Swept Away By a Kiss (19 page)

“Answer my questions, and I will not come looking for you again.”

One brow rose lazily. “What do you wish to know, my lady?” He spoke her title with slight emphasis.

Valerie resisted the shame grabbing at her. “Why are you here? And I will not believe it if you tell me your godmother’s gathering alone brings you to Castlemarch.”

“Whether or not you believe what I choose to say is of little concern to me.” The detached, feline acuteness of his golden eyes glittered in the firelight. Valerie’s skin prickled. She had only ever seen him look at Bebain that way.

“I have business matters to arrange,” he said. “The people with whom I must negotiate are amongst Lady March’s party and will remain here throughout the holiday, after which I will depart. Next question?”

Valerie hid her fists in her skirts, clenching them to still their quavering.

“You know what my next question is.”

He shook his head, the slight, mocking grin slanting his lips again.

“Are you a priest?” she blurted out.

He hesitated. Heart racing, Valerie willed her breaths to come evenly.

His grin hardened. “Not any more than you are, my dear.” He fell silent, watching her as the minutes ticked by on the library clock. Finally he drew his gaze away and leaned his broad shoulders against the mantel. Lifting a hand, he polished his manicured fingernails against the lapel of his indigo-blue coat, a coat that fit him to extraordinary perfection.

Valerie’s traitorous body quivered with heat that had nothing to do with her consternation and rising anger. She could not look away from him. Her flesh and heart fought to reject what her head was screaming for her to believe, that despite his familiar, handsome face and rich, warm voice, this man was a complete stranger.

She dragged air into her lungs, backing away.

“I suspect I needn’t be concerned about the remains of my good reputation,” she said. “You clearly have no intention of making our previous acquaintance publicly known.”

“Surprisingly perceptive,” he drawled. “You outdo yourself, ma’am.”

“Stop this! You do not need to play this part with me.” It took all her effort to keep her voice steady. But the earl was dead. She would never again allow a man to deal her this kind of cold cruelty. Not even this man. “I am not the imbecile you wish to paint me, for God only knows what reason, to insult or offend me I cannot fathom. I don’t know why you bother now, anyway. You have already done so with the mountain of lies you gave me when all I wanted from you was truth.”

“Was that all you wanted, dearest Lady Valerie?” His suggestive tone sliced across her distress, the sound of her name upon his tongue twining intimately into her insides. He wanted her to feel ashamed that she had desired him despite his forbidden status.

She clamped down upon her trembling lips and gripped her fists tighter, stilling the tremors through force.

“If you are treating me this way to encourage me to leave Castlemarch, I won’t. You cannot make me leave my family and friends.”

“Why on earth, ma’am, would I care a fig whether you are here or upon the moon?”

Lead seemed to clog Valerie’s ears, her blood running frantically through her veins. She gritted her teeth.

“I don’t need this paltry display of contempt to repel me—”

“Paltry? Why, my dear Valerie, now who seeks to insult?”

“Leave me be,” she said, ignoring his thespian pout, “and I will leave you to prey upon others more gullible than me. Only hear this, harm my family and I will make you suffer for it ten times greater than that which you have made me suffer.”

This time he did not respond. With impenetrable eyes he stared at her, backlit by the fire’s licking flames.

Valerie strode to the door. She prayed as she reached for the knob and flew into the corridor that he could not see the trembling finally overtaking her.

Chapter 19

S
teven stood immobile long after the door closed. Staring blindly down at the toes of his outrageously expensive Hessians, he saw nothing but Valerie’s pale, lovely face. He hadn’t thought he could be so successful in hurting her.

He was an actor. He had been one for as long as he could remember, taking on parts to suit the need, like the Jesuit disguise. Wearing the black robe and mantle, he had taken advantage of the missionaries’ freedom of movement in the Americas, and the intimacy of priestly ritual helped him learn things other men would never hear. The clerical collar gained him trust.

Trust he rarely deserved.

He had first come upon the Jesuits while searching for his life. Even as a boy he knew the chains of the English aristocracy would prevent him from becoming the man he could be. His impure blood guaranteed society would continually throw up barricades before him. His father’s family scorned his mother as a savage, and he had burned to conquer their ignorance. When he finally escaped the stultifying world of the English
beau monde
, he never looked back.

Yet here he was in England, where he never thought to be again.

Peculiarly light in the head, he lifted his gaze, noticing the furnishings of the comfortable chamber for the first time since entering it. Tiring swiftly of his own farce in the drawing room, and with work to do, he had gone in search of paper, pen, and solitude to think. Then she appeared, and Steven realized he hadn’t done any planning during his time spent alone, only thinking. Of her.

He could not clear his mind of her ocean-blue eyes filled with accusation and confusion. The fever running through his veins since the moment he saw her in the great hall bore upon him even harder. When she grabbed his arm to reveal the brand, the heat in his blood urged him to respond to the hunger in her gaze, to touch her, to feel her again beneath his hands and mouth, to finally take satisfaction in her and damn the consequences to her and everything he held dear.

The library door cracked open, then closed again with a soft click. Steven’s well-trained senses told him who entered without his needing to look.

“Does she suspect?” his godmother asked.

“That I am the greatest scoundrel since Judas Iscariot? Most certainly.” He ducked his head. The shine upon his Hessians glinted up at him like silver pieces.

“My dear boy, you know very well that is not what I meant.” Lady March glided across the library, the fabric of her gown a breath’s rustle as she lowered herself into a chair.

“Godmother.” He turned to her. “I regret correcting you, but I feel I must remind you that I am no longer a boy.” He had ceased being a boy the moment he left Castlemarch nineteen years earlier.

“You will always be my dear boy, Steven.”

“And my godfather will always be your
gallant
, I suppose.” He smiled.

“Of course. Now, quit quizzing me and tell me what that lovely girl knows. She is quite lovely and unique. I cannot wonder that you succumbed to her charms. But so it was with your father and mother.”

If Steven were a man of less necessary restraint, he might have rolled his eyes. He refrained.

“She knows nothing, of course. She feels betrayed and angry, which should keep her out of my business.” Anger would hold her distant. Safe. He counted upon it.

“She is an inquisitive girl, isn’t she?” the countess said thoughtfully. “Alistair said she was full of curious questions for him at breakfast this morning.”

“No doubt. Her mind is rarely idle. I daresay Alistair acquitted himself impressively, though.”

“Mm, yes. My nephew is very clever. Not quite as clever as my godson, though.” Lady March’s gaze sharpened. “Amelia told me you spoke with her in London.”

“Do you mind that I have gone behind your back with your servant?”

The countess’s lips pursed. “Of course not. I trust you had your reasons for it, as you do for everything. Otherwise I would not have penned invitations for this gathering to every name upon a guest list with which you provided me without any explanation.”

“Now, Godmother, many of them were your recommendations.” Steven allowed himself another smile.

“That horrid Bertram Fenton was not my idea. If you are searching for a scoundrel, that lad is an excellent candidate. And there are several other unsavory characters here that the Captain and I would rather not ever have cross the threshold of Castlemarch, including one or two ladies.” Her tone suggested she hoped for explanations.

Steven bent and kissed her upon a powder-dusted cheek.

“My dear, you and Godfather are infinitely kind to lend me your home, not to mention your patience, for my little project—”

“Don’t start playing your charming games with me, Steven.”

“—but do not for an instant imagine that I will tell you more than the very minimum you must know to assist me. If you want to blame someone for my methods, point the finger at my godfather. He set me upon my nefarious path, after all.” He turned toward the hearth, placing himself directly before the giant gilt-framed mirror above the mantel. “The individual I wish to deal with is present. I will not say more to you about it unless necessity requires it.”

“Was it required, Steven, that you tell me about Lady Valerie being taken aboard your ship, when you might have simply included her upon your guest list without note?”

“And as that mistake has led you to make an extraordinarily inappropriate comment—”

“But not inaccurate, I’ll merit.”

“—I will not be foolish enough to make such an error again.” His voice chastised, but his eyes meeting hers in the mirror revealed a hint of amusement. He cleared his throat. “As I was saying when interrupted by your gracious self, it is my fondest wish to avoid causing you and my godfather distress from my endeavors here. I will see to it that no breath of scandal rests upon your fashionable salon. After all, some of my best operatives come to me through Godfather’s and your recommendations.”

“Young Machiavelli.” Lady March chuckled.

Steven reached into his silk waistcoat pocket and drew out an intricately wrought watch on a chain to check the time against the clock upon the mantel. He slipped it back into place, then glanced up again, arrested by his unfamiliar reflection.

“Hm. How did those boys say it the other day in St. James’s?” His lips curved up at one edge. “Bang-up-to-the-nines.”

The countess laughed. “Are you admiring your appearance, my dear? I would not have thought it of you, although it is certainly deserved.”

Steven turned away from the mirror.

“I am simply appreciating the material advantages of my exalted state. The coat is somewhat tight to suit my tastes.” He fingered his high collars and starched cravat. “These monstrosities are ludicrous, but I am glad to be shaved every day and to have my hair cut. Much easier to control the nits, you know.”

“Heavens, Steven. Must you?”

He grinned. “I quiz, dear lady. Even in the wilds of America we have bathing water.” America had gently bred young ladies too, but he hadn’t partaken of them while acting the part of a priest. Except once. One reckless tryst with a willful beauty, and far too brief.

In his new role, of course, he was expected to lavish attention upon aristocratic maidens. In truth, it was all a vast novelty. He had never before been to an event like his godparents’ Christmas gathering. Since his accession to the title five years earlier, he had usually been acting the part of a renegade French priest in the Americas. Before that he hadn’t been welcome among the
beau monde
. At least his mother had not.

Steven frowned at his newly adopted reflection, running his fingertip over the lid of the gold watch in his pocket carefully monogrammed in a previous century with a scrolling capital A for Ashford, the estate and title that rested so uncomfortably upon his shoulders now after years of pretending it did not exist.

He turned from the mirror.

“My dear godmother, I must now abandon your delightful company and be off to work.”

“Of course,” came her quick reply.

Steven made his way to the library door.

“By the by, Steven dear, do you plan on interviewing Lady Valerie in private again? I ask, you know, because it is not quite acceptable
ton
. You must realize that, though, don’t you? You see, I would not want such a lovely girl to suffer unnecessarily. Society being what it is, one cannot be too careful.”