Huntington raised his brow in an expression Michael suspected meant he did not believe him. “Then, as she fits the criteria for our wager,” Huntington continued, “she’s fair game. Now why don’t you let poor St. Giles go. You’re crinkling up his lapels terribly, and he’s already at a disadvantage in securing the lovely Mrs. Carlton’s attentions going up against us.”
“Bollocks I am,” St. Giles ground out as Michael released him, before taking a step backward. “And what was all that about?” He demanded to Michael, brushing down the material of his lapels, a decided expression of annoyance on his normally affable visage. “What’s gotten into you?”
Michael drew in a rather long breath. “Damn it. I’m sorry St. Giles.” And he was. Though he had no qualms about engaging in a physical confrontation, St. Giles was as close to a friend as he had, and he didn’t normally get physical with friends. Not that he really had any friends apart from these two. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“A woman is what came over you.” Huntington laughed. “But thankfully you don’t have feelings for her, isn’t that so? Otherwise, goodness knows how else you would have reacted. 'Tis lucky for St. Giles and I, that you don’t care for her, isn’t it?”
There was a definite note of sarcasm in Huntington’s voice, but Michael chose to ignore it. “Perhaps we should simply choose another lady for the wager? Then there would be no issue.”
“There’s no issue now,” Huntington was quick to point out. “You said it yourself, you don’t have feelings for her. Besides, Mrs. Carlton is ravishing. I find my interest stirred.”
“And mine,” St. Giles seconded. “In fact, I can’t think of a more delightful quarry than the stunning Mrs. Carlton. It will be a pleasure to try to get her in my bed.”
“You won’t be bedding her,” Michael growled, as he took a step toward St. Giles who was only an inch shorter than Michael’s own six-foot-two frame.
St. Giles squared his chest in response, his green eyes staring accusingly at Michael’s blue ones. “What has gotten into you! You’ve never had such issues before regarding our wagers and the women involved. Yet now you’re getting physical with me over a woman you supposedly don’t even care about.”
“Would the two of you both relax.” Huntington stepped between the two men, pushing them both apart. “She’s a widow and can make her own choices.” He was pointedly looking at Michael. “If you don’t want either of us to bed her, Michael, then you be the one to win the wager.”
“Damn it then I will!” The words rushed out of Michael’s mouth before he could think better of them.
“Good,” Huntington said. “May the best man win.” And with a curt nod, he turned on his heel and retreated down the back stairs to brave the throng below.
St. Giles simply stared at Michael for a moment, before shaking his head and following the duke.
Michael exhaled harshly as his friends left, before turning back to the balcony and casting his eyes down across the guests. Bloody hell. What had he just agreed to? He wasn’t going to sleep with Edward’s sister, even if she was a widow and made every cell of his body scream to possess her. She was from a good family and he would make damn sure those two libertines didn’t get so much as even a sniff of her. Which meant he would have to stick closely to her.
He would protect her from them, and even from himself, if he had to.
Now all he had to do was find her, before those two idiot friends of his. He’d seen her hurry down the hall toward Lord Pembrook’s study. Which in itself did beg the question of not only what Holly was doing attending the rather notorious ball in the first place, but what was she doing heading off down a corridor, away from the festivities?
Chapter 2
They said darkness was a thief’s friend. They lied.
All it did was make Holly’s job of picking the lock to Lord Pembrook’s safe a great deal more difficult than it normally would be. Blast it! She had to get it open, and soon too, before her absence was noted.
A whisper of awareness danced along her skin as a slight draft reached the nape of her neck.
She spun her head around and glanced over her shoulder, certain she’d heard something but there was nothing but the great hulking darkness of Lord Pembrook’s study. Just shadows and dust.
Odd, but she could have sworn she’d felt someone’s presence. “Oh Holly, stop being a ninny and get on with it,” she whispered, hoping that the words would reassure her.
But a niggle of awareness still lingered and try as she might, she couldn’t dismiss the feeling she wasn’t alone. Clearly she was more on edge than usual with this clandestine activity. Shaking her head, she returned her attention back onto the sole purpose of her visit this evening; getting the safe open, and quickly.
Perhaps she should light a lamp? If she did, she’d have the thing open in less than thirty seconds; instead she’d been standing in the dark for over two minutes trying to coax it open. Time, she did not have, not if she didn’t want to be discovered.
“Come on my sweet,” she crooned to the lock as she leaned forward and began to once again manipulate her lock picks inside the lock barrel from pure touch alone. “Open up for me. There’s a good thing.” Her sisters often teased her for talking to the locks as she picked them, but invariably it always seemed to work. And a few moments later the pins in the tumbler slowly clicked into place and she twisted the lock to triumphantly open the safe’s door. Thank goodness!
She reached inside with her gloved hand but felt nothing but a small empty square of space inside the bottom of the safe.
“No, no, no! This can’t be!” There couldn’t be nothing in there. “Darn it all to hell!” Holly knew she shouldn’t swear and that blasphemy was a sin, but some situations simply warranted a more expressive use of the English language. And this was definitely one such occasion.
How could the safe be empty? The letters were meant to be inside.
Heedless of the possibility of being caught, Holly twisted around to the desk behind her; a great big piece of walnut oak dominating a large portion of the room and which she’d already checked didn’t contain Lady Clare’s stolen letters, but it did have a lamp sitting on its surface. A lamp she would have to risk lighting to confirm that nothing was in the safe. She had to be sure, her very friend’s reputation was at risk.
She felt around briefly for the box of matches next to the lamp and then took one out and struck it against the tin.
A flicker of light flared from the match and she wasted no time in lighting the lamp.
Warmth flooded the room, and the light eased her nerves even though it could spell trouble if someone saw the illumination shining from under the door. “Time to make certain nothing is in there.” She took the lamp in her hands and turned back to the safe.
“I’d forgotten you often talk to yourself,” a deeply masculine voice drawled from the depths of the darkness. “Though I do remember you used to enjoy picking locks as a hobby. I had no idea you’d graduated to doing so for monetary gain. How interesting.”
Holly stifled a scream as she spun around to the blackness, holding the light in front of her like a weapon. Her pulse was galloping like wildfire and goosebumps crawled along her skin. “Show yourself, sir! Whoever you are.”
A shadow moved only a few feet from her and Holly nearly dropped the lamp. All her senses seemed to heighten as the man unfurled himself from where he’d been leaning against the wall in a dark spot of the room next to a bookcase to her left. “Lord Blackthorn?”
Were her eyes deceiving her? Or was one of the most notorious rake-hells of the Ton, a man she’d regularly locked horns with as a child for corrupting her brother, even though she was nearly four years younger than the both of them, standing there in front of her with a curious expression on his wickedly handsome face.
“Is that really you?” She blinked and had to resist bolting for the door. Michael would never harm her, that she knew for certain, but after all the years she’d
chastised him for being up to no good she really didn’t fancy explaining her actions. Though she could tell from the look in those ridiculously blue eyes of his, that he wasn’t going to let her go without an explanation. “Oh damn it, it is you isn’t it!”
“You swear a lot more than I remember too.” His voice was like warm honey as it washed over her, and Holly had to concentrate on what he was actually saying. No wonder the man was so accomplished with the ladies.
Holly had never been taken in by the smoothly accomplished rakes of the ton, but Michael had always been another story, even though she had tried to convince herself over the years that he was an out and out bounder, a part of her had always been a tiny bit affected by him.
Alright, if she was being truthful with herself, a lot affected. And she was completely unimpressed with herself for feeling that way. The fact that she was now six-and-twenty and his very presence was still enough to send a shiver down her spine, was completely humiliating. She’d thought she was too sensible and older now to be taken in by his charm. But she’d forgotten just how very charismatic the man was, and how a part of her had always been drawn to him as much as she’d fought against it. And he had no idea. Which was definitely a blessing as she’d be mortified if he knew how he affected her.
Absolutely mortified.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded, slamming down the lamp and placing her hands on her hips. “You scared the living daylights out of me, sneaking in here and skulking in the shadows, not saying anything for the longest time!”
The man straightened his tall frame and took a step forward into the light. His cobalt blue eyes shone fiercely with a seemingly amused expression. Clearly, he was having fun at her discomfort. The cad.
“Well?” She began to tap her foot against the wooden floor boards. “I’m waiting for a response, my lord.”
“You’re certainly still as bossy as ever, aren’t you?” He grinned, taking another step toward her, his eyes never leaving her own. “But please stop with the ‘my lord’ nonsense. You used to call me Michael and I see no reason not to continue doing so now. In fact, I always rather enjoyed our discussions when we were younger. You had such a way of saying my name with just the right amount of exasperation and displeasure, that I entirely looked forward to making you say it. Vexing you was one of my guilty pleasures.”
“Well I certainly did call you Michael when I was vexed with you! However, that was when we were younger, and it would be entirely inappropriate to call you so now,” she replied, unable to stop the gulp that rose in her throat as she tilted her head up to his, refusing to be the first to break eye contact. She’d forgotten just how tall and broad of shoulders he actually was, and how petite she felt in comparison, which was silly as she wasn’t considered short by any measure. Average perhaps, but not short. Though her five-foot-six-inch frame definitely felt short when standing next to him. But he still hadn’t answered her question. “I see that you are still a master at deflecting questions.”
He laughed, and the rich melodic sound filled the room.
She reached forward and grabbed his arm. “Hush, or else we shall be discovered in here.” The touch of her fingers against the material of his jacket sent a jolt of heat all the way up her arm to the very core of her being. Involuntarily, she flinched and quickly dropped her hand away, taking a hasty step backward.
Space. She needed to put some space between them so she could think clearly.
“If we are discovered I shall simply say I’m in here seducing you,” Michael said, sounding entirely too comfortable with the excuse.
He winked at her and she went weak at the knees. Silly knees. “You wouldn’t dare say such a thing. My reputation would be ruined if you did.”
“But you are a widow now aren’t you?” he asked, almost with a look of disappointment in the cobalt of his gaze. “Surely being found in my company would only enhance your appeal?”
Guilt plunged low in the depth of her stomach. “You heard I was a widow?”
Michael nodded. “Just this evening. I had no idea you’d even married, to be honest.” He paused for a moment, appearing at a sudden loss for words. “I’m…I’m sorry for your loss, Holly. If I had known sooner, I would have conveyed my condolences before this evening.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “Even that sounds rather empty saying it aloud. I should have been there for you and I wasn’t, and for that I am sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Holly rushed out. “I mean; why would you be there for me? We haven’t seen each other in years. Not since Edward’s funeral. In fact, I didn’t really ever expect to see you again.”
“No of course you didn’t. Why would you? I always let everyone down, at least according to my father.” He took a step back from her and then smiled, though there was little humor in his gaze. “You know, your husband never requested your dowry.”
“He didn’t?” She hoped her voice sounded calm because inside her heart was racing about a million miles an hour. “He was a very proud man, my husband.” At least she imagined he was, it was hard to keep track of what one’s fictional dead husband was or was not. “Perhaps he didn’t wish to take any money from someone of your, um, station?”
An indecipherable shadow crossed his handsome face. “You mean from someone with my tarnished reputation, don’t you?”
Holly pursed her lips. “Actually, no. I meant because he was only a mister and didn’t particularly want to have anything to do with aristocracy. I doubt Harold had any notion of your rather, um, infamous reputation with the ladies and such…”
“Harold? You married a man named Harold?”
She gasped. “Don’t you dare insult his name, Michael Drake!”
She’d spent hours deciding on Harold’s name, thinking it rather noble, particularly for someone she’d always intended to kill off soon after inventing him. “Harold was a paragon of a man. Always attentive and kind. So sweet and generous. Why, he was always reading me poetry and bringing me flowers. Attending upon me all the time, ensuring my needs were well and truly met. He was the most wonderful husband a girl could ever imagine having.” And he had been. Harold had been perfect in her imagination. In that, she was not lying at all.
Michael raised a brow. “Forgive me for insulting him. That was particularly crass of me.”
“It was,” Holly agreed, a twinge of guilt once again flittering across her awareness. Though it was crass of him, particularly if Harold had been real. But Michael didn’t know Holly had invented him. Only her two sisters knew. And that’s how it would stay. How it had to stay. If people realized she’d invented a husband, even if it had been to protect herself and her sisters, she’d never be able to show her face at social events again. Which would mean the loss of her secret income. “In any event, you still haven’t answered my question of what you’re doing here sneaking into this room and scaring me half to death!”
“I promise I shall say nothing about your rather nefarious activities surrounding the safe. Cross my heart.” This time a grin accompanied another wink, which certainly didn’t help strengthen her knees. The man’s smile had always been dangerous to any woman in the vicinity.
“Can you be serious for one moment.” She tried to sound stern, but she feared that her voice was sounding rather breathless.
“Very well,” he replied, his face turning serious. “In truth, I’m here because of you.”
“You are?” How had he even known she was in here? She hadn’t seen him and had been careful to make sure she hadn’t been observed entering Pembrook’s study; at least, she thought she had.
“Yes,” he said. “I saw you slipping away down here and came to find you. I suspected you might be up to something, although I’ve got to admit that it didn’t cross my mind that you’d be robbing a safe.” He shrugged, like it mattered little to him if she did so or not. “It probably should have considering your interest in locks.”
“Oh, for goodness sakes! I’m not robbing anything.”
&n
bsp; “Of course, you’re not.” His glance swiveled between herself and the now open safe, disbelief written all over his face. “Simply practicing your lock picking skills instead of dancing, are you?”
Holly crossed her arms in front of her chest. “You can cease with the sarcasm, thank you very much. I’m actually trying to retrieve something that was already stolen. Something that does not belong to Lord Pembrook.”
“Having no luck finding it either, I take it?”
A large sigh left her lips. “None whatsoever I’m afraid. And now that you’ve shown up, things are even more complicated.”
“They are?”
“Of course, they are!” she cried, picking up the lamp and swiveling back toward the safe. “You are certain to try to make me explain what’s going on here.”
“You always were a smart girl.”
Holly was positive she could detect amusement in his tone, but underneath she could also hear the absolute certainty in his voice. Michael had always been like a dog with a bone and never let anything go, always having to know exactly what was going on. Rather frustrating, even if it did remind her of herself, which meant he wouldn’t be satisfied with any lie. She knew that from experience. “Oh, very well. I shall explain the situation to you, but not here. We can’t be caught anywhere near here.” She quietly shut the door to the safe and pulled out her pins from the lock. The tumblers clicked back into place, once again locking the mechanism.
Michael leaned over her shoulder, peering at the lock. “You didn’t leave a scratch,” he murmured in her ear. “Very impressive.”
Holly tried very hard to ignore the shiver of wicked delight that coursed down her spine as his breath caressed her neck. Good lord, the man’s pull was dangerous. She turned around to face him only to find herself within inches of him. Her lips were suddenly dry as the smell of sandalwood and whiskey filled her nostrils, intoxicating in its heady scent.
Concentrate, Holly, concentrate.
He was only a man and certainly not the sort to lose one’s calm in front of. No. If he knew he was affecting her so, he’d use the knowledge to his advantage. She raised her chin and returned her attention back to his comment. “Of course, I left no scratches. I’m a professional. But how do you even know that lock picking could potentially leave scratches?”
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