Seduce Me (22 page)

“I did learn something new,” she said. “You were right that at least one of the men has returned to him, as the Raven knew
about the bracelets. I was trying to uncover which of the other bands had been removed from the box, and although he didn’t
intentionally give me anything worthwhile, he didn’t appear to realize they were cursed.”

“If he didn’t know about the curses, then why would he want the box?” Before she could offer her guess, he continued. “I’d
wager it’s not him who wants the box, but rather a client.”

“So he claimed. Any idea who?” she asked.

“No, and I’d imagine the list of possible buyers would be rather long.” Fielding held Esme in place as they took a particularly
rough curve. “All of that might have changed, though. If he now believes the box to have actual power, he will at the very
least change the price for his client. I suspect that he’ll decide perhaps it would be in his best interest if he kept the
box.”

“That’s what I was thinking as well,” Esme said.

“The bad news is if he wants the box for himself, he truly will stop at nothing until he claims it.”

“You won’t give it to him,” Esme said.

“Not without a fight,” Fielding replied.

“And you’ll protect us,” Esme said with certainty. “Thea and me; you’ll do everything necessary to keep us safe.”

It was time for her to know the truth about him. Time for her to stop fancying him as some sort of knight destined to rescue
her. He’d certainly proved otherwise tonight. Fielding wasn’t even sure why he’d kept it to himself for this long. Perhaps
some part of him had hoped that his family lines didn’t matter, that someday he could be the man Esme thought he was.

If only her lustful curse would be expunged by his simply telling her the truth.

“You should not rely so heavily on my protecting you,” he began.

“What are you talking—”

“Did the Raven frighten you?” he interrupted.

“Yes, he did. Very much so.”

“Then know this, Esme: That man’s blood, the very man you fear, runs through my veins. He is my uncle.”

Y
ou
are the Raven’s nephew?” Esme asked, certain she must have misheard him.

“I am,” he answered, his voice clear and slightly defiant.

“And you didn’t think to tell me this before now.” Their carriage had stopped, but she remained in her seat. She thought she
saw a flicker of regret pass over his face, but he made no verbal apologies.

“Go check on your aunt. We can talk about this later.” Exhaustion lay heavy in his voice.

Once inside the marquess’s home, Esme climbed the stairs as quickly as she could, making her way to Thea’s room. Although
Esme knew the older woman was probably sleeping, she didn’t bother keeping quiet as she flung open the bedchamber door. The
thought of the Raven and his charming demeanor cornering her poor unsuspecting aunt had Esme’s veins running with ice water.

Her cat perked up as she entered the room, but Thea’s soft snores kept their steady rhythm. The older woman’s eyes were covered
with a sleeping mask, and she had one leg kicked out from beneath the heavy covers.

Seeing her aunt resting so peacefully, Esme resisted the urge to wake her, to ask about her visits to the library. Her questions
could wait for the morning.

Quietly, she sneaked into her own adjoining room. She poured tepid water into the basin and scrubbed at her face. There were
so many offenses she wished to remove from her person. With the sponge she washed her arms too, noting a flicker of pain as
she passed over the bruise blooming on her wrist.

Certainly Fielding owed her some explanation. Or perhaps he didn’t. They were nothing to each other outside this Pandora’s
box business, she reminded herself. She was not his lover or even his friend, not truly, though she had thought they were
developing a friendship of sorts.

Whether or not he was related to the Raven honestly meant nothing to her. She knew what it was to share blood with those who
were different from you, those who didn’t understand you. It seemed blood was the only thing she’d had in common with her
own mother.

No, what she wanted to know more than anything was why he’d told her in the way he had. As if he’d intended to frighten her,
as if he wanted her to be afraid of him. Perhaps this was what he’d been trying to protect her from. But she’d felt Fielding’s
touch enough to know there was nothing to fear. He was far too tender, too gentle.

Even tonight, as he’d kissed her in the carriage, told her how much he’d wanted her, he’d stopped himself so as not to hurt
her. Feeling a sudden undeniable urge to see him, Esme slipped out of her bedchamber and went in search of him. He was not
to be found anywhere downstairs, so she made her way to his room.

One knock and he opened the door. He’d removed his coat and unbuttoned his shirt. Although the white folds gaped open, it
still was tucked firmly into his trousers. His naked chest revealed dark hair covering a taut and muscular abdomen.

Now was not the time to succumb to the curse. She wanted information right now. But not more than she wanted to run her hand
down that tightly corded stomach of his. She closed her eyes.

“Come in, Esme. I’ll tell you what you want to know.” He poured them both brandies, and she took a seat in the plush wingback
in the corner. He took a seat next to her.

“How is Thea?” he asked.

“Sleeping soundly. I worry about her, though.” She waved a hand in front of her. “That isn’t why I’m here.”

He nodded.

“The truth,” she reminded him.

He took a healthy swallow of his own brandy, then leaned back in his chair. His long legs stretched out in front of him, crossing
at the ankles. She’d never fancied a man’s legs before, but she knew how strong his were, how firm they felt beneath her.

“My father was a member of Solomon’s,” he began.

She’d always detected a slight resentment in his tone when he spoke of Solomon’s, so it wasn’t a surprise to hear this revelation.
Immediately she wanted to ask questions, but she knew she shouldn’t rush him. Interrupting him might cause him to neglect
a detail, and she wanted every detail.

“My sister and mother and I were used to traveling around with my father while he chased after his treasure. The Templar’s
Treasure, you might want to know.”

“The legendary gold the knights supposedly hid after returning from the Crusades,” she said.

“Correct. It was like a game when we were children. Digging in the dirt and going on adventures. But then we got older.” A
dark shadow crossed his face. “We settled at our estate in the country, and I was sent away to school. My sister and mother
were left behind while my father continued his obsession.”

He drained his brandy, then leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. “In addition to his absence, my father proceeded
to whittle away the family fortune while chasing that damned treasure.”

Still nothing about his uncle, but she bit her tongue.

“Of course, none of us knew this until he got himself killed. He was digging in some cave up north by Hadrian’s Wall, and
there was a cave-in.” He bit down on his lip. “Then the creditors started paying calls, sending notices. He’d lost everything.
Our estates, my sister’s dowry. All of it.” He met her eyes then and gave her a wry smile. “I was seventeen. I quit school
and went to work for my uncle.

“It seemed simple at the time.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “Though my uncle and my father had never really
gotten along, I didn’t believe I had another choice. Who else was going to employ a penniless viscount?”

He stood and went to the window, looking out into the darkness and saying nothing for several minutes. “I never knew precisely
what their conflict was, though I always suspected it had to do with my uncle’s success.” He shook his head as if shaking
off a bad memory, then faced her.

He was looking in her direction, but it didn’t seem as if he saw her, but rather that he looked through her.

“My uncle would never admit it, but I know how he longed for entrance into Solomon’s. He’d asked my father to nominate him,
which he did. The membership, however, refused my uncle an invitation to their secret club because he studied no specific
legend and instead seemed more interested in those items that were worth the most money. He was furious. Believed my father
had intentionally sabotaged him.”

Esme said nothing, but she couldn’t help hearing the familiarity in his words. They’d argued about this very thing just the
other day. She could see now that Fielding’s interest in locating antiquities solely for profit was grounded in something
far deeper than a shallow quest for funds.

“I suppose he took his own kind of revenge. It wasn’t too long after that my uncle became known as the Raven.” He shrugged,
and for a moment he looked at ease, as if he were merely telling her a humorous anecdote. Then the darkness permeated his
eyes once again. “I only know what I was told, as I was born about this time. ‘A ruthless treasure seeker, hunting and stealing
antiquities for profit,’ that’s what my father always called the Raven.”

Esme set her still-full glass of brandy on the table beside her and leaned forward.

“My father abhorred my uncle’s profession and the way he used antiquities to find fortune. Father was quite clear on that
front. ‘Antiquities are to share with the world, not for profit,’ he said. You see, my uncle rarely went about acquiring the
antiquities in honest ways. There tended to be a great deal of bribery, conniving, and theft involved.” Fielding gave her
a half smile. “I suppose I took my own revenge against my father.” The bitterness was heavy in his voice. “Punishing him for
losing our fortune by earning it back through the very means he would have despised.”

He’d been shielding her from the ugliness of his past. Esme felt her heart soften.

He poured himself another drink and returned to his seat. “My uncle—his real name is David, by the way—came to visit me at
school. He was the one who told me about my father’s death and our financial problems. He seemed to have the perfect solution
for me to save the family.” Fielding gritted his teeth. “So I went back with him to London, to his grand estate, and he plied
me with food and women until I was trained and ready to go out on my own dig.”

He looked so lost, so broken sitting there. She could almost picture the young man he’d been—hurt, abandoned, and overwhelmed
with the financial burden of caring for his mother and sister.

“It’s understandable, Fielding, what you did. You were a young man, and your uncle manipulated you. Used your anger toward
your father against you.”

“Don’t you see, Esme?” He looked at her then. For the first time all his defenses were stripped away, his heartbreak and betrayal
shining clearly in his eyes. “I became one of them. I cheated people. I tricked them.” He took a breath. “I
stole
things that did not belong to me.”

She wanted to go to him, to pull him into her arms and erase all the horrible memories from his past. “That’s not what you
did. You worked for him, and you were nothing but a child.”

“That may be, but had I still been in his employ, it would have been me abducting you that night. Not rescuing you. Have you
ever thought of that?”

“But you did rescue me,” she said. “Everything you’ve done, every decision you’ve made, has been for the sake of your family.
To save them. People have done worse for lesser reasons.” She smiled. “And you succeeded, didn’t you? I saw your family estate;
it was glorious. You did that with the funds you made.”

His face tightened. “Yes, but at what cost?”

It wasn’t really a question, so she said nothing more.

“Seven years I worked for him, and I paid off every one of my father’s debts. Then I went into business on my own.”

“And you no longer steal?” she asked.

“With the exception of that damned box, and the diary,” he added with a weak smile. “No, I don’t.”

“What of your family?” she asked.

“They live here in London. We don’t have much contact since I travel so often.” He held his glass up in a mock toast. “My
mother never did approve of my work.”

She stood and walked to him. Placing one hand on his shoulder, she said, “You did what you had to do.”

In the swiftest of movements, he rose and pressed her against him. His hungry kiss tore through her, pleading for everything
she had to give.

Did it matter to her if he wanted her, truly wanted her, or if he was simply needing the touch of another to cleanse himself
of the harsh memories?

Esme told herself no. That she was a woman of the world. She’d survived kidnapping and was currently living with an ancient
curse. If she was ever going to take a lover, it had to be now. It had to be Fielding. When would she ever again have the
courage to do such a thing? Besides, she had less than a week before she might die. Before she
probably would
die.

Pretty words of love mattered not. She wanted him only to warm her bed, to make her a woman in every sense of the word. And
in this moment she wanted to be what he needed.