Rakes and Rogues

by Boyd, Heather

  At half-past midnight she lit a single candle and left her bedchamber. She tiptoed through the silent house. Lord Staves had gone to bed, thank heavens, so she needn’t fear overhearing another horrid conversation. The door of the muniment room creaked softly as she opened it. She shut it behind her, her plan already formed. She would first go through the papers on Lord Hadrian’s desk. If she found nothing there, she would go systematically from shelf to shelf, opening whichever boxes weren’t locked, and hope for the best. She moved quickly toward his desk.

  A board creaked, a shadow loomed, and Lord Hadrian came out from behind the first row of shelves. “Good evening, Miss Raleigh. Is your curiosity as aroused as mine?”

  ~ * ~

  She jumped, and her candle flickered and almost died. “Must you startle me like that?”

  “I couldn’t resist.” His teeth flashed white in the dim light.

  “I’m not here out of curiosity, I assure you,” she said. “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Nor could I.” He’d been dropping off to sleep when a blast of lust had hit him so fiercely that he’d had to jump out of bed to shake it off. He didn’t want to want Miss Raleigh. He was entirely certain she didn’t want him either. She was merely toying with him, as she had done with many men—or so the gossip said. He didn’t like to think about that, any more than he liked to imagine she’d done far more than toy with his brother, Valiant. “So I came here to see if I could find the documents your letter reminded me of.”

  “In the middle of the night? Surely that is more easily done in daylight.”

  “True,” he said, “but I’m awake right now with nothing better to do.”

  After a simmering hush of a pause, she said, “Come now. There are much better…things…to do in the dark.”

  Not with a woman brandishing a candle like a weapon. Her eyes weren’t those of a seductress. “But I have a feeling,” he said, “that you don’t really wish to do any of those…things.”

  There was a silence; he’d surprised her, he thought. Very deliberately, she set the candlestick down on his desk. She stood very close to him. “Whatever makes you think that?”

  She smelled lush and inviting and… afraid. He could feel the tension emanating from her, while at the same time her sensuality enveloped him, making him burn. “Do you want me or not?” he asked.

  Again a silence, followed by an uncertain laugh. “I don’t know.”

  “There’s only one way to find out.” He leaned in and kissed her.

  ~ * ~

  It was a kiss like no other. Soft and sweet–no brutal invasion by a thrusting tongue. She sighed and kissed him back, almost as if she was young again and feeling the touch of a man’s lips for the first time.

  God help her, she did want him, which was both foolish and absurd. She had learned very early on what men were really like. Hadrian was just a man like others, and what’s more, he was playing games with her, seducing her while pretending to protect her.

  She should push away, but she didn’t. She couldn’t stop kissing him, couldn’t bring herself to do anything but kiss him back, on and on and on.

  Too soon, he broke the kiss, put his arms around her, and pulled her to him—not to paw and invade, for he simply held her and pressed his lips to her hair. “You’re so lovely. Quite irresistible–and generally I’m good at resisting.”

  He seemed to be resisting her very well. Evidently his father’s orders carried far greater weight than her charms. She felt the firm length of his rod through their clothing, but his hands merely rested on her bum, warm and firm—no groping, no frantic attempt to get under her skirts.

  If she had followed the mistress’s advice and surrendered her virginity years ago, if she now were a woman of experience, she would give in to her desire. She would entice him further and make him desperate with longing. She would make sure they were caught together in front of many witnesses—a fitting revenge on both Lord Hadrian and his father.

  She leaned against him, savoring the feel of her breasts against his chest, inhaling his masculine scent, wondering what bedding him would be like. A quiver of raw desire ran through her, and she panicked, pulling quickly away.

  He didn’t try to hold her. “What are you afraid of?”

  Of desire, and where it leads. But he wouldn’t believe that even if she told him. Far better to resort to familiar tricks. She knew how to work up a man quickly or slowly, depending on his nature, knew how to coax his secrets out before he became upset, angry, perhaps even violent.

  Which of those would Lord Hadrian become? Not violent—of that she was almost sure. She didn’t want to find out, and wished once again that she could just leave.

  But she couldn’t, so she shook her head and lied. “I’m not afraid.”

  “You have nothing to fear from me,” he said. She didn’t relish this response, since it meant he didn’t believe her. He took the candle and from it lit a branch of others. “Let’s look for the documents together,” he added, prosaic and entirely composed. “Follow me.”

  So she did, utterly astonished. Was this part of his horrid game, or did he really not intend to push for more? They were completely alone in the middle of the night, so he needn’t fear causing a scandal.

  He led her down a rank of shelves, scrutinized the labels on the chests, and handed her the candle. “My memory of that symbol is so vague and buried so deep that I’m looking in areas I haven’t touched for years.” He took down a chest and motioned to her to precede him back to a table.

  Why wasn’t he trying to seduce her? More important, how did he know she was afraid? She’d been afraid before—deathly afraid more than once—but none of the other men had noticed.

  He pulled out a chair for her and set another for himself. Methodically, he removed the contents of the chest and separated them into stacks. “Here, you take this pile and I’ll try that one. Who knows, there may be more incidences of that same symbol that I didn’t notice before.”

  She needed to find the letters and destroy them, not hand them to Lord Hadrian on a platter. She pondered pretending to cooperate, watching him whilst concealing whatever she might find, and knew with certainty that she couldn’t do it. She knew her duty, knew she should dislike him, and yet some part of her refused to cooperate. His warm presence both attracted and frightened her, and she didn’t know which emotion to believe.

  Fool, she told herself. Believe the fear. It’s what has kept you safe. She rose. “I’d rather not, thank you. I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”

  Ever polite, he stood as well. “As you wish. I would offer to escort you to your room, but it would never do for us to be seen together.”

  “No, it wouldn’t, would it? It might ruin your precious family’s reputation.”

  “My family’s reputation can go to the devil,” he said. “It’s yours that concerns me.”

  All at once, anger took over. A devious man like Hadrian shouldn’t be able to kiss her so sweetly, shouldn’t be able to make her want him. “No, it’s not. You’re supposed to seduce me. Don’t try to deny it.”

  For a long moment he was silent. “What makes you say that?”

  “I overheard your conversation with your father last night. You told him I’m skittish.” She infused a sneer into her voice. “You told him you had to warm me up before seducing me.”

  He rubbed his hands across his face. “I wish you hadn’t been eavesdropping.”

  “‘Tweak her nipples,’ is what your revolting father said. ‘That’s what trollops like.’ Why didn’t you obey him?”

  Hadrian groaned. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

  She was too upset to sneer anymore, but she managed a glare. “Obviously.”

  “Not because of what I said, but because you don’t know why I said it.” He paused. “I tried to spare you the worst of his machinations.” Another pause. “No, that’s not entirely true. I suppose I was really trying to spare myself.”

  ~ * ~

 
I’m losing her.

  Where had that thought come from? Hadrian didn’t have Lettice and didn’t even want her, so why should he care about losing her? Admittedly he desired her, but that was neither here nor there. This sense of loss was something else entirely.

  “Why, don’t you like tweaking nipples?” Her voice overflowed with distaste.

  “I haven’t been with a great many women,” he said tentatively, trying to understand what was going on within him, “but those I have known prefer gentle caresses. I think perhaps many men mean well, but don’t realize their own strength.”

  “Not those I have known,” she said.

  “Then why did you choose them?” Anger exploded inside him. “Why give yourself to one unpleasant man after another? Christ, Miss Raleigh. Some of them were dashed loose screws! Hard, brutal fellows.”

  As his anger rose, hers had slowly drained, leaving only despair in her fine, dark eyes. It took all his resistance to keep from twining his hands into the chestnut hair that flowed about her shoulders, his lips from seeking hers once again.

  “I beg your pardon,” he said. “That was uncalled for.”

  She flapped a hand and turned away. “I can’t explain.”

  “Can’t? Or won’t?” What had gotten into him? He wasn’t usually rude.

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m not going to discuss this with you.” She picked up her candle.

  He mustn’t lose her—truly mustn’t. “Very well, but I intend to explain myself. My father wanted me to warm you up, so to speak, so you would be ripe and ready to bed one of his grizzled old guests—your sort of man, he said. I was too appalled to admit that part of it to you. It didn’t really matter, seeing as I didn’t intend to obey him.”

  She faced him again. “Why didn’t you just tell him no?”

  “Because he might have given the task to Gentry instead.”

  “And Gentry always does what he’s told?”

  “No, he wouldn’t have done it, but he’s not good at pretending to obey.”

  Her lip curled. “And you are?”

  “For my mother’s sake, I try to keep the peace. She rarely gets to see Valiant, and without my help, she might not see him at all.”

  She gazed at him wonderingly. “I thought none of you recognized Lord Valiant’s existence, much less saw him.”

  “Officially we don’t, but my mother was heartbroken when my father disowned him. Before he disappeared from sight, he told me how to contact him. I found ways for Mama to see him.”

  “You must have been a schoolboy at the time.”

  He couldn’t help grinning. “Don’t all schoolboys have a devious streak? I thoroughly enjoyed deceiving my father, and how I envied Val! Not only was he out from under Father’s thumb, but he was being trained as a spy, which seemed such an exciting profession—far more fun than conjugating Latin verbs.”

  “Fun?” she cried. “In what possible way?”

  “I suppose every boy dreams of acts of valor,” Hadrian said.

  “And then being scorned for serving one’s country,” she retorted.

  “There’s that, of course,” he said. “But Val was already persona non grata, and for him the fun was in being paid to use his talents at seduction.”

  “I daresay it was, until they ordered him to seduce a woman—or many women–whom he found unattractive,” Lettice said. Abruptly, as if this topic irritated her, she turned away.

  “I expect you’re right,” he admitted. “By what I now know, it’s dirty, dangerous work with damned few rewards. He did receive some financial compensation.”

  “How fortunate,” she said coolly, poised to leave, but something about her calm seemed almost frantic.

  “And now he’s happily married to a woman he loves,” Hadrian said. “Things have turned out very well for him.” Where had that thought come from? Hadrian wasn’t interested in marriage, so why did that sudden pang feel rather like jealousy? Once again, how strange.

  “His wife Lucie is one of my dearest friends,’ she said. “And now I must go.”

  He watched as she left—no, as she well-nigh fled–and sat down to go over their conversation. Had he said something to drive her away…or had she?

  CHAPTER SIX

  Lettice did her best to send another dream to Lord Hadrian. He was far too in control of himself, but she’d met men like that before. All she needed to do was try harder and make him more aroused—unbearably so and therefore unable to concentrate on searching the archives. But she mustn’t make him hot for her, but rather for some other woman. The dairymaid, perhaps—a pretty, buxom blonde with an appreciative eye for a man–or the wench at the village tavern. She tried, really worked at it, imagining the dairymaid baring her ample bosom for him and the tavern wench lifting her skirts bit by tantalizing bit.

  But the Hadrian of her vision showed no interest at all in the women she offered. He kept turning to her with warm, appreciative eyes and promises of more of those sweet kisses, and the dream kept trying to fly before she was ready to let it go.

  Whatever effect she may have had on him, she also aroused herself to a state of feverish need. She welcomed him in the dream, opening herself to him with abandon—and then a familiar panic welled up. She cut the dream short, gasping with both frustration and despair.

  This wasn’t like her. She had long ago learned to suppress the tiny flames of desire that conjuring erotic dreams often kindled, particularly if the man in question was reasonably attractive. Along with arousal would come lack of concentration, then loss of control. She needed safety far more than she wanted desire.

  She wished she could leave this horrid house, but along with her obligation to Mr. Pilgrim, she must destroy any correspondence with the dratted symbols. She would have to do it without Lord Hadrian’s knowledge and against his express wishes—which, strangely enough, felt traitorous. He had preserved everything in the archives despite his father’s commands. How unkind it would be to destroy what he cared about so much!

  And yet, sentiment aside, the true treason would be in not destroying the correspondence. Perhaps the Mistress of the Succubi already knew about the letters in the archives. Perhaps they were the reason for Mr. Pilgrim’s mission, and Lettice would have only to pass on what little she knew to him. She couldn’t prevent another operative from obeying orders.

  The fact that this was all conjecture didn’t make it any easier for her to fall asleep. She woke weary, heavy-eyed, and uncertain what to do. Perhaps she should write to the Mistress for advice—but the Mistress wouldn’t appreciate loyalty to anyone other than herself. Lettice was still dithering when she went down to breakfast.

  Lady Staves greeted her with a kindly smile. “You look tired, Lettice. Did you not sleep well?”

  “Unfortunately not,” Lettice said.

  “That is the fate of those with much on their conscience,” Lord Staves pronounced. “I always sleep extremely well.”

  Lady Staves carefully wiped all expression from her face.

  “I too had a restless night,” Lord Hadrian said, but he looked remarkably bright-eyed all the same. “Come sit beside me and tell me more about herbs, Miss Raleigh. I’ll take you for another stroll after breakfast. That should shake the cobwebs free.”

  What did that mischievous twinkle in his eyes mean? She didn’t like it at all, but she couldn’t think of a way to refuse politely. Lord Staves’ automatic scowl made annoying him almost obligatory, but she didn’t want to upset Lady Staves.

  “Thank you, I should like that,” she said in her remotest voice. She couldn’t bear to coo at Lord Hadrian with Lady Staves and Jane watching.

  She helped herself from the sideboard and reluctantly took the chair next to Hadrian’s. “Which herbs do you wish to discuss today?”

  “Anything that gets the blood running will do,” Lord Hadrian replied promptly. He glowed with suppressed excitement. Had he found something last night?

  Lord Staves’ scowl deepened. “There’s nothing wrong
with your blood, young man.”

  “Hawthorn berries, perhaps,” Lord Hadrian added as if his father hadn’t spoken. “Or mistletoe.”

  Good God, she absolutely must leave before Christmas. Every male in the house would try to trap her under the mistletoe. “One gathers the leafy twigs of mistletoe in the spring.” Lettice tried to sound prim, but judging by the expressions on various faces, she didn’t succeed. “Also, it’s a relaxant, not a stimulant.” She babbled on. “One must never eat the berries, as they’re highly poisonous.”

  “They’re only useful to invite kisses.” Lord Hadrian winked at Lettice. “I intend to steal plenty.”

  While seducing traitors, Lettice had learned never to blush unless she chose to, but she seemed to have lost that ability now. “It’s too late in the season to collect hawthorn berries, and not quite time to cut mistletoe. You’ll want it very fresh for the Christmas celebrations.” Which were approaching far too quickly.

  “The servants will gather it,” the marquis said. “Hadrian, you need no tonic other than what your mother or the cook can provide.”

  “Oh, but my heart is feeling most dreadfully weak,” Hadrian said, clapping a hand dramatically to his chest. “I have a strong feeling only Miss Raleigh can help with that.”

  The marquis glared. Lady Staves sucked in a worried breath. Lettice longed to crawl under a log and die.

  Lord Staves set down his knife and fork and stood. “Hadrian, I want a word with you in my library.” When Hadrian didn’t respond, he growled, “Well?”

  “Directly after breakfast,” Hadrian said placidly and put a forkful of kidneys in his mouth. His father stomped out.