Читать книгу Regency Society Collection Part 2 - Хелен Диксон, Ann Lethbridge, Хелен Диксон - Страница 34

Carefully, he slid from beneath her and propped her in the corner of the sofa. She looked vulnerable and young. He couldn’t leave her here, sitting up, still clothed. He scooped her up in his arms, still bundled in the counterpane, her head lolling on his chest, her breathing wine-laden and heavy. He carried her through to the bedroom and lay her down on her side on the bed. She made no movement as he pulled down the covering and undid the laces down the back of her bodice. Her nape, so elegant, so delicate, so pale in the candlelight, begged his touch. He pressed his lips to the top of her spine and rolled her on her back.

Her eyelids, crescented by dusky lashes, fluttered. Her head lolled on the pillow.

‘Hush,’ he whispered. ‘Sleep. You are safe.’

Held fast by the drugging effect of the wine, her lips parted on a sigh. Her eyes remained closed. The skin of her eyelids was as translucent as the finest porcelain.

Inch by inch, he eased the gown off her softly rounded shoulders and releasing her arms. He pushed the bodice down to her waist, keeping his mind fixed on the task, not on the rise of pale breasts above her chemise and stays. Practical front fastening stays for the girl who dressed without the help of a maid. It took no time at all to unlace them and pull them free.

The gown he worked carefully over her lovely hips and down her legs. He tossed it aside and went to work on her shoes. How he loved her elegantly arched feet inside the practical woollen stockings, the curve of her calf, the gentle bend of her knee. So pretty. And soft. And lost to him.

Beneath her shift, her veiled body tempted his ardour. The rosy peaked rise of high small breasts. The darker triangle of soft fur between her thighs. Granite hard with desire, he allowed himself no more than a glimpse before he covered her up.

He leaned over and kissed her forehead. ‘Sweet dreams, little elf,’ he murmured.

Her eyelids flew up. She caught at his sleeve. ‘You are leaving?’

Damn it. It was as if she had a sixth sense where he was concerned. ‘Sleep. It will be a busy day tomorrow. You will need your strength.’

Eyes wide open, she stared at him. ‘You said you would stay.’

‘I thought you were asleep.’ He sat down on the edge of the bed.

‘Lord R-Robert?’ she said.

He turned back with a frown. ‘What is this lord business?’

‘That is your title, is it not?’

‘I’m Robert to my friends.’

‘Is that what we are?’ she asked in a small voice. ‘Friends?’

Friends. Lovers. And so much more. ‘Yes,’ he said firmly, knowing that was all she could be. If he didn’t draw back now, he might never be able to let her go.

‘Do you have to leave?’ she murmured. ‘I feel so much better with you here.’

Dear God, she was impossible to resist when she looked at him with such trust.

She trusted him. And needed him. It had been years since he felt needed. He liked it. He stroked a wisp of hair back from her forehead, felt the warmth of her skin. ‘If you sleep now, it will all seem much less worrisome in the light of day.’

His gaze fixed on her face, he kissed the inside of her wrist. A shiver ran through her. Imperceptible to anyone else, he felt her desire like a bolt of lightning through his body. He was rock hard and aching.

‘Lie beside me until I sleep?’ she asked.

Did she have any idea what she was doing to him? Of course she did, the little minx. But she didn’t understand that as a practised seducer he had a will of iron honed by years of practice. More experienced women than she had failed to break his control.

He stretched out beside her on the bed, cradled her in one arm. ‘Now, close your eyes,’ he said.

She snuggled against him. God, it felt good. Never had he experienced anything like this sense of companionship with a woman. Holding her, feeling her warmth, the tickle of her hair against his cheek, the pressure of her elbow against his ribs, the swell of her hip against his thigh filled him with contentment, with the desire to protect. Not in the way a man would protect any woman from harm, but the primal need to shelter and ward.

He would remember her always. Just like this.

Unless he stayed with her.

Something inside him snapped, like a cord pulled too tight, it whipped back at him, flayed at his soul. If he stayed, how would he support them? He could not live on the money she made from painting and keep any shred of himself.

‘Come with me to Italy,’ she urged sleepily.

Did she read minds? Or only his? The temptation to say yes burned in his throat.

‘What would I do?’

‘You could carry my bags,’ she said, her eyelashes flicking up, a mischievous smile curving her lips. ‘Guard me from the banditti I hear are rife in the hills, while I earn money painting portraits of rich travellers against the backdrop of famous landmarks.’

He laughed to hide his discomfort as even this vision of himself tempted unbearably. She’d cast her wood-sprite spell, soft, seditious strands of longing, until he lay before her like a willing captive ready to do ought to please her. Had he sunk so low he no longer cared what he became? ‘Is that all you want of me?’

‘You could bring me my chocolate in bed every morning.’ She cast him a knowing little elfin smile that said far too much.

His groin tightened. He caught her and pulled her close. ‘Only if I can lie beside you and make wicked love to you as you drink it,’ he growled.

She wriggled with pleasure.

Her hands went to the handkerchief at his throat and pulled at the knot.

This was a game he had played many times. But it felt so much more important with her. It wasn’t a game. It wasn’t casual. Each time he made love to her, it made leaving that much harder. He closed his hands around hers and she stilled.

‘Don’t deny me our farewell, Robert,’ she said quietly. ‘Don’t deny us our last night together.’

‘Sweetheart, it’s the wine talking.’

‘I need you, Robert. I’m so afraid.’

He stared at her in shock, at the panic in her eyes and the tremble of her full lips.

‘My father,’ she choked out. ‘How do I know he’s not some dreadful criminal? A murderer?’ A tear rolled down her face.

‘Ahh, sweetheart, is this what saps at your courage?’

‘It is like some macabre tale,’ she whispered. ‘You have to know the outcome, but you know it will be terrible.’ She dashed the tear away with the heel of her hand. ‘I’m such a coward.’ Her voice broke and she started to sob.

He cradled her against his chest, held her close and listened to her soft little choking sounds, felt her body shiver and shake and had nothing to say except, ‘Hush.’ Over and over, he whispered the same sound, rocking her against his chest.

At last her tears stopped and she took a deep breath.

Finally he dared speak. ‘No matter who your father is, you are you. A talented and wonderful woman.’

‘Nothing good ever comes from bad. What if I’m tainted by two evil parents? My mother and my father?’

‘Good God. You are tormenting yourself.’

She shook her head and looked up at him with a smile so sad it sliced right through the wall of his chest to carve a wound in his heart.

What could he say? He dare not give into something she would regret. ‘Look at Henry the Eighth. He was a horror. And if I’m remembering correctly, Ann Boleyn was no saint. But their daughter Elizabeth was England’s greatest Queen. And besides, shouldn’t you give your father a chance to speak for himself?’

A small silence greeted his words, followed by a determined nod. ‘Thank you. You are right. If I don’t do this, I will always wonder.’

She rolled towards him, then propped herself up on one elbow. She brushed his cheek with the back of her hand. ‘I missed you dreadfully, you know.’ She said it as if it had been weeks, not a day or two. But he knew what she meant; he’d missed her damnably too. He had filled the empty space with anger.

‘Love me, please, R-Robert. One last time.’

He was undone by her tiny smile of hope, her sweet smile. He’d never been a saint. Never been able to resist a woman’s plea. Why start now? He melded his lips to hers, felt the quiver of her body against his chest, the heady spiral of desire in his limbs and he took her mouth in greedy thrusts of his tongue while his hand drew her shift up her thighs. He cupped her in his palm and she rotated her hips.

Eager. Giving and damnably sexy. ‘Little witch.’

She laughed into his mouth and her hands went to his shirt. She tore it from the waistband of his breeches and wrenched it up.

He lifted his hands from her body and let her pull it over his head. ‘Always in a hurry,’ he said.

‘Oh, yes,’ she said, raking her gaze over his chest and down to his breeches.

His body went rock hard at the admiration and lust in her gaze, but it was the soft little smile on her lips that sent him beyond thought. He captured her mouth in his, swept it with his tongue, melded his body to her soft, feminine curves and set reason adrift.

She clung to his neck with her arms as his mouth wooed her lips. He felt as if he could lose himself within her for ever.

He lay her down and sat on the edge of the bed to yank off his boots while she traced circles on his back with so light a touch his muscles quivered and flinched in delight and torture.

‘Hussy,’ he said.

‘I must take after my mother,’ she laughed, her fingertips exploring a particularly sensitive spot just below his ribs. He groaned, stood up and divested himself of his breeches and stockings before whipping around and catching her fingers in his hand. A wicked smile curved her lips.

‘Think you can play with me, do you?’ he growled, lifting her hand to his lips. He nuzzled her forefinger free, then drew it into his mouth with a swift suck.

Her indrawn gasp brought a smile to his lips and a throb of blood to his groin.

He lifted her hands over her head and ran his gaze over her much as she had viewed him a few moments before, taking in the taut perfection of her small breasts, the tightly furled nipples, the tiny waist beneath the upraised ribs, the hollow of her navel. ‘Where to start,’ he said.

‘You look ready to eat me,’ she gasped.

‘Oh, now there’s an idea.’ He let his gaze drop to the triangle of curls at the apex of her thighs, her female mystery beneath the fine lawn of her chemise, her lovely pale thighs above the tops of her stockings and the plain garters of brown. He’d seen garters of roses and lace, and none had ever looked so erotic as these.

Her wrists captured in one hand, he lowered his head, swirled each budded nipple with his tongue and watched her hips squirm in delight and longing. He trailed his tongue down between the valley of her breasts and dipped his tongue into her navel. How sweet she smelled, vanilla and roses and aroused woman. A scent to drive a man over the edge before he was ready. How rough the filmy fabric felt against his tongue compared to the silk of her skin beneath.

‘R-Robert,’ she gasped and there was shock in her voice, and laughter and below all of that wicked seduction.

‘What, sweet?’ he murmured against her belly. ‘Do you want me to stop?’

He blew a warm breath against her skin.

‘Oh,’ she squeaked. ‘No.’

He grazed his jaw against the soft swell of her belly, delighting in her arching spine.

And then he reached his goal. The centre of her femininity. A musky scent filled his nostrils, powerfully erotic. A film of sheer fabric and a nest of pale brown curls hid his prize.

He licked at the shadowed crease, parting her folds with his tongue, rubbing the lawn against her most sensitive spot and felt her writhe and jerk.

With his free hand he raised her chemise, slowly, pausing to run a finger beneath her garter, and all the while he licked and nuzzled and breathed against her feminine flesh.

She moaned, low and guttural. The primitive sound hit him deep in his chest and zinged its way to his pulsing shaft, the blood beating hot and heavy, the demand for entry, the urgings of the feral beast in what was left of his brain.

A master of seduction never let the beast out of its cage, though he had never found it so difficult as now to remain in control, to keep from plunging into her and driving to the hilt.

Letting go of her wrists, he lifted the chemise to her waist and bared her most sensitive place to his tongue, licking and nipping at her clitoris, revelling in her cries of anguished pleasure. Her fingers burrowed into his hair and her hips pressed up to meet his mouth. He placed his hands beneath her buttocks, kneaded the firm, silky flesh, gauged the roundness, the sweet perfection, and raised her higher, opened her for better access and plunged his tongue into her hot, wet depths. She let out a moan of pure joy.

All passion, his Frederica. All womanly desire. God, he wanted to be inside her heat, feel her tight around his aching flesh.

But this was for her. He worshipped at the shrine of her core, flicking her swollen bud with his tongue, grazing it with his teeth when she wriggled, employed every art he knew to keep her on the brink, until her hands fell away from him, her legs lay wide in submission and she whispered, ‘Now, R-Robert.’

A demand that went straight to his shaft. He’d never been this hard. But this was for her. He flickered his tongue across her clitoris, then suckled.

Shuddering, trembling, she shattered on a cry.

He raised himself up to watch languid bliss replace the tightness in her face, to watch a rosy glow infuse her pale skin.

Her eyelids fluttered open and she smiled. ‘You are wonderful.’

And he felt like a lad again, pure, unsullied and terribly proud. ‘I aim to please.’

‘But you did not—’ she said.

He kissed her, felt her taste herself on his mouth and eased the head of his shaft into her entrance.

‘Oh, my,’ she whispered.

Eyes fixed on her face, he concentrated on the blinding sensations of joining her in her pleasure, absorbed the tiny pulses of the aftershock of her orgasm, stroking the walls of her tight sheath fraction by fraction with minute shifts of his hips.

Bringing all of his skill into play as never before, the urge to take her, to drive into her, to lose himself in lust, grew ever stronger. Her body called to him as no woman’s had ever done. Her gaze, so full of trust and something he couldn’t name, tore at his will. Shook him to the very depths.

Left him primal.

His woman.

The words pounded hot in his veins, setting a rhythm that rode him hard. And still he circled his hips, fighting every instinct with the last atom of his will.

Her eyes widened in shock. Her expression tightened. ‘What are you doing to me?’ she moaned.

She was almost there. Thank God.

He bared his teeth. ‘Bringing you more pleasure,’ he panted. Making her his. Binding them together.

The thought sent him over the edge of reason.

He drove into her.

She lifted her hips. He pounded into her body. Her inner walls tightened around his shaft, drawing him deeper. He thrust harder. Faster. Nothing existed but the feral force of their mating.

And then he exploded.

He lost himself in the pure blinding bliss that seemed to go on and on. He shuddered and managed to roll to one side before he collapsed.

Never did he recall such a powerful joining.

Or so much loss of control.

He opened his eyes and looked at her. Had she also reached her climax? God. Why didn’t he know?

But the expression on her face was pure satiation. Relieved, he let his eyes close on a groan.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured. ‘That was lovely.’

He heaved himself up on one elbow, kissed her eyelids, her cheekbone, the corner of her mouth. ‘You were wonderful. Sleep now.’

He tucked his arm beneath her head and drew her close. She lay still in his arms, her breathing slowing. She snuggled closer.

‘R-Robert?’

‘Mmm…’

‘I love you.’

Blood roared in his head and a pounding shook his chest. It was as if a fissure had cracked in a wall and bricks were crashing down. Those same words hovered on his tongue.

He stiffened against them. Kept them behind his teeth. She was too young, too innocent. And he too unworthy. Cast out by his peers. Even if he believed in love, and he wasn’t sure he did, he was not the man for her.

Frederica turned her face away.

Damnation. He’d hesitated too long. Left it too late to say something teasing, the kind of thing he said to all his lovers. How lucky I am. Or, You are the sweetest woman I know.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said instead.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said.

But there was heartbreak in her voice. He reached out, then let his hand fall away. What she thought of as love was merely the afterglow. When the fire cooled she’d move on. Or he would.

It was the way it worked.

He just wished that the thought of it didn’t make him feel physically ill. Or wish he was wrong.

But the glow was still there, bright and enticing. If only he believed it would last. It never did.

But he could stay until it dimmed. Until they tired of each other. He could find work in Italy just as easily as he could find employment in England, could he not? Mother could no doubt be persuaded to use her influence to help him find a position at the consulate in Florence. He could support them both while Frederica painted until her heart was content.

Until the glow faded. It might take a while. Longer than most. They would laze in the heat, travel around the country looking at paintings and ancient monuments. Now the war with the French was over, there were lots of places he longed to see. Perhaps they could even go to Paris. Why not? He had nothing keeping him in England. And until she found someone more worthy of her love, he could keep her safe.

He leant over her and kissed her cheek. ‘Let us see what tomorrow brings.’

With a muffler covering the lower half of his face, Robert peered around the corner. Everything was set. While he couldn’t see her, he knew Frederica and John were standing in the shadows of an alley a few yards from Bliss’s front door. When the hue and cry started, John would whisk her in. Robert was escorting the disguised maid because Lullington would know him despite the drunken stagger he planned to affect.

A fussy-looking lawyer in his wig and gown bustled up the street. A skinny, shabbily dressed clerk with red-and-yellow-striped stockings scurried along behind him, his arms loaded with tomes, his floppy hat falling over his eyes. A trickle of recognition played at the fringes of Robert’s memory. He shook his head. Legal types had been coming and going to the various solicitors’ offices all morning. He must have seen this pair before. They headed straight for Bliss’s door.

‘Damn,’ Robert said. He hadn’t reckoned on strangers being in the office when Frederica entered.

‘Oooh,’ moaned Betty behind him. ‘I think maybe this is a bad idea. What if they arrests me?’

‘Ten shillings,’ Robert said, doubling her price.

‘How much longer does we have to wait?’

Robert turned back and gave her the quick once over. With her rather ridiculous coal-scuttle bonnet and a dress obviously far too big, she looked like a woman in disguise.

The panic in her blue eyes said if they didn’t go now, she was going to balk no matter how much money he offered.

Robert put one arm around her waist, and grabbed her hand. ‘Remember, follow whatever I do. And when I say run, you run back the way we came.’

They staggered into the street and wove among the lawyers and city gentlemen. A loiterer leaned on Bliss’s office wall. He straightened. He’d seen Betty. Another, on the other side of the street, headed for the curb. The traffic would slow him, but it wouldn’t take him long to cross to their side.

‘Are you ready?’ Robert whispered, aware of the violent tremble of Betty’s hand. His heart picked up speed. His muscles tensed, ready to run. ‘Keep walking. Just a little bit farther.’

There. Stepping out of the alley, Frederica.

Robert frowned. What the hell was she doing? With a dark cloak and a hood pulled up over her head shielding her face, she looked more suspicious than he and Betty did. She was supposed to be wearing a blonde wig and trotting along as if she was simply out shopping, not looking as if she was a spy for the French.

And where the hell was John?

The man on the other side of the street spotted her.

Robert quickened his pace. Something had gone wrong. He had to get to her before they did. She must have lost her nerve and decided to cover her face.

‘Now,’ he said to Betty. ‘Run.’

With the shriek she’d practised in the inn, she turned and fled with the first man Robert had seen racing after her.

The second man had his gaze fixed on Frederica.

Robert started to run towards her.

A brewer’s dray lumbered on to the street. Its driver, with Snively beside him, sped along the street. The diversion.

But was it too late? Robert pushed himself to greater efforts. The gap between him and Frederica closed. Too slowly. The other man would get to her first. He lengthened his stride. Put his head down, bunching his fists, pumping his arms. He dodged an elderly couple with a curse.

A third man appeared between Frederica and Bliss’s front door, his arms outstretched ready to catch her.

A barrel bounced off the cart, and then another. Before many seconds passed, beer was running in the gutters and every man, woman and child on the street turned to gape.

Everyone except Robert and Frederica, and the man blocking her path.

Robert hit him at a run. Knocked him to the ground. Robert grabbed Frederica’s hand and dragged her along.

‘Stop, thief,’ someone yelled.

Bastards.

‘Run,’ he said to Frederica. He looked over his shoulder. Lullington had dodged the fallen man, Wynchwood was puffing along the pavement behind him. Robert smiled grimly. Too late.

He pulled open the door and thrust Frederica inside. A quick glance at the lock. No damn key.

The outer office was empty. Another door led into the inner sanctum where Bliss no doubt hid himself away. The lawyer and his clerk must have gone inside. Damn it all.

He thrust Frederica ahead of him. ‘Through there.’

Behind them the outer door opened. ‘Robert Deveril,’ a voice rang out in stentorian tones, ‘I arrest you in the name of the law for theft and kidnapping.’

‘Go on,’ he urged Frederica and whirled around, pulling his pistol from his pocket.

Frederica stopped short.

‘Don’t wait for me,’ Robert yelled.

He levelled his pistol at the first man through the door and cocked it. Lullington, followed by Wynchwood, pushed their way in.

‘Stand back, all of you,’ Robert growled. ‘This lady has legitimate business with Mr Bliss.’

‘The game is up, Deveril,’ Lullington said, a triumphant light in his blue eyes.

Robert curled his lip. ‘Not yet it isn’t.’

‘Don’t make it any worse for yourself, lad,’ the runner said.

‘Arrest him at once,’ Wynchwood cried, his face red and dripping with sweat, one hand clutching his heaving chest. ‘She is my niece. Don’t let her get away.’

Out of the corner of his eye, Robert saw Frederica preparing to throw off her hood. Lullington was staring at her in a very odd manner.

‘Through that door,’ he said. ‘I’ll hold them off here.’

‘Jump him,’ the runner said.

‘Which one of you gentlemen is accusing my son of theft?’

Robert’s jaw dropped at the sound of the familiar voice and his head whipped around. He looked into the face of…‘Mother?’

‘May I not visit my lawyer in privacy without all this hullaballoo?’ she said. ‘I’ll have your heads, sirrahs.’

The Bow Street runner faltered in the face of her regal rage.

‘Your Grace!’ Lullington choked out. He made a leg. ‘I beg your pardon. I thought—’

‘I know what you thought. I sent for Lady Caldwell after I spoke with Lord Radthorn earlier this morning. While I laud your attempts to help a lady in distress, I do not approve of your methods. Pig’s blood indeed.’

Robert gaped at her.

Lullington made a choking sound.

‘What is going on here?’ Wynchwood said, still game. ‘Arrest him, I say.’

Robert closed his eyes briefly. The lawyer and his clerk. They had to be John and Frederica. That’s why they’d seemed so damned familiar. They were already inside with Bliss. ‘Good God, Mother. If Father caught wind of this—’

Wynchwood pushed the runner forwards. ‘That man abducted my niece. I demand—’

‘Who is this fat flawn, Robert?’ the duchess said in a voice as cold as ice. ‘I am certainly no niece of his.’ She sniffed. ‘Nor would I admit any relationship to such an ill-mannered fellow.’

Lullington’s face showed grim amusement. ‘Capotted, by Gad. Your Grace, allow me to introduce Lord Wynchwood. Her Grace the Duchess of Stantford. Robert Deveril’s mother.’

Wynchwood snatched the wig from his head and threw it down. ‘What has the duchess to do with the kidnapping of my niece?’

Lullington curled his lip. ‘Where is she, Robert?’

‘Actually,’ her Grace said, ‘I can answer that question, my lord. She is no doubt speaking with Mr Bliss.’ She smiled serenely. ‘Robert, do tell this gentleman of the law to go away. I find it quite tiresome with so many people crowding this room.’

Robert raised his brows at the gentleman in question, who was mopping his florid brow with a very large handkerchief.

‘Beg your pardon, your Grace,’ the runner said. He abased himself and backed out of the door in a swirl of chill air from the outside.

‘Get back here,’ Wynchwood howled. ‘Do your duty. Arrest this man.’

Her Grace drew herself up to her full height. ‘Are you accusing my son of stealing silver plate, or was it a string of emeralds, Lord Wynchwood?’ Her astonishment was palpable.

Wynchwood looked to Lullington for support.

‘He didn’t,’ Lullington said. ‘We were simply trying to stop Miss Bracewell from reaching this office. A hue and cry seemed the only way.’

Snively chose that moment to stomp into the office. ‘Waste of good beer that. I knew it would never work.’

He stopped short and stared at the duchess. ‘Where’s Miss Bracewell?’

Her Grace nodded to the closed door. ‘In there.’

‘Congratulations, your Grace,’ Lullington drawled, his lisp no longer in evidence. ‘You have us all at point non plus.’

‘That was certainly my intention.’ A gleam of mischief shone in her eyes.

Robert wanted to shake her. ‘I’ll murder John for involving you in this.’

She cast him a haughty look. ‘Your manners have not improved in your absence, my dearest Robert.’

Robert felt like a boy again beneath that searing glance. ‘I’m sorry, Mama, but you could have been badly hurt.’

‘By this pack of lily-livered fools? I think not.’

‘Thank you, your Grace,’ Lullington said.

‘Oh, do stop it, Lullington. I knew you when you wore short coats.’

Robert grinned as Lullington flushed. His mother was a force to be reckoned with and stronger men than Lullington had been ploughed down by her will.

‘As for you, Robert,’ her Grace continued, ‘you should have been the one to bring Miss Bracewell to me. Not John.’

Dash it. When would she realise he was banished?

A footman in ducal livery entered the office. ‘Ah, Frompton,’ her Grace said, ‘your timing is excellent.

Your arm, if you please. I have had enough adventure for today. It is time I went home. Robert, you will visit me tomorrow afternoon. Without fail.’ She swept out.

The men looked at each other, Wynchwood on the verge of apoplexy, Snively wary, Lullington picking at a fleck of lint on his coat and a glint of wry amusement in his usually cold eyes.

The door to the inner office opened. They all turned to watch. Frederica minus her wig, looking decidedly rakish in breeches and striped stockings, sauntered out. Radthorn, now out of his disguise, hovered behind her along with a bewigged and gowned man. The real lawyer. Clutching a rolled document.

Robert looked at Frederica’s face. She didn’t look too upset. In fact, she looked almost gleeful.

He tucked his pistol in his coat pocket, but kept his hand on the grip.

Wynchwood hobbled forwards. ‘There you are, Frederica. You will return home at once.’

‘Now see here,’ Snively said, bristling.

A half smile curved her lips as she caught Robert’s eyes, the elfish little smile that had enchanted him almost from the first. His heart contracted. He kept his face calm, refused to acknowledge the longing to go to her. Instead, he drew back against the wall, ready to act should any of the Wynchwood clan attempt to take her against her will.

‘First I must tender my apologies to Miss Bracewell,’ Mr Bliss said in a wheezy voice. ‘One of my clerks thought to line his pockets by informing Lord Wynchwood of the existence of a very important document held in this office.’

Snively glared. ‘Glad to hear you admitting to blabbing and not blaming me.’

Bliss inserted a finger in his cravat and tugged. ‘Fortunately, no harm was done, Mr Snively. The terms of the payment to you are not affected by this unfortunate occurrence.’

Snively nodded grimly.

‘What does the document say?’ Robert asked.

Frederica smiled at him. He grinned back.

‘This is all very irregular,’ Wynchwood said. His tongue swiped his dry lips. ‘This young woman is my ward. I demand she return home with me at once. I have the law on my side.’

‘Not any more, Uncle Mortimer. Today is my birthday. Mr Bliss has confirmed that your guardianship ended at midnight.’

Lullington, who had ranged himself beside Robert, nudged him with an elbow. ‘Spirited girl.’

‘Why the hell are you chasing her?’ Robert asked, confused.

‘Young Bracewell is a friend.’

‘Like hell,’ Robert said, ire a burning ember in his chest. ‘You saw a way to line your pockets.’

The viscount’s cheek muscles flickered. ‘You heard your mother, I was doing it for Maggie.’

‘Very altruistic. You might fool Maggie and my mother, but I’m no green ’un. You plotted the false kidnapping charges. Why?’

‘You deserved it after what you did to Catherine.’

The women they had fought over years before. Robert had won. They’d been idiots to even consider losing their lives over a woman, but Lullington had hated losing and Robert had fuelled his temper by gloating. They’d been enemies ever since. But Robert had never realised how much Lullington’s resentment had festered.

‘What about your cousin? Are you harbouring ill will about her too?’

The viscount gave a hard laugh. ‘When your brother showed her his blunt, she admitted it was all her fault.’

Robert stared at him. ‘Charlie?’

‘He dragged her before her parents and forced the story out of her. She’d planned it all, hoping to bag a duke. The family married her off with a very nice settlement provided by your brother.’

Righteous Charlie had come through for him. Believed him. What a surprise? ‘Glad to hear it.’

‘I’d wager you are, since once more you came out of it scot-free.’

Hardly. Robert was about to take issue, when Mr Bliss put his pincenez on his nose and cleared his throat dramatically.

The room fell silent.

Bliss unrolled the scroll.

A small piece of paper fluttered to the floor. Frederica bent to pick it up. She unfolded it.

‘Oh,’ she gasped.

Robert couldn’t see what it was.

She glanced up at Snively. ‘This is one of my drawings.’ She touched it with a fingertip. ‘Of a pigeon? How did it get here?’

‘Your father saw you walking in the village one day, the day he set me to watch over you,’ Snively said. ‘You dropped it. He kept it with him until the day he passed on. He was also an artist. Some of his pictures of India received acclaim.’

Her eyes filled with tears. ‘He came looking for me?’ she whispered.

‘Ahem,’ Bliss said, drawing attention back to him. He glared at the assembled company over his spectacles.

Read the damned document, Robert wanted to yell. He held his tongue and assuaged his impatience by keeping a close eye on Wynchwood.

‘I have already relayed the gist of this to Miss Brace-well, but she wanted you all to hear it too.’ He looked around. Robert bunched his fists but managed to remain still.

‘Her father, Lord Abernathy—’

A ripple of disbelief ran around the room. Wynch-wood’s jaw dropped.

Abernathy? Her father was a lord? Robert combed his memory. Wasn’t he…the richest of all the Indian nabobs? Richer than Croesus of Greek mythology. His name was still mentioned in the clubs with awe and envy.

His throat dried.

Bliss raised a silencing hand. ‘The Earl of Abernathy left his entire fortune to his daughter. Miss Frederica Bracewell has proved her identity. Unfortunately, Lord Abernathy was unable to claim his daughter in his lifetime. The circumstances surrounding their relationship are unfortunate and not to be described here.’ He glared at Wynchwood. ‘But as a younger son with no prospects, he was shipped off to India. Only later did he inherit his title. By the time he received word of his daughter’s birth, her mother was dead.’

‘Should have let him marry the gel,’ Lord Wynchwood muttered.

‘Should have consulted a fortune teller,’ Lullington murmured.

Robert barely restrained himself from strangling the bastard.

Bliss clapped his hands for silence. ‘Because of the guardianship arrangements made by her legal father, Abernathy could do nothing until those arrangements ended. He feared when the Bracewells learned of his plans to leave her his fortune they would find a way to spend it.’ He glared at Lord Wynchwood, who turned the colour of a beetroot. ‘It seems he was right.’

Misty-eyed Frederica placed a hand to her throat. ‘I still can’t believe my father was a nobleman.’

Robert could see that she was happier about discovering her father was a worthwhile man than about the fortune she’d inherited. She really was a remarkable woman. She deserved a good man.

He felt as if someone had knocked him down and run over his chest with a coach and four.

He was not that man.

Bliss smiled at Frederica kindly and handed her the roll of parchment. ‘The details are all in here.’

Wynchwood groaned. ‘I should have married you to Simon years ago.’

‘Too late, I’m afraid,’ Frederica said.

At that moment the outer door opened and young Simon barged in. ‘Uncle,’ he cried. ‘I have brought the special licence. We can marry tomorrow.’

Lullington cracked a laugh. ‘Always behind the time, young Bracewell.’

Robert returned a grim smile to this sally. He could not let Lullington know what this meant to him or the viscount would have a field day.

Simon’s smile faded as he stared at his uncle. ‘I say, what is going on?’

‘Ingratitude is going on,’ Lord Wynchwood proclaimed, his face drained of colour for once. He looked as if he might collapse. He lurched towards Frederica.

Robert straightened, and imposed his body between Frederica and her uncle.

‘All these years,’ Wynchwood shouted past Robert, waving his fist. ‘I fed you. Clothed you. And this is how I’m repaid?’

‘You treated her more like a pariah,’ Robert said, shoving him back gently.

‘Can I do whatever I want with the money?’ Frederica asked.

Bliss nodded and whispered something in her ear. Her eyes widened. Her mouth formed a perfect O. ‘My word,’ she uttered.

Bliss nodded. ‘Do not worry, I will advise you.’

‘As will I,’ Snively said with a warning note in his voice.

God, they were going to tear at her like dogs over a carcass. He felt sick. Well, he wouldn’t be one of those looking for scraps.

Frederica turned a shoulder to the room and murmured something to Bliss. He shook his head. She stiffened. Bliss wrung his hands, then bowed in submission. She cast a considering gaze on the company. ‘I thank you for your kind offer of marriage, Simon, but no. Nevertheless, I do owe the Bracewells a great debt. After all, you could have dropped me off at the nearest workhouse and my father might never have found me.’

Robert cursed under his breath. What foolishness was she about? She should have them tossed out on their ears. ‘Don’t let them sponge on you.’

She gave him a gentle smile. ‘They are family. And families must take care of each other, mustn’t they, R-Robert?’

‘Not always.’

The stubborn set of her jaw told him she wouldn’t listen and she continued in a clear voice. ‘I have asked Mr Bliss to set up a monthly allowance for Simon on the understanding he is not to use it for gaming.’

Lullington paled. ‘I’m done here,’ he said in Robert’s ear. ‘You win again, it seems.’

If this was winning, he’d hate to lose. Robert shrugged. Frederica had won. She’d have her freedom. To paint. To travel. To live life as she pleased. It was the best possible outcome.

She didn’t need him at all.

‘What is owed to you will be paid, Viscount Lullington,’ Frederica called out.

The viscount swung around with a dumbfounded expression. ‘You honour me, Miss Bracewell.’

She was too soft-hearted by far.

She cast Lullington a saucy smile. ‘I suggest you find a way to relieve Lady Caldwell of her other encumbrance, for I do believe the two of you would make a good match of it.’

With a soft laugh, Lullington made her a flourishing bow. ‘Do you recommend poison or a bullet?’

Frederica cast him a mischievous look. ‘Ending up on the gallows will not help your suit.’

Her face changed, lost its happy expression as her gaze fell on Robert. He started to back away.

‘R-Robert—’

‘No,’ Robert said. He wasn’t a man who could be bought. He went where he willed. He always had. ‘I want nothing.’ He would not be a jackal snapping at her heels. Or a lap dog dancing on hind legs for crumbs.

And yet still his heart pounded, drumming out evil hope. He headed for the door, feeling as though his feet were trapped in quicksand and he was slowly sinking.

‘Why not?’ she asked with a catch in her voice.

He let his expression cool, curled his lip and turned to face her. ‘It has been a pleasure knowing you, Miss Bracewell, but I value my freedom.’

Her eyes sparkled. Tears. The sight of them burned acid in his gut, but he kept his gaze steady, his smile cynical and bored.

A crystal drop rolled down her cheek, and yet she bravely smiled. ‘Then I must wish you well.’

‘This is outrageous,’ Wynchwood yelled. ‘A woman can’t be trusted—’

‘Say one more word,’ Robert growled in the old man’s ear as he passed, ‘and you will find yourself on the pavement on your arse with a bloody nose. Be glad she’s not visiting upon you the kind of misery she’s endured at your hands all these years. She’s rich enough to see you ruined.’

The old gentleman shriveled, backing away. ‘Preposterous,’ he muttered. ‘Gave her everything.’ He glanced around to see if anyone had heard.

Frederica would have to watch this family of hers, but it wasn’t his business. He headed for the door with Lullington and John hard on his heels.

Out in the street the three men stared at each other.

‘So, Mountford, once more you land on your feet,’ Lullington said, looking sour.

Feeling rather more as if he had holes blown in his chest with a shotgun, Robert glared at the dandy. ‘Why the hell are you whining? Your debts will be paid.’

‘I’d have got a whole lot more if you hadn’t robbed the Wynchwoods of their due. Perhaps I should woo the rich woman you rejected back there.’

Robert cursed vilely. ‘Go near her and I’ll—’ He lunged, fists clenched.

Lullington dodged back and released the catch on his swordstick. ‘Fisticuffs? You always were a ruffian.’

John stepped between them. ‘Enough. It won’t matter who kills who, the other one will end up at the end of a rope. Where’s the sense in that?’

‘I had hoped to see him carted off to Newgate this morning,’ Lullington said. ‘Having a duke for a father won’t protect you for ever, Mountford. I’ll be there the next time you put a foot wrong.’

‘With trumped-up evidence, no doubt.’ Robert stared down his nose. ‘You are lucky charges weren’t brought against you. If it weren’t for Maggie, I would have.’

‘Leave her out of this.’

‘And leave Miss Bracewell out of your schemes. She’s had enough people taking advantage.’ Himself included, damn it. Hopefully she’d find someone a little less jaded. A man with less to regret in his past. He took a deep breath. ‘Look, I doubt this will make any difference, but I am sorry about your cousin. She’s no less a schemer than you are, and deserved to be put in her place, but I shouldn’t have let it go so far. I’m glad she found a husband. And I’m glad Maggie has you looking out for her.’

Lullington’s eyes widened, no doubt as surprised as Robert by the apology.

‘That doesn’t mean I won’t do everything in my power to keep you away from Miss Bracewell,’ Robert continued. ‘Including using my family’s power.’ A threat if ever he’d made one.

Lullington looked down at the ground, his fingers playing with his quizzing glass, then raised his eyes to Robert’s face. ‘All right. We’ll call it a stalemate. Just stay out of my business in future, or next time I won’t fail.’ He turned to John and bowed. ‘I bid you good day.’

‘Bloody bastard,’ Robert muttered, watching Lullington twirl his gold-headed cane as he strolled away looking every inch a mincing tulip of fashion.

‘Never mind him. What about you?’ John said at his shoulder.

‘God knows. See Mother tomorrow, I suppose. Look for work.’

‘You made her cry.’ Robert knew John wasn’t referring to his mother.

‘She’ll recover. They always do.’

But would he? Somehow he felt as if he’d left a piece of himself inside the tawdry little office.