‘Will they come?’
A shadow passed across his expression. ‘They might. For Gabe’s sake.’
‘What on earth made you invite—? Oh.’ Furious, she strode across the room, glaring up into his face. ‘You think I won’t cry off if doing so would be utterly embarrassing for Gabe later.’
A slow smile dawned on his face, his eyes gleamed. ‘I have always liked that about you, Minette. Your mind is as quick as a whip.’
‘Not quick enough, since I did not realise what was in your devious mind.’
He leaned forward, kissed the tip of her nose, then shrugged apologetically. ‘A man has to do what he must to achieve the outcome he wants.’
His eyes gleamed. Mischievous. Wicked. And, oh, yes, with a hint of triumph. Not since they’d played and cheated each other at cards all those years ago had she seen that look on his face. Her heart tumbled over. The sensation stole her breath. Blinded and robbed of speech by his pure male appeal, she could only stare. Why had he become so bleak and cold in the intervening years? And what was thawing the ice?
If it wasn’t impossible, she could almost—almost—believe he really wanted this marriage. As if honour and duty had not forced him into offering for her hand. Something inside her unfurled. A sweet kind of longing. A flicker of hope. She doused the flame with a cold dash of reality. He was a duke. A man who should expect his wife to come to him pure, unsullied. He would not be looking so pleased with himself if he knew the full extent of her past, though he might guess at some of it.
An Englishman of principle, of honour, could not possibly marry a woman who had done what she had done. Using their betrothal to get to Moreau was one thing. She didn’t care what she had to do in that regard. But marriage was out of the question. And not at all necessary. Moreau must be caught and be behind bars before the banns were called.
She spun away. Went to the table beside the bed and poured a glass of water. Anything to keep her hands busy, to resist the temptation he presented. ‘So the purpose for our drive tomorrow is to seek him out?’
‘He could be anywhere in the district. We need to net him before he gets close to Falconwood.’
She turned back to face him and was glad to see the man of ice had returned. He was handsome, no matter what he did, but when the ice cracked, when he smiled, he was overwhelming.
‘It is good of Madame Vitesse to warn us, and I am grateful you told me. You could have said nothing.’
‘We have an agreement.’ He leaned against the door frame. ‘And, besides, she could have sent a similar note to you.’ His gaze narrowed. ‘Did she?’
‘No.’
‘Would you have told me if she had?’
Heat crept into her cheeks. ‘I don’t know.’
He cursed under his breath and moved slowly towards her, like a panther stalking prey. A dark creature of the night who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. ‘Not good enough.’
A shiver rippled through her body, heating places she should not be aware of. The man was positively dangerous.
The closer he got the stiffer her spine became. Every nerve in her body urged her to run. She refused to back away. Would not give him the satisfaction.
He caught her upper arms in a firm but painless grip, looking down into her eyes with such intensity, she wanted to look away, but knew she must not or he’d know how weak she was when it came to him.
‘Don’t think I will give you a chance to act alone,’ he ground out. ‘I am not going to let you out of my sight. And you will tell me the truth of this overwhelming need to speak to Moreau before I even consider allowing you near him.’
She swallowed the dryness in her throat. ‘I shall do what I think best.’ Her voice was far huskier than she thought possible. Her heart pounding hard behind her ribs. Her body tingling as if the air was caressing her skin. She could not stop looking at his mouth, so close to hers, so very beautiful, so very good at kissing.
It descended on hers, gentle, soft, sweet.
She sank into its tenderness with a moan of surrender. Sensations swept her away, the feel of his mouth, the liquid heat in her core, the ache in her breasts.
When he finally broke the kiss she shook her head at him. ‘You should go.’
‘A man can kiss his betrothed once in a while.’ The wicked gleam was back in those dark blue eyes. His hand curved over her breast, firm, hot, gentle. His thumb brushed across the beaded tip of her nipple. ‘I won’t tell anyone. Will you?’
She couldn’t think for the distraction of his touch.
Chapter Eleven
She looked like a goddess in her snowy gown with her chocolate-brown hair in a tumble down her back and over her breasts. Irresistible. Temptation incarnate. All soft curves and pillowy swells. He wanted to take her onto that bed and lick and bite and suck.
The heat of her desire shimmered on her skin. Glowed in her slumberous eyes. Echoed in the catch of her breath. She wanted him, too.
Now. At this moment. And if it was wrong, dishonourable to use it to force her to keep her promise to wed him, he did not care. He would not let her walk away once their quest was over. His pride would not allow it. She was his. His? Where had that come from? This was not about possession, it was about protecting her reputation.
He curled his fingers and tipped her chin with a knuckle. ‘Will you?’ he asked again.
‘No.’
The word was a low, husky murmur that sent his blood careening through his veins, heightening his lust and piercing him with other sweeter emotions. He pulled her tight against his body, taking her mouth with his, plundering the sweet depths, sliding his tongue against the silk heat of hers. He pressed against her hip, thickened and hardened. Ached.
She tilted her pelvis, and he swore he could feel the heat of her centre through the fabric of his trousers. Her hands roamed his shoulders. One stroked down his spine and skimmed his buttocks.
He left the tender softness of her lips to kiss her jaw, the sensitive place beneath her right ear. The clean, fresh smell of her, the scent of jasmine and warm feminine flesh filled his nostrils and his lungs. He opened his mouth and took a bite. Not hard enough to leave a mark but enough to make her shudder.
She gasped. Not a sound of shock or outrage but a sigh of pleasure. Her long black lashes swept up. The gold in her eyes sparkled like treasure as she met his gaze with a sinful abandon he hadn’t expected.
The sensual pout of her mouth drove any thoughts of honourable behaviour from his mind, sending pounding heat to his groin. Only an opportunist, a man who lived by his wits would take her momentary weakness to tie her to him irrevocably. He was such a man and the chance was too good to pass up. He gazed down into her face, running his hands through the silken mass of her hair, feeling it slide over his skin like a lover’s touch. ‘You are so beautiful to look at it hurts.’
Her eyes widened. Surprise. He liked it that he’d surprised her. Something bubbled up in his chest. An odd feeling that made him want to laugh. As if he were young and carefree. As if the lives of thousands did not rest in his hands, and there was only this moment, this woman. Joy. It was joy. He stared at her in wonder. Was it possible that this woman could bring him out of the dark?
A twinge of conscience. A knifing pain deep in his chest. She couldn’t. No one could. He was a man who had killed his brother.
Accident. His voice. Jealousy. His mother’s.
How could he be sure he was right when he didn’t remember? A clawing doubt he’d lived with for years. But there was no doubt in his mind that he wanted Minette as his wife. And, ruthless bastard that he was, he would make sure she had no way out.
He pulled her close. Their mouths melded. A perfect fit.
* * *
His eyes held the intensity of a predatory male, Minette thought, dizzy with sensation as he ran his fingers through her hair, watching his hand stroke and pet. The expression on his face curled her toes inside her slippers and caused her inner muscles to clench in sweet, p
ainful little pulses. Shivers ran down her spine. Her breasts felt tight and needful of touch.
Her fingers fumbled at the tie of his robe. She wanted to feel the heat of his skin beneath her fingers. With a low murmur, he let the heavy silk fall from his shoulders to puddle on the floor in a whisper. She smoothed her palms over the fine linen of his shirt and felt the thud of his heart against her fingertips. A heart beating as hard as her own.
He was built on the lines of a stallion. Sleek and elegant yet powerfully male. The skin exposed at his throat was more Mediterranean in tone than that of most of his countrymen. Darkly exotic. She breathed him in, the scent of his cologne, bergamot and lemon and the musky scent of him, like dark spices in mulled wine on cold nights.
More. She wanted more. There was no need to deny herself the pleasure he could bring. Marriage was not required for that.
Breathless with desire, she rose on tiptoe and pressed her mouth to his, wooing, seducing, teasing his tongue with hers, arching into his hard wall of chest. A satisfying rumble of pleasure rolled in his throat. A hot wildness inside her held her in thrall as their lower bodies came into contact and she rocked her hips, feeling the pleasure of his hard-muscled thigh against her pelvis, separated from her only by the thinnest of garments.
Delicious. Tempting. Not nearly enough to satisfy feminine needs driven wild by his kisses. In a swift movement that had her gasping, he swept her up in his arms and dropped her in the centre of the bed. He leaned over her, a lock of black hair falling onto his forehead. Unable to resist, she brushed it back and he smiled down at her with low-lidded sensual pleasure on his face.
A starkly beautiful man. And not the least bit cold.
She reached up for him and he lowered his head, brushing his mouth across hers, his tongue tracing the seam with delicious little flicks. In return, she nipped at his lower lip. His hiss of indrawn breath, a sound of pleasure-pain, jolted to her core. Her insides felt liquid, her breasts tingling in anticipation of the touch of a man who was clever with his lips and tongue.
He raised his head, looking down at her as if considering the effect of his actions, like a master craftsman checking his work.
‘Freddy,’ she demanded, pulling at his shoulders, wanting the weight of him against her hot, demanding skin.
His gaze searched her face as if seeking an answer to a question he had not posed.
Had she been too bold? Too demanding? Was he a man who preferred to take control?
Right at this moment she didn’t care. She wanted, no, she needed, what his kisses promised. She raised herself up on her elbows, pressing small kisses to the line of his lightly stubbled jaw, the rasp against her lips an erotic reminder of his masculinity. Heat bloomed upwards from her belly. Her core ached.
She grazed her teeth against his throat.
One lithe spring and he landed on the mattress beside her, his weight rolling her towards him as he cupped her face in his large, warm hands, his gaze fixed on her face. ‘There is no chance of going back after this. No possibility of crying off.’
Dark warning filled his voice. And triumph.
Her mind cleared of the sensual haze that had held her in thrall. The realisation that once again he was using the attraction between them, her weakness, to control her, as Pierre had. Using her for his own purposes. And when he had what he wanted, what then? Would he leave her in this house with his mother and continue with his life, honour and duty satisfied?
The very idea was a betrayal, yet without question all a convenient wife could hope for.
‘That was not our agreement.’ She pushed at his shoulder. ‘I believe it is time you returned to your own chamber.’
Bleakness filled his eyes. ‘Your idea of our agreement, you mean.’
‘The betrothal lasts only until Moreau is in custody.’
In one swift move he left the bed and picked up his robe. ‘Then you need to stop playing with fire.’
He unlocked the door and left her with her body humming with desire and her heart feeling as if it had been ripped in two.
Because what she had seen in his eyes had been frustration, but also, she thought, hurt. Was it possible, when all that was between them was the need to bring down a traitorous spy? It hardly seemed likely. And that meant she was allowing her own emotions to colour her judgement.
* * *
The next morning, Minette wasn’t sure whether to expect Freddy to take her driving or not. She’d met with the gardener, discussed what was available from the flowerbeds and greenhouses and prepared a list of what would have to be ordered from the nurseryman he had recommended. Then she’d gone upstairs and dressed for riding. Now ready and waiting in the drawing room, she could not help wondering if Freddy would, after her rejection of his advances, set out alone. Or she might have if she hadn’t known deep in her heart that he was a man to whom his honour meant a great deal. He would keep his word.
When he entered the drawing room in breeches and top boots that set off his muscular legs, and a coat that skimmed wide shoulders she knew intimately, she was both relieved and saddened. Relieved that he had kept his promise and saddened that they could never be more than friends. If that. Likely he would want nothing at all to do with her after this was over.
A cool gaze swept her person. A nod of approval. ‘The horses are saddled.’
So they were back to chilly distance. She felt the loss but had to be glad. It would be easier to keep her own longings in check. And yet from the way her pulse fluttered she was no closer to keeping her longings under control this morning than she had been the previous night.
He escorted her out to the stableyard, where the horses stood ready. A small chestnut mare with a white blaze on her forehead and three white stockings carried the lady’s saddle. The mare tossed her head and sidled, pleasing Minette no end. She’d half expected him to order her a quiet horse. The other animal was a beautiful bay gelding with black points.
They mounted up and set off down the drive. Both horses were fresh and ready to run, but well behaved enough to hold steady in the trot.
‘What is your plan for this morning? Go to Maidstone and see if he is there?’ she asked.
‘Too obvious. I wrote to the commanding officer and warned him to keep an eye out for unusual activity. He’s a man I knew at university.’
‘And us?’
‘We protect Falconwood. I thought about it last night. If the occupants of the house are his target, he will need a base of operations.’
The frost in his matter-of-fact tone, the lack of the warmth she’d begun to enjoy in his company was a painful reminder of her rejection of him the previous evening. It was exactly what she had wanted. Then why did it hurt?
‘A local inn, perhaps? We could ask at those close by.’
He nodded. ‘We could but I have a better idea. The vicar’s wife, Mrs Farmer, knows everything and everyone in the district. She will know if any strangers have moved into the parish.’ He shot her a hard look. ‘She would also expect a visit from the future Duchess of Falconwood, given that it is a family tradition to be wed in the parish church.’
Minette tried not to wince. It was terrible how many people they were involving in their lie. Yet it made perfect sense. No one would question their reason for visiting this Mrs Farmer, thus they would not alert Moreau should he be nearby.
‘Will she not be offended by my arriving in such a fashion?’ Ladies did not call in their riding habits as a general rule.
‘We will make a formal visit later in the week,’ he said. ‘Mrs Farmer is an old friend. She will be delighted to see us. News travels fast in the country and she would be disappointed if I did not land on her doorstep my first morning home.’
‘Mrs Farmer holds a special place in your life?’
‘The Reverend Farmer was tutor to me and my brother. He used to bring us home with him sometimes for tea and scones. They were kind.’ His dark eyes shuttered. ‘Especially kind during my convalescence.’
Minette could remember what it was like to have neighbours who cared for one. Without them she would have perished on the day of the fire. They had hidden her away from the soldiers for days, before they had passed her on to a group of nuns who were escaping the area.
In the end, it hadn’t done her a bit of good because she had ended up in Moreau’s hands. But they had tried to help and if she ever saw them again she would want to express her gratitude.
It was another perfect June day and the ride to the village church took a scant twenty minutes. A man working in the small front garden of the stone house beside the church came and took their horses. By the time they had walked up the path to the front door a maid was waiting to greet them. She showed them into a comfortably furnished parlour. A plump grey-haired woman in a lace cap and a plain chintz gown rose as they entered.
‘Your Grace,’ the woman said, dipping a curtsey. ‘How good of you to call so soon after arrival at Falconwood.’
‘I am glad we found you home, since we sent no warning. Is your husband around?’
‘Called out to visit a parishioner, I’m afraid. The Widow Redfurn. She’s been ill in her bed for days.’ Her glance went to Minette, her grey eyes twinkling.
‘May I introduce you to my betrothed, Miss Minette Rideau,’ Freddy said.
The woman curtseyed again. If she had notice the strain in Freddy’s voice she didn’t show it. But Minette had noticed. Clearly he did not like deceiving this woman. She held out a hand. ‘I am very glad to meet you, madame. His Grace has informed me of your past kindness.’
Mrs Farmer blushed and beamed with pleasure. ‘My husband and I have always been fond of Freddy, him and his brother. Pair of mischievous lads. Always up to something they were.’
Freddy’s expression softened. ‘And we knew where to come when we were in a scrape.’
Mrs Farmer smiled at Minette. ‘My husband had a soft spot for those two lads. Not an ounce of malice in either of them, he always says. It was the worst of bad luck, that accident. And so I’ll say to anyone who asks.’
Her voice held a bit of a challenge, for which Minette felt grateful on Freddy’s behalf. Before she could ask about this rush to defend him, Mrs Farmer gestured for them to sit. ‘You will take tea?’
The Regency Season Page 13
