Dancing With A Devil

by Julie Johnstone

  “I see,” she managed to choke out before turning swiftly away. She’d rather he did not see the stark fear surely displayed on her face. Panic rioted within her and threatened to steal her self-control. No matter how Trent had hurt her, she had to see him, but now, more so than before, Richard would not allow it. Even if there wasn’t her brother to consider, it wasn’t as if she could appear unannounced as she’d done last night. No doubt Trent’s family was there tending to him. Maybe she could get a note to Whitney and find out what was happening? Perhaps Whitney could help her? They’d always been there for each other in the past.

  Behind her, Lord Thortonberry cleared his throat.

  “Are you very distraught for Lord Davenport?”

  She made herself turn to face him and forced a scoff between her cold lips. “I’m no more distraught for him than I’d be for anyone possibly on death’s door. Do not mistake my feelings. I decided after the theater that we would not suit.”

  It occurred to her that Richard might have told Lord Thortonberry about Father finding her on the terrace kissing Trent. She held her breath and waited for what he would say.

  “That’s good.” He smiled. “I didn’t believe for one minute you’d fall under the spell of a man like Lord Davenport.”

  She pressed her fingertips to her aching head. “A man like Lord Davenport?”

  “Well, yes.” He shrugged. “I do not care for gossip, but perhaps you should know some people say he is a rather frequent visitor of the more notorious hellfire clubs.”

  Her heart flipped in her chest. From her time spent scheming with Whitney, she had inadvertently learned many secrets about Trent, so she had known he had been a visitor of the clubs, but she had assumed he had stopped frequenting them. She bit her lip hard. More truthfully, she had assumed he had stopped visiting them, because he was enamored of her. A new well of hurt trickled within her.

  “I see. Well, it’s a good thing I no longer desire his attention, then.” Had her voice wobbled? She thought it had, but she had done the best she could. She shoved her hurt aside. No matter what Trent had or had not done, if he was dying, she had to see him. The fact was even though he had wounded her so that she felt the ache of the pain with every breath she took, she couldn’t instantly make the love she had for him go away. Pressing her lips together as she’d often seen the matrons at the balls do, she sighed and then said, “I really have to go in and start preparing the house and myself for the mourning period.” That was the nicest way she could think to tell him, without actually saying it aloud, to go home.

  He nodded. “I’ll be looking forward to seeing you out and about once your mourning period is over.”

  “Yes, of course,” she mumbled, her mind on how she was going to see Trent and not on Lord Thortonberry at all.

  Trent awoke with a start to candles flickering in the darkness. He attempted to sit up and intense pain shot through his right arm. Groaning, he squeezed his eyes shut and fell back to the bed. The creaking of an opening door filled the room, followed by shoes tapping against the wood.

  “Pickering, I need a drink.”

  Two sighs floated in the silence, trailed by a definite feminine tsk. The maid perhaps? His damp sheets did need changing. Still, he was in no mood to oblige anyone right now. “Go away and come back when I call for you,” he growled.

  “We’ll not,” came his cousin Whitney’s reply. Damnation. He opened his eyes and his two nosy, albeit well-meaning, cousins were walking toward him.

  He gave Gillian a wink to let her know in no uncertain terms that she could quit worrying he was going to die, which clearly she had been doing since her face was drawn tight. Then he cocked an eyebrow at Whitney, who looked amused rather than concerned. He tugged the dangerously low sheets up over his naked torso. He’d rather not shock his cousins any more than he’d likely already done. They could only be pushed so far before they’d go running to his mother and then there’d be the devil to pay. “Either I’m dead or in hell.”

  Whitney smirked. “Why hell?”

  “Simple,” he said. “I’ve always said I’m a firm believer that hell is where your worst nightmares come true.”

  Gillian’s hands came to her hips. “And having two people that love you at your bedside when you awake from participating in a colossally stupid duel is one of your worst nightmares?”

  A bark of masculine laughter erupted from the doorway. Trent squinted toward the entranceway at Sutherland. “What the devil are you wearing?”

  Sutherland tipped the odd rounded hat on his head. “It’s American fashion.”

  “You’d do well to remember you live in England now,” Trent jokingly reminded his friend while shoving all the way into a sitting position. He clenched his teeth against the pain of his wounded arm. If he was going to be bombarded with relatives telling him what he should have and should not have done and what he should now do, he wanted to be sitting up.

  Whitney moved silently behind him, placed a quilt around his shoulders and patted his back. “Lean forward.”

  He did so without question. She was the one person in the room he’d allow to order him about somewhat, but only because she was likely the only one here who wouldn’t presume to tell him what a fool he’d been or demand answers to questions about his past. Whitney pulled the bunched blanket down his back and arranged a mound of pillows behind him before gently pushing him against them. “All better?”

  “Yes.” He gave her a wink and then said sternly, “You can all go home now.”

  She frowned but didn’t budge. Trent slanted his gaze at Gillian. She shook her head at him as she settled herself at the foot of his bed. “You’re being rude,” Gillian said, smoothing a hand over his wrinkled bedcovers.

  “Oh, pardon me,” he said grumpily. “I’d like to see how you’d act if you’d been shot. So come, tell me, how did you know? Did Dinnisfree tell you?”

  Whitney tsked at him as she reached back and grasped her husband Drake’s hand. Drake shook his head at Trent. “Dinnisfree didn’t alert us to your duel or the fact that you were shot.”

  Trent’s three uninvited guests exchanged a glance, no one offering up the unknown informant. Someone on his staff perhaps? They wouldn’t dare defy his direct order not to contact his family in the event he came back wounded from the duel. Well, that is, none of them but Pickering. Pickering just might have had the bollocks to do it if the man had been worried Trent was going to die. But he’d only been shot this morning. Hadn’t he? “How long have I been unconscious?”

  “Two days,” Whitney immediately provided.

  “Pickering,” Trent muttered while reeling from the news that he’d been out for two days. He must have had a bloody awful fever. A quick glance around the room confirmed the fact. Washbasins and rags littered his bedchambers. The window was cracked to allow fresh air, even though the air was chilled. Still… “When did Pickering contact you?” For Pickering’s sake, the man better not have gotten in touch with them before today. Trent could forgive Pickering if his butler had truly thought Trent might die, but not if the man simply didn’t want to be bothered to care for him.

  “It wasn’t Pickering,” Whitney said and ran a hand over Trent’s forehead. “Your fever is gone.” She twisted toward her husband. “Drake, darling, will you close the window? I don’t want Sin to catch a chill.”

  “A chill might do him good,” Sutherland said. “He seems in a rather hot mood to me.”

  Trent glared at Sutherland while pushing Whitney’s hand off his forehead. “Enough avoiding my question. If not Dinnisfree and not Pickering, who the hell told you about the duel and the fact that I’d been shot?”

  “I did.”

  Trent’s chest tightened with recognition. Audrey strolled into the room, dressed head to toe in foreboding black with her hair swept off her delicate face. His chest squeezed further and an undeniable surge of happiness swept through him, followed by a spasm of tension.

  “What are you doing here?” he
snapped, wincing at the way he sounded. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see her. He did, which was part of the problem. “Jesus Christ,” he roared, both his cousins jerking at once from their perch on the bed to their feet. He didn’t care that he sounded harsh. There was much more at stake than the women’s sensibilities. “Am I the only one with sense enough to know she shouldn’t be here? Her reputation must be preserved at all cost.”

  Whitney stared at him with eyes shrewder than any spy he’d ever faced. He got the uncomfortable feeling she was trying to understand him. He didn’t want to be understood by her or anyone else. Hell, he didn’t even comprehend himself. Seeing Audrey here, knowing she willingly risked her reputation to see him, made that strange tugging on his heart occur again. As he looked at her he wished he had never learned Gwyneth might be alive. He loathed the longing for Audrey. It made him weak. It made him wish for things that would never be. “Get out.” He didn’t like the faint tremor in his voice, as if some emotion had touched him. He couldn’t afford sentiments.

  The room grew uncomfortably quiet. Why wasn’t anyone leaving? He glanced around at his cousins and Drake and realized they were all staring at Audrey. “I didn’t mean Audrey,” he said, their honest misinterpretation of his harsh command belatedly dawning on him. “You, you and you”―he pointed in turn to everyone but Audrey―“out. I need a moment to speak in private with Lady Audrey.”

  Gillian opened her mouth as if to protest, but Whitney―God love his unconventional-to-the-core cousin―linked her arm with her sister’s and tugged. “Gillian and I were just about to retire for the evening.” When it appeared as if Gillian might protest, Whitney leveled her with an intense glare that made Trent smile. She’d learned that look from him.

  “Well, I suppose if my wife is retiring for the night,” Sutherland said, nodding toward Whitney, “I should retire as well, unless of course, you need me, Rutherford, to help you get to the chamber pot or wherever else your weakened body won’t take you on your own accord.”

  “My body is not so weak I can’t get out of bed and use my good arm to plant my fist in your face,” Trent replied, reminding Sutherland of the last time they had crossed each other and the black eye Sutherland had received in the process.

  Sutherland grinned. “That’s the spirit, Davenport. Good to know you’re back from the dead.”

  He was back all right. Now what to do about his less than cheery future? He waited in silence and tried to keep his gaze off Audrey, so he wouldn’t give her the wrong impression. It wouldn’t do either of them any good for her to think there could be anything between them. Once the door closed, he caught Audrey staring at him.

  Whatever happened, he would not touch her. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips and his loins tightened. “Come closer so we can talk without shouting.” Had he just said that?

  She shook her head. “I’m perfectly fine over here.”

  He’d never liked being foiled, whether it was for his own good or not. “Talking too loud might strain me.” Was that really a concern? By damn, he had to be stronger than this when it came to her.

  She walked near his bed and hesitated by the side. He motioned toward the bed. “Sit, please.” And as if that wasn’t stupid enough of him, he touched her invitingly curvaceous hip as she sat. Only to position her, so she’d be comfortable, of course. Bloody hell. Of course not. His fingers burned with the contact to her flesh. When Audrey shivered, he snatched his hand away.

  The desire to bed her was so strong his blood surged in his veins. He would not touch her again, yet he felt a pull to her that was incredibly hard to resist. It was as if his need for her was a separate part of him with a mind and a plan of its own. He had to master his weakness. Clearing his throat, he affected a neutral tone. “Why are you here further risking your reputation to see me?”

  “I―” She dropped her gaze to the floor. “I felt responsible for your being shot since I asked you not to shoot my brother. I had to know you would be okay,” she said, her voice tight with emotion. When she looked up her face was smooth, her eyes neutral, yet her arms were crossed protectively over her chest. The only person for her to guard herself against in this room was him.

  Pain that had nothing to do with his injury ripped through his chest. This was the perfect opportunity effectively to cut all ties between them. He could thank her for her concern and send her on her way back home where she belonged. He hadn’t intended to open up another discussion about them, but a deep curiosity to know exactly how she did feel about him gnawed relentlessly in his head. It changed nothing, of course, but he had to know. If she had wanted his love, did she love him? “There’s no other reason you came here? Say, for instance, because you care for me and whether I live or die, despite whatever guilt my death might have caused you?”

  The heavy lashes that shadowed her cheeks flew up. “Of course I―” She halted her words with a jerk, but she failed to disguise her emotions. Her green eyes burned bright. Trent’s breath snagged in his throat as he glimpsed longing, love, desire and desperation flitting across her gaze. She blinked and the emotions were gone.

  Had he imagined feelings that weren’t truly there? Was he such a cad that he wanted this woman to yearn for him, even though they couldn’t be together? An enigmatic smile graced her lips. “I care for you, as past good friends will always care for each other.”

  Well, that certainly answered his question. Still, something niggled. “How did you slip away from your brother again? It seems he’s doing an incredibly poor job watching over you.”

  She bit her lip and, standing, cast her gaze toward the door. “Father’s death has been incredibly hard for Richard, not to mention the guilt he now feels for shooting you dishonorably.”

  “So he’s in his cups?” The addlepated man deserved to be lynched for shooting him after he’d deloped, but for Audrey’s sake Trent hoped her brother pulled himself together, and quickly.

  She fiddled with her dress. “I believe so.”

  Trent frowned. Something wasn’t right. It wasn’t like Audrey to give cryptic answers or not look at him or anyone else in the face when she was speaking. She wasn’t a wallflower. Quite the opposite. He grabbed her arm and pulled her back down to his side, forgetting his decision not to touch her. “What’s afoot, Audrey?”

  When she stubbornly held her silence, he increased his grip. His heart beat with worry for her. “I won’t let you leave here until you tell me exactly what’s happening with your brother.”

  “Then we will be here all night,” she snapped and pressed her hands against his chest. “Let me go.”

  It hurt his arm like hell but he held her tight, not letting her budge an inch away from him. He drew her nearer to his side, every beautiful streak of gold in her green eyes shining back at him defiantly. He studied her. The way her black lashes curled up against her creamy eyelids and the perfect slope of her pert nose made her appear delicate yet she was anything but. He wanted her with an intensity that pounded him to the core. Struggling to bring his thoughts away from his lust and to her precarious position, he said, “What is your brother doing?”

  “I really couldn’t say.” She wiggled and grunted with no effect except that he thought her incredibly beautiful. Likely, that would not please her to hear.

  “Where is he at this moment?” Her honeysuckle scent tickled his nose and did nothing to help cool his desire.

  “Here. There. As I already told you, I really can’t say,” she answered flippantly.

  “Can’t or won’t say?”

  “Does it matter?” She moved restlessly in his arms and glared at him when he increased his hold.

  “It matters to me.” An awful suspicion filled his mind. “Which is it?”

  A deep shuddering sigh came from her and her body went from still to slack as her soft chest pressed against his. “I don’t wish to say that I can’t say.”

  God, she was confusing. She’d have made a wonderful spy. She could have talked a thousand cir
cles around Gwyneth, who’d been the smartest woman he’d ever encountered before he met Audrey. “Do you or do you not know where your brother is?”

  “Not. At this moment.”

  “When was the last time you did know where your brother was?”

  She took a long, deep breath. “Late last night when I came home from seeing you―”

  “You were here last night?”

  She nodded.

  Jesus. She’d not risked her reputation only tonight, but last night as well. It was mindboggling how little care she took for herself and her future. The truth slammed him in the chest like a log. He grunted and released her at once, so that she almost fell off the bed. Immediately, she shoved to her feet. From the day he’d tried to seduce her in the Duchess of Primwitty’s bedroom, to the stolen kisses at the picnic and on the terrace, all the way to this moment where he’d hauled her on the bed beside him, he’d taken no more care for her future than she. One of them had to be levelheaded. “You were saying.” It took all the will he possessed to sound calm.

  “I hired a hackney to bring me here last night, because my brother had taken the coach. When the hackney dropped me at my home I had him leave me at the end of the drive so as not to be discovered in case Richard had returned home.” She said this as if it were an everyday occurrence that a lady go gallivanting around at night in hired hackneys to visit a possibly still-married man.

  “Of course,” he said through clenched teeth. “What else could you do but sneak?”

  “Exactly.” She gave a perfunctory nod. “I came upon my brother outside of the house arguing with a man.”

  Alarm shot through Trent. “Who was the man?”

  She shrugged. “I didn’t recognize him.”