Between the Devil and Desire (14 page)

“What you said about Lovingdon earlier, about taking your task as guardian seriously—things between us might not have been quite so difficult had you voiced it to me sooner.”

“Quite honestly, Duchess, I'm not certain I realized it myself until I spoke the words. I'm as baffled as you by your husband's choice of guardian, but I like this house and everything in it. I intend to keep them.”

“As long as you're good to Henry, I shall strive to be more gracious.”

He wasn't quite certain he wanted her gracious. He preferred her with a bit of fire in her. “You're the late Duke of Avendale's sister.”

She seemed surprised he knew that information. “Yes. My father died a month after I was married. My brother inherited the title. He recently died, leaving the title to his son. I have no other immediate family. Do you?”

She'd uncharacteristically shared so much personal information with him in one go that it took him a moment to realize what she was asking of him, and when he did realize it, he laughed and lifted his glass in salute. “No. Not in the traditional sense anyway.”

He downed the gin, laid the knife and fork on the plate, and covered the dish. “Thank you for bringing me the meal.”

“I'm glad you enjoyed it.” She rose. “I do hope you'll have a physician look at your cheek. I would hate for it to get infected.”

“I suppose you're right. A scar would ruin my good looks.”

“You're assuming you possess good looks in the first place.”

“Are you implying I don't?”

“I'm implying it's conceited to state you're handsome.” She lowered her gaze again, then lifted it. “I'm sorry I hurt you. I thought—”

“That the boy was in danger. If a mistake is to be made, Duchess, I prefer it go the way it did this morning.”

“You care about Henry.”

“Not in the least. But he's my ward. If he's harmed, it's more trouble to me.”

She leaned over his desk. Her lavender scent teased him and her lips were so tantalizing near. “I'm not quite sure I believe you, Mr. Dodger.”

She lifted the tray and nearly hit his nose in doing it. His fault for not noticing he'd been moving toward her.

“Believe it, Duchess,” he said, striving to regain the control slipping away from him.

“I don't believe I shall.”

With that, she turned and strolled across the room, her backside swaying.

Something was happening, something very dangerous. He was beginning to let down his guard. And he couldn't afford to do that. It could spell disaster for him. He'd spent a lifetime erecting the walls around his heart. He wasn't going to let a lovely widow tear them down.

W
ith her back pressed against a mound of pillows and her arms wrapped around her drawn-up legs, Olivia sat in bed, stared at the ornate door leading into the dressing room, and strained to hear even a whisper of Jack settling in for the night. Every once in a while she'd grow dizzy and realize she'd been holding her breath.

Late that afternoon, he'd sent her a missive informing her he'd not be available for dinner and she was free to dine with Henry. She didn't like that he thought he was in charge of her schedule. She also found it interesting he'd chosen not to find her and tell her in person. Was he avoiding her? Could it be that he was not comfortable with their relationship shifting away from adversarial? She hardly knew what to make of the man, but she was certain of one thing: he'd not intrude on her here. In spite of everything the ladies had ever said about him, she was discovering he did have some semblance of a moral compass. One that was a bit skewed perhaps, but still on occasion it seemed capable of pointing in the correct direction. At least where Henry was concerned.

She was certain he'd honor his word and not seek out her bed. She struggled against the tinge of disappointment. Not that she wanted him to quietly open that door and walk serenely—

No, that had been Lovingdon's way. Jack Dodger would burst through, fervor in his stride, virility emanating from every pore. He would be demanding, his hands exploring greedily, his tongue eliciting pleasure—

With a low groan, she pressed her forehead against her knees. He would not come through that door. It was ludicrous to allow such carnal thoughts to run rampant through her mind. What did it matter if he was sleeping in that room? Two doors separated them. She'd not hear him breathing or tossing or turning. She'd not see his bare feet as he walked around in his nightshirt.

She raised her head, burrowed her chin into her knees. Would he even wear a nightshirt? Of course he would. All gentlemen did. But then Jack Dodger was no gentleman.

She couldn't envision him donning a nightshirt. Oh, she needed to stop thinking about him. Glancing at her clock, the time surprised her. It was past midnight. As he'd yet to arrive in his chamber, he'd probably gone to the club. How silly of her to think otherwise, to have spent precious time listening for an arrival that would never come.

She needed a distraction. She'd go to the library and find a book to read. Anything to take her mind off of Jack.

She slipped out of bed and drew her wrapper around her. Picking up the lamp from the bedside table, she
made her way into the hallway. She descended the stairs and walked to the library. This time of night no footman was about. Opening the door, she was stunned to see Jack sitting at the desk, poring over ledgers. Why wasn't he at the club and how could she retreat? She realized with a mounting sense of dread that she couldn't, because she'd drawn his attention. “I thought you'd gone to your club.”

Shaking his head, he leaned back and stretched his arms over his head. “I had some things to attend to here.”

He came to his feet, perhaps finding his manners as an afterthought. “Why aren't you asleep?”

Because I can't stop thinking about you
hardly seemed a prudent confession.

“I'm not sure. I thought finding a book to read might help to lull me to sleep.”

“I've found that only works when it's a dull book.”

She couldn't imagine him reading a book for pleasure. She assumed he took his pleasures from more carnal avenues. Feeling her cheeks warm with that thought, she eased closer to the desk. “When do
you
sleep?”

“A few hours here and there. I've never required much.”

She glanced at the various ledgers strewn over the desk. “You certainly devote a lot of your time to your finances.”

“Actually, it's
your
finances I'm studying.”

Surprised by his words, she jerked her head up. “Why would you care about
my
finances?”

“I suppose it has to do with my humble beginnings.”

She laughed. “I can't see anything about you being humble.”

He didn't seem offended. Instead he indicated the couch near the window. “Have a seat and I'll explain to you what I'm thinking.”

It was late, she was in her nightgown, and they were alone in the library. She could barely envision anything more improper—unless they were alone in his bedchamber. Still she was hesitant to leave. She'd always been glad when Lovingdon spent a bit of time with her, but it was because his visits had offered a respite from loneliness. Jack was offering her nothing more, and she could no longer deny her curiosity regarding him. He was not at all as she'd originally envisioned. She had a desire to explore this newly discovered facet to him.

She strolled as nonchalantly as she could to the couch. Little tremors were dancing beneath her skin, and she hoped he couldn't discern that she was nervous. Sitting, she watched as he moved lithely to the table in the corner and proceeded to splash the contents of one of his bottles into two glasses. He carried both snifters between the fingers of one hand while carrying the decanter in the other. After setting the decanter on a table beside the couch, he extended one of the snifters toward her. She hesitated—

“My finest brandy. Come on now, where's the harm? You'll not go to hell for a bit of indulging.”

“Does God whisper in your ear, offering those truths?”

He offered her his tantalizing grin. “The devil, more like.”

“That doesn't surprise me at all. I suspect you're good friends.”

“The very best. Now, drink up. It'll help warm you.”

“I'm not cold.”

“You're shivering.”

“Must you always be so observant?” She took the snifter from him and drank. The liquid burned her throat, her lungs, brought tears to her eyes.

He reached over and patted her back, the heat of his hand burning through the material of her clothing. What would it be like to have flesh upon flesh? She fought not to contemplate the possibilities.

“Careful now, brandy is meant to be savored, not gulped.”

She took a deep breath as the warmth settled in the pit of her stomach. She thought it was from the liquor, but perhaps it was merely his nearness. His presence was almost overpowering, as though he were larger than life. From the first night, she'd noticed that he dominated any room—any conveyance—he occupied. It was part of the reason he unsettled her. He was not a man ever to be ignored.

“I'd not expected you to appreciate fine things.” She fairly wheezed the words, which made him grin.

“I've long appreciated the finer things in life. Why do you think I've worked so hard to acquire them?”

He sat on the other end of the couch, stretching his legs out in front of him, laying one arm lazily along the back, his long fingers tantalizingly close to her shoulders, and suddenly the furniture seemed incredibly small, hardly suited for holding more than one person.

“When the ladies spoke of you, your penchant for hard work was never mentioned.”

“The ladies?”

She took a sip of brandy. Inhaling the fumes burned her nostrils, yet she found pleasantness in the sensation. She wondered what pleasures the other bottles held. “During afternoon tea, you're often discussed.”

He chuckled as though unexpectedly amused. “What would the ladies say about me?”

“That you're on familiar terms with the devil.”

“That I am.” He lifted his snifter in a salute and drank its contents.

She tried not to be mesmerized watching his throat work. He was not wearing his cravat, waistcoat, or jacket. He'd loosened the buttons at his neck. Considering that she had no desire to upset the camaraderie that was developing between them she decided not to complain about his slovenly dress, especially as he hardly looked slovenly. Even disheveled, he looked wickedly handsome.

“We were going to discuss my finances,” she reminded him.

“Ah, yes. Your finances. You may recall that your late husband placed money into a trust that will provide you with two thousand per annum.”

“Of course, I recall.”

“With a bit of careful investing, I believe I can arrange it so you make five thousand.”

“Per annum?” The words came out on a whisper of disbelief.

“Per annum.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because it'll make it easier to marry you off.” Snatching the decanter off the table, he reached across the short space separating them and refilled her glass.

She took a sip, studying him over the rim. The flavor of brandy was growing on her. “You seem quite obsessed with the notion of marrying me off.”

“It solves numerous problems for me.”

“If you didn't want to be guardian, why did you agree to it?”

“Surely, in the short time you've known me, you've learned I consider nothing too unpleasant to undertake when it places more coins in my palm.”

“After observing you with Henry today, I'd gotten the distinct impression that you liked him.”

“I do. Charming lad. Doesn't mean I don't prefer my freedom.”

She took another sip of brandy, then another. Feeling herself growing lethargic, she brought her feet up to the cushions. It was her guilty pleasure, sitting so unladylike in her bedchamber when she read before the fireplace. The brandy made it seem as though now was the time for guilty pleasures.

“Your freedom you can easily gain by simply getting out of our lives,” she reminded him.

“I find it difficult to believe that
you
, who are so keen on being dutiful, would suggest I shirk my duties.” He poured more brandy into her glass.

“Are you trying to get me foxed?”

He laughed, a deep raspy sound that made her skin tingle. “What do you know of the delights of spirits?”

“I know on more than one occasion my brother returned from your club barely able to walk. I think you
would take great sport in bringing me to my knees and spreading rumors about my scandalous behavior.”

His eyes darkened and his gaze was unflinching as he studied her. She was left with the impression she'd said something he found intriguing. He barely moved his arm, but it was enough to take her braid and as his hand skimmed over her shoulder, a shudder of pleasure rippled through her.

He toyed with the end of her braid, brushing his thumb over it. “In my business, Duchess, I have learned to be very discreet. I assure you nothing that happens within this residence will be whispered about beyond these walls. Unlike your ladies, I take no pleasure in gossip. So get roaring drunk and fall to your knees as often as you like.”

She had no plans to get drunk or fall in any manner, but she didn't object when he poured her more brandy. Feeling more relaxed than she had in a good long while, she swirled the glass, watched the liquid spin. “So how would you do it?”

He seemed startled by her question. “Do what?”

She wondered what he'd been thinking about. “Increase my yearly income.”

“Ah, yes, I'd forgotten that's what brought us here. I would increase your income by investing your money.”

“In something improper I presume?”

She saw a measure of respect light his eyes, and she couldn't help but feel a bit thrilled that she'd guessed what he'd planned to do with her money.

“Let's just say, for the sake of propriety, you'd be investing in providing entertainment. I don't know that you'd need or want to know the specifics.”

She shook her head. “It would make me a hypocrite.”

“A wealthy hypocrite.”

Smiling, she took another sip of brandy. It was tempting. Spirits she was deciding weren't nearly as awful as she'd originally thought. They were in fact quite delightful. And they made her feel very happy. More happy than she'd felt in a good long while.

“There is more to life than wealth,” she told him.

“Those who make such reckless proclamations are usually wealthy.”

“You're wealthy.”

“Because I recognize it's the only thing that matters, and I put all my efforts into acquiring and holding onto it.”

“That's sad. Terribly, terribly sad. Have you no one special?”

For a moment, the way he was looking at her, she thought he was going to tell her about someone he loved.

“Do you want me to invest your money or not?” he asked sharply.

It seemed inherently wrong to have her money invested in things of which she didn't approve, but the thought of five thousand per annum, a sum that would make her quite independent, was a temptation too great to resist. She downed the remainder of her brandy, able for some reason to tolerate it in larger quantities, and nodded.

“Splendid.” He refilled her glass. “Now on to the next subject.”

“And what would that be?”

“Your husband.”

“Lovingdon?”

“No, your future husband.” He reached for her feet, stretching out her legs and placing her bare feet on his lap.

“What are you doing?” she asked, alarmed by the intimacy, but lost enough in lethargy not to want to pull them back.

“Offering you a little more indulgence.”

“I think you seek to corrupt me.”

“With a bit of brandy and a foot rub? Oh, I am the devil.”

Smiling at him over the rim of the glass, she said, “That's what I thought the first night. That the devil had come to call.”

“And now?”

“I'm not quite sure what to make of you.” Suddenly she felt very comfortable with him, as though all her inhibitions had floated away. She thought she might even be able to trust him with her deepest, darkest secrets.

Jack's large rough hands began to knead the soles of her feet. It was absolute heaven. Looking at him through a brandy haze, she decided he was quite charming.