With only a moment’s pause, he continued on without reply, hopped into his carriage and in minutes, the cloppity-clop of horses sounded on the street.
He’d given her the cut. And from the frantic level of whispers it generated, everyone around them knew it.
“Oh, why don’t you all find something useful to do with your lives,” she snapped, uncaring who might or might not hear her. She’d had more than enough. Every second Merewood evaded her was another second her father wasn’t home.
And she was done. She was getting what she needed.
Now.
At her carriage, she rapped the side to get her driver’s attention. When he looked down, she pointed after Merewood. “Follow that carriage.”
William frowned. “Miss, it’s near morning.”
“Then you’d best hurry.” She got in and the carriage lurched to a start. Wishing she was on horseback so she could go faster, she stewed, and suddenly, images began to careen through her head, taunting her with what could happen, what had already happened to her father, and how this could ever turn out all right. With each flash of her father alone, injured, or God forbid dead, the urgency coursed through her faster.
Her emotions racketed like a ball, bruising whatever sensibilities might have remained before the last days.
Lord Merewood’s behavior had only verified the truth in her mind.
But never once had Aria considered what to do when she uncovered it. If he admitted to knowing where her father was, what exactly was she to do with that?
A slight needle of fear chilled her and she rubbed her arms. She couldn’t stop; she wouldn’t. But for the first time in her life, she might be getting into something out of her control.
It wasn’t long before the carriage came to a stop in front of a townhouse merely a street over from her own. Without waiting, she threw the door open and jumped out. Seeing Merewood’s carriage parked ahead and him on the sidewalk, she called, “Lord Merewood!”
He turned around. “What in blazes are you doing here?”
“I wasn’t finished with you.”
“Finished with—” His scowl deepened. “You may enjoy risking your reputation, Miss Whitney, but I do not care to risk mine.”
“I don’t give a fig about reputation.”
“That much is apparent,” he snapped as his carriage rolled away from the curb. With a muttered curse, he grabbed her arm and yanked her toward the door.
“What are you doing?”
“We cannot be seen on the street together at this time of evening, as you well know.” He pulled open the door and with a decided lack of finesse, thrust her inside the house. She stumbled in, and he shut the door behind them.
Aria squared her shoulders and set her feet in a sailor’s stance. She was ready.
“Miss Whitney, is your intent to force me to marry you?”
“I am not in the least bit interested in—”
“Save the lies, Miss Whitney.” He put a hand up. “I have been very aware of your escapades of late and yes, I took pains to avoid you.” He crossed his arms. “I have no idea why you have fixated on me or why you think you should be privy to my past, but I will not be forced. Marriage is not—”
“I do not wish to force you into marriage. I—”
“—an option for me until my sisters are settled.” He put a hand on her shoulder and turned her around toward the door. “Pinning your hopes on me will result in disappointment. Set your course upon some other poor soul. I will not marry you.”
“Well, that certainly deters me from my devious plot.”
“Do not mock me, Miss Whitney.”
She twisted away from him, finding herself caught between him and the door. “This has nothing to do with marriage. This is about my father.”
Surprise flashed across his face. “What the bloody hell does your father have to do with this?”
“You can’t expect me to believe you’ve no idea to what I am referring.” Her temper flashed. “Did you think I was asking about your whereabouts in March, your business with my father out of idle curiosity? Or that I’ve near ruined my family on a lark?”
“Fine,” he said, reaching for the doorknob. “I will call upon you tomorrow and we can discuss this.”
“I don’t believe you.” She flatted herself back against the door. “And I’m not leaving.”
He let out a growl. “Woman, you could induce a saint to violence. What do you want?”
The air sucked right out of the room, and heat pressed in. “Answers! What do you know about my father?”
With a muttered curse, he reached around, grabbed her arm, and yanked her toward the door.
“What are you—stop!” she cried and slid her arm free. She skidded backward into the darkened entry. Shivers of fear danced over her skin. Emily had been right, about everything. She’d gotten in over her head.
And she needed a way out.
She thrust her arms outward, unable to see much in the dim slivers of moonlight provided by the narrow windows. Scooting backward in tiny steps, she felt the smooth wood of a door. She stretched her fingers, running them down until she grasped the doorknob, the cool metal like ice against her skin.
Light filtered into the room. With a small gasp, she turned the knob and yanked the door open. Swirling around, she hurried through it.
An arm snaked around her waist and she cried out, “Let go of me!” She balled her fists and pummeled the arm. “Let me go!”
“Do shut it, Miss Whitney, before you rouse the entire household.”
“That is rather the point!” She pushed at his arm of steel. “I will scream this house down if you don’t release me!”
That earned her a hand clamped firmly over her mouth.
Get out of this. Find a way out, Aria, she told herself over and over, even as he pulled her back into the room.
Remembering something one of her father’s men had taught her long ago, she took a deep breath and slackened in his hold, releasing every bit of tension in her body.
“What the—” the earl said before he lost his own balance, and they both landed in a heap. Aria tried to pull away from him, but the tangle of her skirts kept her firmly in place.
“This is ridiculous,” he snapped as he tried to hold her in place.
“I won’t let you hurt me!”
Suddenly, he let go and she fell backward.
“Why would you think I would hurt you?” he asked slowly.
She scrambled to a sitting position, peering up at him. “Perhaps because you dragged me inside your house?”
“That was to protect both of us. Why would you think I would hurt you?” he asked again, holding a hand out.
She eyed it suspiciously.
“Oh for God’s sake, let me help you up. I’m not going to attack you—you have my word.”
She wanted to believe his word was good, so she took the hand, but quickly released it as soon as she was solid on both feet. To ease the pressure in her chest, she moved several feet away, bumping her leg on the couch before hurrying to stand behind it.
“What about your father could prompt you to such behavior?”
“You bloody well know he disappeared!”
His brows furrowed in honest confusion. “Given his work, is that unusual?”
“Stop acting as though you aren’t involved.” She tried to calm her breathing.
“I am not involved.” He shook his head. “I have not seen or heard from him in months nor had I expected to.”
She stepped closer. “Every time I’ve worked at getting information, you get—there! That look. You know something.”
“I give my word as a gentleman that I have no idea where your father has gone.” He turned away. “The rest is none of your business.
Leave it alone.”
“Why?” she pushed. His inability to look her in the eye pushed her further. “What are you hiding, Lord Merewood?”
“It has nothing to do with you.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“And I don’t care. I am telling you, it does not concern you.” He studied her, as though gauging the worthiness of an opponent. “Unless this isn’t about your father at all.”
She blinked. “Of course it is.”
“Perhaps that is another ruse, another lie like every other one you’ve told. God, I need a drink.” He moved to the sideboard, lit a candle that filled the room with a dim light, and poured a draft of something. Picking up his glass, he took a long gulp. “How does that explain your being in Ravensdale’s bedroom? Or your tenacity in pursuing a friendship with my sister? Or why you’ve ruined your own reputation in pursuit of my family?”
“I was looking for answers. I wanted the truth.”
“The truth.” His gaze drifted downward. Even as every place it lingered tingled, Aria fumed at his audacity. And inside, she screamed at every second that ticked by. But she’d come this far.
“I’ll answer your questions on one condition,” he said, moving away to get another drink.
“What condition?” she asked, knowing even as she did that she should run away as far and as fast as possible. Yet her feet were stuck to the floor.
Her heart ached for answers, but she was terrified. Terrified that her father was dead. Terrified that Adam was involved.
She prayed, to every god she had ever learned about, that neither of those things was true.
She believed, to the depth of her soul, that her father was alive. And she had to believe, with just as strong a conviction, that she wouldn’t feel so inexplicably drawn to a man who could harm her father. She wanted him to prove her right, to give in, to just let go of his secrets.
He downed the drink once again without speaking. He obviously found this whole episode as unsettling as she did.
“Come to my bed first.”
Chapter Eight
She didn’t move. Didn’t blink. In fact, Adam wasn’t sure she breathed.
Dear God, let her run away as far and as fast as possible.
He turned away to pour another drink, aiming for a nonchalant air that did nothing to hide the impossible mix of need, desire and fear churning inside of him.
Atrocious though his offer was, his body strained at the images it conjured. From the moment he’d seen her, he’d wanted her. Here she stood, close enough to touch yet so untouchable.
Adam didn’t believe for a second this was about tracking her father down. The man was a bloody treasure hunter; he lived for adventure, for Christ’s sake. And all of her actions had been directed at his family.
No, she had to be another of Thomas Ashton’s conquests, a fact that stung far more than it should. Somehow, Miss Whitney had learned what happened to Ashton and she was—what? After revenge?
What did she want with her so-called truth? What was her plan?
Whatever it was, Adam would not allow that man, dead or alive, to cause one more moment of pain for his family.
And that meant ensuring Miss Whitney wouldn’t possibly want to stay to fulfill her curiosity.
“All right.”
Adam frowned. “What?”
“I agree to your terms.” Aria crossed her arms over her chest, her fingers digging red-streaked trenches into the pale skin on her upper arms. Her face was ravaged by need, by... hope? What did she hope for? What did she want from him, damn it?
His demand was supposed to garner him a drink tossed in his face, not a woman—this woman—in his bed.
“No, you don’t.” He grabbed the bottle. “You are bluffing.”
“If you didn’t expect me to answer yes, why did you ask?”
To hell with propriety. He slugged back the fiery liquid. “To get you to go away.”
“Why?” She moved closer. “Why do you need me to go away? Tell me! It can’t have been you, so you must be hiding something for someone else.”
“You heard the rules. I don’t answer any more questions until after.” He paused, making it clear what he meant. Praying she’d back down.
Her expression was undecipherable, and her feet were placed as solid as pavement. How much farther did he need to go before she ran? Any other woman would have swooned, cried foul—something that made sense.
But Miss Whitney had proven anything but weak of heart.
He swallowed the rest of his drink. Maybe he could drown his desire away while he was at it.
He poured another, threw it back, and set the glass on the sideboard. Turning on his heel, he strode to her and without a word, reached around her waist to yank her against him. As their bodies fit against each other, he took her mouth with his own, nudging her face upward to accept him more.
“Go,” he urged her, even as he tightened his grip.
“No!” Her hands splayed around his waist, tumbled down to run over his backside, fitted over the curve of his buttocks and urged him closer to her. “Tell me.”
He slashed his lips against the silky smooth of hers, and as the mix of brandy and the spicy taste of her lips intoxicated him, all intent to push her away fled. He pulled her closer. Swept his tongue in for more.
His hand moved up the line of her neck, then downward to follow the hard curves of bones to the gentle, generous swell of her breast.
“Get out of here.” His words were weak.
“Do shut it,” she ordered before lifting her lips to his again.
The warmth of her body touched every part of his, firing his blood, wreaking havoc with every part of him until all he could think of, all he could demand, was the feel of her skin against his own.
Her arms slowly moved over his shoulders. Her hands were taut against the back of his neck, fingers laced and pressed against the base of his head, and she moved deeper into his embrace, into his kiss, as if she was as frantic as he was to appease the craving inside.
He forgot everything but this woman, this moment.
This tremendous need unlike any he’d ever felt.
She matched the rhythm of his tongue and his lips, pulling and nipping, opening for him and taking of him.
Finally, he released her mouth and looked down into her face. She was beautiful. Spirited. Passionate. Everything he’d ever hoped for in a woman.
She shoved him back suddenly with a hollow cry.
“What I feel...I don’t know what I’m doing.” Her words were choked out, clogged with pain.
He bowed over, hands braced against his thighs while he tried to catch his breath. “If you came here to bring me to my knees, consider your goal accomplished.”
She met his gaze, her desperation no longer subtle or hidden, but laced with a plea. “That isn’t what I want. You can’t know how much—” she whispered, a crack hitching her tone to a frantic level. “I just want the truth. But I want my truth, don’t you see? And I want you, so much. I don’t want to be afraid of that.” She grabbed his face in between her hands and leaned down, urged a kiss from him until he stood, almost sunk back into her once again. “Tell me what happened to him, then we can find a way. We can give in to what we want.”
“You have no idea what I want.” The room around them began to swim, the edges growing fuzzy. He’d drank too much...should have stopped.
Then her hands moved to her shoulders. Her gaze never leaving his, she pulled her dress down, the sound of fabric ripping filling the room as her chemise followed. She pushed it down until her breasts were bared and she stood in front of him like a siren. “You want me, don’t you?”
Lust burned through his body, emboldened by the spirits he’d downed. Warning signals clanged in his head, but he couldn’
t stop looking at her. He was helpless to ignore her call.
Her hands curled against her hips and a sexy defiance swirled around her like a growing storm. Even with the air ripe with their mutual desperate need, he wanted nothing more than to pick her up and carry her to his bed.
A sound echoed in the corridor, and Adam snapped his head around.
“What was that?” Ariadne asked.
Adam put his fingers to her lips.
Good God, what were you thinking, man? Why had he brought her inside? He could have, should have walked in his house and closed the door without a word. Instead, he’d let her in and set them both on this volatile, unchangeable course.
Stupid, Adam. Stupid.
He stepped in front of her, pushing her behind him to keep her out of eyesight. They stood still, tension thick in the air, as his youngest sister shuffled by with a candle held in her hand, her nightgown sloshing about her ankles. She hummed a merry tune as she headed back toward the kitchen.
Too damn close.
Adam reached over, yanked Aria’s dress up to her tempting bosom and grabbed her hand. He led her into the corridor and up the stairs.
“Where are—”
“Shh.” He couldn’t say the words. But he had no other choice. He could not take the risk of someone discovering her, half dressed. Her bodice torn, for God’s sake.
They’d be betrothed before sunrise and married within a fortnight.
The only option for any semblance of privacy was his bedroom. If a part of him found a perverse pleasure that despite his intentions, that’s where they would end up anyway, he ignored it.
They hurried down the corridor and Adam led her into his room, closing the door behind them with a soft click.
“Get dressed.”
Her gaze slid to the bed, the same bed he was doing everything in his power not to notice. They weren’t in his bedroom. They were in the dining room. Yes, that was it. The bed was a dining table.
And well...hell, that didn’t help.
Now he’d never be able to go into the dining room without thinking about pushing her on top of the table and—
Cloaked in Danger Page 8
