Cheryl Holt (3 page)

“No,” she cut in. “I shall never wed. I simply inquire for my own reasons.”

“What are they?”

“I don’t wish to say.”

“So . . . you would like us to be lovers.” He’d hoped that using the word
lovers
would shock her, but he was wrong.

“Well, not lovers specifically.” Her response couldn’t have been more casual if they’d been discussing the weather. “As I hardly know you, such familiarity wouldn’t be appropriate, now, would it?”

“Then just what is it, precisely, that you’re asking?”

“I thought we could . . . chat . . . and you could explain the . . . the mechanics, and the order in which things occur.”

“The
mechanics
. . .”

“Yes. And the sequence of events.”

He ran a wary hand through his hair, pondering, calculating, evaluating each and every word she spoke, but making no sense of her scheme. As he kicked it around in his head, several possibilities occurred.

Could this entire episode be a joke? Perhaps his brother was behind it. Even now, were Michael and others breathlessly waiting in one of the gaming rooms, ready to hear how he’d handled the woman’s exceptional overture?

Perchance her appearance was an attempt at revenge for the havoc he had wreaked in his destructive vendetta against numerous members of the
ton
. Although it had been quite some time since he’d trifled with any of them, their memories were protracted and vicious.

Or it could be just as she said it was: a plea for help from a beautiful woman who needed a kind of sexual assistance that only he could supply. The very idea caused a tightening in his loins.

If her petition was genuine, the possibilities were endless. He’d start by talking to her, about carnality, about desire, about mouths and hands and tongues. His captive pupil, she would be an eager, zealous student who would want to learn all he could teach. No doubt she would quickly progress from a passive listener to an active participant who would need more detailed instruction.

What man could fail to be titillated by such a prospect?

Rising to his feet, he leaned close until they were face-to-face, eye to eye. Her skirts swirled and tangled about his legs. To her credit, she stood her ground, refusing to be intimidated by his size, by his nearness, by his masculinity.

Quietly, he insisted, “Tell me the true purpose behind your request.”

“I don’t wish to disclose my motivation to you.”

“That’s not an acceptable answer, for if I agree to help you . . .” Dear Lord, where had that come from? He absolutely
was not going to consider this risky, foolish endeavor. Or was he? As he gazed down upon her comely face, her trim physique, he felt a stirring between his legs, a heating in his blood, a tingling in his fingers.

They hovered, touching but for the shape of her dress, and her unique musk overwhelmed him. She smelled like fresh-cut flowers, yet, at the same time, tangy like lemons or tart apples. If they had found themselves in a room of a hundred people, he could have been blindfolded and picked her out by that distinctive scent alone.

The aroma called to him on an ancient level of which he was hardly conscious, but he had intellect enough to realize that it resided at the very core of his manhood. His heightened state of perception was animalistic, a sort of chemical reaction that was impossible to resist, so why try to fight it?

Too long, he stared into her penetrating, shrewd green eyes, and he finally forced his gaze away, lower, coming to rest on the snow-white swell of her bosom, the press of her cleavage. The rigor of her breathing had increased with his proximity, and her chest rose and fell in a quick motion. With each intake of air, her breasts pushed against the rim of her bodice, continuing their struggle to burst free. Her nipples were aroused by the excess friction, and even through all the layers of fabric in which she was attired, he could make out the hard nubs.

Explicitly, he could imagine himself baring that superb chest, seeing those two delightful mounds for the first time. Gently and roughly, he would fondle them before sucking them far into his mouth. The ecstasy would be exquisite, and she would groan and sigh with pleasure.

Yes, he could definitely picture himself doing all that and more.

“If I agree,” he reiterated, “there can be no secrets between us. Why do you demand this of me? What is the actual objective that makes you willing to engage in this impetuous exploit?”

“ ’Tis hardly
impetuous
,” she answered, affronted that
he would have such a low opinion of her capabilities. “I have been thinking about how to solve this dilemma for months. Only recently have I formulated this plan, although I must say, it has taken me some time to locate the courage to approach you. I’ve endured many a trying moment as I debated whether or not to go through with it.”

“I’m sure it’s been difficult. It isn’t the type of discourse one would expect from a lady such as yourself.”

“Then perhaps, in this instance, it is time for me to quit behaving as I usually do. I am willing to take whatever steps are necessary to obtain the information I require.”

The admission seemed full of sexual promise and innuendo but also vaguely threatening, and he repressed a shiver that worked its way down his spine.

If he did not support her, would she seek assistance elsewhere? He couldn’t bear the notion of her contacting some of the other men with whom he was acquainted. The very idea of how others might use and abuse her, how they might talk and spread stories after, terrified him. She could promptly land herself in a desperate circumstance without realizing what she’d done to cause it.

Better than anyone, he understood the ruthless environment in which she passed her days. Even the hint of scandal would end her life as she knew it to be. Amazingly, he didn’t want any intolerable eventuality to happen to her. Just as she inspired an unusual physical attraction to swell through his veins, she also lit fire to his protective instincts, the ones he thought he’d properly buried years earlier. Being around her made him want to act the gentleman, to let chivalry rear its ugly head. He needed to guard her from harm and dishonor, but astoundingly the only method he could think of was to aid her in her search for knowledge.

If he didn’t help her, to whom might she turn?

Still, one question nagged at the back of his mind. “As we have never met, why did you decide to come to me rather than another?”

She smiled, the intensity of it lighting up the room. “I hate to tell you.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t think your masculine pride needs further inflation.” She looked smug as she chuckled softly and admitted, “I inadvertently eavesdropped on some women who were talking about you. In explicit detail, I might add. They said some things that intrigued me very much.”

When she did not elaborate, he prodded, “What things?”

She raised a brow. “That you are a man of much passionate experience, a dramatic and thorough lover, and that women flock to your side because of your amorous abilities.”

His curiosity flared with his desire to discover who she had heard conversing and what, exactly, they might have disclosed that would have led her to brave this moment in time. “I guess I’m flattered.”

“I don’t know that you should be.” She pursed her lips in slight disapproval. “To my untrained ear, your escapades sounded quite naughty. However, their stories also made you appear perfect for my purposes.” She smiled again. “Now, then, since I have apparently been successful at stroking your male vanity regarding your female conquests, may I also hope that I have convinced you to do this vital service for me?”

He grinned in response, at her humor, at her mettle, at her ability to read him so well. They stood, not talking, the bit of mirth they shared gradually fading, the silence lingering. Long and hard, he stared into her eyes, looking for either lies or candor.

Perhaps he didn’t recognize what he saw, perhaps he was being played for a fool, but he perceived only truth. There was something about the woman—a strength of character and resolve—that made it seem as if he had always known her, as if he could ascertain what she was thinking, what she was feeling, simply by being near and sharing a period of quiet contemplation. She was a woman to be admired. To be trusted. However . . .

His instinct for self-preservation was strong, and he needed to ensure that he wasn’t walking into some sort of
carnal trap from which he could not readily extricate himself. While he was now a grown man who would never succumb to the kinds of societal pressures from his father and others that had led to his marriage, he didn’t intend to become embroiled in any type of public calumny over another virginal member of the Quality. The pressures from such an occurrence would be too oppressive. Also, there was his mother’s peace of mind to consider, so he required time in which to ponder all the angles and consequences.

“I will need a few days to contemplate your request. When I have reached my decision, how may I contact you?” She retrieved a card from her reticule and handed it to him. He examined the direction she had jotted down.

“Are you familiar with this section of London?” she asked.

“Yes.” It was in the theater district, a busy, bustling area filled with actors, musicians, and artists coming and going at all hours. Near, in fact, to his own domicile. It seemed the oddest location for the residence of the woman he believed her to be.

“Are you free this Thursday afternoon?”

“Yes,” he responded again, not bothering to check his calendar but knowing that, if his resolution was positive, he would arrange his affairs accordingly.

“Should you decide to assist me, I’ve taken a small apartment in the neighborhood. Show yourself at the appropriate door at two o’clock, and I shall welcome you. ’Tis as simple as that.” She reached for her hat and, with an efficient movement, secured it to her head. “After some reflection, should you find that you cannot help me, ignore the engagement. I will be disappointed, but I will understand. I realize I ask a great deal.”

She was set to depart, but, curiously, he didn’t want her to go just yet. There were many questions he wanted answered about why she was doing this. Regretfully, she wouldn’t confess her rationale, but it was no matter. There were other methods of discovering what he needed to know.

“What shall I call you?” he queried, discomfited by a strange desire to learn her name, even if the one she provided was false.

She tipped her head one way, then the other, considering her reply. “If I see you on Thursday, I shall give you a name. If I don’t see you, my name is of little import.”

“I suppose not.”

Unexpectedly, he was overcome with a desperate desire to touch her before she left. He reached out and took her hand, wishing it bare, the glove gone, so he could feel her smooth, warm skin against his own. He raised it to his mouth, his lips tarrying on the back, but as he did so, he kept his eyes fixed on hers. To his surprise and delight, she did not flinch or pull away, but viewed the incident inquisitively, as though trying to decide what to make of the intimate connection.

“Au
revoir
madam,” he said.

“Good-bye, Mr. Stevens. Thank you for meeting with me.’

“Believe me, my dear, it has been an interesting and enlightening pleasure.” He patted the back of her hand, then relinquished it, and she dropped it to her side.

An efficient servant appeared with her cloak and showed her out. He watched down the hall until she proceeded outside into the cold March drizzle, then he returned to the window and gazed at the street, tracking her progress as she crossed to the other side and walked down the block toward a rented hansom cab.

Just then, his younger brother, Michael, entered the room, lured by his desire for information about their latest secretive visitor. They were two years apart in age, James at thirty and Michael at twenty-eight, alike in many ways, but different in many others. They both possessed their father’s tall, broad-shouldered stature and dark good looks, but they were made more striking by the receipt of their mother’s startling blue eyes.

“How did it go?” Michael asked. “Not too disturbing, I trust?”

“No. Not disturbing in the least,” James answered, turning to look at his sibling. “Actually, it was quite fascinating.”

“Really?” Michael smiled in relief. “And to think I’ve been lurking down the hall, pacing, and waiting to rush in with comfort and brandy as soon as she quitted the premises.”

“Unnecessary,” James murmured distractedly. “Come closer,” he commanded, and Michael stepped next to the sill. “Do you see that woman heading toward the cab stand?” He pointed at the street.

“That one there?”

James nodded, keeping an eye on her and the vehicle. “Do you have any idea who she is?”

“Actually . . . yes.” James whirled, brow raised in question and, unabashed, Michael returned his probing stare. “You can’t blame me for peeking when she walked by my office.”

“No, I guess not. . . .” James glanced back to the street just as the woman climbed into the cab. The driver prepared to advance into traffic. “Her name?”

“Lady Abigail Weston.”

“Marbleton’s sister?”

“The older one. She’s been secluded in the country for several years now. She’s just arrived in Town.”

It was hardly a surprise that Michael would know about Abigail Weston’s appearance in London. Her older half-brother, the Earl of Marbleton, was a regular at their gambling tables, and Michael made it a point to uncover the paltry details of the lives of every customer. The information always came in handy sooner or later.

James carefully mulled the woman’s exalted identity, trying to sort through the possibilities of why she’d come and what she truly hoped to accomplish. Marbleton was a man of despicable character, a self-righteous prig whom the two brothers couldn’t abide. For his sister to have made her stunning approach, for her to have initiated such a shocking request, was absolutely the ultimate puzzle.

“Tell me all you recall about her,” he urged. “Don’t leave anything out.”