by Hatch, Donna
Alicia tried to gauge his sincerity. She longed to believe him, but the things they said about him seemed too much in line with his character. His charm, his magnetism, all exuded dangerous sensuality, which made believing him a heartless philanderer all too easy.
“I know you frequently engage in lechery and—”
“Only if you listen to rumor.” Anger tinged his voice.
She opened her mouth and then closed it. “You truly don’t?”
His blue eyes found hers and he shifted, a tinge of a blush touching his cheeks. Cole, embarrassed? “You wouldn’t believe how many ladies have tried to seduce me. Women I have never touched boast of an affair with me as if it’s some kind of accomplishment.” Decidedly uncomfortable, he cleared his throat.
Harpies. They were using him even worse than she thought. “I’m sorry. I should have known better than to listen to such vicious gossip.”
“I cannot even look at another woman now. I only want you.”
Before she realized what was happening, or had time to be afraid, he gathered her into his powerful arms. His lips found hers and gently, skillfully kissed her mouth, sending tingles throughout her body. He crushed her against him and drew deeper kisses from her until she completely melted into his arms. There was no fear, only sweet, velvet pleasure and white-hot need.
His lips moved from hers down to her throat where he kissed a tingling trail of flame, and then slowly worked up to her lips again. He deepened the kiss and she completely succumbed to his will. Burning desire rose up inside of her. She arched her back and strained against him. His hands caressed her quivering body, drawing out a soft moan. His lips moved over her face, her eyes, her cheeks, her temples. They returned to her lips again.
This time, her hunger matched his. Their ragged breathing became one. His taste, his scent, the warmth and power of his body flooded her senses. Kissing her until her head spun, he guided her to a nearby divan and eased her back to lie on the soft cushions. As his mouth moved downward and he slipped her gown off one shoulder, a glimmer of conscience broke through.
“We mustn’t,” she whispered.
“Don’t be afraid.” His mouth engulfed hers. Bright need flamed her body as he drew progressively hungrier kisses from her. There was no fear, only a driving ache for more.
Again, the conscience broke through. “Cole, please, we cannot do this.”
With a ragged groan, he raised his head, his lips swollen and moist from their kissing. His darkened eyes revealed passion she had never dreamed.
“Please, stop.” She hoped her voice sounded more determined than she felt.
His voice was achingly gentle. “I won’t hurt you.”
“This is wrong.”
“How can it be wrong? I love you, and I know you have feelings for me.” Desperation appeared in his eyes but he touched her face with unsurpassed tenderness, gliding a finger across her cheek and then brushing the pad of his thumb over her lower lip.
He loved her?
Tears came to her eyes. “I am married, Cole.”
“I know,” he whispered.
“Please, don’t make this more difficult than it already is. You know this is wrong. I belong to another, who—”
“—whose very presence makes you shrink in terror.” A bitter edge lanced his voice. “You would be faithful to him rather than be with me, but you won’t honor your marriage vow to him and be with him as his wife.”
She pushed him away and sat up, still giddy from the force of his passion and her own that so quickly rose to meet it. Shame and confusion jumbled against each other.
“You ask me to be unfaithful to my husband. You would betray your childhood friend. Your kin.”
He opened his mouth and then clamped it shut, with no excuse to offer. He took several steadying breaths. “Alicia, if you weren’t married to Nicholas, would you—”
Her confusion transformed into anger. “I was just beginning to think you actually possessed some scruples, Cole Amesbury, or perhaps even—heaven forbid—a heart.” She made an inarticulate sound of derision. “I should have known. I don’t know why I let myself continuously be fooled by your deceptively pleasing face. Everything those women said about you is probably true. And any man who’d purposely shoot another man obviously has no heart.”
His breath caught sharply in the silence. He stared at her as if she’d slapped him and the color drained from his face. Outside the room, voices and footsteps approached but passed by.
She shouldn’t have said that. She truly didn’t mean it. But it was too late to take it back. And if it drove him away, she would deserve it.
Besides, if this were his true character, even if she had married him, he would never be faithful. No man who would seduce his cousin’s wife had the moral fiber to stay true to his own vows.
Cole turned away and rubbed his hand over his face before returning his gaze to her. “So that’s it?” The pain in his expression nearly crushed her.
Unable to speak, she lowered her eyes.
He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. After another deep breath, he stood and held out a hand. She let him pull her to her feet. He squared his shoulders, opened the door, and peered out. When he was satisfied that no one would see them leave the room, he stepped through the doorway.
“Tell Mary and Charles I took a hackney to White’s.” He stalked away.
She’d wounded him. Regret and sorrow and a horrible, clawing loneliness split her in into pieces.
Yet, perhaps it was better this way. Without him always so near, she may learn to love her husband, or at least truly be a wife to him. The baron deserved her fidelity. And Cole would be free to find a wife who would overlook his past indiscretions and give him his heir.
She waited until she composed herself and then went to find Mary and Charles. Mary was dancing. Charles leaned against a column nursing a drink.
Charles eyed her in concern. “Are you unwell, Cousin?”
She managed a wan smile. “I believe I’m tired.”
“Shall we go?”
Alicia nodded. “Yes, thank you. Cole left already, I believe. He said something about going to his club.”
He nodded. “He hates these things. I’m surprised he came at all tonight.”
“I believe it was under duress from his father.”
“Ah. That explains it.”
Mary arrived then, flushed and breathless. After a startled look at Alicia, she turned to her husband. “I have grown rather weary and wish to return home, if you have no objection.”
Alicia smiled in gratitude for her perceptiveness, too heartsick to bring herself to protest despite Mary’s obvious enjoyment.
Charles nodded. “I promised to meet a few friends at Brooks, but I’ll take you ladies home first.”
They fetched their wraps, thanked the hostess, and climbed into the carriage. Mary chatted happily, and Alicia was grateful no one required her to make a contribution to the conversation. She stared out the window, reliving the passion of Cole’s kiss, cursing her own unfaithful heart, wishing for things best left unsaid.
The carriage pulled up in front of her husband’s London home. In the moonlight, it loomed ahead like a cursed fortress. Her home. Her prison.
After preparing for bed, she paced the room, sleep lost from her.
How could she be so drawn to a man like Cole? He was a rake who trifled with widows and other men’s wives, even his own cousin’s. He gambled. He dueled. He was probably the most skilled liar in London. There was nothing to recommend him. Except his astonishing good looks. And his charm. And his ability to coax a smile and even a laugh from her when she needed it most.
Trivial things. In time, these would fade and leave only the ugly truth of his dark soul.
But he had saved her from a terrible marriage by convincing his cousin, a good and honorable man, to marry her and give her a life of comfort. From their first meeting, Cole always treated her with compassion and gentleness. In spite of th
e fact that he was a sought after bachelor who clearly had his choice of beautiful and wealthy ladies, he remained by her side, escorting her anywhere she wished to go.
And without hesitation, he protected her from the highwaymen at great personal risk, an act of valor which had little to do with his devotion to his cousin. And more, he was a man of great feeling, tormented by ghosts of the past, and desperate to find redemption.
So who was the real Cole? The good, honorable gentleman? Or the unconscionable rake?
He was right about one thing; she refused to cuckold a husband with whom she had yet to share her bed.
She was the real monster.
CHAPTER 24
After passing one of the most miserable nights of his life, Cole stood in the receiving room of a fashionable home in London, his stomach clenching as he gazed upon whom he once believed the most beautiful lady in all of London.
Vivian’s smile, so provocative a year and a half ago, repulsed him. “If it isn’t the brave defender of my honor,” she purred.
“Did you know he died?” he demanded.
Her smile never dimmed. “Pity.” She moved toward him with the languid movements of a feline.
He stiffened. “I came to ask you a question.”
Her eyes focused on his mouth and her voice dropped to a purr. “The answer is yes. My husband has been most inattentive and I’ve been dreadfully lonely. You look absolutely divine. Better than candy. Come upstairs.”
Cole stared at her in amazement. How had he ever been attracted to this vulgar creature?
Mistaking his reaction, she smiled. “Don’t worry, darling, the servants can be trusted to keep my secrets.”
He turned cold at the thought that he’d shot a man over this woman. What a fool he had been. “Who put you up to it?”
Her smile turned vapid. “Cole, darling, whatever do you mean?”
“The rivalry between Armand Palmer and me. The duel. Who was behind it?”
Ah. A crack in her composure. She recovered quickly and slid her hands up his chest and around his neck, gazing up into his eyes in that familiar way that used to make him feel invincible. Today it made him feel nauseated.
“What makes you think anyone would put me up to anything?” She smiled seductively.
“Don’t trifle with me, Vivian. I’m not in the mood for your foolish games. I need answers.”
Vivian’s smiled faded. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Someone is trying to kill everyone in the Palmer family, starting with the heir, and clever enough to make it not look like murder. I think you know who it is.”
Her gaze turned cold and she removed her hands. “I think you’d better leave. Now.”
Shaking in fury, Cole advanced upon her. “I will leave when you tell me what I need to know.”
She stepped back with true fear in her eyes. He backed her against a wall and placed a hand on the wall on either side of her shoulders, trapping her. Her breath quickened and her eyes darted over his face.
Leaning in close, he whispered, “If you cooperate with me, I will not reveal your involvement in the murder of an innocent man. He had a twin sister, did you know? She is most distressed by his death. She was left to the mercy of a greedy uncle.”
Some of the fear left her eyes and her voice took on a careless tone. “And I should care about this chit?”
Cole leaned in until his mouth was a fraction of an inch from hers and noted with satisfaction that she drew in her breath. “How discreet are your servants? Enough that they would never investigate your screams because they’d assume them to be sounds of passion?”
Vivian’s eyes widened.
Cole stepped closer until his whole body pressed against those curves he once found so appealing, and glared at his opponent. “Did you know, dearest Vivian, that I learned many useful things in the war? Wringing information from a prisoner was one of them.”
“You’d never hurt a lady,” she said uncertainly.
Cole didn’t bother pointing out that she hardly fit the profile of a true lady. “Female prisoners are especially vulnerable to questioning. There are so many more ways to hurt them.” With his lie falling easily from his mouth, he grabbed her wrists and pulled them up over her head, shackling both of hers in one of his, leaving his other hand free to caress her neck purposefully. “Give me a reason to not hurt you.”
She gasped. If Vivian truly ever knew him, she would never believe him capable of causing harm to a woman, despite his deadly tone and expression. Thankfully, she believed his empty threat.
Pale and trembling, Vivian visibly swallowed. “What … what do you want to know?”
“Who paid you to coerce us into a duel?”
She shook her head once, her breathing ragged. “I don’t know his name.”
Cole put his hand around her throat, not squeezing, but resting it there to make sure she understood the warning. Her eyes dilated in terror and Cole felt like a beast threatening a woman in this manner, but he remained focused.
“I don’t, I swear! He handed me hundred quid and promised me a fortune if I’d help him humiliate Armand.”
“And you decided the best humiliation was for us to duel?”
“He told me to do it. Said you were the best shot in London and to make sure you dueled.”
Cole’s practiced shields kept his gaze steady when he wanted to cringe. He needed her to believe he was the worst kind of scoundrel, capable of anything. He applied a little more pressure to her throat. “You asked me to meet you at the park that afternoon. You wanted me to ‘catch’ you together.”
“It seemed the best way. You won’t tell my husband, will you? He has such a terrible temper.” Tears shimmered in her eyes and Cole began to believe she actually understood her peril rather than using tears as just another feminine ploy.
“That depends. How can I contact this man who paid you?”
“I don’t know. We met outside the opera house and he handed me the rest of the money after the duel. I never saw him again.”
Swearing, he pushed away from Vivian’s body and paced.
Vivian visibly relaxed now that he had released her, but still watched his face with wary eyes. “I vow, that’s all I know.”
He swung back to her. “Describe him.”
She flinched as if she expected him to hit her. “Very ordinary-looking, middle-aged, balding, gold rimmed glasses. His suit was not a gentleman’s cut.”
That could describe half the bourgeois in London. Cole reined in his frustration and lowered his voice to a deadly tone. “I will say nothing about your involvement to your husband…yet. If I discover that you’ve lied to me, or withheld any information that could help me, I’ll be back to inform your husband, ruin your reputation, and,” he grinned wickedly, “have my own kind of revenge on you.”
She paled further and clutched at the wall. “I’ve told you all I know.”
With all the ruthlessness of a pirate, Cole traced his finger down the side of her face. “I actually hope you’ll prove to be a liar. I truly want to make you suffer.”
White with fear, she merely stared at him.
Cole bowed with exaggerated formality and left. Outside, he swore again as he climbed into his curricle. His tiger fixed him with a wide, toothy grin, not the least intimidated by Cole’s mood. Cole winked at the boy before taking the ribbons and tried to calm the anger coursing through him. Grateful she hadn’t called his bluff, but fuming that he still had not learned enough, he drove through the streets of London.
At least he knew his duel with Armand had indeed been arranged. But he still did not know if Vivian’s employer believed Cole would kill Armand instead of, as she said, merely humiliate him. Nor did he know if the murderer went back and finished the job later, making it look as though Armand had died of an opium addiction.
Cole arrived in front of the town house the Palmer family rented during their stay in London, handed the ribbons to his tiger, and climbed out. A footman open
ed the door.
Cole swept off his hat. “Good afternoon, my good man. Were you here when the Palmer family let this house two Seasons ago?”
The footman eyed him suspiciously. “No, sir, I was not.”
“It’s very important that I speak with someone who was here then.” He painted on his most disarming smile so many found irresistible and handed him his calling card.
The footman read the name, eyed his attire, and appeared to consider.
Cole reached into his pocket and passed some coin to him. “I’d be most grateful.”
The footman glanced around as if to determine there were no witnesses and snatched the money. After tucking it away, he opened the door to admit Cole and showed him into a small front parlor tastefully decorated in restful blue. “Wait here, my lord.”
He disappeared, and Cole waited for several minutes. Noise from the streets as people passed mingled with voices within the house. He stood looking at a surprisingly well done watercolor. He smiled as he recognized the style and felt his grin widen as he read the artist’s signature. Christian Amesbury. His youngest brother. The pup had developed remarkable skill the last few years. He turned at the sound of footsteps.
A vaguely familiar-looking older man approached. He walked slightly stooped as if his rheumatism had been acting up. “I am the head butler. You wished to speak with me, my lord?”
“Yes, thank you. I am sure your many duties require much of your time.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Were you here when this house was let by the Palmers two Seasons past?”
“Yes, I was, my lord. The mister and missus were here, with their son and daughter, and a cousin, I think it was. Delightful family. The daughter was here for her first Season. They left after the Season, but the two young gentlemen remained.” His face clouded. “The son died later that summer.”
“Yes, he was shot. But only in the arm.”
“Odd, that. The wound did not appear to be life-threatening; just a graze. Yet he developed a fever. The doctor bled him and did everything he could, but his arm sickened and had to be amputated. Tragic thing to happen to anyone, but especially one so young. I heard he died only a few months later.”
