The Pleasures of Passion: Sinful Suitors 4

by Sabrina Jeffries

  Deuce take the bastard. Fulkham knew exactly how to tempt him.

  And in truth, this scheme was nothing compared to what he’d done and seen in Porto. He wouldn’t even be balking if not for the fact that it was Bree he’d have to spend time with.

  But perhaps that was actually a good reason to accept. If he got to know her for the scheming chit she really was and not the sweet girl he’d foolishly invented and fallen in love with, he might finally be able to purge her from his thoughts. Nothing like a dose of reality to banish a dream that wouldn’t die.

  “Very well,” Niall said. “I’ll do it. As long as you swear this is the last time.”

  Relief crossed Fulkham’s face. “You have my word.”

  “Good.” Now that Niall had agreed to the scheme, he’d best get the details of the plan straight. “So, what you want is for Brilliana to introduce me to her father as her fiancé, and me to insinuate myself into his circles.”

  “Exactly.”

  “What if he won’t see me?” Bree asked.

  Fulkham snorted. “Has he tried to call on you since you’ve been in London?”

  She tipped up her chin. “A few times, yes. I refused to admit him.”

  “Why?” Niall asked, still shocked by the depth of her bitterness toward the man.

  A veil came down over her features. “Because his only reason to see me was undoubtedly to elicit money from me or my aunt. I refused to submit her to that, and I personally didn’t have it to give him, anyway.”

  Niall had a sneaking suspicion there was more to the story than she was letting on. The man was her father, for God’s sake.

  “I’m sure Sir Oswald has another reason for trying to see you.” Obviously Fulkham had had the same thought as Niall. The baron regarded her with a steady glance. “He probably wants to meet his grandson.”

  “That’s precisely why I didn’t want them to meet. Because my father would try to use him, too, if he could.” Panic flashed in her eyes. “Oh no, and now you want me to . . . to let Papa back into my life? How can I allow Silas to be around his grandfather, knowing that the man is a criminal?”

  “Might be a criminal,” Fulkham corrected her. “We’re not sure yet. Besides, if the boy is only sixteen months old, he won’t remember him later.”

  Bree rose to wander the room, clearly agitated. “There are other issues, too. My father isn’t stupid. He’s likely to find it suspicious that after turning him away repeatedly, I’m suddenly interested in renewing the connection.”

  “That’s where Margrave comes in.” The undersecretary turned to Niall. “Say whatever you must to put Sir Oswald at ease. Tell him you insisted upon meeting her father, that you persuaded her to mend fences, that you want his approval. I don’t think it will be hard to convince him. I’m sure he’ll find it understandable that his daughter’s impending marriage would alter how she regards her father.”

  “Then he doesn’t know his daughter very well,” she said.

  Niall stifled a laugh. That was one way Bree hadn’t changed. She was still stubborn. Whatever had caused the rift between her and her father wouldn’t easily be forgiven or forgotten. It must really stick in her craw to have to be part of this.

  He could understand that. “So, we meet with Sir Oswald. Then what? A public announcement of our betrothal?”

  “You two can figure that out as you go along. If Sir Oswald presses for such a thing—or seems suspicious that the engagement isn’t genuine—then do it. If not, feel free to keep it private as long as you can.” Fulkham glanced at Bree, and his expression softened. “I doubt Mrs. Trevor will want the scandal that goes with a broken engagement if she can avoid it.”

  Bree lifted her chin. “Being known as a jilt will hardly affect me, since I’ve no desire to marry again.”

  That surprised Niall. “You expect us to believe that a woman of your youth and beauty, with a young son who needs a father, would choose to remain alone the rest of her life?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “I have no reason to remarry and, quite frankly, see no point in it.”

  How could that be?

  He scowled. Unless she was still so in love with her late husband that she believed no one could ever take his place in her heart.

  The thought tightened a vise about his chest . . . until the cynical part of him reasserted itself. Her sort didn’t fall in love. They were too busy seeing what they could get. Which reminded him . . . “If you’re so determined not to marry, why is your aunt providing you with a dowry?”

  “I don’t know,” Bree snapped. “Why don’t you ask her? It wasn’t my idea, I assure you. I’m not in your situation, sir. I don’t need a wife to bear my heir. In fact, you might suffer more from the scandal of a jilting than I would. So it’s really your decision how to handle our faux betrothal.”

  “Trust me, Mrs. Trevor,” Niall said coldly, “a broken engagement would prompt few women to turn down a man of my consequence. Especially when I’m no longer headed for exile and a lifetime of hiding.”

  She blinked at him as if she didn’t understand his veiled meaning.

  The hell she didn’t. She could stare at him with that innocent, wide-eyed look all she wanted. He’d long ago realized that she was out for whatever she could get, and had thrown him over once she realized he was never going to provide her with the exalted life she’d apparently craved.

  Well, he hoped she wasn’t secretly thinking to get it from him now—in marriage or otherwise. His time abroad had taught him that people could be incredibly deceitful when they were pursuing money and power. So if she was playing a deeper game, then she was out of luck. Because he was too wise to fall for that now, no matter how much she tempted him.

  Three

  Brilliana tried to decipher the undercurrents between the two men. She felt trapped, just when her life was beginning to even out. How dared Lord Fulkham upset everything again?

  She needed her sister-in-law’s advice, but Delia wouldn’t be back from her honeymoon in Italy for a few weeks.

  Brilliana didn’t want Papa to hang, no matter how much she resented how he’d blackmailed her into marrying Reynold. But neither did she want to be forced to spend days, maybe weeks, in Niall’s company. Especially when he acted as if she were the one who’d abandoned him.

  She hadn’t fought a duel over some light-skirt. She hadn’t run off to the Continent and lied about bringing out the person she allegedly loved to join him. And she hadn’t waltzed back into England as if she’d done nothing wrong.

  How unfathomable that he expected her to do this with him! Lord Fulkham, she could understand—he was with the government and thought that one’s country should take precedence over everything. She might agree with him, too, if it didn’t involve Niall.

  Curse the man for agreeing to this scheme. So what if the undersecretary had finagled him a pardon? It wasn’t as if Lord Fulkham could withdraw it now. And surely there were other ways Niall could repay the political favor. Fulkham wasn’t blackmailing him, just her. Niall didn’t have to do this, especially since Fulkham seemed to be his friend.

  A nasty suspicion took hold of her. Could this be some elaborate scheme between the two men to . . . to . . .

  To what? Punish her for not going away with Niall years ago? Get her into Niall’s bed now that she was a widow?

  That last seemed unlikely, but given what she’d learned after he’d left England, she wouldn’t put it past him. And if Niall were up to something unsavory . . .

  “Lord Fulkham, couldn’t I just handle this on my own?” she asked. “There’s no need to inconvenience Lord Margrave. I could tell Papa that I want Silas to know his grandfather, and that would be enough to convince him that I am genuinely interested in reestablishing our . . . relationship.”

  “And then what?” the undersecretary said. “Your father isn’t going to tell you about his illegal activities. Or involve you with them. But he might do that with Margrave, your soon-to-be husband. I need Marg
rave to become part of Sir Oswald’s circle of card-playing friends—something you cannot do as a woman.”

  “But won’t he be suspicious of Lord Margrave if he hears that you helped his lordship gain his pardon?”

  “Our connection isn’t known to anyone except Margrave’s family and now you,” Fulkham said. “Besides, Margrave will say that his years abroad have left him short of funds, and that’s why he’s interested in marrying a woman with an estate and a dowry, why he’s eager to try his hand at the tables, et cetera. I’ve got various people ready to enhance Margrave’s reckless character with tales about his desperate need for funds and his willingness to do anything to get them. They’ll start the rumor mill running this evening at the clubs, and by morning, everyone will know the supposed truth about Lord Margrave.”

  “Thanks,” Niall said dryly. “Just what I need to rejoin respectable society and find a wife—a reputation as a ‘reckless character.’ ”

  Brilliana ignored the shaft of pain that the words find a wife sent through her heart. Her foolish, foolish heart. “Don’t worry. All your sins will be swept under the rug as usual, since you’re a man of ‘consequence’ and all.”

  That seemed to spark his temper. “ ‘As usual’? What in blazes is that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re the man who got pardoned for murder because you have friends in high places,” she said.

  “Now see here—” Niall began.

  “Meanwhile,” she went on bitterly, “once this is done, I’ll be the woman who betrayed her father to the authorities. So I don’t know what you have to complain about. When a man has a reckless reputation, it only makes him more attractive to women.” Only look at how she’d behaved when Niall had started paying her attention. “But when a woman has one—”

  “If you prefer,” Fulkham said, “we’ll make it seem as if you were unaware of what Margrave was up to.”

  “And you did say you have no interest in marrying.” Niall’s hard gaze bored into her. “So why do you care what people think of you?”

  “I don’t. I care what they think of my son.” Niall snorted. “The scandal over this will be long dead by the time he’s old enough for it to matter.”

  It was so easy for him to say that. He was a man. “Really?” she said sweetly. “Having his grandfather branded a criminal for the rest of his life will affect him. Don’t pretend that it won’t.”

  “But that’s true whether you help us or not,” Fulkham put in. “Having his grandfather hanged will be worse. Is that what you’d prefer?”

  “No, curse it! Of course not.”

  She really was trapped, especially now that the two men were joining forces against her. No way out—again. Only this time it wasn’t debtors’ prison she was trying to keep Papa out of. It was death. A vastly different matter entirely.

  At least this time she didn’t also have Mama to consider.

  Still . . . “I don’t understand why Lord Margrave has to be the man to do this,” she said bluntly. “He and I don’t get along particularly well, and Papa might notice that, despite all our attempts to pretend otherwise. Surely you have other lackeys, as Lord Margrave puts it, who would not provoke such strong feelings in me. Who could make the endeavor more convincing.”

  Fulkham laughed. “More convincing? The air fairly thrums when you two are in the same room. Granted, it may thrum with animosity, but no one could doubt that there is something between you.”

  A look of determination replaced his amusement. “Besides, Margrave’s situation—as a man whose reputation is easy to manipulate at present—makes him most useful for my purposes. Not to mention that as members of St. George’s Club, we’ll be able to meet and discuss what he’s found out without anyone thinking it odd. They’ll assume we’re just involved socially. Everything about his situation makes it ideal for my plans.”

  “But not for mine,” she protested. “I’d planned to return to Camden Hall soon so that I could begin putting the estate to rights. Now I’ll have to linger here for Lord knows how long, while you chase some elusive counterfeiter who may or may not be connected to my father.”

  “She has a point,” Niall said. “I have an estate to manage myself, one that’s been left to the care of others for far too long.”

  “Then take her with you from time to time,” Fulkham said irritably. “It would do her good to watch you work.” He met Brilliana’s gaze. “You did say you wanted to learn more about estate management. I can’t think of a better teacher than Margrave.”

  She glanced from him to Niall, whose expression was entirely unreadable. “Might I have a moment to confer with his lordship before I give you my decision?”

  Fulkham looked over at Niall, who gave a tight nod. “Very well. But don’t take too long. People will start wondering what has happened to us, and I can’t have that.”

  As soon as Fulkham left, a painful silence descended between them. After a moment, she said, “There’s really no way out of this for me, is there?”

  “None that I can see,” he said in that low rumble that did shivery things to her insides even after all these years.

  Drat him. “I had no idea that Lord Fulkham could be such a beast,” she grumbled.

  “He’s just doing his job.”

  “No, he’s blackmailing me into doing his job.”

  “I could say the same thing. You don’t hear me complaining.”

  “Because it’s not your father who will hang if we fail.”

  He stepped toward her. “No, but I owe Fulkham an enormous debt that I feel honor-bound to repay. If this is the only way to manage that, then I will damned well do as he asks. And so will you, by God.”

  Lord, but she was tired of bullying men. First Papa, then Reynold, and now Niall and Lord Fulkham, all using her to get what they wanted.

  She searched Niall’s face. Was his feeling of indebtedness his only reason for taking this on? “So you didn’t drum up this little scheme with Lord Fulkham just to get me in your clutches again.”

  “My clutches? That’s not how I remember things. I remember asking you to marry me.”

  She wrapped her arms about her waist. “You asked me to run away with you. It’s not the same. You asked me to trust that you would marry me eventually.”

  “And you doubted that I would?” he asked hoarsely. “Oh, God, is that why you didn’t go with me?”

  “I told you—I didn’t go because of Mama. I had to stay with her.”

  “Right.” The chill in his gaze unnerved her. “Yet that didn’t stop you from marrying Trevor.”

  She had half a mind to tell him why she’d married Reynold—because Niall had shown his true colors by abandoning her.

  But then he would know how hard she’d fallen for him back then, how easily he’d ensnared her. He would think he could ensnare her again. And that was never going to happen. Better to let him keep thinking that she’d married Reynold because she’d wanted to.

  “Reynold wasn’t asking me to travel to another continent.”

  “Without a wedding ring on your finger,” he said snidely.

  She tipped up her chin. “Exactly. Consider my position. You’d already balked at telling your family about me. So you can’t blame me for worrying that you were just . . . well . . .”

  “Taking you off to have my wicked way with you. So that’s how you saw our last encounter—as my plotting a tawdry seduction.” He uttered a mirthless laugh. “And now you think that Fulkham and I might have cooked up a counterfeiting scheme involving your father, in order to help me lure you into my bed? Is that what you’re insinuating?”

  When he put it that way, it sounded a bit ridiculous. “I . . . I suppose not.”

  “How do I know that you didn’t cook up this scheme with Fulkham for your own nefarious purposes?”

  She huffed out a breath. “Don’t be absurd. You’re the one who’s a friend of his. I barely know the man.”

  Eyes darkening, he stepped right up to her. “That’s not
how it appeared at dinner. The two of you were quite cozy, laughing and chatting like old friends. Or perhaps lovers?”

  The accusation was so unfounded that it made her gasp. “How dare you?” She thrust her face up into his. “I am not that kind of woman, drat you!”

  A muscle worked in his jaw. “Nor am I that kind of man.” He bent so close that she could smell the brandy on his breath. “But trust me, if I wanted to lure you into my bed, I wouldn’t have to resort to some ridiculous scheme to do it.”

  The sheer arrogance of that statement astonished her. “Really? You’re that sure of your ability to ‘lure’ me?”

  That seemed to catch him off guard. “Damnation, that’s not what I me—”

  “Well, sir, I may have been fool enough to believe all your sweet words and kisses years ago, but I know better now than to listen to a seducer’s lies.”

  His eyes glittered. “They weren’t lies, and you know it, Bree.”

  His nickname for her, the nearness of him, the fact that his eyes were the color of warm honey just now . . . all conspired to remind her of what they’d once been to each other.

  She couldn’t catch her breath. Or move. Or speak.

  They stood locked in silence while his gaze played over her face, hard and hungry. His breathing quickened the way it used to when he was about to kiss her, and she actually braced herself for the touch of his lips to hers.

  Then he seemed to catch himself. Muttering an oath, he whirled away.

  Relief coursed through her. At least she wanted it to be relief, anyway.

  “Fortunately for you,” he bit out, “I have no desire to lure you into anything. Believe what you want about this scheme, but spending time with you would not have been my first choice for a way to repay Fulkham.”

  “So if we’re both unhappy about that, how are we going to convince my father that we’re in love?”

  “We don’t have to. We just have to convince him that we wish to marry. People marry for all sorts of reasons. We’ll simply pick another one, Bree.”