London's Most Wanted Rake (18 page)

She stood up wearily. She hadn’t anything left to fight him with. A truce would be victory at this point. If she let him keep arguing, he’d have them wed by morning and she’d be thinking it was a fine idea— another pretence that would fade in the dawn. ‘It’s been a long night, I’m going home to bed. Let’s see what the morning brings.’

Channing rose and came around the desk, his hands settling at her shoulders, warm and firm. ‘It’s not a night for being alone.’ He kissed her then, behind her ear along the sensitive line that ran to her belly. He might be done persuading with words, but he was a warrior at heart and he would not stop until he’d won. ‘Stay and we’ll see what the morning brings together.’

He led her through the dark halls to the room he kept for occasional stays at Argosy House, his hand warm over hers.

‘Do you think this is a good idea?’ Alina murmured her protest between kisses. Her body was sure Channing’s hands were exactly the right remedy. Only her mind was uncertain—the one part of her that knew what sex really was and what it was best used for: power. It was a weapon she’d learned to wield over the years to her benefit. Sex was supposed to be a tool, a game. She understood that. By the very nature of his business, Channing knew that. It was the common ground they had between them, the one thing they understood about each other. He was probably using it right now to make her reconsider. But he only thought he wanted her.

Channing laughed against her throat, his hands at her hips drawing her against the cradle of his thighs where his phallus strained against his trousers, hard and insistent. ‘I think it’s the best idea ever.’

He turned her away from him, his hands working the fastenings of her gown, his mouth at her neck, at her ear. The gown loosened and he pushed it off her shoulders. His hands hooked beneath the straps of her chemise, working it over her head. He knelt at her feet to roll down her stockings. She’d spread her legs for him, thinking that he would take her with his mouth while he was down there, but Channing had confused her and gently closed her legs with a shake of his head. ‘Not tonight,’ he said softly.

There was something tender about his ministrations tonight as he undressed her. Channing had always been a considerate lover, but tonight was different. Tonight was not on pace to be a seduction. There would be no drinking Moët naked in the firelight, no silken ropes, no teasing temptations because Channing did not intend for tonight to be a game. It scared her even while it made her tremble. This would be like the carriage, like the declarations he’d made in Evert’s library.

Channing stepped away from her. She could hear the sound of his clothes as they came off. She understood now why he was reluctant to light a lamp. A lamp would mean seeing one another and their responses, a lamp would bring back the element of gamesmanship. In the dark they could only feel, could only touch. The darkness would keep them honest.

Channing stepped towards her, naked and hot. She could feel the welcome heat of him as he danced her backwards to the bed. She went down on the mattress and he followed her, coming over her, covering her with his length, his heat, his body creating a sensual cocoon around her. There was a moment of rustling while Channing fitted a sheath over himself. Then she felt the slide of his skin on hers, felt the little adjustments of their bodies as they shifted to accommodate each other.

The darkness was not without its own eroticism, the tender slowness of Channing’s efforts not without their own intense pleasures. He touched her with his hands, with his mouth, with his tongue, until the very languor of the foreplay was enough to drive her mad. When he finally moved to enter her, she was more than ready, her body clamouring for him, for the straightforwardness of this new lovemaking.

She moved beneath him, raising her hips in encouragement as he thrust deep. Her legs were about his hips, drawing him in tight as if she could hold him there for ever. She rocked with him, her muscles clenching about him, meeting each slick slide and return. This was an exciting, unexplored level of intimacy. ‘Channing, take off your sheath. I want to feel you, every last part of you, naked against me.’ She arched against him, her voice a mere rasp at his ear. She felt him comply, then felt him slide home, again and again until she could do no more but hold on.

She could feel the climax approaching, his body full of clues. It was there in the corded tension of his muscles where his arms braced over her, in the pulsing strength of his entry, the quickness of his breath, the pounding of his heart. She cried out his name, swept away at last while he spilled deep inside her.

The enormity of what they’d done came to her slowly in the post-climactic haze which followed. The ‘best idea ever’ was to make
love
in the dark, not sex. It was perhaps the most intimate, most true act she’d ever done with another person. This had not been a game, had not been abetted with external stimuli and that made it the most dangerous thing she had yet to do in bed. This could change everything if she wasn’t careful, if everything hadn’t already changed. What would happen if she dared to believe such a change was possible? If she dared one more time to believe in Channing Deveril?

Chapter Eighteen

C
hanning shifted in bed, careful not to wake Alina. If he had his way, he’d lie here all morning, basking in the sun that came through the window, wallowing in the contentment of lying abed with Alina. Channing couldn’t help but laugh out loud at the image it created. Too bad not all problems could be solved as easily. There were plenty of them waiting outside of bed, one more reason he didn’t regret getting
into
bed in the first place. There was a soft moan beside him.

‘Ugh, you’re awake already and thinking.’

‘I always wake up thinking.’ Channing drew her closer, liking how she fit perfectly in the notch of his shoulder, her body warm and lush against him. He sighed. This was all he really needed, Alina in his arms and a room to live in. The thought should have sent him bolting out of bed, but it didn’t. It was merely a logical extension of thoughts he’d had last night. Last night hadn’t been about sex. It hadn’t been about two people competing for power and pleasure. It had been what he imagined a wedding night would be, something honest and strong and without artifice.

He moved over her, wanting that magic to happen again, for her. He wanted her to see, to
know
, sex could be more. He wanted it for himself, too, if he was truthful. Sex and pleasure,
physical
pleasure was his business. But with Alina, he’d discovered a pleasure that went beyond that, something which he couldn’t package and sell. If he lost her, he would lose it as well.

Channing slid into her, revelling in her slickness. She gasped at the contact, her hands reaching over her head to grip the iron spindles of the bed frame. ‘All right?’ he asked, withdrawing slightly.

‘Don’t go!’ she cried. ‘It just felt so
delicious,
it’s the only way to describe it. There’s one little spot...’ Channing smiled down at her. It
had
felt delicious, there’d been a delightful sensation as he’d entered her and slid towards her core. He did it again, relishing her cries of delight. His desire to bring her this new pleasure heightened his own. This morning interlude wouldn’t last long, but it would prove to them both that they were just as good at this new, ‘ordinary’ sex together as they were at the other. This was physical genius indeed.

* * *

But the world was patiently waiting for them when it was over. Newspapers and scandal sheets were laid out with the food because they had to know. How badly had the rumours of last night hit? Clothes had materialised for them, thanks to Amery’s forethought the night before. They dressed and faced the day.

It was early by Argosy House standards when they came down for breakfast. With a mutual look of consent, they filled their plates and each took a paper and turned to the society column. For a moment Channing was hopeful. The first two rumours weren’t about her. But the third one was and his heart sank. ‘You’d better read it out loud,’ Alina said staunchly, catching his eye.

‘New rumours percolated about the mysterious Comtesse de C. once more at Lady E.’s ball. Not only did the
comtesse
’s husband die suddenly, but she was considered suspect in the act. How is it that we did not know this sooner? What other lies has she foisted on us in a bid for acceptance?’

Channing threw the paper down in disgust. ‘There’s no proof, no truth to any of it.’

Alina was more sanguine. ‘I think we must be careful not to go on the defensive just yet. Perhaps this is a sign of something else. Seymour has come out strong. He thinks to protect himself by discrediting me with rumours. He wants to use those rumours to force me to retreat in order to save my family from scandal. The issue is,
why
does he want me to retreat? I think he’s scared; scared we know too much, scared we will not hesitate to come after him and expose him. He’s overreached himself this time and he knows it.’

Channing peeled an orange and broke off a section, thinking out loud. ‘He needs the rumours because he’s afraid to come forward about the deed. If he complains about the false deed, there may be questions about his own dealings and that’s too risky for him.’

Alina nodded, her words coming swiftly as her thoughts formed. ‘If I were him, I’d use the rumours to pressure me in to withdrawing. The deed looks much more damaging if my character is under fire.’

‘A sort of blackmail, if you will,’ Channing added, thinking it over. ‘Blackmail could be managed if one has the proper network. But we have to catch him at his trade, otherwise stopping the rumours won’t yield us much.’ He paused. ‘We could stop him with a simple solution.’

She looked up, hopeful. ‘What would that be?’

‘You could marry me. No one would challenge Mrs Deveril.’

‘No, Channing,’ she said softly. He wasn’t joking. He would really do it. She had to prevent that from happening. Easy solutions often had difficult repercussions.

Channing sighed. ‘Since you won’t marry me, we’re going to need a team of brilliant solicitors and a set of society ladies who carry some sway among the
ton
.’ Those were resources he had, but Alina wouldn’t like it. He decided to break it to her gently.

Channing leaned forward and popped a bit of orange in Alina’s mouth, dabbling at the dripping juice with a napkin while she chewed. ‘Since your mouth is full, this might be a good time to tell you, Nick and Jocelyn will be over shortly and they’re bringing their wives.’

* * *

‘It’s all over the scandal sheets this morning.’ Seymour tossed down a pile of papers on the table. He faced the syndicate with a victor’s confidence. ‘The rumours are successfully planted. By tomorrow, London’s rich will think a murderess walks among them. The
comtesse
will have no choice but to retreat the field. If she does, the rumours will slowly fade and she can work her way back into society’s good graces. If not, she’ll be finished. Even if she does come forward with any claims against us, no one will believe her.’ He paused for effect. ‘She’s already in retreat from what I hear. She left the Evert ball almost immediately after the rumours began.’

Eagleton, the old killjoy, spoke up. ‘The question is, where did she go? Do you know? I do.’ He gazed around at the group. ‘She went to Argosy House, a property owned by Channing Deveril, who showed up two hours later and the two did not emerge until morning.’

Seymour schooled his features into bland neutrality and waited. Was Eagleton going to reveal the last piece he had so judiciously withheld from the group?

‘Mr Channing Deveril’s brother,’ Eagleton said, ‘is Viscount Swale, his father is an earl. Their family is one of England’s oldest and, when they choose, most influential.’ The man sounded like a walking, talking version of
Debrett’s Peerage
.

‘That’s no good,’ Hugo Sefton bemoaned at the far end of the table, eliciting other nods of agreement. ‘We don’t deal with peers.’

‘We don’t know how involved he is. Perhaps he’s just a lover. A woman of her background is likely to keep one or two on a string,’ Seymour argued, trying desperately to keep his last
faux pas
from coming to light. He should not have believed the
comtesse
when she’d said Mr Deveril was of no account, not when proof to the contrary had been laid before his very eyes, quite literally, too.

‘You’ve become quite the liar, Seymour,’ Eagleton went on. ‘What he has failed to mention to all of you is that Mr Deveril was at the Lionel house party. Mr Deveril is
not
someone she has taken up with since her return to town. While it is true that I do not yet know the depths of their association, having only had a few hours’ knowledge of it—’ this last was said in obvious contempt for Seymour and his extended knowledge of the association ‘—I suspect we will find there is more here than meets the eye.’

Seymour stifled a sigh of relief. ‘Until then, there is nothing to do but wait and watch.’

Eagleton rounded on him. ‘Wrong. There is plenty to do. She knows about us and if we are exposed it means prison or transport for every one of us. We cannot afford to sit back and wait. We have drawn her out and she will fire back. That is certain. The
comtesse
cannot afford to do otherwise. We cannot merely wait for that to happen and then carelessly lob our next volley. We must gather information, we must get to know all there is to know about Mr Deveril.’

Seymour scoffed. ‘You make it sound like we’re at war.’

Eagleton pointed a long bony finger at him. ‘We are, my boy, and if you haven’t figured it out yet, the casualties are you or her.’

* * *

This was war and Alina was waging it on two fronts. On one front there was Seymour and his horrid rumours, threatening to bring her down. The other was right here in the drawing room of Argosy House. She had to conquer Channing’s friends. They were here to help him, even if that meant protecting him from her whether he wanted it or not. Alina was well aware she needed to pass muster before they gave their approval.

Alina preferred the battle with Seymour. He was an enemy she could see. She could think his thoughts, she knew how he operated. Channing’s friends were a different type of enemy. They were polite enough to keep their thoughts veiled, making it difficult to anticipate what might come next.

They were all gathered at Channing’s request. Across from her on the sofa sat Jocelyn Eisley and his bride, Cassandra. Nick D’Arcy’s wife, Annorah, poured tea from a heavy silver service set while Nick beamed at her from his chair. Ah, Alina thought. So that’s what love looked like. The group was impressive, all assembled, drinking their tea and chatting easily with one another.

It all served to remind her just how much of an outsider she was. She had to earn their respect, had to prove she was worthy of their dear friend’s attention. She would try to make herself agreeable for Channing’s sake, and for her own. She needed them if she was to fight Seymour. Her hand tightened on her tea cup as Channing moved the conversation towards the business they’d been assembled to discuss.

‘I am glad we could all meet today,’ Channing began. ‘The Season gets busy and we each get involved in our own schedules. There’s something I want to discuss with you before that happens. You all know the Comtesse de Charentes, Alina Marliss. She has told me of a terrible situation that I would like to see addressed before it goes any further.’ He went on to explain Roland Seymour’s land-and-loan syndicate, how her family had been one of Seymour’s targets, how she was attempting to expose Seymour and how Seymour had struck back with vicious attacks to her character. ‘Which I am sure you saw in the papers this morning,’ Channing concluded with a wry smile.

It had been difficult for her to sit quietly by and let Channing do all the talking, but these were his friends. What they’d do for him would be more than what they’d do for her on her own. On her own, she would never have got in the front door.

‘The rumours are absolutely vile,’ Cassandra offered sympathetically when Channing finished.

‘There have been rumours before,’ Alina reminded the group. ‘The difference is that those rumours were spawned from curiosity over a newcomer. These are spawned from strictly malicious intent and designed specifically to make me an outcast.’

‘Rumours can be quelled,’ Annorah said, offering a gentle smile. It wasn’t exactly a promise that she would fight to quell them. That would come later, Alina suspected, once the lovely, blonde woman worked out why she should spend some of her social currency on this dubious acquaintance.

‘We have to do more than stop rumours,’ Jocelyn pointed out. ‘Seymour must be stopped. Protecting the
comtesse
isn’t enough. We might save her, but what of the others he’s already taken advantage of and the ones to come? If we don’t expose him, he will simply move on to others.’

Channing nodded. ‘I already have our solicitors looking into the syndicate to see what they can discover. Although, in the end, we’ll have to look beyond the syndicate. We have to find victims and proof that there is an intent to defraud. I’ve already talked to David Grey.’

That news surprised Nick. He gave Channing a sharp, approving look. ‘You’ve been busy already.’ But Alina thought she read another message in Nick’s eyes about what might have prompted such haste. ‘Perhaps this would be an opportune time for the three of us to talk in more detail,’ Nick suggested with a quick look at Annorah.

Annorah took the cue and rose, signalling this was to be a male-only talk. She smiled at Alina. ‘Let me show you the gardens. I’ve brought up new roses from Hartshaven this year and I think they’ve taken well to the city dirt. I planted some here for Channing, too.’

Alina understood. This was a chance to divide and conquer. The Eisleys and D’Arcys would not think of committing to this effort without understanding it in full or of letting Channing move forward without understanding the relationship between her and Channing.

The day was sunny. The unseasonably warm spring had brought early blooms and bright colour to the small, private garden behind the town house. The group of women chatted casually, comfortably. Annorah talked about cross-breeding her roses, how she’d grown them in the hothouse at Hartshaven in Sussex and then transported them here. No one listening to them would guess so much was at stake or that they were all waiting for the other proverbial shoe to fall. Slowly, the conversation moved from flowers to men, to husbands and eventually to Channing.

‘Channing must care for you a great deal,’ Annorah said, her voice quiet, tinged even with a hint of admiration. It wasn’t what Alina had expected. She’d anticipated the words, but not the tone. Those same words could have easily been edged with disbelief and disapproval.

‘I’m sure you think we’re being nosy, but Channing is dear to us,’ Annorah said simply. ‘If it weren’t for him, I might not have gone after Nick.’ She gave a becoming blush.

‘He’s responsible for helping Jocelyn and me out of a tight spot as well. If not for him, we might have decided we couldn’t be together and given up. I was the niece of one of the League’s most ardent enemies.’ Cassandra laughed and looped an arm through Alina’s, her eyes dancing. ‘Don’t think poorly of us, it stands to reason we would want to know everything about someone he’s involved with. We want him to be happy just as we are.’