Unmasking Deception, page 21
“I must,” he agreed reluctantly. He moved back and rose, then helped her up, holding her hand. He retained it as they walked toward the kitchen, his fingers threading with hers, caressing.
Her whole body was trembling. Her heart seemed to be jumping into her throat. And yet she knew… The decision had been made to send him away. But it wasn’t irrevocable.
“Or,” she said shakily, halting at the connecting door to the unused servant’s chamber, “you could stay just a little longer and seduce me.” And before he could talk her out of it, if such was ever his intention, she swung herself into his arms and took his mouth.
Chapter Nineteen
Dominic was only human.
At the first touch of her lips, his iron-control snapped like a twig underfoot. The rush of euphoria that had brought him to her, swept down to meet his lust, and she was in his arms, stretched beneath him on an old, lumpy mattress, before his next thought. This, this was happiness, pure and simple. This was her trust.
It was her trust that slowed him down. He was not a rutting beast, and she was no amiable lightskirt. This was Viola, his love, and he owed her care and tenderness and as much joy as he could bring her.
“Are you sure?” he whispered hoarsely.
She smiled, like a siren, and pushed his coat off his shoulders.
“Tell me stop at any time, and I will.” He would, too, even if it killed him.
“Please,” she murmured. “I want this. Don’t stop, Dominic, don’t leave…”
Everything grew a little incoherent, then, for it was the work of a moment to remove her flimsy night attire. If he wanted anything more than her, it was better light than the lamp’s glow through the open door to worship her beauty by. Her womanly curves and silken skin trembled beneath his eyes, his hands, his mouth. Her fingers burrowed beneath his shirt, caressing his back and his shoulders until he flung it off. His breeches and undergarments quickly followed, and her eyes devoured him in wonder.
He took her hand, guiding her to the caresses he loved while finding all the most sensitive places on her body to arouse. He adored her instant response to his fingertips, to his lips. She did not try to hide her pleasure, and her little sighs and moans were music to his heart.
Dominic was no stranger to women. He loved by instinct, and it had always worked well for him and his lovers. But with Viola, he had to think, too, for this was all new to her. Her pleasure, her safety, had to be his first care. And yet, somehow, it was easy to do. It was wonderful to do.
And she never asked him to stop, or even wait, not by word or gesture, not even when he first entered the blissful heat of her body. Shaking with the effort, he gave her time, gentleness, and patience amongst the passion. Until slowly, sweetly, she came apart in his arms.
And he in hers.
*
Minton had stayed late at his club, mainly because there was little else to do. But for once, he was equally bored with cards and dice. Restless and unsettled, he wanted Dominic Gorse recaptured and executed, a substantial financial windfall, and Viola Dove out of his vicinity. Probably in that order.
Not that he believed she would blab, for her own reputation was at stake, but he had certainly blown his chances with her and with his subtle attempt at fortune extraction via Wenning. He needed a proper heiress, with no middle steps to be overcome.
The loss of his coat and the cuff link bothered him, too. And not just because the latter would probably have sold for a pretty penny, even without its partner. There had been something oddly familiar about the highwayman, and Viola had gone off with him far too easily. As if she had recognized him. The thought made Minton increasingly uneasy. A young gentleman playing highwayman for a wager was not unusual, and it was possible the story would leak out via him. Minton hoped to be long gone before then, for with Dominic Gorse escaped, it was just possible the authorities might look again at Crawley’s killing.
Jarvey slid into the chair beside him. “You are unusually solitary tonight.”
“Bored,” Minton said shortly.
“Will you go to Lady Duffield’s party tomorrow night?” Jarvey asked casually.
“What’s the point? There’s barely any decent company left in London.”
“It’s primarily for the younger set, I believe. You know, next Season’s debutantes being given a taste of fashionable society while it’s quiet. A little dancing and small talk and genteel flirting. Very genteel.”
“How unutterably dull. Very young girls who blush while discussing the weather, and callow youths who can’t string two sentences together but think they know all there is about horseflesh and the noble art of boxing. No, no, you may count me out.”
“With pleasure, my dear chap. I will also try to cut you out with several heiresses before the rest of the world gets their eyes and hands on them, too.”
Minton took the bait, eyeing him warily. “What heiresses?”
“I’m told there will be one or two. Including the late Sir James Gavelston’s daughter.”
Minton sat up. “But she’s a child, isn’t she?”
“Sixteen, I believe, and pretty as a picture. She’s staying with Lady Trewthorpe, though, so we’ll all have to keep the line. Dragon of a woman. It’s my belief she’ll try and keep the chit for her own boy.”
“Very well, you intrigue me,” Minton allowed. “I might look in.”
A stir by the door caught their attention. Lord Rampton and his brother Lord Charles Gorse came in with a group of men belonging to the more serious set.
“…quite true. My brother has been acquitted of all charges, his conviction completely overturned. There was nothing like sufficient evidence against him. It should never even have gone to trial.”
Lord Rampton’s voice rang out across the room, easily reaching Minton’s ears, which seemed to ring. His blood chilling, he had glanced at Jarvey from pure instinct. The man looked hunted, which jerked Minton back to sense.
He smiled and nudged Jarvey none too gently. “Do you hear that? Old Dominic’s off the hook!”
Jarvey’s smile was sickly. “About time,” he managed. “Justice at last.”
*
Viola felt as if she were floating. Dominic was her only anchor, and she held on to him, still. He held her, too, loose and contented, their limbs tangled in abandon. She had never expected such intensity, such a variety of pleasures in one act—which was not one at all, if she thought about it, but thousands of beautiful caresses inside and out.
She smiled into his sweat-damped shoulder. Nor had she expected to find even greater joy in his pleasure. Which had been fierce and raw and utterly overwhelming, even though at the last moment he had withdrawn and spent between their bodies, pressed hard to her abdomen.
His care warmed her. Even though they would be married soon, one never knew what might delay the wedding.
Her breath caught. She shifted, raising her head to stare down at him. “Do you still want to be married?”
“More than ever,” he said lazily. “Sooner than ever.” His eyes opened. “Why would you even ask?”
“I don’t know what…pleases.”
He rolled, pinning her beneath him once more. “You do.” He kissed her. “Never doubt it.” He stroked her hair. “I’m afraid I must have hurt you a little. It will never be like that again.”
Viola, who had all but forgotten the discomfort in the pleasure of all the rest, was disappointed. “Really?”
“We’ll contrive to always make it different. And we have so much to learn about each other. I look forward to the journey. Not just this. All of it. I’m babbling. I need to get up before I fall asleep.”
Reluctantly, it seemed, he moved off the bed and reached for his clothes. There was a lethargic new pleasure in watching his naked body and in the realization that when they were married, she could do this every day. Make love with him, watch him dress. Her husband…
He stood in front of her, his livery coat unbuttoned, her night rail in his hands. His eyes were excitingly soft and warm. “Come, slugabed. Cover your modesty and lock the door behind me.”
She slid off the mattress and stood before him, naked. His eyes clouded, acknowledging the temptation. But deliberately, he dropped the flimsy garment over her head and reached for her dressing gown. Only when he had tied it around her did he use those ties to pull her against him and kiss her with tender thoroughness.
She was breathless when he raised his head. “Never forget that I love you,” he whispered. “And I will write to Lord Wenning in the morning.”
She touched her lips to his once more, silently mouthing the words he once had. I love you, too. He smiled, pressed a final kiss upon her, and strode to the door. A last smile, intimate and joyous, and he was gone into the darkness.
She closed the door quietly behind him, turned the key, and shot the bolts. Then she returned to Cook’s room and lit her candle from the lamp still burning there before dousing it and creeping back upstairs to bed.
There, she blew out the candle and lay on her back, gazing into the darkness. Her body tingled and ached in unfamiliar places, but it all seemed part of her happiness. She couldn’t stop smiling. She didn’t see how she could ever sleep tonight because of what she had done with Dominic and all the wild, pleasurable memories spinning around her mind. That was the last thing she remembered thinking before slumber overtook her.
*
As there had been nothing about his trial in the newspapers, so Viola found no mention in the morning papers of his exoneration. Which meant she could not “know.” With difficulty, she prevented herself blurting it out to her mother and siblings or even to Miss Mather, whose broad-mindedness, probably, did not stretch to meeting a man alone in the dead of night while wearing only one’s nightclothes.
She half-thought he might call during the day or that they would see him striding brazenly through the park when they walked Pup there. Perhaps he still had to lie low until the Runners were officially called off. Nevertheless, she found herself looking out for him even when she and her mother walked around to Trewthorpe House for tea.
Viola’s main purpose there, of course, was to enlist Miss Gavelston’s help in baiting Minton. And the heiress herself proved to be something of a revelation. She was not remotely sulky.
She jumped to her feet upon introduction, wreathed in smiles. She clearly only just remembered to curtsey and make civil greetings before she exclaimed, “I am so glad to meet you and to see you safe and well at last! Frank—that is, Mr. Trewthorpe—has told me everything, and I would love to help bring that man his just deserts!” She took Viola’s arm and confided, “I am so glad you were not really married to him, for there can surely be nothing worse than to be in the power of a man who treats one so roughly.”
She lowered her voice, “And of course, I want to hear all about the highwayman! He held us up, too, you know, and it was most bewildering when he merely slammed the door in a temper and rode off! Will Lord Dominic be at Lady Duffield’s party tonight?”
“I doubt it,” Viola said faintly.
“But you will be there?”
“I’m not sure. My presence might inspire him to flight.”
“Or it might make him keep the line,” Frank said. “At least in making no effort to kidnap Lucy—I mean Miss Gavelston—that evening.”
“This is the difficult part,” Viola said anxiously. “We must give him space to flirt with you while keeping you closely guarded.”
“He can flirt while I dance with him,” Miss Gavelston said, almost dismissively. “And I shall make it clear I am much more impressed by him as an older, more sophisticated man than with anyone else present. And at the end of the evening, I shall invite him to meet me for a secret assignation at Maida Gardens. I shall pretend a few of us rebellious young ladies have made up a party and that he will ensure it is both safe and not tedious.”
Viola blinked. “You have thought all this out.”
Miss Gavelston smiled dazzlingly. No wonder Frank was enthralled. “It is such fun. Nothing ever happens in Buckinghamshire.”
“Trust me, Miss Gavelston,” Viola said earnestly, “it will not be fun to be abducted by such a man, so you must never be truly alone with him and never go anywhere with him. Or your guardian will never let you out of his sight again.”
By chance or good sense, Viola seemed to have hit on the one argument that weighed with Miss Gavelston, for her expression grew suddenly serious, and she nodded.
Lord Richard arrived, then, bearing news of Dominic’s squashed conviction, and Viola did her best to look both surprised and delighted. The delight was not difficult, since everything seemed wonderful today, even her mother and Lady Trewthorpe drawing together in an anxious alliance as the young people plotted.
“Lord Richard, you will attend Lady Duffield’s party this evening, will you not?” Mama asked worriedly.
“Alas, no,” Richard replied without notable regret. “It would look suspiciously out of character and serve no purpose. But my brothers will all be there to provide protection.”
Chapter Twenty
The world seemed to be closing in on Minton, narrowing his path to a wealthy and secure future. His path, if he was honest, to a wealthier and more secure future than his brother Alfred, for this had always been the aim.
Killing Crawley had been a mistake, of course. He had known that the moment it was done—and done for a mere short-term gain, to flaunt a little money at the gaming tables. There had, of course, been some satisfaction in casting the blame on Dominic Gorse and watching the arrogant young fool squirm… Or at least imagining it.
But Gorse was not only free but exonerated, and it was more than possible the law might now glance his way. Nothing tied him directly to the murder, of course, if Jarvey held his peace. Except for the cufflink in his stolen coat.
Damn Viola Dove. Another ill-fated plan gone awry. A pity, for he had liked the subtlety of that plan, the indirect means of milking Wenning for taking his poor relation off his hands. A nice little estate from the mass of the earl’s holdings and a pension settled on him would have been ideal. And Viola herself was not sore on the eyes once one really looked at her. Though she had turned out to be far more trying than she seemed and had, moreover, ridden off with that damned highwayman—and Minton’s coat—fast enough when she had the chance.
No, Jarvey was right. To the devil with subtlety. He needed the direct approach. A compliant heiress, direct access to almost unlimited funds. And quickly. With Gorse on the loose, it really was time to spend a few years abroad, just until everything died down a little.
And so he dressed with some care for Lady Duffield’s “children’s party,” as he thought of it derisively, ready to play the sophisticated man about town, or whichever role he felt was called for when he met the Gavelston heiress. But he would have to sweep her off her feet somehow. For he no longer had the luxury of the long courtship he had wasted on Viola Dove.
Besides, at the height of the Season, there was far too much competition for the heiresses. Viola had seemed a more sensible play at the time. But now, most of the fortune hunters had followed their prey to Brighton or to country house parties. The way was clear for Minton, and he intended to make the most of it.
Admittedly, he almost groaned when he first arrived, for “children’s party” really did seem quite apposite. Lady Duffield’s daughter—for whose benefit the evening had been arranged—would come out next Season. At the end of this one, she was barely sixteen and looked younger, as did the other girls and very young men. There seemed to be nothing stronger to drink than lemonade or very weak punch.
His heart almost failed him, but he persevered, accepted a glass of punch, and looked around him for the heiress.
Aha. A very beautiful young girl was just standing up with Frank Trewthorpe, while Lady Trewthorpe looked on benignly. Oh yes, this was the Gavelston heiress, and she would do. She would do excellently. No older than the other giggling, awkward, or desperate girls, there was yet an air of fun around her that boded well for Minton. And she did not look like a child, which helped. Although, there was, indeed, something familiar about her. Perhaps he had met her before?
Even if he had, that was all to the good. He could presume on long acquaintance or even play up the fact that he hadn’t recognized her—the child had become such a beautiful young lady. Girls loved that sort of twaddle. On the other hand, wouldn’t he have remembered meeting an heiress?
Throwing off his vague unease, he made the most of his early arrival, dancing with an older Duffield cousin. It was a country dance, and when it came time to twirl with Miss Gavelston, he made sure she saw the admiration in his eyes. After that, he ignored her for a bit, piquing her interest, he hoped, while smiling and chatting with the Duffield cousin and solicitously restoring her to her chaperone afterward.
It was as he turned away that he came face to face with Viola Dove.
What the devil was she doing here? Come to spike his guns? She met his gaze with startled, icy contempt, as though the encounter was as unwelcome a surprise to her as to him.
She inclined her head distantly. “Mr. Minton.”
He bowed. “Miss Dove.”
And they passed on their separate ways. Of course, he remembered with relief, she could not accuse him without endangering her own reputation, so he was perfectly safe. But it was annoying, all the same, to find her here. He had assumed she would have left town by now.
He let a dance go by while he strolled about the room, talking to a few of the older generation in a politely bored kind of way. Anyone watching would assume that only duty had brought him to such an insipid affair which was so far beneath him.
After that, he strolled around the room, appearing to come upon Miss Gavelston and her court of adoring swains by accident. He allowed himself to consider her, and by the faint tilt to her chin, she was aware of it. He moved toward her, and her court parted for him with the reluctant civility due to his greater years.
