by Clee, Adele
Eva stood for a moment and considered her options. Lord Benham would never speak openly about his sister’s predicament. Certainly not to Mr Ashwood. Certainly not where cunning gossips hovered like vultures waiting to scavenge morsels of meat.
And then she spotted the devil glaring at her from an alcove, his arms folded in defiance.
The icy grip of fear chilled her to the bone.
It wasn’t his unpleasant appearance that made her mouth dry and hands shake. It was the callous look in his eyes, the brutal curl of his lips.
He pushed away from the wall—his curt nod a command to follow—and entered the room opposite.
Only a fool would do his bidding. Only a fool would place herself at risk. But she cared about Clara. Guilt’s blade was still embedded in Eva’s chest. Firmly rooted. Deeply painful. Something had to be done about this man who was, without doubt, the cause of her problems.
And so, after waiting a moment until the corridor was clear, she entered Lucifer’s lair.
“Lock the door, Miss Dunn.” Lord Benham’s strict instruction echoed from the dark depths of the room. “I’ll not have anyone stumble upon our tryst.”
Eva swallowed to temper her nerves. She pressed her foot against the door, turned the handle and fiddled with the key, tricking him into believing it was locked.
“This is not a tryst,” she said, whirling round to look for his monstrous silhouette amid the shadows of Lord Newberry’s library. “It’s an attempt at a treaty, an opportunity to form an alliance. After all, we share a common interest.”
“I gave you an opportunity to form an alliance, Miss Dunn. An opportunity you’ve refused at every turn.” His derisive snort turned her stomach. “We have no other common interest.”
Gathering her courage, Eva took a few tentative steps forward. “That’s not true. We both care about Clara.”
Lord Benham ground his teeth. “You permitted your brother to take advantage of a naive girl. Is that how you treat those you care for, Miss Dunn? No doubt you saw it as a means of revenge.”
Eva ignored his cruel taunts. “What have you done with Howard? Is he … is he dead?”
The devil prowled towards her, closing the gap between them. The shadows made his disproportioned features seem more grotesque. “As I told Finlay Cole when he probed me earlier, I’ve not seen the pathetic fop for days. With luck, his creditors have strung him up from Bloody Bridge and spilt his innards.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He shrugged. “Do I look like I care?”
No, those black eyes were soulless pits. Pits of nothingness.
“Did you arrange for someone to attack me in the street? Was it revenge for the callous way my brother treated Clara?”
An inscrutable smile formed on the viscount’s lips. He stepped closer, forcing her to shuffle back until her bottom came to rest against Lord Newberry’s imposing desk.
“I can protect you from mindless thugs. I can save you from those who might seek to take advantage of a woman living alone. I shall permit you to see Clara and the child. I’ll give you one last chance to surrender. Surrender yourself to me, and you may make amends.”
Make amends?
Lord Benham was a man of threats and ultimatums. Winning was his only motivation. His power made most women overlook his mean spirit and repulsive countenance. There wasn’t an incentive in the world that could make Eva overlook his callous manner.
“I don’t blame you for hating my brother. I despise him, too.”
“Hate is too mild a word.”
“And yet this all started because of a bet you made.” Eva raised her chin, determined to continue, though her defensive walls were shaking, close to crumbling. “This began because you were intent on ruining an innocent for sport. You’ve insulted me at every turn. Even now, you offer a place in your bed but not as your wife.” Not that she would ever accept an offer from this beast. “You’re no different from Howard. You’re both scheming, lying cheats who frighten women to get your own way.”
Eva was so keen to tell this blackguard what she thought, she failed to note the hardening of his jaw or the sparks of rage in his eyes. Indeed, it wasn’t until he grabbed her chin and pressed his overbearing body to hers that she feared she had gone too far.
“Damn beguiling witch.” His empty eyes fell to her heaving bosom. “You tease men with your smart little mouth. Taunt them with rare glimpses of flesh. You profess independence, but it’s a guise for you to behave like a wanton.”
Eva gulped. “Howard verbally defiles me when he cannot get his way.” Fear forced her to push the viscount’s chest. “You’re the same. Both equally delusional.”
This time he grabbed her cheeks in a bruising grip and squeezed hard. “Give yourself to me, else you shall suffer the consequences.”
A sudden sliver of light sliced through the darkness as the door creaked open. Eva sought to cry out, to beg for help, but there wasn’t a man alive who would challenge Lord Benham.
Well—perhaps there was one.
“Release the lady, Benham. Take your complaint up with me.” Mr Ashwood closed the door and stepped into the room. The way he tugged the cuffs on his coat said he meant business. “Though I should warn you, this is a battle you won’t win.”
The viscount shot Mr Ashwood a scowl. “This has nothing to do with you, Ashwood. If you’re looking for a fight, your uncle is in the card room.”
“My fight is with you, Benham. Release the lady, else I shall break every one of those fingers marring her skin.” Mr Ashwood’s menacing tone would have Satan seeking sanctuary. Dark shadows danced across his fine features. His green eyes were serpent-like. Focused. Deadly.
“We’re done here,” Lord Benham said so as not to look cowardly when he released his grip and stepped back. “Miss Dunn clings to her chastity with the lofty arrogance of an abbess. Your threat leads me to conclude the abbess has already strayed from the righteous path.”
“Some men have a deep-rooted need to protect women, not abuse them,” Mr Ashwood countered.
Did the need to play protector stem from the tragic loss of his mother? As a child, he must have felt helpless. As a man, he took command of every situation.
The viscount sneered. “Some might believe your admirable protestations, but you want to bed her as much as I do.”
To her shock, Mr Ashwood did not discount the lord’s claim. “Every man has his torments. Miss Dunn is kind and intelligent, courageous, beautiful. Why wouldn’t I want to bed her?”
Eva struggled to breathe.
It wasn’t the list of compliments that sent her head spinning, but the knowledge of his intimate thoughts.
She imagined him naked. Pert buttocks and rippling muscles. Hard and male. She imagined him scooping her up into his powerful arms and lowering her down onto her plush mattress—entering her, pleasuring her, loving her.
“But I am assisting Miss Dunn in a professional capacity,” he continued, dousing her inner flames. “The lady wishes to find her brother, wishes to punish the coward who attacked her in the street. I seek justice on her behalf. That is all.”
That was not all.
There was something more between them. More than duty. More than lust. Something intangible. Something that spanned centuries if one believed in destiny and fate. The need to fuse herself to him, to meld together body and soul was so great she could think of little else.
“I’m not surprised Hawkridge is ashamed of your familial connection,” the viscount scoffed, attempting to gain ground. “Perhaps he’s right. Perhaps there is doubt over your lineage. Your father spent his days too drunk to notice your mother’s indiscretion. Why else would you soil your hands when you’re wealthier than your uncle?”
Eva froze.
The atmosphere turned volatile seconds before Mr Ashwood flew across the room and grabbed Lord Benham by the throat. For all the viscount’s arrogance, he was nowhere near as strong as his opponent. Despite a violent struggle, he coul
d not break free.
“You do not want to make an enemy of me.” Mr Ashwood’s vicious growl practically shook the chandelier. No doubt hell’s sinners were diving into the inferno to escape the terrifying tremors. “My father’s blood flows through my veins—wild and reckless—though I’m an expert shot and fight for honourable causes.” He tightened his grip, choking the lord. “I don’t care who you are. Insult my mother, issue one more threat to Miss Dunn, and I’ll put a lead ball between your brows.”
Good Lord. Eva had never seen him so angry, so out of control. She couldn’t help but feel responsible. In questioning Lord Benham, she had been trying to prevent an argument, not start one.
Lord Benham managed a curt nod, but still, Mr Ashwood maintained his firm hold. The viscount’s cheeks flamed red. His eyes bulged in their sockets.
Eva gripped Mr Ashwood’s arm. “I think Lord Benham understands the gravity of the situation, sir. Let him go. Let him go before you throttle him to death.”
The library door creaked open again, but—thank the Lord—it was Mr Cole who entered. He took one look at the situation and cursed beneath his breath. “Listen to Miss Dunn. Let Benham go.”
Mr Ashwood released his grip.
The viscount sagged forward and clutched his throat as he gasped for air.
“If you wish to take this further,” Mr Ashwood said, the fire in his eyes still burning, “I shall await your dawn invitation. I name Finlay Cole as my second.”
Lord Benham was a cruel individual, but he was not a fool. Still, Mr Ashwood’s anger radiated, and the viscount might easily provoke him.
“I’m sure Lord Benham understands that he said something wholly inappropriate,” Eva said with some desperation. “That he deserved your retaliation. Let us leave him to catch his breath and reflect on who was to blame.” She flashed a pleading gaze at Mr Cole.
“I’m sure Benham knows that an enemy of Ashwood’s is an enemy of mine,” Mr Cole said, his tone razor sharp. “A wise man chooses his battles.”
“Come.” Eva tugged Mr Ashwood’s coat sleeve. “We should leave.”
Mr Ashwood shot her an irate stare. “Damn right, we should.” Without warning, he captured her elbow and propelled her towards the door.
Lord Benham remained silent, though Eva felt the whip of his disdain lashing her back, sharp enough to draw blood.
Mr Cole peered around the jamb and surveyed the corridor before ushering them out of the room. “I presume you walked here. We can take my carriage.”
But Mr Ashwood had other plans.
“Stay here, Cole. Entertain Lady Adair. I shall see Miss Dunn home.”
“I’m not sure that’s wise. Daventry will have something to say about—”
“Sod Daventry.”
Mr Ashwood didn’t care for his friend’s opinion. He didn’t care who saw him steering her possessively through the corridor.
A gentleman with a patrician nose and an arrogant mouth pushed away from the wall as they approached. “Ah, Ashwood,” he said, attempting to block their path. “I heard you were here. Causing trouble again, I see. And who is this delightful—”
“Bugger off!” Mr Ashwood barged shoulders with the fellow and continued towards the front door.
“Who was that?”
“Hawkridge.”
“Your uncle?”
His reply was but a muttered curse.
“Where are we going?” she whispered as numerous people turned their heads and gaped as he led her out into Cavendish Square. “I thought you were concerned about my reputation.”
“Your brother is a scoundrel. Your recklessness this evening will be a talking point for months. The damage is done.”
She could not argue with his logic.
“When I said you should get Lord Benham’s attention,” he said, navigating her around the row of parked carriages in the square, “I advised you to use your wits, not place yourself in a perilous situation.”
“But he refuses to acknowledge me in public. How else was I to gain an audience?”
“You wait until you have something with which to bargain.”
“Then what was the purpose of attending the ball?” She would have preferred to stay at home.
Mr Ashwood sighed. “To gauge his reaction when Cole mentioned your brother. To see how he would behave knowing you were here. To find an excuse to call at his home and question him further.”
Eva swallowed hard as she marched beside him, trying to keep pace. Lord Benham had behaved as expected—like the vile hypocrite of old.
“Slow down. These slippers will be threadbare when we reach our destination.” She shivered against the chilly night air. “What about my cloak?”
“You don’t need it,” he said, keeping his hand at her elbow. “I shall have my maid collect it tomorrow.”
“I am capable of walking without assistance.” And yet she rather liked the protective way he held her arm. “Where are you taking me?”
“To Wigmore Street.”
“Wigmore Street?” His home! “Is that wise?”
“We need privacy, Miss Dunn. And I intend to make damn sure we get it.”
Chapter 10
Noah couldn’t focus. His mind was a muddled mess. Anger had woken from its slumber, disturbed by Miss Dunn’s desire to place herself in precarious situations.
It began the moment she sought to avoid him, when she fled Newberry’s ballroom as if her gown were ablaze. Then Cole told him of her confession. Spoke of Benham’s desire to bed the woman. But that’s not what fed the beast’s fury. No. The fact Miss Dunn neglected to mention a crucial piece of information had him hopping on hot coals.
“Sir, you’re walking too quickly.” The lady—this mystical temptress who had possessed his mind and body—stopped and gasped a breath. “Just give me a moment.”
“Madam, you may catch your breath once we’re safely inside.” Indeed, they were but twelve feet from his front door.
“I’m not sure I should come inside.” A slight frisson of fear darkened her tone. “Not when you’re in the devil’s mood.”
Frightening her was not part of his plan.
“Eva, I want to talk to you.” He faced her and softened his tone. He needed a drink, needed her to soothe the devil back to bed. “Trust me. I shall behave in the way you’ve grown accustomed, not like the reckless rogue you saw tonight.”
“I found the reckless rogue rather charming.” She gave a coy shrug that drew his gaze to the delightful swell of her breasts. “You defended your mother’s memory. That was the reason for your violent outburst.”
“One reason,” he said, capturing her elbow again. “Come, you’re cold. Let’s continue this conversation inside. A large glass of brandy awaits.”
“Are you trying to tempt me with liquor, Mr Ashwood?”
“Come because you want to, not because I offer an inducement or force your hand.” It occurred to him that, after her recent experiences, she would seek to avoid being alone with unbalanced men. “Your virtue is safe with me. I seek your company, nothing more. But I can have McGuffey take you home if you prefer.”
She studied him for a moment. “Lord Benham gave me a fright. A glass of brandy and an hour of interesting conversation would be most welcome.”
The mere mention of Benham had his inner devil leaping up, ready to bring eternal damnation down on anyone who hurt her. To calm his temper, he did not speak again until they were ensconced in his drawing room.
“You should have told me what happened at Briden Castle,” he said, prodding the fire with a poker while she poured two glasses of brandy. She should have told him because he felt a duty to protect her that went beyond all reason. “It is important to the case.”
“I tried.” She crossed the candlelit room and offered him the crystal goblet half full of amber nectar. “I mentioned it before we entered Mr Hemming’s office if you remember.”
“Of course I remember.” He had an exceptional memory. And yet he struggled
to focus on anything other than the kiss that left him famished, ravenous, hungry for more.
“But you’re right. Lord Benham hopes Howard is dead. It all started with the bet at Briden.” Sadness swam in her eyes. “I should have told you about that when we spoke about Clara.”
Her obvious regret soothed the beast inside.
Noah gestured to the sofa. “Please, sit.”
He watched her smooth her silk skirts and settle into the seat. She looked breathtaking in red. Exquisite. Indeed, it wasn’t just anger flowing through the beast’s veins. Lust—and something infinitely more alarming—flared whenever he was in her company.
“Ask me anything about Lord Benham,” she said, cradling the brandy glass between her palms, “and I shall speak honestly.”
Noah dropped into the seat opposite. “For a woman who believes her character is wholly unattractive, there are at least two men eager to gain entrance to your bedchamber.”
Three if he counted himself.
A flush crept across her cheeks. “Mr Hemming speaks of marriage because he wants to take control of my work. Lord Benham wants me for a mistress, not a wife. Winning the bet is his only motivation.”
Noah didn’t want to control her, nor did he want her for his mistress. So what the hell did he want?
“You ran away from me tonight. You seemed pleased to see me but then fled from the ballroom without so much as a greeting. Why?”
The lady sipped her brandy, gasping as the fiery spirit burned her throat. It was a ploy to distract him while she gathered her wits. Was she keeping another secret? If so, he would walk away, never look back.
“After the debacle with Lord Benham, have we not established that honesty is the only way forward, Miss Dunn?”
“Miss Dunn?” she teased. “I like it when you call me Eva.”
That had been a slip of the tongue, a moment of weakness. “You’re stalling.”
“Am I?”
“What is it you’re not telling me?”
Her light laugh was forced. “I had to use the retiring room.”
“If that’s the truth, why can you not look me in the eye? Why do you squirm in your seat? And your ears are as red as your gown.”
