A Tempting Ruin (GreenFord Waters #3)

by Kristin Vayden

  "I, er… am." She shot daggers at him, only, rather than threatening him, it delighted him further.

  "While the flower claims to be quite prickly, I'm sure that with the proper care, it will be utterly soft and supple." He hazarded a glance back to her, watching as her color burned deeper, though he'd believed that would be impossible just a moment before.

  "I assure you that is incorrect. If we are speaking of the same species, that flower has a nasty bite."

  "A flower that bites? Intriguing for certain. It's a good thing I'm not easily deterred, especially once I find something I need."

  "Need?" she questioned, her tone softening only slightly.

  He met her gaze, not blinking but responding. "Desperately."

  "It's rare for a gentleman to admit that he needs something," she replied, a bit of a haughty tilt to her chin, as if questioning his motives.

  "You'll find I'm not like most gentlemen." He bowed his head slightly.

  "So I'm discovering." She flirted. "That and your affinity for flora and fauna," she shot back with a saucy grin.

  "One type of flora." He grinned. "I'm hoping when we return to Breckridge House, Lady Southridge will allow me to study the specimen further." He allowed his gaze to rake over her luscious body, neatly packaged in an emerald-green riding habit that nipped and tucked at all the right curves. He turned to face the road, pleased at her gasp.

  "I assure you that Lady Southridge is very… protective… of all things in her care."

  "More's the pity." he replied. "I find myself dreaming of the velvet softness of the petals… the length of the stems and… the scent. It's quite heavenly. A delightful mix between rose and lilac with a hint of lemon."

  When she didn't respond, he turned to observe her. A wide smile was threatening to break through as she shook her head, glancing heavenward as if petitioning for patience to deal with him.

  "Do I try your patience with such a tedious subject?"

  "I assure you, Lord Neville, nothing about you is tedious." Then she added in a whisper he almost missed, "Scandalous? Yes. Tedious? No."

  The village came into view, with its straw-thatched roofs and stone buildings. Within the small town the Fox Inn served both as lodging and the post station.

  "Do you wish to stop anywhere else, other than to collect the post?" He glanced over to Beatrix, riding remarkably well and once again tempting him with her delightfully attractive figure.

  "No." She shrugged. "I have no need of anything else." Her brown eyes scanned the landscape before meeting his.

  "Very well, I'll be back directly." He nodded and dismounted from his chestnut gelding, careful to tether the leather reins to the post beside the inn.

  "Good day, my lord. How may I be of service?" a portly man with sparse grey hair asked, a hopeful gleam in his eye. His gaze quickly assessed Lord Neville, no doubt adding up his ability to add to his purse should he stay at the inn.

  It was a different gentleman than the one who'd facilitated his prior stay, but they looked similar. Perhaps they were family?

  Not that it was necessary, but he was always careful to catalogue such pieces of information. One never knew when they could become vital.

  "Good day. Would you have any recent post that is addressed to Breckridge House?"

  "Ah! Give me a moment. I'll see." The innkeeper nodded once and disappeared around a corner.

  The familiar scent of bread baking mixed with the moist air hung in the inn. A moment later, the innkeeper returned, hands empty. "I'm afraid I have no post for the residents of Breckridge House. My sincerest apologies." And he did truly appear apologetic, as if afraid of offending the notable man in his small reception area.

  "Thank you," Lord Neville replied, careful to hide his mixed emotion of confusion and concern. With a nod, he left the inn and strode out into the sunshine, but it was lost to his notice as his thoughts were preoccupied with possible reasons for Curtis's delayed response.

  "Nothing?" Beatrix asked, pulling his attention from his inward contemplation.

  He shook his head once and untied his mount. In one motion, he mounted his gelding and glanced to her. Turning way too quickly, he almost missed the tinge of pink that glowed from her cheeks. What had caused it?

  "You're blushing." He led his horse close to hers, almost whispering the words.

  "Am not," she denied, but as she turned to face him, it was all too clear that she indeed was.

  "Liar."

  "You—you— Why must you notice everything! Bah!" she huffed.

  "It's in your best interest that I do," he reminded her gently.

  Her gaze clouded slightly as she turned away, studying the road. He hated that he'd caused that, but it had been necessary. It was a reminder for himself just as much as her; they needed to always maintain their diligent guard. Just in case.

  But he didn't want her to carry the burden. Trying to distract her, he prodded her further. "Are you going to answer?" he asked then passed her as he took the road that led back to Breckridge House.

  "Answer what?" she replied and encouraged her mount into a trot, coming up beside him.

  "Why were you blushing?" he pressed, studying her face. Her skin even looked soft. As if remembering its texture, he felt his fingers twitch, wanting to touch her.

  "I forgot." She glanced away.

  "I believe we already discussed that you are not being honest when you say such things," he reminded, chuckling.

  "And we already discussed your annoying behavior."

  "But I didn't deny that accusation, if you remember."

  She snorted softly then turned to him. "If you must know, I was… appreciating the view."

  "Apprec—"

  Her sudden urging of her mount into a lope as they headed down the road cut him off. It wasn't a full gallop, as it was difficult to maintain a seat when using a sidesaddle upon going at such a speed, but it was fast enough to leave him in the dust — rather, mud.

  Urging his own mount to catch up, he had the advantage of a full gallop and caught up with her in a few moments.

  "Don't run away. I'll just catch you," he spoke through a laugh as she narrowed her eyes.

  "Don't I know it," she shot back then halted the horse quickly, and he blew past her.

  "Damn the woman." He pulled up again, his horse sliding in the damp earth for a moment then stopping, chomping at the bit as if irritated at such a swift command.

  He twisted in the saddle, its creaking leather punctuating his movement. She was riding at a sedate pace, flanked by the two footmen.

  "Damn and blast." He shook his head. She was a crafty minx.

  He turned his mount around and met up with the small party. "Enjoy your excursion?" he commented lightly.

  "It was not nearly as productive as I would have liked," she replied with dry sarcasm, but her expression was one of amusement.

  The sound of hoof beats stole his attention, and he glanced ahead of them, seeing a rider approaching quickly. "Stay behind the footmen," he commanded lowly to Beatrix and urged his mount ahead. Within a few moments, the livery colors from Breckridge House were plainly seen, and he relaxed his tightened posture. But why would Lady Southridge send out another footman?

  "My lord." The footman bowed from atop his horse as he approached and stopped before him. At Lord Neville's nod, he continued, "Lady Southridge bids you hasten back to Breckridge House as you have a visitor who is most anxious to see you," he explained.

  "Thank you. He turned his mount slightly to observe Beatrix's location. For a moment, he thought of returning quickly, leaving Beatrix in the care of the three footmen, but he didn't truly trust anyone but himself to her care. Whoever was visiting would have to be slightly more patient. "I'm afraid we'll have to increase our pace, if that is acceptable to the lady?" he asked, waiting for her nod.

  They proceeded at a trot.

  A bloody, pathetic trot.

  Irritated, he encouraged his mount into a canter, hoping the party would
take notice and increase their pace. Of course, they followed, but their canter was sadly lacking the speed of his mount.

  His patience stretched thin, he pulled up on the reins, and, moments later, the footmen and Beatrix followed likewise. "If you'll excuse me." He smiled tightly and guided his horse around the flanking footmen and came alongside Beatrix's roan mare.

  "Yes?" she asked, her expression full of curiosity as she tilted her head quizzically.

  "Forgive me," Neville said as he quickly laid his leather reins aside. He reached out and quickly wrapped one arm around her waist.

  Beatrix squealed but didn't fight his grasp.

  Wise girl.

  Immediately, he secured her with his other arm and situated her across his lap.

  "Have you taken leave of every last one of your senses?" she spoke through clenched teeth as she struggled in his arms.

  "Hmm, that actually turned out better than I'd planned." He shrugged and glanced to the opened-mouthed footmen. Clearly, they were at a loss as to the action they should take. After all, he was a peer of the realm.

  A footman didn't exactly scold a lord.

  "My lord…" one started.

  But Lord Neville didn't give him a chance to finish his sentence. Nudging his mount's flanks, he urged his gelding to leap forward, carrying them toward Breckridge House at a much more satisfactory pace.

  "You are mad," Beatrix ground out, even as she clung to him. "Have you any idea what you're doing to my reputation? Rather, what will be left of it from all the other situations you've created?" She elbowed him in the chest, punctuating her statement.

  "I wouldn't do that if I were you," he replied, glancing to the swiftly disappearing ground beneath them.

  "You are insufferable!"

  "Why, thank you," he replied with a grin.

  Brown eyes glared back at him, smoldering with a fierce anger that only added to his pleasure at the situation. She was nestled quite comfortably on his lap, his arms around her as he held the leather reins, directing his horse. The scent of rose and lilac surrounded him, a dangerous distraction as her arms tightened around his chest, as if questioning his grip on her.

  "You'll not fall." He felt the need to assure her.

  "Said the spider to the fly." She spoke with dry sarcasm. "If you weren't already so intent on marrying me, you'd be sealing your fate. I hope you know this."

  "I'm aware. What's the worst that could happen? Lady Southridge demand I attain a special license and marry you directly?"

  "I suppose, but you are also causing scandal. To think I once thought you reclusive and quiet," she muttered.

  "Ha! I'm glad you've since then amended your opinion. I sound rather boring in that light," he spoke, chuckling at her scowl.

  "Better boring than—"

  "Bloody hell," he swore as Breckridge House came into view, the sight of a familiar carriage catching his eye.

  "Pardon?" Beatrix smacked his chest, her tone scolding.

  He glanced to her offended frown. "Pardon."

  Her glower melted slightly as she studied his expression. "What is it?" she asked, her tone alarmed.

  "It's Curtis," he replied, seeing no benefit from hiding the information from her.

  "He traveled here rather than writing?" She rose up slightly to study the carriage as they approached the courtyard.

  In doing so, she slid slightly against his lap, reminding him just how warm and soft she truly was.

  No! He needed to rein in his own galloping imagination — heaven only knew how vivid it could be. There was a situation at hand that required all his focus.

  But her bottom was proving to be very distracting, as well as the way she twisted, brushing his arm with her—

  "No!"

  "Pardon?" She shifted, damn it all, and faced him, one eyebrow raised in question.

  "Nothing." He cleared his throat and tried to think of something, anything but her… and how she — bloody hell. He needed to distract himself lest he create far more of a scandal with his current state of impropriety! He needed to think of something he hated. Something like… "Turnips!"

  "Did you just say turnips?" she asked, her brown eyes clearly debating whether he'd lost his mind completely this time.

  "I… need to speak to the cook about turnips. Curtis hates them… loathes them really." Blast it all! Did he have to yell the damn word?

  "That must be quite the aversion." Her eyes narrowed and studied him.

  In for a penny, in for a pound. "It is." He nodded sagely and then pulled up on the reins, halting the horse just before Curtis's carriage.

  Taking a deep breath, he contemplated cold turnips, mashed, no salt, sitting in a pot overnight till they— Satisfied with the effect of his musings, he felt at ease. Almost at once, he noticed the sound of their escorting footmen's arrival. A moment later, they were at Lord Neville's mount, assisting Beatrix from his lap. She slid against his thigh as they assisted her, bringing back all the desire from a moment before.

  Heaven's above, he had to think of those blasted turnips again!

  "Are you coming?" Beatrix asked when she turned and found him still astride his gelding.

  "Yes." He nodded and dismounted. For once in his life, he was thankful for turnips.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  BEATRIX STUDIED LORD NEVILLE, TAKING IN his queer expression, a combination of disgust and desperation.

  Turnips?

  The man never ceased to be an enigma, and truly in this case, she didn't want to understand!

  Cautiously, she studied the carriage in the Breckridge courtyard. The build was first-rate, clearly belonging to a man of means. No crest decorated the side, yet its absence actually drew one's eye to the craftsmanship of the carriage, its smooth lines and bold lacquered black.

  "I see Curtis decided he needed another conveyance," Lord Neville spoke from behind her.

  Turning she saw his study of the carriage, a rueful grin in place as he shook his head once.

  Shrugging, she turned her attention to the stairs and ascended to the main entrance. Footmen stood by in their pressed livery, holding the doors open.

  "I'm sure Lady Southridge has ushered him into a drawing room." Lord Neville's comment sounded more curious than certain, and Beatrix turned to glance at him.

  "We could ask," she replied dryly.

  He cut her an annoyed glare. "Truly? Why, I'm quite humbled that I didn't think of that." His tone was wry.

  "Another reason to be thankful for my presence." Winking at his irritated expression, she approached a maid and asked for Lady Southridge's whereabouts. Just as she was speaking, another maid approached.

  "My lord…" She curtseyed to Lord Neville. "…my lady bids you join her in the blue parlor. You have a guest from London."

  He nodded once and glanced to Beatrix, a winning gleam in his eye. He reached out an invitation to escort her, and she accepted, laying her gloved hand on his arm.

  "You see, while I have found that while asking is a perfectly valid option, most often the information finds you." His voice was more than slightly haughty.

  Offering a sweet smile, she pinched his arm as her hand rested upon it.

  But drat the man, he didn't even flinch.

  "You'll have to try harder than that," he replied without even a glance in her direction.

  Beatrix suddenly had the urge to trip him. Certainly that would be an example of trying harder!

  But as luck would have it, the blue parlor came into sight, and her attention was absorbed with the sight of a gentleman pacing before the chaise lounge. Only a small profile of his face was visible, but it was already clear he was quite handsome.

  "Damn it all, he's pacing." His voice was so quiet she assumed she wasn't supposed to overhear. A shiver of fear tickled her spine.

  "Ah, my dear Bev and Lord Neville!" Lady Southridge caught a glimpse of their approach and stood, her expression one of relief.

  "Neville." The gentleman nodded his head once sharply, the
universal masculine acknowledgement.

  "Curtis…" Turning to Beatrix he glanced from her to the gentleman. "…allow me to introduce Bev—"

  "Hang it all, Neville. Everyone already knows. Just call her Beatrix." Lady Southridge's irritated tone broke through his introduction.

  His gaze cut to her then to Curtis. "Is that so?" His expression was dark as his brows drew together over his grey eyes.

  "Indeed. Which is why I decided to visit rather than converse by post. We have quite the… dilemma. But if you'll please finish introductions." His amber eyes cut to Beatrix, expectant.

  "Apologies. This is Miss Beatrix Lamont. Miss Lamont, may I introduce you to Mr. Curtis Sheppard."

  "A pleasure." Beatrix forced a smile, but her heart had seized upon hearing the news that her cover was no longer in place. What exactly did that mean?

  "The delight is all mine. As a gentleman, one can never tire of making the acquaintance of such a beautiful lady."

  "My lady," Neville replied tersely, his tone more than a little possessive.

  Beatrix held back a grin.

  "Is that so?" Mr. Sheppard asked in a teasing tone. "Then that either complicates matters or solves them… depending on how you look at it." He rocked on his heels.

  "Why don't we all have a seat? I've ordered a fresh pot of tea as well as refreshments. I do believe we will be taking residence in the parlor for some time." She ended with a resolute tone.

  Curtis, Mr. Sheppard, took a seat in a wingback chair beside the fire, and Lord Neville led her to an opposing chair, one that was beside the chaise where he took a seat.

  "Do share your news." Lord Neville leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

  Beatrix took a deep breath and turned her attention to Mr. Sheppard.

  "Miss Lamont, have you ever heard of a gentleman by the name of Sir Lambert Kirby?" He regarded her fully, and she got the impression that he was not a man who missed a single detail.

  "No…" she answered.

  "You?" Mr. Sheppard turned to Neville.

  "No, I'm afraid not. Who is he?"

  "That's the rub. According to him and to certain documentation presented at his local magistrate then brought to London, he is your cousin, Miss Beatrix. The son of your father's brother and, that being said, claims he has documentation that would include him in your father's estate through marriage to one of the daughters of the late Baron Lamont," he finished quietly.