Too Dangerous to Desire

by Cara Elliott

  Against her better judgment, Sophie was duly impressed. At the time of their installation, Neddy the blacksmith had explained in excruciating detail why the marquess’s new locks were impregnable.

  “How did you do that?” she whispered.

  “Years of practice.”

  Clearly her Pirate had sailed through oceans of intriguing adventure since hoisting anchor from Terrington. Curiosity prickled along her spine. “Where?” Sophie asked.

  “In too many hellholes to recount, Sunbeam.”

  “Was it difficult to learn?” she pressed.

  He eased the door open a touch wider before answering. “I seem to have a knack for this sort of thing. Perhaps my hands were made for sin.”

  The prickling turned to a more needle-sharp sensation as she watched him slip a finger inside to test the latch.

  Along with all his other plunder, how many hearts had he stolen along the way?

  Sophie shoved the unsettling thought back into the iron-banded storage box of her brain and quickly turned the mental key. He had warned her that his growth into manhood had left him without a noble bone in his body. So she must take him at his word. But that did not alter her own sense of right and wrong. A sudden twinge of guilt tugged at her heart.

  Rising, she folded her arms across her chest. Looking down on him gave the illusion of taking some control of the situation.

  “Your prowess is extraordinary. But be that as it may, I can’t let you go on with this.”

  He turned, a small upward curl tugging at one side of his mouth. “Interesting. And just how do you intend to stop me?”

  “I’ll scream.”

  “No you won’t, Sunbeam. You are far too loyal and stalwart to betray a friend.”

  Curse the plaguey pirate for knowing me so well.

  Her resolve, which just an instant ago had felt as solid as the granite slab beneath her feet, suddenly splintered into a jumble of sharp-edged shards. “Blast it all, Cameron Fanning-Daggett. You make me feel so confused.” It felt as if she were walking on knives. “I can’t seem to decide whether I find your bravado alluring or appalling.”

  “If it’s any consolation, my friends often express the same exasperation.” Cameron slid the steel probes back into his boot. “I am often deliberately difficult and disagreeable. And I don’t really give a damn about it.”

  Sophie couldn’t help but recall one of her uncle’s favorite lines from Hamlet—The lady doth protest too much, methinks.

  “It’s one of the reasons I choose to live alone,” he went on. “That way I answer only to myself.”

  “Your domestic arrangements are no concern of mine,” she replied tartly. “But as for business—tonight, you are going to have company.” She lifted her skirts, gathering a tight ball of fabric in one fist to keep them off the ground. “If you insist on breaching Wolcott’s bailiwick, I’m coming with you.”

  The pale point of her chin rising in defiance was all Cameron could make out in the gloom.

  “Sophie, you are still as stubborn as old Mr. Lawrie’s black-and-tan sow. The one who would break down the sty fence a half-dozen times every autumn so that she could feast on fallen apples.”

  “Isabelle,” she replied. “Her name was Isabelle, and she should be applauded for not letting any obstacle stand in the way of her reaching her goal.” A pause. “Though I daresay you did not mean it as a compliment. But then again, many men now refer to me as an apeleader, so perhaps being compared to a pig is an improvement.”

  “Who calls you an apeleader?” he asked softly. The fellow would soon be whistling his words through a gap of missing front teeth.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she replied. He heard another rustle of cloth. Good God, ladies were encumbered with enough fabric to make sails for a forty-gun frigate. “We haven’t got all night.”

  “A point I was about to make.” The fact that this wing of the manor house was deserted was the only reason he was allowing this prolonged discussion. Normally, he didn’t waste a blink of an eye in completing an intrusion. The key was to get in and out. Dallying was dangerous.

  “Sophie…” How to appeal to logic? “Sophie, be practical. You will raise holy hell trying to sneak through a strange house wearing those flapping skirts. Tables falling, china shattering…and God perish the thought if you truly had to move quickly.”

  “For next time, I will have to obtain a pair of boy’s breeches and some shirts,” she muttered, smoothing the dark cloth over her hips.

  The mental image of Sophie clad in skintight male clothing stirred his privy parts to attention. The trouble was, from there it took only a tiny leap of imagination to picture her in nothing at all.

  Stay focused. A man who thinks with his cock will end up with his neck in a noose.

  “There won’t be a next time for you, Sunbeam. I was a fool to let you come along on this foray. It won’t happen again.”

  “Ha.” The sound was like a sharp slap of leather. A glove to the face, a gauntlet brandished in challenge.

  “Hand me that sack,” he said, refusing to cross verbal swords. “And then, I really must insist that you return home. I’m not jesting—this isn’t a game, and your continued presence puts me in jeopardy.”

  It was a low blow, hitting her where she was most vulnerable. However it had the desired effect.

  “I—I see your point.” Her voice was low and tight. It took her a fraction longer to add, “And so I’ll go. But only as far as the orchards. There’s no danger in waiting there.”

  “Don’t delude yourself, Sophie. Danger lurks everywhere, especially at night, when the black velvet of midnight covers a multitude of sins.” Cameron pulled a mask from his pocket and knotted it over his eyes.

  “And you think a thin strip of silk makes you any less vulnerable to its jaws?”

  “I’ve no time to argue,” he snapped. “I ask you again—go home. If you insist on an update, I’ll meet you at the stone hut an hour after noon.”

  “You promise?”

  “Yes. I promise.” He hoped she didn’t hear the tiny hitch in his exhale. Lies usually slid smooth as satin from his lips.

  Sophie retreated to the edge of the portico. Out of the gloomy darkness and into drizzle of moonlight. He wished he could send her off in a gleaming chariot, drawn by golden bumblebees—high, high, to honeysweet skies ablaze with sunlight.

  A place that was always warm, always bright. Always safe.

  Damnation. He couldn’t allow such weak-willed thoughts. There was no place in his life for them.

  She hesitated, and then melted into the shadows.

  Cameron quickly forced his gaze back to the darkness…and his own devil-cursed demons.

  “Wolcott, Dudley, Morton,” he whispered. “Time to see how my high-and-mighty half brother fits into this puzzle.”

  Chapter Ten

  Where are you off to?” Georgiana eyed the fresh-baked sultana muffins with curiosity.

  “Neddy is very fond of Mrs. Hodges’s baking,” murmured Sophie as she covered the still-steaming pastries in her basket with a checkered cloth. “I thought it would be neighborly of me to drop some off on my way into town.”

  “Rekindling a romance?” teased her sister.

  “Don’t be absurd,” she muttered. “Trust me, I have no amorous intentions in mind.”

  Penelope, who was developing an unsettling habit of lurking near doorways, poked her head into the room. “Oh? So you don’t intend to steal Neddy Wadsworth’s heart?”

  Sophie swallowed a snort. No—actually I intend to purloin a far more interesting mechanism from his shop. “Is that Lady Avery’s Awful Secret? The fact that she cuts out the vital organs of unsuspecting males and sells them to the turnip vendor?”

  Penelope responded with a rude noise.

  “It’s a little early for paying visits, isn’t it?” Georgiana stole a quick look at the clock.

  “Oh, Neddy rises at dawn, and a big man is always hungry. Besides,” she said casually,
“I feel the urge to stretch my legs, so I plan on taking the roundabout way into town.”

  “Really?” The arch of Georgiana’s brow did not quite rise to the height of suspicion, but it was uncomfortably close. “In London, you were complaining about having to traverse the short stretch of Bond Street.”

  “That was on account of the crush of people and the clatter of all the fancy carriages. A long walk through the peaceful hills and vales will afford a welcome change of scenery.”

  “Ah. And here I was under the impression that you found some of the scenery in London much to your liking.”

  Sophie narrowed her eyes in warning. By unspoken agreement, the subject of Cameron Daggett had not been mentioned since they had arrived home. God forbid if Penelope got wind of the Green Park groping.

  However, the youngest Lawrance seemed to sense when intrigue was in the air. Like a bird dog sniffing the scent of its prey, Penelope lifted her nose. “What scenery?”

  For all of her sly teasing, Georgiana didn’t have a malicious bone in her body. “Vauxhall Gardens,” she answered quickly. “We both enjoyed strolling the lanternlit paths.”

  “I wish I could explore a pleasure garden,” groused Penelope. “I would love to wander down the Dark Walk.”

  “You wouldn’t sound so enthusiastic if a white slaver were to snatch you from the shadows and ship you off to some exotic harem.”

  “Oh, pish. That’s just a silly rumor.” Penelope brushed a crease from her skirts. “Isn’t it?”

  Looking a little smug, Georgiana tossed her a basket. “It’s your turn to gather the eggs from the henhouse.”

  “I’ll be on my way, too,” announced Sophie, watching her youngest sister stomp off. “I’ve a number of errands to run, so I will probably be gone for most of the day.”

  “Enjoy your scenic stroll.” Georgiana plucked a copper pot from the hanging rack, and took a canister of sugar from the cupboard. “I’m going to help Mrs. Hodges make strawberry jam.”

  “My favorite,” murmured Sophie.

  “Speaking of favorites, if you pass by Mrs. Turner’s shop, will you buy me a length of her scarlet ribbon? It will make a perfect match for the cherries on my new chip straw bonnet.”

  “Of course.” Eager to escape any further demands, she hurried out the front door and skirted around the barnyard to where a white-painted gate opened onto a winding country lane. A half-mile walk brought her to a slate-roofed cottage with several large outbuildings set around a large clearing. The rhythmic clang of metal hitting metal drifted up in the air, twining with a curl of iron-gray smoke.

  “Sophie!” Looking up from his anvil, the blacksmith set down his hammer and wiped the sweat from his brow. “I haven’t seen you in a dog’s age!”

  The mention of canines was another little nip at her conscience. Not a pleasant sensation, seeing as thoughts of a certain hound from Hell had been gnawing at it all night long.

  “Halloo, Neddy,” she replied, forcing a weak smile.

  “How was London?” he asked.

  “Hot.” She slapped at a tiny red ember that had landed on her sleeve. “Crowded.”

  Neddy dampened a rag in his water barrel and carefully dabbed at the speck of soot. “Here, let me make sure that it’s out. You can’t be too careful around fire. Sparks may seem harmless, but Whoosh!…” He flapped his large, coal-smudged hands. “…I’ve seen them flare up in flames just like that.”

  “Whoosh,” she echoed. “Well, seeing as I’d rather not play a part in any Guy Fawkes celebration, I am grateful for your caution.

  “Guy Fawkes…” Neddy frowned for a moment. “Oh.” His dark face was suddenly split by a pearly grin. “Oh-ho—Guy Fawkes! Ha, that’s very clever, Sophie. You always have something bright to say.”

  His guileless good cheer made her stomach clench, as if she had swallowed a lump of molten iron. “I brought you some of Mrs. Hodges’s sultana muffins. They are still warm.”

  “That’s very sweet of you.”

  No, I’m not sweet. I’m sneaky.

  “You should put the others away in your kitchen,” she suggested, after watching him down two of the pastries in quick succession.

  “Oh, they will just be fine here.” He set them on the workbench near the blazing forge. “Keep them warm, you know, ha, ha, ha.”

  “No, no,” she protested. “Soot and grit will quite ruin them. They must be tucked away in your larder, where they will be safe. I insist!”

  Neddy fixed her with a bemused look. “You may put down that poker. I shall do as you ask without any further prodding.”

  “Just a little jest.” Sophie hung the pointed piece of iron back on its hook. “Ha, ha, ha.”

  The tongues of fire licking up from the burning coals wagged a hissing reproach.

  He gathered up the napkin. “I’ll only be minute. May I bring you some lemonade?”

  “Thank you but no. I really can’t stay long.” Just long enough to take advantage of your friendship. Averting her gaze, she feigned a sudden interest in the set of horseshoes he had just finished. Hell’s bells—Cameron Daggett is a bad, bad influence on me. Already his to-the-devil-with-caution nature is rubbing off on me.

  That couldn’t be good.

  As Neddy’s steps faded, Sophie sidled over to the large storage cabinet where he kept his supplies. A twist of the handle, a snatch from the top shelf…it took only a moment to secret the oilskin-wrapped object into her basket.

  “So sorry, Neddy. But this is all for the Higher Good,” she muttered, concealing her misdeed within the folds of the remaining napkin. “I’m likely heading straight down the primrose path to perdition, and yet there’s no turning back.”

  Not with the Threat of Ruin snapping at my heels.

  “There.” Neddy’s big bulk cast a sudden shadow over the forge. “Satisfied?”

  “Oh, yes, quite.” Sophie made herself smile. “Well, I really must be running along.”

  His face fell. “Why the rush? The shops won’t be opening for a while.”

  “Oh, er, I plan on taking the roundabout route into town. I—I’ve missed walking in the hills.”

  “Aye, like you, I, too, prefer simple country pleasures.” An awkward silence, which Sophie pretended not to notice. Shifting his hobnailed boots, Neddy dispelled the moment by cracking his knuckles. “We have a lot in common, you know.”

  Swallowing the sour taste of deception, she forced a cheerful laugh. “Yes! Like you, I’m very fond of sultana muffins.”

  “I was speaking of—”

  “And strawberry jam,” Sophie quickly added, hoping to keep the conversation from taking a personal turn. Neddy still seemed to harbor a tendre for her, despite all her attempts to gently discourage him. “Georgie is helping to make up a fresh batch. I’ll make sure she drops off several jars.” She began edging toward the doorway. “It was lovely chatting, but I mustn’t keep you from your work.”

  A shadow flickered over Neddy’s face but he made no further effort to detain her. “Have a care up on Hawthorne ridge. I heard the path is a trifle dangerous near the ledge on account of a recent rockfall.”

  “You know me—I’m always cautious.”

  “Not a soul more sensible than you,” agreed Neddy. “Enjoy your walk. And please give Mrs. Hodges my thanks for the muffins. Tell her I shall hammer out a new set of kitchen hooks for her.”

  “She’ll be delighted to hear it.”

  “You may soon be privy to some good news, too, Sophie,” he blurted out, just as she turned to go. “I’ve contracted for a very lucrative job. One that will, God willing, pay me enough to provide a comfortable living for a wife.”

  “That’s lovely news,” she mumbled. “What sort of work?”

  “I can’t say. I’m sworn to secrecy,” he replied.

  “It sounds…very important.”

  “Oh, it is.”

  “Again, congratulations on your good fortune.” Fluttering a faint wave, she ducked outside, drawing in a gre
at gulp of the fresh air to clear her lungs. The Devil’s own brimstone was swirling around her conscience, sour and acrid, making it difficult to breathe.

  Guilt was an uncomfortable companion as she hurried through the steep sloping meadow. It clung hot and heavy to her shoulders, and soon a beading of sweat was teasing down her spine. By the time she had climbed through the winding turns and crested the windswept ridge, her dress was damp, and her mood was foul.

  If she had guessed right…

  Squeezing through a gap in the stones, she entered the small clearing. “Where the devil do you think you are going?”

  Cameron finished tying the satchel to his saddle before turning around. “To London,” he replied calmly.

  “We had an agreement.” Anger started to bubble up inside her. “You promised. And yet here you are, sneaking away hours before our appointed rendezvous.”

  His sardonic smile made her itch to slap his face. “My dear Sunbeam, I told you not to trust in anything I say.”

  Two swift strides brought her close. Close enough to thump the basket hard against his chest.

  “Ouch.” His lips twitched. “What have you got in there? Rocks?”

  “No.” Sophie thumped him again. “It’s my second lesson in fighting Evil with Evil, and you—you devious, double-crossing serpent of sin—are not going to slither away without teaching me what I want to know.”

  “Are you always this grumpy early in the morning?”

  Her temper, already dangerously frayed, snapped. Dropping the basket—squarely on his foot—Sophie drew back her arm and swung as hard as she could.

  “If you are going to hit a man where it hurts…” Cameron caught her wrist in mid-flight, as if it were naught but a gossamer butterfly fluttering on spun silk wings. “…you need to know several things.”

  Hot with humiliation, she lashed out again, determined to break free.

  “That’s much better,” he murmured, deflecting her knee from his crotch. “But do it with a real vengeance.”

  Swearing, Sophie took another wild swing at his face.

  “That’s more like it, however don’t go for the jaw—you’ll only hurt your hand.” Cameron carefully uncurled her fingers. “Strike at the eyes, and claw like a fiend.” He let her go and stepped back, folding his arms across his chest. “Go ahead, give it a try.”