Nathan could be a gentleman when he preferred. Last night he didn’t prefer it. Last night he wanted to roll her over and press his body against hers. Instead he settled on dragging her closer until her very acceptable derriere was nestled against his very unacceptable erection.
He’d lain awake the rest of the night, listening to her breathe, knowing exactly when she stopped fighting her own exhaustion and gave in to sleep. That had been even more torturous, for in sleep she’d shed her inhibitions and moved closer to him, clutching his hand to her stomach as if her subconscious knew that he was no threat to her virtue.
Damn that subconscious. He was a threat. He’d lain there breathing in her scent. She’d smelled of some sort of flowers but he was buggered if he knew what kind.
Eventually he left the bed. It was either that or leave the gentlemanly behavior behind, and he found he didn’t want to do that. For the first time in a long time he wanted to actually be a gentleman instead of just act like one.
However, removing himself to the next room hadn’t eased his wayward thoughts nor cooled his heated body. And her trunk was like a beacon, urging him to look through it. He’d almost laughed when she accused him of rifling through her things. Of course he’d gone through her trunk. He didn’t want to leave it to chance that she’d stored more jewels in other gowns, but that wasn’t the only reason. He wanted to learn more about Claire Hartford. What made her into the woman she was today? What put the wariness in her eyes that didn’t allow her to trust anyone?
He hadn’t found anything other than lacey silk undergarments, which he would admit to no one that he’d pressed against his face to breathe in her womanly scent. Another dastardly mistake, for his body instantly hardened with a yearning he’d barely controlled and doubted he’d control again.
Even now, hours later, he was precariously perched on the razor edge of seething need.
He took a sip of his whiskey-laced coffee and stared blindly out the window while he listened to Claire splash around in the bath and tried to control his body’s reaction to the sounds. Really all he had to do was recall the hurt look in her eyes when she realized he’d stolen her money and that would shrivel any body part that had any inclination toward sweet release.
Guilt nipped at him when he remembered her wounded expression. He wasn’t a thief, although she’d never believe that. But he’d had to make certain she would submit to his plan. He had to make certain she was safe.
He took another sip, found his mug empty and sighed. He wasn’t proud of a lot of things he’d done over the years to keep his family afloat. However, he’d accepted his actions as necessary. But what he was doing now ate at him.
As the owner of his own gaming hell, he took money from men who willingly gambled it away. His customers knew the odds and chose to gamble anyway.
Claire was none of that. She hadn’t knowingly thrown her lot in with him, and even if he did tell her that Sebastian had thrown them together, she was still saddled with him. He wasn’t proud of his actions or the fact that he’d yet to tell her of Sebastian’s role in any of this, yet he couldn’t find it in him to regret it either.
He put the coffee mug on the nearest table. Enough with the maudlin thinking. They were to begin their journey to Calais this morning. As soon as Claire finished her morning bathing and broke her fast. If they made good time he would put her on the ship bound for Dover, hand her the money and he would head to Italy.
He had no idea if the fellow he saw in Place Dauphine followed them here. He’d let the coach and driver go and planned to hire a new one today to take them to Calais.
He still hadn’t figured out why he was going to Venice but it was a mystery he was willing to solve, because suddenly he cared very much when before he hadn’t cared at all.
Claire emerged from her bath and Nathan’s body clutched in need. Her wet hair hung well past her shoulders, a dark amber rather than the bright red when it was dry. She shot him a cautious look and he tensed. She was up to something. He hadn’t known her long but forced circumstances had taught him well.
There was a calculated gleam in her sea green eyes, a shrewdness he’d seen in Sebastian’s expression many times before.
He waved a hand toward the table filled with all manner of food. “I didn’t know what you preferred so I ordered everything.”
“Chocolate and toast will be fine.”
Ah, so she had a sweet tooth. He liked knowing that little bit about her.
She seated herself at the table and poured chocolate into a teacup, then reached for the toast. “So we leave today?”
Nathan settled across from her, reaching for the eggs. “As soon as we are finished here. I have to be in Venice for a meeting so I need to get you to Calais and on the ship right away.”
She raised a brow. “Another meeting? My, you are an important man.”
“Not really, but I appreciate the compliment.”
She raised her other brow and took a delicate bite of toast, her perfect teeth cleaving the bread. She chewed slowly, contemplating him as she did so.
“I apologize for cutting your holiday short, but I’m certain you’ll be able to return to Paris at a later date and enjoy the city as you meant to,” he said, suddenly nervous and not knowing why.
She swallowed and reached for her cup of chocolate. “You’re certain, are you?”
He didn’t like the coolness of her tone or the lack of emotion, which had been so prevalent the day before.
“I fear that because of my meeting, I will be unable to chaperone you throughout Paris.”
She lay down her toast and brushed the crumbs from her hands. “I don’t believe I asked you to chaperone me anywhere.”
“I can’t in good faith leave you alone in Paris. Sebastian would have my … Er … Sebastian would be disappointed in me.”
“Ah, yes. Sebastian.” She leaned back and tilted her head.
Nathan’s stomach lurched in apprehension. Damnation. It’d been a long while since he’d felt this sort of anxiety and never from a woman.
“I am a widow now, Lord Blythe. Sebastian has no control over me, regardless of what he likes to think.”
“A lady, no matter how independent, still needs protection from the evils of society.”
She contemplated him with that recent shrewdness, allowing the silence to stretch to an uncomfortable length of time. Nathan was well aware what tactic she was using. If she thought she was intimidating, she was wrong. He refused to shatter the loudest silence he’d ever heard.
“I’m not going to Calais, Lord Blythe. And I’m not returning to England.”
“I have your money, Lady Chesterman. You have no choice.”
She smiled but it wasn’t merely a stretching of lips over perfect white teeth. Oh, no. She made a production of it. The full lower lip twitched while the corners lifted ever so slightly, then spread until he found himself holding his breath against the beauty of it. Eventually the smile reached her twinkling eyes. “Ah, but I do have a choice.”
He had to force his gaze from her lips, but his thoughts didn’t follow as quickly. “Pardon?”
“I’m going to Venice with you.”
Nathan blinked, his thoughts snapping back into place. “No. You’re not.”
“Yes. I am.”
“To quote you, it’s improper to travel with an unmarried man, unchaperoned.”
She shrugged. “What do I care about propriety? It’s not like I’m to marry again.”
What the devil did that mean? She was young, vibrant, her life still ahead of her. Of course she would marry again. Any eligible bachelor with half a brain would scoop her up as soon as he laid eyes on her.
He steadfastly ignored the voice that said he was an eligible bachelor and had more than half a brain.
Except he was beginning to wonder about that. His brain wasn’t working to its full potential at the moment. No decent lady—and Lady Claire was a decent lady despite this mad dash across France—would marry h
im. He’d carefully cultivated his reputation so he wouldn’t be caught in the deadly web of marriage. His mother had been a far-reaching debutante intent on securing the best catch of the season. She accomplished all she set out to do, uncaring that her husband, Nathan’s father, was miserable. Nathan refused to fall to such machinations and figured the best way to avoid all of that was to be completely undesirable to the matchmaking mamas who thought to ensnare him.
“I can’t take you to Venice with me.” He infused as much authority into that statement as he possessed.
Her brows rose and her look told him she wasn’t impressed with the authority. “I had planned to go anyway to stay with a dear friend. I’ll merely change my plans. Venice first, Paris later.”
She drilled him with a fierce look that had his insides quaking and him thinking that after all these years he just may have met someone more stubborn than him.
“I left England for an adventure and I’m not returning until I’ve had it,” she said. “Now, you either take me to Venice with you, or I will try to escape at every chance I get and make your life hell.” She picked up her cup of chocolate and drank it. Not in the pretty, delicate way society demanded either. She chugged it, then sighed as she put the empty cup down and licked her lips.
He couldn’t help that his gaze followed the movement of her tongue or that his body tightened, or that his cock sprang to life so suddenly it nearly made him dizzy.
He yanked his gaze away and narrowed his eyes at her. “You wouldn’t.” And yet, in his heart, he knew that she would. This wasn’t a woman who made empty threats.
Her gaze flew to his and there was fiery purpose in it. “You said yourself that a woman alone in Paris wasn’t safe.” She spread her arms wide. “And what am I but a woman alone in Paris with no money.” She lowered her arms and pierced him with a hard look that, if she were a man, would have had her opponent quivering in fear. Hell, she just might have him quivering in fear.
Nathan breathed deep, his anger surging through him with such potency that he could barely control it. She’d effectively cornered him. He had no doubt she would follow through with her threats and he had no time to thwart her every escape attempt, nor could he be vigilant every minute of every day. Sebastian would be furious if he knew that Nathan had left Claire alone in Paris like that. And despite Nathan’s outward ennui concerning his reputation, damn it, he did care what Sebastian thought of him.
She scooted her chair back, stood and looked down at him. “Shall we leave now, my lord? ’Tis a long journey to the Swiss border.”
Chapter Fourteen
Claire had to bite back her smile and turn her head away from Blythe when she intercepted another of his bemused glances.
Ever since she explained her plan and took charge of getting them ready for the journey to Switzerland, he’d been cautious and nervous.
They’d spoken very little in the past several hours. With regret she’d watched Paris disappear behind her. She would return and she would remain here for as long as she pleased. This trip to Venice was merely a detour. Well, not really a detour. She’d planned all along to go to Venice. Lord Blythe simply rearranged her plans and now that she was resigned to going, she found she was also excited.
She hadn’t seen Gabrielle in years although they corresponded almost weekly. Even though Claire hadn’t told her friend she’d be visiting, she had no doubt Gabrielle would be pleased to see her. Claire feared writing to Gabrielle to alert her friend of her impending visit in case her letter fell into the wrong hands—or was intercepted by Blythe. For so many years she’d kept her socially unacceptable friendship with the Italian contessa a secret that even now she hesitated to reveal it.
Her gaze slid to his angry expression, the hooded eyes, the brackets around his mouth that spoke of true irritation. Very well. She was just as angry at him, which would make it an interesting adventure.
Blythe shifted, drew some papers from his waistcoat and opened them, his slight frown turning into a formidable scowl.
This was the second time today he’d looked at those papers, always with the same scowl and a fierceness to his expression that bordered on frightening. She’d been tempted to ask him what they were about but she didn’t want to seem nosy. She’d pushed him far enough for one day.
He turned his head to look out the window as he settled his chin in his hand. The pose was worthy of an artist’s rendering, so thoughtful he appeared. But it was more than that. He was classically handsome. The sun picked out the red in his auburn hair that fell carelessly about. He’d yet to wear the wigs that the aristocracy was so enamored with, and Claire was glad of their absence. It would be a shame to cover such beautiful hair.
His eyes, now turned away from her, were such a deep chocolate brown that at times they appeared black.
Yes, he was definitely handsome, but he was also arrogant and self-centered and controlling—traits that Claire despised. She tipped her head to read what was on the papers but they were turned in such a way that she couldn’t see anything.
Whatever they were about, it bothered him greatly and also pained him. He tried to hide it, but there were moments when he thought she wasn’t looking that she witnessed a flash of pain in his expression and sometimes even a good dose of anger. Were those papers the reason he was traveling to Venice?
Seemingly without thought he reached inside his waistcoat and pulled out his flask. Goodness, his waistcoat certainly held a large assortment of things. Including her money, which she hadn’t forgotten about for one moment.
He unscrewed the top and took a quick swallow, turning his head at the same moment. Their gazes clashed. She didn’t bother looking away. Why dissemble at this point?
“Would you like a sip?” He tipped the flask toward her.
“No. Thank you.”
He screwed the cap on and slipped it back inside the hidden pocket so deftly that it was like he’d done it a thousand times before. Which he probably had.
“You don’t like it when I drink,” he said.
“It’s not my place to like it or not.”
“Your pretty little nose always turns up when I take a swallow.”
He thought her nose pretty? Really, Claire, that is not the point.
“Do you think I’m weak because I drink?”
“Lord Blythe, what does it matter what I think of your habits? You’ll do it whether I say I like it or not.”
“True. And call me Nathan. So then tell me, since you feel it doesn’t matter, why do you turn your nose up when I drink?”
She contemplated him for the longest moment, unwilling to discuss this yet sensing that for some reason it was important to him. “I don’t see the need for it.”
“I like it. That’s reason enough.”
She waved her hand toward him. “Then by all means, partake of it. Don’t let me stop you.”
“I haven’t yet, have I?”
She considered him for another long moment. “Why are you acting this way?”
He leaned back, like a predatory cat giving the appearance of being lazy but actually tracking its prey. “What way would that be?”
“Defensive.”
“I have nothing to be defensive of.”
“Exactly. So why suddenly attack me?”
“Because you don’t like my drinking.”
“And my opinion matters to you so much?”
He blinked, then looked away while mumbling something.
Claire sat forward. “Pardon? I didn’t hear what you said.”
He turned back to her. “I said, maybe it does.”
That had her pulling back, her thoughts scattering. Damn the man, he somehow knew when to put her off guard. “If my opinion is so important to you, then no, I don’t like your drinking. What does it gain you other than a muddled brain?”
“Maybe I like my brain being muddled.”
She sighed. This circular conversation was getting them nowhere, and she had a feeling that whatever he read
over and over in those papers put him in a foul mood. If he were Richard, she would have bitten her tongue, stayed silent and tried to shift into the shadows until he forgot she was there. But Blythe wasn’t Richard and she wasn’t the same Claire she’d been a year ago.
“What are you reading?”
He looked down at them as if he’d forgotten they were there. “Letters.”
“They must mean a lot to you.”
He looked at her sharply. “Why do you say that?”
“Because I’ve seen you read them. Actually you look at them but your eyes don’t move across the page, which leads me to believe you have them memorized.”
“You seem to be watching me closely if you gathered all that information.”
“One should always study one’s enemy.”
“I’m wounded, my lady, that you consider me your enemy.”
“A friend certainly doesn’t steal another friend’s money.”
“But what if it were for her own good?”
Her shoulders stiffened. “Only I determine what’s for my own good. No one else.”
“Ah.” A smile lifted the corners of his lips.
She turned her head away and clamped her mouth shut. Anger seethed and she knew it was best to refrain from saying anything for fear that she’d reveal too much.
“Pray, don’t stop now, my lady. We’ve only just begun this tedious journey. Since you insisted on accompanying me, I wouldn’t want to spend the next several days in silence. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“It’s been my experience, my lord, that when a man says he wants to know what I’m thinking, he doesn’t truly care what I’m thinking.”
“But I do.”
“Don’t toy with me,” she said bitterly.
“What makes you think I’m toying?”
She faced him, turning so fast that her head spun and any hold she had over her temper frayed. “You’ve been toying with me for days. Dragging me to brothels, forcing me to sleep with you, stealing my money.”
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