His Sinful Secret (38 page)

Clad only in her chemise, she went to the balcony doors and opened them, glad of the fresh air, even if it was a bit cool. Loosening the ribbon on her shift, she let the material drift partway down her shoulders, her nipples tightening against the chill. The ballroom had been unbearably close and she’d had some problems breathing, an affliction that had plagued her since childhood. Being able to fill her lungs felt like heaven, and she stood there, letting her eyes close. The light wheezing had stopped, and the anxiety that came with it had lessened, as well, but she was still a little dizzy. Her father was insistent that she kept this particular flaw a secret. He seemed convinced no man would wish to marry a female who might now and again become inexplicably out of breath.

Slowly she inhaled and then let it out. Yes, it was passing. . . .

It wasn’t a movement or noise that sent a flicker of unease through her, but a sudden instinctive sense of being watched. Then a strong masculine hand cupped her elbow. “Are you quite all right?”

Her eyes flew open and she saw a tall figure looming over her. With a gasp she jerked her chemise back up to cover her partially bared breasts. To her surprise, the shadowy figure spoke again in a cultured, modulated voice. “I’m sorry to startle you, my lady. I beg a thousand pardons, but I thought you might faint.”

Amelia stared upward, as taken aback by his polite speech and appearance as she was by finding a man lurking on her balcony. The stranger had ebony hair, glossy even in the inadequate moonlight, and his face was shadowed into hollows and fine planes, eyes dark as midnight staring down at her. “I . . . I . . .” she stammered.
You should scream
, an inner voice suggested, but she was so paralyzed by alarm and surprise, she wasn’t sure she was capable of it.

“You swayed,” her mysterious visitor pointed out, as if that explained everything, a small frown drawing dark arched brows together. “Are you ill?”

Finally, she found her voice, albeit not at all her regular one, but a high, thin whisper. “No, just a bit dizzy. Sir, what are you doing here?”

“Maybe you should lie down.”

To her utter shock, he lifted her into his arms as easily as if she were a child, and actually carried her inside to deposit her carefully on the bed.

Perhaps this is a bizarre dream
. . . .

“What are you doing here? Who are you?” she demanded. It wasn’t very effective, since she still couldn’t manage more than a half mumble, though fright was rapidly being replaced by outraged curiosity. Even in the insubstantial light she could tell he was well dressed, and before he straightened, she caught the subtle drift of expensive cologne. Though he wore no cravat, his dark coat was fashionably cut, and his fitted breeches and Hessians not something she imagined an ordinary footpad would wear. His face was classically handsome, with a nice, straight nose and lean jaw, and she’d never seen eyes so dark.

Was he really that tall, or did he just seem so because she was sprawled on the bed and he was standing?

“I mean you no harm. Do not worry.”

Easy for him to say. For heaven’s sake, he was in her bedroom, no less. “You are trespassing.”

“Indeed,” he agreed, inclining his head.

Was he a thief? He didn’t look like one. Confused, Amelia sat up, feeling very vulnerable lying there in dishabille with her tumbled hair. “My father keeps very little money in his strongbox here in the house.”

“A wise man. I follow that same rule myself. If it puts your mind at ease, I do not need his money.” The stranger’s teeth flashed white in a quick smile.

She recognized him, she realized suddenly, the situation taking on an even greater sense of the surreal. Not a close acquaintance, no. Not one of the many gentlemen she’d danced with since the beginning of her season, but she’d seen him, nevertheless.

And he certainly had seen
her
. She was sitting there gawping at him in only her thin, lacy chemise with the bodice held together in her trembling hand. The flush of embarrassment swept upward, making her neck and cheeks hot. She could feel the rush of blood warm her knuckles when they pressed against her chest. “I . . . I’m undressed,” she said unnecessarily.

“Most delightfully so,” he responded with an unmistakable note of sophisticated amusement in his soft tone. “But I am not here to ravish you any more than to rob you. Though,” he added with a truly wicked smile, “perhaps, in the spirit of being an effective burglar, I should steal
something
. A kiss comes to mind, for at least then I would not leave empty-handed.”

A kiss
? Was the man insane?

“You . . . wouldn’t,” she managed to object in disbelief. He still stood by the side of the bed, so close that if she reached out a hand, she could touch him.

“I might.” His dark brows lifted a fraction, and his gaze flickered over her inadequately clad body before returning to her face. He added softly, “I have a weakness for lovely, half-dressed ladies, I’m afraid.”

And no doubt they had the same weakness for him, for he exuded a flagrant masculinity and confidence that was even more compelling than his good looks.

Her breath fluttered in her throat and it had nothing to do with her affliction. She might have been an ingenue, but she understood in an instant the power of that devastating, entirely masculine, husky tone. Like a bird stunned by smoke, she didn’t move, even when he leaned down and his long fingers caught her chin, tipping her face up just a fraction. He lowered his head, brushed his mouth against hers for a moment, a mere tantalizing touch of his lips. Then, instead of kissing her, his hand slid into her hair and he gently licked the hollow of her throat. Through her dazed astonishment at his audacity, the feel of his warm lips and the teasing caress caused an odd sensation in the pit of her stomach.

This was where she should have imperiously ordered him to stop, or at least pushed him away.

But she didn’t. She’d never been kissed, and though, admittedly, her girlish fantasies about this moment in her life hadn’t included a mysterious stranger stealing uninvited into her bedroom, she
was
curious.

The trail of his breath made her quiver, moving upward along her jaw, the curve of her cheek, until he finally claimed her mouth, shocking her to her very core as he brushed his tongue against hers in small sinful strokes.

She trembled, and though it wasn’t a conscious act, somehow one of her hands settled on his shoulder.

It was intimate.

It was beguiling.

Then it was over.

God help her, to her
disappointment
it was over.

He straightened and looked more amused than ever at whatever expression had appeared on her face. “A virgin kiss. A coup indeed.”

He obviously knew that had been her first. It wasn’t so surprising, for like most unmarried young ladies, she was constantly chaperoned. She summoned some affront, though, strangely, she really wasn’t affronted. “You, sir, are no gentleman.”

“Oh, I am, if a somewhat jaded one. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be taking my leave lest your reputation be tarnished by our meeting, because it would be, believe me. My advice is to keep my presence here this evening to yourself.”

True to his word, in a moment he was through the balcony doors, climbing up on the balustrade, and bracing himself for balance on the side of the house. Then he caught the edge of the roof, swung up in one graceful athletic motion, and was gone into the darkness.

Read on for a preview of Emma Wildes’s enthralling historical romance

 

 

Second in the Notorious Bachelors series Available now from Signet Eclipse.

H
e wasn’t often rendered speechless, but Luke had to admit, as he gazed across the elegant, civilized drawing room at the beautiful woman he thought about far too often, he couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

Madeline sat, ghostly pale, her slender shoulders visibly trembling, only a few paces away. No simpering ingenue, at twenty-six she was a mature widow with her own fortune, a reputation for wit and impeccable taste, and a darling of society, much sought after by any hostess of consequence.

Sought after by quite a few gentlemen also, himself included. As far as he knew, he was the only one who had ever succeeded in coaxing the delectable Lady Brewer into his bed, that one night indelibly preserved in his memory.

For her to be shaken out of her serene self-possession told him even more than her words had. Normally she was all poise and sophistication.

Except,
an errant voice in his head reminded him,
when she is trembling and breathless in my arms
.

Luke finally found his voice. “I’d stake my life you aren’t capable of deliberate malice, so maybe you’d better just start at the beginning and explain what happened. Please include where the incident happened. Who, why, and how might also be useful.”

Midnight blue eyes, with a shimmer of hovering tears, gazed at him. “I am not even sure why I sent you that note.”

“You know perfectly well why you sent it.” It wasn’t the easiest task on earth to keep his tone even and reasonable. “Because you realize, despite our differences, that I will help you. So just tell me.”

“It was Lord Fitch.”

This just got worse. Fitch was a prominent figure in British politics, with influence and money, and he was an earl in the bargain. Luke had never liked the swaggering bastard, but that was neither here nor there. His lordship’s demise was unlikely to go unnoticed. If the man was dead, there would be inquiries. “He’s annoyed me once or twice, but never enough for me to murder him. What happened?”

“I didn’t
murde
r him,” Madeline shot back, and he was happy to see her square her shaking shoulders and some color come back into her face, even if it was due to outrage. “I accidentally killed him and it is quite different, thank you.”

“I stand corrected.” He felt a flash of amusement over her reaction despite the grim revelation she’d just made. “But keep in mind you have yet to tell me the sequence of events.”

Her knuckles whitened as her hands clasped together tighter in her lap. “He’s been making improper suggestions for quite some time. It has gone well beyond the stage where it is an annoyance and into downright harassment. I loathe the very sight of him.”

The blackguard. Luke wished with savage intensity the man weren’t dead so he could strangle him himself. “I am not a female and have never been subject to that sort of persecution, but I don’t blame you for your aversion to his lordship. In fact, I wish you’d come to me sooner.”

“I didn’t want to ask for
your
help even in my current circumstances.”

The trembling of her shapely body made him want to rise, go to her, and take her in his arms, cradle her close and promise all would be well. But he knew she wouldn’t appreciate it, so he stayed where he was, though it took some effort. “Very well, perhaps I deserve that, but let’s get back to the matter at hand. Fitch was lascivious and inappropriate. Go on.”

“I’ve tried to avoid him.” Her lower lip, so lush and full, quivered. “At every function, in public venues . . .
everywhere
.”

“Madge, I am sure you have.”

“It didn’t work. He deliberately put himself in my path as often as possible.”

Luke silently waited for her to continue, stifling futile fury at a man who was already dead.

“He . . .” She trailed off, looking forlorn and very young suddenly, with her pure, averted profile and tendrils of hair escaping from her chignon and caressing her neck. “He has something of Colin’s.”

Of her deceased husband’s? Luke wasn’t sure how that was possible, when Lord Brewer had died at least five years ago . . . perhaps even six.

With a tremor in her voice, she went on. “I very much want it back and endeavored to bargain with his lordship, but there is one price I am not willing to pay.”

Price?
His jaw locked. The use of her luscious body. She didn’t even have to say it out loud. Luke felt the angry beat of his pulse in his temple and actually flexed his hands to keep from reaching for her when the crystalline line of a tear streaked down her smooth cheek. Even his jaded sophistication was no match for her genuine distress. “He’s been blackmailing you?”

“No.” She stared at the patterned rug. “Not precisely.”

Not precisely.
What in the hell did that mean? The gravity of the moment precluded him from muttering,
Women
, but he had to acknowledge a rising sense of frustration over the lack of a clear explanation. “I don’t understand. It seems to me a person is being blackmailed or they are not.”

She made a small hopeless gesture with her hand. “He . . . he knew things. And would mention them at inappropriate times. I began to suspect . . .”

By nature he wasn’t a patient man anyway, and when she trailed off again, Luke prompted curtly, “Suspect what? Devil take it, my dear. Perhaps I am obtuse, but right now I have little more idea what has happened than when I walked in the door. Just explain it to me so we can deal with this.”

“It’s mortifying.”

“Good God, woman, you just told me you killed a man. If it is mortifying, so be it, but get to the point. With my reputation, I am unlikely to judge you.”

For a moment, she just stared at him, as if seeing him for the first time, her beautiful eyes wide. Then she nodded, just the barest tilt of her head.

“Colin kept a journal.” She took a deep, shuddering breath but went on. “He was always scribbling something in it. Apparently, he wrote down everything, even details about our . . . our married life. Lord Fitch got ahold of it, though I can’t really imagine how. After enough lewd but accurate comments and suggestions, I began to realize the odious man
must
have the journal. They weren’t friends, and Colin would never tell him anything so private. I can’t imagine he’d tell
anyone
. It was the only explanation.
I
hadn’t even read it because it seemed like too much of an invasion of Colin’s privacy, so I’d locked it away. Sure enough, it is missing.”