The Pleasures of Passion: Sinful Suitors 4

by Sabrina Jeffries

  Now he just had to pray that something turned up. He was tired of waiting for things to happen. This group could go for weeks without his so much as seeing a fake pound note, which was maddening.

  Several hours of play later, Niall finally got his wish. Or he thought he did, anyway. Sir Oswald laid down a twenty-pound note that looked slightly off, though it was hard to tell in such dim light. Fortunately, Niall and his partner won that time, so he raked the note over to his side and made sure to mark it and then exchange it for a good one, sliding the suspicious one into his coat pocket.

  He would have to show it to Fulkham to be certain, but if it were indeed a counterfeit, then Sir Oswald was probably part of the criminal enterprise.

  Damn it all to hell. Niall had been praying that Sir Oswald had merely passed on counterfeit notes he’d received from someone else at these games. But Niall had seen the man take the note out of his own purse. Since it was highly unlikely that the man had received such a large note in change somewhere, and equally unlikely that he’d picked it up at his bank, Sir Oswald was at best distributing the notes and at worst producing them.

  Either way, it was getting harder to believe that Sir Oswald didn’t know they were counterfeit.

  So that must be the next step in Niall’s investigation—learning where Sir Oswald had gained the notes. With the exception of Sir Kenneth, who hadn’t been in town long enough, any one of these men could still be a suspect, since they were his friends.

  The rest of the game went by in a fog, with Niall scarcely caring whether he won or lost. Because now he had a decision to make, one he hadn’t anticipated having to make before.

  Should he tell Bree?

  She was on this mission with him, so he ought to tell her. But how would she react? Sir Oswald was still her father—she might not be so sanguine anymore about seeing him arrested.

  Edwin’s words kept clattering about in his head: No matter what Fulkham promised, if her father proves guilty, there will be a trial and, no doubt, a conviction. She’ll have to endure gossip and rumor. . . .

  Damn Edwin. And Fulkham. And bloody Sir Oswald, for being a bastard who didn’t give a farthing for his family. Niall wished them all to blazes.

  “You’re not playing as well tonight, Margrave,” the arse had the nerve to complain. “Mind your cards, for God’s sake, or we’re going to lose the pot.”

  Niall grunted some answer and tried to concentrate.

  But it was no use. A short while later, they lost it all.

  “Shall we play again, gentlemen?” Sir Oswald asked hopefully as Raines gathered up the winnings and began to split them with his partner.

  “I’m done in for the evening.” Pitford grinned. “As my cousin here says, it’s always best to quit while one’s ahead. Eh, Sir Kenneth?”

  Sir Kenneth didn’t answer, too busy nuzzling the ample breasts of the barmaid who sat giggling on his knee.

  Raines frowned. “I’m surprised you could keep your mind on the game, Pitford, with your cousin making such a spectacle of himself. Might as well end the night. I can’t stand one more minute of this nonsense.”

  “Indeed,” Niall said. “Ah, well, Sir Oswald. Perhaps tomorrow night we can get some of our own back, eh?”

  Sir Oswald glared at him. “Only if you promise to play better.”

  “I’ll play better if you bring enough luck for the two of us,” Niall said mildly. “I had abysmal cards.” He rose. “Well then, fellows, I’m off.”

  “Me too.” Raines stood up. “I’ll walk out with you, Margrave.”

  As the two of them strolled out of the Star and Garter, Niall wondered if he should take another stab at assessing Raines. The man could be in league with Sir Oswald. Raines was, after all, a banker.

  “I suppose I’ll see what’s going on at St. George’s,” Niall said. “Care to join me?”

  “I’ll walk that way with you, but I’m not going in. Fulkham is supposed to be there tonight.”

  Why would the man assume that? Could Raines have caught on to Niall’s association with the baron? Was he feeling Niall out on the subject? “Ah, did he say he would be there?”

  “Not exactly. I . . . er . . . heard it from someone close to him.”

  What could that mean? Was there someone spying on Fulkham? “Oh? Who?”

  Instead of answering that, Raines tensed and said, “You seem to know the man relatively well. What do you know of his . . . relationship to Mrs. Vyse?”

  That threw Niall off. “She’s his sister-in-law.”

  “I know that,” the man said irritably. “But do you think there is something more between them?”

  “Something romantic, you mean? I doubt it. I suppose they could have an affair, but they could never marry. He’s her brother-in-law.”

  “They could marry, if no one in the family objects. It’s only the Church that forbids it. And there are ways around that.”

  “Even so, he wouldn’t do it. Fulkham’s career is everything to him. He would never risk that to marry his brother’s widow, knowing that the world sees it as incest.”

  “Still, he and she are very close.”

  “I suppose.” And why did the man care anyway? Then it dawned on him. “So she’s the woman whose family doesn’t know of your interest. The woman you’re courting.”

  Raines stared grimly ahead. “It’s not so much courting as . . . God, I don’t know what it is, except that she’s driving me insane. She’s dragging her feet on the subject of marriage, yet she acts as if she cares about me.” He muttered a curse. “Please don’t tell anyone, especially Fulkham.”

  So Raines’s avoidance of Fulkham had nothing whatsoever to do with the counterfeiting. He just happened to be a banker who fancied Fulkham’s relation.

  Although that raised other questions. “Why don’t you want Fulkham to know?”

  “Because she says we must keep it secret, that he won’t approve.” They were nearing the club, so Raines slowed his pace. “But I’m worried that her reason for keeping our . . . association quiet has more to do with her feelings for Fulkham than anything else.”

  “I’ve not seen any indication of that, but I don’t know the two of them well. And the only way you’re going to know for certain is to ask her.”

  “And risk losing her for good? If she does want him, I can’t bear it. I can’t share her. I know some men do that, but not me.”

  “So you’d rather not know the truth?”

  “Yes. No.” He grimaced. “Once I know . . . it’s over. I’m not ready for it to be over.” Raines halted just short of the entrance to St. George’s. “I suppose you think I’m acting like a fool.”

  “No. I think you’re acting like a man smitten by a woman. Women are devilishly tricky creatures, and sometimes one can’t help but be at a loss as to how to catch them.”

  Raines snorted. “Clearly, that doesn’t apply to you. You’ve caught your woman.”

  He forced a smile. “I’m not so sure. I won’t be sure until the day we stand at the altar and say our vows.”

  A day that he feared might never come. He and Bree still had so many difficulties to get past—the situation with her father, her inability to trust him, his inability to reveal his secrets . . .

  “My point is,” Niall went on, “dealing with a woman is hard enough without adding needless speculation about what might not even be a problem. Ask her for the real reason she’s dragging her feet with you. Just be prepared for the consequences if the answer isn’t one you want to hear.”

  A pity he couldn’t take his own advice. Because he knew why Bree was dragging her feet. He just couldn’t do anything about it without betraying his family’s confidences. And the vow he’d made to his father.

  Not that he much cared about that anymore. If Father had broken his promise, Niall could damned well break his.

  “Thanks for the advice, old chap,” Raines said. “I’d best be going. I daresay the ball that Mrs. Vyse was planning to attend is still going on.
And given that her pesky brother-in-law will not be there—”

  “You plan to play while the cat’s away. Good luck.”

  After Raines left, Niall hesitated at the entrance to St. George’s. He ought to go in and report to Fulkham. They needed to discuss whether the banknote was indeed forged, and whether Fulkham had learned more about Sir Kenneth’s reasons for being in town. The man might even have some advice on how to proceed with uncovering Sir Oswald’s cohorts.

  The trouble was, Niall didn’t want to talk to Fulkham tonight. He wanted to talk to Bree first. Edwin’s words about what her father’s arrest might do to her and Silas still haunted him. It had been one thing to postulate such a thing when Niall had misunderstood her past actions and when Sir Oswald’s guilt was more uncertain. But now, with what he’d found out about how she’d suffered at the man’s hands . . .

  He had to see her before this went any further.

  Consulting the damned watch he was keeping for Warren, he grimaced. Past 2:00 a.m. She was probably tucked up cozily in her bed, dreaming of Wedgwood vases and fields of flax.

  Or him. God, he hoped she was dreaming of him.

  Then again, she could still be awake. Unlikely, but a possibility. And thanks to young Pip, Niall knew which room was hers.

  Seventeen

  Brilliana couldn’t sleep. She tried, but it was futile. She kept wanting to do naughty things to herself—to touch her body in her most private places, all while reliving her afternoon with Niall.

  Determined to squelch her scandalous impulses, she got out of bed, lit a candle, and went to her writing desk to pull out her sketchbook. But as she did so, another one fell to the floor.

  Her breath caught. It was her old sketchbook, the one with drawings of Niall. That was the last thing she should be looking at right now, yet she couldn’t help herself.

  With a sigh, she flipped through the images. On the one hand, she was pleased to see how her abilities had improved from those early days. On the other, those first drawings catapulted her right back to the naïve hopes of her youth. She’d drawn Niall as impossibly handsome, with a look of love in his eyes and a sensuality that had captivated her even then.

  The pesky devil. Even in sketches, he seduced her.

  She understood now why some women relished marital relations. She’d always seen being bedded as a chore to be endured. But that was because Reynold had always roused her without making her “come,” which had only succeeded in frustrating her.

  She even remembered telling Delia a few months ago that the pleasures of the marital bed were only pleasurable for the man. Brilliana dearly hoped that her sister-in-law hadn’t listened to her nonsense and was having a fine time on her honeymoon with lovemaking. Her new husband was even more of a rogue than Niall, so he undoubtedly knew a thing or two about pleasing a woman.

  Unlike Reynold. Brilliana sighed. He had been more concerned about his own satisfaction than hers, and not just in the bedchamber. He’d never encouraged her sketching or her ambition to design for Wedgwood or even her burgeoning interest in matters concerning the estate.

  And why? Because that might have taken time away from her catering to his needs. Selfish wretch.

  Meanwhile, Niall—

  A noise very near made her jump. It sounded almost as if something were knocking against the French doors of her balcony.

  She turned to look and nearly came out of her skin. A man was silhouetted there, peering into her room. But before she could raise an alarm, he said, “Open the door, Bree. Please.”

  “Niall? Goodness gracious!”

  She flew to do as he asked. While he entered the room, she peered outside. “How on earth did you get up here?”

  “I climbed the downspout.”

  “That tiny thing? Are you mad? You could have fallen to your death!”

  He chuckled. “Not likely. I’m an expert at climbing buildings.” He dusted off his coat. “I saw the candle burning in your window and figured that since you were up, we could talk.”

  “It’s two in the morning!”

  “Yes, but you’re awake.”

  Well, she could hardly refute that. She should put on her wrapper, make him go, or do something other than stand here in her nightdress drinking in the sight of him. “Why didn’t you want to wait until morning?”

  “We can’t have a discussion about your father’s situation in front of your aunt.”

  Oh, right, he’d played cards with Papa earlier. “So what’s he done now?”

  “He paid for his losses with a counterfeit twenty-pound banknote.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “And that surprises you?”

  “Some, yes. I’d hoped he might not be guilty. But clearly he’s in this up to his neck.” Taking off his coat, Niall threw it over the chair by her desk. “At the very least, he’ll probably end up standing trial and being transported abroad for his crime.”

  “We knew that was possible.”

  “Possible, yes. Certain, no. And now that I consider the result of such a scandal once it becomes public—”

  “Oh. I see.” She crossed her arms over her chest self-consciously. He was starting to reconsider marrying her. She didn’t blame him, but still, it hurt. “I’ve made my peace with it, but I can see why it might give you pause. You won’t want to marry a woman who will drag your family through the mud.”

  “What?” he said, clearly shocked. “That’s not what I meant at all. It’s you and Silas that worry me.” He strode up to where she stood near her bed. “I came here to tell you that if you want me to save your father from prosecution, I might attempt it. I can confront him with this banknote and tell him I’ll turn him over to the authorities unless he reveals everything about the operation. And then I can do my damned best to keep him out of it.”

  “Have you lost your mind? You do that, and you risk making an enemy out of Fulkham! Or worse, being forced to keep working for him.”

  He shrugged. “Not necessarily. I’m sure I could negotiate something with him.”

  Her heart leapt into her throat. “No, you are not doing that.”

  “It’s not for your father’s sake, but yours and Silas’s. The way I see it—”

  “Absolutely not! I lost you once. I couldn’t bear to lose you again.”

  “You won’t lose me. We could work the matter out so that—”

  She shook her head so violently, her unbound hair swung about her shoulders. “We’re not discussing this anymore. If you’re truly only concerned about me and Silas, then we’ll stick to the original arrangement.”

  He got that stubborn look on his face that told her he meant to keep beating at this until he changed her mind, and desperation seized her. So she took a page from his book and did something outrageous to distract him.

  She kissed him. Right on the mouth. With all the pent-up need she’d been feeling from the time she’d left him this afternoon.

  He jerked back to grab her by the arms. “What the blazes are you doing?”

  “What do you think?”

  “But we need to discuss—”

  “I don’t want to talk right now, and especially not about Papa.” She flung her arms about his neck. “I want to do this.” Then she kissed him again.

  He froze, but only briefly before kissing her back so ardently that it made her swoon. He was such a luscious kisser, and tonight she wanted nothing more than to revel in his experience at seduction.

  But cursedly he came to his senses and broke the kiss. Sweeping her with a quick, heated glance, he muttered an oath under his breath before putting her aside. “We have to talk.”

  “Not now.”

  “Bree—”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be a rogue?” She planted her hands on her hips, perfectly aware of how the motion thrust her breasts forward, and reveling in the dark interest in his eyes. “Why don’t you behave like one?”

  He gritted his teeth. “That’s not what I came here for.”

  She lifted an ey
ebrow.

  “All right, so . . . perhaps I had that in the back of my mind, but—”

  “Good.” Feeling every bit the Lady Rebel he called her, she grabbed his hand and drew it to her breast.

  He let out a harsh breath. As if in a trance he rubbed her there, softly and silkily at first, and then with a firm touch that had her nipple tightening to a hard point.

  “God help me,” he murmured. “I’d swear you have the most supple breasts in all England.” Then, growling her name, he swept her up in his arms and tumbled her onto the rumpled bedcovers with a low cry of exultation before covering her body with his.

  And it was glorious, like being consumed by a magnificent beast. Which was precisely what he was, her reckless rakehell. With all the ferociousness of a Bengal tiger, he devoured her mouth while his hands fondled her breasts through her nightdress.

  She plucked at his clothes, desperate to touch bare skin and hard muscle, and that seemed to give him pause. “Aren’t you worried your aunt will hear us?”

  “She sleeps like the dead, trust me.”

  That was a slight exaggeration, but she didn’t care. Niall was her fiancé. What was Aunt Agatha going to do—force him to marry her? At this point, even that sounded appealing.

  “Besides,” she went on, “I want you.”

  “Do you?” He stared down at her a long moment. “Well then, who am I to protest?”

  He rose to dispense with his clothes as she watched in avid anticipation. Their hurried lovemaking against trees hadn’t allowed her a chance to see him naked, so when he started to climb back into bed, she whispered, “Wait. I want to look at you.”

  His eyes glinted in the light of the fire. “Does this mean that my Lady Rebel is making an appearance?”

  “Apparently.” In the morning, she would undoubtedly rethink her rebellion, but right now she delighted in it. She wanted him in her arms and in her bed. Now.

  “Then I want tit for tat. Literally.” He crossed his arms over a chest that was as broad as it was sculpted. In the firelight the hair dusting it glimmered golden, making her want to smooth her hands over every inch. He must have realized it, for he cast her a cocky grin. “Take off your nightgown, sweeting.”