Confessions of a Scoundrel (5 page)

She leaned back, withdrawing her hand. Between her fingers was a piece of the original draft.
She offered a smooth smile. “Five thousand pounds is a fortune. You must fear my influence a great deal.”

“You must leave town long enough for Chase to forget you. I don't know what he's said, but he's not prone to serious emotions. I daresay he'll mourn for a few weeks and then be back to normal in a trice.” Brandon looked her over slowly and wondered if that was entirely true. He'd known her for only fifteen minutes and already he was regretting that he wouldn't have the chance to know her more.

Damn, but Chase had all the luck.

“I shouldn't take the money…” She pursed her lips, her gaze measuring his.

A strange sense of hope flickered through him. He thought of the women he knew—from Celeste to the score of others he'd dallied with. Not one of them would have turned from the opportunity to gain five thousand pounds. In their own way, women were more avaricious than men. But this woman—for some reason, he wanted her to be different.

“I shouldn't take the money,” she said once more. “But I will.”

Brandon blinked, wondering if he'd heard aright. “I beg your pardon?”

She lifted her chin, her eyes lit as if in triumph. “I'll take the five thousand pounds. Since you are so determined that I take it, I will. Send the draft to me within the hour and I will tell Chase I think it best if we never see one another again.”

He'd been wrong. She
was
like all the others. Disappointment weighed his chest. “We are de
cided then,” he said grimly. And then he stood. Not because he wanted to go, but because there was no other reason to stay.

She smiled, a mysterious, faint curve of her lush lips that reignited his desire. “Mr. St. John, you may trust me in this—your brother is safe from my influence.”

That was what he wanted to hear. But somehow, he felt…cheated. He'd really begun to believe that she would refuse the money and prove herself above such tawdry proceedings. That had been his error. “I'll send the draft this afternoon. But be forewarned, if I find you contacting Chase or allowing him entrance into your house, I will demand the return of the funds. And I shall be relentless.”

“I cannot imagine you being anything else.” She stood and held out her hand as if to offer him a friendly shake.

It was infuriating that this woman would take such dreadful advantage of his family and then stand there with a smile as if she'd done nothing wrong. Brand took her hand, but he did not shake it. Instead he held it tightly in his, noting again how small her fingers seemed and how delicate her wrist.

The desire to shake her composure was overwhelming, though not as overwhelming as the desire to prove to himself that the attraction he felt for her was physical and nothing more.

Brand tightened his grip, his fingers firm. Her eyes widened, but she made no move to free herself. A faint color stole into her cheeks and he wondered if she felt the same draw he did.

The thought tantalized. He tugged her closer.
She took a half step, bringing herself within reach. That was all it took. Brand hauled her hard against him, her breasts pressed against his chest.

She gasped. “I—”

He kissed her, devoured her, took possession of her mouth as if he'd never before tasted a woman. All the heat of his anger, all the frustration of seeing the woman who would destroy his brother's peace, all the built-up passion that had simmered through him from the moment she'd first smiled, burned through him and sank through the kiss, scorching and searing.

She did nothing to discourage him. Indeed, she melted against him, her mouth opening beneath his, her hands clutching at his coat. He forgot his purpose, forgot who she was, forgot his responsibilities, and just kissed her. Kissed the woman who so brazenly defied him. She moaned softly and the throaty sound brought Brandon to his senses.

He broke the kiss, though he did not release her. Bloody hell, what was he doing? She stayed where she was, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she clung to him, one hand tight about his lapel, the other clutching something else. He looked down and realized that she'd unwittingly grasped the talisman ring.

The thought chilled his emotions. He pulled her hands from his chest, his body so rigid with desire that it was all he could do not to stagger. After a deep breath, he found his voice. “It was just a kiss, Lady Westforth. In your case, I'm certain it was but one of thousands.”

Her face flushed and she fell back a step, her chest heaving in outrage. “You—”

“Come. We both know you are not naive. You welcomed the kiss, as did I. But now…” He shrugged.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her eyes flashing. “I thought you detested my ‘type' of woman.”

“I do. Consider the kiss a bonus of sorts. A reward for your cooperation. Now, if you will excuse me, I must go. Good day, Lady Westforth. I'll see myself to the door.” He bowed and left.

Moments later, Brand climbed into the seat of his phaeton and urged the horses to a brisk trot. He felt disoriented, as if he'd been traveling too far, too fast and he wondered what had possessed him to kiss the woman.

All he knew for certain was that five thousand pounds was a bargain.

 

Twenty minutes later, Verena held a crisply drawn bank draft in her fingers. She eyed the scrawled signature thoughtfully. Brandon St. John. Before today, she'd known precious little of him except that he was reputed to be cutting a swath through the female population of the
ton
—the
married
female population. He was said to be a master of seduction.

Verena now knew how he'd gotten such a reputation—he was a master at making you feel unique, special. Sexuality dripped from his lips, shone in his eyes, emanated from his heated skin. One moment, they were talking and the next…She closed her eyes, reliving the feeling of his
mouth on hers. It hadn't been a real kiss. It had been a branding.

She took a deep breath and released it, rubbing at the palm of her hand. She glanced down to where the famed talisman ring had made an imprint in her skin. The mark was gone now, but the place was still warm, tingly even. Verena curled her fingers over the spot.

James walked into the room, his brown eyes bright with curiosity. “Herberts said you had a visitor this morning.”

She nodded. “Brandon St. John.”

“What did he want?”

“To purchase my cooperation.”

He raised his brows. “For what?”

“His brother, Mr. Chase St. John, has developed an inappropriate interest in me. Mr. St. John did not know it, but I already sent his brother on his way two days ago.”

“Well!” James crossed to the window and lifted a corner of the curtain aside. “Herberts said the man possessed some fine horses and a very nice coat.”

“He's wealthy beyond comprehension. Which is why he attempted to purchase my cooperation.”

James's eyes brightened. “How much did he offer you?”

She held up the check. “Five thousand pounds.”

James dropped the curtain, his gaze wide. “Five—good God! It's a fortune and I—” He caught sight of her face and groaned. “You aren't going to accept it. Don't say another word! I couldn't stand it. Why, oh why couldn't his brother have become enamored of
me
, instead of
you?
I would have gladly taken the money and—”

“I wouldn't touch that money with a pole. Don't you see, James? If I accept the draft, I am admitting that I can be bought. And I'm worth far more than five thousand pounds.”

He moaned and dropped his face into his hands.

She had to smile. “You think I'm mad.”

He removed his hands, his smile twisted. “No. Just far too pure to be a Lansdowne.”

“That's not true. I want to keep the money. Really, I do. It's just that—” She waved her hands hopelessly, the draft fluttering. “I can't.”

“Pride,” he said, shaking his head sadly. “That's a sin, you know. One of the big seven.”

“If you want to know about pride, ask the St. Johns. My teensy amount is negligible in comparison.”

“I find that hard to believe,” he said. She slashed a glance his way and he grinned. “Don't eat me! I'm just teasing and you know it. If you hadn't promised to win funds for me at the gaming table, I would be furious now.” He came to her and linked an arm about her neck. He kissed her forehead before dropping into a chair and grinning up at her. “So stop cutting me with those vicious looks of yours and tell me about the great Brandon St. John. Is he as impressive as they say?”

Impressive? Brandon St. John was far too handsome for Verena's peace of mind. She cleared her throat. “He's quite tall, has thick black hair and very blue eyes.” He could also kiss in a way that left her beyond breathless.

James's gaze narrowed. “And?”

“And what?” she asked, her cheeks suddenly hot. “That's all.”

“Hm.” James regarded her shrewdly. “I see. What are you going to do with that bank draft if you don't mean to make good on it?”

She tilted her head to one side and considered all the possibilities. “Perhaps I should frame it and put it on display.” She walked across the room and held the draft against the corner of the glass mirror that hung over the mantel. “Right here. That way no one who comes into this room can fail to see it.”

“You wouldn't!”

“Or perhaps…” She went to the front window. “I could have it hung here, so that the light will illuminate his signature, not to mention that it can be seen from the street below.”

“You are going to cause a scandal.”

She shrugged. “So? I'm not a part of polite society; what would I care?”

“But Brandon St. John is. You think to humiliate him.”

“I think to teach him a lesson. A very badly needed one.”

James laughed reluctantly. “Lud, Ver! I'm beginning to feel sorry for the man.”

“You should. I intend to bring him to his knees.” That was a pretty picture, indeed—Brandon St. John, crawling on his knees, begging her to…to what? To kiss him again? “Hm. Maybe I should hold a dinner party in honor of the great St. John's munificence. It would be rather humorous if one
or two people knew of his visit today. It
is
an amusing tale.”

He grinned. “You should be careful about teasing St. John. You will draw the ire of the entire family if you aren't careful.”

“I already have. But this…” She pulled the check through her fingers and smiled, thinking of Brandon St. John's face when he discovered that he was being ridiculed.

There were always those among the demimonde who were marginally accepted by the
ton
. If she could invite the right people, the story would spread quickly indeed. “My next dinner party is next Tuesday. I shall invite just ten or twelve people. But ten or twelve
very
talkative people.”

“Agossip fest.” James sent her a shrewd glance. “Are you certain St. John didn't do something
else
to heat your temper? Something more than just offering you this money? You seem vindictive; a woman scorned.”

“I've never been scorned in my life.” Scoffed at, perhaps, and thought to be “that kind” of woman. But never scorned.

James raised his brows. “Remember when you were ten and you thought I was the one who'd stolen your new shoes? You snuck into my room and glued all of my shoes to the floor.”

“That was years ago,” Verena said loftily. She'd progressed far beyond that. Now when she wanted revenge, she made sure it poked the person in the right places.

James quirked a brow. “Do you want a more recent example? What about the day before you
married Westforth? You accused me of stealing the two rather expensive bottles of wine you were saving for—”

“It wasn't wine, it was port. And you did steal them. I found the empty bottles in your room.”

“You enacted the most horrible revenge.”

She grinned. “Ants.” That had been one of her better days.

He didn't smile. “They bite, you know.”

“They do not! Not that kind, anyway. It was all your imagination.” She chuckled. “You should have seen yourself! Running across the churchyard, tearing off your breeches right in front of poor Lady Birlington. She screamed loud enough to wake the dead, though I noticed she didn't bother to look away.”

James gave a reluctant grin. “She still writes to me, you know.”

“I'm not surprised. I thought she was going to jump into that pond after you.”

“I could have drowned.”

“Only if you sat down. It was so shallow it was more a puddle than anything else.”

James sighed. “Father hoped that Andrew would tame that sense of humor of yours.”

“Well he didn't. He merely added to it.” She placed the check on the mantel and smiled. “I wonder if St. John will call on me once the story of his infamous visit gets back to him? I do hope so.”

James looked at her quizzically. “Now you sound as if you rather liked him.”

Liked? She didn't like Brandon St. John at all. Especially not after he had kissed her in such a…thorough manner.

Well, perhaps that one part was enjoyable. But she hadn't liked the way he'd treated her beforehand. “He's arrogant and overbearing. However, his concern for his brother is beyond reproach.” There. That sounded fair. She was rather proud of herself.

“Perhaps. I'm not one to imagine all sorts of ill happenings, but it would still behoove you to tread carefully. Of all the St. Johns, Brandon is considered a force indeed. He goes through women the way most men go through cravats.”

“I shall make sure he doesn't attempt to tie me about his throat.”

“Ver, I'm not joking. He's far more dangerous than you believe.”