Leslie Lafoy (32 page)

Simmons checked another salute, disguising it by pulling on the brim of his wool cap, and walked off toward the north wall.

“I’ll give Sera your regards,” Barrett said, studying the plates and supports already in place. “Should I give her a kiss from you, too?”

“Only if I die in here,” he quipped. “Touch her while I’m still breathing and you’re going to die out there.”

His friend’s smile was weak and fleeting. “Be careful, Carden,” he said solemnly. “Mind the walls. If they shift even the littlest bit more,
get out.
”

Carden nodded and watched Barrett make his way up the ramp, knowing that if the walls caved in a lot of men were going to die. And he stood a damn good chance of being among them. No matter how fast he ran or how high he climbed. Carden cocked a brow as he realized that for the first time in his life he wasn’t inclined to simply shrug his shoulders over the possibility and go on.

Barrett disappeared into the patch of bright light that was the world above and Carden turned away. He had a good number of things he intended to do if he was lucky enough to get out of this alive. And at the very top of the list was getting on with seducing sweet Seraphina. Nothing, no one, was going to stand in his way. She was worried enough to send Barrett to check on him. Sera cared. If she hadn’t already forgiven him, she would. And he was going to make sure that Sera remembered the delight in her surrender for as long as she lived.

He grinned and joined the team lifting the brace, thinking that it was nice to have something worth surviving for.

C
HAPTER
18

He was finally home. He was standing there, behind his desk, in a patch of late afternoon light, with a brandy in his hand, his shirt and trousers filthy, his sleeves rolled back to above his elbows, and his chin and cheeks shadowed with the growth of three days’ beard. She’d never seen him more handsome.

“Are you all right?” she asked, drinking in the sight of him as she advanced into the room.

“I’m fine, Sera,” he assured her, his gaze just a bit unfocused as he stifled a yawn. “I have a few nicks and a couple of bruises, but nothing to be at all concerned about.”

Sera waited for his eyes to sparkle and for him to offer to show them to her. Instead he yawned again. Telling herself that his failure stemmed from exhaustion, not disinterest, she swallowed down her disappointment and went on. “I’ve been so worried about you. Did you save the tunnel?”

“Certainly not by myself and there were a few times that I wasn’t quite so sure it could even be done. But in the end, we pulled out a miracle or two.” He smiled. “Tunneling is a nasty, dirty business. They don’t pay the men who work down there nearly enough.”

Oh, his smile. She’d so missed his smile. That she might never see it again had been her constant fear for the last three days. And now that he was home again, she didn’t want to miss a single chance to be with him. There were so many apologies to offer, so much she needed to explain.

Not the least of which, she realized, was how they were being manipulated in the name of good intentions and friendship. “Tonight is Lady Hatcher’s silly ball,” she began. “I tried to beg out of it, but Barrett said I couldn’t—unless there was a death in the family—without Lady Hatcher considering me incredibly rude.”

He rubbed his forehead, yawned hugely and deeply, and then said, “I thought it was tomorrow night. I’ve lost track of time. Being underground does that to you.”

Sera considered him for a long moment and knew that while she could explain all she liked, he was simply too tired to fully comprehend it. Or, she realized, her blood running cold, it could be that in the aftermath of their horrible fight he’d decided that she wasn’t worth the frustration and chosen to relinquish the field to Barrett.

“Would you prefer that I conjure up a dead relative and stay here with you?” she asked, her heart hammering and the dreadful school of mullet churning in her stomach. “I’m sure Barrett could quite easily find someone else to escort.”

He studied her and in the depth of his eyes she could see the decision being carefully measured and weighed and, finally, made. Slowly, he shook his head. “Thank you, but no, Sera. I’m longing for a bath and a shave and a meal that isn’t served cold on a tin plate. After that … I’m going to fall down and sleep for a week. There’s no point in your missing the party. Go out and enjoy the evening.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, unable to keep the quaver from her voice.

“I’m positive, Sera. Go be a princess.”

He was handing her off to Barrett. At least he’d hesitated a second or two. But hoping to hear regret in his voice was hoping for too much. She nodded and bravely lifted her chin. “All right,” she said. “If you insist.”

He started to smile but it was lost in another deep, body-shuddering yawn. She backed away, wanting to promise herself that—tomorrow, when he was rested—she’d make another attempt to rekindle the fire they’d once had and she’d so foolishly stamped out. But she couldn’t. The hurt in being set aside so absently, so indifferently, was bad enough. To invite a more deliberate and pointedly final ending was more than she thought she could bear with any sort of dignity at all.

*   *   *

Carden checked his watch once more and then tucked it away. He hadn’t actually lied to her; he’d simply compressed a week of very necessary sleep into six good hours. It was all about timing and so far he was spot on. Now if the rest of the world would just cooperate with his grand strategy. Bypassing the gatekeepers at the front doors, he slipped in through the kitchen entrance, smiled and winked at the maid as he snagged a canapé from the tray on his way past, and headed for the central part of the house. As he’d hoped and planned, the stairway was empty and he bounded up the brightly lit steps. Too late for the public production of formal entries, too soon for the parade to the dining room. Just right for sliding unnoticed into the great whirl of glitter, conversation, music, dancing, and casually meandering guests.

Barrett was where they always stationed themselves at these sorts of affairs—standing, champagne glass in hand, beside a potted palm at the rear of the ballroom. A position that not at all coincidentally afforded one an unobstructed view of both the punch bowl and the dance floor and was close enough to both that one could easily swoop down on an unsuspecting morsel.

Sera, he noted, wasn’t with him. He looked out over the dance floor and found John Aiden smiling down into the face of a laughing redhead. Sera was nowhere in sight. With decidedly mixed feelings about that, he made his way to the potted palm.

Barrett’s gaze continued to sweep the dance floor as he said by way of a greeting, “What are you doing here, Carden? You didn’t say anything about accepting Lady Hatcher’s invitation.”

“That’s because I didn’t make the decision until this afternoon,” he replied, also watching the dancers. “Bad form, I know, but I’ll apologize, and if I promise to be gone before another place setting has to be added to the table, Lady Hatcher will forgive me. Have you found the bastard yet?”

“No, but we’re much closer than we were when you were underground. It’s narrowed down to the south side of Newcastle. I think we’ll have the rat cornered in his burrow sometime tomorrow. Do you see the brunette in the yellow gown just to the left of the violin section?”

Carden nodded. “A nice little tiff going with her escort. You might be in luck tonight after all. Where’s Sera?”

“I don’t know,” Barrett answered with a shrug. “The last I saw her, she was over by the balcony doors.”

He’d barely leaned in that direction when Barrett added, “In the interest of keeping you from creating an awkward situation and embarrassing her … she was talking with Lord Fraylee at the time.”

Pulling up short, Carden turned squarely to his friend. “And you didn’t step in to get her away from him?”

Barrett abandoned his study of the brunette to meet his gaze and drawl, “All they were doing was talking. She’s allowed to do that, you know.”

“Fraylee has fast hands,” Carden reminded him. “And Sera has absolutely no skill at beating them off.”

Barrett smiled and cocked a brow. “Is that personal experience speaking?”

The taunt rolled off his shoulders; he was too focused on his plan to care about anything else. He smiled and observed, “You can be a real son of a bitch, Barrett.”

“Agreed,” his friend said, chuckling. “But it trumps stupid in any game. Please try not to plow over anyone on your way to find her. And be nice to her when you do. The bold statement of the red dress notwithstanding, for some reason—probably
you
—she’s a bit fragile tonight.”

Shows what a great lot you know,
Carden silently retorted as he walked off.
Sera isn’t made of fragile stuff.
The red dress. Well, he’d known this afternoon that he was taking a chance in sending her out with Barrett when she didn’t want to go. Whether she’d chosen to wear the red gown in defiance or hoping the color would give her courage didn’t matter. He’d bought her that particular gown because he’d intended to strip her out of it. And, by God, before the night was done, he was going to make that fantasy real. And bless Seraphina for, however unwittingly, doing her part.

He stepped out onto the balcony and quickly surveyed it from end to end. It was empty at the moment, although it wouldn’t be for much longer—not if Barrett got to the brunette before her escort could make amends. He glanced out over the moonlit garden below but saw no movement, heard no sounds beyond those of the night.

Where was Sera? She had to be out here somewhere. If she’d been in the ballroom, he’d have known it the minute he’d walked in. Lord Fraylee wasn’t the only one who recognized a beautiful woman when he saw one. Sera would have been surrounded by predators clamoring for a place on her dance card. No, she had to be out here.

He looked farther, out past the gardens toward the small lake, then down the sweep of stone stairs toward the ends of the house. And then he smiled, knowing exactly where Sera had gone.

*   *   *

Sera set her empty champagne glass on the floor beside the chaise and closed her eyes, breathing in the heady mixture of scents. Gardenia. Azalea. Hibiscus. Orange and lemon. Rosemary, basil, and bay. The air was thick with it, borne on warmth and moisture and soft moonlight, wrapping around and lulling her senses. If only there were a breeze to brush over her skin, to rustle through the lush growth of palms and whisper her to sleep. And if she were sleeping in Carden’s arms … Paradise under glass.

“Found you,” the breeze murmured lushly over her nape.

She started and bolted to her feet, whirling around to find him standing on the other side of the chaise. “Carden,” she said, her voice barely louder than the frantic hammering of her heart. “What are you doing here?”

“That,” he replied, casually strolling around the end of the chaise, watching her intently, “seems to be the standard opening remark of the evening.”

Sera moistened her lips and tried to swallow. “And the standard reply is…?”

“It depends on who I’m talking to,” he supplied quietly as he slowly moved around the edge of her skirt, his gaze holding hers. “If I’m cornered by Lady Hatcher, I’ll say that I simply couldn’t resist attending one of her renowned parties. I didn’t feel the need to give Barrett any explanation at all.”

Because Barrett knew why he was here. Her heart skittered as she realized that she was seeing Carden—for the first time—at his rakehell best. And she’d thought that he was good at kissing. Good Lord. He was an incredibly, thrillingly dangerous man. “And how are you going to answer me?” she asked, watching him over her shoulder and trying to breathe.

He stopped and smiled at her ever so leisurely, ever so deliberately. “I came here to find a woman to share my bed tonight.”

Her blood heated and surged. “Then I’d suggest that the greenhouse isn’t the best place for you to look,” she replied, desperate to tamp down her soaring hope. “You’d have far wider prospects in the ballroom.”

“I’m not interested in wider prospects. I’ve already narrowed them down to the only woman who will do.” He cocked a brow. “Unless, of course, you’re meeting someone here. Am I intruding?”

She’d been marked and served notice that he was going to take her unless she bolted for the door in the next two seconds. “No.” She forced herself to swallow and add, “I came out here to escape the constant, empty prattling and the thinly veiled propositions.”

“I’ve never believed in thin veils,” he said softly, “unless it happens to be all a woman is wearing. Then it’s rather exciting.”

He started back around her, again easing along the line of her hem, his gaze still holding hers. She couldn’t look away, didn’t want to run. She’d never felt more alive, more in peril of being consumed. The mixture was more potent than the sweetest nectar.

“Do you know what else is exciting, Sera?” he asked, stopping squarely in front of her. He lifted his hand and gently trailed a single fingertip over the swell of her breast. “Making love,” he said, watching her eyes, “in someone else’s conservatory and then going back to the ball pretending that you didn’t.”

Her heart jolted. Here? Now? Was he truly serious? A primal heat ignited low in her abdomen and her knees weakened. “That would be a rather difficult illusion to maintain, wouldn’t it?” she asked, trembling as he withdrew his hand. “You can pretend all you like, but I think rumpled gowns, wrinkled, muddy suits, and debris in your hair would tend to give you away.”

One corner of his smile eased upward. “No rumples, no wrinkles, no mud or debris. Would you like me to show you how it’s done?”

Yes, he was serious. Most serious. Oh, God, did she dare?
If you don’t risk anything, you risk everything.

“I can see the curiosity in your eyes,” he whispered. “You’re tempted, aren’t you, Sera?”

There was no denying it. And she didn’t want to. “Are there any terms of surrender?”

“Just one,” he said, his smile fading and his eyes disappearing into the darkness. “The going out on the arms of my friends is over as of tonight.”