Enchanted by Your Kisses

by Pamela Britton

  "Your guest will be treated as she deserves."

  "That is not good enough, uncle." Nathan turned to her, his silver eyes blazing. "Come, Ariel," he repeated.

  "If you leave, I will disown you."

  Nathan turned back once again. "If you do that, you will be doing me a favor."

  Ariel wondered if he really meant the words. He was a remarkably good actor if he didn't. They moved toward the door. Nathan held the door open. He didn't look back as he placed her hand on his arm or as he crossed the threshold. Not until he'd handed her into the ducal carriage, then settled himself opposite, did he say something, and then it was to absolve himself from guilt.

  "You know I had nothing to do with what just transpired."

  The carriage lantern outside the coach lit the interior of the plush vehicle, showing off its red velvet squabs, brass door handles and mahogany walls. It smelled like lemons inside, as if someone had just cleaned it. Rich. Decadent. One day to belong to the traitorous wretch in front of her.

  "You do, don't you?"

  At last she looked at his face. He appeared concerned. She gave a silent, ironic laugh. Concerned. She would wager he was. And, yes, she knew he spoke the truth. He would never have risked angering her by arranging such a performance.

  "His words were beyond deplorable. They were despicable."

  As despicable as his own? she wanted to ask. Instead she remained silent, her hands curled into her elegant skirts. All dressed up with nowhere to go.

  She felt her eyes burn with unwanted tears.

  "I am sorry, Ariel."

  "Are you?" She used a clipped voice. He would say something sweet, she would wager, something geared to softening her pique.

  He surprised her when he said nothing at all, merely leaned across the space between them to grab her hand. She was surprised by how much she wanted the contact, nay, needed the contact, despite her loathing for the man.

  She tried to pull her hand away. He wouldn't let her, despite the fact that she grew more and more disturbed by the way her traitorous body reacted to his touch. He looked out of the carriage, his expression troubled. Aye, he probably worried she would refuse to see him again. He had a right to be concerned.

  She studied his profile. His scar was evident, even though he sat across from her. And out of nowhere came the thought: Why, oh, why did he have to be such a lying cad? And why, oh, why did she care? She turned away lest he see the disappointment that surely shone from her eyes.

  "They have not been very kind to you, have they?"

  She glanced back at him, surprised to note he was back to staring at her. Yet for the first time his look seemed almost sad. Her eyes narrowed, wondering if this, too, was part of the act.

  "If by ‘they' you mean the ton, then, yes, it has been less than kind to me."

  "Has it always been this way?"

  "What do you mean?"

  He looked uncomfortable for a second, almost as if he did battle with himself over something.

  "Is it always this way when a young lady is ruined?"

  "Yes. Always. I have overstepped the mark by coming back to London."

  "So you are expected to retire to the country for the rest of your life. . .never to marry, never to have children?"

  "I am."

  "Even if you were duped into being ruined?"

  "Ah, but they do not think I was duped. They think I had as much to do with Archie's behavior as he did. Blood tells, and all that rot." And despite her resolve not to cry, she felt more tears come. She turned her head away, staring out of the carriage. The night was so black she could see nothing but her own reflection, a pale face with shocking dark eyes.

  "You refer to your mother?"

  She tilted her chin before looking back at him. "You know about her, do you?"

  "My uncle," he explained.

  "Hmm. And what did your uncle say?"

  They bounced over a bump. It was a second before he answered. "He said that your father had fallen in love with a woman unsuitable to his station. A gypsy."

  "She was that." Ariel looked away, and much to her surprise, she found herself saying, "But my father was said to have loved her very much." More than he's ever loved me, she privately added.

  "And do you miss not having a mother?"

  Another bump. She reached up for the hand-strap with her free hand. "I miss not knowing what she was like. She died while giving birth to me, you see. And though my father tried his best to raise me, we do not get on." She frowned at herself for revealing too much. "It has not helped that I ruined myself at the tender age of eighteen."

  "You are not on good terms with your father, then?"

  Ah, was he concerned? He should be. "That would be an understatement," she found herself answering, yet at the same time wondering why she bothered to share so much. She should be directing the conversation elsewhere, perhaps to his life in the colonies. Perhaps she could glean a clue as to what it was he wanted in England.

  "Tell me why he has not forgiven you for your mistake," he said, when she dropped into silence.

  "Surely you don't want to hear my opinion on that?"

  "I do." He squeezed her hand from across the carriage. Ariel found herself momentarily taken in by his look of sincerity before she remembered who he was. A spy. A master spy. Someone so good at playing games, the Admiralty considered him one of the best spies in the American colony. No doubt she was merely his latest victim.

  "Can you not figure it out on your own?"

  If he seemed taken aback by her surly tone, he didn't reveal it. Instead he said, "He blames you for ruining the family name."

  "Indeed. My father does not suffer fools lightly, and I was the queen of fools." And never had she felt the truth of those words more.

  The lantern flickered as they turned a sharp corner. He hadn't released her hand, she noticed. She tried to tug it away. He wouldn't let her. They rounded another corner, and suddenly she found herself leaning toward him. She leaned the other way.

  "Did you believe yourself in love with him?"

  The pain of his question took her by surprise. Long ago she'd thought herself recovered from Archibald Worth.

  "Ariel?"

  "Yes," she snapped. "I did believe myself in love with him. I trusted him. He told me he loved me, but all he wanted to do was bed me. I was a challenge to him. An earl's daughter who happened to be half gypsy. And I had a dowry. Not as much as Lady Mary Carew, as it turned out, but I was a nice second in case Lady Mary did not come up to scratch. So you can see why my father is right to loathe me. I loathe myself for being such a fool. Never again will a man use me in such a way. Never."

  Nathan stared at her in mute surprise. He had the oddest sensation that she spoke directly to him. And perhaps she did. Perhaps she thought him after something, as this Lord Archibald had been.

  How right she was.

  And from nowhere a mass of guilt reared its ugly head.

  For the first time he found himself doubting the wisdom of his plan. Perhaps his doubts came from his hope that whoever had sent him the note last eve would come forward. Perhaps it was seeing the way she'd been treated by society over the past few days. When those same people found out she'd been used yet again, how much more hateful would their spite be?

  He didn't want to think about it. Instead for the first time since meeting her, he felt a genuine rush of sympathy for her plight. She might be of noble blood, but he suspected she was as different from most of England's ladies as light was from darkness.

  "Have I made you speechless, Mr. Trevain?"

  "Nathan. You should call me Nathan."

  Did he imagine it, or did her eyes narrow. Oh, yes, they narrowed. Obviously she mistrusted him. Damnation.

  "Very well, Nathan. Have I shocked you?"

  "No," he answered honestly. "I admire your candor."

  "Candor? Is that what you call it?"

  "Yes. Or honesty. Take your pick. Either way I appreciate your straightforward an
swers."

  Her nostrils were pinched. What was it that he'd said that had irritated her so?

  "I'm sure you do," she murmured. "Would that you were as honest with me."

  Once again he had the feeling that she suspected his duplicity. Her lids were narrowed in suspicion. Her sensuous lips were pressed into a firm line. Her right hand clenched in her lap even though she tried to shield it from his eyes.

  "Ariel, I am not trying to deceive you."

  He heard her release a huff of disbelief. "No?"

  And for the first time the lie stuck in his throat. Bloody hell, what had happened to him?

  He'd been taken in by a pair of lovely eyes. Eyes that reflected a deep-seated disappointment he'd never noticed before.

  "Damnation," he muttered, releasing her hand to wipe his own over his face. He looked away from her, out of the carriage, suddenly, unaccountably, feeling a scoundrel. "You don't believe me."

  "No, I do not."

  He looked back at her. There was such a look in her eyes. . .so much anger, so much hurt and so much bitterness that he found himself thinking something had changed in their relationship, something that had started last night.

  He straightened in his seat. She couldn't know of his scheme, could she?

  From nowhere came the notion that she had mentioned his code name yesterday, albeit in an offhand way. But had the mention been coincidence? Was it more than a coincidence that he received a note the very same day? Yet if she knew, why had he not been apprehended? Surely she would tell the War Department what she knew? Yet here he was. No, she couldn't know. She must merely be reacting to her treatment tonight. Obviously she thought he'd been in on it.

  "You look blue-deviled, Mr. Trevain."

  "Nathan," he corrected her automatically.

  "Nathan," she conceded.

  "I am."

  "And why is that?"

  "Because you do not trust me, and I am stymied as to how to prove I can be trusted."

  She stared at him intently, her eyes narrowed. Then she leaned toward him a bit. Her dress dipped down. He found his gaze dipping down with it. Her scent enveloped him. Elusive. Provocative. Enticing.

  "Have dinner with me tomorrow night," she shocked him by saying. "Alone. At my father's home. He is not in residence, and we shall be private there. You can prove you are trustworthy by sharing a simple meal with me and keeping your distance."

  What was this? He could hardly dare believe his ears. She invited him to her father's home? Dare he trust his good fortune? Excitement had his blood pumping. It was too good an opportunity to pass up.

  "Very well, I accept your challenge."

  She nodded. The carriage slowed. Much to his surprise he realized they were near her cousin's home. Seconds later he handed her down.

  "I shall see you tomorrow?" she asked.

  Lifting her hand to his lips, he smiled. "That you shall."

  She didn't smile at him in return, didn't even glance back at him as she turned away. He watched her go, wondering if she truly desired to test him or if there was another reason, a nefarious reason for her invitation.

  Could she know who he was? Once again, he found himself wondering, and he'd learned to trust when his instincts sent him a warning.

  Either way, by tomorrow night, he would have found out.

  7

  If Ariel had thought herself nervous the first time she'd confronted Nathan, knowing who he truly was, that was nothing compared to this night's excursion. She paced her father's salon. The musty smell of a house long closed up filtered into her nose. She hadn't wanted Trevain to bring her here, had needed the time alone to compose herself. But now she wished she had her cousin with her, even though she would have hated to involve Phoebe. No, this would be the last night to confront him. That she was settled upon.

  "My lady, he is here."

  One of the few members of the staff left behind to keep up the house stood by the salon door. "Very good. Show him in."

  The man nodded, turned.

  "Is everything ready?" she asked in a rush.

  The man turned back. "It is, my lady."

  "Very good. We shall eat at half-past the hour."

  Once again the servant turned, once again Ariel wanted to call him back with a question, but delaying the confrontation would serve no purpose.

  One last night, Ariel. 'Tis all you must endure.

  And she would do this. She could. Whatever Nathan wanted, it must involve this house and her father somehow. Why else would he befriend her? And if he was after documents, they must be documents he could not find on his own. She had no doubt that he was professional enough to have looked in the obvious places before selecting her to unwittingly help, though what he could be looking for she had no idea.

  "My lady."

  And there he was by the doorway, his broad shoulders covered by yet another black coat, his scar more pronounced tonight for some reason. The same black diamond winked from his stock, his leather shoes catching the glitter of the fire. His white stockings were stark against his black breeches.

  "Mr. Trevain. I'm glad you've come."

  He walked forward. Ariel felt her heart speed up with every step. "Are you?"

  He was flirting with her. Or was he? His silver eyes were intent, his look seeming to pierce her soul. What was it he sought in her eyes, she wondered.

  "I thought you might change your mind," he said, stopping before her.

  She stared up at him, at his tan, masculine face. Up into eyes that glittered as they stared down at her. "As you can see, I did not."

  He reached for her hand. Her breath caught. He lifted it, kissed it softly, then released it. She felt almost disappointed by the loss of contact.

  He stepped back from her, placing his hands behind his back, his gaze focusing on the room around them. "This is a very lovely home."

  "Thank you."

  "Perhaps you could give me a tour later?"

  She looked at him sharply. Her senses went on alert. "Of course." She gestured to the sideboard. "Would you like something to drink?"

  He seemed pleased by the suggestion. "Yes, I would, although I insist on pouring." He crossed to the sideboard, which held three bottles and four glasses. "Would you like some wine?"

  "Yes," she answered, knowing she shouldn't. Wine was something she drank rarely, but tonight she found herself wanting something stronger. Truly, she should have had a glass of brandy to steady her nerves before he'd arrived. She should have had ten drinks of brandy.

  "What is the view out of that window, by the way?" he asked over his shoulder as he poured.

  Ariel watched the glass fill with liquid. "The house sits next to one of His Majesty's parks."

  "It must be beautiful."

  She glanced at the window as if she could see out of it. "It is."

  He turned back to her, a glass held out. "To trusting me," he murmured, lifting it and taking a sip.

  She did the same, the wine tart on her tongue, the taste foreign. He watched her intently, so much so that she felt her face heat like warming stones. She took another sip to cover her nervousness.

  "Did you have a pleasant ride over?" Mundane, silly question, she knew, but she needed to say something to cover her nervousness, a nervousness that increased with each passing moment.

  "Very pleasant. Thank you."

  Hmph. Now what? She elected to sit down on the sofa, relieved when he sat on the sofa that stood across from her. "And your uncle. Are you on speaking terms with him after last eve?"

  His expression turned rather wry. "I am, more's the pity."

  She took another sip, the liquid burning a path down her throat.

  "I am sorry for what happened."

  She would wager he was. "'Tis of no import. I know you had nothing to do with it."

  Already she could feel the effects of the wine, one of the benefits of drinking nothing but lemonade for the past few years. "I assume you didn't tell him our engagement was a sham?"


  "No, I did not."

  She nodded, wondering what to say next.

  "You seem nervous," he said, his voice low.

  "Me?" She feigned innocence. "What have I to be nervous about?"

  "You are alone with me."

  She settled back on her sofa, suddenly feeling rather languid. "Yes, there is that, I suppose. I don't make a habit of seeing strange men alone." She frowned. "At least I didn't until I met you."

  He leaned forward, his elbow resting upon his knee. "And has meeting me been such a bad thing?"

  She found herself nodding before she realized what she was doing. "I rank my meeting with you right up there with the day my horse lost a shoe on Archibald Worth's estate."

  "How flattering."

  "Yes, well, at least the horse wasn't injured."

  "But you were."

  She waved her glass around in a gesture of dismissal. Some of the liquid sloshed. She hardly noticed. "Only later, and just my heart. But really, what matters a broken heart when one has lost one's reputation?"

  "And that bothers you?"

  "No," she answered, her tongue feeling thick. "It doesn't bother me. It annoys me, and sometimes when I see the way people look at me, it hurts. Only 'tis worse when they direct that animosity at my cousin, too. I tell myself to pay it no heed. After all, most of them are a bunch of no account snobs."

  "And what do you think of me?"

  She peered at her glass. She hadn't drunk much wine, but it certainly felt like it. Yet she was more than lightheaded. She felt odd, her body heavy, her thoughts sluggish. "What kind of wine was this?" she asked, staring into the glass.

  "The kind made from grapes," he answered.

  She flushed again. "Why, thank you for that edifying bit of information."

  "You didn't answer my question."

  She looked up at him, having to blink a bit to focus. "Mayhap because I do not want to answer it."

  He smiled. She became entranced with that smile for a moment. Heavens, but the man had a heavenly smile.

  "Why don't you want to answer it?"