Читать книгу The Viscount - Lyn Stone - Страница 8

L ily ran, her last hope fleeing faster than her feet. She flung open the door, dashed out into the hallway and ran headlong into the old butler.

With a cry and a grunt, they fell sprawling, a tangle of arms and legs. Before she could scramble to her feet, a large hand manacled her wrist.

“Be still!” Duquesne thundered, crouching over her like a fiend from hell. His tawny hair tumbled across his brow. His piercing eyes, the gray of deadly steel, devoid now of former pleasantness, dared her to move. His jaw clenched and his full lips firmed in a grimace.

Lily cringed. The vise of his fingers loosened, but he did not release her as his attention turned to the elderly servant.

“Boddy? Easy now. Don’t try to rise too soon. Is anything broken?” He spoke loudly, but with what seemed tender concern.

She watched, amazed at the way he handled his servant, encouraging him to tentatively test his neck, back and each limb. Then Duquesne stood and assisted the old man to his feet, dragging Lily upright much less carefully with his other hand.

“None the worse, m’lord,” croaked the old man who was frowning at her.

“Thank God for that,” Duquesne said with a gust of relief. He raised his voice again, but not in anger. “Even so, I believe you’d best go and lie down. Lean on me and we’ll make for your room.”

The butler straightened and stood away, jutting out his pointy chin and adjusting his waistcoat. One palsied hand patted down the long strands of gray that had previously covered his shiny bald dome.

His squinty gaze focused on Lily’s wrist, still caught fast in Duquesne’s grip. “I shall summon the night watch.”

“No, that won’t be necessary,” Duquesne declared. “Off to bed with you, and that’s an order.” His firm words echoed in the cavernous hallway.

“As you wish, m’lord.” The butler shot a threatening look at Lily and shuffled off into the shadows mumbling to himself.

Duquesne forced her back into his study and over to one of the high-backed leather chairs. “Sit,” he ordered, letting go of her arm and turning to close the door.

He looked fierce. And terribly handsome, a tall, broad-shouldered figure of a man with strong classic features and a supremely self-confident air.

That had been the first thing she had noticed about him, how handsome he was. She had known handsome men before, several of them. Bounders, the lot. For instance, Clive was handsome. Her husband Jonathan had not been. Consequently, the attribute of good looks did absolutely nothing in the way of recommending trust in this man.

The concern he had shown to his servant obviously did not extend to her.

He drew up to his full, considerable height, his hands on his hips. “Now either you will explain yourself or I shall haul you to the magistrate and have him determine why you applied for employment with false references.”

Lily could not think of any lie that might elicit his aid any better than the truth would do. Earlier she had considered simply laying the situation before him and pleading for help. She wished she had done that at the outset. Her chances might have been better. Now she had no choice.

All she had wanted was the means to reach home, to make certain her son was safe and not in Clive’s clutches. Since she had already been dressed for the part and no one—not the men at the hospital, the hack driver or the old butler himself—had paused to question her gender this evening, Lily had believed playing out her charade as Brinks might work. Unfortunately she had not anticipated the keen eye of Lord Duquesne.

She had elected not to trust a man about whom she knew nothing. Well, hardly anything past one brief encounter when she was a child and current rumors of his rough existence. Lily was aware, of course, that Edgemont, one of his father’s estates, lay adjacent to that of her son. She had heard that Duquesne’s father, the earl, was sequestered there and that Duquesne had chosen some years ago to reside permanently in London.

If Brinks had not mentioned his name tonight, she would never have thought to come here. The problem was, Lily knew more about Duquesne—little as that was—than she did about anyone else in London.

This house declared more about the current state of his finances than she might have guessed. There was little furniture in evidence, at least in the foyer, hallway and his study. No paintings, sculptures or any other trappings of wealth. Except for this room, what she had seen of the place thus far made it look abandoned and uninhabited.

The chair in which she sat badly needed repair and the ancient velvet draperies at the window appeared threadbare even in the low light cast by the lamp. For the first time she noticed that the bookshelves lining three walls of the chamber were almost completely bare.

A fragile hope bloomed. Perhaps, if she could not appeal to Duquesne’s honor, he could be bought. Everyone knew he needed money. Why else would he do what he did? But he was a solitary soul and that was evident, too. Perhaps he liked his circumstances just as they were. Then again, perhaps not. She must take the chance, Lily decided. She would purchase his protection, whatever the cost.

His clothing gave her pause. It was not cheap, by any means. The nankeen trousers were obviously tailor-made for his form. The linen shirt, though wrinkled, was, also. Over that he wore a long open robe of cut velvet that must have come dear, though it was old and somewhat out of style.

She noted his feet were bare. Long, narrow and pale, they imparted just a note of vulnerability that made him seem human.

He now leaned against the front of the scarred old desk, arms folded over his massive chest, ankles crossed, and waited for her confession. “Well?”

Lily cleared her throat and sat forward, hands clasped on her knees. She looked up at him, feeling like a penitent and hating it. “I must throw myself upon your mercy, my lord, and hope that you will afford me protection.”

He raised one eyebrow and quirked his head as if to encourage her to go on. Not so much as a flicker of sympathy.

She sighed, looked down at the faded carpet, glanced at his feet again, then back at the fearsome countenance. “I am Baroness Bradshaw.” She hesitated, waiting for him to challenge her claim. When he did not, she continued. “I believe my husband’s younger brother drugged me yesterday—or perhaps the day previous…What day is this?”

“Saturday,” he replied succinctly.

“Yesterday, then. I had been riding, came into my library and was offered a glass of wine. I only drank half. The next thing I knew, I awakened, locked in a cell in Bedlam. Of course, I didn’t know that until I escaped, but—”

He smiled slightly and bit his bottom lip, but still did not comment. Now both eyebrows rose in a silent question.

“After I awoke, I overheard two men conversing outside the door. When one left and the other entered, I knocked him on the head with the heel of my riding boot, dosed him with the vial of whatever he meant for me. These.” She reached into a pocket and produced the two small bottles. “Then I escaped in his clothes.” She looked down at her attire and back at him.

He glanced away from her, shook his head and chuckled.

Lily jumped up, tears springing to her eyes. “How dare you laugh!”

Suddenly as that, he sobered, unfolding his arms and resting his hands on his hips. “You may tell whatever jokester sent you that I am no fool. This has been a colossal waste of my time as well as yours.”

“No one sent me!”

“Then I cannot imagine why you are here concocting this elaborate ruse. I happen to know that Bradshaw died of heart failure two years ago. Now I’ll have the truth from you, or else.”

Exasperated, Lily clenched her eyes, wrung her hands and heaved a sigh. “I am Jonathan’s widow. Mother to Beaumont, the current Lord Bradshaw.”

“Ah,” Duquesne said with a scoff. “You must not be aware I once met the person John Bradshaw wed and she most assuredly is not you.”

“You knew my father, Vicar Upchurch. Surely you recall his daughter marrying above her station eight years ago? It was the news of the county at the time. Even here in Town, tongues were wagging, I expect.”

He bent, examining her features. Muttering an epithet, he shook his head, snatched up her right arm and roughly pushed up her sleeve. “We’ll see if that’s so,” he snapped, holding her arm to the light. The jagged scar in the middle of her forearm shone white in the glare of the flame.

At once, his features clouded with confusion and his eyes met hers. “But…but the child I saw was—”

“Skinny is the word you must be seeking,” Lily snapped. “Skinny and short for my age. I so regret I do not clearly recall our meeting, my lord. I’m certain we would have gotten on famously.”

But she did remember that tall, gangly youth with the kind eyes and a frown of concern for her pain. A fellow more than willing to rescue a child. He had barked orders at her father, whom no one ever dared to command. Then he had lifted her in his strong arms and carried her, murmuring comforting things near her ear. She dearly hoped a vestige of that kindness and willingness to help remained.

He grimaced, his gaze casting about as if searching for details of the incident. “The vicar interrupted my afternoon on the green and commandeered my phaeton to rush you to Dr. Ephriam. You had fallen from a tree and broken your arm. The bone was…never mind.” Again, he peered down at her scar. “A poor job he made of the repair. Did it heal without incident?”

Lily jerked her arm away and tugged down the fabric to hide the scar. “So you believe me now?”

He gently smoothed her sleeve with his palm and nodded, his lips pressed together as if pained at having sought proof of her identity. “Yes. I believe you are who you claim to be.”

“Then will you help me? My son could be in danger. If you would but furnish me a mount to ride home, I would be most grateful.”

“In danger? Why?”

She rolled her eyes, exasperated. “Because my child is the only thing standing between Jonathan’s brother and the title, of course.”

“The boy is now at Sylvana Hall?”

Lily pressed her fingers to her lips for a moment before answering. “In the care of his nurse…I hope.” She fought tears and managed to keep them from falling. God above, how frightened she was for Beau.

Again, Duquesne raised his hand, this time giving her shoulder a bracing squeeze of reassurance. “I’ll make arrangements immediately. Have a spot of that brandy while you wait.”

“I’ll come with you,” she declared.

Duquesne shook his head and offered her a smile. “Please, trust me… I’m sorry, but I cannot recall your name.”

For a long moment she studied his eyes. They were clear, a clear, gentle gray now, their expression beseeching and somewhat regretful. She also noted a lack of deceit. “I am Lillian,” she replied.

His smile widened, perfectly open and guileless, the smile of a friend happily reunited with a friend. “Lily, of course. Your father called you Lily.”

And just like that, he was gone. Out the door with all speed, bound for she knew not where. Perhaps to summon the Watch or to send word to Clive to come here and collect her. But Lily thought not.

That was not quite true. She knew not. Duquesne would have said outright that that was what he intended if he’d meant to turn her over. Somehow, Lily felt she could afford to put her life in his hands. How strange for her to trust on such short acquaintance when she had been betrayed the way she had.

But Lily saw something in Duquesne that touched her. He was so alone and yet not bitter about it. There was also a wariness about him with regard to her, and she realized it was due to instant attraction. Though she knew she was not a great beauty, Lily was no fool.

He attracted her, too, in a very physical way. Allowed to progress, Lily knew that would seriously complicate matters. She would never trade her body for a man’s assistance.

Or would she? No, that sort of dishonorable arrangement would never do.

But she had no money left after hiring the hack to get here, and there did not appear to be any coin here in this poor place to steal. Walking to Sylvana Hall would take entirely too long to be of any use. Besides, that was precisely what Clive would expect her to do and he would surely catch her along the way.

Her best chance now lay with Duquesne’s providing her means to arrive home quickly before Brinks awoke, raised a cry and notified Clive that she was missing.

Lily spent some time deciding what she might do once she arrived at the Hall, how she would spirit Beau away from there to safety and where they might go. But where could they go? Sylvana Hall was their home. She had responsibilities there that she had no intention of turning over to Clive. Unless she could prove what she thought he had done, he would remain a threat. What she and Beau needed was a permanent guard. Then an outrageous plan occurred to her.

A headache formed directly between her eyes, a me-grim she could not afford at present considering all she had to accomplish before morning.

She took up the half-empty bottle of brandy from the desk and looked for a glass. Finding none, she upended the bottle to her lips and allowed herself two sips for courage.

That was how he found her when he returned.

Guy stifled a laugh at the picture she presented, one hand propped rakishly on the edge of his desk, her hips cocked to one side and her head leaning back to drink his liquor.

The light caught on the ragged wisps of her red-gold curls, furnishing a halo effect. Gilding Lily, the rowdy angel, he thought with an inner smile.

He felt damned glad she was not what he had first thought her to be, some charlatan’s whore sent round to ply a scam or worse. Or perhaps a spy. He was ever alert for those since he did a bit of work now and again for the war department and had accrued a few enemies due to that. Fortunately, with peace breaking out, those chores were mostly behind him now and—profits aside—he was relieved.

Lily’s story seemed too bizarre for a fiction. While Guy did not know Clive Bradshaw personally, he knew there were men who would do damn near anything to acquire a title and whatever went with it. She was right to worry about the boy. And, judging by what she had suffered at Bradshaw’s hands, she should be more worried than she was about herself. Damned if he didn’t admire her spirit.

She lowered the bottle to the desk with a solid thunk and faced him as directly as a man might have done. “Is my mount ready?”

Guy crossed to the desk, reached around her to snag the bottle and took a healthy swig himself. He offered it to her again and watched her shake her head impatiently.

He set the decanter aside for the moment. “I’ve sent for someone reliable, a man I trust with my life. When he arrives, I shall have him go and fetch your son and his nurse. Safer if you wait here.”

The blue eyes went wide. “I cannot stay here!”

“Better than in the madhouse,” he quipped, looking around him, “though not by much, I’m afraid.”

She began to pace, rubbing her arms with her palms in a gesture that betrayed more consternation than he had seen yet from her. “Mrs. Prine will likely die of apoplexy if a perfect stranger demands they leave the Hall and go with him to London. And besides, she doesn’t ride,” Lily said, flinging the words over her shoulder as she paused at the window.

“By hook, crook or pony cart, she’ll arrive with her charge no later than midafternoon, I promise. And you need not worry for their safety.”

Her hands flared helplessly. “I cannot simply sit and wait!”

“Of course not. You must go upstairs and have a good sleep. Your son will be shocked enough at your appearance. If you look done-in, as well, he’ll be frightened out of his wits.”

She scoffed. “You don’t know my Beau!”

Guy smiled. “Has your grit, does he? How old is the scamp?”

He proffered the bottle again and she took it, downed a delicate sip and handed it back, resuming her pacing as she did so.

“He turned seven last month.”

“Ah, well, I wager he’ll relish the adventure.”

She collapsed into the chair and buried her face in her hands. Guy watched her sob twice, then go still. She sniffed heavily once and brushed the tears from her face with a determined swipe of both palms. “Botheration!” Then she shrugged and looked up at him. “Forgive me. I know how men despise tears.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” he said gently, raking the disheveled curls off her brow with his finger.

“I would like to avoid being treated as one,” she quipped with a self-conscious laugh and another sniff.

Indeed. “Why don’t you begin from the beginning and tell me again how it happened in detail? No matter how insignificant you think something might be, include it. I might be able to use it.”

“Use it? For what?”

“I don’t know yet, but you may rest assured this is not over, Lily. Not by a long mark. Bradshaw made a bold move and has gone too far to simply let it lie. Now begin, and leave out nothing.”

He watched her carefully as she related her story.

“So you recognized Bradshaw’s voice?” he asked her when she’d finished.

“No, but who else could it have been? I assumed it was Clive because he is the only one who would gain anything by such a deed. He would assume control of my widow’s portion—the usual third of the estate—and also the remainder that is being held in trust for Beau. Not to mention Beau himself.” She swallowed hard, fighting to maintain control of her emotions. “If he would imprison me the way he intended, I shudder to think what he might do to a defenseless child who stands between him and what he wants.”

What had been done to Lily frightened her, Guy could see, but not nearly so much as what Bradshaw might be planning for her son. She was right about one thing. Being the nearest male relative, Bradshaw would acquire the title himself if the boy were out of his way.

“Who might be assisting him in this plot aside from Brinks? That’s what worries me,” Guy admitted. “He would have to prove your insanity in order to obtain a paper of committal to an institution.”

Guy watched her gaze slide away as she worried her lips with her teeth. “What is it? What are you not telling me, Lily?”

She sighed and sat back in the chair, looking almost defeated. “I rarely go out in Society, but I did attend a small soiree the Dansons held at Livsby Grange a week ago. I attended at Clive’s insistence. Apparently, I…I caused something of a scene there.”

Guy’s attention keened. “Of what sort?”

She busily pleated the hem of her coat as she made the admission. “Well, we partook of the buffet provided. Clive brought me a small plate and a cup of punch. All went well at first. I knew most of the neighbors who attended and the conversation was pleasant enough. Soon after we finished our refreshment, we took seats for the entertainment.” She halted.

“Go on. What happened?”

“The lights were lowered. A short while later…everyone began swaying as if to a song I couldn’t hear. There was a loud buzzing in the chamber. The noises within it grew terribly keen. Frightening. Then…everyone changed into…”

“Into what, Lily?” Guy asked, keeping his voice low and nonthreatening.

She blinked rapidly and her breathing came in fits and starts. “Horrible…things,” she whispered, obviously lost in the memory. “I must have screamed. I can’t remember. Clive whisked me out and the last I recall was being tossed into his carriage.”

“And later? What did you do?”

She raised her hands, palms up, then let them collapse on the arms of the chair. “Nightmares. I dreamt for the longest time, thinking I would never wake. You see, I knew I was sleeping, that none of it was real. But still it terrified me. The next day I decided I must have consumed something wholly disagreeable to my digestion. I was ill all morning. Other than an occasional bout of palpitations and a lack of appetite, I seemed well over it by that evening.”

“Nothing of a similar nature has occurred since then?” Guy asked.

“No. He must have drugged me.” She looked up at him, her gaze extremely worried. “Suppose some of those present believed me mad? Could Clive employ their testimony against me, do you think?”

No doubt in Guy’s mind that was precisely what was intended, but he held those thoughts to himself for the moment. She was upset enough as it was. Instead he said, “We must find a way to put you out of his reach for a while until we decide what must be done.”

“Clive is the only one with the right to have me confined, is he not?”

Guy nodded. “Since your husband is dead and your son too young to make that sort of determination, Bradshaw would be the one.”

“Then God help me,” she whispered. “I should have left off mourning at half a year and married Jeremy Longchamps when he asked.”

Guy laughed out loud, surprising both of them. “You can not be serious! He would give you about as much protection as a broken flyswatter. He fights like a girl.”

She smiled at that. “You obviously know Jeremy.”

“All too well,” Guy admitted, glad for the lighter topic. “We were at school together. How is it that you know him?”

“He was a great friend of Jonathan’s. We entertained him often. I quite like the fellow, odd quirks and all.”

“But not enough to marry him, obviously.” Thank heaven for that spot of good sense.

“No, not enough for that. I would have felt more like a sister to him than a wife, though he entertains Beau and thinks the world of him.” She sighed. “But marrying Jeremy might have prevented this problem. However, I don’t regret my decision, really. He deserves someone who would really care for him in a way I never could.”

“I shouldn’t think Jeremy would notice, he’s so full of himself,” Guy quipped. Though Longchamps had used to prove amusing at times, Guy had seldom encountered a fellow more feather-brained and oblivious to the goings-on around him.

“You do not seem to be that way,” she said. When Guy looked at her, she narrowed her eyes and regarded him as a cat might do a mouse. “You have been very kind in your treatment of me tonight. Are you always so gentle with those weaker than you?”

Guy smiled. “There is certainly no honor in throwing one’s strength around.”

“Yes, you do seem accommodating and I appreciate that. Tell me, Lord Duquesne—”

“It’s Guy, if you please.”

“Very well. Guy. Tell me, how do you feel about a marriage of convenience?” her expression looked pensive and even a bit sly.

“That depends. Whom do you have in mind?”

“You, of course.” She gestured toward him with one hand.

“Me? Ye gods and little fishes, I’m appalled at the very thought,” he answered with real conviction. “You don’t mean—”

“But I do.” She looked around her as if assessing his study. “It appears you could use…an infusion of wealth. I could provide that.”

“This is ridiculous!” But was it?

Arrangements such as she proposed happened all the time. Only not to him. Never once had he entertained the idea of marrying for money.

He frowned at her impudence. His paucity of funds had become a well-known fact in recent years. The upkeep and taxes on the estates at Marksdon, Perrins Close and Edgefield, as well as the town house here, were outrageous.

When one added the expense of providing the best of care for his father, Guy had stretched even his improved resources near their limits. Though he had overcome the threat of ruin some time ago, he kept to his frugal ways.

There were worse things than being regarded as poor. That state offered a certain freedom that being wealthy did not. It certainly whittled down his social obligations, which suited him just fine. Aside from the Kendales and the Hammersleys, damned few of his so-called peers bothered to give him so much as a nod.

Keeping his distance had become a way of life. A safer way, especially where women were concerned. Caring too much was not wise. Loving was bloody well stupid.

He answered Lily as gently as he could. “It’s kind of you to offer for me, and you do me great honor, Lily, but I must decline. You see, I’ll never marry. I cannot.”

“Of course you can,” she argued in as near a plaintive tone as he’d yet heard her utter. “Whyever not?”

He leaned closer to her as if to impart a secret. “Because, dear heart, there is bonafide insanity in my bloodline, as you must know. Everyone who is anyone is certainly well aware of it, no matter how carefully they tiptoe around the subject in my presence.”

Her eyes softened with sympathy. “Oh, Guy, I do regret your father’s indisposition and that you feel you need warn me of it, but his condition has no bearing on this at all. I am not the least concerned about that. All I would ask is that you provide the safety of your name for me and my son. In return, I shall give you my widow’s portion. A fair trade in anyone’s estimation. What do you say?”

“That you’d be irresponsible to disregard such a drawback, Lily. My father is out of his mind and has been for years. I absolutely refuse to make anyone heir to that.”

“Well then, we should be perfectly suited since I am unable to bear any more children.” Though she smiled, her eyes said too much of what that admission cost her.

He did not remark on it for fear of causing her to dwell on the sad fact. At least she had one son, one more than he could ever risk having.

Bravely, she went on. “It would solve any financial woes that might plague you. Beau could use a man’s guidance, if you felt inclined to bother with him. Jonathan has been gone for two years now, and I must admit that I do miss married life.” She smiled sincerely then, ducked her gaze for a second and blushed.

Guy could not help being shocked and a bit amused. “My, my, you are outspoken for a lady. Donning those trousers must have gone straight to your head.”

“Spoken frankly as any man, you mean? I was only thinking that this is no time to mince words. I truly do miss being a wife.”

He considered the magnitude of what she had just confessed. A woman of quality never allowed she had any interest in the matter of bedding. If he wasn’t mistaken, that was precisely what she had just declared. He pretended to take another meaning from her words, one more acceptable for discussion. “So you loved your husband that dearly, did you?”

She grinned back at him, as if to say she knew that he knew exactly what she had meant. “Oh, Jonathan was a brick. He and I got on like the best of mates even though he was much older. I adored him above anything.”

Guy smiled, happy for her good fortune for as long as it had lasted. “How excellent for the both of you. In general, there are damned few marriages that recommend the institution. Though I have witnessed a rare exception or two, I, for one, have little faith in the state of wedded bliss.” He shook his head and sighed, thinking that would surely end this strange conversation.

Instead of the disappointment he expected, her face brightened with delight. “There you are, then! You shan’t be disappointed if we aren’t deliriously engaged. Shall we have a go?”

“No!” he exclaimed, amazed by her continued tenacity. “We shan’t have a go! I never said—”

She batted a hand at him and rolled her eyes with obvious impatience. “Oh, come now, Duquesne. You cannot tell me you have no use for my money, even if you don’t particularly like me.”

“Of course I like you, Lily! It’s only that…” But for the life of him, he could not list a single reason to refuse her. She had shot all of them down like bottles on a fence.

“And we could be friends,” she persisted.

“Friends, eh?” It wasn’t as if anyone else would ever have him for a husband, given his family history. Or the reputation he’d made all on his own. And as for Lily, apparently she had already experienced the love of her life. Twice that luck would be too much for any woman—anyone at all, in fact—to expect.

If he agreed, he could certainly put the dowry to good use, invest it and see that the original capital remained hers while the interest went to support the estates and tenants for which they both would be responsible. His holdings would become hers in entirety when he passed on and eventually become her son’s since Guy would leave no progeny of his own.

This could prove a decent arrangement, he thought practically. Of course, he had no idea how much wealth was involved, but that hardly mattered at this point.

He was not going to do this. He should not.

But if he did, he could give up all these havey-cavey business dealings he had to manage here in Town. Damn, but he was weary of the subterfuge, the low forms of life he had to coddle or threaten for information. He could retire to the country. Be the gentleman his father would have wanted him to be. The man he had almost become before tragedy struck and forced him to use his wiles to keep solvent. For a while it had seemed challenging, adventurous, even at times great fun, but now….

No, he was not going to marry this woman. It would not do. He had managed by himself for too long to share his life with anyone.

Then he thought about the boy, thrust into such a vulnerable position by the title he had yet to grow into. Guy couldn’t deny he would probably enjoy being a parent. He thought he might like children and regretted he could never father any.

Hell, he felt half-child himself, still playing at Turks and Thieves in the dark of night with deadly playmates. He thought of Smarky, scourge of Spittalfield, and Bardy the Bold with his Saracen dagger and delight in death-dealing. Excellent reasons right there to tell Lily no. He could put her in danger by mere association with him.

But she was already immersed up to her neck in trouble, now wasn’t she? Who else of her acquaintances would fend off her enemies for her, if he didn’t agree to do it?

There was the woman herself, the biggest temptation of all. Lily had spirit, courage and a lively imagination. He could certainly do worse for himself and never any better, by his reckoning. But did he have the right…?

The imp could arouse him with only a smile and most likely realized this power. Aside from her unique and fascinating looks, there was something slightly wild and delicious about Lily, something he could not begin to describe, that tantalized him.

Her scent, sweet and undefinable, perhaps. Or her voice, dulcet of tone and faintly raspy. Seductive when she intended, compelling attention even when she did not. Definitely more than the sum of her lovely parts, Lily Upchurch Bradshaw was an original.

Despite that, he knew that he need not worry about falling in love with her. If ever there was a man safe from that sanguine emotion, it would be himself, considering the practice he’d had avoiding it. Love, to him, meant marriage, children and a future. His father’s madness precluded Guy marrying well. Until Lily.

There was that one almost overwhelming aspect of Lily that he hated to admit enticed him because it seemed unworthy, even salacious, to consider it. He shouldn’t, but he certainly did factor it into the equation.

The plain fact was that Guy had not tupped a woman these past nine years without the onus of accidental pregnancy looming over him like a threatening storm cloud. Freedom from that fear danced here within reach, daring him to reach out and embrace it. To embrace her.

Another woman had come to him asking for help less than a year before. Sara Ryan had been a beautiful woman. And in dire straits, too. Yet the idea of bedding her, much less marrying her, had never even occurred to him. Why would he even consider such a thing with this one? Well, she had asked, for one thing. And then there was that other benefit….

“You are considering it, aren’t you?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with the anticipation of victory.

As sheer flattery went, Guy could not help being affected by her enthusiasm for her plan. Even so…

“I am considering it very carefully,” he told her, “since one of us must give a thought to caution.”

One golden eyebrow rose. “The infamous Devil Duquesne, a cautious man?” she taunted. “Who would have thought it? Now your reputation will be thoroughly destroyed.”

Guy could hardly let that pass unremarked. “You do tempt me,” he finally said.

Lily sighed. “Enough to accept?”