A Perfect Scandal (14 page)

Isabel nearly jumped out of her skin at the heady sensations that coursed through her. She grasped fistfuls of his shirt, afraid she would fall to the floor.

Marcus’s hands tightened about her waist and pulled her closer still. His lips lowered to the modest neckline of her walking gown. Holding her tight with one hand, he used the other to unfasten the tiny buttons behind her back and tugged the material of her bodice and thin chemise down with his teeth. Her breasts sprang free, and her nipples firmed from the cool air in the room.

“Isabel,” he breathed. “You’re so beautiful, like a priceless piece of fine art ripe for the taking.” His moist breath caressed her exposed breast a moment before he lowered his dark head to tease a taut nipple.

The pleasure was pure and explosive, and a hot ache surged between her legs. Her prior reservations flew from her mind with each slick stroke of his tongue. Her head, suddenly too heavy to hold up, fell back. Her fingers thrust into his thick hair as she pulled him closer and arched her spine forward at the same time in wanton abandon.

Through her half-closed eyes, the radiant watercolors on the wall blended with her heightened senses until each stroke of his tongue on her heated flesh felt like brushstrokes on a canvas. He was the master painter and she his fervent masterpiece.

“You are so eager, Isabel. I’ll go mad.” His voice, harsh with longing, served to fuel her passion.

“Yessss. I feel it, too. Please don’t stop, Marcus.”

His head stiffened beneath her fingers, and it took her several seconds before she realized he had stopped kissing her heated flesh.

He raised his head, his breathing labored. His eyes burned with unmistakable desire. “We cannot go forward like this, Isabel.
I
cannot.”

Her vision spun. Her mind was sluggish, swimming through a haze of newfound desire. She tried to catch her breath, tried to force her confused emotions into order and focus on his fierce expression.

“What do you mean?”

He straightened, pulling her with him. With jerky movements, he tugged the chemise and bodice of her dress over her breasts, spun her around, and struggled with the tiny pearl buttons.

Her lips, still warm and moist from his kisses, trembled at the touch of his fingers on her skin. She turned to face him when he finished.

“A man has certain base needs, Isabel. If I am to hold to our bargain, then there have to be rules about touching. The way you embraced me and kissed me—”

“I merely meant to thank you for your gift,” she responded sharply.

“I am a flesh-and-blood man.”

“So you keep saying. Do you intend to blame me for what just occurred?

“Of course not.”

A vulnerable thought struck her, and she asked, “Do you regret kissing me?”

“Surprisingly, no. But you should. You deserve better than to lose your innocence with a tarnished soul like me. I am not worthy of such a gift.”

She felt the color drain from her face. His reputation did not bother her, but the truthfulness of his words regarding her virginity did. All that had kept her from lying with him on the floor of his glorious gallery was
his
self-control in recalling the bargain they had struck. She should feel shame or immense relief to have had her innocence spared, but the truth was, she felt nothing but an acute sense of loss.

Marcus Hawksley was an ever-changing mystery, a rare type of male. Despite her initial determination not to get physically involved with him, he sparked her passionate nature. Much like her watercolors, he was becoming an obsession.

“Is that why you never married and instead turned to trade? Because you believe you are not good, not worthy?” she asked.

His expression darkened. “No. Work, money, and art don’t betray a man; only people do.”

“Lady Ravenspear had said you were betrayed by a woman.”

“Victoria should mind her own business.”

“Why don’t you get along with your family?”

He sighed. “I don’t wish to discuss my past, Isabel. I only want to discuss how we are to maintain our charade.”

She reached out to touch his arm. “I don’t believe any of it, Marcus. I
know
you are a good man.”

The hunger in his eyes had nothing to do with lust, but rather everything to do with her trust and faith in him.

His gaze dropped to her lips.

He looks like he is going to kiss me again. Lord, let him kiss me,
her mind raced.

A low knock sounded on the door.

Marcus sighed and straightened. “Enter.”

Jenkins stood in the doorway. “Your brother, Lord Ardmore, is here to see you. He says it is regarding urgent business.”

A frown creased Marcus’s brow. “See him in, Jenkins.”

The butler nodded, and a moment later, a startlingly handsome man strode into the gallery.

His green gaze shifted from Isabel to Marcus. “I know where Dante Black is hiding. But we must move quickly before he leaves.”

Isabel had met Roman Hawksley before. Their fathers, both influential earls, were social acquaintances, and as the heir to the Ardmore earldom, Roman had dutifully attended his fair share of balls and social soirees. But it was the first time she had seen him since her engagement to his brother.

“Lady Isabel,” Roman Hawksley said, bowing gallantly. “Forgive my untimely intrusion.”

“Nonsense. You have valuable information that needs to be immediately addressed. Whatever are we waiting for?”

A gleam of surprise crossed Roman’s face before it was replaced with gratitude. “My brother chose well despite himself,” he said, grinning mischievously.

Minutes later, they were seated inside the lavish Ardmore crested carriage, traveling at a brisk pace. Isabel studied Marcus beneath lowered lashes. He was withdrawn, every line in his body tense in anticipation of the confrontation with his nemesis, Dante Black…

Marcus and Roman sat across from Isabel on the padded bench. The two brothers were remarkably similar in appearance, both dark-haired and powerfully built. But whereas Marcus had eyes the color of liquid chocolate, Roman’s were a brilliant green. Roman’s aquiline nose and straight forehead gave him a handsome appearance that she suspected drew many feminine glances.

But she grudgingly admitted it was Marcus’s ruggedly masculine face that drew her like a lodestone.

She nervously smoothed her hands over her skirts. The tension between Marcus and his older brother was palpable.

“How did you learn of Dante Black’s location?” Marcus’s voice cut the silence.

“I hired a man to look into things after you came to the house.”

“I told you not to interfere.”

Roman shrugged. “Yes, but it’s a good thing I did, isn’t it?”

“I hired my own investigator,” Marcus said tersely.

“Then he’s clearly not as efficient as mine.”

“Damn, Roman. Do you enjoy baiting me?”

Roman’s expression sobered. “No. I don’t. I thought to help.”

“You mean to make amends for the past.”

“Does it matter now?”

A heated glance passed between the brothers. She was certain her presence prevented them from divulging what grievance they referred to. She was startled to realize that she desperately wanted to know. She was nearly overcome with the need to learn about Marcus’s past, to find out what had damaged him to the point that he thought his very soul tarnished.

Roman pulled up the tasseled shade and looked out the window. “We’re almost there.” He banged on the roof of the carriage with his walking stick and instructed the driver. “Stop out of view across the street. We don’t want to be seen in the Ardmore vehicle.”

Staring out the window, Isabel didn’t recognize the part of town. The dwellings were small, dilapidated, and huddled close together. Shabbily dressed people sat on doorsteps; a baby wailed in the distance; a stray dog stopped to make a quick meal out of a pile of unrecognizable debris in the street. It was the part of London that a well-bred lady dared not step foot in.

Despite the warmth of three bodies inside the carriage, gooseflesh rose on her arms.

She studied the house in which Dante Black had been hiding. A gray two-story structure, it had broken and missing shutters, an unkempt garden choked with weeds, and a loose door knocker that hung askew. She wondered wildly what an affluent, influential art auctioneer like Dante Black would be doing hiding out in such a hovel.

The answer rang loud as a bell in her head.

Marcus Hawksley.

Dante was hiding out of fear of Marcus.

“What are you thinking?” Marcus asked Roman.

“That we question Dante about his employer.”

“We suspect Gavinport,” Marcus said.

Roman’s brows drew together. “Frederick Perrin, the Marquess of Gavinport? I suppose he has the resources to hire criminals to steal a Gainsborough painting, but it’s improbable that Dante Black will confess to working for a man as influential as Gavinport. It would mean the end of Dante’s career.”

“Then we’ll have to persuade him to speak, won’t we?”

Roman met Marcus’s hard stare. “I stand behind you, Marcus. I’ll not allow history to repeat itself.”

Surprise flashed in Marcus’s eyes, but the emotion dissipated as quickly as it had appeared and was replaced by a familiar mask of indifference.

“How do you plan to get inside?” Isabel interrupted.

“We could force the door,” Roman said.

Marcus shook his head. “No. Dante would just run out the back door. Lucky for us, I grabbed my lock picks before leaving my home.”

Roman grinned. “Your locksmith client?”

“Of course. Other than money, I occasionally do gain useful skills from my clients.”

Marcus’s eyes snapped to Isabel. “Stay in the carriage. This should not take long.”

“I want to come,” she protested.

“No,” both men said in unison.

“I may be able to help,” she insisted.

“I agreed to allow you to accompany us on the condition that you stay in the carriage,” Marcus said.

“But—”

“No.” Marcus’s eyes were like chips of stone.

She sighed, knowing this was one argument she would never win. She had eagerly capitulated to Marcus’s demands at his home in order to be able to accompany them.

Roman reached for the door handle, and the brothers jumped down and headed for Dante’s hideout.

Scooting to the window, she watched as Marcus picked the lock and the brothers snuck inside. The door closed behind them.

Time passed slowly. Her eyes never wavered from the front door. The temperature inside the carriage rose as the afternoon sun streamed in through the window and heated her face.

What were they up to?

Had they found Dante Black? Were they interrogating him at this moment? Was Dante confessing to Lord Gavinport’s involvement?

Her fingers grazed the silver door handle and itched to fling the door wide open so she could run across the street. She had never had much patience. Thankfully, her father’s wealth and status had ensured that she never had to wait overly long for anything.

After fifteen more minutes, her nerves were tight with tension.

To hell with waiting!

She reached for the handle, then froze, remembering the driver. No doubt, the Ardmore servant had been given strict instructions to keep her barricaded inside the carriage.

Her overwrought mind whirled with ideas for escape, but then she stilled, hearing footsteps outside. The distinct high-pitched sound of feminine laughter followed. Looking out the window, she spotted two women waving to the driver. Bright yellow-and peacock-colored dresses with obscenely low bodices and heavily painted faces pronounced that they were working prostitutes.

“What a fancy carriage, sir. ’Ow about we come up and join ye?” The harlot with the yellow dress called up to the driver.

A booming male laugh. “I’m working, ladies.”

“So are we.”

“How about I come down for a minute.”

Isabel heard the squeaking of springs as the driver jumped down. Taking full advantage of the diversion, she quietly opened the door on the opposite side and slipped out. She sprinted across the street, stopping before Dante’s hideout to catch her breath, and then pressed an ear to the front door.

Silence.

She pushed against the door, careful not to dislodge the broken knocker. It opened easily, and she stepped inside a tiny vestibule.

Faded brown wallpaper peeled off the walls and a moldy smell permeated the space. The stairs leading to the second floor had a worn green carpet runner, bare to the wood in spots. She peered into a tiny sitting room and found it empty. A narrow hallway before her led to the rest of the living space on the main floor.

Tiptoeing down the hall, she heard male voices.

Yelling. The sound of booted feet scuffling across a wooden floor, and then a loud groan.

The hair rose on her nape. Whoever was inside, they were fighting, or more likely beating someone to a bloody pulp.

Hugging the wall, she crept forward. Her sleeve snagged on a peeling seam of wallpaper, and a puff of old plaster smote the air.

Her nose itched, and she smothered a sneeze.

She came to the bottom of the staircase and was about to pass by when a shadow caught the corner of her eye. She looked up, and her eyes widened at the sight of a menacing figure poised at the landing.

A looming, cadaverously thin man, with long black hair and soulless eyes leered down at her. A heartbeat passed, and he raised his arm, an ominous pistol in his hand.

She let out a bloodcurdling scream.

The demon flew down the stairs like a bat and pinned her against the wall with a fierce, wiry strength.

Pitch eyes bore into hers. “Damn meddling bitch. Ye keep poppin’ up at the wrong time. Stay away if ye know what’s good fer ye,” he snarled, specks of foul spittle spraying her face.

Footsteps pounded down the hall.

He released her, and fled through the front door just as Marcus and Roman rounded the corner.

“Go after him, Roman!” Marcus yelled.

Roman sprinted out the door; Marcus rushed to her side.

“Isabel! Are you all right?” His face was tense, his lips pursed. Without waiting for her reply, his frantic hands ran up and down her arms, checking for signs of injury.

“Yess…I’m fine,” she stammered, touching his sleeve.

He cradled her face in his big hands and looked into her eyes. “You’re shaking like a leaf. Tell me what happened? Did he touch you?”

Her words came out in a great rush. “Nothing happened, really. The front door was unlocked. I heard noises so I followed the sounds down the hall when I spotted…when I saw someone.”
A demon.
She shivered despite her firm resolve to appear brave. “He had a pistol, you see, so I screamed and he rushed down the stairs. He must have heard you coming because he ran.”

Marcus’s hands dropped to his side. His expression turned thunderous. “Little fool! I told you to wait in the carriage. You had agreed to do so.”

“Marcus, I—”

He shook his head vehemently. “You could have been gravely hurt!”

His eyes blazed in his bronzed face, and despite her common sense, Marcus’s anger and concern thrilled and frightened her at the same time.

Roman burst into the vestibule, his breathing labored. He looked at Isabel, then Marcus. “Is she all right?”

“By the Grace of God,” Marcus said.

“I lost the man. I gave him a good chase, but he was familiar with the neighborhood and vanished into thin air,” Roman said.

“A dangerous street criminal, no doubt,” Marcus said. “Isabel said he had a pistol.”

Roman’s voice rose in surprise. “What’s his connection to Dante?”

Isabel spoke up. “He said that I kept interfering at the wrong time. The only other incident that I was involved in was at the Westley auction when I acted as Marcus’s alibi. He must be Dante’s contact or accomplice.”

“She’s right, Marcus,” Roman said. “Most likely he was the hired criminal that stole the painting at the auction. Maybe he feared Dante would confess the names of everyone involved, and he sought to kill you today. If Dante had outlived his usefulness, then he may have planned to eliminate Dante as well.”

“Then my presence stopped him,” Isabel said in a small voice.

Marcus stood there, towering and angry. “No, Isabel. He would have killed you, too, had you not screamed and alerted us.”

She felt the blood drain from her face. “Good Lord, Marcus. I never thought the theft of one painting could lead to murder.”

“A criminal like the one you just encountered would not hesitate to shoot a woman—lady or not.”

Roman looked to Marcus, as if a thought had suddenly struck him. “What about Dante?”

“Forget him,” Marcus snapped. “I heard the back door slam shut when we left to rush to Isabel’s side. He’s long gone by now.”

Isabel bit her lip, realizing that her interference had led to Dante Black’s escape after Marcus and Roman had exerted such efforts to locate him. With an experienced criminal accomplice, the slippery auctioneer could successfully hide for months.

“Did Dante confess as to Lord Gavinport’s involvement?” she asked.

Marcus shook his head. “His lips were sealed tight. We did not have enough time to cajole him to loosen his tongue.”

Roman stepped forward and held her hand. “Do not worry, Lady Isabel. Dante would not have spoken. He is more afraid of his employer than of physical harm. Your safety is of utmost importance. After meeting you, I for one am convinced that you are the perfect lady for my ill-mannered brother.”

Marcus glared at Roman, and took Isabel’s hand from him. He tucked it possessively under his arm. “Pay no mind to my charming brother. There’s a reason he remains a bachelor. Now let’s get you home before your father starts to worry.”