Kiss From a Rogue (11 page)

Sylvia frowned at him. Really, sometimes he behaved as if he were eight instead of eighteen.

“Wha’?” he mumbled, his mouth still full.

“So, I may not be a journeyman roofer or plasterer, but I think I can help young Lord Montgomery here get the house weatherproofed again. And if we work quickly, perhaps we can even do so before the next so’westerly undoes all our efforts.”

“Capital!” Jimmy reached for another wedge of cheese, but this time cut it into small pieces and ate them with his fork.

“Yes, capital, indeed.” She should sound more enthusiastic, but she worried what Tony might ask for as payment in exchange. Even with the profit from last night’s shipment, there was still so little money, so many expenses.

“Since I’ve agreed to stay, I might as well keep busy while we wait for the next cargo.” Tony drained his wineglass, which had been filled with water. “As you said, a property this size has more tasks than workers.”

Sylvia could have kissed him, right then and there. Except for the niggling concern about what compensation he’d expect. He’d probably want more than a simple kiss.

“Of course, you’re welcome to come watch.” He’d lowered his chin, looking at her through his lashes.

“Why would she want to watch us get all dirty and sweaty?” Oblivious to Sylvia’s sudden intake of breath, Jimmy scooted his chair back from the table. “I’m still hungry. I’m going to see if Galen baked any tarts. Coming?” He looked at Tony.

“No, I think I’ll stay here. But do bring one back if there are any to spare.”

Sylvia wiped her mouth with her napkin as Jimmy dashed from the room.

“Now that the cub’s gone…” Tony slid his hand across the table and tapped Sylvia’s fingers. “I believe you owe me something.”

“Beg pardon?” She hoped he hadn’t noticed the squeak in her voice.

Tony slowly traced a figure on the back of her hand. “Part of our bargain.” His voice had dropped, low and soft and slow, almost as much of a caress as his hand, which was still stroking hers. “You promised something if I wanted it, and I find I do want it.”

S
he couldn’t breathe. “I did? You do?”

He nodded. “One glass of the finest brandy, every night.” He sat back and held up his empty glass. “There was no wine with dinner, and I’ve never cared for port, but I wouldn’t mind a glass of brandy just now.”

The rotter. He was winding her up on purpose, just like one of her cousins’ toys. Wind it up, pull the string, and watch the top spin like crazy.

Well, she wasn’t letting Tony pull her string.

She got up from the table with as much dignity as she could muster and retrieved the decanter from the sideboard. “Here, pour for yourself. I don’t want to take the chance of spilling it. Might land on your head.”

He grinned unabashedly, acknowledging her threat, yet unfazed. After he filled his own glass, his hand hovered near hers. “Care to join me?”

She paused. What was the harm? “Just a finger’s worth.”

He poured the requested amount, and handed back the decanter. He waited until she was seated again, and held his glass up in a toast. “To what shall we drink?”

That was easy. “To no more leaks.”

“To no more leaks.” They drank, and Tony closed his eyes, presumably in appreciation. He leaned back in his chair, the wineglass held between his fingers like a brandy snifter, and slowly swirled the liquid. “Are there many more of them?”

“Too many. The one on the southwest corner is the largest. That’s where the roof is missing the most tiles.” She took another sip of her brandy, and then it was gone. Drat. Perhaps she should have allowed herself a tad more.

“How long has it been this bad?”

“Well, there was the storm last week, plus—”

“I wasn’t referring to the roof.”

Oh.

“Was it like this when you married him?”

She folded her napkin and smoothed the edges. “Let’s just say marriage to Montgomery was better than the alternative.”

Tony raised his eyebrows but didn’t press the issue. That was a point in his favor.

He’d hear the story at some point anyway, seeing as how all her men were gossips. Apparently. “Montgomery’s father was not skilled when it came to money, other than spending it, and not on the estate. Hubert tried, but the blockade with France for so many years hurt his shipping business. Two years ago, after several business ventures went badly, he turned to his grandfather’s trade. Smuggling. Things started getting better. Then last spring, a gale blew across the Channel. His ship was battered against the rocks, and all hands perished.”

Tony said not a word, but leaned across the table and poured half his brandy into her glass.

She didn’t need it, though she appreciated the gesture. She’d made peace long ago with what life had thrown at her.

Jimmy bounded back into the room just then, a smear of jam at the corner of his mouth. “I saved one,” he announced, setting the tart on the cheese plate between them. “There would have been more, but Macbeth caught a mole this afternoon and left it on the kitchen doorstep and scared the bej—Scared Galen. I think he does it just to annoy her. She had to calm her nerves with a dose or two of spirits, barely got dinner ready.”

Jimmy paused, and they all turned toward the sound of voices in the hall and the front door closing. “That will be Corwin. Smashing. Now he and I can finish our chess game before you two turn in.” Jimmy went around the table, heading for the hall.

“I thought it was Sawyer we were waiting for.” Tony took another sip of brandy.

Jimmy looked back over his shoulder. “No, I’m sure it’s Corwin’s turn tonight.” And with that, he was gone.

Sylvia stared at Tony.

He drew slow circles on the back of her hand with his fingertip. “You think I forgot about your guard dogs planning to take turns sleeping in the dressing room that separates us?” His voice had turned low and soft again. “I assure you, there’s no need for them. Your virtue is safe with me.” He covered her hand with his own. “As safe as you’d like it to be.”

She snatched her hand back. The smoldering look in his eyes was back.

She was having trouble breathing again. Perhaps she should step outdoors. Fresh air would clear her head.

Tony stood, offered his hand, and pulled her up. Instead of letting go and stepping back once she was on her feet, he tugged her closer, the toes of his boots disappearing beneath the edge of her skirt, close enough for her to feel the heat radiating from his body, and inhale his scent of sandalwood soap and musk.

Her mouth went dry. Her dress felt too small, the bodice too tight.

He leaned in, closer still, his breath warm on her cheek. His lashes swept down, hiding his eyes, just before his lips met hers in a simple kiss.

There was no audience present, no witnesses for whom to playact. He still held her hand, his fingers wrapped around hers. Electrifying, almost overwhelming. His free hand came up and cupped her jaw, his thumb caressing her cheek. Heat blossomed within her, threatened to burn her from the inside out. He touched her, stroked her, but he did not demand entrance.

She was tempted to part her lips, but knew there would be no going back if she let him in. It might already be too late.

What felt like hours later, he pulled back a fraction. His lips brushed her ear as he whispered, “I suggest we go join the others now, before I do something for which you’ll never forgive me.” He tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow. “Shall we, sweetheart?”

Too dazed to speak, she merely nodded.

He patted her hand, as though aware he’d rattled her, and led the way to the rose salon.

Corwin was there, playing chess with Jimmy, while Monroe sat before the fire, smoking his pipe, commenting on each player’s move. Gerald was lighting two more candles, and Galen entered with a tea tray. Tony escorted Sylvia to the sofa by the fire, then sat next to Monroe and the two began discussing the trip to West Lulworth in the morning. Macbeth trotted in, glared at Jimmy, and leaped up into Sylvia’s lap.

It was all so…normal.

She declined the offer to play cards when the chess match was over. Turned out Jimmy had only offered out of politeness, since he immediately demanded a rematch with Corwin. While they set up the board and began again, she stroked Macbeth, sneaking the occasional glance at Tony.

He was the picture of innocence, the epitome of propriety. Corwin and Monroe would never suspect the outrageous things he’d done and said when he’d been alone with her.

That was the idea, wasn’t it? To lull them all into a false sense of security, get them to lower their defenses, before he…Before he what? Ravished her?

She choked on her tea.

“Everything all right, Syl?”

“Fine, Jimmy.”

Monroe got up to refill his teacup, and Tony sent her a glance heated enough to singe her eyebrows.

To hide her flaming cheeks, she bent her face to look at Macbeth, but his eyes were closed, his tail slowly flipping in the way that signaled for her to keep petting him. Typical male, only wanting one thing.

Her hand froze. That was it, wasn’t it?

Tony didn’t necessarily want
her,
he just wanted. She was a widow, the youngest in Lulworth Cove, and at the risk of being arrogant, the most appealing. She still had all of her own teeth.

The handsome, rich aristocrat, amusing himself by taking part in their little drama, simply wanted female companionship. And she was the pick of the litter.

That was all. He’d probably had a female companion in every town he’d stopped in on his way from London while traveling with his friend. Just look at how he’d accosted her, a complete stranger, at the inn during their first encounter. If she were a different type of woman, they might have spent that afternoon in his room. Or the hayloft.

Well, she wouldn’t fall for his tricks. She might enjoy his attention—after all, he was charming and she was only human—but it would go no further. Once their crisis with Ruford was handled, Tony would be on his way, no doubt to another female…companion…in another town. There was nothing to keep him in Lulworth Cove. She refused to be just one of his many conquests.

She would enjoy, but not succumb.

Monroe wandered over to watch the chess match. Tony settled on the sofa beside Sylvia, his arm stretched along the back, not quite brushing her shoulders, and turned toward her. Her breath caught.

“Mind if I pet your…cat?” His hand hovered above Macbeth, still curled up on Sylvia’s lap.

“Go ahead, if you dare. He doesn’t like most men.” Macbeth continued to slowly flip his tail.

Moving very slowly, Tony stroked the cat from just above his eyes, between his shoulders, down his back, all the way to the tip of his tail. Macbeth purred even louder. Tony did it again.

This time, Sylvia felt Tony’s fingertips stroking her neck above her collar, underneath her hair, at the same time he stroked the cat. His expression did not change, Macbeth did not move, and no one else in the room paid them any attention.

She struggled to breathe normally. The pressure of his fingers increased, massaging away the knots of tension at the base of her skull. She should tell him to stop. She felt like purring.

Amazing. His fingers were strong on her neck, easing the tension, yet feather light on Macbeth, as he continued the cat’s favorite stroke. She let Macbeth purr for both of them.

“There is a dainty little woman in Singapore who would do you a world of good.”

Tony was leaning so close, she felt his warm breath against her cheek. She remembered the feel of his lips against hers. “Excuse me?”

“My friend Nick found her on one of his voyages. He’d lie on his stomach, then she’d take off her shoes and walk up and down his back. Releases all the tension. He swears by it.”

If she was tense, it was Tony’s fault. He hadn’t moved back, yet no one else in the salon seemed to notice.

Macbeth stretched and yawned, baring his teeth, then climbed over to Tony’s lap.

Sylvia could only stare.

The cat turned in a circle before settling himself, with one paw on Tony’s stomach, and looked up expectantly.

“You’re a harsh taskmaster, Sir Macbeth.” Tony rubbed his finger under the cat’s chin, who resumed his loud purring.

“Now that’s something I thought I’d never see.” Jimmy perched on the arm of the sofa next to Sylvia. “I didn’t think the cat liked anyone but Syl.”

Tony eased his hand away from Sylvia’s neck. She should feel relieved, but already missed the contact. She berated herself.

“Felines are notoriously discriminating.” Tony ruffled the cat’s ears. “Aren’t you, kitty?”

Sylvia cleared her throat. Good thing she wasn’t relying on Jimmy to protect her virtue. Tony probably could have had his hand down the back of her dress, and Jimmy wouldn’t notice. “Finished your chess game already?”

“Checkmated in only six moves. I think I’d better turn in for the night.”

Sylvia caught Monroe stifling a yawn. “Excellent idea.” And it was one sure way to prevent herself from succumbing. She’d have more willpower after a good night’s sleep.

Soon the household settled in for the night, Corwin on the cot in the dressing room, Monroe on a pallet out in the hall.

She waited for Macbeth to jump up onto the bed and join her. And waited. Everyone had sought their own bed, Monroe already snoring in the hall, when she heard a quiet voice. Tony. Judging by the silences between, a one-sided conversation. Talking to her cat.

The little traitor was spending the night with Tony. Again.

Sylvia rolled over, punched her pillow, and waited for sleep to claim her.

When she awoke, it was well past her usual time to be up and about. Normally she would take an afternoon nap the day after landing a cargo, to catch up on the sleep she’d missed, but having Tony in the house had thrown off her routine yesterday. She was surprised Galen hadn’t come in to wake her already.

The house was quiet. No thumps from the gold salon.

She threw the covers back, startling Macbeth, who had been curled up at the foot of the bed. “So you came in after all.” She rubbed behind his silky ears, earning a purr for her efforts. It didn’t take long to mollify the cat after his rude awakening, and she soon got ready for the day and went downstairs.

“He went with Monroe,” Galen announced as she set breakfast in front of Sylvia, answering her unasked question. “He grabbed a scone hot out of the pan and ran out the door to catch up with the wagon. Said he wanted to pick out the supplies personal like.”

Sylvia poured herself a cup of tea, made with new leaves. Ahh, heaven. “I didn’t know any gentleman from London had ever seen the sunrise, except by staying up for it.”

Galen chuckled and set a jar of preserves on the table, along with the scones.

Sylvia grabbed two before Galen could take the platter away, and smeared them with fresh butter and preserves. Mmm. Was she really so easy to please, just a little fresh food? She’d wager Tony’s other female conquests wouldn’t be so easy.

Perhaps he’d already tired of pursuing her? Her hand froze with the teacup at her mouth. That’s why he’d run out so quickly this morning—anything to get away from the boring little backwater burg and the country turnips in it.

As if sensing the direction of her thoughts, Galen sat down with her own cup of tea. “Gerald freshened up the suite this morning.” She stirred a drop of honey into her cup. “The mister’s haversack and other set of clothes is still there, and his razor and whatnots are on the dressing table.”

Sylvia let out a shaky breath. “This is ridiculous. Two days ago we didn’t even know he existed.”

Galen patted Sylvia’s shoulder, then quickly drained her cup and went back to work.

“It’s only that we need him for dealing with Ruford,” Sylvia said.

“Yes, that’s it.”

“And it will be nice to no longer have changing weather conditions inside the house.”

“Whatever you say, my lady.”

Sylvia quickly ate the rest of her breakfast in silence. She had a lot of work to do, too.

She went about her chores determinedly not thinking about Tony, what he was doing, or when he would return. There was no point in doing her usual cleaning, since Jimmy and Gerald were doing their best to fling about as much dust as possible in removing the debris from the gold salon. Eventually they settled on tossing it directly out the window down onto the lawn, but not until after they’d tracked plaster dust down the stairs and all the connecting halls.