A Tempting Ruin (GreenFord Waters #3)

by Kristin Vayden

  Neville blinked then glanced down at the floor as if considering a difficult equation.

  "I had not considering that aspect," he spoke softly. "It… has merit. I cannot think why I hadn't thought to connect the two." He released one of her hands and rubbed the back of his neck.

  "Do you think there's a connection between the duke and Kirby?" Beatrix asked.

  "I don't know… but I never thought to look. I need to take my leave." Neville released her hands and took a step away then paused. Turning back to her, he reached out and, in a flash, she was back in his arms, his grip both demanding and gentle at once as his lips found hers, invading, pursuing her in the give and take of love's kiss.

  Melting into the moment, Beatrix gripped his shoulders, pulling him in tighter, closer, not caring that he was surely crushing her dress. His kiss grew more demanding as he invaded her mouth, branding her with his unique and addictive flavor. Her hands roamed his back, tracing his shoulders through the livery he still wore and moving up to grip the soft seductive texture of his dark hair as it threaded through her fingers. He groaned as she tugged on the strands, leaving her lips and trailing hot kisses down her jaw to her neck, rendering her breathless.

  His breath hot at her collarbone, he paused, resting his head against the curve of her neck. Gasping, Beatrix closed her eyes, memorizing the sensation of his body so close, the scent of cinnamon and lemon etching itself on her memory.

  "This is far too significant, too rare to allow time to be sifted away from us." He lifted his head to meet her gaze. His expression was open, as if trying to share his very soul. Gently his fingers ran down her face, leaving a warm trail on her sensitive skin. Pausing at her lip, he traced their shape. "Mine," He murmured a moment before kissing them once, lingering.

  "Mine," Beatrix whispered unwilling to let this stolen moment pass them by, she captured his lips. At once he took command of the kiss. The world around faded, leaving on him, his flavor and the heat from his body as he pressed into her. Yet she tasted a restraint and gently he ended their passionate exchange. Not ready for their moment to end, she lifted her hand, she tugged at his hair seductively then trailed her hand down his jawline to his lips where she whispered once more, "Mine." Sealing the words with a final kiss, she lingered.

  "Beatrix?" Bethanny's voice called out quietly.

  Neville kissed her once more then took a step back. Meeting her gaze with a smoldering one of his own, he stepped out into the hall. "She is here."

  "Pard — oh." Bethanny's voice was stilted, as if unsure with how to continue.

  Chuckling slightly, Beatrix followed Neville into the dim light of the hall, further amused by her sister's shocked expression as it darted between herself and Neville.

  "I—I—"

  "Do not be distressed, Lady Graham. Your sister was not consorting with one of Smother's footmen." Neville chuckled darkly as he approached Bethanny, Beatrix at his arm.

  "Neville?" Bethanny breathed.

  "The one and only," he answered quickly with a bit of an arrogant air.

  Beatrix attempted to elbow him in the rib, but he sidestepped perfectly. "I know you well, love." He turned to wink, even as Bethanny gasped in surprise.

  "Too well apparently." Beatrix narrowed her eyes slightly, but was unable to restrain her grin.

  "This is unexpected." Bethanny found her voice and folded her hands before her.

  "Is it truly?" Neville asked, shaking his head then tossing a quick grin at Beatrix.

  "I must say you cut a dashing figure as a footman," Bethanny retorted.

  "I've been told."

  Beatrix elbowed him again, this time hitting him square in the ribs.

  "Foul." He glared at her.

  Giving him a saucy wink, she simply turned her attention to her sister's confused yet amused gaze.

  "I'll leave you to your sister's care until later." Neville reached out and held onto her hand carefully, placing a kiss to her wrist every so tenderly. Then he disappeared into the shadows.

  "I don't know whether to be shocked, angry, scandalized, or simply… amazed." Bethanny blinked as Beatrix started toward the ballroom.

  "He has that effect on people," Beatrix replied with dry humor.

  "You were quite… familiar with him." Bethanny cleared her throat as if uncomfortable approaching that particular topic with her younger sister.

  "One is normally familiar with the gentleman they intend to marry."

  Bethanny's silence echoed for a moment. "That is true. Is the duke aware of this intention?"

  "Yes, however, Neville hasn't exactly asked permission," Beatrix replied.

  "Which, I would imagine, has caused the duke's distain toward him."

  "But to be fair, he didn't actually ask me either the first time… rather, told me." Beatrix shook her head.

  "Pardon?" Bethanny stopped mid-step and turned to her sister.

  "Neville tends to… determine a course of action and assume there will be no opposition to that particular course… and if so, that opposition is unimportant. Needless to say, it has given me no small entertainment to completely upend his world." Beatrix chuckled.

  Bethanny joined in. "I would imagine that would be quite diverting."

  "Certainly, it is… and I would imagine it is why his attachment to me is so firm," Beatrix remarked.

  "It would undeniably appear his attachment to you is quite… determined." She turned to her sister. "Was that Neville who created the ruckus in the ballroom?" Eyes wide, Bethanny pieced the puzzle together before Beatrix had the opportunity to nod.

  "It was. He saved me from Sir Kirby's overly possessive grip of my person. That man is wicked." Beatrix rubbed her arms, chafing them against the sudden chill of Sir Kirby's memory.

  "He was your guardian angel," Bethanny replied, a soft smile on her face.

  "Yes. Yes he was." Beatrix returned the smile, thankful.

  As they made their way through the throng of people, her gaze settled on the duke who was gesturing wildly to Lady Southridge.

  "Oh dear," Beatrix mumbled

  "You have no idea…"

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  "I DON'T KNOW HOW WE MISSED THIS," Curtis remarked with frustrated interest.

  "To be honest¸ I wouldn't have thought of it if Beatrix—Miss Lamont hadn't pointed me in that direction."

  "For it to be the duke? This entire time? It confounds me!" Curtis set aside the condemning parchment that was the key to the whole sordid mystery of Sir Kirby.

  "But we have to act quickly, to strike while the iron is hot. He will not suspect that we have discovered his true identity… or intentions." Neville paced about the room.

  "Indeed, but—" Curtis blew out a heavy sigh. "—I can hardly fathom it."

  "I do believe that was the whole intention," Neville replied while shrugging into his great coat.

  "One must admit that it is quite diabolical… brilliant even." Curtis carefully tucked the document into a leather folder.

  "I'm not one to offer up compliments to criminals." Neville turned to face his friend, knowing his impatience leaked through to his terse tone.

  "Right." Curtis cleared his throat, as if chastened, then stood.

  "If you're quite finished complimenting the blackguard, shall we be away?" Neville gestured to the door with an unnecessary flourish of his hand.

  Curtis simply shot him a dark look as he passed.

  Neville kept his emotions under tight rein as he considered what lay before them. Kirby had done a remarkable job of cloaking himself as well as his intentions, which simply affirmed in Neville's gut that he was a desperate, dangerous foe.

  "We'll take my curricle. It's still waiting outside from my arrival." Curtis hardly spared a glance behind as they strode to the door.

  Once upon the conveyance, Curtis snapped the leather straps, and the matched greys jumped at his command, pulling them out from Mayfair District and toward the residence of Sir Kirby. The London air was thick with the scent
of impending rain. "Of course it's going to downpour. We're in a curricle," Neville grumbled as he studied the heavy grey clouds.

  "It will not," Curtis clipped, but his gaze darted upward.

  Neville gave him a disbelieving glace but refrained from comment. The streets seemed overly full of horse and human traffic, causing their pace to slow. "This is taking too long," Curtis mumbled as he maneuvered around a recently spilled crate of potatoes.

  "It's not far now," Neville replied, trying to keep sound reasoning. It would do no good to allow frustration to cloud his thoughts. No. He needed every wit about him.

  "Thank the good Lord for Henry's directions. Look! There!" Curtis gestured to a hired hack who had just pulled up before the entrance to Sir Kirby's lodgings. Pulling the greys to the side, he watched as two men exited the conveyance and approached the door. Both men were well-dressed but carried leather folders, much like the one Curtis clung to.

  "Barristers?" Curtis asked.

  "I would appear so. If that is the case, then fortune is on our side, my friend."

  "Indeed." Curtis glanced behind them then pulled the greys back onto the road. He paused them before Sir Kirby's door.

  After exiting the curricle, Neville bounded up the stairs, Curtis at his heels. After sharing a glance, Neville placed a solid knock on the large black door.

  "Yes?" A young butler answered the door, his expression faltering as he took in the two men before him.

  "We are here to have an audience with Sir Kirby. We have information that concerns his current state of affairs." Curtis spoke with a professional tone.

  Neville watched as indecision flickered across the face of the butler. "If you'll give me but a moment, my lords."

  When the door closed, Neville spoke lowly, "Surely Kirby isn't as deep in the pocket as he'd like people to imagine if he cannot hire a proper butler. Surely, the man has little to no experience with the position."

  "Indeed, he didn't even request our cards."

  "Which is to our benefit."

  "Exactly."

  The door opened, revealing the butler once more. "Sir Kirby is currently not available, but he bids you leave your card—"

  "It would be in your employer's best interest if he were to—"Curtis started.

  "Bloody hell with it all." Neville shoved the butler aside and strode down the dimly lit hall.

  "Gentlemen! I must insist! You cannot simply—" the butler tried but was silenced when Neville heard the sound of flesh meeting fist.

  "I don't know if that was necessary, but I do approve of the methodology." Neville glanced behind him as Curtis shook his hand once and jogged to catch up.

  "Shut the door," Neville called.

  A moment later, they paused before a closed door, muffling the voices within.

  "Your case should be reviewed within the next week, sir—"

  "That's too long! I don't have time for this!" Sir Kirby's voice rose.

  "These things take time, sir. You must understand," another man spoke.

  "So you've said! Far too many times for me to count!"

  "This is a legal matter. Legal matters tend to require much patience as a thorough investigation must take place for something of this nature to even be considered altered in any way."

  "I've given you every piece of documentation. It should be obvious to any fool who even glances at the case!"

  "Have you heard enough?" Neville asked Curtis lowly.

  "Indeed. Those gentlemen are the barristers conducting the case."

  In the silence, they heard the men speak once more. "We'll take our leave now and will check with you in a few days' time."

  Neville opened the door and strode in, glorifying in the horrified shock of Sir Kirby's face as he glanced from him to Curtis and back.

  "Who the hell do you think you are?" Kirby stood, his face red with rage.

  "That is a brilliant question," Curtis replied, a dry sarcasm lacing his tone.

  "If that will be all, we will take our leave—" The two barristers stood, their expressions worried.

  "No, I believe you'll wish to stay for this… introduction."

  "Russell!" Kirby called, glancing behind the men.

  "Your… capable butler is going to be nursing quite the headache in a few hours…," Curtis replied with such a calm tone, it was chilling.

  Neville circled the room, sizing up his opponent, waiting for the perfect moment to begin the destruction. "Do you know who I am?" Neville asked.

  "No. And if I don't know you, then you must be nothing more than a common criminal," Kirby spat, glancing to the door as if evaluating his escape.

  "That was unnecessary," Curtis replied, pretending offense.

  "I know you!" One of the barristers took a step forward. "I never forget a face. And you — you're the one that solved that Prother case! I was on the floor when it was discussed. Neville, isn't it?" The man snapped his fingers, recognition lighting his expression.

  "Ah, Prother… yes." Neville swallowed. Of course that would be the case discussed. Of course, the story that the man knew and what had actually happened were not one and the same.

  Few circumstances surrounding those with wealth were.

  "What has that to do with me?" Kirby growled, shooting a mutinous glance at the barrister.

  "Ironically, the similarities are substantial… but unrelated," Curtis interjected.

  "Kirby… now that you know who I am… shall I tell others who you are?"

  "They all know who I am!" Kirby shouted, but it was clear that his confidence was faltering.

  "Now… I'm not quite so certain of that," Curtis replied.

  "Nor am I… especially after I discovered a very telling secret." Neville strode right up to Kirby, who stood shaking, his hands in fists at his side, eyes narrowed.

  Leaning in, Neville whispered, "I've never been good at keeping these type of secrets."

  "You have no proof." Kirby called his bluff.

  "Ha!" Curtis's outburst interrupted the stare down between Neville and Kirby.

  "I don't understand," the older barrister spoke.

  "May I?" Curtis asked, and Neville nodded as he took a step back from Kirby, watching with satisfaction as the color drained from his face when Curtis withdrew the yellowed parchment.

  "I have in my possession a verified copy of the marriage registry of St. George's from the year 1808, if you'll wish to authenticate." He went around to the barristers and displayed the document. "It states here that Sir Richard Kirby was, on the day of April 3, 1808, married to a woman by the name of Marianne Lamont Greene."

  Neville watched as Kirby went absolutely still.

  "And I have on the next page a document stating that Sir Kirby's wife met her end six months later."

  "That proves nothing!" Kirby shouted.

  "I'm failing to see the connection," the younger barrister questioned, his tone confused.

  "We failed to see it at first as well," Neville answered, pacing before Kirby slowly, methodically, like water dripping — agitating and intending to drive one mad.

  "It was never about the Lamont's fortune, was it?" Neville asked.

  Kirby remained silent.

  "It was about revenge," Neville spoke darkly. "A man with nothing to lose—"

  "And everything to gain," Curtis finished.

  "You can't prove that," Kirby threatened.

  "So you think… but I don't have to. I simply have to say one name… to one person," Neville spoke smoothly, like silk over a dagger.

  "He wouldn't even remember her name," Kirby spat.

  "But you remember his."

  Kirby hissed.

  "Tell me, did she threaten to leave you the week after you were married, or did she wait a whole month?" Curtis asked condescendingly.

  "A week? Perhaps he couldn't…"

  "Silence!" Kirby shouted, his chest heaving, his body tense.

  "Ah, I think we struck a nerve," Curtis spoke triumphantly.

  "Do you thin
k she even told him she was married? I'd have to say no… because she was already planning on leaving you."

  "She loved me. It was he! He poisoned her mind against me! She — she—

  "She wanted out. Away from you." Neville spoke the words with a deathly calm.

  "He didn't even remember her! Didn't even attend her funeral when she died carrying his child!" Kirby yelled and, reaching swiftly, threw over a table. "He'll burn in hell for what he did to me — to her!" The crystal glass of brandy that had been sitting on the table flew toward the hearth and shattered against the stone, spraying the brandy into the flames, causing them to burst forth with a bright and hungry explosion of fire.

  "And since you, a mere sir, cannot think to compete with a duke… you sought the more patient route. His wards," Neville completed.

  "And with your dead wife's middle name Lamont… you were able to easily falsify what was necessary to avoid question."

  "Knowing that even if it never happened, if you never got to his wards, eventually he'd have to face you."

  "And then you'd have your final revenge."

  "Did you really think you'd get away with murdering a duke?" Neville asked softly, ignoring the mutual gasp of the barristers.

  "He would have known what it's like to suffer. His wife would have known my bloody pain," Kirby swore, his tone both angry and broken.

  "Which is why you went to his residence every day at 4:00 p.m.

  "The very time your wife died."

  "He never even knew she was increasing," Kirby spoke with venom.

  "That's because she wasn't," Neville replied, taking in the squint of Kirby as he me his gaze.

  "If you would have read the report… she died of an opiate overdose… no evidence of her… increasing."

  "She lied to you," Curtis finished.

  "No, she… she—"

  "Lied," Neville enunciated.

  "Liar falls for liar. Romantic, is it not?" Curtis studied his nails and brushed lint from his jacket, as if they were merely discussing the weather.

  Kirby's silence reigned in the room, acting as both his confession and his own awakening.

  "In light of this new information…"The older barrister stood and cleared his throat. "…I do believe I need to summon a constable." He glanced to Neville then Curtis, and with their nod he left.