She let the reticule fall and dangle from her wrist, the strings closing it for her. “What place is that?”

  The servants passed them with a quick, respectful tug of the forelock, which Calton acknowledged with a nod.

  “Renwick’s Hotel. I wondered if that was where you were taking me. You are not staying there?”

  Hotel… Were there not more possibilities here? On the other hand, if she were seen going inside with him….

  I am masked. I am safe. And I am not in his power…

  “I am not staying there.”

  “I am,” he said.

  He would have private rooms of his own. It could be perfect.

  “Shall we go in?” he asked. “Or would you rather go back to the ball?”

  For some reason, it bothered her that he was still giving her that choice. But then, women came easily to him. There were plenty more at the ball. Why should he exert himself over one, if there were several just waiting to fall into his lap? Outrage surged once more.

  “Let us go in.”

  He inclined his head, and raised his hand, drawing the hood of her domino up over her hair like a cowl. His lips twitched, as though they were sharing a joke, and her stomach performed its strange dive once again. The man, she thought grimly, was damnably attractive.

  She took his proffered arm once more, and they walked along the front terrace to the doorman, who obligingly ushered them inside. She was almost relieved to see a large, tastefully decorated hall, well-lit and empty, save for a few men wrestling trunks toward a back staircase.

  “My lord,” said someone they passed. She was afraid to look and kept her gaze straight ahead. Calton gave an amiable nod without stopping, and then they were ascending the sweeping staircase lit from wall sconces, and she had the feeling she was falling deeper and deeper into a situation over which she had no control.

  I do. He is in my power. He just does not know it yet…

  He swept her along a hallway, also comfortingly well-lit, and kept going. She had to force herself to concentrate, so that when they left again, she would be sure of the way and not be tricked.

  He halted and she released his arm to let him take a key from his pocket and open the door. Her already hammering heart gave an extra lunge as she stepped over the threshold and stopped in darkness. She felt him moving beside her and then the glow of a lamp showed her a large, canopied bed directly in front of her.

  Her eyes slid away. While he moved around the room, lighting more candles until the room was, if not bright, then at least cozy. Cozy was not something she should even think about in his bedchamber. Pulling herself together, she walked further into the room and opened her reticule once more.

  A hand closed over it, plucking it from her hold. She gasped in horror, though he only cast it onto the nearest chair without looking. His attention was all on her.

  “And now, finally, we are entirely alone,” he said.

  “Your valet?” she asked nervously.

  “I left him in Town when I escaped.”

  “Escaped?” she repeated.

  “Figuratively speaking. I have not escaped prison, bandits, or foreign soldiers.”

  Gazing down at her, he raised his hands and pushed back her hood. Since he had separated her from her reticule, she allowed him to unfasten her domino cloak, although it felt very strange to have his fingers brushing against the naked skin of her throat. He had long, rather elegant hands, although his fingers felt slightly roughened, probably by riding or boxing or other manly sports.

  Her cloak parted, but his fingers lingered. One brushed lightly over the rapidly beating pulse at the base of her neck. Her breath seemed to vanish.

  “I would like to think my nearness moves you to desire,” he said softly, “and yet… I cannot rid myself of the notion this betokens some less pleasurable emotion. Are you afraid of me, Madam Mystery?”

  “Should I be?” It came out more as a croak than the careless rejoinder she had intended.

  “No,” he said at once. “I have already offered to take you back. I can still find a hotel servant to escort you, if you would rather, or to find you a room of your own here.”

  “Is this kindness?” she blurted.

  His lips twitched. “Utterly self-sacrificing generosity,” he assured her. “You intrigue me, Little Mystery, but you had best tell me what it is you really want. Before I begin to persuade you otherwise.”

  His lips fascinated her, more even than the heat that seemed to flow from his words. She could not understand how the movement of his mouth could express such self-deprecating humor along with such desire and something perilously close to the kindness she had accused him of. Besides which, the shape was pleasingly sinful, and the texture… He had brushed those lips against hers, so briefly she had had little chance to taste. She wondered how they would feel pressed to hers with more purpose, with the desire and persuasion he had been talking about.

  She swallowed, forcing her gaze up to his. That was no help, for his eyes were drowning her in more knowing heat. In desperation, she darted a glance beyond him and saw a bottle and glasses on the dressing table.

  “Perhaps a glass of wine,” she said, hoping it didn’t sound like a plea. “And I shall tell you all.”

  His lips quirked, but after an instant, he did move away toward the decanter. She had no time to analyze the bizarre disappointment that came with the flood of relief. She moved on trembling legs to the chair where her abandoned reticule lay and took from it, at last, the small, gold-mounted pistol.

  “So,” he said, his voice behind her and coming nearer. “What is it I might do for you?”

  With a deep breath, she turned and aimed the pistol somewhat shakily at his heart. He paused, a glass in either hand.

  She said firmly, “You will come with me and marry my sister.”

  Chapter Two

  Gratifyingly, his gaze fixed on the pistol.

  “I will?” Damn him, he still sounded amused. “It seems a rather bizarre proposal. Don’t you think she should have come instead? I have to tell you both I am not looking for marriage at this point, but I always listen to reasonable offers.”

  “Reasonable—” She glared at him. “You are rude!”

  “I? My dear lady, you are standing in my bedchamber pointing a gun at me. At the very least, it is surely a breach of manners.”

  He started walking toward her again.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded. “Stop!”

  “Doing? I’m giving you the wine you requested.” He was, too, holding one glass out toward her free hand. Even more bizarrely, she took it from him as though in a trance. “Salut,” he said amiably, raising his glass, and sauntered away to the bed. He must have been unbuttoning his coat as he went, for he shrugged it off and tossed it carelessly across the footboard, before climbing the step and lounging back against the pillows.

  In panic, she followed part of the way, afraid of him getting away from her precarious aim.

  He gestured politely toward the rest of the huge bed. “Please, make yourself comfortable, and tell me why you need a pistol to find your sister a bridegroom. I cannot imagine she is so very ugly, but perhaps she is a lackwit? Or merely a shrew?”

  “My sister is neither,” she retorted. “She is with child.”

  She had the satisfaction of seeing him pause once more, the glass almost touching his lips, just as though there were no pistol pointing at his heart. He lowered the glass again, his eyes slightly more wary.

  “Is she, by God? And you think I am the father?”

  “I know you are.”

  “How?”

  “Because my sister told me,” she said between her teeth.

  “Then you had better tell me who she is.”

  She stared at him. “Are there so many possibilities?”

  “In the half-year or so that we may be talking about, there are some possibilities, though no likelihoods.”

  “Are you adding insult to injury by calling my sister a liar?”

  “My dear, until I know who the devil she is, I cannot call her anything at all. But do let us be done with the pistol. For one thing, I know you won’t fire it.”

  “Will I not?” she said dangerously, taking a step nearer.

  “I don’t believe you are foolish enough, since it would bring the hotel staff crashing in upon us at the double, along with most of the guests. Closely followed by the Watch, no doubt Bow Street Runners, newspaper reporters, and a scandal delicious enough to keep the ton in gossip well beyond next spring.”

  He was right, of course. Firing would be the last resort only, but she had no intention of allowing him the point. “My dear,” she said in mocking imitation of his earlier words, “you have no idea how foolish I can be. But, of course, I am open to reasonable offers. For example, if you pick up your coat and give me your word that you will come with me to my father, then I might be persuaded. If you don’t, who knows?”

  His eyes gleamed with what seemed to be appreciation rather than chagrin.

  “Hmm. Sadly, I do not respond well to threats. And you should know, to begin with, that I am not in the habit of ignoring my responsibilities. If your sister believes I am the father of her child, let her come to me, and I will do all I can for her. And finally, since you bring up the subject of lies, I am an earl and known to be a wealthy man. More than one woman has tried such false tricks on me in the past, although not since I was a stripling and expected to be easy pickings.”

  “I am not in the habit of ignoring my responsibilities.” For the first time, doubt penetrated Josephine’s outrage. Not that she imagined her sister wished to extort money from an earl—that truly was ridiculous. But that her sister may have given her the wrong name merely to throw her off the scent. That was not beyond Helena, especially when she would never expect her little sister to do anything about it.

  So now, Josephine was in a quandary. If she revealed Helena’s name, then if Calton were not the father, after all, he could ruin both of them easily. If she did not reveal it, then neither of them would be sure if he was the father of Helena’s misfortunes.

  Without meaning to, she found herself sitting down on the edge of the bed, though she hastily steadied the pistol again.

  Lord Calton’s gaze shifted from the pistol back to her face. “We are in a bit of a dilemma. Perhaps we need a less direct means of questioning. Did this—er…encounter of your sister’s occur during the spring Season?”

  “I am not sure,” she said warily. “A little after, I think.”

  “And by your speech, you and your sister are both gently born.”

  She glared at him by way of an answer.

  “Of course you are,” he murmured. “And since she wishes to marry me—or you wish her to marry me—she cannot be married already. Unless… Is she a widow?”

  “No.”

  “Then the child is not mine.”

  The ease, the relief with which he could simply cast off the issue that would ruin Helena’s life and their father’s, to say nothing of Josephine’s own, and stigmatize an innocent child, infuriated her. The sheer injustice of men’s lies and temporary pleasures outraged her all over again. Needing to throw something, she felt the object still held in her left hand and raised it to hurl at Lord Calton. She only remembered what it was she held when wine slopped out of the glass over her fingers, distracting her.

  And suddenly something heavy landed on her, pushing her onto her back. The glass fell, and the pistol was wrenched from her hand.

  Panting and dazed by the speed of events, she stared up into the face almost touching hers. Both his arms stretched up beyond her shoulders, and although he did not break his gaze, she heard the click and clatter of the bullet being emptied from the pistol.

  She was pinned to the mattress by the weight of his body.

  “Get off me,” she said between her teeth when what she wanted was to smack him, hard.

  “Where’s the rush?” he drawled, easing up on his elbows in order to inspect her pistol. “Aren’t you comfortable?”

  She didn’t trouble to answer that, and he did not seem to expect her to, for he tossed the empty pistol onto the bed beside her head. “Pretty little thing. Do you even know how to shoot it?”

  “Of course,” she said coldly.

  “What a dangerous little creature you are to be out alone, offering intimacies to strange men.”

  She flushed, which had an odd effect on her body when he all but lay on her. “I offered to shoot you, not…to be intimate with you.”

  “Oh, I think you offered both, though I doubt you meant either. Which is a risky game.”

  Something seemed to be growing between them, in the region of her abdomen, something ridge-like and… Oh, God, is that…?

  “And perhaps it is my turn to play persuasion.” His voice had deepened, his eyes darkened, as they had in the pavilion earlier only more so.

  “What do you mean?” she asked shakily.

  He smiled with curious deliberation, and yet the effect was dazzling. In fresh panic, she seized his shoulders, but his head lowered inexorably until his mouth covered hers.

  She had prepared for assault and was ready to fight like ten devils. But this was not remotely barbaric. This was slow and gentle and bewildering.

  “What are you…?” she began against his lips, only to have them seal over hers in a more intimate yet still gentle manner. The inexplicable heat in her body, spreading outward from his obvious arousal, seemed to absorb the sensations of his kiss. Or perhaps it was the other way around. Either way, her mouth opened to the urging of his, and she had the insane urge to kiss him back, although she was not quite sure how to go about it, even if she wanted to.

  She tried to speak again, but her words got lost in the silken warmth of his caressing mouth. His fingers sank into her hair and played across her face. He moved on her, stroking her with his whole body. And dear God, she loved it. When his mouth sank deeper against hers, her lips clung to his and her body arched up in confused wonder.

  Something slipped against her face and vanished. His mouth loosened slowly, as deliberately as the kiss had begun.

  “Now I could take you,” he said huskily. “Show you the pleasure and intimacy I never knew with your sister. And you would let me. You would cling and cry out your joy in my arms. There are more weapons in the world than pistols, and you are not qualified to fight them. Come, it’s time I took you home.”

  He eased off her and off the bed, casually picking up his coat and her pistol as he went.

  Josephine, still dazed and stunned, took a moment to understand him. Humiliatingly, he was right, and that was from her original position of mistrust and even hatred. Her body had betrayed her, as perhaps Helena’s had betrayed her. The sheer unkindness of his little lesson took her breath away all over again, as did the knowledge of her narrow escape.

  She sat up in a rush and saw her mask on the bed beside her. Fresh humiliation washed through her, especially, when he sat down beside her and put the mask back on for her. His fingers touched her face, whispered amongst her hair. She sprang up before he did, her only aim to get out of there and away from him.

  She snatched up her domino cloak from the chair, fastened it without looking at him, and turned to find him holding out her reticule.

  “The pistol is inside. I believe I shall keep the bullet for now.”

  “Very wise,” she uttered, grabbing the reticule from him and stalking toward the door.

  His hand reached the key before hers did, but only to turn it anti-clockwise and open the door. She marched past him, and he said nothing, not even goodnight, though she soon discovered why. He was walking two or three paces behind her.

  Since the passage was empty, she hissed, “I do not need your escort.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  She marched out of the hotel, more furious now than ashamed. Only when she approached the hackney stand between the entrance to the hotel drive and that of gates to the pleasure garden, did he walk beside her.

  “You will not come in the carriage with me,” she said low.

  “I will.”

  “If you try to, I shall scream. Be aware, I have tricks which you are not qualified to fight.”

  A boy ran up to open the door and lower the steps for her. She sailed into the cab and closed the door herself. Through the window by the lantern lights of the waiting hackneys, she could see Lord Calton’s smile, a little sardonic but also admiring. And then the carriage left him behind.

  *

  Calton did admire her. He also feared for her, going after a presumably dishonorable man with all the recklessness of which she had accused him. He thought about jumping in the other waiting hackney, just to make sure she got safely home. But the hackney would drop her where she asked, and the biggest danger she would face would be the wrath of her family.

  Besides, in some peculiar way, following her would have felt like cheating. He smiled ruefully to himself at this thought as he made his way back to the hotel. She had won the last skirmish in their battles of the evening, and he would not grudge her it.

  Back in his room, he took off his coat and cravat and sprawled thoughtfully in the armchair with the unfinished glass of wine. Hers had stained his bed when he had jumped on her, but that was the hotel’s problem. It would not disturb his sleep, and he would offer to pay extra for the laundry.

  The girl had courage, and she clearly cared for her sister. Was that why she filled his thoughts? Why had he not simply thrown her out of his room and left Renwick’s staff to deal with her?

  Maybe. Though it didn’t explain why he had not gone back to the ball to hunt for entertainment. The wretched girl had distracted him with her mysteries and accusations. And with her delectable, untouched body that she had no idea how to use to best advantage. That had been an unkind test, perhaps, though he could not regret it. It had been a long time since a chaste woman had aroused him.

  More to the point, he assured himself, he had seen her face—and it was charming if not quite beautiful in the accepted sense. Her chin was a little too determined, her eyes too frank, her nose just a little too turned up. And an asymmetrical dimple at the corner of her mouth lent her a hint of humor that went well with that wild if luxuriant hair.

 

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