Sweetest Little Sin

by Christine Wells

  “If I seem startled by your . . . er . . . attentions, it’s because I don’t . . .” She fluttered a hand as if explanation were rather beyond her. “I am not the sort of lady who appreciates dalliance, Mr. Radleigh. Perhaps it is a certain coldness in my nature, but physical expressions of affection fill me with repugnance.” She smiled gently. “Such displays— if you don’t mind my saying so—are rather more suited to the lower orders.” Ugh, she sounded insufferable!

  He watched her for a moment with a disquieting gleam in his eye. She hoped she hadn’t set herself up as a challenge to his masculinity.

  But Radleigh made no attempt to change her mind. He turned and led her back toward the drawing room. “I must leave London for a few days, but on my return, I’d like to wait on your brother. Would that be acceptable to you?”

  The lantern light glimmered palely on his fair hair. His gaze seemed to deepen, so intense, it captured her, held her fast. The notion that he might kiss her, given the slightest encouragement, passed through her mind. Jardine would have whisked her into the shadows by now.

  But although his breathing came a little faster, Radleigh didn’t forget himself a second time.

  Thank God. An embrace would have tested her commitment to this cause to its limit.

  Ought she to continue with this charade? He’d caught her off guard tonight. She hadn’t expected him to propose until the house party. If she rejected him now, there’d be no excuse for her to attend the party, much less the mysterious Mrs. Burton.

  Louisa forced a smile. “I’ll tell my brother to expect you.”

  Five

  JARDINE arrived home muddy, wet, exhausted, and savage with frustration. He’d spent the past week on reconnaissance, trying to get a handle on exactly how large a player this Radleigh was in England’s seedy world of organized crime.

  But it seemed Radleigh was a man without history. Scant intelligence had arrived from Africa, where he claimed to have lived before settling in England a few months previously.

  That was only to be expected, of course. British intelligence gatherers tended to concentrate their efforts closer to home. But Jardine had hoped to find out more about Radleigh’s operations in London.

  The only link he’d been able to discover between the omnipotent Mr. Smith and Radleigh came from an informant who no longer walked among the living. Radleigh possessed a list of government operatives, albeit written in code. Smith wanted that list.

  On the night of Louisa’s birthday, Jardine had found his informant with his throat cut. Jardine had been set upon himself and then tortured until he’d convinced his assailants he’d simply been passing by the wounded man and tried to help.

  But the malice with which they’d wielded their knives, the fact they’d dropped his pain-wracked body at his own door, told him they knew who he was, what he did. And that he needed to be very, very careful.

  So damned ironic and typical that Louisa should have chosen that morning to visit his house. That she still lived meant they probably hadn’t seen her, or if they had, they hadn’t been able to discover who she was.

  He couldn’t take the chance of them finding out now. He needed to stay away from her until he could find that bastard Smith and put an end to his vendetta, once and for all.

  He bathed and dressed and went to his club, where the gossip ran as high as at any gathering of old tabbies at Almack’s.

  Luck was with him tonight. Louisa’s brother, Max, Duke of Lyle, was talking with Nick. Usually, Jardine and Lyle maintained the appearance that they were slight acquaintances, but Nick’s presence meant Jardine could join them and discreetly pump Lyle for information about his sister.

  “Louisa?” Max’s heavy black brows drew together as he looked down at the contents of his glass. “She didn’t tell you? Hush-hush for the moment, but she’s accepted Radleigh. They’re going to tie the knot when my mother gets back from her wedding tour.” He grimaced. “Which might not be until next year, the way old Woolly’s talking.”

  Jardine’s face froze; the air hissed through his teeth.

  Max glanced at him, then returned his gaze to his wine. “I’m sorry,” he said shortly, then set down his drink and left them.

  Silence. Jardine was shaking. Actually shaking. He leaned forward to set his glass beside Max’s in case he disgraced himself and spilled it.

  “God, I didn’t know,” said Nick. His face looked drawn, pale despite his tan, and Jardine knew what he was thinking. His Louisa, in the hands of a villain like Radleigh. It didn’t bear thinking of. He couldn’t allow it. He’d tear the world apart before he’d let that happen.

  Jardine launched out of his chair and went after Max, ignoring Nick’s sharp warning to wait, think, not act precipitously.

  Hell! Dammit, how was he to think when every cell of his body raged to plunge a rusty dagger through that smarmy bastard’s heart?

  He walked out of White’s, into the rain, headed for Mayfair, Lyle’s home, hunching his shoulders against the wind, the pelting drops that stung his eyes and soaked his coat.

  The only thought beyond murder that ran through his head was to thank Christ the wedding wasn’t imminent. He had time.

  But the mere notion of Radleigh touching her set his blood steaming. He should have warned Max not to countenance the match, but how could he have guessed it would go this far? One minute, Louisa’s blue eyes were drowning in tears, her hands held out, imploring him to keep his wedding vows, the next she was getting leg shackled to someone else.

  As he approached a darkened doorway, a breath of vigilance brought him to full alert. There was a dagger in his grip when a hard hand clamped around his upper arm.

  Lyle’s growl arrested him, stopped the upward sweep of the blade that would have driven up, behind Lyle’s rib cage, straight to his heart. “Meet me at the Star and Garter in Seven Dials. Make sure you’re not followed.”

  Jardine gave a curt nod, as the voice added, “And try not to murder some other poor sod on the way.”

  “WHAT a truly incomparable day,” said Kate, turning her face up to the gentle sun that beamed down. “Perfect for a picnic. Was that not an inspired notion of mine? The Martins and the Pendleburys were delighted to accept.”

  Max glanced back at the carriage behind them, which groaned with hampers and every accoutrement eight people might conceivably need while dining alfresco, including two footmen to serve.

  “Inspired,” he agreed dryly. “You didn’t mention we’d be camping in Richmond Park for a month.”

  Kate grinned, unconcerned with Max’s sarcasm. “Did you hear that, Louisa? Max made a joke.”

  She allowed her husband to hand her into the open barouche and shifted to make room for Louisa to sit beside her. “I keep telling him he needs to stand upon ceremony every once in a while or people will forget he is a duke. He never pays the least heed.”

  Max climbed in after them, his weight making the carriage bounce on its springs. He wedged his large form into the forward seat of the barouche. “And I keep telling you, Your Grace, that you need to behave less like a minx.”

  “I suppose we are not a very ducal pair when it comes down to it,” Kate agreed, unrepentant.

  “Not a bad thing when you consider the dukes and duchesses of our acquaintance,” said Louisa. She put up her parasol as the carriage set off at a spanking pace.

  Louisa smiled at her brother with affection. “I, for one, am glad the title hasn’t changed you.”

  “Yes, he is still an absolute savage at heart, aren’t you, darling?” said Kate.

  Max settled back in his seat, gray eyes glinting. “Come over here and say that.”

  “See what I mean? A savage,” pronounced Kate. “Why, the first time we met, he was dangling a man by his ankles over a balcony.”

  “You will notice that I haven’t done anything of the kind lately,” said Max.

  “No, but I suspect you’d like to, all the same,” said Kate. “Which reminds me of something I meant to a
sk you. Why was Faulkner at our ball the other evening?”

  Max’s brows drew together. “Faulkner? Did you invite him?”

  “Is that likely?” Kate’s eyes flared. “You mean, you didn’t know he was there? I’d assumed you’d sent him a card.”

  “I leave such arrangements in your capable hands, my dear.” Which meant, of course, that Max only endured social functions for Kate’s sake, and on the understanding that he wasn’t bothered with any of the preparations.

  His eyes narrowed. “I wonder why he came.”

  Thank goodness nothing was farther from their minds than that Faulkner had enlisted Louisa’s help. She cleared her throat. “Perhaps he has misplaced confidence in his powers of persuasion.”

  “Yes, but why choose a ball to make contact?” said Max.

  “Well, at a ball, you couldn’t refuse to see him, could you?”

  “But he didn’t seek me out.” Max shook his head. “Something smells about this.”

  Kate scowled. “Don’t tell me your curiosity is so piqued you’ll go to him to discover the truth. Perhaps that’s what he wants.”

  Sensing a storm brewing ahead, Louisa intervened. “Of course he wouldn’t, would you, Max? You know, in all likelihood, Faulkner was looking for someone else entirely. If he didn’t even approach Max when there was ample opportunity to do so, perhaps he had other quarry.”

  Quarry like me.

  “Didn’t I see him speaking with Mr. Radleigh for an appreciable time?”

  “That mushroom! What would Faulkner want with him?”

  Kate glanced at Louisa and nudged Max with her foot. “He is not a mushroom, Max. He’s a most respectable gentleman.”

  “Oh, don’t try to defend him on my account, Kate,” said Louisa. She tilted her head. “Really, Max? Do you think he is a mushroom?”

  “I think he’s got more money than sense. More money than taste, as well, if what one hears about that Mogul monstrosity he’s bought in Derbyshire is anything to judge by.”

  “Max!”

  “What?” Max looked from Kate to Louisa. “Oh, sorry, old girl.” He shook his head. “No accounting for taste, is there?”

  Louisa hesitated. It was tempting to tell Max about her conversation with Faulkner. Her brother had many years’ experience in the field and knew what Louisa would be up against. But he’d be bound to stop her if he thought she might run into danger on this mission. Besides, she’d signed a certain piece of paper that gave her oath not to reveal anything she learned from Faulkner.

  Strange, but wary as she was, the prospect of Radleigh’s house party shone like a beacon in the dreary fog of her present existence. She didn’t yet know what lay in store for her, but at the very least, her sojourn at Radleigh’s house would not be dull.

  Jardine had smashed her halcyon dream of the future to pieces, yet she was bound to him, whether she could prove they’d married or not. At least, working for Faulkner, she was doing something that mattered.

  But today was designed for pleasure. Even if she couldn’t enjoy it with a whole heart, she was glad to spend time with two of the people who were dearest to her in the world. What a pity Kate and Max would be traveling north while Millicent was away. Louisa would have liked their company once this business with Radleigh was done.

  As the gentle breeze stirred wisps of hair around her face, and the sun smiled down, she allowed her mind to drift into a pleasant haze.

  She couldn’t forget Jardine or reconcile herself to this half-life of being neither fish nor fowl, married, yet not married. But she would endure. There were pleasures to be had in the moment, even if one’s future looked decidedly bleak.

  “OHH, I could stay here forever,” murmured Kate. Replete from a sumptuous meal, the ladies lounged against bolsters set on an enormous checked tablecloth, parasols raised to shield their complexions, while the gentlemen stood a small distance away smoking and talking, the low rumble of their voices carried away by the breeze.

  Max detached himself from the group and strolled over to where they sat. “Ladies.” He tipped his hat, his eyes a gray gleam beneath the brim. “Thought I’d take some exercise. Anyone care to join me?”

  “Splendid idea. I’d love to.” Louisa held up her hand and let Max draw her to her feet.

  Kate squinted up at her with a lazy smile. “So energetic, Louisa.” She patted her pregnant belly. “I and my bump shall stay here, thank you.”

  The other ladies declined also. Louisa smiled as she took Max’s arm. She was glad to be alone with her brother. It seemed a long time since they’d had an opportunity to talk.

  Max squeezed her hand in a companionable way and she walked with him, quickening her stride to match his.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, as he led her toward a copse of beech trees. Max always walked purposefully, even when taking a stroll, but an air of alertness clung to him that made her uneasy.

  “You’ll see. There’s a pretty glade in the middle of this wood I think you’ll like.”

  The lush grass sprang underfoot, the sun shone, but the copse they entered was shady, silent, and still, save for the twigs and leaves that snapped and crunched underfoot.

  It was cooler here, with the thickly wooded forest blocking all but a light dapple of sun.

  Louisa gathered her skirts to step over a tree root that cut across the path. She looked up and nearly stumbled.

  Standing in a clearing at the heart of the wood was Jardine.

  Six

  THEY stared at one another for long moments, and under his penetrating, assessing gaze any modicum of peace she’d achieved in the past weeks shattered.

  “You.” She glanced sideways, but her traitorous brother had already melted away. She threw a fulminating glance over her shoulder.

  A sense of betrayal burned tightly in her chest. How could he take Jardine’s side over hers?

  “You’ve lost weight,” said Jardine softly, prowling toward her.

  “Complimentary as ever.” Louisa willed herself not to step back, to hold his gaze while he stalked her, circled her like a panther toying with its prey. Forced herself not to turn when he halted behind her, spoke in her ear.

  “Well met, Louisa. You always keep a cool head, don’t you?”

  The heat of his breath, his lips tantalizingly close to her ear made her skin tingle, her body shiver. Panic churned in her stomach. She lifted her chin, swallowed past the lump in her throat.

  What did he want with her now?

  Part of her slumped with reluctant acceptance. Perhaps he’d been right all those months ago. Perhaps they were destined to be together, to torment each other, for the rest of their lives.

  “I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to speak with you.” She spoke through gritted teeth but in a voice that couldn’t help a slight tremor.

  “Ah, but I have a very great desire to speak with you,” purred Jardine in her ear. “What the hell are you doing with Radleigh?”

  “You’re the clever spy. What do you think I’m doing?”

  She tried to step away from him, but he caught her arm easily and pulled her into him, one arm clamped around her waist, one hand forcing her chin up so she looked him in the eye.

  “Stay away from him, Louisa. He’s not what he seems.”

  She searched his face, noting the faint smudges under his eyes, the deepened lines about his mouth. “Which of us is?” she whispered.

  His eyes widened a little, then narrowed. “Are you in love with him?”

  “Love!” The word burst from her before she could stop it. Where had that vicious snarl come from?

  She lowered her voice. “What do I want with love? Radleigh is rich, he’s respectable, and he’ll no doubt make an undemanding husband. What more could a woman want?”

  Jardine’s hot gaze raked her face, settled on her lips. His arms tightened around her. “This.”

  His mouth crushed hers in a kiss that scorched and shook her, picked her up, and flung her to the stars. H
is tongue stole inside her mouth like a secret agent and she was helpless, plummeting, falling. They were bound so tightly by his strong, leanly muscled arms, she imagined them locked together like this until they turned to stone.

  The earth shivered, dissolved beneath her feet until he was her only anchor to the world. She fought to kiss him with every bit as much force, as much passion, as he showed her. They were matched, their souls so intricately entwined as to be one. Sublime. Damned. Destined to rise or fall together, whatever might come.

  There could be no other. Not for her.

  Hadn’t she known that, all along?

  His long, deft fingers began working at her clothing while he kissed her. Some part of her registered what he did, craved it, but she was not so lost to the world as to forget what he’d done.

  Her brain whirred to life, and with the reawakening of her mind, logical thought popped to the surface like a cork. She gulped back a sob and shoved at his shoulders, wrenching her mouth away.

  His hands brushed her breasts as they fell from her bodice, the bodice he’d been deftly unpinning as they wrestled passionately in the sun-dappled forest. Jardine was breathing hard; his dark eyes were hazed with desire.

  Quickly, she re-pinned her gown. When she looked up from her repairs, that old, cynically indifferent look had already fallen over his sharply handsome features.

  How could that be? Surely, he’d been affected by the fiery physicality of their encounter. How could he distance himself so quickly, so easily?

  “Break it off with Radleigh, Louisa.” He gripped her shoulders. “Tell him you never wish to see him again.”

  “You expect me to jilt a respectable man on your command? That—that kiss was a tactic, I take it, to make me more malleable. I think not, my lord.” She struggled against his hard grip. “Let me go.”

  His mouth tightened. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

  “Oh, I’d say I’ve a fair idea.” And it terrified her, but she refused to show him her fear.