The Danger of Desire

by Sabrina Jeffries

  At Brilliana’s nod, Delia stifled a sigh. Easy for them to say. They were both real beauties, with curvaceous bodies and attractive faces. Whereas her only real asset was her eyes. And her hair, when she could manage to tame it. Which wasn’t often.

  Yet Warren was dreaming of you when he pulled you onto his lap. When he fondled you and asked you to stay.

  It was the only thing that had kept her going through this mad rush to wed. The only thing that made her eager for her wedding night.

  Oh, Lord, she mustn’t think of that, or she would blush.

  “Well?” Clarissa asked. “The blue, then?”

  Delia nodded. “If Brilliana says I look my best in it, then I do. Fashion isn’t my purview, I’m afraid.” Although at least she no longer had to dress garishly. She might not be the best with clothes, but with Brilliana helping her—

  Suddenly it hit her that Brilliana would no longer be helping her with anything. The only females in Delia’s new abode would be servants she barely knew, for Clarissa had already told her that Warren’s mother was dead and he had no sisters, and only one sister-in-law, who lived in America.

  So Delia would be virtually alone in some cavernous manor house with a man.

  Unexpected tears stung her eyes, and she dashed them away. Lord, why was she becoming such a watering pot?

  “Dearest!” Brilliana cried. “What’s wrong? Are you that unhappy to be marrying Lord Knightford?”

  Instantly, Brilliana embraced her, attempting to soothe her, which, of course, only made the tears actually fall. “I’m not . . . crying over that,” she managed to get out. “I’m crying over . . . leaving you and Silas!”

  With a murmur of sympathy, Clarissa and Brilliana hugged her between them. “You aren’t leaving us,” Brilliana said stoutly. “You’re merely setting up your own household. We’ll visit each other often, I promise.”

  “Lindenwood Castle is only a day’s drive from London,” Clarissa said, with a squeeze of Delia’s shoulders. “You can come stay with me anytime you like.”

  “And doesn’t Lord Knightford have a property in Shropshire?” Brilliana said. “Why, that’s only a short drive from Camden Hall.”

  “It’s a hunting b-box,” Delia blubbered. “He only goes there with men.”

  “Never fear,” Clarissa said soothingly. “That is sure to change now that he’s no longer a bachelor. He’ll want to stay at home in the country, all cozy with his wife, while he entertains his friends. The way Edwin does.”

  Despair swamped Delia. Much as she liked Clarissa’s husband, he and his friends weren’t remotely similar to Warren in their habits. She couldn’t even be sure that Warren wouldn’t continue his whoring. After all, he’d made her no promises on that score. He’d merely said that his “bachelor life” wasn’t “as much fun as it looks” and that it didn’t “matter anymore.”

  That hardly sounded like he meant to halt it.

  Oh, Lord, she’d been so intent on figuring out what would happen to Camden Hall that she hadn’t even thought to ask if he meant to be faithful to her. What if he didn’t? Could she bear sharing his bed knowing that he would blithely leave it to go to another’s?

  She had to find out what he intended, or she would go mad worrying about it. “Have either of you heard when my aunt and my . . . fiancé will be returning from London?”

  Clarissa exchanged a glance with Brilliana. “Not yet. But I imagine it will be in the evening. They’ll have lots to do before they return.”

  Delia nodded. And she had lots to think about before then, too. “Are we done deciding about the gown and flowers?”

  “Yes,” Brilliana said. “Why?”

  “I should like to go for a walk, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course,” Clarissa said. “We can all use a stroll. You two haven’t yet seen our folly, have you? The one that Stoke Towers is named for? I simply must show it to you. It’s a perfect little triangular Gothic tower with turrets at each point. Edwin’s grandfather built it back in 1765 in tribute to his late wife. You’ll adore it. Wait—what do you think of holding the wedding there?”

  “What a grand idea,” Brilliana exclaimed, “assuming it’s large enough and the weather is fine. But that will make a great deal of trouble for your servants, don’t you think?”

  “We could keep the breakfast here in the manor, and just have the ceremony there. It could be quite fun if we—”

  “Forgive me,” Delia broke in. “I need to go for a walk alone. To clear my head.”

  The two women blinked at her as if she’d just proposed lopping off her arms. Then Clarissa nodded. “Whatever you wish. But you could still see the folly. Just take the path behind the house that leads past the knot garden.”

  “I will, thank you,” Delia said, and turned to leave.

  “Wait!” Brilliana called out. “Before you go, do you have any questions about . . . well . . . what to expect on your wedding night? I know you and I have discussed it in the past, but—”

  “You explained it admirably, thank you.” Delia couldn’t bear to hear more depressing comments about how a woman must endure a man’s attentions. Especially after Warren had shown her that kissing could be so much better than she’d expected or experienced. “I believe I’m ready for that, at least.”

  What a lie, she thought as she left the two women and headed outdoors. She wasn’t remotely ready. Not because she feared it; Warren had made it clear that he was very good at satisfying a woman in that area of marriage.

  It was her inability to satisfy him that worried her. He was used to seductive, beautiful courtesans who were paid to know just how to pleasure a man. Or randy wives with plenty of experience in the bedchamber.

  A sense of hopelessness seized her as she walked down the path past the garden. What if she did everything wrong? What if he found her terribly stupid at it? Would that make him go running back to the brothel or to some loose-living widow with more talent at pleasuring him?

  And would she care if he did? This wasn’t a love match. They both knew it. From what she understood about gentlemen and ladies of rank, a fashionable marriage meant the gentleman went his own way while the lady went hers.

  She swallowed. She didn’t want a fashionable marriage. Not with him. They were unfashionable in everything else. Couldn’t they be unfashionable in this, too?

  The sound of footsteps behind her arrested her. Someone was following her, and she didn’t want a companion just now.

  She increased her speed only to have the person behind her increase theirs, too. Without warning, an arm snagged her about the waist and jerked her to a halt.

  Then her mouth was being smothered with a kiss, and the familiar scent of spicy cologne allayed all her fears. Warren. As if her thoughts had called him to her from some distant land, he’d returned.

  His drugging kiss made every part of her body sing. Oh, Lord, but the man knew how to excite her. She could stand here all day just drinking from his mouth the way he drank from hers.

  Here. In full view of the house.

  Coming to her senses, she broke the kiss. “Anyone might look out and see us!”

  His eyes gleamed at her. “Do you care?”

  “I . . . well . . . I mean, I ought to care.”

  “Nonsense. You’ve never cared much about the proprieties before. Why start now?” His hands still gripped her waist, holding her anchored against him. “If anyone did see us, what could they do? Make us marry?”

  A smile tugged at her lips. “Good point.”

  “I thought so.” He bent his head to her ear. “Did you miss me, brat?”

  “Not one whit.” Then she belied the claim by looping her arms about his neck so she could kiss him.

  That had him crushing her against him once more so he could plunder her mouth hot and long and hard, until her blood raced and her heart faltered. He made her feel as if she could fly. Or die . . . utterly happy, right here in his arms.

  It was madness. It was joy. She wa
sn’t used to joy. She didn’t know how to handle it.

  After several moments of devouring her lips, he released her. “I missed you, too.”

  Smiling shyly at that, she edged away to continue down the path. “How did you know I was out here?”

  He fell into step beside her. “Clarissa told me you’d gone to see the folly alone, to clear your head. After witnessing the chaos in the manor, I figured you might want some company.”

  “You just wanted to escape all their questions about the wedding.”

  “That, too.” He shot her a knowing glance. “And I daresay I wasn’t the only one. You don’t strike me as the sort to exult in wedding plans.”

  She cast him a rueful smile. “You’re not far wrong. I swear, if Brilliana had asked me one more time which shade of ribbon I wanted for some particular frippery, I might have strangled her with it.”

  He chuckled, then skimmed his gaze down her relatively plain wrapped gown of pink gros de Naples. “You’re looking fetching today. Did you tire of plaids and stripes in warring colors?”

  Heat rose in her cheeks. “I . . . um . . .”

  “You don’t have to explain. I long ago figured out that your manner of dress was one more way of keeping suitors at arm’s length. When you aren’t attempting that, you dress quite nicely.”

  “Don’t be fooled by this gown,” she warned. “Brilliana helped me choose it. On my own, I am by no means an arbiter of fashion.”

  “Neither am I.”

  “Nonsense.” She looked him over. “Only you can make a gray coat, white waistcoat, and white trousers look the height of fashion.”

  “It’s all due to my valet. He keeps me looking lordly enough for my exalted rank.” He winked at her. “And despairs over whatever activities have me ruining my clothes at every turn.”

  “In the future, I shall try to refrain from pouring wine on your shirts,” she said lightly as they entered the woods beyond the garden. “As long as you refrain from getting in my way.”

  “I can’t make any promises.” He shifted to block her path. “Getting in your way sometimes leads to intriguing interludes.”

  He reached for her, but she darted past him. “Oh no, you don’t. Enough of that, or I’ll never get to see this famous folly.”

  With a snort, he caught up with her and let her continue on. “Are the wedding plans complete?”

  “As complete as we can make them, given the limitations of time.” She eyed him askance. “And speaking of the wedding, you’re breaking the rules, you know. It’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride on the eve of their wedding.”

  “It’s not ‘eve’ yet. Besides, you and I never follow rules. I don’t see why we should start now.” He folded his arms behind his back. “I’m actually rather surprised you didn’t insist on going to London with me and your aunt to participate in negotiating the wedding settlement.”

  Her laugh wafted on the wind. “There was no need. I knew Aunt Agatha would never let you get anything past her. She’s far more knowledgeable about matters like this than I.”

  “She does know a thing or two,” he said wryly. “She made my poor solicitor gasp with her demands. You now have what is probably the most generous jointure ever, given the size of your dowry, not to mention more pin money than even my mother had from Father.”

  She grinned up at him. “She got the best of you, did she?”

  “She did. But I didn’t mind. Given that I landed us in this situation, it was no more than I deserved.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You didn’t intend any of it. You were asleep and hardly knew what was going on. I don’t for a moment blame you for what happened.” She glanced away. “I blame myself.”

  “You mustn’t.” Taking her hand, he tucked it in the crook of his elbow. “I am well pleased with the result.”

  She darted a look up at him. “So am I.”

  They continued in silence another long while, content to enjoy the waning sun and chirping birds in the trees. Then they rounded a bend in the path and came suddenly upon the folly.

  She gasped. She’d expected some somber tower of weathered granite. Instead, it was a fanciful edifice of white-painted stone, with arched Gothic Venetian windows and grand crenellated turrets. Three stories high, it looked rather like a medieval wedding cake.

  “That is more than a folly,” she said in awe. “It’s magnificent.”

  “It is, isn’t it? Clarissa, Niall, and Yvette used to play in it when they were young.”

  “Niall?”

  “Clarissa’s brother, the Earl of Margrave, who owns the neighboring estate. That’s how Edwin and I came to be friends—from all my visits to see my cousins at Margrave Manor.”

  “Lord Margrave is the one who’s been abroad for years, right?”

  “Not anymore. He returned to England a couple of weeks ago, though he went straight to Margrave Manor, where he and Edwin have been trying to put the place to rights. You’ll probably meet him tomorrow at the wedding.” He took her hand. “Come, you must see the inside. The view from the rooftop is spectacular.”

  They entered through an elaborately carved door into a scene of serene beauty. With ornate plasterwork, mahogany floors, and other elegant flourishes, the tower reminded her of the tale of Rapunzel.

  Except that Rapunzel’s only means of exit was her hair. In the center of this tower was a lovely spiral staircase leading to the upper floors. The windows faced the woods on two sides and the fields on the third, and though Delia and Warren were only on the first floor, the views were amazing already.

  “Clarissa thinks we should have the ceremony here tomorrow,” Delia said as they looked out at the forest. “What do you think?”

  “Makes sense. If you want that.”

  “I believe I do. It’s really lovely, if a trifle warm.” She took off her bonnet. “I suppose that’s to be expected with the sun beating down on all these windows. Perhaps we could have them open tomorrow. Would that be all right with you?”

  “Anything you want is fine. I don’t care about the wedding preparations.” Warren turned toward her, looking suddenly serious. “There’s something more important we need to discuss.”

  “Oh?”

  “During my time in London dealing with your harridan of an aunt, certain information came to light. About your brother. And Camden Hall.”

  Her heart began to pound. “What sort of information?”

  “Well, your aunt had already told me that Camden Hall is heavily mortgaged because of his gambling losses. I’d assumed that they’d happened over time, that he was the usual young and reckless buck gambling his life away. But in the course of our negotiating terms for my helping keep the manor running until it could recoup, I learned more details about that. In short, I found out that your brother lost the funds in one night, apparently while playing in a gaming hell.”

  She sighed. The truth had been bound to come out eventually. And she was relieved it had. Because if she and Warren were to marry, she needed him to know that she intended to continue her search. More discreetly, of course.

  It galled her that the card cheat who’d brought her and Brilliana—and her brother—to this pass should get off scot-free. “Yes, that’s what happened.”

  “I take it that the gaming hell was Dickson’s?”

  She nodded.

  “And the tattooed lord you’ve been seeking was the one to trounce him.”

  Facing him, she said, “Not trounce him. Cheat him.”

  Warren gazed steadily into her face. “How do you know your brother was cheated?”

  “He told me so shortly before he . . .”

  “Drowned.”

  She swallowed hard. “My aunt revealed that, too, did she?”

  “Actually, I’d already heard that at St. George’s. I also heard he was drunk at the time.”

  “There’s some question of that,” she prevaricated.

  But that was all she said. Her soon-to-be husband didn’t need to know that R
eynold had thrown himself into the river purposely. Because if Warren realized he was about to marry the sister of a man who’d committed suicide, he surely wouldn’t want to risk being tainted by such a scandal. He might even refuse to marry her.

  And she needed Warren to marry her. If she were honest with herself, she wanted him to marry her. How strange that it became more natural by the hour to think of him as her future husband.

  He now watched her with that curious intensity that always both thrilled and worried her. “And you’re certain your brother was cheated out of the money.”

  “Utterly. Didn’t you hear my aunt the day we had luncheon together? Reynold and I have always excelled at piquet. So while I could understand his losing a small amount if faced with a truly superior player, I can’t believe he would lose enough to require mortgaging the estate. Why would he risk so much? Until that visit to London, he’d sworn off gambling completely.”

  “Or so he said. And if he really had been cheated, why didn’t he confront the man there and then? Demand that the man give him his money back?”

  “First of all, he couldn’t see exactly how the man was doing it, which would have made it difficult to confront him. Second, Reynold was afraid to risk the wrath of a man far beyond him in station. Reynold was sure no one would believe him, and then we’d all be ruined. That’s why he wouldn’t tell me the fellow’s name, either.”

  She wrapped her arms about her waist. “Reynold said he was thinking of me, of my future in society. Of his son’s future. He didn’t want me to make a fuss about it and bring trouble down upon all of us.”

  “No, far better to leave his family without the funds to survive.”

  She’d thought the same thing, many a time. Some of Reynold’s actions made no sense to her.

  Frustration lit his features. “So finding the tattooed man has been about what? Revenge for the death of your brother and the possible loss of your estate?”

  Chewing on her lower lip, she debated whether to reveal everything. But since she fully intended to keep up her search, it made no sense to hide it from him any longer.