His Wicked Charm

by Candace Camp

  But there was no need to worry. He pulled out his pocket watch, then checked it against the large clock hanging in the station. Lilah wasn’t late; the fact that she hadn’t yet arrived didn’t mean she was backing out on him. She had said she would go, and she would keep her word—even if she didn’t really want him in her home.

  Her reluctance to invite him had been rather lowering. It wasn’t as if they got along well of course—in fact, she was frequently bloody irritating—but still, he hadn’t thought she disliked him that much. Women usually enjoyed his company. They might rap his knuckles and tell him he was naughty—that seemed to be a favorite word of ladies old and young—but they always smiled when they said it. They flirted with him, danced with him, hung on his arm. Indeed, some of them had even been the ones to lure him into an alcove for a stolen kiss.

  But Lilah was not among those women. She was stubbornly immune to his charm. She seized every opportunity to criticize him. Con annoyed her. He angered her. Indeed, the only thing about him that pleased her was his kiss.

  Con smiled to himself. That was one thing he was certain about. He suspected that she would deny it, but he had felt her response—the flare of heat in her skin, the way her body melted into him, the way her mouth moved against his.

  He straightened, pulling his mind back from where it had wandered. It didn’t matter that Lilah enjoyed their kisses. Physical pleasure would not weigh enough with Lilah to balance her disapproval of him. It shouldn’t have come as a shock that she would recoil at the thought of being trapped for days in the same house with him.

  Nor should it have caused that twist of hurt inside his chest.

  It wasn’t as if Con wanted to be saddled with Lilah either. She was rigid and judgmental. Argumentative, obstructive, unimaginative...and seemingly lacking any sense of fun. It was entertaining to exchange barbs with her, to see her eyes flash with temper and to startle a smile or a laugh from her, but he was sure her company would become tiresome after a while.

  Nor was he usually bothered by other people’s opinions. He and Alex had a number of cousins who thoroughly disliked them—admittedly with some justification—as well as scores of tutors they’d driven off, not to mention the neighboring squire, who had termed them “imps of Satan.”

  Their dislike had never bothered him. Not once had he cared that any of the charlatans he’d exposed had spewed venom at him. Never had he felt that odd ache or wished that things were different.

  Women had rejected him before. There was that languid Farthingham girl, for instance, who told him he was too tiring, and Genevieve Winters had been prone to pout because he didn’t pay her as much attention as other young men. And others—he knew there were others. But none of them had caused him even a twinge of pain.

  Pain was a thing that came from the people one loved—the disappointment in his father’s eye when Con created trouble or the sorrow on his mother’s face when her brother died or the emptiness in the house when his siblings married and moved away. The cut of separation when Alex married. Pain was hard and it was deep, not something he wasted on people who didn’t matter.

  Against all reason, in some perverse way he liked Lilah Holcutt, but she was not someone who mattered to him. Who could matter to him. She was on the periphery of his life. His sister-in-law’s friend.

  Con straightened, pushing away from the pillar. She was here. Lilah walked toward him, followed by not only her aunt, but also a portly middle-aged gentleman and a tall spare woman in black.

  The little lines between Lilah’s eyes were pinched, her mouth tight, her pace fast. She was simmering, he thought, and for some reason that made him smile. Assuming his blandest, most innocuous expression, Con went forward to greet them.

  Lilah made impressively quick work of the introductions and goodbyes. The thin woman in black stood apart the entire time, her glacial eyes boring holes in Con. Her face was long, her lips narrow, and her eyebrows, stark black in her otherwise-pale face, seemed to perpetually pull together. Lilah didn’t introduce her, and that, along with her stance behind the group, made him assume she was a servant.

  He felt a decidedly dark premonition of her purpose there, confirmed when Lilah’s aunt and uncle returned to their carriage, leaving the woman behind, along with Lilah’s baggage. Con looked from her to Lilah.

  The corner of Lilah’s mouth twitched—he wasn’t sure if it was in amusement or irritation—and she said, “Cuddington is my aunt’s maid. She’ll be traveling with us.”

  “Ah. How very proper.” Con tried a smile. Cuddington’s face remained stony.

  “I’ll get our tickets and see to your things, miss,” Cuddington told Lilah and turned to summon a porter.

  Con brought out the tickets he had already purchased, admitting that he had not gotten one for Cuddington, as well. “I’m sorry,” he told Lilah, watching the other woman bustle off with Lilah’s trunk and a porter in tow. “I didn’t realize you would bring your duenna.”

  “Surely you knew I would bring my maid.”

  “Maybe, but I didn’t know she would be a gorgon,” he replied. They started walking to the platform where their train awaited. “I was beginning to think you had decided not to go after all.”

  She glanced at him in surprise. “I told you I would.”

  “I know. But...” He glanced at her. “I didn’t mean it, you know—what I said to you as I left. I won’t bother you with my attentions. I was only...”

  “Making jest of me?”

  “I wasn’t—”

  “No?” She raised an eyebrow. “You weren’t lampooning my prudish ways? My silly regard for society’s rules? You weren’t laughing at my desire to maintain my reputation?”

  Con floundered for something to say. He supposed he’d been making light of those things. But he hadn’t meant it the way she made it sound.

  “Don’t worry,” Lilah said crisply. “I never take what you say seriously.”

  Con realized he didn’t like that idea any better. He strode along in silence, wondering what was making him feel so aggrieved. Lilah, naturally, seemed fine with the lack of conversation, glancing around the station, anywhere but at him. She was stiff, that coiled tension still inside her. Something had roused her anger; no doubt it was him.

  They found their compartment on the train. The little room seemed somehow smaller than usual, and Con thought he probably should not have shut the door behind them. But he was damned if he was going to turn around and open it. They stood together awkwardly. Then, with a grimace, Con turned away to look out their window. There was no sign of the maid. Perhaps she would miss the train; the thought lightened his spirits a bit.

  “I don’t suppose there’s any hope that your maid will sit somewhere else.”

  “That would hardly serve the purpose,” Lilah responded.

  “We won’t be able to talk in front of her.”

  “Don’t be absurd.”

  “Not about anything important. I can imagine how well your aunt would receive a report of hidden keys or kidnappers.”

  “Cuddington isn’t reporting to Aunt Helena about me.” Her voice faltered at the end, but she added sharply, “You are in a foul mood today.”

  “I wanted to leave yesterday.” Con realized that he sounded petulant, but he couldn’t seem to pull his mood into something more pleasant. “Don’t you ever get tired of someone trailing after you everywhere you go?”

  “Of course I do!”

  There was such heartfelt irritation in her voice that he turned to her, surprised. “Then why do you do it? I can scarcely imagine that you’re so meek your aunt dictates your every move.”

  “Of course not. I don’t always take my maid.”

  “I see. So it’s just with me, then.” He started to turn back to the window. “Damn it, Lilah!” Somehow he couldn’t make himself ignore it, couldn’t stop the words from leaping
out of his mouth. “Why the devil do you dislike me so much? Why am I so repugnant to you?”

  She gaped at him. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  Lilah turned away, but Con circled around to stand in front of her again. “I’m not. It’s clear. You aren’t rude to anyone else. You don’t take Alex’s head off if he makes a joke.”

  “I don’t do that to you.”

  “Oh, yes, sometimes you’ll laugh, as if it’s been torn out of you against your will. You’ll smile, but then you turn away, as you just did. You appear to like everyone else in my family. You’re sweet as honey when you speak to my father. But you’re an ice queen with me.”

  “Your father is a wonderful man.”

  “Yes, he is. That’s not the point.”

  “What is the point?” Lilah’s eyes were snapping now, which gave him some satisfaction. She might disdain him, but he could always break her calm.

  “You’re polite to others. Not friendly of course, but you’re pleasant. You don’t question their every statement, don’t argue about each last thing. So what is it that makes you disdain me so? I am usually considered a pretty good fellow. Women don’t flee from me.”

  “They’re all mad for you, I’m sure.”

  “I didn’t say—”

  “You obviously have a very high opinion of yourself. No doubt the fact that I don’t pursue you like all the others wounds your pride.” She clenched her fists, her arms stiff at her side, and moved away again. This time he did not follow. “No. I refuse to let you draw me. I will not let you goad me into creating a scene.”

  “Why not? Maybe it would do you good to set yourself free for once and stop being so bloody straitlaced.”

  She whipped back around, eyes blazing, cheeks flushed, and even in the midst of his anger, Con could not help but think how glorious she looked. “Very well. You want to know why I am not taken by your charms? I’ll tell you.”

  Con had a sudden doubt—perhaps he didn’t really want to know, but he set his jaw and waited for her cannonade.

  “You’re like all the other wealthy, aimless young men who waste their lives on idiotic pursuits, pulling silly stunts, playing pointless jokes. You’re part of Hetherton’s set—not a care for the gossip you create or your effect on other people.”

  “You’re blaming me for what other men do? You’re judging me by Freddy Hetherton? The fact that I have talked to them or laughed with them doesn’t make me part of that set.”

  “You’re charming. You’re all flirtation and meaningless compliments and stolen kisses in the moonlight.”

  “So now my sin is being charming.”

  “It’s that you fly from one young lady to the next, never staying, never caring.”

  “You think it would be better if I avidly pursued a girl, opening her up to gossip and speculation?”

  “I think it would be better if you showed some steadfastness! Some depth of feeling. You’re forever dissembling, adopting disguises, lying for this reason or that or, apparently, just for fun. I don’t know whether anything about you is true.”

  “You don’t trust me?” Her words hit him like a blow.

  “How could anyone? You make jest of everything. You’re impulsive. Chasing down a rumor of ghosts or pursuing some insane theory that the world is about to end. You have no dignity at all. It’s an embarrassment to your family.”

  “My family doesn’t give a flip about dignity. They aren’t embarrassed. It’s only you who is.”

  “I would be if I cared.” She lifted her chin pugnaciously.

  A fierce white heat speared him. “I’m well aware that you don’t care for me. But you sure as hell have a lot of opinions about someone you don’t even know. How could you know about my feelings or my loyalty or that precious ‘steadfastness’ of yours when you avoid me like the plague?”

  “I avoid you? That’s rich.” She took a step forward. “You are the one who jumps up and leaves the room whenever I come in. The one who wouldn’t even sleep in his own house because I was staying there.”

  Con flushed, knowing that he had indeed done those things during the weeks before the wedding, when Lilah had been constantly around. “I was trying to maintain harmony in the house. I thought you would appreciate my absence, given your dislike of me.”

  “I did.”

  “Then I wonder why you’re complaining.”

  “I’m not—”

  “And it’s a lie to say I haven’t spent time with you. We spent half a day together chasing down the kidnappers.”

  “Because I forced my way in. It’s not as if you wanted me along. You made that quite clear.”

  “What about asking you to search Sabrina’s house? What about now—I’m heading off to bloody Somerset with you.”

  “Yes, when you need something from me.”

  “I am not using you,” Con shot back, taut as a bowstring, fury coursing in him. “I could easily have gone to Carmoor and searched it myself. I don’t need you to accompany me. In fact, everything would be a damn sight easier if you weren’t here. You’re bloody infuriating, and I was a fool to ask you.”

  “Then why did you?” Her eyes shimmered, and there was a look on her face that made him ache.

  “Because I was idiotic enough to want you with me.”

  Lilah drew in her breath.

  He was being stupid. Utterly stupid. Con knew it and yet he couldn’t help himself. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

  Lilah stiffened, then melted into him, her mouth opening to receive him. Her arms slid beneath his jacket, and he shuddered, swept with lust. The scent of her, the feel of her, the taste of her filled his head. There was no thought in him, only heat and yearning, only pulsing need. He could not stop kissing her longer than to change the angle of his mouth.

  Con had no awareness of moving, but suddenly they were up against the door, his body pressing into hers. His hand came up, fingers thrusting into her hair. He heard the ping of hairpins hitting the floor. It wasn’t enough, not nearly enough. He kissed her mouth and cheek, caught the fleshy lobe of her ear in a tiny nip, and her startled gasp that turned into a moan almost undid him. He envisioned sliding down to the floor with her, but some faint remnant of sanity stopped him. Instead, he began to kiss his way down the column of her throat.

  The sensitive skin was so soft, so smooth, so warm. He felt the tiny beat of her pulse against his lips. His other hand slid up to cup the soft swell of her breast. He would have given anything to be someplace else with her, somewhere he could follow the course of his yearning to the heart of it. He knew he must stop, must pull back.

  In a moment, just one moment.

  The train whistle blasted through the air. Con froze. It came again, cutting through the haze in his brain. He pulled himself away, turning to the window and running a shaky hand through his hair. He tugged at his waistcoat, his cuffs. He could see Lilah’s reflection in the window. She was frantically repinning the strands of hair his fingers had loosened. He flexed his hands, itching to sink them into her hair again.

  Con took a deep breath, trying to force calm though him. Half turning, he glanced over at Lilah. She looked flustered and breathless. It made him want her even more. He had no idea what he should say. What he should do. He was utterly at sea.

  A sharp rap sounded on the door and an instant later, Cuddington entered the room, looking stern and suspicious. It was, he thought, going to be an infernally long trip.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  THE TRIP TO Somerset was every bit as terrible as Lilah had imagined it would be. Worse. She had envisioned a stilted and dull conversation with Cuddington present. She had not bargained for the wealth of sensations roiling around in her, seeking escape.

  Con was no help. He took up a seat by the window and brooded. It was not a look she’d seen on Con before...and one she hoped never to s
ee again. It was strangely disturbing to see his mobile face turn dark and stony. This wasn’t the Constantine Moreland she knew, the one she... Yes, very well, she was forced to admit it: the Con Moreland she liked.

  Despite all she’d said, the truth was that she enjoyed being with him. Whenever Con entered the room, it became more lively, more fun. Everything was more uncertain around him; one never knew what he might do or say. It was, of course, unnerving and not the way a gentleman should behave. But it was also exciting. Con carried the possibility of adventure with him.

  It was wrong of her. She should not be drawn to someone who alarmed her. He was the opposite of the man she’d dreamed of—no rock-solid anchor, but fireworks that burst beautifully in the air and were gone.

  But there no escaping it. She wanted Con. She wanted that face, those hands that he used to punctuate his words, that long, lean body that fitted so perfectly against hers. She desired him the way she imagined an opium eater must desire the drug, knowing it was wrong and impermanent but oh-so-pleasurable.

  She sneaked a sideways glance at him. What was it about Con that stirred her so? The glint in his eyes? The way his mouth quirked up as he awaited her response to his teasing?

  Her cheeks burned as she thought about his kisses a few minutes earlier and the way her body had flamed into response. The way he’d touched her had been shocking, his hand roaming over her, covering her breast, but it had aroused her even more than it astonished her. Just the memory of it made her nerves dance. Con had the ability to turn her into a different person.

  Look at the way she’d jumped at the chance to leave the house with him the other day. And little as she wanted Con at Barrow House, the thought of going there with him had thrilled her. It was, she knew, the main reason her aunt’s insistence that she bring Cuddington had chafed so. Her own maid, Poppy, would have readily agreed to taking a seat in the other car by herself.

  What was she to do the rest of the visit? They would be thrown together, but she had ruined that. After the things she’d said to him, Con wouldn’t want her to accompany him when he broke into Carmoor. And wasn’t regretting the opportunity to commit a crime proof of just how much Con turned her into a different person!