A Rake's Midnight Kiss (Sons of Sin)
Page 11
“Why?”
“Why aren’t I asking you to lay down your life?”
Cam’s eyes narrowed. “No. Why this sudden interest in the middle-aged second son of a marquess?”
“The bugger is after Genevieve.” Even more unforgivably, he’d made her cry. For that, he deserved to have his kidneys poached.
Cam laughed. “Priceless. Not only is the bluestocking holding out, she has another suitor. Dear God, man, you’ll end this escapade with your tail between your legs.”
Richard had a bleak feeling that Cam’s raillery was justified. He swam in deep water and right now, he was drowning. “The vicar told me that Fairbrother proposed three nights ago and Genevieve refused him.”
“Did she indeed?” Calculation replaced Cam’s amusement. “A penniless vicar’s daughter is a comedown for a Fairbrother, even a second son. They’re notoriously high in the instep.”
“She doesn’t like him.”
“Says you.”
“She’s got too much sense to fall for that walrus’s blather.”
Richard awaited further mockery, but Cam regarded him with a frown. “A sensible woman would say yes. It’s a big step up in the world.”
“No sensible woman would marry Neville Fairbrother. He’s a boor.”
“Compared to you.”
“At least I’m not thirty years older than she is.”
“So you’re contemplating marriage?”
Shocked, Richard jerked upright, losing his towel. Marriage? To Genevieve? If he wasn’t stuck here with noisome gunk adorning his head, he’d march out. “Good God, you’re talking madness. You know I need to marry a woman who can restore the Harmsworth name. A chit with exceptional lineage and no questionable interests.”
Cam looked intrigued. “Questionable interests?”
Richard’s lips tightened. His friend’s query should amuse him. Instead, he wanted to punch Cam’s aristocratic nose. “Miss Barrett’s a lady of unblemished chastity. But the Harmsworth scandal will never die if I marry a lowborn bluestocking with a tendency to speak her mind.”
“You’ve thought this through.”
Richard’s laugh was dismissive. “Not at all. Matrimony’s the last thing on my mind. I’ll set my course to seeking a bride when I’m back in Town.”
“When will that be? After Christmas? Can you tear yourself away from the luscious Genevieve before then? She’s got you in a lather and you haven’t even tumbled her yet.”
“It’s only a passing fancy. I’m here for the jewel.”
Cam shrugged. “You don’t talk about the jewel. You talk about Miss Barrett. And in terms I’ve never heard you use.”
Richard sobered. Strangely now that shock subsided, the prospect of marrying Genevieve didn’t stir quite the horror he’d expected. Which was the most frightening admission of all.
She never bored him. If anything, she was a little too exciting. He wasn’t used to women staying two steps ahead. If he wasn’t careful, her brilliant brain might outwit him yet.
He spoke from the depths of his heart. “She’s too good for me, Cam.”
“Rubbish.”
“Even if she isn’t, she’s determined on spinsterhood and a life of scholarship. She says right out that she won’t marry. Can’t blame her. A husband would try to crush her spirit. She’s not exactly docile and I can’t imagine her taking a fellow’s direction just because she’d vowed obedience before a parson.”
“She sounds like she’s got your measure.”
Even if that was true, he damned well wasn’t admitting it. “She’s certainly interesting.”
She was way more than that, but he’d exposed enough of this unwelcome obsession. Wanting a woman was perfectly acceptable, but this desire threatened to dominate his life.
Cam’s expression became austere. “Richard, if you’ve decided you’re interested in this woman as more than a brief flirtation, tell her the truth. You’ve already lied to a point where she mightn’t forgive you. The longer you stay, the greater the chance that she’ll discover you’re not what you seem.”
Richard’s skin felt too tight and heat crept into his cheeks. How utterly bloody that his friend made him falter like a schoolboy. And squirm with guilt. “Don’t be an ass. You see significance where none exists.”
Cam didn’t appear convinced. “Of course I do.”
“Really.”
“My mistake.”
Richard’s eyes narrowed, but Cam had turned to stare out at the rain. Instead of another harangue, Cam changed the subject. Unfortunately he chose a topic even less congenial than the beauteous Genevieve.
“Did you hear your mother is back from Paris? My sister Lydia saw her at the opera last week. Dazzling in some gown that has the modistes scrambling to catch up. And trailing two French comtes at least twenty years her junior.”
Oh, merciful God. He didn’t want to think about his mother right now. He never wanted to think about his mother.
“No, I didn’t hear,” he said with hard-won carelessness. “I pay no heed to my mother’s antics.”
Both he and Cam knew he lied through his teeth. But the reminder of his mother’s peccadillos and the misery they’d caused him placed his fascination with Miss Barrett into perspective. He probably should thank Cam, much as he felt like pounding the insolence out of him for broaching this perennially painful subject.
Thanks to his mother, Richard had spent his life shoring up defenses against a hostile world. A man asked for trouble if he made himself vulnerable. If he’d learned anything after years of fending off snide remarks, it was that he couldn’t risk any emotion deeper than a puddle.
Miss Barrett would prove to be only another woman in a long line of meaningless intrigues. A more complex and interesting woman than his usual conquests. A woman who right now he couldn’t imagine leaving after a few weeks. But that mutton-headedness would pass, he was sure. She’d never leave a scar on his well-guarded heart.
Damn it. Cam would accuse him of protesting too much.
Chapter Twelve
His confounded Grace knows too much for his own good,” Richard told Sirius as they wandered along the bridle path toward the vicarage. Since discovering this shortcut when tracking Genevieve through the night, he’d used it regularly.
Needing thinking time, he led Palamon instead of riding. He’d pretended that Cam’s remarks slid off him like snow melting off a roof. But Cam knew him better than anyone, and clearly his friend feared the consequences of this masquerade.
Around Richard, the trees were a striking combination of red, yellow, and green as autumn took hold. The newly emerged sun sparkled weakly on wet grass. Above, stray clouds massing in the sky reminded him of Genevieve’s embroidery. Devil take it, he must be smitten, much as he hated admitting it. He even found her malformed stitchery endearing.
The path veered toward Genevieve’s pool. The memory of her rising—however clichéd, he couldn’t help thinking of Venus—from the water still disturbed his sleep.
“Genevieve’s outside the usual run of female. That doesn’t mean this affair is important.”
Sirius glanced back with an expression eerily reminiscent of Cam’s skepticism.
“Admittedly she’s smarter than most women I’ve had in my sights. I need to be at the top of my form to match her.”
Although what did he mean by “match”? Obtaining the jewel, obviously. Or did he mean kisses? More than kisses? He swallowed to moisten a suddenly dry mouth at the thought of seducing Genevieve, virtuous woman or no.
The devil whispered in his ear and he struggled against listening. Genevieve didn’t intend to marry. Would Richard do irreparable damage if he explored the attraction flaring between them?
His voice turned husky. “She’s halfway there. More than halfway.”
Sirius’s steady gaze didn’t waver.
“Shut up,” Richard muttered. “What do you know?”
Sirius gave himself a good shake and trotted ahead.
Sirius barked sharply and loped into the undergrowth. Richard frowned and stared after him. He led Palamon onward, wondering what had set Sirius off.
His thoughts elsewhere—predictably with Genevieve’s kisses—he approached the last turn of the path before the stable yard. The sound of running feet made him stop.
A curved body, soft, fragrant and disheveled, crashed into him and sent him staggering. Automatically he released the reins and his arms closed hard on his assailant. Behind him, Palamon snorted and danced away.
“What are you—”
“Let me go!” Genevieve struggled, panting. Her scent, warm woman and crushed flowers, made his head swim. His hands tightened even as she wriggled.
“Miss Barrett, what’s the matter?” Although he should release her, he couldn’t convey the command from brain to hands. No wonder. All the blood in his body flowed to one organ alone.
“Let me go, you idiot! They’re getting away!”
“Who’s getting away?”
She growled and broke free, hurtling past. She clutched a broom. What in Hades was going on?
“Miss Barrett? Genevieve?” He watched her vanish into the trees in a flurry of skirts. He went to pursue her before remembering that he couldn’t leave Palamon. He caught the trailing rein.
“I’ll look after him, Mr. Evans.” Williams, the elderly groom, appeared at his elbow.
“What the devil’s got into everyone?”
“Great doings this afternoon. Miss Barrett came back from her parish visits and surprised robbers. Second time the vicarage’s been burgled in a month. Don’t know what they expect to find. Just a lot of dusty old books in there, from what I see.”
What the hell? And Genevieve chasing the intruders armed only with a broom? Didn’t the woman have a jot of sense? Panic gripped him.
Shoving the reins at the groom, he took off at a run. What a deuced mess. He wasn’t armed. But then he’d blithely imagined he was the sole villain in the neighborhood. Clearly he was mistaken.
“Genevieve, wait!”
Damn it, where was she? He strained to hear her crashing ahead, but the woods remained silent. Then Sirius barked and he sprinted in that direction. He prayed Sirius had found Genevieve. The dog was almost as valiant as the girl.
Richard had spent the morning denying any conscience concerning this woman. The sour, sick feeling cramping his gut proved him a liar. The prospect of anyone hurting even one hair on her head made him want to commit bloody murder.
Gasping, Richard broke into a clearing. Genevieve still ran ahead, Sirius at her side.
He dashed forward to seize her waist and nearly caught the broom on his head for his trouble. “Genevieve… Miss Barrett, it’s all right. It’s me. Rich… Christopher Evans.” Good God, he’d better keep his wits about him or he’d betray himself.
His voice didn’t calm her at all. “Let me go, you devil!”
Sirius, picking up the excitement, jumped around them barking. Still Genevieve writhed like a trapped eel. If Richard had doubted her strength, he had his answer now. He needed all his concentration to hold her. “Genevieve, hush, you’ll injure yourself.”
Her laugh was wild and bitter. Seriously worried, he twined his arms around her, drawing her into his body. Her struggles intensified. “I’ll scream.”
“Down, Sirius!” he snapped at the dog.
“Leave me alone!” She tried to clout Richard with the broom and this time he didn’t fool himself that it was accidental.
He heard her genuine fear. She’d never been frightened of him before, even when he’d caught her naked. The knowledge sliced through him like a razor. Bewildered, he raised his arms and retreated. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” she said in a clipped voice, standing there trembling with anger.
“Williams said the vicarage was burgled.” He ventured a step closer.
She raised the broom. “Don’t touch me.”
Disbelief kept him still, even if within the broom’s reach. “I’m no threat.”
“What do you know about this?” Her voice was hard. Sirius whined and pressed into Richard’s hip.
Bewilderment made Richard pause. Did she accuse him of the break-in? Was it possible she’d guessed that he was her burglar? Her first burglar, damn it. Now it seemed there were genuine criminals on this patch.
“Nothing. I’ve been with Sedgemoor all morning. He’s back for a few days.” If he wasn’t confident that his disguise was foolproof, he’d think she’d rumbled his scheme. He chanced a smile, but it aroused no answering warmth. “Please put the broom down. You make me nervous.”
For a bristling moment, wide gray eyes peered into his soul. “Whoever did this knew that Aunt Lucy and I were out and that it was the maids’ half day.”
“But the vicar was home.”
Genevieve looked unimpressed. “He wouldn’t stir from his library if the house fell down about his ears.”
She sighed and planted the broom on the ground, leaning on it. At least she no longer looked ready to kill him. That felt like major progress. Richard had no idea why she was so furious with him. Perhaps because he’d stopped her charging willy-nilly after the robbers.
She continued more evenly. “Mrs. Meacham wasn’t well enough for visitors so I dropped off her basket and left. I came in through the back and noticed the kitchen door open. That seemed odd with the servants away. I called out. Then I heard a crash upstairs in my study.”
“Of course, you rushed inside to see.”
She stiffened at his disapproving tone. “Is there anything wrong with that?”
His response wouldn’t lift his shaky credit with her, but he needed to say it. “You’re reckless to thrust yourself into danger. How many men were there?”
“Two.”
Dread tasted pungent in his mouth as he pictured what could have happened. “Did you recognize them?”
“No.” She paused. “I only caught a glimpse. They pushed past then ran away.”
“So you decided to chase them armed only with a broom?”
She flushed. “I couldn’t let them escape.” She spoke with an edge. “Although of course I did. Did you see anyone in the woods?”
“No. But just before I met you, Sirius took off after something. These robbers want the jewel.”
She frowned. “That’s a rash assumption. I know you do, but that doesn’t mean the whole world does.”
“It’s the most valuable item in the vicarage, unless there’s some hoard I don’t know about.”
“The library is full of rare manuscripts.”
“Which argues a specialist’s knowledge.” His eyes sharpened. “Who knows you’ve got the jewel?”
There was a bristling pause as though she meant to pursue the argument. Then she spoke in a flat voice. “My father. You. Dr. Partridge at the Ashmolean. Sir Richard Harmsworth. Lady Bellfield’s solicitors. Lord Neville. Perhaps my father mentioned it to a colleague. He conducts extensive international correspondence.”
“It’s Fairbrother.”
“Surely not.” She frowned as she considered Richard’s idea. “Lord Neville is a rich man with a family name to protect. Why risk ruin? If he steals the jewel, he could never display it.”
“But he wants it.” And you.
“He offered to buy it. I told him no.”
“And then he proposes marriage, Genevieve?” Richard should call her Miss Barrett, but when she stood before him beautiful and ruffled and in need of protection, she was Genevieve. Lovely, warm, sensual Genevieve.
She scowled, folding her arms. “How do you know that?”
He couldn’t help noticing how the stance pressed her full breasts against her blue dress. “The vicar told me.”
“My father had no right to share that information with a stranger,” she snapped.
He suff
ered a pang at hearing himself labeled a stranger. “How long ago did Lord Neville discover you had the jewel? Was it that morning I stopped him bullying you?”
“He wasn’t bullying me,” she said without conviction. “Or no more than you do. Are you suggesting he only wants to marry me to get the jewel?”
“No.” Richard had seen how the older man looked at Genevieve. With lust and a disturbing air of ownership.
Genevieve regarded Richard doubtfully as though expecting him to say more. He realized that he should ask about the jewel. Bugger, Cam was right about his confused priorities. “Did the thieves find it?”
She shook her head. “No.”
He told himself that he was more relieved about the jewel’s safety than Genevieve’s. Not even he believed that. “They searched your study. Doesn’t that tell you they’re targeting the jewel?”
“If you imagine I’ve discounted the coincidence of your arrival with the criminal classes invading our unexceptional vicarage, I’d advise you to think again, Mr. Evans.”
“Are you accusing me of something, Miss Barrett?” he asked, suddenly tired of fencing. If she recognized him as her burglar, she’d have to say so.
Her eyes narrowed and he wondered if perhaps she meant to denounce him. Then what would he do? If ruthless men plundered the vicarage, she was in danger. He couldn’t forsake her, whatever lies he’d told Cam about his lack of emotional involvement.
“Not right now.”
Which was no answer at all.
With a flounce of her skirts, she marched off, still carrying the broom. When she was annoyed, her walk developed a swinging stride that heated his blood. She was such a passionate creature. His hands curled at his sides as he resisted the urge to catch her and turn all that passion toward him.
Still she strutted away. Tall. Straight-shouldered. Ready to take on a world of men and win. She should look absurd. What she looked was strong and brave and beautiful beyond his wildest dreams. And after today’s incident, terrifyingly vulnerable.
It seemed Richard Harmsworth wasn’t alone in marking Genevieve’s beauty and the treasure she guarded. After today, he had a more important task than wheedling the jewel away from her. That could wait till Doomsday if it must. Ensuring Genevieve’s safety couldn’t.