Sweetest Little Sin

by Christine Wells

  “And now, I shall claim my prize,” he said softly.

  “Come.” He rose and held out his hand to her. “There are too many eyes on us here.”

  Slowly, she rose and placed her hand in his, her gaze never leaving his face. How could she contemplate for a bare second becoming betrothed to another man?

  As they left the room, a harsh voice spoke behind them. “Lady Louisa? Going so soon?”

  LOUISA didn’t know whether to be relieved or sorry that Radleigh had stopped them. She’d been too intent on the play to spare a thought to what she’d say to Jardine if she lost. How did she tell the truth and still withhold the information she’d sworn to divulge to no one?

  But never mind that now. She stood like a bone between two snarling dogs.

  She directed a quelling look at Jardine. “Will you excuse me, gentlemen? I’d like to return to the music room.”

  “Of course.” Radleigh bowed and held out his arm, which she ignored.

  Jardine’s lip curled. “Debts of honor must be paid at once, my lady.”

  “The debt will be satisfied tomorrow,” she said stiffly. “I assure you, Lord Jardine, I don’t forget my obligations.”

  She curtseyed to them both and slipped away.

  Louisa returned to the music room to find that the opera singer had already made her triumphant finale. The room was abuzz, mostly with gossip over the flamboyant singer’s latest aristocratic lover rather than her musical excellence. Beth’s little companion was serving tea.

  Beth pounced almost as soon as Louisa took her cup.

  “Oh! I thought you’d never return. Honoria won’t let me play cards for money, so I had to stay and speak to all the old ladies.”

  Taking her hand, Beth drew her to a sofa. “I’m so glad you’re here. We can have a comfortable coze.”

  Listening to girlish confidences about Beth’s current infatuation scarcely appealed. Louisa wanted to take the chit by the shoulders and shake some sense into her. But quite apart from the impropriety of such a course, if Beth was half as besotted with Jardine as Louisa had been at her age, nothing Louisa could say would sway her.

  Louisa herself had never had the luxury of disclosing her feelings for Jardine to anyone. When they’d first met, Max had forbidden her to entertain the dashing Marquis’s advances. He was dangerous, Max had said. Dangerous, reckless, and the most unrepentant rake to grace a London ballroom.

  None of that had mattered to Louisa. The danger that clung to him excited her. The other women mattered not a whit when his dark eyes burned into hers.

  But she’d been forced to keep her love for him to herself. They’d wed secretly. She’d been treading on air and rose petals.

  And then, even before the sun set on their wedding day, he’d abandoned her, told her they must pretend they were strangers, that they’d barely met. That they’d never shared more than polite conversation, much less shared marriage vows and a bed.

  She’d no choice but to accept his edict, despite the fact he’d never told her more than that her safety was jeopardized by her association with him. She could hardly compel him to stay with her without causing a scandal or involving Max. The two men had already come to blows over her. She’d been terrified that the outcome of their next fight would be the death of one of them, or both.

  Perhaps she might have confided in her mother, or her other brother, Alistair. But she hadn’t. She’d never dreamed the estrangement would drag on for years.

  By the time she’d finished her tea, she’d heard far more than she wanted to know about Beth’s youthful passion.

  “I’m afraid I long for my bed,” she confessed. “The fatigue of the journey, you know. An early night will set me up nicely for all the activities you have planned tomorrow.”

  Louisa slept fitfully, her mind too full of the day’s events, her heart too sore to rest. The clock chimed two before she decided something must be done.

  She would never sleep like this, so full of pent-up anxiety. She sat up, wishing she’d thought to bring a novel. Reading always helped when she had trouble getting to sleep.

  She lit a candle and found her wrapper laid over a chair. With only the light of a single candle to see by, she stole down to the first floor and eventually found the library.

  She searched the shelves that lined each wall.

  Hmm. No novels. The books were all in pristine condition, as if they were never taken down from the shelf.

  Had Radleigh collected all these volumes? He didn’t strike her as someone who valued philosophy and knowledge. Perhaps the books had come with the house.

  There were many tomes on India, some in English, some in a language native to the country. There were books on natural history, Greek and Latin primers. . . . Ah, at last! Shakespeare’s sonnets were old friends.

  She eased the slim volume from the shelf and turned to go. Her eye caught on the massive mahogany desk that hulked in front of a large picture window.

  Could the list be in that desk?

  No, Radleigh would be a fool to hide a valuable document in such an obvious place.

  But . . .

  Perhaps a quick search would yield something worth knowing, some kind of clue.

  She set the book down within reach, in case anyone disturbed her.

  The desk drawers yielded nothing of interest. She ran her fingers over carved decoration on the desk, searched for hidden springs, false drawer bottoms, anything that might conceal the prize.

  She pressed her fingernail into one innocuous curlicue, and what looked like part of the paneling shot from its home to reveal a small concealed drawer.

  Louisa pounced, but all she found was a packet full of locks of hair, each tied with a thin ribbon, each a different shade and texture.

  Well, well. Who was a naughty boy, then? Looked like Radleigh had his fair share of lovers strewn around England. Good Lord, there must be at least twenty of them—

  A creak of floorboards made her gasp and drop the packet on the desk. Her hand flew to her breast. “Oh! How you startled me.”

  Ten

  THE figure moved toward her, barely discernable from the gloom beyond the glow of her candle. The hairs began to stand on the back of her neck.

  After a heart-stopping moment, the man approached close enough for her to discern his features. She didn’t recognize him as one of the guests. He was of no more than medium height, neatly dressed. He had a balding head edged with a tonsure of short black hair, a mobile mouth, and the most brilliant black eyes she’d ever seen.

  The expression in those eyes was understanding, even faintly sympathetic. “I am Saunders, Mr. Radleigh’s secretary, ma’am. And you are Lady Louisa, I believe? Might I be of service?”

  Then he saw what she held in her hand and his thick black brows drew together.

  “Forgive me, I came to get a book, but then I . . .” She gestured to the desk.

  Think! Think . . .

  “I—It was wrong of me, but I wanted to know everything about him.” She swallowed past her fear, and let her face crumple a little. “I’m well served for my curiosity, aren’t I? It appears I have a rival. Several of them, in fact.”

  She did not need to feign trembling fingers as she held up the packet of mementos for him to see. Thank goodness Saunders had found her with nothing more incriminating in her hand.

  The man drew closer. “It is not my place to say it, but you would do well to disregard what you found, my lady.” Gently, he removed the packet of love tokens from her grasp. “Youthful peccadilloes, nothing more.” Behind his spectacles, the obsidian eyes warmed. “I assure you.”

  If she’d had a handkerchief, she’d have put it to good use. Instead, she set back her shoulders and lifted her chin in a show of courage. “Thank you. I expect you’re right.”

  She licked her lips. “You will not tell him I’ve been here? I’d be mortified if he found out, but I couldn’t help myself.” She shrugged, gave him what she hoped was a tremulous smile. “A woman
in love.”

  A little startled and perhaps embarrassed at this gushing disclosure, Saunders inclined his head. “Of course, my lady. There is nothing to tell.”

  LOUISA retired to her bedchamber, shaken by the encounter, yet strangely exhilarated. She’d managed to keep a cool head in a potentially dangerous situation. If Radleigh had discovered her there, rummaging through his possessions . . . She shivered. Thank goodness it had only been his mild-mannered secretary.

  The secretary seemed to wish for this alliance between her and his employer. She trusted he wouldn’t jeopardize that by telling Radleigh about her little foray into his private papers.

  She’d been convincing, though, hadn’t she? Even if the secretary did inform on her, he’d merely be reporting a piece of ill-mannered curiosity, rather than the ill-conceived bit of investigative work it had been.

  She remembered something Harriet had said in the days leading up to the house party.

  Always be on the lookout for someone close to the individual you’re investigating who might help you. They will have more hope than you of getting the information you want.

  As Radleigh’s personal secretary, and one who lived in the same house, Saunders would be the most likely to know where Radleigh kept important papers. Perhaps he was privy to his master’s secrets, as well.

  Turning a loyal employee into an informant was a skill she doubted she possessed. She considered it from a few angles and decided it couldn’t hurt to at least try to get to know the secretary better. One never knew . . .

  And why was she concerned with converting Saunders to the cause? Why did she keep forgetting that she was out of this business now? She’d send word to Faulkner that the mission had failed, that Harriet had gone missing.

  Tomorrow, Lady Louisa Brooke would break her false engagement, pack her bags, and leave.

  Wouldn’t she?

  DESPITE her late night, the habit of a lifetime couldn’t be broken and Louisa woke early to go for a ride.

  “There you are, lovely,” she murmured as her gray mare nuzzled her hand, nostrils quivering as she sniffed for the usual offering of an apple or a lump of sugar.

  “Nothing today, I’m afraid, but I’ll make sure I have a present for you tomorrow.”

  The groom saddled Miniver and led her out of the stall, assisting Louisa to mount.

  She arranged her legs and her skirts, keeping a firm, light hand on the reins as the gray danced and frisked beneath her.

  “She’s fresh, ma’am.” The groom looked ready to catch at her bridle.

  Louisa laughed with delight at the feel of horseflesh beneath her. “Oh yes, but we understand each other very well, never fear!”

  Easily, she brought Miniver under control. “Is there a particular ride you recommend?”

  The groom gave her directions. Apparently, he remained unconvinced of her horsemanship and offered to accompany her.

  “No, thank you. I assure you, I’m accustomed to riding alone.”

  “But if there’s an accident, ma’am—”

  “Then I shall be well served for my arrogance, shan’t I?” Louisa smiled. “No blame will fall on you. I promise.”

  She clicked her tongue and guided Miniver out of the stable yard. The gray yearned to gallop, but Louisa had a purpose and she kept the pace to a walk and stayed on the designated bridle paths rather than seeking open fields.

  She was here to explore.

  The reconnaissance was an interesting one, full of surprises. She passed strangely decorated grottoes and fountains, a thornery full of exotic plants, and wondered a little at Radleigh’s choice of abode.

  She’d gained an impression of a man who was all correctness and polish on the surface. Beneath, he seemed all too aware that his background didn’t hold up to scrutiny. There was a hint of desperation in him, a craving for acceptance.

  Why else would he want to marry her?

  She shook her head. The ton might tolerate him for his money and political connections; it would never take him to its heart. Not even if he married a duke’s sister.

  With a sigh, she urged Miniver up a small rise, one that had been artistically arranged to afford a view of the extraordinary house.

  Where was the temple that Harriet had described?

  It wasn’t as if she could ask for directions. Even if it hadn’t been the site for the dead drop, the temple was full of erotic imagery. She shuddered at the gossip a maiden lady’s interest would cause.

  The morning was warm and sunny, with the faintest breeze ruffling the leaves, stirring the lush, green grass around her. Water hushed somewhere nearby.

  She guided Miniver toward the sound and eventually came out at a small glade, a secluded spot surrounded on all sides with dense foliage.

  Louisa dismounted, tethering the horse where she could lip at the grass on the edge of the clearing.

  Water cascaded down a graded stone wall behind what appeared to be some sort of Eastern shrine. Hindu? She didn’t know.

  A female icon, perhaps a goddess, towered over the small glade. Her tongue protruded from her wide, ugly mouth. Her expression was fierce, grotesque, and while she otherwise had the body of a normal woman, as many as eight arms fanned out from her body.

  One hand held a sword, one a ball-shaped object Louisa realized was a human head. Around her neck was a long rope made of skulls, and from her belt dangled a row of human arms. One of her bare feet rested on a man.

  But it wasn’t so much the strangeness of the figure, it was the skill of the carving that made Louisa catch her breath in wonder. There was life in that statue, fire in the goddess’s eyes, a suggestion of movement in the arms and in the male figure who writhed at her feet.

  A short flight of steps led to a raised platform in front of the figure.

  Louisa tilted her head as she circled around the shrine. “Where did you come from?” she murmured. “What wonders have you seen?”

  She wanted to touch it. Stripping off her gloves, she was about to climb up to the platform when Miniver whickered.

  Louisa’s head jerked around. Scanning the wood with narrowed eyes, she said, “Who’s there?”

  Jardine emerged from the shadows on foot.

  Her eyes narrowed. “You. Have you been following me?”

  He shrugged, let his gaze wander over her. “I didn’t need to think too hard to guess where you’d be at this hour.”

  Was she so predictable? “I’m surprised you are not dancing attendance on Miss Radleigh.”

  The beautiful mouth sneered. “I’ve no interest in that chit.”

  The arrogance of him! “Well, she certainly has a lot of interest in you. Have a care there, or you might end up in parson’s mousetrap.”

  His smile took on a hint of irony. “Oh, I’m quite adept at eluding snares. As you’ve cause to know.”

  She flushed and bit back an angry reply.

  He lifted a hand toward her, then let it drop, his lips twisted in a grimace. “Ah, that was not well done of me, was it, Louisa? I should at least have the grace to admit our passion was mutual, while it lasted, should I not?”

  He held out a hand to touch her face, but she jerked back. “Don’t toy with me, Jardine. Mr. Radleigh—”

  “You will not mention that bastard to me unless you want to see a bullet through his heart.”

  “Your threats won’t change facts.” Louisa fumbled with her gloves, tugging them back over shaking hands and fingers.

  A seam ripped in her haste and awkwardness. She let out a frustrated exclamation. “Oh, why can’t you leave me alone? Why did you have to come here?”

  “I’m here on business that has nothing to do with you,” said Jardine brusquely. “The girl was the easiest means of securing an invitation.”

  “I’m sure she’d be most happy to have been of service,” said Louisa bitterly, giving her ragged glove up for lost. “She’s more than half in love with you.”

  He shrugged. “Calf love. She’ll recover. This is more i
mportant than some silly moonling’s hurt feelings. Tell me what business brings you here, Louisa. Tell me what you’re doing with him. Good Christ, of all men, why did it have to be Radleigh?”

  There was something in his face, an earnestness, a desperation that stopped her breath. Ruthlessly, she suppressed the urge to assure him that he was the only man she would ever want. That the sooner her sham engagement was at an end, the better she would like it.

  But she and Jardine—that torrid chapter of her life was over now. Why did he seek to prolong her agony?

  “You lost the card game, Louisa,” he reminded her. “I won the truth from you. Are you going to pay your debt?” He moved closer, his gaze dipping to her breasts and back to her face. “Or shall I collect a forfeit?”

  Her eager, foolish heart urged her to accept the offer of a forfeit, regardless of her wounded pride.

  But the memory of her weakness in Richmond Park rushed back. Despite all she’d felt, all she’d tried to convey in that passionate embrace, he’d left her with no assurances, and a little less pride than before.

  That stupid card game! She couldn’t tell him about Faulkner and the mission Harriet had passed on to her. She’d given her oath.

  Louisa took a deep breath. “I—I was angry. I encouraged Radleigh to spite you.”

  That was the truth—partly. She’d accepted Faulkner’s commission because Jardine had left her furious and bereft. Of course, she’d scorn to use another man to make Jardine jealous; but it had been a side benefit, she admitted that.

  His black eyebrows drew together. “Spite? That’s not like you.”

  Oh yes, the ever-compliant, obliging Louisa. Ready to subordinate her needs and desires to everyone else’s, to make the best of a very bad lot.

  Not this time.

  Tightly, she said, “A woman scorned? How could you doubt it? I was in a temper at your callous dismissal, so I took up with Radleigh to make you jealous. But . . .”

  Louisa licked her lips, then cursed herself for the betraying gesture. She shifted as Jardine’s gaze focused on her mouth. “But as I came to know him, I discovered that Radleigh has many fine qualities.”