Confessions of a Scoundrel (17 page)

Brandon bunched his right hand into a fist and
smacked it into his left palm, a smile still on his face.

Verena had a sudden vision of that fist striking poor Herberts in the jaw. Ow. That would hurt. As annoying as her butler was, he really didn't deserve to be attacked by a six-foot-three warrior, for that was exactly what St. John looked like as he stood by her bed.

She eyed him covertly. Gone was the perfectly pressed cravat, the form-fitting coat, the flashing watch fob, the knitted trousers…nothing was left but the man. Bold and naked and mouth-wateringly male.

That was the problem; Verena was finding Brandon the man a little too attractive. Every finely muscled inch of him. Which normally wouldn't be a problem since she was a woman of the world.

Wasn't she?

It was just that right now, with James's life on the line because of those damn love letters—Verena's thoughts caught. What time was it? She and James were supposed to meet this morning.

He wanted to visit every guest from the dinner party. James was certain one of them held the key to Humford's lost list.

She whirled in the bed, frowning at the face of the clock over the mantel. Ah, it was only nine-thirty; she still had a half an hour. She suddenly became aware of St. John's steady gaze.

He glanced from her to the clock and back, his brows lowered. “Expecting someone?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.

“James,” she said as airily as she could. “He'll be here any moment now.”

Brandon crossed his arms over his chest and rocked back on his heels. He seemed unable to look away from where she sat in the middle of the bed, sheets tangled about her.

“Brandon, you cannot just keep me here. It's…barbaric.”

He flicked a glance over her, his lips curving in amusement. Verena's cheeks heated. She pulled the sheet tighter about her.

This was an excellent example of why she could never have Brandon in her life. She had allowed him into only one small area, yet he had set up camp and was now planning ways to invade and conquer every other aspect of her existence. She could see it in his eyes.

She climbed back to her knees and pulled the sheet completely free from the bed then wrapped it about her. Trying to stay somewhat modest, she tied the ends in a fat knot at her shoulder.

Verena rather fancied she looked like a Grecian maiden. She peeked at Brandon, but he appeared singularly unimpressed with her ability to make her own clothing out of practically nothing.

The beast. “I want up.”

He shook his head.

“Now.”

A faint grin curved his mouth.

That was it. She held her head high as she walked on her knees to the edge of the bed, her gesture edged with irritation. “Don't push me, St. John. I'm in no mood.”

His grinned widened and suddenly, Verena's
irritation erupted. She placed two fingers to her lips, kissed them, then placed them on her ass.

The gesture, one as old as time, drew an immediate response. Before she could lift her hand from her rump, Verena found herself pinned to the mattress, his body completely covering hers.

She was a captive in her own bed, Brandon's delectable mouth only inches from hers. The only question was—did she really want to escape?

V
erena struggled. “Let me up!”

Brand caught her chin and turned her face to his. His touch was amazingly gentle, a definite question darkening his gaze.

Verena swallowed. His fingers were so warm. And he was ill; she could see by the glitter of his eyes that he still had a bit of fever.

He seemed to sense her softening, for his lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile as he gently brushed her hair from her forehead.

She was proof against anything but his tenderness. It made her all the more determined to get free. “Brandon, let me up.
Please.
”

For a long moment, he stared at her as if assessing her thoughts. Then, to her surprise, he rolled
off and grabbed his pants. He jerked them on in a matter of seconds.

She lifted herself on her elbows, faintly aware of a sense of disappointment. Of course he'd finally been forced to agree with her—what else could he do?

Still…it might have been interesting if he'd tried other, more persuasive ways of getting her to agree with him. It was rather disheartening to see him give up so quickly.

In fact, she felt a little insulted. “You're leaving. Good. I want you to leave. In fact, I want you to—”

He opened the door. All he had on were his pants, which could only mean he wasn't leaving her house, but was just going to search her house by himself, the braggart. Hadn't she already told him that she and James had searched—

Good God, James.
As if to verify her fears, the clock chimed the hour—he was due at any second. And when he arrived, he'd find Brandon stalking about the house wearing nothing but his breeches.

Verena didn't need to imagine James's reaction—she knew exactly what he'd do. There would be bloodshed—either fisticuffs or even worse…a duel perhaps. She gulped at the thought. James was Father's son—he handled a pistol with an accuracy that defied description. As for a small sword, there was no equal. Verena scrambled from the bed. She
had
to stop Brandon.

“
Wait!
” The sheets fell off her shoulder and tangled about her knees. She stumbled, catching the bedpost just in time. “Blasted sheets.” She kicked them away and hurried to the door. She was al
most there when she realized that she was naked. “Damn!” Verena dashed to her wardrobe just long enough to yank out a frilly pink robe. She pulled it on as she flew out the door.

Brand heard the desperate slap of her bare feet on the wood floor behind him, but he didn't pause. By God, he'd get her brother to answer his questions about that damned list.

He made his way to the stairs, his stride eating up the distance. He'd just reached the end of the hall when his heel came down on something sharp.

He winced, then paused to look and see what it was. As he bent to pick up a small stone that must have been carried in from the street, Verena's voice sounded in his ear, low and threatening.

“If you go downstairs dressed like that, I will personally render you limb from limb.”

He glanced down at her. She was no longer clothed in just a sheet, which was a relief in itself. He'd been hard pressed not to take her again, especially after she'd had the audacity to walk about the bed dressed in that wildly indecent toga.

Of course, now that he looked at it, the pink robe wasn't much better. A froth of ruffles framed her neckline and drew attention to her lush curves, the material amazingly sheer. So sheer that he could make out her nipples through the front of the gown. Nipples that he'd tasted and teased only hours ago. Nipples that peeked as if eager to be cupped in his hand yet again and—

She crossed her arms over her chest. Brandon lifted his gaze to find her eyeing him with a disgusted look.

“Must you do that?” she asked.

“Yes.” He didn't think he could help it, even if he had wanted to try.

She shifted her arms so that they covered her entire chest. “You cannot walk about the house dressed like that.” She glanced down at her own dress and grimaced. “And neither can I.”

“I want answers.”

“You'll get them. It's just that—” She sighed. “That blasted list is not here. Or if it is, we cannot find it.”

“What do we do?” His voice broke completely on the last word, but he didn't care.

“James and I are going to visit all the guests from the dinner party. We're hoping one of them will remember something—anything.”

That made sense. It made a lot of sense, now that he thought about it. He nodded. “Very well.”

She tilted her head to one side. “And you? What will you do?”

“I will visit the Home Office.”

Her gaze widened. “Do you think that's wise? I'd be afraid they'd—”

Someone knocked on the front door, the rap of the brass knocker echoing in the foyer.

Verena whirled to face the top of the steps. “Oh no!” She grabbed Brandon's arm and tried to tug him back down the hallway. “That's James. Hurry!”

Brandon took a step back, grinning down at her bent head. He couldn't help it—she was taking him back to her room, back to her bed. Back to the place where he'd made her his. Now that he thought about it, why would he complain about
that
?

She really was the most delectable woman of his acquaintance. Especially now. Her face was flushed, her hair streaming wildly, gold curls clinging to her shoulders and arms, and her pink robe gaping in a most intriguing way.

His interest piqued, he let her push him all the way into her room. Herberts's voice echoed up the stairs as he greeted Verena's brother. Lansdowne's deeper answers were equally audible.

Verena shut the door on their voices and leaned against it. She pressed her hands to either side of her as if to further barricade him in. “You have no idea how close of an escape that was.”

Escape? From what? Lansdowne might be Verena's brother, but he was not an overly large man. Brandon could have taken the brute on without the least problem. “Why are we hiding?”

“James would take exception to seeing a man walking through my house half naked. He's deadly with both pistol and sword and he has a temper that is unsteady, at best. You wouldn't stand a chance.”

Brandon almost laughed. He wasn't afraid of Lansdowne, though perhaps it was to his benefit if Verena didn't realize that.

She seemed genuinely concerned for him. To Brandon's surprise, he found the thought…appealing. And very convenient. “Tell me why you and James are looking for the list.”

“Brandon, someone has something of James's…some letters written to a woman with a very powerful husband.”

“He is being blackmailed?”

She moved to the bedpost and rested her cheek against the curtained hanging. “I fear for his life.”

“Is it that serious?”

“Yes. The tone of the notes they have been sending…they are very threatening.”

Brandon frowned. He could see the fear in her eyes. “What a coil.”

“I know. James always falls in love with the most unsuitable women. Father despaired of him for this one reason.”

“Do you know who has these letters?”

“No. But whoever it is will exchange them for only one thing.”

Brandon closed his eyes. The list. God, this was getting more complicated by the moment.

Verena picked up her discarded sheet and sat on the edge of the bed, pleating and unpleating the linen. “We have searched the whole house for that stupid thing and we cannot find it. I don't think it's here.”

Where could it be, then? Brand's gaze narrowed thoughtfully on Verena. The morning sun was now well up, sending bright beams through the cracks in the curtain. One especially brave beam of light was now resting on Verena's feet, striping each of her toes with a band of gold.

Brandon found he couldn't look away from her small feet. For all her bravado, she was alone in the world, a fact she seemed to ignore. She seemed so strong, so capable, that it was easy to forget she wasn't like the other women of his acquaintance, all of whom had family nearby.

Brandon rubbed his neck wearily.
What the hell
am I supposed to do now?
They both needed that blasted list and neither of them knew where it was. Whatever happened, he knew he couldn't just leave this situation to unfold on its own. He crossed to the bed and pulled her to her feet. He placed his finger beneath her chin and brought her gaze to his. “We'll find this list, Verena. I promise.”

Her gaze never wavered. “And then what?”

Brand mimed tearing it in half.

She managed a faint smile. “I wish it was that easy.” She sighed, then leaned against him.

He held her to him and then stood, his chin against her forehead, his breath stirring her hair.

What
would
they do when they found Humford's list? Brandon closed his eyes, aware of a dull ache behind his temples.

He was aware of every nuance of the moment. Of the way her head fit against his shoulder. Of her heavenly scent—one of soap and lavender and crisp linens. Of the slight weight of her body against his. Having her in his arms was a natural gesture, one that felt as comforting as if they'd stood this way a thousand times.

He supposed they should move now. She needed to dress and he—he needed to get away. To think about how best to deal with this problem.

But the moment seemed too delicate—as if the slightest movement would break the accord they'd reached. He found that he didn't want to move. Ever.

The peace stretched and embraced. It was with a disappointed sigh that Brand heard Herberts's boots clambering up the steps to the door. A loud knock sounded.

Verena lifted her head. “I forgot to lo—”

The door opened and the butler stomped in, coming to an abrupt halt when he saw his mistress in Brand's arms. “'Ere now!”

Verena started, trying to pull free of Brand's grip.

He held her tightly, though, challenging the butler with a look.

Herberts's cheeks colored. “Ah, pardon me, m'lady, but yer brother's come to visit wif ye. He's waitin' downstairs, he is.”

Verena nodded. “Thank you, Herberts. I'll be right down.”

The butler
tsked
loudly. “Oiye hopes ye come downstairs quick like. Oiye don't like to see ye cavortin' in such a way.”

“Then don't look,” Brandon said brutally.

Herberts rubbed a hand on his chin. “Oiye suppose oiye could do that.”

“Herberts,” Verena said with a sigh. “Have some tea sent to the sitting room once I leave. Mr. St. John has a rough throat from being in the rain yesterday.”

“He does, does he?” The butler wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Oiye suppose oiye can have some tea brought to the sittin' room fer him. But not here.” He gave Verena and Brandon a last, unhappy look, then he turned and trudged out of the room.

Verena gave Brand a watery smile. “He's just being protective.”

“I know.” Brandon wouldn't have stood for such insubordination otherwise.

She turned in his arms and he reluctantly let
her go. She walked to her dressing room, halting on the threshold as if struggling with something. Finally, she turned to face him. “Humford. You told me he had been murdered. Was it…was it very brutal? I wouldn't ask, but if the people who have James's letters are the same ones who killed Humford…”

Brandon saw it then, saw the fear in her violet eyes. Fear she kept hidden away, perhaps even from herself. But this was not something that should be withheld. “He was garroted, his body tossed into the Thames.”

She paled, her hands gripping the doorframe until her fingers turned white. “I see,” she whispered. She took a deep breath and released it, dropping her hands to her sides. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I needed to know.”

Brandon took a step forward, more alarmed than he cared to admit. “Verena—” His voice still creaked like a rusted gate, but she seemed to understand.

“I'll be careful. I have to be; James needs me.” She straightened her shoulders, seeming to grow taller. “I must dress. You may wait here if you'd like. James and I will be leaving almost immediately.” She offered him one last, polite smile, then she disappeared into her dressing room, the door closing behind her.

Brand took two steps towards the door, then stopped. She'd dismissed him. Coolly and without the slightest trace of emotion.

He knew all about politely dismissing someone. After all, he'd done it most of his adult life. It would never do to be the one who cared more.
Brandon knew all the rules and he lived by them. But this was the first time a woman had actually dismissed
him
.

Bloody hell, what was he supposed to do now? His jaw tight, he collected his things and began to dress. Both he and Verena needed that list—and badly. What would happen when they did find it? Verena would fight to the death to protect her brother and frankly, Brandon couldn't fault her for that. He would do the same had it been his brother.

But how was Brandon to fulfill his promise to Wycham? It seemed an impossible knot, so tightly tied that nothing could loosen it. But even if he and Verena managed to solve their differences over Humford's list, it would not help their other problems.

Brandon wanted Verena. And not just for a few hours. He wanted her in his bed, morning, noon, and night. The feeling would pall, it always did. But in the meantime…he'd never felt such a strong pull before. Had never experienced such blinding passion mixed with something else…a tenderness perhaps.

He shook his head ruefully as he put the finishing touches on his cravat. The door to the adjoining chamber opened and then closed and he heard Verena's footsteps down the hall. She walked past the door and descended the stairs, her skirts rustling as she went, her footsteps muffled on the heavy carpet runner.

Brandon listened to the murmur of voices as she and James spoke briefly in the hallway, followed by the firm thud of the door as they left.
Brandon stopped by the bed to gather his boots. The sheets and counterpane were tumbled in a large ball, the pillows scattered hither and yon. He touched the pillow where he'd held Verena to the bed and smiled when he thought of her mischievous expression.