Her Mad Baron (14 page)

He waited until the servant left to turn back to her. “One rather wishes you’d been accompanied by a maid.” He didn’t sound the least perturbed. “But otherwise, I don’t see why you’re in such a hurry to leave. If you don’t want to confront him, I can receive him in another room.”

“You should have said you’re not home.”

“I’d rather not hide from him or anyone else.”

“I suppose you’re right. He’d probably just keep popping up like a bad skin rash. If you don’t mind. I’ll stay here.” She sat down again. “I’m fed up to the eyeteeth with him at the moment.”

“There are some interesting books on the shelf at the back of the room.” She hadn’t been wrong—there was amusement in his deep voice. “I’ll order tea for you, and I shall return as quickly as possible.”

After he closed the door, she drifted to the shelf, which was filled with books about history. She grabbed one about war strategy and returned to the chair, trying to ignore the way her hands shook.

Perhaps she should barge out of the room and confront her brother. But if he knew she’d come here when she was supposed to be at work, he’d guess… What? That she had clandestine adventures after all.

The butler and two footmen entered, pushing a rolling tray table. She managed to thank them and added, “Please, you may go. I’ll serve myself.”

The butler gave her a grave look but ushered himself and his underlings from the room.

When Lord Felston briskly reentered several minutes later, he still smiled.

“Good,” she said, and put down the book. “You wouldn’t be grinning if he managed to get his way.”

He poured himself a cup of tea. “Your brother is rather amusing. And he acted in a proper manner.”

“Of course he can act that way. He is a gentleman, or was raised one.”

Nathaniel’s blue-green eyes shone with definite laughter. She realized she couldn’t recall seeing such amusement on his face before. He cleared his throat. “I should say he didn’t push the matter of blackmail.”

“Thank goodness.” She reached for her tea.

Lord Felston settled on the chair opposite and watched her over the top of the cup as he drank. At last he spoke. “Your brother did accomplish his goal.”

“Which was?”

“He pointed out the problem we already understood, that I shall compromise you by spending so much time in your company in a social situation.”

She took a sip. “Typical Duncan. He tends to remember propriety when it suits him. He can be persuasive. Or perhaps I’m just easily duped because I used to fall into his plans.” No need to add that it had been less than a month since she’d stopped allowing him to persuade her.

“I think you’re right. He’s persuasive because he’s convinced me.”

Cold fear clutched her heart. “What are you talking about? Whatever you do, don’t lend him money.”

“No, it has to do with you, not him. He believes if we are seen together in company, I should offer you marriage. You could spend time with me and retain your good name.”

“No.” She put down the cup and saucer with a clatter. Some tea sloshed over her fingers, staining the gloves she still wore. “No. You don’t have to do that. Oh good God, Lord Felston, no. He is an idiot. You ought not allow people like Duncan to run your life. Believe me, I should know.”

A ghost of a smile touched his mouth. “If he knew the whole truth about our night together, I should hope he’d insist I marry you.”

“He’s Duncan. One should never base any decisions on his notion of propriety.”

“Any brother would insist.”

She nodded. “But I am not any sister,” she said. “And what happened between us...” She couldn’t finish the sentence.

He gazed at her, and for a moment, an intimate smile spread across his face. She had most definitely not seen that expression before, and she wondered how he remained unmarried when he had a heavy-eyed, sweet yet devilish smile like that at his disposal.

She sighed. “Why on earth would you want to be shackled to a reminder of the worst episode of your life?”

“My family believes that I should marry and who better than you?”

“Do you really want an answer to that?” She pursed her lips and tried to think of potential brides. No names came to her mind because she had no interest in his world. “I don’t keep track of my betters, and therefore I have no idea who is in the current crop of eligible debutantes. Aren’t you trying to show them how sane you are? This will not help.”

“Miss Cadero. There are solid reasons for this offer.”

“Such as? I can see why it would be advantageous to a female such as myself to say yes. But you? I don’t understand. You can’t claim to have fallen in love with me.” She winced.
No need to sound so shrill, Florrie.
“Please excuse my blunt speaking, but I am rather amazed and-and confused, I think.”

“I am a gentleman, and I compromised you. Please allow me to recover my own self-esteem in this matter.”

She chewed her lip. “But it doesn’t matter. I gave you leave to-to do those things.”

He regarded her gravely. “I am not talking about your actions. I refer to my own.”

“Yes, but haven’t you considered my behavior, what it might mean about me? Perhaps I’m not...” She had to make at least one more attempt to make certain it wasn’t insanity on his part. Then she’d stop trying to warn him against her. “You don’t know me. Last night you were accusing me of blackmailing you. Now you’re offering marriage?”

“I must marry. If we find we don’t suit, then we’ll just be one of many similar marriages. We already know that there is a mutual attraction.”

She ignored the deep internal shudder of her body’s agreement. “It is utterly irresponsible to offer marriage to a stranger. I have learned enough about you, Lord Felston, to know that sort of irresponsibility is out of character. Are you sure you’re not still afflicted with aftereffects of your time in that horrible room?”

“Oh, I am most definitely still afflicted.” His mouth straightened into a grim line. “I can barely decide what hat to wear when I leave the house. I’m a timid, trembling wretch.” The grim line softened, and the corner of his mouth twitched up. “I am damaged goods, ma’am.”

“That’s perfect then.” She picked up her tea, determined to act as normally as possible. Someone in the room had to. Best to treat it all like a joke. “I’m a thief.”

“You were. Now apparently you are a shop girl.”

“Even worse in some circles,” she said. There was something about his complacent manner that made her suspicious. Her heart sank.

She asked, “Are you sure you want to choose a bride based on how annoyed your uncle will be by your decision? Do you run your entire life like that?”

He went pale and rose. For a moment he didn’t move. All traces of calm gone, he said, “How I make my decisions isn’t your concern.”

Her heart sank. She hated being right. “It would be if we were married. Do you see the absurdity?”

“If you are referring to the proposal, I was serious. I am not mocking you or myself.”

She stared at his grim expression. “You truly believe unearthing information or thumbing your nose at your family are good reasons for entering a lifelong commitment?”

His abrupt shift of mood must prove she was absolutely right about his motivation for the proposal. But she wondered why he had gone from sunny amusement to chilliness so quickly. Or perhaps it was despair she saw on his face. “I didn’t mean to insult you,” she began.

“I assure you, Miss Cadero, I am not insulted.” His shoulders went back as he adopted his haughty look.

“My lord, I didn’t mean to make you angry. But I truly believe you’re so determined to put your uncle’s nose out of joint, you’ll marry me just to watch him rage.”

He seemed to gulp, swallowing whatever strong emotion had seized him. When he focused on her again, the blazing anger or despair was gone.

“Florrie,” he said, and touched her cheek. His hand shook. “Perhaps there are other reasons too.”

He’d called her Florrie, and her heart leapt.

She brushed her fingers over his and spoke his name aloud. “Nathaniel.” God knew she’d been saying the word silently to herself, often enough.

He hadn’t denied wanting to annoy his uncle. But there was that trace of a smile back again, and his hand turning, he clasped her fingers. He still trembled.

“I think I should go,” she said. “I’m late for work.”

“Allow me to accompany you.”

He called for his carriage, and it was ready almost at once. The rewards of wealth – and they could be hers if she said yes.

The carriage interior was roomy, the brass sparkled, and the windows were clean. She hardly noticed those details once he pulled himself into the carriage and landed with a shaking thud on the seat next to her. He was so close she could smell him again. The intoxicating scent went straight to her heart, making it beat too quickly.

Their eyes met. He tilted his head and, with what sounded like a sigh of defeat, twisted toward her.

His mouth pressed to hers for a light and tentative kiss. She held back a squirm of joy. Heavens, she’d been starved for this and had no idea how much she’d craved it until the second she tasted him. The scent and feel of him rushed through her body, awakening the yearning. She fought the spasm of desire. She’d stop herself from falling into lust. She kept her mouth closed and moved away, a tiny bit, not so far, and she felt his breath against her lips.

With that tiny puff of air, she could taste him and another sweet and slightly bitter tang, and a touch of aniseed. He must have taken some medication or drunk some absinthe, perhaps.

She’d forgotten he was still addicted. Weakness, her father would have said.

He pulled away from her, ran the back of two fingers along her cheek. He moved slowly so it wasn’t a dismissive gesture. The touch was enough to send another harsh fillip of desire through her. She gasped, the exhalation of air loud in the carriage which had stopped rattling over cobblestones.

In the silence the seat springs creaked as he shifted back to sit straight next to her. His breathing sounded hard and fast as if he’d been running. “Is that enough?”

She swallowed and tried to match his casual tone. “Do you mean is it enough to convince me to marry you?”

The carriage moved again, filling the silence with the clop of hooves.

“I want you again. Do you remember...” He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the seat. His hair looked even lighter against the dark leather of the carriage upholstery. “Do you remember that you said you wouldn’t marry because no gentleman would take you once he understood that you had climbed into buildings and stolen objects? I am almost certain you said that.”

“Yes, I did,” she said.

“I know that you climbed into buildings.”

“And you’re still willing?” She made one last attempt to understand. “I don’t know why you’re doing this. You can have any woman. To marry or to, ah, not, if you wish to pay for that sort of thing. Why would you want me? I mean any reason other than guilt for that night we spent together. Recompense for that needn’t be a life sentence.”

“I expect I’ve never regarded marriage as seriously as I should. My life is busy, and I don’t feel as if there is a void. Or I didn’t. But since the time in Derbyshire, since I was held prisoner...” His voice trailed off, and he shifted away from her, perhaps uncomfortable or only impatient. Staring out the window he went on. “Florrie. I’ll pay whatever price I must to have you.”

Something at the center of her abdomen grew heavy again at his words or rather at the timbre of his voice, solemn and fierce as he’d been a day ago when he’d accused her of blackmail.

He spoke of paying for her, as if she had a price like a prostitute. He clearly was thinking of physical possession when he said the words,
so I might have you.

She wanted to say all this aloud, protest she couldn’t marry a man simply to assuage the hunger of their bodies, but he was speaking again, grave and formal again. With his head turned from her, she could not read his face. “No, wait. Don’t give an answer. I should tell you the rest. It might convince you to say no, but you must know the truth, and I am not stupid enough to explain in a note.”

She felt a surge of anger. “You’re about to impart some information you think I’d somehow use against you. I wouldn’t blackmail you, my lord. No matter what happens between us.”

He shifted uneasily and leaned back in the seat, staring straight ahead, not meeting her eyes. But at least she could see his expression. Stoical distaste, she decided.

“Since my imprisonment, I have had several disturbing episodes,” he said. “I can’t recall them, but I am told I fall to the ground shuddering. Fits.” He clasped his hands tight together over his flat stomach. “I am very much afraid that I might have more.”

“Oh,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

He moistened his lips with his tongue. “That is not the whole of it. I suspect that my uncle will attempt to use these fits and other...symptoms...to have me declared incompetent.”

“He couldn’t. You’re perfectly sane. Isn’t it all due to the poisons they fed you?”

“I have only had hints of such a possible plan.” He gave a brief smile. “Anyway, I won’t bother to confront him unless he makes a move.”