London's Most Wanted Rake (14 page)

‘He didn’t need to know,’ Alina said staunchly.

‘Maybe not, but has it registered yet that while Seymour isn’t doing anything illegal,
you
are?’ Channing’s intensity was chilling. Seldom had she seen him this avid about anything.

‘It’s not counterfeit. The land exists, just not under that name.’

‘It will look that way and it was done
intentionally.
You did not accidentally misname the property, it was done on purpose with an intent to deceive and to entrap. On the surface it will look as if you are deliberately taking money from him for a property you know doesn’t exist. If that isn’t what fraud is, I don’t know what is.’

‘It’s not fraud, it’s a lure,’ Alina argued but hearing Channing explain it in those terms
did
make her nervous. ‘Besides, if there’s any intent to defraud, the onus is on him. All we have to do is prove there’s a trend.’ She voiced the hope that had struggled to survive since they’d left Lincoln’s Inn.

‘Is that all? It’s no little thing, Alina,’ Channing said in disbelief. ‘How are we to do that, exactly? It’s my guess he’s well aware of the risk a trend poses to him and that’s why the syndicate operates under different names. Before we could prove a trend, we’d have to establish that the syndicate is the single entity behind all these failed properties. We couldn’t even get our hands on those records without knowing the names the syndicate operates under. Even if we did, we’d still need people to come forward and testify they’d been taken advantage of. You said yourself people’s lack of desire to expose their failures was a reason he’d been so successful. Proving this would be monumental, even if we had a team of solicitors and investigators working on it.’

She cocked her head and studied him. ‘You look like a nice, ordinary man, Channing Deveril, but in reality you’re the agent of doom.’

‘Nice? Ordinary?’ Channing laughed, unbothered by her foul temper. ‘Is that what you see when you look at me? Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?’

It was an overt attempt at flattery and distraction. He didn’t want her thinking about Seymour and, damn it all, it was working. Who wanted to think about Roland Seymour when Channing Deveril sat across from them? She felt a smile creep across her face whether she willed it or not. ‘Well? What
do
you see? You’d better tell me now that you’ve brought it up.’

‘I see hair asking to be released, one pin at a time; I see lips waiting to be kissed.’ His voice dropped even lower, growing husky. ‘I see a gown begging to be stripped from your body.’

He was a consummate flirt. Even in the middle of a tea shop in the light of day, he could make her burn. ‘Where exactly do you see all that happening?’ she couldn’t help but ask, knowing full well if he had an answer, she’d be committed.

Channing rose and left money on the table. He held out his arm. ‘Right this way,
madame
.’ Oh, yes, when she looked into those blue eyes, she was definitely committed.

Chapter Fourteen

A
lina looked around as they stepped out into the sunshine. ‘In your carriage?’ She gave him a dubious look as his equipage pulled up to the kerb.

‘I was not inclined to wait.’ Channing gave her a private smile. ‘When I see something I want, I go after it.’ He nipped at her neck, his voice at her ear. ‘And I want you.’

‘People are staring,’ she quietly admonished. But in truth she didn’t mind. Something very different was at work right now that transcended her concern over passers-by gawking at a gentleman nipping the neck of a lady in broad daylight. Channing Deveril wanted her without any contracts between them, without any extenuating agreements. She was tempted to ask why, but she didn’t want to know for fear the reason would ruin the illusion.

The steps came down and he helped her in. He shut the door behind them, his eyes intent on her. She felt her body tremble from the force of that gaze. The coach pulled out into slow traffic, taking her into uncharted territory where a man wanted her without games.

Channing reached for her, taking her face in his hands, covering her mouth in a long kiss. His kisses might be what she loved best: the taste of him in her mouth, the tease of his tongue as it caressed her, the press of his lips. Perhaps she loved it because the
comte
had never kissed, had never used his mouth the way Channing did. This was her discovery alone. She gave a contented moan. She would have been willing to settle for an afternoon of this; kissing Channing in a carriage with the curtains closed, but Channing had other ideas, better ideas.

He raised her arms and closed her hands over the steadying leather grips that hung from the coach walls. He hadn’t asked, hadn’t told her what to do, he’d simply done it and in doing so, he’d effectively moved them past kissing.

‘Hold on, don’t let go,’ he murmured, his hands working the fastenings of her jacket, pulling free the white linen of the blouse she wore beneath it, only to meet with a chemise. ‘You wear too many damn clothes, Alina.’ His voice was hoarse with frustration and need. There was the tearing of cloth and she was free, Channing’s hands at her bare breasts.

‘I love you like this, Alina, your breasts falling into my hands, your nipples hardening when I stroke them before I take them in my mouth one by one, each a sweet berry for my tongue.’

Alina moaned, her body arching into him. Channing’s words were a seductive litany of promises. His love talk was erotic, building an anticipation that started low in her belly and curled up throughout her until her entire body was on fire. Then, and only then, did he deliver on those promises.

He knelt between her thighs, her breast was in his mouth, his tongue driving her insane, his hand had taken pity on her and slipped beneath her skirts, sliding into the damp, warm core of her, moving in rhythm with his mouth. She wanted desperately to bite down on something, wanted an anchor amid the pleasure, but all she had were the straps and she’d promised not to let go. She groaned, her hips pushing against his hand.

But Channing knew what she wanted,
needed
, before she could even ask. He had only to raise himself up slightly to position himself at her entrance. Within moments, he was sheathed in her, sunk to the hilt in her wetness, her legs wrapped about him, rocking them with the movement of the carriage while she clung to the straps for dear life. Alina was vaguely aware she was screaming; his name, her pleasure, her release, her fulfilment. Never had she crested so wildly, so quickly, with so little control over herself. Channing had done this to her. No, not to her,
for
her.

She hadn’t the strength to hold the straps. She let them go, falling into Channing’s arms in a boneless heap as they both slid to the coach floor. He was sweaty and exhausted as he held her. For a long while neither of them spoke. Perhaps, like her, he wanted to hang on to the sensation, too, and there seemed to be no rush. It was hard to imagine so much pleasure could be found inside a coach. ‘I was misinformed,’ Alina said at last. ‘I was told carriages were rather difficult arrangements for this sort of thing, highly overrated as rendezvous points.’

Channing gave a tired chuckle. ‘Whoever told you that must not have known how to use one.’

She felt his arm tighten about her, felt the warmth of his body seep into her, felt a warning rise in her mind against all this comfort. ‘Why did you do it, Channing?’

‘Do what?’

‘This.’

He laughed into her hair. ‘I couldn’t have you thinking I was nice and ordinary, now could I? Anyone can take a woman to tea, but to make love in a carriage afterwards? Let me qualify that—to make
good
love in a carriage afterwards, that takes talent.’ He rapped on the ceiling, giving the signal to stop. ‘Do you know what else takes talent? Carrying it off in the park as if nothing had happened.’

It wasn’t an answer. It was a diversionary tactic and Alina recognised it as such immediately. Still, she was glad to get out of the coach a short while later, looking respectably decent. Tidying herself and focusing on the walk prevented her from thinking too much. Inside that carriage, the world had shifted to something more dangerous. In truth, it was not fair to blame it on the carriage ride. The shift had been in gradual evidence since they’d returned to London. Channing’s obligations had ceased and yet his concern persisted.

No one required him to set up the meeting with David Grey. No one required him to take her to tea or to continue any social association with her. Yet he had done all that and now he was walking with her in Hyde Park, at the crowded hour none the less, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He tipped his hat to a group of ladies as they walked by.

Alina laughed when they were out of earshot. ‘Channing Deveril, you
are
the most wicked man I know. If those ladies knew what you’d been up to...’ If they knew he’d been driving into her a half-hour before with nothing close to gentlemanly reserve, that he’d made her scream and then he’d made her question everything...

‘They’d be jealous.’ Channing disarmed her with a smile that had her already thinking about the next time. Perhaps they could get back in the coach right now.

‘A little arrogant, aren’t we?’ she teased. It was easier to tease than to ask questions, to think about what the afternoon meant, what being with him meant. She’d known what it meant when there’d been a contract. Now, she was at a loss. Perhaps she should simply leave it at impossible and move on.

Channing whispered at her ear, ‘It makes you wonder what everyone else has been up to when they get out of their carriages.’

Alina gave him a playful shove. ‘
You
are the reason it’s not safe for a girl to ride in a closed carriage with a man.’

He grabbed her hand and trapped it against his chest. ‘I’m the reason a lot of things aren’t safe.’ He danced her around the back of a wide oak that hid them from view, his eyes full of mischief. She could handle this. This was good, this laughing with him, the flirting, but it
was
an illusion. It had been like this the last time, too, and it had led to nothing, nothing that she’d hoped for anyway.

‘What are you doing, Channing?’ She gave a breathless laugh as he pressed her against the tree trunk.

‘Stealing a kiss.’ Channing bent to claim one, but she turned her head, his effort landing her cheek.

‘I meant, what are you doing with me?’ She was serious now. She needed answers before her emotions could become more entangled, more uncertain of the response she needed from them.

‘You’ve already asked that question once today.’ Channing nuzzled her with his nose.’

‘But you haven’t answered it,’ Alina pressed him. She pushed at him. Something in her tone must have warned him she meant business. Reluctantly, he stepped away. ‘I understood our arrangement at Lady Lionel’s. That was business and I dare say we each had our own games attached to that business. But this? There is no more business, no more obligation, Channing. All that happens now, or doesn’t happen now, is entirely up to us. So, what’s it to be?’

She hoped her bluntness would pin him down, force him to confess to whatever his agenda was. But Channing was too wily for that. ‘Do you want me to leave it alone, Alina? Do you want me to leave
you
alone?’

‘That is
not
fair.’ How dare he make it her place to announce her intentions, her feelings, when she’d been the one to ask him first.

His eyes were sombre, studying her with a gravity one seldom saw in the public persona of Channing Deveril. ‘None of it’s fair. It’s easy to talk about Seymour, isn’t it? He’s an external problem we can choose to solve together or not. Here’s what I think. You need my help with him. You are blind to the potential danger you might be in. Period. I have connections and solicitors that you do not. Additionally, I have protection to offer you that you do not have on your own should it come to that.’

He made it sound so logical, so practical to lean on him, just a little. Something primal leapt within her at the sight of Channing Deveril standing before her, booted legs shoulder-width apart, hands behind his back in a powerful stance, as masterful in this as he was in bed. In spite of her desire for independence, there was something thrilling, something confiding in having her burden shared. She wasn’t turning it entirely over to him, she could never do that, it wasn’t in her nature. But to share it with someone strong and capable was a relief all its own. ‘You’d be willing to help me with Seymour?’ Alina ventured to be sure she understood him correctly.

He gave her a smile that spoke of irony and her new-felt relief faded. ‘That’s the rub, isn’t it, Alina? Why would I be willing to invest myself in such a project? Especially, as you point out, when I am not obligated to do so by the agency or by any other standing between us.’

He paused and gave her a piercing look that made her want to shrink into the tree. ‘That’s the harder question to answer, isn’t it? What’s between us?
Is
there more between us than this contretemps with Seymour and the coincidence of encountering one another?’

Channing moved towards her, crowding her with his height, his size, making her entirely aware of his maleness, of what he was offering her; his body, tentatively even his heart, if she would answer those questions. Those two questions stood between her and Channing Deveril. ‘But we both know to answer
that
question, we have to talk of unpleasant things.’

She drew a deep breath and placed a hand on the lapel of his coat. ‘Not here. This is not the place.’ She was not going to have such a critical conversation in the middle of Hyde Park at the crowded hour.

‘Where?’ Channing breathed against her ear, making her tremble with wanting all over again. He might have been asking her for an assignation.

‘The Evert ball—are you invited?’ She arched her neck and let him kiss its length, the spreading spring greenery of the tree allowing them to steal the indiscretion.

‘Yes.’

Channing released her then. ‘Have my driver take you home.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘Aren’t you coming?’

Channing gave her a wicked grin and gave her back her own favourite cryptic response. ‘What do you think?’

She smiled and shook her head. ‘What a wicked creature you are.’

Channing swept her a bow. ‘I will consider the afternoon a success, milady. I have risen above your estimation of being nice and ordinary.’