His tongue tasted, plundered, demanded. One of his hands grasped the back of her head and the other had found its way to her bound breast.
Rhoda arched into him. He’d brought her back to life this spring, reignited a hunger she never imagined she’d feel again.
No more waiting.
No more delaying.
No more doubt as to whether this was meant to be or not.
“Justin.” Her voice rasped on his name. He moaned in response. He was walking her backward, off the path. She didn’t stop until she felt herself pressed up against the trunk of a tree.
He’d released her head by now, both of his hands frantically caressing her body, searching for access she had no intention of denying.
He’d hitched one of her legs up. Rhoda opened for him; she wanted to feel his arousal. She wanted nothing between them.
“Why are you wearing breeches?”
The words fell like cold water on their passion. He also seemed to take notice of how she’d done her hair and examined her wardrobe in confusion. “Is this a joke?”
She did not want to lie to him. “I was there. Today.” She hated that he’d dropped her leg and stepped back. Where she’d been hot a few seconds before, frigid air hit her now. “At White’s,” she added.
His brows lowered as she added to his confusion. “But, how? And why?”
“I saw you, heard what you said to Lord Kensington.” She was afraid to answer his question. “Sophia, Cecily, and I—”
“You snuck into an all-gentlemen’s club?” He didn’t sound as though he thought it was very amusing.
“I needed to place the bet.” Her heart plummeted. The shame she felt wasn’t nearly as heartbreaking as the betrayal she saw in the depths of his eyes.
He lowered his brows. “I asked you not to. You gave me your word.”
She hadn’t spoken any such agreement, but to be fair, she’d nodded. She’d indicated that she would accede to his wishes.
“But it is the only way—”
He took another step away from her. “I see you have so little faith in me that you deemed it necessary.” And then realization narrowed his eyes. “Whose name were you wagering in? Not your own. That would never be allowed.”
“Viscount Dorwich,” she stated baldly.
“Mine?”
She’d gone too far this time.
She’d ruined everything. He’d never trust her again. “I do have faith in you!” She could not fight the tears that had accumulated behind her eyes. “I do! More than you know! So much so that I had to! You would not do it for yourself! You would never do it for us.”
He had turned his face away from her, and she could see his jaw clench and then unclench again. When she thought he wasn’t going to say anything, he surprised her. “I don’t even know what honor is anymore,” he said so softly the wind could have easily carried his words away. He swallowed hard and then a mask dropped over his features, hiding any emotions he’d shown moments ago.
“Justin.” She wanted to beg him to understand, but… his very goodness, his purity was part of what drew her to him. She did not want for him to change. “I didn’t do it. I didn’t go through with it.”
But she had doubted him, and, by his lack of reaction, he apparently didn’t recognize any difference between the two.
She’d been willing to do whatever might be necessary. Because she’d wanted him. She’d wanted it all. Had she been so very wrong? She wished she felt more certain of her position. She wished such questions could be answered more easily. Perhaps then, she could defend herself.
“Best repair yourself and I’ll escort you to your mother’s house. I don’t imagine she knows you went out in public like that.”
He suddenly appeared very tired.
Rhoda buttoned the top of her shirt and her jacket, and then smoothed down the creased fronts of her breeches. She could not take his arm while they walked. People would think two men were…
Well, she would walk a little in front of him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Time’s Running Out
Justin felt sick inside. A failure. She’d not believed in him. What sickened him further was that he’d not believed in himself either.
He’d disparaged her for her costume and yet with her walking just ahead of him, hips swaying, he wanted nothing more than to run his hands along the sweet, round curve of her bottom. He wanted to lay her on the grass and remove that ridiculous disguise inch by inch.
He wanted to bury himself inside of her, claim her for himself once and for all.
Dev had said he’d lie, steal, and kill for his duchess. Suddenly, Justin had similar urges.
But she didn’t believe in me.
He swallowed hard. Why did honor even matter? Or character? He struggled with the terrifying notion that he could not live without her and yet, if he went against his own conscience, could he then live with himself?
He glanced from side to side as they emerged from the forested path. A few members of the ton had begun to assemble early. It would not do for Rhoda to be recognized by any of them, especially dressed as she was.
Good God, she and her friends had stolen their way into White’s! He didn’t know that any other woman had ever done so.
How had they gone unnoticed? He shook his head as he watched the sway of her hips, not hidden nearly enough by the length of her masculine jacket. Did men only see what they wanted to see? Were they so arrogant as to not believe a woman could slip by their defenses so easily?
Damnable men and damnable women.
With a flick of his hand and a quick whistle, he summoned an approaching hackney. Already the two of them were attracting curious glances. Best to get her hidden away, if only in a vehicle.
He gave the driver her address, along with payment, and then resisted the urge to assist her up the steps. She was dressed as a gentleman, for God’s sake.
When she realized he was not going to join her, she frowned. Her lashes fluttered, and she looked as though she wanted to cry.
She looked how he felt.
“Can you not forgive me, Justin?”
Her words nearly broke him. He wasn’t as bothered by her deception as he was by the fact that she had so little confidence in him.
If she couldn’t trust him… “There is nothing to forgive.” He met her gaze, willing her to understand.
Oh, how he wished he could simply forget everything except this woman.
“Then I don’t understand.”
This was not the place to have such a discussion. He merely shook his head and smiled with regret heavy on his chest. “Try not to be seen when you get home.”
She rolled her eyes.
Of course. She wasn’t a fool. She didn’t need to hear his words in order to know something so simple.
His heart sank as he watched the rundown carriage pull away, Perhaps, she didn’t need him either.
Rhoda had been inconsolable after St. John’s death. She’d been sad. She’d felt abandoned.
She’d not been heartbroken.
Justin White had been the man to introduce her to this particularly painful affliction.
She’d managed to slip back into her mother’s house and into her chamber to change without being noticed. She’d wanted nothing more than to don her night rail, climb beneath the counterpane, and cry herself to sleep.
But she’d promised Sophia she’d visit Prescott House. They would want to know if the plan had worked.
She owed them that much. They’d risked their own reputations to help her.
So instead of feigning illness for the rest of the day, she wiped her eyes and, along with Lucy, made her way resolutely on foot to Prescott House.
Mr. Evans told her she was expected and led her to Sophia’s favorite drawing room.
She had barely stepped inside when she was nearly knocked over by Cecily, who’d bounded across the rooms and grasped hold of Rhoda’s shoulders. “You are safe! We were so very worried. O
ne minute we’re watching Flavion attempt to defend his actions to Lord Carlisle and the next you have disappeared. I had hoped you’d met with success, but I didn’t know. And we certainly couldn’t ask anyone.” Cecily laughed.
Rhoda could not meet Sophia’s eyes, choosing instead to stare at the elaborately designed rug covering the floor. “I could not do it.”
Silence.
“You mean you could not do it, or you could not do it?” Sophia, Rhoda believed, had an inkling as to what Rhoda meant.
“I simply couldn’t do it.” She lifted her chin and looked from one girl to the other. “I wanted to do it. And I had every opportunity to do it. I’m quite certain we could have gotten away with it. It was just… he’d asked me not to. And there he was, defending my honor amidst all of his peers.”
She awaited the recriminations Cecily would surely heap upon her head. And the justified complaints Sophia would have.
Neither of which came.
“I am so very proud of you.” Cecily’s smile stretched from ear to ear.
“You love him! I knew it!” Sophia’s eyes had gone all dreamy, much like they normally did when she spoke of her husband.
Rhoda glanced from one to the other. “You mean you are not angry with me?”
But they were shaking their heads, most adamantly. “We were most willing to assist you, as you well know. But you walked away from nearly one hundred thousand pounds, simply because you’d given him your word.” Sophia sighed. “Isn’t love the most wonderful thing in the world?”
But Rhoda didn’t feel that way at all.
“There is more,” she blurted out.
Cecily’s eyebrows rose.
“I ran into him in Hyde Park, while taking an um… detour coming home.”
“Oh, this gets more interesting by the moment.” Sophia’s enthusiasm was not to be dashed.
“In my gentleman’s garb.” Rhoda waited for this to sink in. “I was dressed as a gentleman when I came across my unofficial, formerly official, now former officially unofficial fiancé.”
Must she spell it out for them?
“He knows I was going to place the bet. He knows that I didn’t have enough faith in his abilities to resolve our difficulties on his own.”
“But you didn’t.” Cecily stated the obvious. “Place the wager, that is. You walked away, incredible character on your part, might I add.”
“I told him I didn’t go through with it, but he was so very upset. It was as though by doubting him, I’d killed any feelings he ever had for me.” And broken her heart at the same time.
“But what is a lady to do?” Sophia burst out of her chair, throwing her hands into the air.
“He was so… disappointed that I’d considered going against his wishes. It was as though he didn’t even want to look at me after that. He put me in a hackney and sent me away.”
“Well, that is easily remedied.” Cecily spoke matter-of-factly. “Nothing a conversation cannot repair.”
“I hesitate to agree that it will be that simple, Cece.” Rhoda couldn’t shake the look of defeat she’d seen on his face when he closed the hackney door. She honestly wasn’t sure it would make any difference anyhow. He’d wanted her absolute faith, her wholehearted trust. Which, to be honest, needled her. Both their futures were at stake; why should they only do this his way? He ought to have heard her out at the ball. He ought to have been willing to consider her ideas. She wasn’t a complete nincompoop, after all.
Men and their fragile egos!
In a matter of twenty seconds, she went from utter heartbreak to exasperated frustration. Why should she feel guilty?
She was happy she hadn’t placed the bet. She wasn’t going to let him win anyhow. Holy heck, but she wasn’t going to let anybody win! They could wait until the end of time, blasted bastards, every one of them.
Justin wasn’t angry with Rhoda nearly so much as he was disgusted with his own failings.
The person he’d thought he was, no longer seemed to exist. He’d considered himself a man of God. Did men of God lust after young women, sinning with them over and over again in their thoughts? Did they hunger for money? Were they willing to walk in the world’s ways at the first hint of trouble?
He’d had her in his arms, alone, in a secluded place in the park. He’d not even realized she was dressed in men’s clothing until he’d gone to slide his hand beneath her nonexistent skirt.
Blood surged to his groin at the thought of what her smooth thighs would have felt like. She’d been willing, pressing herself against him.
He wanted Rhododendron Mossant. He wanted to marry her and bed her and not necessarily in that particular order.
Unfortunately, he needed a windfall of money in order to meet the needs of his new responsibilities.
He’d preached about love on more than one occasion. On marriage. How those who had experienced it must have been silently laughing at him. Love, he was coming to realize, consisted of so much more than steady consistency and commitment.
It was messy, turbulent. It muddled one’s thoughts and, at the same time, made things crystal clear.
Crystal.
Clear.
But did he have the stomach to do it? Justin broke into a run, as though chased by the hounds of hell themselves. Which was exactly where he might end up when all this was done.
He pumped his arms and ran faster. Perhaps heaven was overrated anyhow.
Rhoda had thought showing herself in society would be unbearable. She’d thought the cut directs would wear her down. But her worries had been all for naught. Members of the ton were as nosey and curious as they were likely to judge. And they were fickle.
Despite the wager that everyone in London surely knew of by now, invitations continued arriving at her mother’s home daily. In fact, they poured in. Every lady, it seemed, was vying to be the hostess of the party where the outcome of the bet was announced, if not won outright.
Madam Chantal had even opened up her schedule so that Rhoda would be wearing one of her newest creations when the moment eventually came about.
Tonight, she wore an emerald green taffeta creation, enhanced with gold lace overlay. She’d given in to Madam Chantal, even, and showed more bosom than she had in the past. Not a lot more, but enough to feed the rebellion growing inside of her.
She would have laughed at it all if she wasn’t so upset over Lord Carlisle’s noticeable absence. He’d not called upon her. He’d not sent any flowers, and when she did manage to catch sight of him across a ballroom floor, he barely held her gaze, nodding grimly and then finding something else altogether more interesting.
Someone else.
He’d not danced with her once in the week since they’d had their… disagreement.
He’d danced numerous times with a handful of heiresses. Their mothers had fawned over him while the daughters clung to his arms.
The arms that had previously wound themselves around her.
Rhoda recognized her feelings. She could even give a name to them. In fact, the color of her dress was quite appropriate.
Jealousy so powerful, it was likely to turn her eyes green.
“Miss Mossant.”
Rhoda turned. One of the footmen stood before her and bowed. “The Duchess of Prescott insists she speak with you now but cannot enter, she says, as she is in mourning.”
“Sophia?” But what could possibly be so very important? Was baby Harriette ill? “Where is she?”
“She is outside, at the edge of the gardens, by the fountain. She asks that you meet her there immediately. Alone.”
For a moment, Rhoda hesitated at his final word. Alone? Why ever would Sophia insist she go alone? Rhoda scrubbed at the back of her neck.
“She says it is urgent, Miss.”
If Sophia needed her then she must go. “By the fountain?” She vaguely remembered seeing it earlier from the terrace. And she remembered it from before. From that first ball of the Season.
The Crabtrees liked t
o host the first and the last.
“Very well. If I don’t return shortly, will you please tell Mrs. Mossant, my mother, where I have gone?”
A gleam sparkled in the man’s eyes, but he nodded. Rhoda didn’t have time to mull over this strange request. Sophia would not send for her if it was not truly important.
Oh, how she hoped nothing was wrong with the baby. She and Dev had already experienced enough tragedy to last a lifetime.
Rhoda stepped nonchalantly toward the French doors. When Cecily caught her gaze, she smiled wanly.
Sophia had asked her to come alone. Otherwise, she would have gladly snagged Cecily away from the older baron who seemed to be monopolizing her attention.
The air outside was warm. June was just a week away and soon most everybody would be retreating to the country.
What would happen to the wager when nobody won it? Surely, it would not persist into a second Season.
Oh, Lord, she hoped not.
The sounds of the fountain grew louder as Rhoda made her way along the cobblestone pathway. This really was a lovely garden. If she weren’t so worried about Sophia, she might have taken a moment or two to enjoy it.
“Soph?” she called out. Water poured from the spout at the tips of Lucifer’s wings. In the moonlight, the face danced beneath the water, making it appear almost lifelike.
Such a dramatic sculpture, really. She preferred this one to others she’d seen with nothing but cherubs. But where was Sophia?
“Soph?” she called out again, making her way around the concrete pool.
“Ah, Miss Mossant.”
Not again!
Lord Kensington really needed to seek out some other means to fill his coffers.
When he strode toward her menacingly, she realized the missive had been a ruse. “Stay away from me,” she ordered him, but he continued approaching her, almost like a panther preparing to pounce.
He jerked his head toward the trees. “I have witnesses watching nearby. Tonight is the night. I can’t risk the Season ending, you see. It has to be tonight.”
Rhoda bit her lip, real fear slithering down her spine. At the same time, anger surged through her core and into her limbs.
Hell of a Lady Page 23
