Almost a Gentleman (15 page)

"But I think that we'll be able to think more clearly after a short intermission."

Either that, he thought, or we'll be too besotted to be able to think at all.

Swiftly, she unwound the long strip of linen from around her throat.

The cloth slithered down her shirtfront to lie in a heap upon the Persian carpet at her feet. She kicked it to the side, leaned against the door, and settled back for the instant it took him to reach her.

For a moment he merely savored his body's closeness to hers. Only an inch away—he could see the pulse beating in her neck. Warmth spread outward from his center: his groin tightened, his thighs ached to press her hips between them. But he kept his legs together, his arms quietly at his sides. Gently he dipped his head toward her, tracing the curves and hollows of her flesh with his lips and tongue. He took tiny kisses, nuzzling her throat, licking the long lines of her neck, breathing her smell until it began to make him giddy.

He loosened the top button of her shirt, grasped her shoulders, and buried his mouth in the hollow just above her clavicle. Moaning at the press of his teeth, she relaxed into his hands' grip. He tilted her head back still farther. She shivered against the roughness of his palm at the nape of her neck, the pull of his callused fingers tousling her hair. His other hand supported the back of her waist.

She staggered slightly, perhaps simply for the pleasure of feeling him tighten his hold upon her. She trembled under his mouth as he moved it upward over her neck, chin, and jaw. Steadily, deliberately, he claimed her for himself in tiny, irrevocable movements of lips and tongue, before finally forcing her lips open for a breathless kiss.

She wrenched herself away from him.

"I hadn't intended to kiss you, my lord."

"I know, Mr. Marston. But then you
didn't
kiss me—not as I imagine you're capable of kissing me.
I
kissed
you
."

"I hadn't intended to allow you to."

"You knew I'd take more than you allowed me."

She lowered her eyes, wondering if she
had
known that. "Perhaps," she murmured. "But then why not take even more? Why not take… everything?"

"That would be a crude pleasure. I prefer a subtler one: anticipating what you'll give me next time you're in a… giving mood."

"You're patient, then."

"I'm not a young man any more. There's that advantage."

"You're hardly old, Lord Linseley." She swept her eyes down over his body again.

"I'm certainly not old enough to be proof against lecherous glances like that one. I know you're a gambler, but don't overestimate your luck, Mr. Marston."

He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. "There are, after all, another fifteen minutes before we are—disturbed."

"Thank you. I think I shall need the time. To compose myself. And to re-knot my cravat."

"If I knot it for you, we'll have time for another kiss. A proper one this time."

"No. Not this time, for I shall also have to rearrange my hair. You're mussed it terribly. I… I could feel your fingers in it."

Gently, he traced the curve of her right ear with his thumb. Her neck arched, and her mouth opened slightly to let out a soft, bubbling sigh.

"I've mussed your hair wonderfully," he said. "You look like a mischievous little boy who's stolen a pie from the kitchen and knows he's in for a caning."

"It was a most delicious… pie." She licked her lips and grinned while he wound the cravat back around her neck.

"I feel that I'm hiding a treasure away from the common view," he sighed. "It's sad, but also lovely in its way, because only I know where to find it."

"I shall study the knot after you leave," she whispered.

He stood back to watch her comb her hair back into its accustomed waves and spit curls.

"Yes, thank you, Simms," she called when the discreet knock came at the door a few minutes later.

She opened the door to let in some air.
And perhaps
, David thought,
to signal that Mr. Marston hadn't been murdered by his still slightly wild-eyed visitor
.

She closed it again. "Now where were we?" she asked briskly. "Ah yes, we'd just agreed that it's Raikes, Smythe-Cochrane, and Crashaw. Oh, and Bunbury. But the rub is getting Crashaw to speak to you."

Surprisingly, he did feel a bit more clearheaded.

"Well, I think I've hit upon a bit of a plan. What do you think of this, Mr. Marston?"

He supposed that he had Stokes to thank for the stratagem that had just occurred to him. That and the roguish gleam in her eye just before.
I know you're a gambler, Mr. Marston
.

"After all," he said softly when they'd seated themselves back at the table. "The entire population of the Polite World knows how much I spent at the land auction. And so they'd hardly be surprised that I need money."

"And what," he added, "does a gentleman do when he wants to quickly fill his coffers?"

"He tries to borrow, I suppose," she said, "unless he's more daring, and then…"

He held up a hand to interrupt her. "I shall tell a few well-placed people that I tried to borrow from you and was severely rebuffed this afternoon. After which I shall…"

She nodded quickly. "… try your luck at Vivien's."

"Where I shall stupidly, recklessly, and very angrily lose an indecent amount to you this Monday next."

"And where I shall be smug, insolent, arrogant, and entirely insulting. As I have been, ah, known to be upon occasion. It won't be difficult, but you must forgive me in advance if I seem to enter too readily into the spirit of the thing."

He grinned. "Well, it won't be difficult for me to lose at cards. I've never had a head for it. And so I shall become your sworn, desperate enemy. So furious a one that all your other enemies will want to call upon me as an ally."

"Even Crashaw?"

"Crashaw might have other motivations as well. He'll come call-ing on me though, to endeavor to buy back a field or two when he hears that I've ruined myself financially. And when he does I can certainly avail myself of the opportunity to sound him out about you."

"Don't worry," he said hastily, seeing the anxiety that seized her expression, "I promise that I won't displace anyone from the land. The fields I'll offer Crashaw are worthless. They're in serious need of drainage, but since he knows so little of farming, he won't know that."

He smiled at her evident relief.

"I shall have to stay in Town to effect all this business. I suppose that I shall have to stay during the holiday season."

Amazing how easily he'd proposed it, he thought. He hadn't spent a Christmas away from Linseley Manor since he'd become earl.

"Of course," he added, "we won't be able to meet after we're sworn enemies. Especially with you being under surveillance as you are."

"You're right. I hadn't thought of that."

Did that sudden darkening of her eyes signal disappointment? He hoped so.

She knit her brow. "Then how shall we communicate?"

"By the post, I suppose."

"And if we need to confer?"

"Do you have a trusted friend who can deliver messages?" he asked.

"Indeed. One whom I trust absolutely. You've already seen her, you know."

"The lady in yellow."

"Yes, Lady Kate Beverredge. But mightn't it be dangerous for her, if people of ill will are watching me?"

"We must be very public; it's sneakiness and surreptitiousness that your enemies will be looking for. Would your friend dance with me at Almack's?"

Phoebe smiled. For Kate had nervously agreed to attend the Almack's New Year's Ball, as part of her new resolve to "face life squarely."

"Yes, she'll dance with you. She waltzes beautifully."

"Good, then she can relay anything you might want to tell me. And I can send messages to you."

"So this is our last… real meeting for a while, I take it."

"There ought to be a way to contrive a meeting, but at the moment I'm not sure what that is. Right now, though, I want your promise that you'll be extremely careful, and take note of anything or anyone who acts in the least bit suspicious."

She shrugged. "Of course."

He should feel more disturbed, he thought, by that shrug. She was much too daring for her own good. But he couldn't quite muster the requisite concern. Not when she was so charming in her bravado.

"And this is important, Mr. Marston: you must tell me everyone who knows your secret. We shouldn't assume that they're all to be trusted."

"In theory I suppose you're right. But in this case I refuse to believe that any of my friends would betray me. Anyway, there are very few of them. Lady Kate, of course; my brother and his wife in Devonshire. Let me see… well, there's also the woman you met when you were pursuing me…"

"The garrulous one, who said you'd gone to the Lake District."

"Yes, Mrs. Grainger oversees the houses we use for my… transformations. Oh, and Mr. Simms and Mr. Andrewes." She explained quickly who they were.

"Well, you have kept this affair very secret. Very wise; I congratulate you."

"Thank you. So it's Monday next at Vivien's. Midnight would be dramatic, don't you think?"

"Midnight would be excellent. And now…" He thought he'd have something to say in conclusion, but discovered belatedly that he didn't.

She looked steadily at him through the awkward silence.

"And now it seems," she said, "that we must end this interview."

"It does seem that way. Unless you'd like to tell me your real name?"

She shook her head. "No need. I quite enjoy the way you call me
Mr. Marston
."

"The point isn't what you enjoy. The point is that I ought to know more about you in the interest of your own safety."

She shrugged again. "After all, I didn't request your protection. Merely your help. There's a difference, you know."

We'll pay for that devil-may-care look in her eye
, he thought helplessly.

She grinned, enjoying her power. "What I was about to say, my lord, is that we should end this interview properly, since we don't know when next we might meet. We should end it…"

"With a proper kiss?" he asked.

"I think," she returned, "that I'd prefer a highly improper one. To inspire me, you know, before Mr. Marston severely rebuffs the earl's request for a loan often thousand pounds."

All of Mr. Marston's servants could attest to the fearful row that put an abrupt end to Lord Linseley's visit that afternoon. A chair or two were knocked over, the two gentlemen were flushed and breathless, and Lord Linseley stomped through the foyer and out the door in a loud, dreadful hurry as the usually unflappable Mr. Marston hurled insults after him.

And only Mr. Simms had the wit to notice what sounded suspiciously like smothered giggles on his employer's part as she shouted terrible things to the gentleman making his way out. And to wonder exactly what had transpired during the long silence that had preceded their row.