Sweet Enemy

by Heather Snow

  Liliana’s breath stilled in her chest. She hadn’t known any of that.

  “You told me this morning you were a chemist. I am certain people in your life have discouraged you from it. Yet someone, like Handel’s mother, encouraged you, yes? Not your aunt…”

  Liliana shook her head, her gaze riveted to his blue one. “My father,” she said softly.

  Geoffrey nodded. “I expect you hope to make some lasting contribution to the world in that regard. My mother mentioned you’ve applied for acceptance into the Royal Society and have been turned down.”

  “Seven times in the past three years,” she found herself saying. “But I refuse to give up. Someday, men will recognize that women and science are not incompatible. If I am not the first woman member of the Royal Society, then I can at least hope my efforts will help pave the way for whoever is.”

  “My point exactly.” He watched her, assessing, with no hint of mockery or disdain.

  Liliana took a shallow breath and pulled her head back slowly, feeling exposed and vulnerable. She had the most uncomfortable feeling he was looking right into her very heart.

  Dear God, she was the one who was supposed to be getting answers from him—and yet he’d gotten her to unknowingly reveal intimate parts of her soul just by uttering a name.

  She was in over her head.

  “Forgive me,” Geoffrey murmured and sat back against his chair. “I’ve upset you.”

  She hazarded a glance at him. His eyes were hooded, his brows drawn together with puzzlement.

  “No, I…” She cleared her throat and called forth a polite smile. “I am just a bit taken aback. I…” She probably sounded the idiot. Now she would look like one, too, for she couldn’t stay here with him a moment longer. She stood abruptly, knocking her chair with the back of her knees. “Please convey my apologies to Lord Aveline,” she said, backing out of the row. “Tell him I am a bit flushed, after all, and that I will join him later this evening.”

  Liliana didn’t wait for Geoffrey’s response, didn’t want him to see any more in her face than he already had. She fled the music room.

  Her equilibrium returned in bits as her long-legged stride carried her farther from Geoffrey, as she pondered their conversation. He’d shown no flicker of response when she’d mentioned her father. No remorse, no acknowledgment that he’d ever heard of Charles Claremont. Was it possible he knew nothing about her father’s death?

  Perhaps. But scientists didn’t make assumptions. They proved or disproved premises. Tomorrow, when they went riding, she’d risk asking him a few pointed questions and gauge his responses.

  Still, she mustn’t forget that even if he knew nothing, she could not count on him to help her find justice. She’d run her finger over the raised seal of Stratford hundreds of times since she’d discovered her father’s cache.

  Fidelitas ut prosapia. Loyalty to family. Liliana hadn’t needed a translation of the family motto—Latin was the language of science, after all.

  Someone in Geoffrey’s family was responsible for her father’s death, and she fully expected that when the time came, Geoffrey would protect his own.

  Movement caught her eye as she passed by the hallway that led to the library. Was that—? She turned quietly, inched back to the opening and peered around the corner.

  Someone exited the library, and not in the way one would had he been there just perusing. The hallway was shadowed, so she couldn’t make out a face. The man turned away from her and walked at a fast clip in the opposite direction.

  She couldn’t be certain, but the tall, lean frame brought to mind Lord Aveline.

  Why on earth would Aveline be sneaking from the library when he’d been supposedly fetching champagne?

  Chapter Thirteen

  T

  he brisk morning breeze sent a shiver down Liliana’s spine as she made her way through dew-laden grass to the stables. The air was quiet in the dark moments before sunrise, the absence of noise making it seem as if even the birds had yet to rise from their comfy nests. Perhaps they were the wise ones. As Liliana slipped inside the stable door, a glow of soft light shone from the far stall. The rumble of quiet male voices echoed back to her and Liliana instinctively stilled, keeping to the shadows. There’d been no one about yesterday when she’d appropriated Geoffrey’s mare, and though he’d given her permission to ride Amira this morning, she had little desire to explain herself to a stranger, particularly dressed as she was in breeches. Funny, it didn’t seem to bother her that Geoffrey saw her thus.

  “—very ’appy, Major. Can’t thank you enough,” a man said.

  “The war is over, Tom. You needn’t address me so anymore.”

  Geoffrey’s familiar tones flowed through Liliana like a good glass of sherry, leaving her relaxed and rather warm. She shook off the effect and continued toward Amira’s stall.

  “M’lord, then.”

  Geoffrey’s low laugh struck Liliana as rather self-deprecating for a man of the nobility. “Certainly not that, my friend. Not after all we’ve seen together. I’d prefer you call me Geoffrey, but I can see from the look of horror on your face that you won’t do that. Shall we settle on Stratford?”

  “Don’t seem proper, sir, given you’re an earl now,” the man answered, his voice dubious. “But if you insist.”

  “I do.”

  Liliana stopped short of the stall, taken aback by the men’s odd conversation. Geoffrey was apparently encouraging someone below his station to call him by his given name, and clearly considered the man a friend. She’d never known a peer who held to such ideas. The thought intrigued her, but it also disturbed. She didn’t like to admit she might be wrong about him. Perhaps she’d need to reevaluate how she perceived Geoffrey. Perhaps, at heart, he was as unconventional as she.

  She cleared her throat in way of announcement, still curious, but loath to eavesdrop further when the conversation clearly had nothing to do with her. She dropped her head and tugged her cap low so as to hide her features from Geoffrey’s companion.

  Geoffrey stepped out into the open. His eyes crinkled with genuine pleasure, and his smile of greeting sent warmth sliding through her. Was he glad that she’d joined him?

  “Liliana,” he said, surprising her by his use of her name and again when he reached for her hand, bringing it to his lips for a brush of a kiss as he led her into the stall.

  Liliana’s eyes darted to the stranger and she squinted, perplexed. The man Geoffrey insisted address him so casually was a stable servant? It certainly seemed so from his rough trousers, coarse linen shirt embedded with bits of straw and dusty vest. A bud of unease sprouted in her middle. Servants notoriously gossiped, and the last thing she wanted was Aunt to hear of her unorthodox morning activities through the servant grapevine.

  “Allow me to introduce Tom Richards. Tom, Miss Claremont.” Geoffrey must have sensed her reticence, as he gave her hand a quick squeeze. “Tom and I served together for many years. He’s as loyal a friend as they come. I trust him with my life, as can you with your reputation.”

  Mr. Richards nodded. “Miss.”

  Liliana smiled in return, assessing the other man. Geoffrey had called him a friend and fellow soldier. Might the stable hand be a source of information, should Geoffrey prove difficult to crack?

  “Tom here will have Amira saddled for you each morning, and any other time you wish to ride,” Geoffrey said. “Just send him a message with your intentions and he’ll see to it you have everything you need.”

  Liliana kept her smile in place, but she inwardly cringed. Either Geoffrey was being considerate or Tom was his way of keeping abreast of her activities. Regardless, it would certainly be harder to sneak off to the village again.

  “Shall we?” Geoffrey led her to Amira and assisted her onto the already saddled mare. Heat emanated from his hand, even through Liliana’s buttery soft gloves. She glanced up, startled, and was certain she saw that same heat flash in his eyes. But then she was up, and he was mounting his
Gringolet.

  As Geoffrey straightened in the saddle, Liliana’s breath hitched and she was forced to draw air through her nose to calm her rioting senses. His chin lifted, his shoulders settled back and his gaze looked out through the stable entrance as if anticipating the day’s adventure. He exuded such easy confidence that it made her want to follow him anywhere. Foolish, yet she saw for a moment why his fellow soldiers had nicknamed him Sir Gawain. Geoffrey carried himself like she imagined the knight of old would. Gawain was purported not only to be noble, but also to be the very spirit of chivalry and loyalty. Was it possible Geoffrey was equally honorable?

  That was the question of the day, wasn’t it? From what she’d observed of him over the past week, he didn’t seem the sort to be able to commit murder—well, other than when she’d taunted him during the tournament. He’d looked quite capable of strangling her then. But to rule him out completely, she must find out where Geoffrey had been when her father was killed.

  “I thought we might ride some of the estate today,” Geoffrey said as she brought Amira up beside him. “I do try to survey as much as I can on my trips home.”

  Liliana nodded. “Lead on.” She briefly closed her eyes as he pulled just slightly ahead. Now was the time to take control of the conversation…he’d given her the perfect opening. “You must enjoy being back in England. How long were you away?”

  His shoulders rose a tad, as if he’d tightened at her question. She watched him closely. She realized, of course, he might not tell her the truth, but she had to try and hope she’d be able to tell if he were lying.

  “I left home the nineteenth of May 1803,” he said, his voice light and steady, giving Liliana no reason to suspect he spoke anything but the truth. “The day after we declared war on France.”

  The rhythmic clop of hooves rose from the earth as they skirted the lake. Liliana waited, giving Geoffrey time to elaborate, but it seemed all he would say on the subject.

  Just knowing he’d left England seven months before her father was killed made her breathe easier for some odd reason.

  With a start, Liliana realized she didn’t want Geoffrey to have been involved. Nor, in fact, to have any knowledge of it…which was silly, really, because she needed answers, and how could he reveal what he didn’t know?

  Pushing her contrary thoughts aside, she pulled even to him and pressed on. She had to establish his whereabouts on and around the twenty-first of December of that year. “It must have been difficult,” she ventured, “leaving home so young. Were you able to visit much that first year? Maybe around Christmastime?”

  He slanted his eyes to her and gave her a bemused smile. “I was not much younger than you are now, I imagine,” he said, sidestepping her question entirely. “How many years have you? Two and twenty?”

  “Four,” she replied.

  He swept her with his eyes, lingering for a moment in the vicinity of her hips, which she knew the boys’ togs accentuated rather than hid. The appraising nature of his look set off a twittering in her stomach. But then he turned his focus on the park ahead.

  “Yes, well, I was just a week past twenty and anxious to prove my mettle fighting for my country.” A wry note crept into his voice, and his gaze took on a faraway quality. Something in his manner—in the contemplative, troubled look that crossed his face—told Liliana that he was a man living with regrets. She had an absurd urge to reach out to him, to…do what? Offer him comfort? She frowned and tried to focus on his meaning.

  What, exactly, did he regret? Things he’d done for his country? Or something altogether worse?

  Liliana tapped her fingers against her thigh. He’d yet to answer her. She thought a moment on how to rephrase her inquiry. “I’d like to hear more of your early days in the service,” she tried.

  Geoffrey laughed, the cloud lifting from his features. He looked over at her. “ ’Twas nothing exciting, I assure you. Besides, enough about me. I should like to hear more about your experiments.”

  Any other time, she would have loved to expound on her work, but not when he was so effectively evading her questions. She narrowed her eyes before she caught herself. “They’re nothing exciting, either.”

  “Oh, I doubt that,” he said. “You stated yesterday that riding astride was more practical in the ‘brambles and bogs’ you frequent. That sounds quite stimulating.”

  Did he intend the entendre she heard in his tone?

  She flushed, either way.

  “I’ve an idea. Grin, here, is used to a more invigorating pace of a morning,” Geoffrey said, patting the horse’s neck. “And Shropshire is known for its lush marshlands. What say we race to the western edge of my property, where I can promise you any number of bogs that might interest you? Then you can give me a firsthand introduction to your passion.”

  Liliana felt the ensuing blush heat more than just her cheeks. Truly—he must see how her face had pinkened. Thankfully, her clothes covered other places that had warmed at his words. Yet his innocent expression gave no hint of innuendo.

  His charger’s ears had perked at the word race, however. Gringolet’s energy seemed to have transferred to Amira, as well. Liliana could feel a new tension in her mare, a current that seemed to run through her own body, too. The sun had risen behind them, illuminating the park for a safe run. What harm could there be? A brisk breeze might cool her, while a hard ride might relieve some of her frustration at being thus far thwarted.

  “How can we race when I’ve no idea where we’re going?” she asked.

  Geoffrey grinned, and her heart tripped.

  “What makes you think you would ever be in the lead?” he asked, digging his heels into Gringolet’s side.

  Cresting a flat-topped summit, Geoffrey bent low over Gringolet’s neck, exhilaration singing in his veins. In a few hundred yards, the pasture would give way to a heavily wooded valley and then finally to the marshlands below. Geoffrey gave the horse his head.

  He was ten kinds of fool to be out with Liliana unescorted, yet it seemed as if he had no sense of self-preservation when it came to her. In fact, as embarrassing as it was to admit, he’d raced to the stable well before dawn, buzzing with anticipation. When Liliana had arrived, he’d felt like a damned lad of fifteen, keen to impress a pretty young maiden. Ridiculous for a man of his age and experience, and more so given how fundamentally wrong for him a woman like Liliana would be, not only in the political realm but also in his personal one. She made him feel things, and that was perilous to a man who had decided never to love.

  Pounding hoofbeats echoed just behind and to the left. Amira’s occasional snorts let Geoffrey know Liliana was in lockstep with him still. Damn, she was a magnificent rider. He’d given no quarter, and she’d matched him the entire way. In fact, if she’d known the area, he’d lay odds she might even have been able to outride him.

  In his mind’s eye, Geoffrey pictured Liliana leaned over her mare’s neck, her thighs tight as she rose in the stirrups, her derrière elevated from the saddle. In her boys’ pants, he would have an excellent view of her bottom—the shape of it, at any rate. He had half a mind to let her pull ahead, just so he could see his imaginings in real life.

  Perhaps tomorrow he would let her lead.

  Geoffrey sucked in a breath. Was he actually contemplating a tomorrow with Liliana Claremont?

  Impossible. Yet, a mixture of longing and excitement tightened his chest. What was it about Liliana that put such dangerous thoughts in his head?

  Desire pulsed through him in blaring answer to his question. Yes, that could be the reason. After all, he’d dreamed of her again last night, had awoken clutching his pillow in a desperate attempt to drag her from his dreamworld to his reality.

  But that could never be. Aside from the madness that had gripped him in the library, he wasn’t the type to dally with an innocent young lady without being prepared to offer for her. As drawn as he was to Liliana—nay, because of how drawn he was to her—he could see no future with the woman. He never sh
ould have even suggested—

  A flash of brown streaked past him. Liliana released an unladylike whoop as she and Amira deftly cut him off. How in the blazes? Geoffrey tried for some competitive indignation, but the rise and fall of Liliana’s delectable backside as she galloped past more than made up for any wounded pride.

  Her laughter reached him as they slowed their horses near the edge of the valley. Burnished curls had slipped from beneath her cap, and her eyes sparkled an almost unnatural violet in the morning’s haze, as if she were some woodland nymph sent to entice him. Her vivacity swirled around him like the mist that rose off of the moist grass, touching a place inside of him that hadn’t smiled in long years…a young, innocent place, unspoiled by war and death, responsibilities and regrets.

  “I’m sorry, my lord. You took off so quickly, I didn’t hear what you said about leading,” Liliana teased.