In Your Arms Again (18 page)

Oh Christ, he knew about the weeping?

North wiped his mouth with his serviette and tossed it on the table. “It does not concern you.”

Now Wyn was scowling. “Do not be stupid. Everything in your life concerns me. You are my brother.”

Their gazes locked. North would be damned if he’d look away first. “Then be concerned with something else.”

Wyn’s mask slipped back into place. Suddenly, he was uncaring again. “Don’t want to discuss her, eh? Sounds serious to me, but then again, perhaps it is just your spleen again.”

“
Wyn.
”

Shrugging, Wyn leaned back in his chair. “Fine. I will say no more on the subject.”

“Thank God.” It was all he could do not to sigh in relief.

Wyn glanced out the window before settling his gaze on North again. “How about His Highness’s offer to assist you in becoming an MP? Have you given much more thought to that?”

Good God, did his brother have no other purpose in life but to vex North and occasionally endear himself?

“By ‘His Highness’ I assume you mean Brahm?”

Wynthrope poured himself another cup of coffee. “Have I ever meant anyone else?”

North smiled. “Oddly enough, you have used the title to refer to our king.”

Wynthrope lifted his cup. “But my inflection holds a tad more respect when I speak of Farmer George.”

True enough
. And the king didn’t generally warrant a sneer either. “No. I have not given any thought to Brahm’s offer.”

It was only a partial lie. North had given more thought to becoming the member of Parliament for the Creed riding of Hewbury in Surrey. He simply hadn’t reached any kind of decision. The thought of being able to affect law and legislation at such a level was certainly tempting, but there was still so much he had to do where he was. Catch Harker, for one. Perhaps after he had done that, he’d
think
about considering his brother’s—and Duncan’s—suggestion that he direct his passions elsewhere.

Him, a member of Parliament. People might think he was trying to rise above his station.

Did that really matter? Octavia had reminded him that even if he was illegitimate, he was still the son of a viscount. His blood was half noble, and thanks to his mother, he knew
in his heart that he was just as good as any aristocrat. He just didn’t like spending time among them. And a career in politics would mean a lot of time among the
ton.

Time with Octavia. A chance to be almost equal with her socially. He could see her, dance with her even. No one would think anything of it.

Except for the fact that he was now pretending to try to steal her from Spinton.

He could watch her in her role as Spinton’s countess. Spinton’s wife. Spinton’s
lady.

He met his brother’s gaze over the rim of his cup as he lifted the hot coffee to his lips. “I do not think I am suited to a life in politics.”

“No?”

“No. I think I’m better off exactly where I am.”

Do not tempt me.

The words echoed in Octavia’s head as she stared unseeing at the page before her. North’s words from the night before. Had he truly considered himself tempted, even in all his restraint? If it were true, what did he consider her? Surely by that measure, her own actions went far beyond the reaches of mere temptation.

Sheer desperation would be a good start.

Oh, if only she had been too intoxicated to remember, but she hadn’t been. In fact, she had been shamefully sober. Certainly her judgment had been impaired to a degree, but not to the point where her actions could be easily dismissed.

She had practically thrown herself at North and he refused her. It should be lowering. She should feel ashamed, dirty, and more than a little relieved.

She felt none of it—not really.

What kind of man refused such an offering? North was not stupid, nor did he find her unattractive, that was obvious. It
was because they were friends. That was the only thing that saved her from making what she knew she should consider a horrible mistake.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t quite bring herself to believe that giving herself to North would be that much of a mistake. It would only be a mistake if people found out. If Spinton found out.

Yes. Spinton. Her soon-to-be-fiancé. Her future husband. She should be heartily ashamed of herself for even contemplating such a sin as to couple with another man behind his back, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to feel one ounce of guilt. In fact, she would have felt much more remorse had she tried to seduce Spinton. What did that say about her?

Nothing good, of that she was certain.

There was a soft knock on the door. Slipping a piece of ribbon between the pages to mark her place, Octavia closed the book and bade whoever it was to enter.

The door opened, revealing Beatrice, looking pretty and sunny in pale green speckled muslin.

Octavia’s mood instantly improved at the sight of her friend and cousin. “Do not you look pretty!”

Beatrice flushed, her gaze dropping bashfully. “Thank you. Lord Spinton offered to take me to Gunther’s for an ice this afternoon. Would you care to join us?”

An ice would be divine, but she had no desire to ruin Beatrice’s outing, which was exactly what would happen. Spinton would demand to know what was going on with North’s investigation, and Octavia would not have much to tell him, and then they would argue. Plus it would cast doubt on their charade that the two of them were temporarily estranged.

“No thank you, dear. Enjoy yourself and give Fitzwilliam my best, will you?”

Was it her imagination, or did Beatrice look relieved? “All right. Oh, Mr. Sheffield is here. Should I send him in?”

It was on the tip of Octavia’s tongue to say that telling her of North’s arrival should have preceded an invitation to Gunther’s, but she resisted the urge. “Yes, please.”

Her cousin nodded and ducked out of the room. Glad that she actually seemed suited to this room for once, Octavia rose to her feet and smoothed the skirts of her cream morning gown. If only she could smooth the trembling in her stomach as well.

North appeared before her a few moments later. He was dressed in a charcoal gray coat and pale, buff-colored breeches that hugged his thighs. His cravat was tied in a simple but elegant knot, and his boots gleamed with a high polish. He had obviously taken extra time getting dressed this morning. Not
that
extra however—he was still unshaven and his hair was mused.

She smiled, despite the buzzing in her stomach. “Good morning, Norrie.”

Her smile seemed to relieve him as well, for he visibly relaxed before her eyes. “Hello, Vie.”

“Shut the door.”

He did as she bid, coming deeper into the room. Every step brought him closer to her. Every step intensified this new—no, not new. Heightened. Every step intensified this heightened awareness she had of him. Her nerves tingled, her skin tightened.

She gathered her courage. “I suppose you wish to discuss last night?”

He stopped in the middle of the blue and cream carpet. “Do we need to discuss it?”

Well, perhaps not, but she felt as though they
should
. “I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

His gaze was bright, clear, and unflinching. “You made me deuced uncomfortable. Fortunately, erections eventually wilt.”

Oh.
Oh
. Heat flooded her veins. A shiver eased down her spine. “That is not what I meant.”

“I know.”

She couldn’t tear her gaze away from his, even as she burned under the weight of his clear stare. His will tugged at her, urging her to reveal her own reaction.

“I…” She swallowed, her heart thumping wildly. “I was
uncomfortable
as well.”

North’s eyes darkened to a smoky blue. He understood her meaning. He moved closer, his steps slower, more purposeful.

“Did you later find
release
from your discomfort?”

Was he asking what she thought he was asking? Oh yes, he was. Octavia’s face flamed with a mixture of shame and arousal. This was madness, dangerous.

“Did you?” Was that croaking sound actually her voice?

He stood directly in front of her now. All she had to do was reach out, and she could touch him, cling to him. Her Norrie. Her friend. Her lover. Her strength.

“Yes.” His voice was low, a silky, lilting caress that sent a shiver of longing down her spine. “But it did little to satisfy the torment.”

“No,” she admitted, lifting her gaze to his. “It did not.” Good Lord, what was she to reveal such wanton things? And to revel in his admissions as well? They had each pleasured themselves while thinking of the other, and yet it had not been enough. Not nearly enough.

Surely friends did not behave in such a way. But if they were not friends, what were they?

“This is folly,” she whispered.

He nodded, the fire banking in his eyes. “I know.”

For what seemed like eternity they stared at each other. He was not going to release her willingly, she understood that. It was up to her to put an end to what she had started last night. He had wanted her then. Regardless of why he had stopped,
she now knew that he hadn’t wanted to. He had wanted to make love to her. For now that was enough.

“What did Mr. Francis find out?”

Instantly North was all business. He took several steps backward. Suddenly she could breathe again. “The paper your boy uses is expensive and somewhat unusual.”

“We already knew that.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. The sleeves of his coat strained as his muscles pushed against them. “Yes, but now we know who sells it. It is exclusive to a shop on Bond Street.”

“Wonderful!” And so were those arms of his.

“Do not get your hopes up just yet,” he cautioned. “While he is the only papery in the city to sell this particular watermark, it is apparently a favorite with his clients.”

Then they were really no closer to finding the culprit. For some reason, the realization didn’t disappoint her. “So what do we do now?”

“I asked him for a record of everyone who has purchased the paper in the last six months.”

“Did he agree?”

North’s smile was cool. “It took a little convincing.”

How ruthless could North be when he wanted? “You reminded him of how difficult you could make life for him.”

The smile faded. “Something like that.”

She wanted to disapprove. She didn’t. “That was very naughty of you, Norrie.”

He shrugged. “It worked. He said it would take some time, but he will have it for me as soon as possible.”

“Do you always get what you want?” Did she not know better than to ask him such questions?

He had a way of looking at her that made her think he could see deep inside her, past all the lies and pretending. “Usually, but not always.”

She shook her head, blushing despite herself. Did he think of her at all when he answered that?

“You are spoiled, I think, Mr. Sheffield.”

“You should know, Lady Octavia.” This time his grin was genuine.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

His eyes were bright with mirth. “It means you should not criticize my will when yours is just as strong if not stronger.”

“Stronger?” She snorted.

“Who seduced whom twelve years ago?”

Breath caught in her throat—any more tangible and she would have choked on it. “I cannot believe you brought that up!”

Scratching his unshaven jaw, he shrugged again. “You are the one who always wants to discuss it.”

He had her there. “Not like that!”

“Not the actual mechanics, you mean? What was done, what was said?”

“No.” Oh, he seemed to delight in tormenting her this way. She just cooled down and now he wanted to heat her up again. “You remember what we said?”

“Every word.”

Their gazes met with an impact that shook her right down to her toes and scratched her throat with hot, itchy dryness. “Oh.”

“What do you want to discuss, if not that night’s events?”

She swallowed. “What it meant—to both of us.” It had changed her—changed her feelings for him. Had it changed things for him as well? That was what she really wanted to know. Had it meant as much to him as it had to her?

“I think the events would be more interesting.”

She was too flustered to hide it by the time she realized he was teasing her. “You ass!”

He chuckled, his expression slowly giving way from mirth
to tenderness. “It was the most significant night of my life, and I will never forget it or you as long as I live.”

It was? He wouldn’t? Oh, how long she had waited to hear that! So why did it fill her with more sadness than joy? “I feel the same.”

A tiny smile curved one side of his mouth. “Then there is nothing else to discuss.”

Yes there was. She couldn’t let it go, even though she knew she should. “Norrie, about last night—”

“Blame it on the drink, Vie. Pretend you were not yourself, and I will pretend to believe it, and we can put it behind us.”

That sounded good. It also sounded incredibly callous. “But—”

He cut her off, but it was his expression that silenced her more than anything. “You are my best friend and I would do anything for you, but if we take this any further, I will forget everything except that I am a man and you are a woman. You do not want that to happen. Not here. Not now.”

It was a struggle just to swallow. All the moisture in her body seemed to have pooled in one spot, and it was much, much lower than her mouth. “All right.”

He sighed, his relief obvious. “I need a list of your mother’s lovers. Do you think you can get one for me?”

“Possibly.” Her brow puckered. “Why?”

He scratched his jaw again. If it itched, why didn’t he simply shave in the morning? “I want to compare them to the list I get from our shopkeeper. If your admirer really does know the truth about your past, there is a very good chance he either was one of her protectors or somehow related to one.”

The need to defend arose. “It will not be much of a list. My mother was very particular, not to mention discreet.”

“I know.” Was that sympathy in his tone? He knew how much she’d hated her mother’s “companions.” He knew how
envious she had been of the fact that his mother was with only one man. “Most men, however, are not.”