The Secrets of a Scoundrel (6 page)

“Good news, no mercury for you.”

“And why exactly does she want to know the condition of my cock?” Nick asked cynically while the old man, through with him, went to wash his hands.

Dr. Baldwell gave him another disapproving scowl. “Her Ladyship is only trying to help you.”

“Good riddance,” Nick muttered when the old man left a moment later, leaving him alone to fasten his clothes again and make himself presentable once more.

But the question he had asked aloud still gnawed at him. What exactly would his duties to this baroness entail?

The question left him bristling with renewed mistrust.

Was he going to be expected to service her on top of everything else? He was not sure how to feel about that.

Obviously, he was attracted to her, but that wasn’t really the point. He had thought his time of being used as some rich woman’s plaything was over. He’d been down that road before, and it hadn’t ended well.

The more he brooded on her unknown motives, the angrier and the more suspicious he became.

So why, then, was Lady Burke being so kind to him? Taking such good care of him? What did she really want? He growled under his breath as he put his clothes back on.

After all, when something looked too good to be true, it usually was.

Well, it was plain to see she was a woman of the world, with her young lover. She had better not be assuming Nick would take over where her missing toy boy had left off just because she said so. A man had his pride.

If she thought her arrangement with the graybeards gave her leave to use him for a bloody male whore, she was misinformed.

If
he could resist her.

Torn between lust and resentment, all he knew was that he did not like her control over him one bit.
Don’t be so quick to trust her just because she’s Virgil’s daughter.

She was keeping as many secrets as her father.

Spooked to wonder whether this chance at earning back his freedom would cost him the last few remnants of his pride, Nick decided that until he figured out what this woman really wanted from him, he had better stay on his guard.

Dinner was sure to be interesting.

T
hat evening, Gin took a sip of wine as she sat at her dressing table in the candlelit alcove of her opulent bedchamber, legs crossed. Clad in a silk peignoir before dressing in her dinner gown, she reviewed Dr. Baldwell’s notes from his examination of Lord Forrester.

She was surprised at the degree of her own relief to find that his health was sound, from head to toe and at all points in between. Not that it should have mattered, beyond the practicalities of his basic readiness for the mission ahead.

But as she trailed her fingertip over the physician’s diagram, she shook her head with a pang at all the places on Nick’s body where the doctor had recorded the presence of scars. Burns, slashes, healed-over breaks, shrapnel, and, of course, a couple of bullet holes, one more recent than the rest.

She couldn’t help feeling that every one of them was her father’s fault, and since he was dead, that she was somehow responsible for all the damage done to this agent. Years ago, Virgil, in his early role of Seeker, had gone around to various aristocratic families and handpicked the lads he wanted for his unit before they were even Phillip’s age. It must have been heartbreaking, knowing the kind of danger he was recruiting these mere children into, but all of them had been eager to go.

Nick, especially, according to her father.

She let out a sigh and put the notes down on her dressing table, saddened. As her thought drifted, she remembered how she had raged so many times at her sire for stubbornly forbidding her to try to become the Order’s first female agent.

But Dr. Baldwell’s little drawing of all the scars on Nick was proof positive that her father had been right.

If the enemy could inflict this kind of pain on one of the Order’s hardiest warriors, what might they have done to a female spy associated with the organization if she were ever captured?

With such a hostage, they could have wrung deadly concessions out of the graybeards and every honor-bound male agent in the field.

Ah, well. She had long since realized that her father had only stopped her out of love. As much as she had hated it at the time, living vicariously through the tales he told about “his boys” and their perilous adventures, she had come to understand a parent’s need to protect his or her child once she had become a mother, herself.

In the mirror on her dressing table, the look in her eyes turned steely. The Order was never getting their hands on Phillip. They’d never leave these kinds of scars on her darling son.

Just then, a soft knock sounded on the door.

“Come.” She glanced into the reflection behind her as her lady’s maid stepped in.

“You sent for me, my lady?”

“Yes, I have to dress for dinner.” She rose with a languid motion. “The emerald satin tonight, I think.”

“Very good, ma’am.” The maid hurried to fetch the gown from the large, adjoining dressing room.

Soon, Gin was dressed in the luxurious green gown and seated once again before the mirror while the maid braided small sections of her hair to add interest to the topknot that would be held in place with pearl-studded combs.

In the reflection, Gin noticed the smile tugging at the maid’s mouth and realized it had been there since the woman had come in. “You seem rather merry this evening, Bowland. What’s afoot?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, ma’am,” she assured her with a quick smile as she worked.

“Come. This wouldn’t have something to do with our guest, would it?”

“Well, the girls belowstairs couldn’t help but notice His Lordship’s awfully handsome, ma’am.”

“That he is. He’s also very dangerous. Not a man to be trifled with. Let them know I won’t countenance any nonsense.”

“Yes, my lady. I will tell them.” Bowland dropped her gaze with a chastened look.

Gin knew the stern precision with which she ran her household was not much fun for her staff, but she did not intend to let the maids go throwing themselves at Lord Forrester.

She did not need her silly-headed servant girls tempting a very worldly man who had been starved of sex for the past six months.

Somehow, she could not shake her own, acute awareness of that fact. Nevertheless, the rogue agent was as much her hireling now as the maids were, and like them, he would jolly well live up to her standards while he was under her roof.

She just hoped she could hold up to them herself. She sent herself a stern, warning glance in the mirror.
One false move, and he’ll take control of everything.

That’s not going to happen,
she assured herself. She might have taken the manacles off him, but she still intended to keep her trained wolf on a very short leash.

Then she turned with a rustle of satin and proceeded down to dinner.

Chapter 4

N
ick remained on his guard at supper that evening. Still suspicious of her motives, he refused to let the wine lull him into lowering his defenses, nor her beauty to turn his head. It was impossible, though, not to feel the impact of her allure.

She was ravishing, and God, it had been so long since he had known the pleasures of a woman’s bed. The emerald hue of her gown turned her blue eyes sea green and made them sparkle like a warm, tropic sea.

Her intricate coiffure was a work of enchantment to behold, and her skin . . . her rosy cheeks, her alabaster throat . . .

The creamy expanse of her chest bared by the low, pointed neck of her gown, tortured him with a cruel show of cleavage.

But considering that she held all the power, at least for the moment, his cool demeanor toward her was the only act of defiance he could afford, under the circumstances. It wasn’t easy. They were both wary and polite, not talking much at table.

The spread of food was lavish. After the privations of the past year, Nick fought himself not to devour everything in sight. Hell, for all he knew, the sumptuous feast before him might only be intended to fatten him up for the slaughter, he thought wryly.

They sat at the two distant ends of the long, formal dining table. Between them, the staff laid out a rapturous spread of dishes, symmetrically arranged—elegant blends of textures and tastes, contrasting and complementing, with new bottles of wine to sample with every course.

All the while, from its place of honor above the white fireplace, the large, gilded portrait of a weak-chinned man in uniform stared down at them in prim disapproval.

The husband.

Nick eyed the pasty-faced figure warily as he chewed.
How the hell does a chap like that get a woman like her?

Lady Burke noticed him looking at it and supplied the answer to his unasked question. “The late Lord Burke.”

“Tell me about him,” he invited her, keen to gather information about his mysterious hostess. “Nabob?”

“His family has had various lucrative enterprises under way in India for decades. He was sent over there after his graduation from Oxford to familiarize himself with the holdings he’d inherit. He spent a decade there, then returned to England to settle down and find a bride.”

Nick stared at her. “Well, he was obviously successful in that quest.”

“Oh, yes,” she said with a bland smile and took a drink of wine.

This reaction intrigued Nick in the extreme; and now he couldn’t leave it alone. “I am sorry for your loss. It must have been very difficult for you.”

Not really,
said her cool gaze. “Thank you,” said her lovely lips.

You despised him?
Nick thought.
He bored you to death?

“How did you two first meet?” he asked in a cordial tone.

“Well . . .” Lady Burke glanced at the dining-room door, making sure that none of her servants were in earshot. “It’s a funny story, actually.”

“Do tell.”

“He originally started out courting another girl in my debutante class, but I stole him.”

“Oh, really?” Nick was both astonished and amused. “You stole him from a friend?”

“Oh, no, not from a friend. An enemy,” she answered with an arch smile. “That was why I did it. Of course, I was very young. Seventeen. I had no idea my mischief would end up in marriage.”

“What happened?”

“The girl Burke was courting at the time was the bane of our lives—all the other debs, I mean. I won’t mention any names, but she was a horrid little beauty. Arrogant, spoiled in the extreme. Had to be the center of attention at all times.”

“I know the type.”

“She wheedled her way into favor with the Patronesses of Almack’s, then began her reign of terror. As our first Season wore on, this young lady took to the habit of bullying my dear friend, Elizabeth. Torturing her in Society with mockery and intimidation. So I decided to put the queen bee in her place.”

“By stealing her beau?”

“Precisely. It was shockingly easy. But I never anticipated that I would then be forced to marry him—for appearances’ sake.”

Nick winced. “Poor thing.”

“It wasn’t so bad. His family did own diamond mines.”

“Well, there’s a consolation.”

She shook her head, shrugged, and let out a sigh. “I suppose it was no worse than any Society match.”

Nick pondered this for a moment, staring into his wineglass. “Did he ever find out the real reason you first began pursuing him?”

“Oh, yes. That was pleasant.” When he glanced at her, he could see she had not anticipated this question.

The smile faded from her face. A shadow passed behind her eyes. “It became difficult after a time to hide my true feelings.”

Disgust,
Nick realized. He paused. “Was that what sent him off to war?”

“Yes, and he never returned.” She gave him a look that informed him this was all she intended to say on the topic.

He did not press for more.

They lapsed into silence as they continued eating. But every now and then, he looked at her, more intrigued than ever. She barely knew him, so why tell a virtual stranger such an intimate story? Why share what must have been the most devastating mistake of her young life?

Maybe she was trying to show him that he wasn’t the only one who had ever made a misstep, considering where she had found him. It was generous of her if that was her motive.

Nick lowered his gaze, but even when they brought out the exact dessert he had requested, he eyed her with furtive uncertainty.

He still had no idea what to make of her: the sensual baroness, the carefree widow, the lady detective?

Countless questions about her swam through his mind as they finished the meal and repaired to the drawing room, where she offered him a cheroot and, to his surprise, took one for herself.

“You smoke?” he exclaimed.

“On occasion. You disapprove?” she drawled.

“Just surprised. Not the done thing for ladies, I thought. Or have things changed so much since they locked me up?” he asked in amusement as he held the match for her, then lit his own.

“No, you’re right. I’m an odd duck. Always have been.” She smiled as she puffed on the cheroot to get the tip fully lit. He did the same. “Terrible habit, isn’t it? I picked it up from my father.”

“So did I,” he replied.

“Let’s step outside, shall we? I don’t want the smell to get in the house.” She slipped her gloved hand through the crook of his elbow and led him through the French doors out onto the terrace.

“Thank you for the dinner. Especially the apple pie. Extremely thoughtful of you.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

“Cold?” he asked as his breath misted in the night’s crisp chill.

“Not yet. It feels good. Bracing.”

He nodded. The November sky was black. She let go of his arm and stepped away from him. Nick tilted his head back and gazed up at the stars.

It was the first time he’d been outside at night in so very long, stuck in his cell. The white half-moon wrapped in ebony silk was even more beautiful than he remembered.

Lady Burke must have noticed his taut silence, for she spoke soothingly of idle things, drawing him back from his momentary anguish with the nearest, easy topic. “Oh, yes, I’ve become a great fan of the leaf from the Carolinas,” she said in a musing tone, inspecting her cheroot. “I know I ought to quit, but somehow I always order more . . . though I tell myself I only keep them on hand for my gentlemen friends.”

Her words jarred him with a reminder of the various bottles of cologne on the dressing table in the guest chamber he had been assigned. “And do you have many of those here, my lady? Gentlemen visitors at Deepwood?”

She turned to him in guarded surprise, her slender eyebrows lifted. “A few. From time to time. You disapprove again?”

“No, of course not. It’s your life. You’re a grown woman.” He paused for a moment. “I just wondered if you have them all inspected for the French disease first.”

“Ah, I knew you were still peeved about the doctor!” she exclaimed.

“I think I have a right to be,” he said. “The state of my health is none of your business.”

“I had to make sure you’re fit for service.”

“And what service might that be, exactly? I’d just like to know what all is going to be expected of me.”

She had the decency to blush. Indeed, he could feel the blaze pouring off her cheeks in the cool night air. It told him all he needed to know. “You have to trust me, Nick. I do have your best interests at heart.”

“Right.”

“What?” she demanded. “What’s the matter?”

“I agreed to help you, Virginia—” He used her Christian name with insolence, since she had felt free to use his. “But that doesn’t mean you own me. I’ll kill whoever you want, but I’m not your plaything. Unlike your little toy boy,” he added under his breath.

Her jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

“Well, he is your lover, isn’t he? This chap who’s gone missing.”

“Not that it’s any of your business—but, no!”

“Ah.” He absorbed this, unsure if he believed her. But the vehemence of her denial left him feeling like a bit of an ass. “Then it seems I owe you an apology,” he said in cool, sardonic reproach.

“Yes, you do,” she declared, staring at him in astonishment. “I suggest you go to bed now, Lord Forrester. The strain of all our travel seems to have robbed you of your manners.”

He cleared his throat, slightly chastened. “Indeed. Then I bid you a fond good night, my lady.” Avoiding eye contact, he turned to crush out his cheroot in a garden urn filled with sand for that purpose.

“Lord Forrester!”

Heading back to the French doors, Nick turned warily.

“You’re a pretty fellow, but my only interest in you is for the case.”

“Good,” he answered smoothly. Then he gave her a polite bow and withdrew, his ego smarting.

At least her tart answer had put his mind at ease about her having ulterior motives.

He just hoped that, having laid out his boundaries, he did not regret telling her in so many words that he had no desire to bed her. Because that was a bold-faced lie.

G
ood Lord.

Gin stared after him in fiery indignation, her cheeks still flaming brightly. Blast the man, he was too perceptive by half.

Clearly, she would have to work harder to hide her wild attraction to him.

Shaking her head at his barbarity and her own foolishness, she folded her arms across her chest and took another pull off her cheroot, trying to calm down.

How rude could someone be? And as for her . . .

Idiot!
And here she had thought they could be friends.

She should have known not to trust his quiet, guarded demeanor tonight. All the while, he had been sitting there seething over the medical exam, she realized. Eyeing her with suspicion, and—ever the spy—collecting information on her, which she had freely shared.

Damn, she wished she had not told him the true story of her marriage. Why not just tilt back her head and offer him her jugular?

She did not even know
why
she had done it. But, no, if she was honest, on second thought, of course she did.

She had seen the way he had looked at her husband’s portrait, as though baffled by the match, and she had felt embarrassed. She had always been embarrassed of the weak, lazy, self-indulgent coward she had married.

Even though she had brought it on herself, the whole match had been such a bitter disappointment—especially when, as a girl, she had always expected to end up with some bold, dashing Order hero.

Well, she mused, if tonight with Nick was any example of what that would have been like, then clearly, she was better off.

If only he weren’t so beautiful. If only his midnight eyes did not beckon her with his loneliness and need . . .

Damn it.
She shook her head and stared off into the bleakly bare garden, silvered with moonlight. She was going to have to do better than this, be more careful about keeping things businesslike between them.

The wine at dinner and the darkness of this seductive autumn night was obviously too dangerous, too tempting, when she already had a secret weakness for this man—as though she were still an infatuated seventeen-year-old.

It would not do.

She cringed to wonder how great a fool she might have made of herself. But no matter. If he had detected her desire for him, it didn’t mean that she had ever intended to act on it. Besides, she would remedy her error merely by treating him all the more coolly on the morrow.

In any case, it was official: Her father’s problem agent was her headache now.