An Accidental Seduction (15 page)

But he caught her wrist, stopping her. “Lass—” He found her eyes with his.

“What is it?”

He winced. She was magic beneath him. But he’d been wrong to believe he could go through with his scheme. He drew a hard breath. “I’ve planned this.”

“This what?”

“This night. This time together. I’ve thought of nothing else for a long while.”

“Me, too,” she said, and slipped the gown from her shoulders. Her breasts gleamed in the moonlight. They
gleamed!
What was he to do?

“Sweet saints,” he said, and kissed her.

He was never sure what happened next. One moment he was clothed, and the next he was not. One moment he was telling himself to take things slowly, and the next she was atop him, riding him like a charging stallion.

He growled as the tension built. She shrieked as she arched against him, and then he exploded, drained of
every drop of energy. She collapsed against his chest, heart thudding against his, hot and slippery and as sexy as hell against his depleted body.

“Lass…I’m sorry.”

Savaana remained as she was, knees clasped against his hips, trying to think. What had she done? What had she
said
? “Really?”

“Well…that is…I didn’t mean to go so fast.”

“Oh…is it…” She paused, maybe to breathe. Maybe to
think
. And it was about damn time. Somehow she had begun to confuse herself with Clarette. Had she melded the two because they were much more similar than they seemed. Were they in fact…But it didn’t matter now. She’d forgotten her mission, and in doing so had admitted too much of her own fragilities, her own weaknesses. But perhaps it wasn’t too late to shift back into the baroness’s skin, to become the brash noblewoman she was to impersonate. “I didn’t know there were rules, Wicklow.”

He chuckled a little. She eased onto her side.

“I just meant, you must prefer to go about it more slowly.”

“More slowly.” She was still breathing hard and refused to look at him as she searched for Clarette’s harsh persona. “Yes, well, this was fine, too.”

“Fine?”

“Better than fine.” She gave him an arch glance over one bare shoulder. “Quite good actually.”

“Quite good.”

“Ohh.” She sighed. “Now I’ve offended you,” she said, and slipped off the bed.

“Is your husband fine, too? Are all men—” he began, rising to his feet, but suddenly his words stopped.

Savaana’s heart constricted sharply in her chest. She turned at the abrupt cessation of his words, finding his face in the dimness, just as she tried to find
herself
, to separate the Gypsy from the baroness. But he didn’t look at her.

“What’s that?” he asked. His voice sounded odd. He shifted his attention to her, eyes accusatory, and suddenly she felt as naked as she was. She reached for her gown.

“Lass.” He sounded angry.

She popped her head through the opening of the night rail. “Yes?” she said, but he was staring at the bed.

“It looks like blood.”

She yanked her gaze to the stain midway down the mattress and swore in silence. Holy hell! How could that be? She’d ridden astride for as long as she could remember. Had jumped and tumbled and cartwheeled onto every hard surface conceivable. Wasn’t that supposed to do something to
something
?

“What the devil’s going on?” he asked, and shifted his eyes to hers.

She swallowed, remembered to breathe, shrugged. “I…must have cut myself.”

“On me…” He waved vaguely toward his spectacular nether parts. “On
me
?”

She laughed. The tone sounded a little close to hysteria. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’ll be whatever I damned well wish to be,” he said, and stepped from the bed, all naked, masculine beauty. “What the hell happened here?”

“Here?”

“Yes here!” he said, and grabbed her arms. “In that bed. Where the blood…” His words staggered to a halt and his face went pale. “You were a virgin.”

“What?” she said, and laughed. It sounded like the bray of a wild ass. “You’re deluded.”

“Am I?”

“I’m a married woman.”

“Then where is your husband?”

“He left me. Remember?” She tried to conjure up some tears to distract him again, but really, she felt quite marvelous. Whoever invented sex was a bloody genius. “Everyone leaves—”

“No!” he interrupted, and shook his head. “I’m never believing those soppy tears again.”

Dammit. And that was her best act.

“No man could leave you. Not after…” He waved wildly at the bed they’d just shared. “Not after…” He
paced a short two strides and returned. “Who are you?”

For a moment she didn’t answer, couldn’t, for despite everything, she had no desire to lie. “What?” she asked, and tried to dredge up a modicum of believable anger. “Are you pretending you didn’t remember who I was? Didn’t know I was married? Is that the lie you’re planning to spew should someone learn of this? That you had no way—”

“What is wrong with you?” he asked. His tone suggested he was really quite curious, but she had no answer. She was in over her head and sinking fast.

“If you’re…” He shook his head, seeming to find thought difficult if not downright painful. “If you were a virgin, you couldn’t be the woman who…”

She stared at him, breath held. “Who what?”

“What’s your wedding date?” he asked, shifting his attention abruptly to her face.

“Are you mad?”

“It looks that way, doesn’t it, lass?” he snarled. “Your wedding date, what is it?”

Bloody hell! “That’s none of your concern.”

“You don’t know it.”

“Of course I know it.”

“Then—”

“August sixth!” she said.

He stared at her, then shook his head slowly. “It’s August fourteenth.”

Dammit! How could he know that? He…Wait a minute, there was no reason to believe he wasn’t lying just to draw her out. She forced a laugh. “You’re wrong.”

“You’re a fraud,” he breathed, and stepped toward her.

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re not Lady Tilmont at all,” he said, and grabbed her arms.

“Of course I am.”

“Did you kill her?”

“What!” she gasped, and staggered back an honest step.

“The real Lady Tilmont. What did you do to her?”

“I—”

“Come along. We’ll see what the constable says about this,” he said, but at that moment footsteps pounded up the stairs.

They turned toward the door in breathless tandem.

“Clarette!” someone yelled.

“What—” Savaana breathed, but Gallagher interrupted.

“It’s your husband!” he hissed.

“My husband! How would you know—”

“It’s your husband,” bellowed the man on the far side of the door. “Let me in.”

Their eyes met in panic. “Get out!” she hissed.

“Out? How the hell—”

“Clarette! Let me in or I’ll be forced to do something rash,” said Tilmont, and rattled the doorknob.

“I thought you said the lock didn’t work,” she hissed.

“I picked it.”

“You—”

“I build them. I can pick them.”

She shook her head, then pushed him abruptly toward the wall.

“Get beside the door.”

“Are you out of your mind? This will never—”

“Beside the door or out the window,” she hissed.

He grabbed his clothes, strode to the wall, and pressed his back near the hinges.

S
avaana’s heart was galloping like a runaway in her chest. Dear God, what now? she wondered frantically. But truly, there seemed few enough options. She would play the role given her. ’Twas but another performance.

Gallagher’s eyes gleamed with emotion as she whipped the counterpane over the soiled bedsheet, paced to the door, and swung it toward him.

“My lord?” She didn’t mean for it to sound like a question. After all, she should be able to recognize her own husband. But she’d been fooled before.

“Clarette.” Lifting the lantern held in his right hand, he skimmed her with his eyes—the fragile gown, the disheveled hair. “Are you well? I heard there was a mishap.”

“I…” she said, and reaching for his empty hand, drew him farther into the room, leaving the door open. “I’m fine.”

“Fine!” He followed her with long strides of his
black-booted legs. Fair-haired and lean, his face was flushed with drink. She could see that much as he set the lantern upon the narrow bedstead. “’Tis said you were attacked.”

“Well…” She didn’t glance toward the door, though she was sorely tempted. “I’m not entirely certain what happened. One moment I was leaving the jeweler’s, and the next I was quite unconscious. It was…” She let her voice shake and lowered her eyes. From beneath her lashes, she saw Gallagher slip from the room and into the hall. “It was rather frightening.”

Tilmont was scowling. “Rather frightening! I should think so. But you didn’t come here alone. Surely the Ir—” He stopped, changed conversational footing, and continued. “Mr. Underhill accompanied you, did he not?”

What had he been about to say? It almost sounded like ‘Irishman.’ But that couldn’t be. Gallagher had appeared
after
Tilmont’s departure.

“I brought Mrs. Edwards, of course, but she was resting in the carriage.”

He scowled a little. “Mrs. Edwards?”

“My chaperone.”

His brows leapt toward his hairline. “You hired a chaperone?”

“Yes, well…” What was going on here? What was he not telling her? “With you gone so long I didn’t feel it was proper for me to travel alone.”

“You didn’t think it proper?”

She lifted her chin, struggling for her shattered persona. “I am, after all, your wife.”

He was staring at her as if she had grown a second head, but spoke finally. “What were you doing in London at the outset?”

She cleared her throat and fiddled with a fold in her borrowed gown. “I would rather not say.”

“I daresay,” he said, and striding forward, bent to look under the bed.

She watched as he straightened, bobbling a little as he did so.

“What are you looking for?” she asked.

He shook his head as if confused, but glanced toward the wardrobe. “I simply mean to make certain you are safe here.”

“How thoughtful of you, my lord,” she said, and watched as he strode toward the opposite side of the room and threw open the tall dresser doors. It was absolutely empty but for the lavender dress she had hung there only a few hours before.

He made a huffing sound, “I’ve been thinking,” he said then, and turned toward her.

She stepped back. “Have you, my lord?”

“Aye. You’re a beautiful woman. Like royalty.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Might you have heard of the Beloreich?”

Her heart thudded, hard and fast, but she kept her face inscrutable. “I believe it’s a kind of dessert.”

He laughed. “The Beloreich of Delvania are ever haunted by their Ludrick cousins. King Stephan was the last of the Beloreich line. Unless they find the princesses lost long ago.”

She felt weak. “Princesses, my lord?”

“Aye,” he said, and seemed to lighten his mood a little. “You remind me of that line. Luckily for me, you are my wife and not royalty gone astray.” He took a step toward her. She sidled sideways. He drew a deep breath. “I’m considering returning to Knollcrest.”

“How wonderful that would be,” she said, and gripped the bedstead with white-knuckled fingers.

“Indeed, I was speaking to Rolf regarding just that when someone mentioned the fact that you had been seen at this very establishment.” He scowled as if trying to recall a former conversation. “
Why
did you travel to London?”

“If you must know, I wished to purchase a gift, my lord.”

“For…” He paused as if trying to remember something he shouldn’t admit he’d forgotten.

“I know how you enjoy cuff links.”

“Oh?
Oh!
” he said.

She clasped her hands and glanced at the floor. “It has occurred to me that I have not been the wife I should.”

“Really?” He was staring at her as if she were bi-headed again.

“That is to say…a small gift is the least I can do.”

He cleared his throat. “’Tis not as if I’ve been the perfect husband. I’ve been gone entirely too much. Neglecting you.” He reached out and touched her cheek. She had nowhere to go. His smile was eerily tender. “You would be lovely with a babe in your arms.”

“A
babe
!” Savaana kept from jumping as she said the words, but only by sheer power of will.

“I thought when I left that perhaps you would turn to…” He shook his head. “In fact…” Another pause as he glanced toward the wardrobe again. “But I find now that I’m glad you did not.”

She didn’t attempt to control her scowl. Clarette certainly would not. “That I did not what?”

“Stray,” he said, and brushed her hair back from her face.

“Why would you think—” she began, but in that instant Gallagher stepped into the doorway, entirely dressed. Memories of him otherwise swooped in. She groaned inwardly and refused to close her eyes at her own foolishness.

“My lady,” said the Irishman soberly.

She nodded and stepped away from Tilmont. He tipped unsteadily toward the door.

“Mr. Gallagher,” she said.

“Lord Tilmont, I presume,” said the Irishman pointedly, and stared hard at the other man.

“Oh, yes.
Yes
, I’m Lord Tilmont.” He grinned a little. “And who might you be, good sir?”

“Sean Gallagher, at your service, my lord,” he said, and bowed stiffly. “Gregors hired me to see to Mr. Underhill’s duties while he recovers. I’ve driven your lady wife here to London to see to some shopping.”

Tilmont looked momentarily confused. “And what of the task I—”

“Driving your lady has kept me well occupied,” Gallagher said, interrupting smoothly. A muscle jumped in his jaw. Savaana jerked her gaze from him to Tilmont and back. What the devil was all this about? Did these two know each other? And if so, how? “I’ve had time for naught else.”

“Ahh.”

Gallagher nodded again. “I thought I heard a noise and came to make certain your lady was well.” He glanced toward Savaana. She jerked from her thoughts.

“Oh. Yes,” she said. “I assure you I am quite well.” She cleared her throat. “My husband must have awakened you. My apologies.”

“’Tis glad I am to know he’s here…to keep you safe.” His tone was peeved, his body stiff.

Savaana refrained from wringing her hands, from
drilling him with a hundred steaming questions, from throwing a shoe at him. “Thank you, Mister—” she began, but Tilmont interrupted her.

“Yes, well, I don’t believe we’ll be needing your services any longer, Mr. Gallagher.”

“What?”

“
What
?” They said the word in unison.

The baron grinned and raised his brows at the Irishman. “I’m certain Mr. Underhill will be right as rain in no time. What happened to him anyway?”

“I believe he was injured by the gelding,” Gallagher added.

“Ah yes, the gelding.”

“He’s a handsome animal. You’ll look quite rakish riding him of a fine morning, my lord.”

Tilmont scowled, thinking. “I will rather, won’t I?”

Savaana narrowed her eyes. What was the Irishman’s game?

“A few more weeks of my time and I’m certain he’ll be serviceable for you.”

“You think you can have him ready so soon?”

“I am ever hopeful,” Gallagher said, and glanced irritably at Savaana.

“Good, good,” Tilmont said, and seemed to immediately forget his intentions of sending Gallagher away. “You’d best hasten back to Knollcrest first thing in the
morning. Until then I don’t believe we have any more need of your services. Do we, my dear.”

“No,” she said, and wondered if she was going to pass out in earnest this time. “No, but…I have had a rather trying day.” And needed to have a few moments alone with Gallagher. “Might you be willing to fetch me a bit of brandy to calm my nerves?”

“Brandy. Of course. A bit of the bingo. I should have thought of that myself,” Tilmont said, and bowed slightly before turning. “Gallagher, old sport, see to it, will you?”

Savaana gritted her teeth, then smiled wanly when the other swiveled back. “Perhaps you’d like a little something for yourself as well,” she suggested to Tilmont.

“I think I will at that. See if you can find me a bottle of ruin.”

A muscle jumped in the Irishman’s jaw, but he bowed. “Certainly, my lord.”

“There’s a good fellow,” Tilmont said, and turned dismissively back toward his supposed bride. “How very kind of you to think of me. You seem rather…” He shook his head, searching for the proper words.

Savaana kept her gaze carefully on Tilmont’s face as Gallagher stepped from the room. “Rather what, my lord?”

“Changed,” he said.

“Well, we haven’t seen each other for quite some time,”
she said, and looking for something with which to busy her hands, retrieved her shoes from the floor near the bed, then hustled toward the wardrobe that stood near the corner.

“Too long,” he said, and nodded. “Far too long. But perhaps we could make amends for that so I might get to know who you truly are.”

She glanced quickly back at him, wondering what he meant. “I would dearly love to hear of your adventures since last we were together.”

“You want to hear about
me
?”

Reaching inside the wardrobe, she set her shoes on the wooden floor. “It has occurred to me that I know entirely too little about you, my lord.”

“And I too little of you,” he said, watching her, eyes bright. “It seems you’re full of surprises.”

“Hardly that,” she said, and eased out of the corner before he could trap her there. “I’m a simple woman. Boring really.”

He stepped quickly to the side. “I rather doubt that,” he said, and slipped his arm about her waist.

“My lord!” Gallagher’s voice seemed strangely loud in the room. Savaana jumped. Tilmont turned with ragged precision. Gallagher was scowling even as he bowed. “I’ve brought you the requested libations,” he said, and lifted the two bottles he held in his right hand.

“Good God,” Tilmont said, and laughed. “However did you return so quickly? And with so much gin?”

“The cellar wasn’t locked, my lord.”

“Good thinking, Gallagher,” he said, and stepped forward to take a bottle from him.

“Thank you, my lord,” said the Irishman, and scowled at Savaana. She raised a brow at him.

“But wait,” Tilmont said. “I have no glasses.”

“Ahh, my mistake,” Gallagher said. “Why don’t you take a seat, and I shall remedy that situation immediately.”

“I was actually thinking of finding my bed,” Tilmont said, and slanted a suggestive glance toward the nearby mattress.

Savaana smiled wanly. Gallagher’s expression darkened.

“But you’ve no manservant,” said the Irishman. “Have a seat, and I shall assist with your boots.”

“Very well,” Tilmont said, and turned gracelessly toward the chair, bottle in hand.

Gallagher glared at Savaana. She made a “what?” motion with her hands as Tilmont settled into the narrow wingback with a sigh.

“It does feel good to sit,” he said, and let the bottle tumble unharmed to the floor. “When I heard of the attack on my wife, I dashed across town quick as a ferret.”

Gallagher had already lowered his gaze to the bottle that remained in his hand and was working at the cork. “If I may ask, sir, how did you hear of her troubles?”

“The usual gossip at Almack’s,” he said, and Gallagher nodded as he handed over the gin.

“It must have been quite a shock for you.”

“I dare say,” said the other and took a swig straight from the bottle.

“Well, the gin will calm your nerves. Sit tight,” Gallagher said, “while I fetch a glass.”

Tilmont nodded and drank again.

Savaana watched, breath held.

“Where are my manners?” Tilmont asked, glancing up. “My father would be sore disappointed. Would you like a drink, my dear?” he asked, and held the bottle toward her.

“No. That’s very kind of you, but—”

“Of course, you requested brandy,” he said, and already the Irishman had returned, glass in hand as he stepped into the room. If his ploy to see the baron unconscious was any clearer, even Tilmont would realize it.

“It seems you’ve neglected the lady’s drink,” said the baron.

“Oh, aye, my apologies,” Gallagher said, and retrieving Tilmont’s abandoned bottle, uncorked it before pouring enough to drown a camel. Savaana raised her brows as he handed it over. Gallagher gave her an irritated glance, then bowed. “If you’ll excuse me again, my lord, I shall fetch your lady’s drink.”

Savaana all but rolled her eyes as the Irishman stepped from the room.

“You’re certain you won’t join me, my lady?” Tilmont asked.

“I believe I’ll wait for the brandy.”

“It seems rude to drink alone.”

“Very well, then, I’ll have to accompany you,” she said, and lifting the bottle from the floor, pressed the green glass to her mouth without taking a drop. “I like to see a man enjoy his drink.”

“Truly?”

“Yes,” she said, and pretended to drink again.

“I didn’t know that about you.”

“There is much you don’t know,” Savaana said, and tasted a droplet of gin.

“But I’m eager to learn.”

“Are you?” she asked, and glanced at him through her lashes. “In the past, you’ve seemed…rather uninterested.”

“Uninterested? No,” he said, then shook his head as if to belay his own words. “Well, I’m…To speak the truth, in the past I’ve thought you…” His voice trailed off.