Ripe for Pleasure (23 page)

The same sickening feeling he’d had when talking to his sister took up residence once more in his gut. Confessing to Viola
was going to be a thousand times worse. He’d been hoping his friends might have some other suggestion.

“But if you tell her, she’s likely to show you the door.”

“And replace you with Throckmorton.”

“Or Darnley.”

“Or any of the other dozen or so men who’re panting to take your place.”

Leo blinked as his friends all chimed in like the chorus in a Greek tragedy. “The dozen or so who’re what?”

Sandison rolled his eyes in disgust. “She’d retired to write her memoir. Now she’s back in the game. There are
bets in every book in town as to when she’ll throw you over.”

“You’re not exactly in her normal line, you know,” Devere added helpfully. “Not nearly wealthy enough. None of us are. Well”—he
paused as he thought about it—“maybe de Moulines. Bastard or no, his father left him quite a tidy fortune.”

“Are you joking?”

“Not at all.” Sandison knocked back the last of his ale and set his empty glass down hard enough to make it ring. “Even some
of her former protectors are keen to reenter the lists. And wouldn’t that complicate things?”

CHAPTER 25

T
he sequins on Lord Sudbury’s waistcoat shimmered as he stood and took her hand. Viola forced a smile. The earl’s visit had
come on top of several posies from various gentlemen and the mysterious arrival of a pair of gold bangles in the shape of
twisting serpents. The gentlemen of the
ton
had clearly decided she was once more on the menu.

Two months ago, she might have jumped at an offer as magnificent as the one he’d just made her. She’d certainly never had
such generous terms laid at her feet by any other man. Today she found herself wanting to weep instead.

“I assure you, my lord, should I find myself in the market for a protector, I’ll keep your offer very much in mind.”

“See that you do, my dear. And mind, I’ll best whatever Throckmorton offers you.”

“What has Throckmorton offered?” Leo’s question startled her into yanking her hand from the earl’s. She scrambled to her feet,
wiping her hand on her skirt. She had nothing to feel guilty about. Nothing, but her heart
was hammering like that of a hare with a hound in fast pursuit.

“My lord, I wasn’t expecting you.”

“So I see.” Leo spoke to her, but his gaze never left the earl.

The earl chuckled to himself and pulled his gloves from his pocket. He slipped them on and wiggled his fingers. “I’ll leave
you two children to enjoy your spat. I think I’m late meeting my wife at Drury Lane, and explanations can be so tedious. It’s
best to make them unnecessary, in my experience.”

The older man strolled past Lord Leonidas, amusement trailing in his wake. He’d tossed his barb, and it had struck most effectively,
judging by the deep furrow between Leo’s brows. The sound of the door closing behind him made her jump. Leo flicked his glance
over her, eyes as cold as rumor always made them out to be. She’d been beginning to think his reputation in error, but clearly
she’d simply never been on the receiving end of one of his snubs. A muscle jumped in his jaw.

She stared him down, holding his gaze as though she could prevent whatever eruption was building inside him by sheer force
of will. She’d had nothing to do with the earl’s visit, but she’d already heard from Lady Worsley that Mayfair was thick with
gossip about her supposed efforts to replace Leo. Judging by his expression, he’d eaten the same scandal broth for luncheon.

And he’d believed it. Her rapid heartbeat stuttered, skipping a beat. She’d thought better of him, or at least she’d trusted
him to trust her.

“Shopping for my replacement?” Leo glanced around
the room, taking in the flowers, his eyes finally locking onto the shagreen box on the mantel that contained the bracelets.
Such very expensive bracelets, too…

“And if I were, what business would that be of yours, my lord?”

“None at all, I suppose.” He wandered slowly across the room, stopping to read cards propped up near the flowers. “Darnley,
Throckmorton, and Everesley. And Sudbury on top of them all. Quite a triumph for you.”

Viola swallowed hard and turned slowly to face him as he continued his slow approach to the mantel. It felt unsafe to give
him her back as he prowled through the room. “Sir Hugo as well. I find I’m suddenly in fashion once again, after having brought
you to heel.”

He laughed at that, shooting her a look that promised trouble. His blue eye seemed amused, but his green one, ah, his green
one was ever the one to watch. He trailed his fingers along the mantel, tapped the shagreen box, then picked it up.

“Very pretty.” He studied the bracelets, then clicked the box shut. “Very pretty and very expensive. Throckmorton, I suppose?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea.” His eyes snapped up, meeting hers. “There was no card,” Viola added, twisting the knife.

“Well, someone’s feeling generous,” Leo drawled, tone as cold as his eyes. “I wonder what for?”

Jealousy swamped him, the tide rising up to choke him. The sting of her hand across his cheek caught him off guard. He grabbed
her by the arm and held her fast.

“You’re hurting me, my lord.”

Viola was panting with fury, but she made no effort to shake off his hold. Her breasts strained against the confinement of
her gown. Her tongue darted out to moisten her parted lips. She was as beautiful as ever, and it was killing him.

“Tell me, Mrs. Whedon, am I a fool?” He knew he was. He’d come today with every intention of making a clean breast of things.
He’d come with plans to make amends, with every intention of groveling, if need be.

She pulled back. Leo tightened his grip.

“Am I?”

Her eyes narrowed, lashes obscuring the vivid blue. Her nostrils flared. “No more than any other man, my lord.”

He let his breath out in a rush and pushed her away from him. If he kept touching her, he was going to either kiss her or
throttle her. Viola stumbled and caught herself against the mantel.

“Then how is it that I thought I loved you?”

She went white, then her cheeks flooded with color. “Get out.”

“It’s not that simple.” If only it were. If only he could leave her to Charles with a clean conscience. If only he’d never
set this entire disaster into motion in the first place.

She took a long, strangled breath, hands flexing with suppressed rage. A man would have found a violent outlet for such an
emotion. Hell, Beau would have reached for a candlestick and beaten him senseless.

“Then make it that simple. My manuscript has been
safely delivered. You’ve seduced your way into my bed just as you said you would. What’s left to do?”

“Vi, I’m—”

“You’re what, my lord? You’re sorry? You’re sorry you caught me playing the whore, or you’re sorry I am one? Whichever it
is, you’re certainly not in love with me.” She laughed, even as she blinked back tears. “Give each thing its proper name.
If I’m to return to
whore,
then this is lust. You want me. Even now, when it makes you sick to look at me. You want me.”

Leo stared at her. Heaven knew he wanted her. That had never been in doubt. From the first moment, when she’d come tumbling
down the stairs, to now, his desire had never flagged. And the only thing that made him sick was himself. His damnable temper
had taken the bit between its teeth and run away with him again, and this time he couldn’t blame Beau, or even Charles.

Viola closed the distance between them, pressed close, breasts against his chest, lips offered for a kiss, hand tracing his
cock as it surged to life. “And that makes it all the worse, doesn’t it? Wanting something you so obviously shouldn’t. So
you can fuck me or you can leave, but believe me when I tell you, I know what it is to love, to be loved, and whatever this
is”—she brushed her lips over his—“it isn’t love.”

She dragged him down to sprawl across the carpet, pulled him over her, skirts riding about her waist, thighs gripping his
hips. She bit his lip, scraped her teeth along his jaw, fisted her hand in his hair and pulled hard enough to make his eyes
water.

Leo kissed her, teeth clashing with hers. He fumbled
with his breeches, freed his cock, and thrust it into her. She made a whimpering sound, but her legs locked around him and
she arched beneath him.

She caught his earlobe between her teeth. “You see, simple lust.”

He pinned her to the floor, and she clung tighter. She was wrong. There was nothing simple about it, and it complicated everything.

Viola gasped and twisted beneath him. He thrust and rocked and covered her mouth with his own when she tried to speak again.
She bucked and throbbed with her release. He spiraled down to oblivion with his own, brought back by her pushing him off her.

Leo blinked in confusion as she stood and shook out her skirts. “Now get out.”

She took a step, and he latched onto her skirt with one desperate hand. Threads popped as she was brought up short. He always
did make bad worse. It was a talent. A curse. But if he could just stop her from leaving, if she would pause only long enough
for him to explain.

Eyes blazing, Viola grabbed the fabric with both hands and yanked it out of his grasp. When he reached for her again, she
kicked him and strode out of the room as he shook his stinging hand.

Her voice carried back from the hall, instructing his own footman that he’d be leaving and she wasn’t at home, should Leo
call again. Leo sat up and cursed aloud. Regret burned through his lungs, ate away at his heart.

He’d made a bloody hash of things, and now she hated him.

What the hell was he going to do?

•     •     •

The hiss of steel momentarily drowned out all other sound. Leo struck de Moulines in the ribs with enough force to bend the
delicate blade into an arch.

“Deux!”
The Frenchman took a step back and dropped his foil to a resting position. He brought it back up, the flash of teeth behind
his mask distinct. “
Très bon!
Something has lit the fire in your blood today.”

Leo nodded and surged forward. His breath was warm within the confines of his mask, and blood pounded in his ears. Their blades
kissed and hissed with every parry. In its own way, swordplay was every bit as intimate as sex. Though with blunted tips,
it was far less dangerous.

De Moulines took a tactical step back, and Leo lunged forward. The tip of his foil drove hard into the other man’s shoulder.

“Trois.”

A small flurry of applause went up, and Leo realized with horror that most of the men in Angello’s
salle
had stopped to watch their bout. De Moulines swept off his mask. His dark skin shone against the white of his shirt and teeth.

“Again?” The Frenchman’s smile widened.

He loved finding someone to test his mettle, but today Leo simply wasn’t that man. He shook his head. This had been a bad
idea. Winning his first bout against the chevalier should have felt wonderful; instead, his chest ached as though he might
cry.

De Moulines clapped him on the shoulder. “Me, I know that look. Come and have a drink, my friend.”

Returned to fashionable splendor, de Moulines led him
into The Red Lion. A few of their fellows were dicing in the corner, but otherwise the taproom was nearly empty. Leo called
for wine and threw himself down at the table the Frenchman had chosen.

“So,” de Moulines said, swirling the wine in his glass, then inhaled before taking a sip. “What has the divine Mrs. Whedon
done to turn you into a—what do you English call it?—a fire-drinker?”

“Eater. A fire-eater.” Leo drained his glass and poured himself another. “It’s what
I’ve
done.”

The Frenchman’s mouth curled up at one corner. “Gone and told her the truth, have you? A very bad idea. Me, I tell you so,
no?”

Leo shook his head. “My blasted temper. I never got round to telling her the truth…”

His friend sipped his wine, offering nothing. Leo took another desperate gulp of his own and told him everything, or at least
enough to make the scope of the disaster clear.