A Wicked Liaison

by Christine Merrill

  His hand eased away from her lips, but he held her close in a most familiar way, one hand at the back of her neck, the other cupping her hip, and his legs bumping against the length of her.

  And suddenly, she was sick and tired of men trying to sample the merchandise without buying, or wanting to rob her, or dying and leaving her penniless and alone. She fought to free her arms and stuck him hard in the face. ‘I’ll give you silence, you thieving bastard.’ She hit him again, in the shoulder, but his hands did not move. ‘Is that quiet enough for you, you dirty sneak?’ And she beat upon him with her closed fists, as silently as possible, shoulders shaking with effort, gasping out tears of rage.

  He took the rain of blows in silence as well, except for the occasional grunt when a well-landed punch caused him to expel a puff of air. And when her blows began to weaken he effortlessly caught her wrists and pinned them behind her. ‘Stop it, now, before you hurt yourself. You’ll bruise your hands, and do more damage to them than you might to me.’

  She struggled in his grip, but he held firm until the last of the fight was gone from her and there was nothing left but tears.

  ‘Finished? Good. Now, tell me what is the trouble.’ He produced a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to her, and she was appalled to recognise it as her own.

  ‘Trouble? Are you daft in the head? There is a man in my room, holding me against my will. And going through my lingerie.’ She crushed the linen square in her hand and tossed it at his feet.

  ‘Before that.’ She could barely make out his face in the embers from the banked fire, but there was sympathy in his voice. ‘You were crying before you ever knew I was here. Truth, now. What was the matter?’

  ‘Why do you care?’

  ‘Is it not enough to know that I do?’

  ‘No. You have a reason for it, and as a common thief, you must wish the knowledge to use against me in some way.’

  He laughed, soft in her ear. ‘I am a most uncommon thief then, for I have your interests in mind. Does it help you to trust me, if I assure you that I am a gentleman? If you met me under better circumstances, you’d find me a picture of moral fortitude. I do not drink to excess, I do not gamble, I am kind to children and animals, and I have loved only one woman the whole of my life.’

  She struggled in his arms. ‘And yet you do not shirk at sneaking into other women’s bedrooms and taking their things.’

  He sighed, but did not let her go. ‘Sometimes, perhaps. But I cannot bear to see a woman in distress, and I do not steal from those that cannot afford to lose. In the box on your dresser there is a single strand of pearls and a pair of gold earrings. The rest is paste. Where is the real jewellery, your Grace?’

  ‘Gone. Sold to pay my bills, as was much of the household furniture. You see what is there. Take it. Would you like the candlesticks from the mantel as well? They are all I have left of value. Take them and finish me.’

  His grip upon her loosened, and he took her hand and bowed over it. ‘I beg your pardon, your Grace. I mistook the situation. Things are not as they appear to the outside, are they? The world assumes that your husband’s wealth left you financially secure.’

  She gathered her dignity around her. ‘I make sure of that.’

  ‘Can you not appeal to friends for help?’

  She tossed her head. ‘I find, when one has no husband to defend one’s honour, or family to return to, that there are not as many true friends as one might think. There are many who would prey upon a woman alone, if she shows weakness.’

  ‘But I am not one of them.’ He was still holding her hand in his and his grip was sure and warm. She thought, in the dimness, she could see a smile playing at the corners of his lips. ‘I have taken nothing from your jewel case. I swear on it. And the handkerchief?’ He shook his head. ‘I do not know what possessed me. I am not in the habit of rifling through women’s linens and taking trophies. It was a momentary aberration. I apologise and assure you that you will find nothing else missing from your personal items.’

  She thought, for just a moment, how nice it would be to believe him and to think there was one man on the planet who did not mean to take more than she wished to give. ‘So you have broken into my rooms and mean to take nothing, then?’ she asked suspiciously.

  Now she was sure she could hear the smile in his voice. ‘A trifle, perhaps. Only this.’ And he pulled her close again to bring her mouth to his.

  The thief did not bother with the niceties. There was no gentle caress, no hesitation, no request for permission. He opened her mouth and he took.

  She steeled herself against the violation, deciding, if it was a choice of the two, she had much rather he took a kiss than the candlesticks. It was foolish of her to have mentioned them, for she needed the money their sale would bring.

  In any case, at least the kiss would be over soon and she did not need to spare his feelings and pretend passion where she felt none, as she had with Jeremy. But unlike Jeremy, this man was most expert at kissing.

  Her mind drifted. His hand was on her shoulder and her head rested in the crook of his elbow, as he tipped her back in the cradle of his arms. It felt strangely comforting to be held by the stranger. She need barely support herself, for he was doing a most effective job of bearing her weight. She tilted her head slightly, and he adjusted, tasting her lips and her tongue as though he wanted to have every last bit of sweetness from them before letting her go.

  She relaxed and gave it up to him. And was shocked to find herself willing to give him more. It had been a long time since she had felt so well and truly kissed. Her husband’s kisses, in recent years, had been warm and comfortable, but not particularly passionate. The kisses she’d received from suitors since his death were more ardent, but could not seem to melt the frozen places in her heart, or ease the loneliness.

  But this man kissed as if he were savouring a fine wine. He was dallying with her, barely touching her lips and then sealing their mouths to steal the breath from her lungs.

  His hands were gentle on her body, taking no further liberty than to support her as he kissed, and she knew she had but to offer the slightest resistance and he would set her free.

  But she was so tired of being free, if freedom meant loneliness and worry. And suddenly, the kiss could not be long enough or deep enough to satisfy the craving inside of her. His hands stayed still on her body, but she wished to feel them do more than just hold her. She wanted to be touched.

  Her own hands were clenched in fists on his shirtfront, and she realised that she’d planned to push him away before now. Instead she opened them, palms flat and fingers spread on his chest, before running them up his body to wrap her arms around his neck. The hair at the back of his head was soft, and curled around her fingers as she tangled them in it, pulling herself closer to kiss him back. He smelled of wood smoke and soap, and he tasted like whisky. And when she moved her tongue against his, he tensed and his hands went hard against her body, his thumb massaging circles deep into the flesh of her shoulder. His other hand tightened on the soft flesh of her hip to hold her tight to him. She could feel his smile, tingling against her lips.

  And then, as quickly the kiss had begun, it was over. He set her back on her feet again and for a moment they leaned against each other, as though neither were steady enough to stand without support of the other. When he pulled away from her, he shook his head and sighed in satisfaction. He was breathless, as he said, ‘That is quite the richest reward I’ve taken in ages. So much more valuable than mere jewels. I will live on the memory of it for a very long time.’ He traced the outline of her lips with the tip of his finger. ‘I am sorry for frightening you and I thank you for not crying out. Know that your secrets are as safe with me as mine are with you. And now, if you will excuse me?’ He bowed. ‘Do not light the candle just yet. Count ten and I will be gone.’

  And he turned from her and went to the window, stepping over the sill and out into the darkness.

  She rushed to the windo
w after him, and looked out to see him climb down the side of the house and slip across the garden as noiselessly as a shadow, before scaling the stone wall that surrounded it.

  He paused as he reached the top and turned back to look towards her. Could he see her there, watching him go, or did he merely suspect?

  But she could see him, silhouetted on the top of the garden wall. He was neither dark nor fair. Brown hair, she thought, although it was hard to tell in the moonlight, and dark clothes. A nice build, but she’d felt that when he’d held her. Not a person she recognised.

  He blew a kiss in the direction of her open window, swung his legs over the side and dropped from view.

  She hurried back into the room and fumbled with a lucifer and a taper, trying to still the beating of her heart. She might not know him, but he knew her. He knew the house and had called her by her title.

  And now he knew her secret: she was helpless and alone and nearing the end of her resources. She found this not nearly as threatening as if Lord Barton had known the depth of her poverty. If he had, he’d have used that to his advantage against her.

  But the thief had apologised, and taken his leave. And the kiss, of course. But he’d left everything of value, so it was a fair trade. She knelt to pick up the contents of the spilled jewel box, and her foot brushed a black velvet bag on the floor at the side of the dresser.

  He must have brought it, meaning to hold the things he took. And it was not empty. As she picked it up, she felt the weight of it shift in her hands.

  Dear God, what was she to do now? She could not very well call the man back. He was no longer in the street and she did not know his address.

  She did not want to know his address, she reminded herself. He was a criminal. She would look more than forward to seek him out, after the way she had responded to the kiss. And the contents were not his, anyway, so why should they be returned? If the bag contained jewellery, perhaps she could put an ad in The Times, describing the pieces. The rightful owners would step forward, and she might never have to explain how she got them.

  She poured the contents of the bag out into her hand. Gold. Guineas filled her hand, and spilled on to the floor.

  She tried to imagine the ad she must post, to account for that. ‘Will the person who lost a large sum of money on my bedroom floor please identify it…?’

  It was madness. There was no way she could return it.

  She gathered the money into stacks, counting as she went. This was enough to pay the servants what she owed them, and settle the grocer’s bill and next month’s expenses as well.

  If she kept her tongue and kept the money, she could hold off the inevitable for another month.

  But what if the thief came back and demanded to know what had become of his money? She shivered. Then she must hope that he was as understanding as he had been this evening. It would not be so terrible if she must part with another kiss.

  Tony arrived at his townhouse in fine spirits, ignored the door before him and smiled at the façade. He rubbed his palms together once, and took a running start at it, jumping to catch the first handhold above the window of the front room. He climbed the next flight easily, his fingers and toes fitting into the familiar places worn into the bricks, then leaned to grasp the edge of the balcony, chinning himself, swinging a leg up and rolling his body lightly over the railing to land on his feet in front of the open doors to his bedroom. He parted the curtains and stepped through. ‘Good evening, Patrick.’

  His valet had responded with an oath and seized the fireplace poker to defend himself, before recognising his master and trying to turn his movement into an innocuous attempt to adjust the logs in the grate. ‘Sir. I believe we have discussed this before. It is a very bad habit, and you have promised to use the front door in the future, just as I have promised to leave it unlocked on nights when you are working.’

  Tony grinned back at him. ‘I am sorry. I could not help myself. I am—’

  Deliriously happy.

  ‘—full of the devil, after this evening’s outing. You will never guess who Stanton sent me out to spy on.’

  Patrick said nothing, waiting expectantly.

  ‘The Dowager Duchess of Wellford.’

  This was worthy of another oath from Patrick. ‘And you informed him that you could not.’

  ‘I did no such thing. He was under the impression that she was consorting with Lord John Barton, that they were in league in some sort of nefarious doings involving stolen printing plates. If he had not sent me, it would be someone else. I went post-haste to her rooms for a search. The climb to her bedroom window was—’

  As easy as I’ve always dreamed it to be…

  ‘—no problem. Thank the Lord, there was no sign of anything illegal hidden in her rooms. Although there is evidence that she is in dire straits and in a position to be forced to do things against her nature, by Barton or someone else. And then—and here is the best part, Patrick—while I was searching, she caught me at it.’

  ‘Sir.’ Patrick’s tone implied that the word ‘caught’ was not under any circumstances the best part of a story.

  ‘She caught me,’ Tony repeated. ‘And so I was forced to hold her tight, and question her. And because I wished to be every bit the rogue I appeared to be, I kissed her.’

  ‘And then?’ Patrick leaned forward with a certain amount of interest.

  Tony sighed. ‘And then she kissed me back.’

  ‘And then?’ Patrick prompted again.

  ‘And then I climbed out the window and came home. But not before leaving her the purse that Stanton had given me to cover the night’s work. I dare say she will not be required to sell the last of her jewellery for quite some time. St John was most generous. It was quite the most perfect evening I’ve ever had. What say you to that?’

  Patrick dropped any attempt at servitude. ‘I say, some day, when you are old enough to be shaved, you will be quite a man with the ladies. Ah, but wait. You are thirty, are you not? Then it is quite another matter.’

  ‘And what would you have had me do?’

  Patrick was working very hard not to make any of the more obvious suggestions, which might get him sacked. ‘You might, at least, have told her the truth.’

  ‘Just what part of it?’

  ‘That you have been pining for her like a moon calf, low these long years.’

  ‘I did tell her. Well, not the truth, as such. Not that truth, at any rate. I told her that she needn’t be afraid, which is true. And that I was a most unexceptional fellow. And that I have loved one woman my entire life.’ Tony frowned. ‘I did not tell her it was her, as such. You might think a woman would be glad to hear that? But trust me, Patrick, when she is hearing it from a stranger who is hiding in her bedroom, it will not be well received.’

  ‘But you are not a stranger to her.’

  ‘But she does not know that. I did not have time to explain the full story. An abbreviated version of the truth, one which omitted my identity, was definitely the order of the day. And despite what you may think of my romantic abilities, I’ve told the story before and found that omitting the identity of my beloved works in my favour. Nothing softens the heart of a woman quite so much as the story of my hopeless love for another. And how can I resist when they wish to comfort me in my misery?’

  ‘Sir,’ said Patrick, in a way that always seemed to mean ‘idiot’. ‘If you are with the object of the hopeless passion, and you wish the passion to cease being a hopeless one, then the unvarnished truth is usually the best course.’

  No longer hopeless…

  Tony shook his head. A single kiss was a long way from the fulfilment of his life’s romantic fantasies, and it would be foolish to set his heart upon it. ‘Nothing will come from this night’s meeting. Even if the whole truth is revealed. Think sensibly for a moment, Patrick. Much time has passed since I knew her. She barely knew me then. I doubt she even remembers me. She is a duchess, even if she is a dowager. And while I am her most humble serva
nt, I am most decidedly not, nor ever will be, a duke. Or, for that matter, a marquis, an earl or even a baron. With me, she could live quite comfortably to a ripe old age.’ He dismissed his own dreams on that subject with a wave of his hand.

  ‘But should she attach herself to me, it would mean that many doors, which were once opened, would be closed to her. She would go from her Grace the Duchess to plain old Mrs Smythe. In the face of that, an offer of undying devotion is no equal. And the whole town knows her as the most beautiful woman in London. She will not want for suitors, and need not settle for the likes of me. She will aim higher, when she seeks another husband. Man is not meant to have all that he dreams possible. Not in this life, at any rate.’

  Patrick applauded with mock-courtesy. ‘Most humble, sir. I had forgotten that you studied for the ministry. You have done a most effective job of talking yourself out of the attempt. In winning the hand of a lady, it would be better if you had studied the Romans. Carpe diem, sir.’

  ‘I carpe-d the situation to the best of my ability, thank you very much.’ Tony closed his eyes and remembered the kiss. ‘And perhaps there will be other opportunities. I must see her again, in any case, to settle the business with Barton and to make sure she is all right.’

  He remembered the missing ornaments and the empty jewel box. ‘Stanton is wrong. I am sure of it. He told me she was Barton’s mistress. But if Barton is keeping her, he is doing it on the cheap. If she were mine, her jewel box would be full to overflowing.’

  If she were mine…

  ‘But it is almost empty. And there is evidence that she is selling off the furnishings of the house to make ends meet. I had assumed that that old ninny Wellford would make provision for her after his death. Surely he did not think taking a young wife would somehow extend his own time on this mortal coil. He must have known she’d outlive him.’

  He sat in his favourite armchair and stared into the fire. ‘She is putting up a brave front, Patrick, but things are not right, above stairs. The least I can do, as an old friend of the family, is see to it that she comes through this safely.’