A Rake's Midnight Kiss (31 page)

Groaning, he rolled away and sat up on the rumpled cushions, raising his knees and burying his head in his hands. From bliss to wretchedness in a heartbeat. This felt like the most God awful hangover. A spiritual hangover. Much nastier than the effects of too much brandy.

“I’ve made such a bloody mull of this,” he muttered, wrenching at his hair as if the small pain could compensate for the evil he’d done this woman.

“Well, that’s what a girl wants to hear after she’s taken a lover,” Genevieve said sourly.

He didn’t look at her as she scrambled away. He missed her proximity. Almost as much as he missed those luminous but unforgivable moments when he’d been inside her and she’d clasped him tight as if she’d never let him go.

“This is no joking matter.” He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes until he saw colored lights. When what he should see was the engulfing flames of hell.

He heard her moving about. “I’m sorry I didn’t meet expectations.”

Horrified, he raised his head to watch her marching around the temple lighting candles. She’d tugged her dress on, although without petticoats, her gown was nearly transparent.

“Don’t be silly, Genevieve,” he said grimly. The light blooming around him didn’t brighten his inner darkness.

She halted before him, glowering. She was so beautiful. A louse like him didn’t deserve to touch the hem of her skirt.

With a furious huff, she blew out the taper. “You certainly know how to make a girl feel like a princess.”

He didn’t smile. He felt lower than a snake’s belly, too low to summon his usual tricks to keep a lady happy once he’d tumbled her. With Genevieve, his tired old lines seemed cheap and shabby.
He
was cheap and shabby. And a damnable liar.

The lies were the problem. Lies as black as pitch and stinking like a fart from Satan’s arse.

Unsteadily he rose to tug on his trousers, then he slumped onto the makeshift couch to stare at her in despair. “Sit down, Genevieve.”

She folded her arms, pushing her lush bosom up. He was definitely a louse. Even now, his cock twitched with interest. His cock didn’t care that he was rotten to the core. His cock wanted to plant itself between Genevieve’s creamy thighs.

Stifling his baser impulses, he extended his hand toward her. “Please.”

Without touching him, she dropped onto the cushions. Her body was so tense he thought she might crack if he touched her. “Are you married?”

“Good God, no.”

On a shuddering breath, her shoulders relaxed. Guiltily he realized how his behavior must unnerve her. “Well, that’s something.”

He stared blindly at the candles on the rickety table across the room. His belly cramped like he’d eaten bad fish. Life had been considerably easier before he’d given a damn.
Dear Lord, what if he’d got her pregnant? She’d curse the day he was born.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” he said bleakly, knowing that he should have told her before he took her virginity. That he should never have lied at all.

Too late. Too late.

He braced as if expecting a blow. But he owed her the foul, damaging truth. His voice emerged as flat as Lincolnshire. “I’m not who you think I am.”

“I know you’re not,” she said equally expressionlessly. “You’re the thief who broke into the vicarage and locked me in.”

Bloody hell.
She knew?
Astonished, he turned. She studied him with severe, focused attention. Against expectations, she didn’t appear to hate him. Yet. “What did you say?”

“You broke into the vicarage.”

“The first time. Never after that,” he said quickly, before reminding himself that he could only seek absolution after a full confession.

He didn’t deserve absolution. How he wished he could take back the last hour. Or more accurately he wished that he wished he could take it back. His unparalleled satisfaction didn’t outweigh his long overdue scruples.

Then the significance of what she’d said struck like a hammer on brass. “How the hell do you know?”

Her lips curved in an unamused smile, although her gaze remained watchful. “You’re not as clever as you think you are.”

That was something she didn’t need to tell him. “Apparently.” He struggled to order reeling thoughts. “How long have you known? Not from the first, surely? You wouldn’t have let me move in.”

He saw her consider making such a claim, but she was much more honest than he. “The first time we kissed.”

Another shock shuddered through him. “What did I do?”

“It wasn’t what you did. It was how you smelled.” Despite the fraught moment, a reminiscent light entered her lovely eyes. “Lemon verbena.”

“Blast. I was so careful.”

“The dyed hair fooled me for a while.”

He wasn’t made for subterfuge. He should have realized that a woman as sharp as Genevieve would quickly penetrate his disguise. Still he had more questions than answers. “Why in heaven’s name didn’t you say something? Especially after the other break-ins.”

“I waited to see what you were up to.”

Unable to resist touching her, he lunged for her hand. There was a distinct possibility after he told her everything that she’d never let him touch her again. “I could be a villain of the worst sort.”

“I’m not sure that you aren’t.” She tried to break free, but he, being the villain he claimed, wouldn’t let her go. “The best explanation I can come up with is that you’re working for Sir Richard Harmsworth to get me to sell the jewel. Although your efforts have been fairly half-hearted. You could have blackmailed me about my father’s work. Lord Neville tried to.”

Fleeting disgust distracted him. “The devil he did.”

She nodded. “But you didn’t. Are you working for Sir Richard?”

His stomach felt like it was made of lead. In his mouth, self-hatred tasted like rusty nails. He groaned again and buried his head in his knees, resting his brow on their clasped hands. He’d never loved her so desperately as now when he faced eternal banishment. Once she found out who he was, she’d never forgive him. “It’s worse than that, my darling.”

Her voice shook with trepidation. “Tell me.”

He braced as though expecting the roof of the charming summerhouse to collapse. Of course the temple wouldn’t collapse. What collapsed was his life and hopes.

He raised his head and spoke quickly to lessen the pain. “I
am
Richard Harmsworth.”

I
’m so stupid,” Genevieve whispered.

Of course he was Richard Harmsworth. It was both the most obvious and simplest solution to the mystery of his interest in the Harmsworth Jewel. She snatched her hand free and rose on shaky legs.

“I’m sorry,” he said in such a low voice, she strained to hear. He stared at the hands linked around his knees. Even now, even after this revelation of his identity and how he’d misled her, she couldn’t stop her heart turning over at how beautiful he was.

“Is that enough?” Because the temptation to touch him remained so strong, she stepped away. She knew how his skin felt beneath her hand, smooth and warm and alive. She knew how his long muscles tightened and released when he moved. She couldn’t erase the experience of pleasure.

“No,” he said dully.

Candlelight lit him like an actor on a stage. Of course an actor was what he was. Nothing was real. An hour ago, she’d gloried in her recklessness. Right now, she felt sick to the stomach with remorse.

The weight of hurt and betrayal left her crushed. “Why didn’t you steal the jewel that first night?”

When he glanced up, despair shadowed his blue eyes. She almost believed that he suffered, until she remembered how convincingly he lied. “I never planned to steal the jewel.”

“Then why are you here?”

He shrugged faintly, an unhappy version of his usual nonchalance. “You’ll hate me.”

Her lips tightened. Lord Neville’s attack and what Christopher—no,
Richard
—had done had left her sticky and sore. She desperately wanted a bath. She desperately wanted to return to the woman she’d been before she met this deceitful Adonis. “Who says I don’t hate you now?”

He flinched. Although the truth was that she was unsure what she felt. For days, she’d known he had an agenda. Yet she’d brought him here and let him have his way with her. Such a banal description for that unforgettable journey to the stars. Worse, she had a horrible suspicion that if he touched her with intent to seduce, she’d fall as readily as before.

Mind and body had always been at war over handsome Mr. Evans. Who wasn’t Mr. Evans at all, but a rich and rakish baronet. The stories in Mrs. Meacham’s London papers taunted her with the knowledge that this man moved in a world far beyond her humble circle.

He straightened upon the cushions, sitting there pale and serious as she’d rarely seen him. “When you told my representatives that even if you had the jewel, you’d never sell it to me, I decided to inveigle it away from you.”

It was her turn to flinch. “Seduce me, you mean?”

He flushed with shame. “I never intended to ruin you, but the moment I saw you I wanted you.”

Her tone descended to sarcasm. “Wonderful. At least you didn’t need to pretend enthusiasm.”

“Genevieve, I realize how bad this looks.” He stood and reached for her. His tone deepened into sincerity, but she’d learned to mistrust him. “You must know there’s more between us than my half-baked quest for the jewel.”

She backed away, staring at his hand as if it sported long jagged teeth. “I don’t know anything. Until a few minutes ago, I didn’t even know your name.”

“You can’t despise me more than I despise myself.” He drew himself to his full height. He’d never looked more magnificent, candlelight flickering across his lean, muscled torso and his shoulders straight and proud. The light gleamed on his hair and she realized that the dye faded to reveal shining gold.

It broke her heart to look at him, although she knew she’d invited this pain. She turned away and bent to scrabble through her petticoats. She flushed with humiliation to see their discarded clothing.

She faced him, hand tightly closed. “Neither of us deserves accolades.”

Swallowing hard, she struggled to forget those miraculous minutes when their bodies joined, how she’d felt beautiful and wanted and free. How she’d felt loved. If she thought about lying in his arms, she’d start to cry. Now she needed to be disdainful and strong.

Slowly she extended her hand and unfurled fingers stiff with the pressure of her grip. He’d ripped her heart out. Nothing mattered anymore. “Seduction worked.”

His eyes darkened at her bitter statement and a muscle flickered in his cheek. Then his gaze dropped to what she held. The object glittered as though it was alive. “It’s the jewel.”

“Of course it’s the jewel,” Genevieve snapped, then stopped. Screaming like a banshee wouldn’t convey the
impression that she required. She intended Sir Richard to remember her as proud and queenly, not as a hysterical termagant. She wanted him to walk away with some corner of his heart regretting what he’d tossed away.

A likely outcome.

“You carried it with you.” His eyes glinted with admiration. “That’s why nobody found it.”

“At least your henchmen didn’t.”

His lips turned down with displeasure. “Genevieve, you have no reason to believe me—”

“That’s the first honest thing you’ve said to me.”

He ignored her jibe, although his fists clenched at his sides. She was savagely glad to needle him, to repay some of the pain ripping her to shreds. “I’ll never lie to you again. I told you I was only responsible for the first break-in, and that’s the truth.”

“You wouldn’t know the truth if it kicked you in the teeth.” As she longed to do. She braced against swelling anger. Inside her there stirred a beast that burned to claw that sad, concerned expression from his face. Until his skin lay in tattered strips and she exposed the reality under the gorgeous mask.

Proud and queenly, Genevieve.

“I know you hate me—”

“More frankness. Good heavens, Sir Richard, in no time at all you’ll pass as an honest man.”