Dancing With A Devil

by Julie Johnstone

  “What about his coach?”

  Audrey’s nose wrinkled and she gazed thoughtfully for a second. “It had no emblem I knew on it.”

  He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “What did the emblem on the coach look like?”

  Her brow furrowed together and then she took a quick breath. “I don’t recall.”

  He pressed forward, recognizing her lie the moment it left her lips. “Perchance a snake swirled around some coins?”

  Her face drew closed like a shudder. “How utterly ridiculous. No one has an emblem like that.”

  Nash Wolverton did and he prided himself on always personally collecting the money men deep in debt owed him. Wolverton always did it in his carriage embossed with a snake and coins. The club owner thought it rather funny to poke fun of the way those in the ton had their emblems on their carriages. Trent’s simmering anger became a scalding fury. “Did you question your brother?”

  “Not last night.”

  The mild unease of earlier exploded. Trent grasped her by the hand. “When, then? This morning? This afternoon? Tonight before you came here?”

  She shook her head, mutiny shining from her eyes like sharp daggers. “When I awoke this morning he was gone along with all of his personal belongings.”

  “God damn your coward brother to hell.”

  “How dare you!” She wrenched free of him and glared. “He’ll come back. I know him. He’s scared and embarrassed by what he’s done to you.”

  Trent scrubbed a hand over his face. Fighting wouldn’t help her. What would? He scanned through ideas and seized on one. “You need a husband―a protector. Even if your brother does come back he isn’t fit to watch over you.”

  The look of disdain she gave him skewered him. She tossed her hair over her shoulders, her back straightening and her chin rising. “Did you have someone in mind?”

  “Me.” Where the hell had that come from? Hadn’t he put that possibility to rest?

  Audrey’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “You.”

  If words could slap, that one was a zinger. He flinched. “I’m partially responsible for the position you find yourself in, so yes, me―if I’m available.” He wiped a hand across his damp brow. “I’ll go to France and find out one way or the other if my wife is really alive, and if she’s not, we’ll marry as I told you I’d been planning to suggest before. That is, if you are not already betrothed.” He forced himself to say the last sentence. He did not want to take the possibility away from her, as much as it rankled him to leave the chance there.

  Obvious contempt contorted her face before she poked him in the chest. “I don’t care if you’re married or not. I wouldn’t have you if…if”―she slapped her palm against his chest with a huff―“if you were the last man on earth and I was being threatened with death.”

  Trent forced a wry smile to his face, though coldness had set in to every inch of his body. “Careful, my dear, your flattery may go to my head.”

  “Flattery!” She grunted. “I could say the same to you for your sweet proposal. I will marry for love and then to only a man who loves me. There will be scores of them tripping over themselves to adore me the rest of my life. Do you hear me?”

  “How can I not? You’re screaming.” Self-preservation had taken over his tongue. He should soothe her, but his pride demanded he defend himself. Obviously, he’d hurt her, but he hadn’t meant to. He’d meant to make things right, if he could, but she was being unreasonable, demanding more than he could give, and damn it all, he wouldn’t lie to appease her.

  A warning cloud settled on her angry features.

  “Audrey,” he cautioned. “Don’t even think of slapping me again.”

  She eyed his cheek for a moment, and he could practically see her mind turning and judging. She stiffened and drew her shoulders back. “You.” The word was accusatory. “You bring out the worst in me. I’ve never slapped a soul in my life before you. You make me forget myself.”

  He knew the feeling. She did the same to him. “What do you want me to say?”

  “You’re quite incapable of saying what I wanted to hear,” she snapped. She turned away, her skirts swishing in the room as her footsteps hurried across the wooden floor and out the door.

  “Audrey!” He stumbled out of bed, started toward the door and stopped when the draft hit his bare skin. “Damnation!” he yelled and scanned the room for his clothes. “Pickering, stop her,” he shouted as he stumbled toward his wardrobe, not caring if he woke the whole household. Bloody likely his imposing guests had probably all scattered to hide the minute Audrey flung open the door. He grabbed a shirt and pair of breeches out of his wardrobe and struggled into the trousers first. As he gritted his teeth and forced his arm into the shirt, his door swung in with a bang.

  Trent gaped at Whitney as she stood in the doorway, hands on her hips and eyes narrowed. “What’s this nonsense about you being married?”

  He ignored her question and tugged his shirt into place. “Move. I need to speak to Audrey before she leaves.”

  Whitney blocked his way, unless he chose to bodily move her.

  He was considering it when she said, “Audrey’s gone. She ran out the door and scrambled into her carriage like the devil himself was after her. I do believe her parting words for you were never to contact her again and that you could read about her in the Society paper when her wedding was announced. Sin,” Whitney huffed, “what have you done?”

  “What haven’t I done?” He moved to his bed and sat.

  Within seconds, Whitney was beside him and took his hand. “Tell me.”

  He wanted to. He suspected he could use a feminine perspective. Trent considered for a moment before speaking. He trusted Whitney. “I can’t tell you everything.”

  She nodded, wise and aware as always. “I assumed you could only say so much based on your rather cryptic answers when questioned previously about your time spent in France. Say―” Her lips pressed together for a moment, then she quirked her mouth. “Does this mean that story you told me so long ago about the woman you loved killing herself because you tried to protect her by leaving her was untrue?”

  He stared at her, unsure how much he could admit without giving away too many clues of who he’d been and what he’d done to help Prinny get his messages safely to and from the men guarding Napoleon.

  Whitney’s eyes searched his. “You do remember, don’t you? The one you told me to convince me to confront Drake and tell him I loved him instead of continuing to try and push him away?”

  Trent tugged a self-conscious hand through his hair and held his cousin’s earnest gaze. “It wasn’t true. I was trying to show you how lying could destroy love, so I made the story up. I’m sorry.”

  “How would you know how lying can destroy love if you’ve never been in love?”

  “I didn’t say I’d never been in love.”

  “Ah, so we are finally at the heart of the problem.”

  “We are?” He hadn’t realized they were trying to get to the heart of his problems. His cousin was for too astute for her good or his.

  “Indeed.” She nodded. “You loved your secret wife, but she didn’t love you.”

  “Good God, you’re blunt.” And correct. Damn if the truth didn’t still smart after all the time that had passed. “I loved my wife and she used me.”

  “How?”

  “I can’t say.” Damnation. He sounded like Audrey moments ago when he had questioned her.

  “Cannot or won’t?”

  This was ridiculous. It was as if Whitney had taken his role and he was playing at Audrey’s evasive one. “Does it matter?” He balled his hands into fists. He wanted his cousin to understand. Someone needed to understand. He didn’t want all the women he knew thinking the worst of him. “My wife needed something I had, and to get it, she knew she had to gain my love.” He laughed bitterly. “Do you know, thinking back, I do believe she didn’t foresee my asking her to marry me. It was never part of her plan.”

/>   “No?” Whitney whispered and squeezed his arm comfortingly. “Was she cruel to you?”

  His chest tightened unmercifully. Would Whitney consider it cruel that his wife delivered him to the French, knowing they had no qualms about torturing him to the death to get him to decode the message from Prinny to his men guarding Napoleon? Yes, his cousin would. Despite her previous adventure with running away, she’d mostly lived a sheltered life. He clasped her hand. “She has a black heart, but it’s been charred by the circumstances she was brought up in, I do believe.”

  Whitney placed her other hand over their clasped ones. “Listening to you, I wouldn’t think you would ever have wanted to marry again, yet I couldn’t help but overhear you tell Audrey you would come back and marry her if your wife is not alive. Why do you think you would offer such a thing?”

  Because he cared for her. Admired her. Wanted her and if she had to accept a marriage that was not for love as she desired, then by damn he wanted it to be him to marry her if it could be. No longer wishing to discuss his life or feelings, he said, “My, but you have good hearing. Was your ear pressed firmly to the door?”

  Her cheeks pinked instantly. “Don’t try to circumvent the inquiry.”

  His cousin’s hawk like attention to getting answers would have impressed him at any other time but this one. Now he was annoyed. “I’d like you to stay out of my business,” he said pointedly, deciding he definitely no longer wanted another feminine perspective. One angry perspective from Audrey was quite enough.

  Whitney smiled. “Like you stayed out of mine?”

  He clenched his jaw. “You were mucking things up with Sutherland. I had to intervene.”

  “Yes, I know you did. But if you’ll remember, I specifically told you not to, yet you plotted, lied and pushed Drake and me into each other’s company.”

  “It’s not the same,” Trent snapped. “You loved Sutherland. You admitted it.”

  “True.” She smirked at him. “I’m a woman; therefore I’m smart enough not to try to deny my true feelings.”

  This was more than uncomfortable. His cousin was poking where he did not even wish to look himself. “Audrey hates me,” Trent said, simply wanting Whitney to quit asking him questions about himself.

  “She hates the things you’ve said to her. Don’t men hear anything properly?”

  Trent started to respond, then stopped. “What does any of this matter? If you were really listening, then you know I may very well be married to someone else.”

  “Yes, yes. I heard. Will get to that situation in a moment. You still have failed to explain to me why you offered for Audrey just now.”

  “Honor. Plain and simple.” Now maybe his cousin would leave him alone.

  Whitney quirked an eyebrow. “Do you really believe that nonsense?”

  His cousin’s superior attitude was really grating on his nerves. “It’s true.”

  “You love Audrey,” Whitney said matter-of-factly.

  “No. Certainly, I care for her, amongst other feelings, which is why I was going to offer for her in the first place.” He rolled his neck to loosen his tightening muscles, then looked at his cousin. “I think Audrey’s smart, witty and beautiful.”

  Whitney regarded him for a moment while nibbling on her lip. “I could not hear as well as I wanted at the door.” Whitney blushed a bit at her confession. “Did you tell her all of that?”

  “No. I told her I was partially responsible for the position she now finds herself in and―”

  Whitney’s snort stretched Trent’s patience to the snapping point. “I’ve had enough of answering your questions. I never liked when I was a schoolboy and someone brought me to task and I like it even less now.”

  Whitney rolled her eyes, then craned her body toward the door. “Gillian,” she called.

  Trent expected it to take a minute for his cousin to appear, but she stepped through the entrance seconds after being summoned. Could no one mind their own damn business? He took quick inventory of Gillian. She still wore the gown she’d had on before she’d claimed she was off to bed. Eavesdroppers and meddlers, the lot of them. She’d probably been huddled outside the door this entire time. Behind Gillian a sheepish-looking Sutherland strolled into the room. At least one person in this household had the wherewithal to look as if they were embarrassed for how they were acting.

  Sutherland shrugged. “Sorry, Davenport. I told them we ought to stay out of your affairs.”

  Gillian nudged past Whitney’s husband and came to stand by Whitney. “I told you,” she said, looking directly at her sister.

  “Told you what?” Trent demanded, not liking the fact that his cousins were discussing him and his life as if he weren’t here. Their plotting and scheming would invariably wreak havoc for him.

  Whitney sighed. “She told me you were just like all other men, but I defended you. I argued that certainly you were not a blooming idiot as most men are when it comes to matters of the heart.”

  “Now see here,” Sutherland protested.

  “Sorry, darling.” Whitney blew Sutherland a kiss. “You’re an exception now. Not before we were married, though.”

  “Enough,” Trent snapped. “I need sleep.”

  Whitney shook her head. “What you need is a smack on your wounded arm to get your attention. How is it you failed to mention to us in all the time you’ve been home that you were, or rather possibly still are, married?”

  Gillian sat close to his other side. Trent felt caged. Two females who cared for your welfare could be infinitely more dangerous than a hundred who didn’t.

  Gillian touched his arm. “Can you tell us why it is you don’t know for certain if you’re married still? Was this the reason you didn’t say anything about the marriage in the first place?”

  “Yes and no.” He refused to say more. The sharing had become ridiculous and relentless.

  Gillian’s brows puckered together. “Which is which?”

  Damn it all. He needed peace. And time to think. Or maybe not, as the only thought in his head was for Audrey. That couldn’t be good. He focused on his cousins. “I didn’t mention my marriage because I bloody well didn’t want to. And I thought my wife was dead. Now it seems she’s miraculously resurrected.”

  “How can that be?” Whitney demanded.

  How, indeed. Hadn’t he asked himself that same question, but for different reasons. How come he’d been blind and stupid? He took a breath. “I cannot tell you much. Suffice to say I had very good reason to think she was dead. I’m ashamed to admit her loss didn’t sadden me.”

  “Trent,” Whitney whispered.

  “I know. I feel the weight of my words even as I sit here, but the guilt doesn’t make them less true.”

  “What an unexpected and odd situation,” Whitney said, her voice raising a hitch.

  “Exactly,” he replied. It was like old times. Say something but nothing at all. Sometimes he thought he missed being a spy, but now he was positive he didn’t. The life had been exhausting. Never making connections or contacts. Never growing close. Never allowing anyone to truly know you. Maybe that had been the problem? He and Gwyneth had never really known each other. He discerned more about Audrey than he ever had about Gwyneth, and despite the fact that Audrey didn’t realize he had been a spy, she comprehended more about him, his likes and dislikes, than Gwyneth ever had. The realization sent an ache through his chest.

  Gillian nudged him. “What else will you say?”

  “Not much.” It was as if he were back in prison, but without the beatings. He frowned, trying to recall if since becoming a spy he’d had a conversation with his family where he uttered more than two nondescript words about his past. No, he didn’t think he had.

  She gave him a faint smile. “Will you say for example what your wife did to make you hate her so?”

  “No,” he replied as he caught Whitney’s gaze.

  Gillian glowered. “Will you explain at another time?”

  “Certainly not.�
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  Whitney leaned closer. “Will you tell us anything?”

  “Yes.” He jostled them both so that they almost fell off their perch on the bed. Across the room, Sutherland chuckled and Trent shot him a grateful smile. “I’m tired and I wish to go to bed.

  “How can you sleep at a time like this?” both women cried as one.

  “A time like what?” he demanded, his irritation getting the better of his self-control.

  “Trent Loxley Rutherford,” Whitney huffed, reminding him exactly of how his mother spoke to him when she was angry with him. Even now at four and thirty. It was ridiculous. Truly.

  “Yes?” He struggled to regain his cool and manage an even and calm tone.

  “How can you retire knowing you’ve ruined Audrey’s life?”

  Every muscle in his body tensed at Whitney’s accusation. “She told me in no uncertain terms she would have scores of suitors lined up to marry her who worshipped and loved her.” The moment the words left his mouth, his jaw dropped open. She had hurt him with that comment, and he hadn’t even known it until this second. That she already had the ability to wound him bothered him. If they did marry, he would have to be vigilant in guarding against weakness.

  Whitney’s eyes rounded with sympathy and her hand came to rest gently on his arm. “What do you plan to do now?”

  The tension in his shoulders unknotted at the easier question. “As soon as I recover I plan to go to France and learn the truth of my wife.”

  Whitney nodded. “That’s exactly what I’d do.”

  “I’m so glad you approve.” What if Gwyneth wasn’t alive? What if Audrey was still not betrothed when he came home and he could convince her a marriage of convenience would truly be best for her? Even now, surrounded by his cousins, he could feel Audrey’s soft skin under his fingertips, smell the honeysuckle scent that lingered on her and hear her tinkling laughter that warmed his heart.

  He blinked and realized Whitney was staring steadily at him, her annoyance obvious in the way she tried unsuccessfully not to frown. “It’s awful to say this, but I too hope you no longer have a wife.”