“Blast. I was so careful.”
“The dyed hair fooled me for a while.”
He wasn’t made for subterfuge. He should have realized that a woman as sharp as Genevieve would quickly penetrate his disguise. Still he had more questions than answers. “Why in heaven’s name didn’t you say something? Especially after the other break-ins.”
“I waited to see what you were up to.”
Unable to resist touching her, he lunged for her hand. There was a distinct possibility after he told her everything that she’d never let him touch her again. “I could be a villain of the worst sort.”
“I’m not sure that you aren’t.” She tried to break free, but he, being the villain he claimed, wouldn’t let her go. “The best explanation I can come up with is that you’re working for Sir Richard Harmsworth to get me to sell the jewel. Although your efforts have been fairly half-hearted. You could have blackmailed me about my father’s work. Lord Neville tried to.”
Fleeting disgust distracted him. “The devil he did.”
She nodded. “But you didn’t. Are you working for Sir Richard?”
His stomach felt like it was made of lead. In his mouth, self-hatred tasted like rusty nails. He groaned again and buried his head in his knees, resting his brow on their clasped hands. He’d never loved her so desperately as now when he faced eternal banishment. Once she found out who he was, she’d never forgive him. “It’s worse than that, my darling.”
Her voice shook with trepidation. “Tell me.”
He braced as though expecting the roof of the charming summerhouse to collapse. Of course the temple wouldn’t collapse. What collapsed was his life and hopes.
He raised his head and spoke quickly to lessen the pain. “I am Richard Harmsworth.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
I’m so stupid,” Genevieve whispered.
Of course he was Richard Harmsworth. It was both the most obvious and simplest solution to the mystery of his interest in the Harmsworth Jewel. She snatched her hand free and rose on shaky legs.
“I’m sorry,” he said in such a low voice, she strained to hear. He stared at the hands linked around his knees. Even now, even after this revelation of his identity and how he’d misled her, she couldn’t stop her heart turning over at how beautiful he was.
“Is that enough?” Because the temptation to touch him remained so strong, she stepped away. She knew how his skin felt beneath her hand, smooth and warm and alive. She knew how his long muscles tightened and released when he moved. She couldn’t erase the experience of pleasure.
“No,” he said dully.
Candlelight lit him like an actor on a stage. Of course an actor was what he was. Nothing was real. An hour ago, she’d gloried in her recklessness. Right now, she felt sick to the stomach with remorse.
The weight of hurt and betrayal left her crushed. “Why didn’t you steal the jewel that first night?”
When he glanced up, despair shadowed his blue eyes. She almost believed that he suffered, until she remembered how convincingly he lied. “I never planned to steal the jewel.”
“Then why are you here?”
He shrugged faintly, an unhappy version of his usual nonchalance. “You’ll hate me.”
Her lips tightened. Lord Neville’s attack and what Christopher—no, Richard—had done had left her sticky and sore. She desperately wanted a bath. She desperately wanted to return to the woman she’d been before she met this deceitful Adonis. “Who says I don’t hate you now?”
He flinched. Although the truth was that she was unsure what she felt. For days, she’d known he had an agenda. Yet she’d brought him here and let him have his way with her. Such a banal description for that unforgettable journey to the stars. Worse, she had a horrible suspicion that if he touched her with intent to seduce, she’d fall as readily as before.
Mind and body had always been at war over handsome Mr. Evans. Who wasn’t Mr. Evans at all, but a rich and rakish baronet. The stories in Mrs. Meacham’s London papers taunted her with the knowledge that this man moved in a world far beyond her humble circle.
He straightened upon the cushions, sitting there pale and serious as she’d rarely seen him. “When you told my representatives that even if you had the jewel, you’d never sell it to me, I decided to inveigle it away from you.”
It was her turn to flinch. “Seduce me, you mean?”
He flushed with shame. “I never intended to ruin you, but the moment I saw you I wanted you.”
Her tone descended to sarcasm. “Wonderful. At least you didn’t need to pretend enthusiasm.”
“Genevieve, I realize how bad this looks.” He stood and reached for her. His tone deepened into sincerity, but she’d learned to mistrust him. “You must know there’s more between us than my half-baked quest for the jewel.”
She backed away, staring at his hand as if it sported long jagged teeth. “I don’t know anything. Until a few minutes ago, I didn’t even know your name.”
“You can’t despise me more than I despise myself.” He drew himself to his full height. He’d never looked more magnificent, candlelight flickering across his lean, muscled torso and his shoulders straight and proud. The light gleamed on his hair and she realized that the dye faded to reveal shining gold.
It broke her heart to look at him, although she knew she’d invited this pain. She turned away and bent to scrabble through her petticoats. She flushed with humiliation to see their discarded clothing.
She faced him, hand tightly closed. “Neither of us deserves accolades.”
Swallowing hard, she struggled to forget those miraculous minutes when their bodies joined, how she’d felt beautiful and wanted and free. How she’d felt loved. If she thought about lying in his arms, she’d start to cry. Now she needed to be disdainful and strong.
Slowly she extended her hand and unfurled fingers stiff with the pressure of her grip. He’d ripped her heart out. Nothing mattered anymore. “Seduction worked.”
His eyes darkened at her bitter statement and a muscle flickered in his cheek. Then his gaze dropped to what she held. The object glittered as though it was alive. “It’s the jewel.”
“Of course it’s the jewel,” Genevieve snapped, then stopped. Screaming like a banshee wouldn’t convey the impression that she required. She intended Sir Richard to remember her as proud and queenly, not as a hysterical termagant. She wanted him to walk away with some corner of his heart regretting what he’d tossed away.
A likely outcome.
“You carried it with you.” His eyes glinted with admiration. “That’s why nobody found it.”
“At least your henchmen didn’t.”
His lips turned down with displeasure. “Genevieve, you have no reason to believe me—”
“That’s the first honest thing you’ve said to me.”
He ignored her jibe, although his fists clenched at his sides. She was savagely glad to needle him, to repay some of the pain ripping her to shreds. “I’ll never lie to you again. I told you I was only responsible for the first break-in, and that’s the truth.”
“You wouldn’t know the truth if it kicked you in the teeth.” As she longed to do. She braced against swelling anger. Inside her there stirred a beast that burned to claw that sad, concerned expression from his face. Until his skin lay in tattered strips and she exposed the reality under the gorgeous mask.
Proud and queenly, Genevieve.
“I know you hate me—”
“More frankness. Good heavens, Sir Richard, in no time at all you’ll pass as an honest man.”
His lips compressed, but he continued in the same reasonable tone. “But I never intended you harm.”
That was so patently untrue that she had to blink away hot, furious tears. She wouldn’t cry. Not now. Not ever. He wasn’t worth one tear. He wasn’t worth the dirt under her feet. “Take it.”
He frowned as if she spoke a foreign language. She shoved her hand at him like a punch. Her best efforts couldn’t
control her trembling. Given a choice, she’d pitch the jewel at him, but it was delicate and valuable and deserved better use than as a missile against a faithless lover. “Take it, and may you be damned.”
No wonder he’d been so interested in her research into the family legend. No wonder he’d contrived to make her his creature. But there were things he didn’t know about the jewel, things that would give her the last laugh. When her article appeared, she’d have her revenge.
If only the prospect was more satisfying. Right now, all she wanted to do was crawl into a dark corner and cry her eyes out, whether he was worth her tears or not. If the chance to huddle forever in that dark corner arose, she’d snatch it as fast as she expected Sir Richard to snatch the Harmsworth Jewel.
Although to be fair, he wasn’t acting like a heartless Machiavellian blackguard. Which did nothing to mollify her anger.
Very gently he cupped his hand under hers. Someone this cold-hearted should be clammy like a frog, but he was warm. Memories of those hands on her skin pricked at her determination to loathe him. She beat the weakness back, but with more difficulty than she liked.
“I don’t want it, Genevieve.”
She stiffened with horror. Did he guess the secret, the discovery that would make her article the talk of the academic world? Surely not. That was impossible, even for the great Sir Richard Harmsworth. “Of course you do.”
He shook his head and with more of that searing gentleness, he closed his hand, curling her fingers around the jewel. “Keep it.”
“Do you want me to beg you to take it? You overestimate your charm.”
He sighed. “Right now, I don’t feel very charming.”
Raising her hand, he kissed her knuckles. For one lost moment, yearning surged. Then she remembered his deceit and wrenched her hand away.
“You’ll regret this sacrifice after you’ve gone.”
He frowned. “Gone?”
“I want you out of my life.”
Stubbornly he shook his head. “No.”
She forced herself to confront her brazen behavior. “You’ll never touch me again. You’ve got everything that you’ll ever get.”
Unhappiness shadowed his face. “Genevieve, don’t torture yourself like this.”
Torture herself? How wrong could he be? She was a queen punishing an unruly subject. “Tonight was a mistake.”
He smiled slightly. It was the first hint of humor since he’d confessed his identity. “A magnificent mistake.”
She flushed. The horrid thought struck that tonight might result in repercussions. She’d known from the start that she played with fire, but it had seemed more important for Richard’s caresses to erase all traces of Lord Neville from her skin. Now she wondered at her idiocy. “I never want to see you again.”
His faint smile remained. “I’m sure that’s true, but you’re in danger. I won’t abandon you.”
She laughed harshly. “Who protects me from you?”
He didn’t react, although that muscle in his cheek continued its dance. “You have nothing to fear from me.”
“I’ll never offer you the jewel again.”
“You’re the only jewel I’m interested in.”
He was such a liar. Anger that felt more like desolation made her stagger back a step. “Pretty words, Sir Richard.”
He remained inhumanly calm. Probably he didn’t care enough to be angry. “Fairbrother must realize now that the jewel’s not in the vicarage. He’ll come after you.”
“So you’re offering to keep it for me?” Sarcasm weighted the question.
He shook his head. “I told you, I don’t want it. But you can trust Cam.”
Her temper flared again, although it had hardly subsided since he’d admitted his name. “The duke’s a liar too.”
He winced, but his voice emerged as measured as ever. “He hated being party to this deception. Cam’s as fine a man as you could meet.”
His defense of his friend rankled. A snake like Sir Richard shouldn’t demonstrate qualities like loyalty. “I’m beginning to think there’s no such thing as a man worth the air he breathes.”
Sir Richard made a convulsive move as if to take her into his arms. His voice vibrated with urgency that she couldn’t let herself credit. “I’m sorry, Genevieve. I’m sorry I hurt you this way. I know I was wrong. I’d do it all so differently if I could. But I didn’t count on you. I didn’t count on how you’d change me. I didn’t count on what all this would mean.”
She stepped back before her needy heart lured her closer. He was right. She was hurt and angry. But she wasn’t fool enough to throw herself into the furnace where she’d been burned once already. “And what does it mean, Sir Richard?”
Unwaveringly he stared at her. For a moment, she wondered if she might get an answer. Not that she’d believe him.
He straightened, dark blue eyes somber as she’d never seen them. “One day I’ll tell you. When you’re ready to listen.”
She tightened her hand around the jewel until the metal bruised her. “I’ll never be ready.”
Unable to withstand the steady gaze that seemed to demand something of her, something she didn’t understand, she moved around the temple collecting her clothing. Carefully she wrapped her torn shift around the jewel. She avoided glancing at the jumbled pillows in the center of the floor.
Genevieve feared that in taking her body, Richard had marked her forever. That unwelcome perception fortified outward hostility, while inside she quivered like one of Dorcas’s jellies.
“Go back to London, Sir Richard. I’m sure the fine ladies there appreciate your cruel games.”
Arms overflowing with undergarments, she headed doggedly for the entrance. This man, Christopher, Richard, whoever in blazes he was, had wrecked another of her sanctuaries. He left her nowhere to hide. And she’d never needed a haven more.
He stepped in front of her. His eyes glittered with a wild light as his hands hooked around her forearms. Fear shivered through her. Fear and reluctant excitement. His touch sparked sensations she’d battled to deny since learning that he wasn’t a dream lover but a lying reptile.
“Let me go.”
He ignored her. She couldn’t blame him. She wasn’t exactly struggling. “This isn’t over, Genevieve.”
“Yes, it is.” She stared at him, striving to detest him.
“I’ll prove that I’m worthy of the privilege you granted me tonight. I’ll prove that you’ve turned a shallow fribble into a man of honor.”
She blushed hot as fire. “Prove it by leaving.”
His jaw hardened into an obstinate line. “Not while you’re at risk.”
“You’re the risk.”
“In that case, you’re safe. Your safety is all I want.”
Her eyes narrowed. “But that’s not all you want, is it?”
She meant the jewel. But as his eyes sparked and his grip firmed, she realized that her phrasing had been fatally imprecise. Academic suicide. Unwise too, when dealing with half-naked men.
“Right now, I want you to remember this.” His hands cradled her head with a ruthless tenderness that set her heart cartwheeling.
Run, Genevieve, run.
But her feet remained pinned to the floor. Idiot, idiot girl she was, even now, she wanted one last kiss. One last kiss before she forever banished this dangerous magic he conjured between them.
This close, it was impossible not to recall his body sliding into hers. His masculine scent teased, made her dizzy with desire she didn’t want to feel. Her hands clenched in her petticoats as she struggled against touching him.
She prepared for aggression. But he was too subtle for that. A man lacking subtlety couldn’t have seduced her. A man lacking subtlety would have stolen the jewel that first night and saved her a mountain of heartache.
Oh, how she abhorred a subtle man.
His lips were soft, reminding her how careful he’d been when he’d taken her. His gentleness brought tears closer than they’d
hovered since his confession. Impossible to cling to anger when he kissed her.
She told herself to break away. He wasn’t holding her tightly. If she fled, he wouldn’t pursue.
At least not tonight.
She closed her eyes and familiar dark delight flowed through her veins, drowning outrage in desire. She fought to stay rigid and unresponsive. But as he sipped from her lips with endless patience, her iron backbone bent, melted, turned to honey. She struggled to recall his deceit, but pleasure flooded her mind, turning her blind to all other considerations.
His tongue traced the seam of her lips, tasted the corners, flicked against the sensitive philtrum. She trembled and a moan crammed against her closed lips. But he heard. She knew he did. His hands moved in her hair, stroking away tension, hatred, resentment, and luring her toward surrender.
Inevitably, her lips parted and her body curved toward his, crushing her underclothing between them. His hands slid around her back, bringing her closer, but not close enough. Lost to everything but physical need, she made a muffled protest.
The contact stayed light, teasing. She’d sensed temper when he’d seized her, but this was all persuasion and sweetness. His hands played up and down her spine in a beguiling rhythm that set her heart racing like a greyhound. She made another wordless complaint, desperate for those provoking lips to settle, plunder, ravish.
He taunted her until she was near mad with need. Then at last his kiss turned to fire. Arousal streaked through her like flame in a dry hay field. Heat flooded her body. She was at the point of flinging her arms about him, insisting that he take her.
When he wrenched free, she’d forgotten everything except hunger. He was panting and pale, apart from a flush along his high, slanted cheekbones.
Acrid shame flooded her, made her belly heave. How could she have done that? She forced herself to meet his eyes. They were dark and intent and alight with knowledge of her weakness. For one trembling moment, she stared at him, hating him more than she’d ever hated anyone. Even Lord Neville.
“And that was the cruelest game of all,” she said through lips that felt made of glass.
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