Nicole Jordan (7 page)

In any case, Deverill knew he would have to proceed cautiously, since he couldn’t come right out and accuse an English baron of murder without solid proof. In the British justice system, a nobleman was nearly inviolate. The privilege of peerage dictated that a lord must be tried by a jury of his peers. Thus, to be convicted required irrefutable evidence.

Still, he wished there were some means of persuading Antonia to postpone her betrothal announcement until he could be certain her life wasn’t in danger. He would have to think of a way, Deverill told himself as he watched her cantering up ahead.

Admiring her straight back and elegant figure in her tailored riding habit of chocolate brown broadcloth, he held back until they reached the end of Rotten Row and then caught up with her as she drew her horse to a halt. From her bright eyes, he could tell her mood had lightened after all their talk of scruples and slavery, and he resolved to lighten it even further.

With a nod, Deverill indicated the grass field to their left. “Let’s give our horses their heads. Your mare is itching for a run, and so are you.”

Antonia glanced around them, probably to see who might be observing. The park was sparsely populated just now, with a few dozen riders and pedestrians and governesses supervising young children.

When she hesitated, Deverill pressed her. “Come, I dare you. A race to that stand of trees.”

Antonia wrinkled her nose. “A lady does
not
race through the park like a hoyden,” she intoned primly, as if quoting the mistresses of the elite academy she had attended, although Deverill heard a hint of wry amusement in her voice. “But I do admit you tempt me sorely.”

“I will give you a head start if you are worried about being defeated.”

A flash of defiance sparked in her blue eyes, and she replied to his insulting offer with disdain. “You are riding a hired hack, Mr. Deverill. My mare will leave you in the dust.”

“You are welcome to prove it.”

He saw the struggle on her face as she debated the wisdom of accepting his challenge, so to tip the scales, he tossed out another provoking remark. “Ah, I see. You fear what your betrothed will say if he hears of you acting like a hoyden.”

Antonia’s brows narrowed at that. “Lord Heward has nothing to say about how I conduct myself.”

“You mean to claim that you are your own woman?”

“Precisely.”

“Good. And if he objects to your immodest behavior, you can blame your corruption on me.”

Glancing back at her groom, she asked him to wait there for her before nodding at Deverill. “Whenever you are ready, sir.”

“Now,” he said, spurring his horse forward.

Beside him, Antonia urged her eager mare into a gallop.

For a moment, the pounding hooves remained in rhythm, but then she bent low over her horse’s neck and easily moved ahead of Deverill on his slower chestnut.

He heard the reckless joy in her laughter as the wind snatched it away, saw the exhilaration in every line of her body as she won by six lengths.

“That was glorious!” Antonia exclaimed with another exuberant laugh as she pulled up.

When he drew his own horse to a halt beside her, Deverill found his attention riveted on her. Her smile was dazzling, her ivory complexion flushed with exertion, as if she’d just indulged in a passionate bout of lovemaking. Her auburn hair, which was pinned in a sleek chignon beneath a plumed shako hat, had suffered from the gallop, so that flaming tendrils now spilled around her lovely face. But it was the excitement in her eyes that affected him most. The blue depths were filled with a brilliant vitality and warmth that called to the adventurer in him.

Deverill drew a sharp breath as a jolt of pure desire shot through him; he couldn’t remember being this hard this swiftly.

Yet Antonia didn’t seem in the least aware of her allure as she turned her mare to ride more sedately back the way they had come.

“Quitting so soon?” Deverill queried, wishing he could preserve the moment.

“Indeed, I am. I’ve indulged in more than enough immodest conduct for one morning.”

“Not because you fear a rematch?”

Her eyes still bright with laughter, Antonia sent him an accusatory glance. “Oh, no, Mr. Deverill. I have your measure. And I refuse to let you provoke me into any further displays of wildness.”

“I hardly provoked you,” Deverill prevaricated.

“You did so. You lured me into behaving like a hoyden.”

He returned a wicked grin. “Yes, but you enjoyed every moment of it, admit it.”

She dimpled. “Perhaps. But I won’t let it happen again. I intend to make a valiant effort to recoup a modicum of decorum.”

“A pity,” he said truthfully, his fingers tensing with the urge to drag Antonia off her horse and pull her beneath him.

Watching her glowing eyes and ripe mouth, he was hard-pressed not to act on his primal male urges. She was vibrant and intoxicatingly alive—he’d recognized that about Antonia from the first. She relished life, possibly as much as he did. He could no longer deny he wanted her in his bed.

He knew what her lovemaking would be like: eager and hot, passionate and wild. She would meet his every challenge with spirit and fire, retaliating with challenges of her own.

It was damned difficult to picture her wed to the suave, aristocratic, undoubtedly cold-blooded Baron Heward. Just the image made Deverill shudder.

In truth, he was growing more and more certain that Antonia, with her vitality and love of life, would not be happy in such a mismatched union, no matter that she’d convinced herself otherwise.

“You are making a damnable mistake, you know,” he said into the silence.

“I beg your pardon?”

“By marrying Heward. He’s entirely the wrong husband for you.”

For a moment she just stared at Deverill speechlessly. Then her eyebrow arched coolly. “And what leads you to that opinion?”

“He’s a cold fish, and you’re a warm, vibrant gypsy at heart.”

Her eyes widening at his audacity, she pressed her lips together briefly before she carefully formed a reply. “Lord Heward is handsome, witty, intelligent, wealthy, titled . . . as well as being my father’s choice for me. What more could a lady wish for in a husband?”

Deverill’s voice was dry when he replied. “Integrity, honor, honesty, perhaps?”

He could see the annoyance flash in Antonia’s eyes. “I’ll thank you to refrain from making unfounded accusations out of pique. Just because you dislike Heward is no reason to impugn his honor.”

Deverill drew a long breath, striving for patience. “I don’t blame you for wanting a title, a place in society—especially when it’s what your father wished for you. But surely there are other noblemen eager to win your hand.”

“Oh, dozens,” Antonia said, her tone a touch sardonic. “All more interested in my fortune than in me.”

He resisted pointing out that Heward was after the same thing. “I’m sure Heward is the very paragon of desirable manhood, but I think you should find another candidate for your husband,” Deverill said instead.

“But I don’t
want
any other husband.”

“Then at least postpone your nuptials until you have a chance to determine Heward’s complicity in the slavery scheme.”

Antonia shook her head adamantly. “Since I don’t believe there
is
any complicity on his part, I have no intention of postponing our nuptials. We have deferred more than a year, as is. My father was eager for me to wed Lord Heward, and I intend to honor his wishes without further delay. Now, pray be kind enough to spare me any more displays of your appalling manners, Mr. Deverill, and mind your own affairs.”

Deverill felt his jaw clench at her icy dismissal, but with great effort, he bit his tongue. There was no point in antagonizing Antonia even more. He would simply have to find another way to persuade her to break off her betrothal to Heward. From now on, he would seek out opportunities to show her how insufferably boring and dull the very proper baron would prove to a woman of her spirited nature.

In any event, the opportunity for further intimate conversation was thwarted when they encountered her waiting groom, for Antonia brought her mount alongside the servant’s and remained close as they rode toward the park gates.

“You needn’t escort me home,” she told Deverill once they had left the premises.

“But I must,” he replied evenly. “It is impolite for a gentleman to abandon a lady before their outing is properly ended.”

Now
he professed to be a gentleman? Antonia thought, torn between vexation and exasperation.

She maintained a stiff silence all the way back to her house, much of that time reproving herself for losing her composure. She had resolved to treat Deverill with cool aplomb, but she hadn’t accounted for his deliberate provocations or his uncanny talent for getting under her skin.

Or her own deplorable inability to resist him.

It was shameful, how strongly she was drawn to him. The boldness in his glance, his tantalizing smile, combined with his blatant sexual magnetism managed to scatter her wits and weaken her limbs, while his provocative challenges only brought out the reckless, daring side of her nature, the one she usually strove to keep hidden.

She was glad when at last they reached Maitland House and halted in the drive. Ignoring her groom, however, Deverill swung down from his horse and came around to her side. Antonia tensed, realizing he intended to help her dismount.

“Are you afraid of me, princess?” he asked when she hesitated, his tone amused.

It was another obvious challenge, yet she couldn’t stop herself from taking the bait. Her chin rose. “Hardly. I simply don’t trust that your manners have undergone any miraculous transformation in the past ten minutes.”

“I can be civilized when the need suits me,” Deverill drawled. “Now, come here.”

Still wary, she reached out to place her hands on his broad shoulders. Catching her waist in his hands then, he lifted her down.

She had been right to distrust him, Antonia realized as he set her on her feet. For the span of several heartbeats, he stood holding her much too close for comfort. Their bodies brushed in the barest contact, but the effect was searing.

Antonia froze, the thrill of excitement skimming her nerves. He was all honed muscle and lithe strength, she could feel him through all their layers of clothing. Yet the intensity of her body’s reaction dismayed her more. The coiling sensation she felt in her breasts and stomach and loins was the same sweet, aching frustration that tormented her in her dreams.

And even knowing his action was deliberate, she could not have moved if her life depended on it.

Then Deverill reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch oddly intimate. “Until next time,” he said, the shallow grooves in his cheeks deepening with his soft smile.

A warm weakness broke loose in her chest, but Antonia fought it, knowing he delighted in keeping her off guard. “There won’t be any next time,” she said firmly.

His smile was wicked and utterly confident. “I assure you there will be.”

Lord, was he dangerous,
she thought, finally finding the willpower to step back.

Quickly turning, Antonia ran up the steps, seeking refuge in the safety of her house. But she knew with utter certainty that she wouldn’t be truly safe from Deverill as long as he was anywhere within a hundred leagues of her.

Three

After her discomfiting ride with Deverill, Antonia was especially nice to Lord Heward when he called that afternoon to escort her to the lending library—possibly because she felt the need to atone for her disloyal fascination for a provoking adventurer. Yet as she strolled beside the handsome baron, she couldn’t help comparing the two men and her reaction to each.

Unlike Deverill, James Heward went out of his way to charm her. Certainly Heward was the more polished and refined, with his pale blond hair and aristocratic features and unmistakable air of elegance. But she had never pictured his lordship naked as she regularly did Deverill, never imagined him touching her or making passionate love to her.

It was curious that she’d never felt anything remotely resembling a fierce attraction for her intended husband. Nor did Heward rouse in her even a hint of the forbidden longing she experienced in all her wicked dreams of Deverill.

But real life had nothing to do with dreams, Antonia reminded herself. And attraction and passion were not necessary to a good marriage.

Furthermore, Heward had one major advantage over all her other suitors: He could keep her father’s legacy alive. For three decades, Maitland Shipping had built the swiftest, most reliable ships in the world, and would continue to do so under Heward’s guidance. She was grateful to have him.

She rarely intruded in the operation of the company, since she had no experience, and since mariners in particular were adamantly averse to having females give them orders. But she intended to resolve Deverill’s charge that his American cousin’s ships had been illegally confiscated, which meant bringing up Deverill’s claim to Lord Heward.

She waited until they had returned to Maitland House and were taking tea in the parlor before asking her betrothed what he knew about the matter.