A Rake's Midnight Kiss (15 page)

“Dear God—” Mr. Evans with his ever-watchful eyes was the last person she wanted to meet right now.

“Are you all right?” He sounded concerned, not like the flirtatious scoundrel who destroyed her peace. She didn’t
trust that voice. After the last half hour, she didn’t trust any man.

She whirled to face him. “For pity’s sake, leave me alone!”

On a betraying sob, she dashed upstairs. Mr. Evans remained below, silently observing her ignominious flight.

D
amn it, man, what the hell is taking so long?”

At Cam’s impatient question, Sirius looked up from his nap on the stillroom’s stone floor. Richard straightened the towel around his shoulders and stared disconsolately out the window at the rain sheeting onto Leighton Court’s palatial stables. His hair was wet, and stinking with the paste for turning blond to the brown that he grew to loathe. A freezing trickle dribbled down his neck. He hated this part of his ruse—dyeing his hair made him feel like a blasted cicisbeo.

Cam hadn’t finished. “You’re not setting yourself up for life as the vicar’s clerk. When I helped you put this together, I didn’t imagine I’d be providing a cover story longer than a week. Your absence has been noted in Town. I’m assuming you don’t want to become such a mystery that people start asking about you all over the country. That might let the cat out of the bag.”

Richard contemplated the miserable morning. He’d been in a grim humor since Genevieve had fled him in tears three nights ago. He’d burned to comfort her. Whatever propriety’s dictates, it felt wrong to ignore her distress.

Cam growled. “Confound you, answer me. Have you lost your tongue as well as your wits in this godforsaken backwater?”

Richard laughed wryly and finally met his friend’s concerned eyes. Cam stood ruler-straight before the marble counter. Not for him the slouch that Richard affected. “What was the question again?”

“Good God, you’re bloody lovesick, aren’t you?” Cam pounded his fist against the counter. “That woman has turned your brain. You’ve always been so cynical about love. How the mighty have fallen.”

Richard’s gut clenched in denial. “Utter rot, dear fellow.”

Cam snorted disbelief. Richard cursed old friends who didn’t fall for his pose of good-natured vacancy. “I must meet this Genevieve Barrett. To think a prim bluestocking has you on your knees. I never thought to see the day.”

Richard shivered. It was deuced chilly weather to sit around in his shirt with sopping hair. “You and your wild imagination. I’m making sure I do this properly.”

“Do what? Steal the jewel or the girl’s virtue?”

His lips tightened with an impatience that would have astonished those who believed that Richard Harmsworth reserved his deepest reactions for his tailoring. “I can’t bloody well steal it. How can I taunt the ton with the deuced bauble if I do? The situation is more complex than I thought.”

He hoped Cam didn’t notice that he failed to comment on any plans for Genevieve’s virtue. Playing the gentleman became more onerous every day. Especially since he’d kissed her.

“So how much longer?” The duke frowned with the displeasure that invariably sent minions scurrying. “Surely you tire of rural amusements.”

Richard merely arched his eyebrows. If Cam knew the
delights of Genevieve’s kisses, he wouldn’t mock the rustic life. “I’m making progress.”

Cam threw his hands up in disgust. “Not from what I see.”

The urge arose to confide in Cam about Genevieve’s work for her father. But his friend would only nag him to use the information to obtain the jewel. Richard wasn’t sure why he hadn’t taken advantage of the only secret he’d uncovered—unless he counted her propensity for swimming naked. Perhaps the unspoken threat in Fairbrother’s manner toward her stopped him. Galling at his age to discover that a knight in shining armor skulked under his nonchalant demeanor.

“I’m taking the subtle approach.”

“Well, that’s novel.”

He might fend off Cam’s jibes, but the time he devoted to brooding upon Genevieve was disturbing. Not to mention these unfamiliar protective instincts. Inconvenient protective instincts. After all, he meant to soften her up until she surrendered the jewel, not keep her from harm all her days.

He had a sinking premonition that those protective instincts might stymie his wicked schemes. Hell, they already had. After she’d run upstairs crying, his pursuit had relented.

The memory of that night reminded him that he wasn’t merely here for a scolding and somewhere private to dye his hair. “What do you know about Neville Fairbrother?”

“Leath’s uncle?” Cam’s dark brows contracted. “He doesn’t appear in society. He has a property a few miles away. Youngton Hall. By all reports it’s stuffed to the gills with treasures. I went up against him for that Titian in Rothermere House’s library. He didn’t take losing in good spirit.”

“That’s in character.”

“I imagine he’s plump in the pocket. All the Fairbrothers are.”

“Have you heard anything to the fellow’s detriment?”

Cam shrugged. “Haven’t heard much at all.”

“Can you find out?”

Cam’s mouth flattened with reluctant humor. “I have got a life separate from your madcap stratagems, my friend.”

“A word here, a word there. Not asking you to lay down your life, old man.”

“Why?”

“Why aren’t I asking you to lay down your life?”

Cam’s eyes narrowed. “No. Why this sudden interest in the middle-aged second son of a marquess?”

“The bugger is after Genevieve.” Even more unforgivably, he’d made her cry. For that, he deserved to have his kidneys poached.

Cam laughed. “Priceless. Not only is the bluestocking holding out, she has another suitor. Dear God, man, you’ll end this escapade with your tail between your legs.”

Richard had a bleak feeling that Cam’s raillery was justified. He swam in deep water and right now, he was drowning. “The vicar told me that Fairbrother proposed three nights ago and Genevieve refused him.”

“Did she indeed?” Calculation replaced Cam’s amusement. “A penniless vicar’s daughter is a comedown for a Fairbrother, even a second son. They’re notoriously high in the instep.”

“She doesn’t like him.”

“Says you.”

“She’s got too much sense to fall for that walrus’s blather.”

Richard awaited further mockery, but Cam regarded him with a frown. “A sensible woman would say yes. It’s a big step up in the world.”

“No sensible woman would marry Neville Fairbrother. He’s a boor.”

“Compared to you.”

“At least I’m not thirty years older than she is.”

“So you’re contemplating marriage?”

Shocked, Richard jerked upright, losing his towel. Marriage? To Genevieve? If he wasn’t stuck here with noisome gunk adorning his head, he’d march out. “Good God, you’re talking madness. You know I need to marry a woman who can restore the Harmsworth name. A chit with exceptional lineage and no questionable interests.”

Cam looked intrigued. “Questionable interests?”

Richard’s lips tightened. His friend’s query should amuse him. Instead, he wanted to punch Cam’s aristocratic nose. “Miss Barrett’s a lady of unblemished chastity. But the Harmsworth scandal will never die if I marry a lowborn bluestocking with a tendency to speak her mind.”

“You’ve thought this through.”

Richard’s laugh was dismissive. “Not at all. Matrimony’s the last thing on my mind. I’ll set my course to seeking a bride when I’m back in Town.”

“When will that be? After Christmas? Can you tear yourself away from the luscious Genevieve before then? She’s got you in a lather and you haven’t even tumbled her yet.”

“It’s only a passing fancy. I’m here for the jewel.”

Cam shrugged. “You don’t talk about the jewel. You talk about Miss Barrett. And in terms I’ve never heard you use.”

Richard sobered. Strangely now that shock subsided, the prospect of marrying Genevieve didn’t stir quite the horror he’d expected. Which was the most frightening admission of all.

She never bored him. If anything, she was a little too exciting. He wasn’t used to women staying two steps ahead. If he wasn’t careful, her brilliant brain might outwit him yet.

He spoke from the depths of his heart. “She’s too good for me, Cam.”

“Rubbish.”

“Even if she isn’t, she’s determined on spinsterhood and a life of scholarship. She says right out that she won’t marry. Can’t blame her. A husband would try to crush her spirit. She’s not exactly docile and I can’t imagine her taking a fellow’s direction just because she’d vowed obedience before a parson.”

“She sounds like she’s got your measure.”

Even if that was true, he damned well wasn’t admitting it. “She’s certainly interesting.”

She was way more than that, but he’d exposed enough of this unwelcome obsession. Wanting a woman was perfectly acceptable, but this desire threatened to dominate his life.

Cam’s expression became austere. “Richard, if you’ve decided you’re interested in this woman as more than a brief flirtation, tell her the truth. You’ve already lied to a point where she mightn’t forgive you. The longer you stay, the greater the chance that she’ll discover you’re not what you seem.”

Richard’s skin felt too tight and heat crept into his cheeks. How utterly bloody that his friend made him falter like a schoolboy. And squirm with guilt. “Don’t be an ass. You see significance where none exists.”

Cam didn’t appear convinced. “Of course I do.”

“Really.”

“My mistake.”

Richard’s eyes narrowed, but Cam had turned to stare out at the rain. Instead of another harangue, Cam changed the subject. Unfortunately he chose a topic even less congenial than the beauteous Genevieve.

“Did you hear your mother is back from Paris? My sister Lydia saw her at the opera last week. Dazzling in some gown that has the modistes scrambling to catch up. And trailing two French comtes at least twenty years her junior.”

Oh, merciful God. He didn’t want to think about his mother right now. He
never
wanted to think about his mother.

“No, I didn’t hear,” he said with hard-won carelessness. “I pay no heed to my mother’s antics.”

Both he and Cam knew he lied through his teeth. But the reminder of his mother’s peccadillos and the misery they’d caused him placed his fascination with Miss Barrett into perspective. He probably should thank Cam, much as he felt like pounding the insolence out of him for broaching this perennially painful subject.

Thanks to his mother, Richard had spent his life shoring up defenses against a hostile world. A man asked for trouble if he made himself vulnerable. If he’d learned anything after years of fending off snide remarks, it was that he couldn’t risk any emotion deeper than a puddle.

Miss Barrett would prove to be only another woman in a long line of meaningless intrigues. A more complex and interesting woman than his usual conquests. A woman who right now he couldn’t imagine leaving after a few weeks. But that mutton-headedness would pass, he was sure. She’d never leave a scar on his well-guarded heart.

Damn it. Cam would accuse him of protesting too much.