can manage anything for another chance with you.”

  That wiped the humor from her face. She looked lost, unsure of her bearings. He understood. But that didn’t mean he had to take her reticence as the last word.

  He knew he wouldn’t hurt her again. Now he just had to make sure she knew it, too.

  “I’ll give you my answer as soon as I can,” she said. “Now, I really must go.”

  This time he let her. Because he had to. Not because he wanted to.

  But long after she disappeared, he stood there, replaying everything they’d said, and it occurred to him that he hadn’t stopped to examine his own feelings in the matter. He’d just stormed in as always, with his eye on the prize, not considering whether the prize was what he truly wanted.

  He’d spent only one day with her—she might really be as different as she’d said. She did seem more guarded about her feelings. And he wanted a wife who could love him freely.

  What if, God forbid, she couldn’t love him again?

  He snorted. This wasn’t about love. He wouldn’t let it be about love. He’d gone that route once, and it had nearly destroyed him. Love was as tumultuous as war, and he’d had enough of both. He wanted a wife who would give him peace. Children. A pleasant life.

  And yes, passion. He and Bree had that, at least.

  But was that enough? It might not be for her, especially if her years with Trevor had set her irrevocably against marriage.

  No, he couldn’t believe it. All women wanted husbands, didn’t they? She was still merely chafing over her notion that he’d fought the duel over his mistress. A notion she’d had from his own father.

  He winced. He’d have to accept that if he were to trust her.

  As for her conviction that he’d betrayed her with another woman, she would never come to trust him until she could believe him on that score.

  He scrubbed a hand over his face. He’d have to handle this with great care. He could ask Edwin about Clarissa’s present state of mind. According to Warren, Edwin knew everything about the rape and the duel, so Niall wouldn’t be speaking out of turn.

  Yes, that was what he should do. Speak to Edwin in the morning and see if the man thought Niall could approach Clarissa without alarming her during her pregnancy.

  “I didn’t tell her nothing, sir. Just so you know.”

  Niall glanced up to see Pip standing there. “Who?”

  “Lady Pensworth. I played dumb when she asked who was out here with Mrs. Trevor.”

  That made Niall laugh. “Trust me, she’ll know before the hour is up. Lady Pensworth is nothing if not resourceful.” He handed the boy a guinea, and the lad’s eyes went wide. “Tell your master I appreciate his lending me your aid. And tell him it was successful.”

  He hoped it had been, anyway.

  “Is there anything else I can do for you, my lord?”

  “Not unless you can tell me which of the windows in that town house belongs to Mrs. Trevor’s bedchamber. I could use a way to reach her without going through Lady Pensworth.” And he wouldn’t be averse to throwing a few pebbles at her window the next time he wanted to talk to her.

  “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know which one. But I can find out.” He held up the guinea. “For another of these.”

  Niall laughed. “Cheeky devil. All right then, see if you can discover it.” He held out the guinea, then drew it back when Pip reached for it. “But do it discreetly, mind? If Lady Pensworth hears about it, you’ll only make matters worse.”

  Pip looked wounded. “I know how to keep quiet, sir. I do work for Lord Fulkham, after all.”

  “Good point.” And that gave him an idea. “He
re’s your guinea, and there’ll be another if you find out what your master has learned from Debrett’s about a man named Sir Kenneth Whiting and bring the information to me at the Star and Garter at ten.”

  “Very good, sir. It will be done.”

  “That’s all then. Thank you.”

  The boy walked off.

  It would be good to go into this game fully armed with information. Because if Sir Kenneth was related to Joseph Whiting . . .

  He’d cross that bridge when he came to it.

  Brilliana should have known that the moment she walked out of the garden, her aunt would be waiting.

  “My footman informed me that you went out to meet someone while I was napping, but that other young fellow wouldn’t say whom.” Disapproval laced Aunt Agatha’s tone as she walked alongside Brilliana. “So, who was it?”

  “You do realize I’m a grown woman and not some chit out of the schoolroom,” Brilliana said irritably. “I can meet with whomever I please. For goodness’ sake, I’m engaged—”

  “Which is precisely why you should not be dallying with Lord Fulkham.”

  She blinked. “Lord Fulkham? What would make you think—”

  “My servant said he recognized the footboy’s livery as that of Lord Fulkham.”

  Brilliana couldn’t help it—after everything that had transpired earlier, the fact that Niall had gone so far as to use the baron’s servant in order to allay her own suspicions started her laughing.

  “I don’t find it remotely amusing, my dear.” Aunt Agatha narrowed her gaze. “You’re not playing the two men off each other, are you?”

  That only made Brilliana laugh harder. As Aunt Agatha began to scowl, Brilliana fought to restrain her laughter. “N-no,” she choked out. “Not in . . . the least, believe me.” She could barely handle the one tiger she had by the tail, let alone two of them.

  “Then what did Fulkham want?”

  Oh, Lord, what to say? Perhaps a version of the truth? “For one thing, it wasn’t Lord Fulkham. It was Niall. My fiancé and I argued this afternoon, and he knew I wouldn’t admit him. So he got Lord Fulkham to write me a note requesting a private meeting in the park, and Niall had it delivered by the man’s servant to further my assumption that I was meeting with Lord Fulkham.”

  “Yes, but why did you even go? Didn’t you stop to question why Lord Fulkham would want to meet with you in private instead of simply calling on you like a respectable gentleman?”

  Drat it—she couldn’t tell Aunt Agatha the real reason Baron Fulkham might have for wishing a private meeting. “Lord Fulkham said he didn’t want the neighbors speculating about why he was calling on me when I was newly engaged.”

  “And you believed that havey-cavey story.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” To keep from having to look Aunt Agatha in the eye while she spun her tale of half-truths, she headed up the steps. “I figured the man was overly cautious. He is a member of the government, you know.”

  “Hmm.” Aunt Agatha followed, keeping pace with Brilliana quite easily for a woman of advanced years. “So what did Lord Margrave want?”

  “To apologize, of course.”

  “That certainly took a while,” her aunt said dryly.

  Brilliana nearly missed a step. “What do you mean?”

  “The footman said you’d been out there in the garden a half hour or more.”

  Fighting a blush, Brilliana fumbled for how to answer. “Well, he didn’t start with the apology, believe me. First he attempted to . . . finish hashing out our argument from earlier.”

  “I’m not surprised. I did wonder how he would react once you told him the truth.”

  Brilliana paused at the top of the steps. “The truth?”

  “About your father. And what he did to you.”

  “Oh. Of course.” Brilliana had entirely forgotten how she and her aunt had left things earlier.

  “That is what you were arguing about, isn’t it? You said you were going to tell him later. Or did you turn into mush once you saw Sir Oswald and then decide to put the past behind you?”

  “Hardly.”

  “Good, good. You shouldn’t.”

  Hoping to put an end to the conversation, Brilliana hurried into the house, but Aunt Agatha was right on her heels and caught her in the foyer before she could head for the stairs. “So what did Lord Margrave say when you told him about your wretched father?”

  Oh, Lord, would this never end? And how was she to answer? In Aunt Agatha’s eyes there would be no good reason for her to reconcile with Papa. Yet she and Niall had to continue their efforts.

  It suddenly dawned on her that she hadn’t yet told Niall for certain that she would go on with this farce. She’d said she would think about it.

  But she’d mostly meant that she would think about letting him court her. Because the truth was, she’d already made up her mind about Papa. There was no sense pretending she could stand by and watch him hang, not if she could prevent it. After seeing him look so ill today, after hearing the yearning in his voice when he asked about Silas, she had somewhat turned into mush.

  A pox on Lord Fulkham for putting her in this situation. She’d safely packed away her feelings for Papa—and Niall—years ago, and now the dratted undersecretary was forcing her to experience them all again.

  “Well?” her aunt prodded. “What did Lord Margrave say when you told him?”

  Brilliana hated that she was so bad at subterfuge. And leave it to Aunt Agatha to make things even more difficult than they needed to be. “Niall said that although he thinks what Papa did was deplorable, Silas is still Papa’s grandson and it’s important to stay involved with one’s family.”

  Aunt Agatha snorted. “Then it’s no wonder you argued. I hope you stood firm.”

  Oh, dear. “To be honest, once Niall made his case, I saw his side of things. He pointed out that after not having had his own family for so long, he appreciated them all the more. Blood is still blood, after all.”

  “And bad blood is still bad blood,” her aunt retorted. “Besides, your fiancé is the one responsible for not ‘having had his own family.’ He’s the one who fought a duel, and for what? The gossips said it was over some woman.”

  Brilliana cringed. “You heard that, too?”

  Aunt Agatha scrutinized her. “Was the woman you?”

  “No. And I don’t want to talk about it,” she said.

  Her aunt scowled at her. “You have become decidedly uncommunicative of late. This betrothal seems to have you at sixes and sevens.”

  What an understatement. “I don’t want to talk about it because there’s no time, if I’m to dress for the ball.”

  That clearly took her aunt off guard. “We’re going?”

  “If you feel well enough.”

  “It was just a trifling headache,” Aunt Agatha said with a trace of petulance. “But I thought perhaps you might not want to go now that you’re betrothed. Unless Margrave is attending?”

  “He’s not invited,” she lied. “So of course I’m going. After I marry, he and I will be retiring to the country and I’ll miss all the balls. So I must kick up my heels while I can.”

  Then she fled, desperately needing to be away from Aunt Agatha’s incessant questions. Because how could she admit that she didn’t know why Niall had fought? That his refusal to tell her chafed her?

  Indeed, it was the main thing that kept her from agreeing to his proposal that they court. And how could he expect her to fall in with his plans when he was keeping so much from her?

  She groaned. He expected it because he knew how susceptible she was to him. And oh, but he was right. She still couldn’t believe how wonderfully naughty it had been to be seduced against a tree by the scoundrel.

  Well, it didn’t matter. She refused to let it matter. She must think of other considerations while she made her decision. She must think of Silas and Camden Hall. She must be absolutely sure that Niall could happily be part of her life before she fell in with his plans to
court her.

  Because if he could not, she could not allow his seductions to go any further. No matter how deliciously enticing they might be.

  Eleven

  Niall sat in the taproom at the Star and Garter, staring down at his cards. They were excellent. But so far, Sir Oswald hadn’t impressed him with an ability to take advantage of good cards. No wonder the fellow lost money routinely.

  The question was, did he use counterfeits to make up for that?

  “Sir Oswald?” Mr. Raines asked. “What’s your bid?”

  “Leave me alone. I’m thinking.”

  Which, from what Niall could tell, the man didn’t do terribly often.

  Sir Kenneth leaned back in his chair. “Margrave, could you please get your partner to move this along?”

  “Why?” Niall countered. “Have you somewhere else to be?”

  Pip had met him earlier to say that Sir Kenneth was Captain Joseph Whiting’s second cousin. Which had made Niall automatically dislike the baronet.

  “You tell him, Margrave,” Sir Oswald said. “Some of us like to take our time when playing cards.”

  Niall resisted the impulse to point out that having plenty of time didn’t seem to help Sir Oswald’s bids one whit. But it did make Niall wonder how the man could be the mastermind of a counterfeiting operation. He wasn’t the brightest star in the sky, to be sure.

  At last Sir Oswald bid, and the rest of the table was able to do so as well. Niall only hoped his partner’s bid was based on the cards and not wishful thinking. So far, they hadn’t done very well against Raines and Sir Kenneth.

  Sir Oswald was an indifferent player, heedless and impulsive. Sometimes he shone. Other times he sank like a lead weight, taking his partner with him. Thank God Niall wasn’t as poor as he was pretending, or he’d be destitute after his stint with Sir Oswald.

  Meanwhile, Raines had shown himself to be a thoughtful and careful player. Indeed, he seemed to lack the kind of reckless character Niall would have considered necessary for a counterfeiter. Then again, a clever man would hide his true character if it were devious, and Raines did seem to have a brain.