A Tempting Ruin (GreenFord Waters #3)

by Kristin Vayden

  "Come away with me," he whispered against her mouth.

  "No," she replied, nipping his lip impishly. Surely he hadn't asked in earnest.

  He pulled her in tighter with a slightly irritated growl before he lowered his head to trail kisses down her neck. "Yes."

  "No… you're mad." Beatrix spoke far too breathlessly to be taken seriously.

  His tongue tickled her neck as he whispered, "I prefer persuasive."

  "I'd say incessant," she shot back as she leaned away to meet his gaze.

  He grinned then reached up to tug on a curl that had fallen near her face. "Incessantly persuasive."

  "Fair… but you must know that I cannot go anywhere with you. I'm here with Lady Southridge, and I cannot leave."

  "Why?" His grin faded. "It is all but apparent that you were not abducted, as I was led to believe, and, according to my deductions from reason, it is only logical that the duke was at least somehow aware that Lady Southridge took you away. Dear heavens…" He took a step back. "…please tell me she has not deluded herself into thinking she's your protection!"

  "I have no idea to what you are referring—"

  "You indeed do, so do not insult my intelligence with so weak a lie." He spoke in clipped tones.

  Beatrix folded her hands in front of herself and stepped away. "I'm afraid I cannot give to you that which you ask."

  "Then I'm afraid I have no other option," Lord Neville replied and started toward her.

  "Wh-what do you think you're doing?" Beatrix asked, not sure how to interpret the determined gleam in his eye.

  "What I should have done in the library months ago," he mumbled.

  Beatrix backed up till she felt the cool stone wall at her back. At his knowing grin, she narrowed her eyes and turned to run.

  But he was too quick. In one motion, he swept her into his arms and proceeded to walk toward the orangery's exit.

  "What are you doing?" Beatrix demanded as she struggled in his arms. One foot was able to get a proper kick to his person, and he grunted in response.

  "Miss Lamont, I'll be quite upset if you ruin this jacket," he replied with far too much control.

  Irritated by his composed attitude, Beatrix gave another kick just to spite him.

  "You'll pay for that later," he promised.

  "We shall see about that. Now, let me down! I demand it!" she shrieked as she bucked in his arms again. "What exactly are you planning to do? Waltz up to Breckridge House and knock on the door?"

  "Waltzing would prove to be difficult at this point… however, walking up to the front door will suffice."

  "Why?"

  "I believe that was my question… to which you fully refused to answer… therefore requiring me to resort to my more assertive measures."

  "This is not assertive. This is asinine!" Beatrix glared then gasped as she had a brilliant idea. Without hesitation, she reached up and mussed his hair, causing the dark chocolate curls to go from tame to wild as they erratically stuck from his head.

  "What—? Did you truly—?" He all but dropped her and ran his fingers through his hair.

  Beatrix wasted no time and sprinted as fast as her slippered feet could carry her across the grass toward Breckridge House.

  The sound of Lord Neville pursuing her was enough incentive to give one final burst of speed that would have surely gotten her to the safety of the servants' entrance, if not for the root of a tree that seemed to spring out of the earth. One moment she was running, cursing her corset as she gasped for breath; the next moment she was flat on her back, unable to breathe at all. Hands at her throat, she tried to gasp, but no air entered her starving lungs.

  "Damn it all," Lord Neville swore then hauled her up and, with one hand, felt for the laces of her corset.

  And the world faded to grey.

  NEVILLE GROUND OUT A low oath as he felt the hoyden in his arms go limp. To be honest, in his efforts to restrain her, he hadn't acted in the most gentlemanly fashion, but that was the way it was with Miss Lamont. He lost his bloody mind around her; all rational thought evaporated like water on a hot stone. He felt for the offending corset then reached down and withdrew a knife from his boot. With one motion, he carefully slid the knife's edge along the back of her gown, damning himself with each snap of the laces, till the garment hung loosely, exposing the creamy white skin at her back. Glancing away from the temptation, he laid her gently on her back, taking a deep breath when he noticed the soft rise and fall of her chest, signifying the life-giving intake of oxygen. It was hard enough to get the breath knocked out of oneself, let alone while wearing a corset.

  Another reason to thank the good Lord he was a man.

  Though he had to give her credit for the speed at which she ran; it was impressive to gain that kind of velocity in skirts.

  He studied her face, tempted to count the smattering of freckles on her nose, the kind that simply highlighted the softness of her skin. They were a reflection of the caramel tones of her eyes; eyes that were just starting to flutter open. Long lashes blinked as her gaze grew in focus. Damn, but she was beautiful. It was no wonder he lost all reason around her. But it wasn't her outer beauty that has so captivated him… it was her wit, her inability to take him seriously.

  Ever since the incident with Mary — heavens above, how he wanted to forget it all — everyone in the ton had done one of two things: feared him or ignored him. Neither of which were boons as far he was concerned. But Miss Lamont, Beatrix, as he thought of her… When everyone else had given him a wide berth, she'd elbowed him in the ribs; when everyone else had deferred to him, she'd put him in his place. In the library at Greenford Waters, it had taken him all but a few seconds to know she was different, that she was, in a word, perfect — for him at least.

  But, of course that hadn't given him license to kiss her like he had, regardless of how much he'd wanted to continue kissing her… amongst other things. But that was before, when he'd assumed he'd have time to pay her court, to clear the mystery surrounding his name before approaching the duke with his suit for her hand. Then she had been taken, or so he'd thought, and all the other details had seemed trivial.

  So here he stood — sat, rather — in the middle of the English countryside with Miss Beatrix flat on her back, gasping as she filled her lungs with air and completely unlaced… without one ounce of pleasure to be had by either of them! How was it possible? Irony at its best. He could do nothing but laugh as he considered the situation.

  "Why, in heaven's name, are you laughing?" she ground out between breaths. Her brown eyes were stormy and angry, yet all he felt was a deepening of his attraction, a delight at finding some new nuance about her.

  "It is of no consequence," he replied, choking back his mirth as he stood.

  "I doubt that," she said a bit easier since her breath was now less labored. She made a movement to sit up, her eyes widening like tea saucers as she reached back to feel her, well… back.

  "You— How—? I cannot believe—"

  "I assure you it was all in efforts to save your life, not ravish you… though I must say the idea does have some merit—"

  Her growl cut off his words.

  "If I could stand, I'd slap that grin right off your handsome face.

  "Oh, so you think I'm handsome? I always fancied I was quite dashing in grey."

  "I loathe you."

  "Ah, I'm quite fond of you myself." He shrugged. "But considering your current state of well… undress, I do think we ought find you a way to remain decent. Wouldn't want to offend my tender gentlemanly sensibilities."

  "You are impossible."

  "Not entirely."

  "Yes, entirely, completely and unequivocally." She lay back down and closed her eyes. "What exactly happened to me?"

  He glanced up as a few servants exited the nearby door and gasped as they saw them then rushed back inside. By his estimation, he had about two minutes before Lady Southridge found them. Which would play into his plan quite nicely… better than his
original plan in fact.

  He took a seat beside Beatrix and patted her hand patronizingly, loving the leap of annoyance in her expression as he did so. "You were overwhelmed with my kissing prowess and fainted in my arms. But don't worry…" He leaned in. "…your secret is safe with me."

  "Liar… I distinctly remember running from you."

  "Odd." He shrugged.

  "And tripping…"

  "You are quite clumsy," he added with a grin.

  "Am not! Of all my sisters, I'm the most graceful," she replied with a pout.

  "Not high praise for your sisters, I'm afraid." He tugged at his cravat. Surely, the neck cloth was beyond repair, so he tugged at the offense and removed it completely.

  It would add to the story.

  "Do not do that! You can't just remove your neck cloth!" Beatrix scolded in a whisper as she glanced about from her position on her back. "No, no — this won't do. I must— You must— Turn around!" she demanded as she sat up, holding the back of her dress together as she did so.

  "Why can I not remove it? After all, I'm still far more presentable than you, my dear," he shot back as he stood and reached out to help her stand. "Are you stable?" he asked gently as she placed all her weight on her feet.

  "Yes, no thanks to you," she spoke with derision.

  "I do believe I saved your life. A little more gratitude would be appreciated."

  "For the last time, I was running from you! You are the reason I'm even in this state!" She took a tentative step and then hissed.

  "You're injured. Let me help." He reached for her.

  "No, you have helped quite enough," she bit out and backed away, but her ankle must have been weakened from the fall, and she began to stumble.

  Lord Neville reached out, grasped her waist, and pulled her in, supporting her. His gloved hands touched the soft skin of her exposed back. Bloody gloves, always in the way! Lilac and rose clung to her skin, and he inhaled deeply, committing the scent to memory. What had started in the library many months ago was about to be finished in only a few seconds, if he had any say in it.

  Then, better than he could have ever orchestrated it, Lady Southridge burst through the servants' entrance, three footmen with her. Her eyes grew wide, then her red eyebrows lowered as he saw her gaze dart between him and the lady in his arms…surely taking in their disheveled state.

  "Leave me," she commanded, and the three footmen scattered.

  Even Neville was slightly nervous due to the edge in her tone.

  Beatrix's eyes widened then closed as Lady Southridge spoke. Her soft shoulders slumped, and she cast a pleading gaze to him, which pierced his heart, but then the expression changed to one of absolute outrage.

  Lady Southridge took a few determined strides toward them then paused. "Beatrix, are you well?" she asked.

  Her tone betrayed her concern, and Neville had a pang of regret, but it was short-lived. Truly, this was for the best.

  They might not see it now, but surely they'd see it eventually.

  They had to.

  "Yes. I'm as well as can be expected after being accosted, carried, and bested by a tree root," she replied as she glanced over her shoulder.

  "Accosted?" Lady Southridge asked, her gaze raking the back of Beatrix's gown. "I do believe this is a conversation which should take place inside. Come."

  "Lady Southridge—" he started, only to be interrupted by Beatrix.

  "Wait, not like that…" Beatrix turned to face Lady Southridge. "He accosted me but not… like that."

  He glanced down, and, sure enough, she was tapping her fingers against her thumb once again.

  He smiled to himself, loving that he knew something so trivial about her. Because, in his opinion, it was the trivial things that added up to large, important things. It was the trivial things that had ended up destroying Mary… destroying him.

  "Very well, we still must address… this," Lady Southridge spoke, her tone concerned.

  Beatrix nodded and started to take a step toward the door, limping in her effort.

  In for a penny, in for a pound. Without delay, Lord Neville swept her into his arms once more, careful to keep her dress at least somewhat intact at her back, and strode to the door with a very silent Beatrix in his arms. He did his best to ignore the evil glare from Lady Southridge.

  "You have some explaining to do, young man," she murmured as they entered the heavy wooden entrance.

  He met her scowl. "As do you, my lady."

  CHAPTER FOUR

  BEATRIX WAS SURE SHE WAS AFLAME with the burn of humiliation that stung her cheeks and sizzled in her chest. How dare he! To think she had dreamed of being kissed by him once again, only to discover that the gentleman she'd once imagined him to be was all a lie. Barnyard pigs had more manners… and she had seen peacocks less arrogant. Yet, even as the anger burned within her, she still wasn't able to ignore the soft intake of breath that caused his chest to rise and fall as she leaned against it while they passed through the old stone servant's entrance and proceeded to climb the creaking stairs. The wooden door that allowed entrance to the main floor loomed ahead, noiselessly opening as Lady Southridge twisted the old brass knob. Even as all this happened around her, she couldn't quite pull her attention from the man holding her. The scent of cinnamon and peppermint clung to his skin and called to her, reminding her of the flavor of his kiss, the warmth of his embrace.

  Damn the man.

  How could someone infuriate her so fully and yet captivate her senses so utterly? It was entirely unfair. Regardless of how he affected her, the last thing she was going to allow was for him to be aware! She'd rather rot.

  "I do believe this is the most silence I've ever experienced in your company," he murmured to her.

  Lady Southridge turned slightly and gave him a piercing glare.

  The maddening man simply winked at her.

  Had he no shame? Had he no idea what was ahead of them? Of what their situation implied?

  Dear heavens.

  She didn't even want to think about what their situation inferred.

  And here he was, winking at the woman completely capable and within her right to demand he marry Beatrix!

  He had to be mad, fully and completely mad.

  Beatrix turned her head to fully study him. His walnut-brown hair was still in a scattered array from her earlier attempt to escape his arms, yet, mussed as it was, it was more becoming than his perfectly combed style. It added a hint of playfulness otherwise hidden. His full lips twisted wryly as he regarded her study of his person. "Don't worry, this is not the first time I've stunned a lady into silence from simply being in my arms. I can promise a full recovery," he remarked, a teasing tone to his voice.

  Unable to restrain herself, Beatrix reached up and smacked the back of his head.

  "I do believe that was uncalled for." Neville shook his head scoldingly, and readjusted her in his arms. In the process, her ruined dress exposed the flesh in her back fully.

  Gasping, she struggled to right herself but was unable to fight his strength. "I'd play nicely," he whispered quietly, a mischievous gleam in his eye. "Why were you studying me?" he asked, as if sensing the need to distract her from causing him bodily harm.

  The man was smarter than he let on.

  "I was trying to determine if one could tell you were utterly mad simply by looking at you," Beatrix ground out.

  "Lovely. I find I'm utterly riveted on the findings of your research." His tone was dry and amused.

  Beatrix all but growled. "I find I can't make a rational conclusion due to the immense amount of anger I have toward you right now."

  "Ah, Bea, you don't mean that."

  "Bea? No. I hate that name," Beatrix replied hotly.

  "Why? I think it's quite perfect." He shrugged as much as possible while holding a fully-grown woman in his arms.

  They neared the parlor door, and Beatrix struggled to keep her anxiety in check.

  "I don't care what you think. I dislike it."
She spoke distractedly as they entered the red parlor, and Lady Southridge gestured to a chair for him to place her.

  Gently, far more than she would have expected, he lowered her into the soft brocaded chair. Without a word, he located a small cushioned stool and lifted her leg ever so cautiously till it was resting atop of it.

  Careful to not move more than necessary, Beatrix was relieved to feel no additional pain. Though it wasn't proper for him to even mention her ankle, let alone touch it, she couldn't help but be stirred by the sensitivity by which he took care of her.

  "I do think that is quite enough," Lady Southridge huffed as she inclined her head toward a chair far away from Beatrix.

  Neville glanced to Beatrix, and, though the eye contact was brief, she could clearly see his amusement. Obediently, he took a seat and reclined enough to be proper, yet it was evident in his posture that nothing about the situation caused him distress.

  The man had to be cracked. Did he honestly believe his actions would have no consequence?

  Astounded, Beatrix could only flick her gaze between Lady Southridge and Lord Neville, waiting for someone to throw the gauntlet.

  "Lady Southridge, you have not been forthright," he began, dusting his trousers absently.

  "Lord Neville—" Lady Southridge started, her tone anything but passive.

  He lifted his hand as if commanding her to stop.

  And to Beatrix's great surprise, Lady Southridge paused.

  Why, that was akin to parting the Red Sea! Just what was afoot?

  "You had me under the impression that your lady's companion was an aged widow… not the vibrant beauty before us." He stood and walked to the back of his chair and rested his hands upon it.

  "Pardon?" Beatrix asked before she could think better of it.

  "Why, I do believe you laughed when I mentioned the stable boy at Fox Inn had described your lady's companion, Bev, a beauty," he stated, lowering his chin and giving a direct gaze at Lady Southridge.

  Completely at a loss as to what was going on, Beatrix turned her gaze to the older woman, wondering if she shared her confusion.