Too Wicked to Wed (16 page)
And yet, she wasn’t. Placing her palm on the solid slope of his shoulder, Alexa inched up on her toes to brush a kiss to the corner of his mouth. A trace of brandy lingered there, its spice warm and tingling. The taste was meltingly sweet, and as it trickled down her tongue, she felt an aching need begin to burn at the back of her throat.
Connor.
Her lips sought his, and for a magical moment, he softened and responded with a deep, demanding embrace. A thrust of wet heat—
And then, all too quickly, it was gone, leaving naught but the chill air to caress her upturned face.
Drawing back, Connor took her hand and nestled it in the crook of his arm. The contours of smooth muscle fitted her like a glove.
“But for tonight, Alexa, you face no threat.”
T
his is delicious, Lady Killingworth,” murmured Mr. Chatsworth.
Lady Killingworth.
Alexa lifted the glass to her lips, and as the wine pooled a pleasant warmth inside her, she didn’t feel quite as much of an imposter.
“Delicious,” echoed Suzy, adding a saucy wink.
Alexa felt herself blush. A hurried consultation with Mrs. Callaway and their newly hired maid had resulted in a simple but excellent supper being served. Along with fetching lamb cutlets, spring carrots, and fresh cheese from a neighboring farm, Becky had cut a bouquet of wild roses from vines growing rampant along the garden walls. Centered on the dining room table, surrounded by the crystal goblets, Chinese porcelain, and silver flatware that Alexa had carried down from the attics several days ago, the pale pinks and greens added a perfect touch of welcome to the burnished wood and freshly starched linen.
All in all, it was not too shabby for her first attempt at playing a countess.
The two visitors had certainly made her feel at ease. Both Mrs. Chatsworth and her husband proved to be charmingly informal and brimming with sly humor. Even the earl was drawn out by their teasing, going so far as to flash an occasional grudging grin at their playful comments. Alexa, too, had enjoyed the lively give-and-take and the refreshing lack of artifice. Much as she wished to dislike the other lady, she found that as the meal went on, her initial animosity was fast melting away. It was impossible not to warm up to such forthright friendliness and unfettered frankness. There was none of the stilted drawing room airs and graces to Suzy.
A kindred soul?
Given their vast differences in experience…
Alexa couldn’t help but slant a glance at Andrew Chatsworth. It was clear that despite Suzy’s being a broken vessel, her highborn husband saw her as flawless in every meaningful respect. His regard was evident in any number of subtle ways—the cant of his lips, the tone of his voice, the glimmer in his eyes as they followed her every move, even when his attention appeared to be elsewhere.
Once again, Alexa was aware of a small pinch of jealousy. Though, to her credit, Suzy appeared equally enamored of Andrew. Her attentions to the earl revealed an undeniable closeness, but it was more that of a good friend than a current lover.
And Connor? His emotions were, as usual, unreadable.
If only she could learn the trick of holding a gentleman’s gaze in thrall. She watched him for a moment longer, then looked away.
Oh, don’t be a fool.
Trying to be something she was not would only doom her to another dismal failure. After all, she had already tried masquerading as a young gentleman, as a practiced gamester, as a worldly lady and had fooled no one.
No one but herself.
Better to drop all pretenses and just be…Alexa Hendrie. An unpolished country hoyden who was more at home fixing a sooty stove than she was dancing an elegant waltz.
The strange thing was, as she relaxed and looked around the room, Alexa realized how much she liked being useful. Really useful. Rolling up her sleeves and getting dirt under her nails was infinitely more rewarding than sketching indifferent watercolors, playing uninspired music or nattering about idle gossip. She would, of course, never be at home in Polite Society.
And perhaps that wasn’t so bad.
Her gaze met with Connor’s and much to her amazement, he smiled. It was only a tiny quirk around the corners of his mouth. But his eyes, gleaming like buffed silver, seemed to reflect a hint of warmth.
Alexa shifted slightly in her chair, the pearls moving against her skin like a soft caress. The Wolfhound had been wrong about there being no threat to her this evening. The truth was, she was in imminent danger of losing…
“…Linsley Close has been transformed. Your lady has breathed new life into this crumbling hunk of stone timbers, wouldn’t you say?”
She blinked, suddenly aware that Suzy’s offhand question had been directed at the earl.
Connor raised his crystal goblet, obscuring his expression in a swirl of garnet and ruby refractions.
Did the other lady know of his aversion to the estate?
Alexa’s fingers tightened around her own wineglass. All reveries evaporated as she steeled herself for one of the Wolfhound’s usual biting comments.
The silence stretched a bit longer. Suzy and her husband exchanged looks but refrained from further comment.
“She has worked miracles,” he finally agreed.
A compliment, however oblique, from the Irish Wolfhound?
Speaking of miracles! Her stomach had an odd fluttering in it, as if she had just swallowed a flock of butterflies instead of a tiny morsel of creamed carrot.
“In more ways than one,” murmured Chatsworth, who over the course of the meal had managed to extract, bit by bit, the story of midnight attack from Connor. “Hauling your carcass out of the stews of Southwark must have been no easy feat.”
“Surviving the snap of your jaws in the aftermath deserves even more credit,” added Suzy. “I know from long experience that your atrocious temper would test the patience of a saint.”
“Which, you may be sure, I am not.” Alexa could not resist joining in. “Just ask Killingworth.”
“Connor?” pressed Suzy.
“As I have never dared lift my eyes heavenward, my answer would be purely speculative.” Despite his poker face, the earl still seemed in a light-hearted mood. “However, the lady has been heard to utter an oath. I doubt that saints are allowed to swear.”
“Neither are proper ladies,” sighed Alexa. “So I suppose that leaves me somewhere in Purgatory.”
“The hell it does,” said Suzy. “Take my word for it, all ladies swear when sufficiently provoked.” She paused ever so slightly. “And as we are usually surrounded by men, the only wonder is that we don’t do it a great deal louder and great deal more often.”
“I defer to your greater knowledge in this area,” responded Alexa.
“A wise move, Lady Killingworth. I tip my hat to your judgment, and your muscle.” Chatsworth gave a waggish tweak to his auburn curls. “Metaphorically speaking, that is. Or would you prefer that I genuflect?”
Laughter sounded all around. Alexa could not help wishing that the evening, and the sense of camaraderie, might last…forever.
It was, of course, as unrealistic as her other fantasies. “By the by,” she murmured. “You really ought not call me Lady Killingworth. As we have explained, it’s a little white lie to avoid scandal.”
Chatsworth lifted his glass with a gallant flourish. “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”
As the chuckles died away, Connor passed the wine to his friend. Leaving his own glass untouched, he scraped his chair back and resumed a sober expression. “Enough of fun and games, metaphorical or otherwise. It’s time we got down to plain speaking.” Turning to Chatsworth, he demanded, “What have you found out about the cardsharp DeWinter?”
“All work and no play?” His friend murmured one last quip before turning serious. “Oh, very well. To begin with, you were right. He’s from Antwerp, where his mother—who, according to Spotted Dick, was a woman from Dover named Mrs. Snow—ran a wharfside tavern.”
“Not a black mark against him, I trust,” murmured Suzy.
“No, my dear.” Chatsworth favored her with a smile. “That he earned without help from anyone else.” Unfolding a paper from his pocket, he skimmed over his notes. “DeWinter was soon unwelcome in any Belgian port, due to accusations of cheating. Apparently his skills soon improved, for when he resurfaced in the Mediterranean several years ago, he began to make quite a profitable living fleecing everyone from the filthy rich to the poor sod with only a few groats in his purse.”
Chatsworth turned the page over. “DeWinter worked Marseilles, Nice, and Genoa during Bonaparte’s brief flirtation with past glory. Last year, after Waterloo, he moved back north, cutting a swath through the high stakes gaming dens between Brussels and Paris—with a knife, when push came to shove. His three cronies are a Dutchman and two Prussians, all skilled with a blade. Or a hobnailed boot,” he added with a grimace of distaste. “A Flemish wool merchant found stomped to death in an alleyway attests to that. So, by all accounts, they are a pack of nasty bastards.”
The earl cracked his knuckles in impatience. “Tell me something I haven’t figured out for myself.”
Ignoring the quibble, Chatsworth refused to be rushed. “Once in Paris, they went to ground. Now pay attention, Connor—here is where it begins to get interesting. In making the inquiries you requested, Spotted Dick learned that six months ago, word started to circulate around the docks of Dover that a plum of a job was available for someone who met the two requisites—fuzzing cards
and
cutting throats. With no compunction about exercising either.”
Connor’s expression was unreadable.
“Furthermore,” went on Chatsworth. “It was said that if the fellow played his hand right, the reward would be not only money but an extraordinary opportunity—a far more profitable game in the highest circles of the
ton
.”
A snap of his fingers caused both Alexa and Suzy to flinch. “Voilà! Who suddenly appears on English soil but Mr. Snow, who now styles himself as Lord DeWinter. Dead-Eye Pete recognized him straight off from a gambling den on the rue d’Anglaise.” Drew grinned. “Even with an eyepatch, the old pirate doesn’t miss much.”
“I don’t see why you are looking so pleased with yourself,” growled Connor. “I hardly need a rum-swilling old barnacle to tell me DeWinter was hired to put me out of business. Have you any cursed idea of who did the hiring? Or why?”
A rather smug expression tugged at his friend’s mouth. “As a matter of fact, I have. It just so happens that Weasel and Jug know the man, too.” He grinned at the ladies. “Apparently, it’s a small world for those involved in criminal endeavors. Anyway, as I was saying, when they heard I was asking around about DeWinter, they recalled having spotted him coming out of a townhouse on Merton Street during the course of making some routine deliveries of their own. Dick got word of it this morning, and promises that they will keep a close watch on the place to see if he turns up again.”
“Bloody hell, Drew—whose townhouse?” Connor emphasized his demand with a thump of his fist.
“I don’t know,” admitted Chatsworth. “Not yet. But Jug is working on getting that information.”
“At least it’s somewhere to start. When I return to London on the morrow—”
“Don’t.” interrupted Chatsworth. “The last thing in the world you should do is return to London.”
Connor opened his mouth to protest, but Chatsworth gave him no chance.
“Right now, your disappearance has likely got your unknown enemy and DeWinter off balance. In order to regroup and figure out what to do next, they must move quickly. That, as any good soldier should know, makes them vulnerable. They are liable to be a bit careless.”
The Wolfhound scowled. “What are you suggesting?”
“That you do nothing. We now hold the upper hand, so why not wait and see how things unfold?”
“At the very least, surely Lady Alexa can return to Yorkshire.”
Chatsworth slanted a quick glance at his wife.
Suzy shook her head. “It’s still too dangerous. They will be on the watch for her as well. I think it unwise for either of you to stir from Linsley Close.”
“Damnation,” swore Connor. “I am not used to inaction.”
A glimmer of unholy amusement lit for an instant in his friend’s eyes. “Oh, with a bit of imagination, I daresay you can come up with some activities to occupy your time here.”
Suzy rolled her eyes, then stood up. “Come, Lady Alexa, I can see that business is over for now. Let us leave them to their port and cheroots. They wish to blow a vile cloud and tell bawdy jokes. It makes them feel smugly superior, and I, for one, don’t object to them enjoying a few, fleeting moments of that illusion.” She gave a broad wink, making no effort to hide it from the gentlemen. “They will soon grow bored and rejoin us.”
Alexa led the way to the drawing room. The fire was banked, but as she stirred the coals and added a fresh log, the flames sprang to life. “Might I ask you a personal question, Mrs. Chatsworth?” she ventured, her gaze remaining on the dancing flickers of red and orange.
Suzy had already taken a seat on the sofa. “You wish to inquire about the relationship between Connor and me.”
Rather relieved that there was no need to beat around bush, Alexa nodded. “Yes, I—I suppose I do.”
“I gathered as much. Otherwise I should never have bowed to such silly convention as leaving the gentlemen to have all the fun. I am very fond of port and know more naughty jokes than the two of them put together.”
“I am sure Chatsworth will save you a tipple.” Though Alexa tried to sound the same note of flippancy, her heart wasn’t in it.
After a slight adjustment to her skirts, Suzy folded her hands primly in her lap. “Connor hasn’t told you anything about us?”
Alexa jabbed the poker into the burning wood, setting up a shower of sparks. “He does not share his personal life with me.”
“Nor with anyone, if that’s any consolation.”
It wasn’t, especially as Alexa suspected the statement was not quite true. “Obviously he does with you.”
“Oh, ballocks!” jeered Suzy. “Believe me, every time I try to get close, he just about bites my head off.”
Even with her face angled to the shadows, Alexa’s skepticism must have been evident, for Suzy chuffed a sigh and patted the pillow beside her. “Come, sit here while I explain.”
“I would rather…pace, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” replied her guest. “However, if you mean to come in my direction, kindly put down that weapon. It’s bad enough when a girl has to face a strange man with a red hot poker, but at least she knows what he aims to do with it.”
Alexa sucked her breath. And then let it out in a peal of laughter.
“There, now that we have broken the ice, please come join me,” said Suzy. “If you truly feel the need to hit something, you can smack that hideous Staffordshire figurine on the sidetable and do us all a favor. But I promise you, it’s not at all what you think.”
