One Night of Sin (36 page)

“Well—enjoy your evening, Highness.”

Kurkov nodded politely and Alec started to turn away when an all-too-familiar voice stopped him.

“Alec—
darling
!” Eva suddenly blocked his retreat. The baroness pinned him a brief, hostile glance before fixing her sultry smile on Kurkov. “You must introduce me to your friend.”

His blood ran cold as Kurkov’s answering glance traveled over Eva with open interest. Alec thought he might be sick.

Of course, recalling Eva’s penchant for brute force, it was no wonder she had been drawn over to meet the big Russian, especially when he was a newcomer and she had already had her way with most of the men of the ton. Her desire for an introduction was also, no doubt, intended to get back at him for the ugly scene at the villa yesterday. He might have threatened her life, but it was not as though he could do anything to her in the middle of a crowded ballroom. This was her chance to rub it in his face.

Alec pursed his lips and looked from her to Kurkov, on the very horns of an agonized dilemma. He hated introducing them when Eva was the only one who could connect him to Becky-Abby to Kurkov.

On the other hand, Eva did not know that Kurkov sought the girl. And to refuse to introduce them would only have alerted the baroness’s opportunistic instincts. It would be fatal to let her scent advantage. Best not to cue her in to the fact that she held anything of interest to Kurkov other than the shapely contents of her gown.

It seemed he had no choice.

“Lady Campion, allow me to present Prince Mikhail Kurkov. Your Highness, this is Eva, Baroness Campion.”
Brute force, meet decadent corruption.

“
Enchanté,
madame,” the prince said, bowing low over her gloved hand in Continental fashion.

“How very gallant,” she purred, enjoying the gesture, but sparing a coldly reproachful, aye, a punishing glance, at Alec when Kurkov’s head was bowed.

He stared back at her coldly, loath to leave the two of them together, but the whist drive deadline was fast approaching. He could only hope that, lustily engrossed in each other, Kurkov and Eva would not waste time on conversation. If they bothered to speak at all, the subject of Becky was unlikely to come up, and besides, Eva would not soon forget his threat to keep her mouth shut.

Neither paid him any mind as Alec took leave of them with a muttered farewell. In a moment he was on his way out the assembly rooms, striding swiftly across the marble floor of the columned foyer, his focus on the problem at hand.

’Sblood, it had taken him three weeks to amass the five thousands pounds it should have taken to buy Talbot Old Hall. Where the hell was he supposed to come up with another five thousand before tomorrow noon?

Outside the villa, a dog was barking somewhere nearby, and a big gibbous moon hung over the sea. Becky sat in the first-floor parlor, where the house was coolest. With the windows open and the curtains blowing listlessly, she sat curled on the sofa with her feet tucked under her, sipping lemonade and waiting for Alec to return from the Lieven ball.

Though still seething over his secrecy, she waited up for his return. Knowing that tonight he faced Mikhail, she was anxious to see him back safely and to know the outcome. She pulled the candle closer and endeavored again to concentrate on the book that Alec had put in her hands some time ago, before they had quarreled. He had said she must try it, for it had been written by a friend of his, called Byron. Perhaps she was not able to give it her full attention, considering the jangled state of her nerves, but from what she could glean, it seemed as though this Lord Byron fellow had an even bigger chip on his shoulder against the female race than Alec did.

Her thoughts wandered away again from the sly remarks of Byron’s cheeky Don Juan to the problem of her own exasperating paramour.

Really, where was he? The ticking wall clock read half past two. Surely the ball was over by now, so where was the rogue? And with whom?

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, scowling to think of him surrounded by elegant ladies in ball gowns, a dozen copies of Lady Campion, all fawning on him, no doubt. Blast it, this vexing jealousy only added insult to injury. Who would have guessed she would turn out to be such a possessive woman over her man?

But that was just the problem.

She did not know whether Alec was still hers or not. Obviously she did not mean as much to him as she had thought she did, or he would have talked to her by now. She hated giving him the silent treatment, but she knew it was vital not to back down. And yet . . .

She
missed
him.

Oh, maybe this fight between them wasn’t worth it, she thought, fretting as she raked her hand through her hair, staring into the flickering candle. It was foolish to alienate her protector and provider. What right did she have to ask anything of him when he was the one keeping her alive?

On the other hand, to capitulate merely for self-preservation would have been manipulative, dishonest, and low. No, she did trust Alec that much. Whatever conflict might simmer between them, she knew for certain he would never throw her to the wolves just because, in his view, she was being a “headache.”

An odd sound outside the window suddenly snared her attention. Becky looked over warily, jolted from her thoughts.

Already jumpy with the thought of the Cossacks having arrived in Brighton, her heart began to pound. She told herself she was being silly.

Mikhail’s men had no idea where she was. But even though she was at odds with Alec, she felt safer when he was here. The servants were hardly going to protect her, after all. No, in fact, they had gone to bed.

There it was again! She wasn’t imagining it! A crackling sound—as though someone were shuffling about in the shrubberies just outside the window. Blanching, she quickly blew out the candle to hide herself in the darkness.

She unfolded her legs from beneath her and got up from the couch, silently taking the long, heavy pistol out of the slim drawer in the sofa table. She had loaded the weapon earlier simply to make herself feel more secure while he was gone. She had not dreamed she might actually have to use it.

Fortunately, she knew how, thanks to her inquisitive country childhood and the kindly gamekeeper on the estate, who had let her join in when the village boys clamored around him, begging him to teach them how to shoot. She ended up despising guns in the end, when she had seen what they could do to poor little game birds and rabbits, but she still knew how to use one when she was backed into a corner.

Stalking silently toward the window, she held the weapon in both hands, pointed at the ceiling. Her father would have been proud, she thought, as she set her back against the wall beside the window and gathered herself: With a sudden lunge, she shoved the curtains away and aimed out the window.

No one there.

She scanned, sweeping the front area with the muzzle of her weapon. All was clear—until she saw the large black figure running along the wall, slipping around to the back of the house.

A chill ran down her spine. She suddenly remembered the kitchen door that led out to the garden. Had she locked it?

I can’t remember.

She had seen one figure outside, but there could be more. With no other option than to defend herself and her home territory, she ran to the kitchen at the back of the house. If the trespasser came through the back door, she could take him by surprise.

She crouched under the kitchen window and listened.

There was definitely someone out there. She heard movement, low breathing. An able man could have scaled the high garden wall. She swallowed hard as her pulse escalated.
Oh, Alec, if only you were here.

The audacity! She heard the intruder lay hold of the doorknob and twist it.

Damn! She had been sure she locked it three times over. Of course, she had kept going outside for air because the house had been uncomfortably warm and stuffy tonight. . . .

Gliding through the darkness, Becky brought up her weapon and blocked the hallway, her pistol aimed at the intruder’s heart. “Don’t move or I’ll put a hole in you.”

“Boney’s balls—don’t shoot!” The tall broad-shouldered man lifted his hands into the air. “I’m unarmed.”

The voice sounded vaguely familiar.

“Who’s there?” she demanded, reaching around the corner for the wall candle in the hallway. Lifting the taper, she gasped in recognition—and so did the intruder.

“You!” the black-haired man cried, narrowing his eyes at her. Lord Rushford blanched and quickly shielded his groin. “Please—for the sake of my family line, don’t!”

Becky stared at him sardonically. “Nice to see you again, too, my lord.”

“It
is
you, isn’t it? I say! That little bird from Draxinger’s doorstep? Though much improved—”

Rushford sobered as Becky cocked the pistol in response to his lecherous stare trailing over her body. He suddenly remembered his manners. “Er, sorry.”

“Alec will be home in a bit,” she said coolly. “You may address me as Miss Ward.” She lowered her pistol with caution. “What the devil are you doing creeping around the house that way?”

“Nothing! I was only looking for Knight,” he said defensively.

“Poppycock. Why not announce yourself? Are you trying to get yourself killed? What are you doing here at this hour?”

“What am I doing here? What are
you
doing here?” he exclaimed.

“What do you think?” she retorted in a dull tone.

“Oh! So you and Knight are . . .”

She raised an eyebrow, waiting.

“Together?” he finished delicately.

“Something like that.”

Rushford paused gingerly. “May I please put my arms down now, Miss Ward?”

She gave the pistol a dismissive wave. “Suit yourself. I’m still waiting to hear why you were creeping around the garden.”

“If you must know, I came to have a look around because Knight has been acting damned strange lately. I knew he was hiding something!” He eyed her in suspicion. “Now I see I was right. When I realized we were all supposed to go to the Lieven ball tonight, I cried off, thinking I’d come over here and see what I could find out. But I certainly wasn’t expecting to find you here.”

“Well, you might as well come in and wait for him, then. That’s all I’ve been doing, waiting—but no grabbing,” she ordered, emphasizing her point with a thrust of the pistol in his direction.

“No—no grabbing. Of course, never,” he agreed, the soul of obedience.

“Do you want a drink?” Becky asked none too politely as they walked back into the parlor. She relit the candle, then went to the liquor cabinet. “I know I could use one.” Her hands were still a bit shaky after the scare.

“Please.” Rushford came over to her side and commenced investigating the available liquors until his gaze lit upon her left hand. “What’s this?”

Becky sent him a questioning look askance.

Rushford took hold of her wrist and lifted it, examining her hand. “My God, this is serious!” He looked askance at her. “Why are you wearing Alec’s ring?” he demanded before releasing her warily.

She, too, glanced down at the oversized gold-and-onyx ring on her finger and let out a great, rueful sigh. “Oh, Lord Rushford, at the moment, I hardly know myself.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She shrugged as she gazed at him and shook her head, at a loss.

He eyed her with new interest and then poured them both a sherry. “There there. Don’t be troubled, my dear,” he murmured sympathetically. “Call me Nick.” He handed her the sherry with a sly and highly intrigued smile. “Whatever the blackguard’s done, why don’t we sit down and you can tell me all about it?”

CHAPTER

TWELVE

A
lec came in wearily at four
A.M
., annoyed with the world. He had succeeded in grabbing the last open seat in the whist tournament, but he couldn’t help scowling. His only option now was to win. To beat all the best gamblers in England. If he lost, not only would Becky never see the inside of Talbot Old Hall again, but he, too, would be homeless.

Having plunked down the five thousand he had already won gambling, he had been forced to make up the other half of the entry fee by staking everything of value he had left as collateral—his beloved bachelor rooms at the Althorpe and all his remaining furniture, including his legendary bed.

Ah, well. In for a penny, in for a pound.

In hindsight, he supposed he could have sold his home from the start in order to buy the Hall from Kurkov, but before this time in Brighton, living with Becky each day, such a sacrifice would have been incomprehensible to him.
Selfish bastard. Ah, well,
he thought with a sigh. He must really be ready for marriage at last, because giving his all for her sake was becoming second nature to him now, despite the fact that, these days, the cherished recipient of his efforts was out of charity with him.

Still brooding on the worrisome memory of those heated glances he had witnessed between Lady Campion and Prince Kurkov, Alec trudged into the house, decidedly in a mood. It had just occurred to him with a twinge of guilt that he had abandoned Fort and Drax again without a word at the Lieven ball, when he suddenly heard low laughter coming from somewhere upstairs.

He stopped, drew his eyebrows together and frowned.

Following the sound, Alec tracked it to the dining room. Stepping into the doorway, he discovered its source: Becky and Rushford sitting cozily together at the dining table, drinking coffee, chatting like old friends, and eating pudding.

His
pudding.

“Well, look who’s here,” Rushford said with a cocky and rather accusatory glower, sitting back in his chair at the head of the table.

“My thoughts exactly,” Alec muttered, meeting his stare.

“If it isn’t the man of secrets himself.”

“I thought you were recovering from intemperance,” Alec answered guardedly.

“You, old boy, have got some explaining to do,” Rush countered.

Becky dabbed at her lips with her napkin and glanced uneasily from her visitor to Alec. “Would you like some pudding?” she spoke up, hoping, it would seem, to head off fisticuffs.

“Yes,” Rush drawled. “We saved you some. Though it wasn’t easy. Miss Ward is
very
talented in the kitchen.”

As his rich, titled, good-looking friend sent Becky a conspiratorial smile, Alec flinched, pulsating with possessive jealousy. “Indeed, she is.”

He sauntered toward them warily, bristling.

“Who knew cooking could be so much fun?” Rush taunted him with a knowing grin.

The bastard.

Becky dropped her gaze, fighting a slightly wicked smile.

Alec glowered. How dare the two of them make sport of him? Reaching Becky’s side, he leaned down to greet his lady with a territorial kiss, but she turned her face away. He caught only the corner of her mouth. From the side of her eye she shot him a haughty glance.

“And where have you been?” she asked coolly. “The ball was over hours ago.”

Alec straightened up again, suddenly grasping the cause of this chilly reception. A glance at the wall clock reminded him that it was now past four in the morning.
Oh, bloody hell.
God only knew what she thought.

The hour was very late, and she still had no answers about Lady Campion. Having no firm information to go on, she had no reason not to suspect the worst. But if Becky-love thought it possible that he had been out to this late hour in the company of another lady, then how far might she have gone in flirting with Rushford, the famous stealer of mistresses?

“Nick, old boy, a word, if you please?” Alec asked coolly.

“Certainly,” Rush shot back with a reproachful stare. “Miss Ward, if you will pardon me?” he said to Becky, clearly having rolled out his best manners for her.

Quite a change from when they had first met on Draxinger’s doorstep, Alec thought cynically, unhappy to know that his friend could be a formidable rival when he chose. Becky dismissed the future marquess with a ladylike nod. Rushford rose and bowed to her before exiting, while Alec stood simmering beside her chair. He gestured to Rush to go ahead of him toward the drawing room across the hallway.

When Rush walked past him, Alec, still bristling, reached his hand into the moist bread pudding and tore off a small handful, shoving it defiantly into his mouth as he held Becky’s mutinous stare.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

When Alec strode into the drawing room, he did not mince words. “Hands off, Rushford. This one’s mine.”

Rush raised his thick black eyebrows and then laughed at him, shaking his head. “Don’t be a jackass, Alec. I’m not making a play for your lady. Calm down.”

“She is to be my wife!”

“Not if you don’t tell her the truth about Eva,” he said flatly.

Alec’s face drained. “What did you tell her?”

“Nothing. You have my loyalty, of course. God knows the girl’s been trying to get it out of me all night, but no damned way am I getting in the middle of that. She told me all about the two of you, though,” he added.

Alec set his hands on his waist. “Oh, did she?”

“I can be a very understanding listener.”

“When you’re trying to get a female into bed.”

“Not this time. Of course, if you don’t want her, then that’s another—”

“I want her!”

Rush raised his eyebrows. “You might try telling her that, then, because she’s not sure what you feel for her.”

Alec turned away restlessly, his jaw set at a stubborn angle, for he did not need Rushford telling him how Becky was feeling.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” his friend persisted. “Good God, man, you’re engaged to be married! How could you keep something like that from us? We are your friends! At least I thought we were. I knew you had something up your sleeve, but—perdition, a fiancée?”

“I couldn’t tell you!”

“Why?”

“Because she is in danger!” he finally exclaimed, fed up with bearing it all on his own shoulders. “Someone’s trying to kill the girl, Rushford. Did she mention that?”

“No,” he answered, shaking his head in amazement.

“The situation is very serious. I’ve been hiding her here with me to keep her safe. That’s why she was on Drax’s doorstep that night,” he explained. “She wasn’t a harlot, she was on the run. She got caught in the storm. She had nowhere else to go.”

Rush took a step toward him with an angry expression. “Who could harm that sweet creature?”

Alec shook his head. “I didn’t tell you, and I’m still not sure I can, because I cannot risk anybody being careless. Not when her life is at stake.”

“So, that’s why you’ve been acting so bloody bizarre.”

Alec shrugged. He didn’t think he had been acting all that strange.

“Damn me,” Rush marveled. “If that’s true, all the more reason why you need us—me and Drax and Fort. You should know by now you can count on us.”

Alec stared at him. “Can I?”

“Aye! For your sake, and hers. If that darling lady is in danger, you must allow us to help you protect her.”

“You must not speak of her to anyone.”

“Of course!”

“Very well.” Alec nodded ruefully. “I could use someone to watch my back.”

“Whatever you need.” Rushford clapped him on his scarred arm and nodded.

“Come by with Fort and Drax tomorrow noon and I’ll explain.”

“Done. I’ll be on my way. You two will no doubt want to be alone. By the way, a word of warning: She’s rather furious at you at the moment. I’d tread lightly if I were you. Tell her about Eva, Alec. She isn’t Lizzie Carlisle. This girl can take it.”

Alec frowned, not appreciating being told how to handle his woman, but Rush never shrank from speaking his mind. “Don’t drive her away like you’ve done with all the rest. I’m telling you as your friend, this girl is the best thing that ever happened to you.”

“I know,” he admitted under his breath.

“Whatever you do, don’t set her off,” Rush added with a twinkle of roguery in his eyes. “Chit’s got a kick like a racehorse, trust me.”

Alec smiled wryly, and Rushford took his leave.

After shrugging out of his formal black tailcoat, Alec headed back toward the dining room to see Becky, but she appeared first, prowling into the drawing room. He stared hungrily at her as she passed him, going restlessly to pour herself a sherry, pure poetry in motion in a low-cut evening gown of scarlet satin that clung to her generous curves.

“Lord Rushford’s gone, then?”

“Don’t weep,
cherie.
He’ll be back tomorrow,” he taunted gently as he tossed his coat across a nearby chair’s back. “Though I don’t think there’ll be any pudding left for him by then.” He sauntered toward her, pinning her in his heated stare. “Not a single bite.”

She sipped her sherry with a guarded pout, thwarted desire crackling in the air between them after a few days of pent-up frustration.

“Pretty gown,” he purred, looking her over boldly as he passed behind her. “What’s the occasion?”

Becky turned with a quelling stare. “I had hoped we would be celebrating having gotten the Hall back from Mikhail. So? What happened?”

“All in good time, my dear. First, tell me. Are you wearing that pretty frock for me or for Rushford?”

She snorted. “I was in my night rail when he came sneaking around the villa. It was the first thing I grabbed from my dressing room and one of the few things I can put on without the maid. She’s sleeping.”

“Rushford saw you in your night rail?” Alec checked his exasperation, clenching his jaw. “Don’t you know he is one of the most notorious roués in the ton?”

“Even more notorious than you, Lord Alec?” she asked innocently.

He narrowed his eyes in warning.

Staring at each other in seething hostility and mutual lust, they circled like prizefighters warming up in the ring.

“Why are you home so late?” she demanded. “Tell me where you’ve been. Or am I not allowed to know that, either? Am I supposed to just take your word for it?”

He knew that he had brought this on himself, that his silence and secrets had jolted her trust in him, but at the moment, he could only shake his head. “You know, it’s very strange that you tell me to trust you, when it seems you don’t trust me.”

She set her glass down with a flushed glance. “I’ve been worried sick!”

“Worried? Or jealous again?” he asked mildly.

“You’re the one who’s jealous! Where were you? What happened with Mikhail?”

“What happened with Rushford?”

“Nothing! He came looking for you. I let him keep me company.”

“Is that all you let him do?” he demanded, hooking an arm around her waist as she turned her back to him.

“Don’t be a fool.”

“Do you think this little game of yours is amusing?” he whispered by her ear as he pulled her against him, holding her captive around her waist. “That’s how duels get started,
cherie.
”

He felt her tremble. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“He wants you, you know.” Alec skimmed the curve of her neck with his lips. “And do you know what else, Becky-love?” he whispered. “So do I.”

“Let go of me, you brute.” She pushed her elbow against his chest, but he did not release her. Her struggle, in point of fact, was not very convincing. “I have no idea where you’ve been all these hours—or with whom! Was that horrible woman at the ball? I swear, if you were with her, Alec—”

He cut off her question with a hard, claiming kiss, turning her partly in his arms. “I wasn’t with anyone,” he ground out, taking her hand and pressing it to his hardening cock. “I already told you I’m yours. You see? And you’re mine. You seem to need reminding.”

“Oh, what’s the matter, love?” she retorted in a breathy whisper. “Silly male jealousy?” Her gleaming eyes mocked him, dared him, flung down a sensuous challenge.

Alec shook his head with a narrow, simmering smile. Such fight. Such spirit. Her fire filled him with dark delight.
Impertinent vixen.
He cupped her nape in a soft but masterful hold and drew her nearer, staring hotly at her lush, rosy lips. “Don’t forget who you belong to.”