“I’m sorry,” he said so softly from behind her that she almost didn’t hear him. She pivoted and found he had also refastened and straightened himself. He was gathering up his jacket from the ground, shaking it out, brushing it off. But his head was bent.
She moved toward him. “For what?” she asked as she dared to reach out and touch his face. She lifted his chin so that he looked at her. “I’m not sorry.”
“You’re a lady and—”
She tilted her head back with a laugh. “Oh, not this again. Derrick, we have established more than once that I am not some trembling flower. I also wasn’t a virgin—surely you must have noticed that. So you stole nothing.”
His jaw set and she could all but see the wheels turning in his mind. He caught her fingers that were still resting on his jaw and tangled them with his own. “What happened to you?” he asked.
She flinched. There he was, seeing through her again. Ignoring the laughter she used to mask whatever pain she felt. She cleared her throat. “Nothing,” she said. “I’ve been on my own since I was eleven. Out of my house since I was eighteen. I managed myself with only a little intervention from my father’s estate. I surrendered my virginity to a man I wanted to give it to, a good many years ago. And I liked it, so I’ve had a handful of lovers since.”
“I see,” he said softly.
She arched a brow, defensiveness rising in her. “Do you want to call me a wanton, then, Derrick? Accuse me of being a whore because I treat my pleasure like a man treats his?”
“No,” he said, quickly and with feeling. “I don’t judge you. Why shouldn’t you have pleasure? Why shouldn’t you treat your body as if it were your own? It is, after all.”
She hesitated. That was not the reaction she had expected. If she told the men on the terrace what she’d just confessed to Derrick, she would wager more than ninety percent of them would call her whore either behind her back or to her face. She would be shunned by the women, ladies all and born and bred to be delicate and chaste and fucking boring. It was, unfortunately, the way of their world. Women were chattel, their virginity a commodity. Their pleasure an afterthought, if a thought at all.
“Oh,” she said softly.
“I was actually reacting to your statement that you’ve been on your own for so long,” he said. “That seems a sadder statement than that you’ve had…” He cleared his throat. “…lovers.”
He was pressing for information about her in this. Looking through her like he always did and finding things she had always chosen to hide. She didn’t want that. If he dug too far, he would find the Fox there, too.
So she forced a smile. “Is that jealousy in your voice?” she asked. He lifted his gaze to hers and she saw that very emotion faintly flickering there. “You needn’t be. That was…amazing. Different from anything I’ve ever felt before.”
His lips parted. “Yes,” he said, and nothing more. But the yes was enough. The yes was a triumph. She wanted to move him just as he moved her. She wanted it to mean something…
Even if in the end, it couldn’t mean anything. There was no way for it, no path that could lead them to each other for more than the remaining days they would share here.
“Selina,” he whispered, his voice no longer rough with desire, but soft with something else. She wanted to turn away from that, but he cupped her cheek and it froze her in place, staring up at him. His lips lowered and he kissed her once more.
Only this time, he didn’t devour. He didn’t claim. He wasn’t rough. He tilted her head, deepening the kiss, and for a moment she sank against him, holding tight to the firm reliability of him. She hadn’t had that in her life for a very long time.
Because it was always an illusion.
That reminder yanked her back, and she stepped from his arms and away from the vulnerability he made her feel all the way down to the tips of her toes.
“Don’t worry yourself,” she whispered. “I wanted this. I wanted it exactly as we had it.”
He nodded slowly, tracking her as she backed toward the door.
“And…” She held her breath before she continued. Could she say what was on her lips? Should she? After all, she had leverage now. She didn’t need more.
Except she did.
“And I hope we can do it again,” she whispered.
He arched a brow, and she waited for the inevitable words that would fall from his lips. Admonishment, denial, refusal. Instead, he let out a low chuckle that seemed to cross its way into her blood stream. He smiled at her, possessive and hot and…real. Her heart stuttered even though she knew she shouldn’t let it.
“You are trouble, Selina Oliver,” he said on a laugh.
She couldn’t help the smile that tilted her own lips. “Proudly,” she said, then winked at him as she slipped out the door and left him to think on what they’d done.
And she could have crowed that she had the upper hand, except her hands were shaking as she re-entered the party and circulated back into the crowd.
Chapter 11
“What do you think about Lord Winford?” Derrick asked, keeping his eyes pointedly on the papers in front of him and praying his tone sounded casual.
He heard Barber shuffling papers, and there was a long pause before he answered, “What about him?”
That was a good question. What about Winford? Derrick had been watching the man ever closer since his approach to Selina at the garden party the day before. He was a bastard, that was for sure. But could he be a Fox?
“Huntington?” Barber said, his tone sharp. Derrick jerked his gaze up then and found his friend standing now, his arms folded across his chest, a pointed glare focused squarely on Derrick. “You have not been yourself since yesterday afternoon when you snuck away with Miss Oliver.”
Derrick flinched. Yes, his friend was correct on that assessment. He hadn’t been himself. How could one ever be oneself again after such a powerful encounter with a woman like Selina? The passion of their joining, both given and received, was all he’d thought about since. Both to reprimand himself, and to relive those moments over and over and savor every squeeze of her body, every scent of her desire, every sound of her orgasm.
Even now he could picture each second down to its finest detail.
“Will you ever tell me why you dragged the lady off?” Barber asked.
Derrick shifted. He’d put his friend off when he returned to the party, but Barber was too clever and too focused not to push and question and cajole. He was going to have to find an answer. And he couldn’t let it be the truth. Barber would be furious that Derrick had brought an outsider into their case. He would be shocked that Derrick had tupped that very outsider against a wall in her brother’s library.
“Miss Oliver has some insight into Lord Winford,” he said with a shrug. “He’s obviously interested in her.”
“He’s not the only one,” Barber said softly.
Derrick jerked his gaze to him. His arms were folded across his broad chest and his brown gaze was unrelenting. “What are you implying?”
“I’m not implying. I know you, Huntington. I nearly died at your side. We’re friends as well as partners.”
“You are a true friend,” Derrick said with no hesitation.
“Don’t try to change the subject,” Barber said, though he chuckled and his mood softened a fraction. “It’s obvious the woman…entices you. You look at her like she’s edible and you’re starving.”
Selina was most definitely edible. Derrick had been fantasizing about all the ways to taste her all day. But he pushed those thoughts away.
“You’re seeing things,” he said, but he could hear that his voice wasn’t strong.
“I’m not, and the fact that you’re denying the attraction concerns me all the more about it.” Barber threw up his hands.
Derrick let out his breath slowly. “Very well. I will not deny that the woman is…she’s very attractive. And that I have…I’ve noticed her finer attributes. How could one not? She’s
stunningly beautiful and alluring on every level. But that desire is not going to distract me.”
It already had. He hated being a liar.
Barber pursed his lips and shook his head. “If you say so. After all, if you don’t want to involve me in your thoughts, I can’t force you. But you asked me about Winford.”
Derrick nodded. “Yes.”
“I think the man is pond scum embodied. He’s a bigot and a bully. But he’s also an idiot. The Fox is not.”
Derrick sighed. “Yes. True. But I’ve been cross-referencing the parties the Fox stole from. The guest lists have all included Lord Winford but for two.”
“Two is a great many,” Barber said. “How would you explain his not being in two places where the Fox struck?”
Derrick shifted. “Because…er…well, these lists aren’t always accurate, are they? A person could come to a party where they aren’t invited. They could come in disguise. They could have altered the list.”
Barber looked at him as if he’d sprouted a second head. “Why reach so high to put this man on the suspect list?”
Derrick turned away and walked to the window. He had no answer, at least none that would appease his friend.
“To protect her?” Barber said softly.
Derrick shrugged. “Perhaps I am compromised at that.”
He heard Barber suck in a breath and turned to find his friend staring at him in surprise. Then his expression softened a fraction. “Miss Oliver is beautiful,” Barber said. “And I admire her fire. I think her spirit could be a good match for your own. When this is over, I wouldn’t tell you to ignore whatever this is between you two.”
Derrick let out a long breath. Barber was talking about a future for him and Selina. He didn’t even fully understand what their present was. The teasing, the flirting, the explosive passion…did that allow building something more? Especially since he never felt like he was on…solid ground when he was with her. Everything was constantly shifting and that was a wild adventure and a terrifying concept all at once.
Barber was oblivious to these thoughts as he added, “We all deserve to be happy, you no less.”
“Can men like us be happy?” Derrick asked, shaking his head. “After what we’ve seen in war? After everything we’ve done?”
“Of course.” It was clear Barber believed it. “We are more than our pasts. All of us.”
“Perhaps,” Derrick said softly.
Barber was quiet a moment. “Do you truly think Lord Winford would conspire to steal his own wife’s jewels? Because our sources say that is the target.”
“Our sources. An anonymous note received by one of the past victims,” Derrick said. “Is that a good source?”
“We felt it was good enough to pursue this in the first place.” Barber cocked his head. “The message contained information about past robberies that was never made public.”
“And what if it were the Fox himself, trying to get us off the scent?” Derrick insisted.
“Then you’re back to Lord Winford not being a suspect,” Barber said.
Derrick scrubbed a hand over his face. He could admit, if only to himself, that he was twisting things in his mind to make them fit Winford as a suspect. Because he hated the man. Because he feared for Selina if she kept playing her games with the earl.
He pushed those thoughts away and tried to become the detached investigator again. Was there a reason he could find that didn’t pulse with his personal vendettas and jealousies?
“Winford hates the fame the Breston necklace has given the countess,” he said at last.
Barber considered that for a moment with a nod. “That is true. He mutters about it to anyone who will listen. They are a poisonous pair.”
“Perhaps he’d steal the necklace just to hurt her,” Derrick said softly.
Barber let out his breath in a long sigh. “It isn’t the worst theory I’ve ever heard. I’ll look into it.”
Derrick lifted his brows. “Truly? Even though you suspect my motives aren’t pure?”
“Pure motives or not, you always have good instincts. I’d be a fool not to listen to them after all this time.” Barber got up and crossed the room to him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Personal involvements in cases like these could prove dangerous. Be careful, will you?”
“I’m always careful,” Derrick said.
Barber smiled, but it was tight. “Yes, that was once true. I’ll see you later.”
His friend left him then, to think about what he’d said. To think about the woman who had created such a strange brew of emotions in his chest and chaos in the middle of his once-predictable life.
Selina dragged a gasp of warm air in and sighed as a sense of calm washed over her. Her life had always been tumultuous from the time she was a little girl. Consistency had never been a frequent caller, so she had learned to take care of herself and not depend on others. The problem was that always left her on edge, never completely at peace. Always at the ready.
But in this moment, as she walked in her brother’s fine garden, admiring his beautifully tended grounds, she had a flash of…peace. Of belonging.
“Don’t be foolish,” she muttered to herself, trying to push the uncomfortable feeling away. It only clouded her judgment and made her question her plans.
It also took her thoughts to the garden party the previous afternoon. And what had happened in the library with Derrick.
She’d had lovers, she’d felt pleasure before, so she’d assumed when she began her flirtation with the man that she could control her reactions. That even if she ended up in his bed, it would only give her more control.
Only she didn’t feel in control now. She felt tightly wound and needy and unfocused. All last night, she had dreamed of Derrick’s arms around her, his mouth on her, his body surging with so much power deep within her own. She’d woken shaking, wet, and even bringing herself to release hadn’t softened the need.
“Miss Oliver?”
She froze with her thoughts churning and slowly turned to find Mr. Barber standing there, watching her with an unreadable expression. She smiled at him as she took him in. He was really a handsome man, with his close-cropped black hair and warm brown skin. He was tall and lean, all angles, including high cheekbones, the kind most women in the ton would fight for. His lips were set in a perpetual near smile, and that gave him a kind air.
It would be easy to just see him as her lover’s friend and not a man who hunted her. Only she couldn’t do that. It wasn’t possible. She had to play a game with him, different than the one she played with Derrick, but with the same goal: to keep him from suspecting her.
“Mr. Barber,” she said, stepping forward with a smile. “I didn’t hear you approach. Good afternoon.”
“Good afternoon,” he returned. “I was just taking a stroll through the garden, as is my habit every day at this time.”
“I was doing something similar,” she said. “These events get so hectic, especially as the shine wears off and having so many people around starts to be less amusing. There is nothing like a stroll amongst the flowers to clear one’s head.”
“Would you be opposed to company?” he asked.
She froze. He was watching her, appearing casual but actually reading her. And there was so much to read about the Fox, about Derrick, about the spinning confusion in her mind about the future.
She nodded. “Of course,” she croaked out. He fell into step beside her, and for a moment they just slowly made their way down the garden path. She cleared her throat. “I hear from the Duchess of Sheffield that you are a gardener yourself.”
He smiled. “A hobbyist, but yes, I do dabble in my own small garden in London. Roses are my passion.”
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “Lovely to look at, but I’ve heard hard to maintain.”
“Perhaps, but worth the difficulty, as are most things worth having,” he said. His gaze settled on her for a brief moment, and she found herself wondering if the
y were still discussing flowers at all.
“You are likely right,” she said. “I just haven’t had the patience, perhaps, to learn to cultivate them properly. Your military discipline might help.”
He considered that. “I suppose so. I wasn’t as interested in flowers before I came home from the war, so you might be right. It is a fascinating thought I’ll have to ponder more.”
“I suppose after such a dangerous experience, it must be comforting to find something to fill your time,” she said, careful not to reveal that she knew his true reason for being here. After all, she didn’t know if Derrick had revealed her interference. The last thing she needed was to pivot Barber’s attention more fully on her.
“Some men struggle to do so,” he said, and his expression grew worried. “Some men lose themselves in drink or work and forget to make a life beyond their memories.”
She frowned. “You sound as though you’re talking about someone specific.”
His gaze darted to her. “Perhaps I am. Or perhaps I’m thinking of a dozen friends.”
“Is Derrick Huntington one of them?” she asked.
Now he stopped on the path and pivoted to look at her fully. His eyebrow arched. “I suppose after what we went through together, how close we have become as friends, as brothers, that I can’t help but worry about him. Especially now.”
She pursed her lips. “You are bringing this up to me and there seems to be a purpose behind it.”
“You and he have been spending a bit of time together since our arrival,” Barber said. “I think you may be…you might be learning about all of his excellent qualities.”
“Yes,” she said softly, because there was no use denying those facts. This man knew what he was talking about, and if it were only fears about Derrick that drove him to approach her, addressing them would send him away. Distract him from equating the Fox with herself.
And truth be told, she also wanted to see where he was going with this interrogation regarding Derrick. She wanted to know more from the facts he was carefully sprinkling at her feet.
The Heart of a Hellion Page 11
