Passionate (36 page)

The warm June night carried the scent of roses and an underlying hint of London’s soot. Lily walked beside Lord Buckley, keeping her gaze resolutely on the flagstones.

“Miss Strathmore, I know this is hardly the place, but I have an important question to ask you.” There was something in his voice that made her glance sharply up into his pale blue eyes.

She froze. He could not possibly be thinking of proposing? Dear heaven, not now. She looked around at the other guests strolling the terrace. Not here.

“I would like,” he continued, “to ask if I may call upon you Wednesday afternoon. I have a serious matter I would like to discuss with you.”

Lily let out a breath. Of course he wouldn’t propose here. Thank goodness. “Certainly. I shall look forward to it. Please, let us return to the ballroom.” Only four days!

He guided her back inside. “There is Lord Huntington now. I will leave you to the pleasure of his company. I’m certain Mother has been wondering what’s become of me.” He bowed, exchanged greetings with Lord Reginald, and was gone.

“Your paramour seemed in a hurry to depart,” Lord Reginald said, “Though I am happy to have you to myself for a moment. And what luck, I believe the next dance is a waltz.” He held his arms out and Lily stepped reluctantly into his embrace.

Once the music began she went directly to the point. “Tell me, Lord Reginald. What were you doing in Tunisia?”

He regarded her, his expression calculating. “I take it my cousin did not see fit to enlighten you as to our mutual purpose in traveling to Africa?”

“No, he did not. Unless you, too, are interested in botanical discoveries?”

Lord Reginald gave a bark of laughter. “Not I—unless they are immediately profitable. And certainly less so than my grandfather, who left a substantial fortune to the descendant who returned to a certain valley in Tunisia and recovered his damnable journals. James and I were after a fortune, not a flower. Your uncle, your entire family, were the means to that end. In short, Miss Strathmore, he used you for his own purposes.” His look suggested he knew what other uses James had made of her. Black eyes glinting, he guided her through a turn.

Lily followed, barely paying attention to the dance. Fury kindled inside her. So that had been the game. And James’s heroic act of retrieving the flower? Just another excuse to make for the valley, this time without the awkward encumbrance of the expedition to hinder him.

“Did he find what he was seeking?” she asked.

Lord Reginald shrugged, but the movement lacked his usual nonchalance. “I don’t believe he did. A fitting end, if you ask me. You should have heeded my earlier warnings about him, for I can see that you and your family did not escape entirely unscathed.”

No, they had not—even though Uncle Edward seemed quite recovered.

“You said you shared the purpose of finding the journals. You didn’t stay in Tunis, then, did you?” The peculiar, threatening incidents that had beset the expedition began to form a picture she did not like at all.

“I headed for the valley, but since James had taken my grandfather’s letters and did not see fit to share, I was at a considerable disadvantage.”

“So that’s why you followed us.”

“Me? I merely wanted to ensure the Earl’s estate remained intact, not parceled out to poor relations right and left. I am the heir, after all, and I am not above protecting what is mine by right.”

“I see.” Memory rose—she was picking her careful way down the hillside, clutching a length of turquoise cloth around her, her heart hammering in her throat and the only light to guide her cast by a tent engulfed in flame. “To what lengths would you go, Lord Reginald? Would you raid a defenseless camp? Strike down an innocent man?” She could hear the sharp edge in her voice, the rising inflection.

He stepped back, his expression going flat and hard. “Miss Strathmore. Are you accusing me of something nefarious, in the middle of Lord Severn’s ballroom? Before you take that dangerous path, consider how much attention you wish to draw to your recent travels with my cousin.”

They had given up any pretense of waltzing now. An odd stillness began to spread out from where she and Lord Reginald stood. Glancing about, Lily saw the curious stares, quickly averted, heard the sudden whispers. He was right, blast him. This was not the time or place to make accusations. Frustrated, she glared back.

Lord Reginald gave her a thin smile, sharp as a blade. He took a step forward, arms raised to resume dancing. Then his eyes focused past her, his gaze sharpening.

“Speak of the devil.” An incongruous smile curved his lips.

“I regret I will not be able to complete our dance. Good evening, Miss Strathmore.” He slipped away, leaving hardly a ripple in his wake.

Hands balled at her sides, Lily could only stare. She felt certain that somehow he had been behind the raid on the camp, possibly even the one who had struck down her uncle. Certain, but without proof.

The dancers swirled past, giving her a wide berth. She had to leave the floor immediately or become the talk of the evening—if it wasn’t already too late. Lily turned hastily and took a step, only to collide with a tall man who could have been granite for all he yielded. Strong arms encircled her, and before she could draw breath, she was waltzing again.

With James—and he looked furious.

Chapter 23

“What the devil were you doing with Reggie?” James had been ready to launch himself at his cousin, but that snake had slipped away again, leaving Lily the object of whispers and stares.

He bared his teeth and swept her into another turn. If only she didn’t feel so damnably good in his arms.

“I was dancing with your odious cousin—before he rudely abandoned me. I suppose I ought to thank you for coming to my aid, though I assure you it is not necessary for us to finish the dance. Escorting me to the edge of the floor will be quite sufficient.”

That had been his intention before he had taken her into his arms. His gaze traveled over her face, snagged once more on the pendant she wore. The one he had given her the night they had lain together under the stars.

“Lily, what did Reggie want? And what did you say to him?” His cousin’s interest in the Strathmores should have ended with the ill-fated expedition.

“I don’t see that I need to tell you anything, Mr. Huntington.” Lily wore an exceedingly stubborn look. “I’m afraid I’m not in the habit of confiding in men who
despise
me.”

Despise her? Had he really used that word? Thinking back he supposed he had. Finding the locket, exhaustion, worry over Sir Edward and the failure of the expedition had not inclined him to kindness or diplomacy. And she
had
betrayed him.

A nearby couple lurched precariously close. He pulled Lily hard against him and spun her, adroitly moving them out of harm’s way. Her breasts grazed against him, her hair brushed the skin of his throat, and she smelled of softness and lavender. Gods. If things had been different…if
she
had been different.

He stiffened and set her back to the regulation distance.

“Whatever we may think of one another is irrelevant. You know how proficient my cousin is at stirring up trouble, and for some reason he seems intent on deviling you. If you value your reputation and your fiancé’s affections, I suggest you confide in me.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then you are far less intelligent than I have given you credit for.”

She looked away and was silent for several moments. Finally she spoke. “I learned quite a bit from your cousin—especially about your reasons for going to Tunisia. I hope your next quest for a fortune does not involve duping innocent parties into aiding you.”

That stung. Trust Reggie to put things in the worst possible light.

“Regardless of what you may think, your uncle was fully aware of my reasons for traveling to Tunisia. He was more than happy to lend his assistance, especially since he would likely make a new botanical discovery.”

Her eyes flashed, brilliant turquoise. “I don’t see why you concealed the matter from me. After all, we were…” She trailed off, color rising in her cheeks.

“Yes. That is entirely the problem, isn’t it?” He remembered all too well. Even now he was acutely aware of his hand resting on her body just where her slim waist curved into the sweet flare of her hip. “I didn’t explain everything to you because I hoped…well. It’s no concern of yours now, since according to your fiancé, you have important matters to attend to—such as your upcoming wedding. Now, tell me what Reggie said or there will be no wedding.” Society would chew her up if rumors about them began to circulate.

“Mr. Huntington, I would thank you to loosen your grip on my hand before you do permanent damage.”

He had not realized how tightly he was holding her.

She told him then how she had accused Reggie of being behind the raid on their camp and of his threats to her. It was as serious as he had feared, but there was something more behind his cousin’s threat. Something that James did not understand—yet.

“Why would he seek you out? Reggie doesn’t expend effort unless he hopes to gain something. Could it be there is still something between him and Isabelle?”

Lily shook her head. “He didn’t even ask after her. It was as if she had completely slipped his mind—or never existed for him in the first place.”

The couples in front of them had bunched together. James spun Lily and she followed his lead easily, avoiding the crush. “Whatever Reggie has on his mind, it seems you’re in jeopardy until you and—what is his name?—are wed.”

“Lord Buckley.”

“Yes, Buckley.”

“And what right do you have to assume that we are to be wed?”

He scowled. “Only that you carried his picture with you to Tunisia, and that your mother sent you a chatty letter discussing the progress on your wedding gown, and that you appeared here tonight with him and let him drag you around and tell you that you are not to paint your uncle’s specimens.”

Her face flushed. “He did not tell me I could not paint them. In fact, I distinctly told my uncle that I would.”

“Buckley is not your husband yet, is he? He doesn’t have the authority to rule you, but he—” James winced and missed a beat of the dance.

“I would thank you not to mash my foot again, Miss Strathmore.”

“You were making a fool of yourself, and it was the only way I could silence you. It’s obvious to me now that you are consumed with jealousy because I refused your oh-so-moving proposal of marriage in favor of Lord Buckley—who, despite his shortcomings, is a lord and a gentleman.”

James could feel the blood throbbing at his temple. “Gentleman or no, your fiancé is a pompous ass by any standard, and I can’t think of a couple who deserve each other more.”

He had brought her to the edge of the dance floor. “Good night, Miss Strathmore.”

He turned and strode for the exit without looking back.

“Out early, sir,” the groom remarked as James swung into the saddle.

“Or late, depending how you look at it.” He turned his mount through the gate in the old stone wall. The morning air was cool, the cobbles of the quiet street still wet with dew.

A few more hours and the scene would be entirely changed—cart vendors and sweepers would dodge around the elegantly dressed Mayfair residents crowding the street on their way to see and be seen. He planned to be on the outskirts of London by then.

A good hard ride and then a visit to the gentleman’s boxing club. Anything to dispel his restless thoughts.

Lily. How easily she threw him into turmoil. He had thought he’d gained some measure of peace in the valley, but seeing her again—and meeting that Buckley fellow—was enough to drive a man mad. James spurred his bay into a canter and leaned forward into the wind.

When he returned to his lodgings several hours later there was a note waiting.
“James. Urgent business. Your presence is needed. My library, one o’clock.—Lord Denby.”

He ran his hand through his windblown hair. It was nearly one now—the boxing club would have to wait for another day. He threw on a coat and headed out.

Striding down the thickly carpeted corridor that led to his uncle’s library, James heard voices raised in anger.

“That’s impossible. I told you before, I won’t stand for it.” It was Reggie—a very angry sounding Reggie.

James paused before the partially closed door, then pushed it open. His cousin was standing, a scowl on his face, at one end of the long table. Catching sight of James his look grew even blacker and his lip curled with disdain. Taking a seat, Reggie leaned over to the bespectacled man at his right and the two began a hushed conversation.

“James. Come in, sit down,” Lord Denby greeted him.

“This is my solicitor, Mr. Clark.” He indicated a white-haired gentleman with a stiffly starched collar.

James nodded a greeting. “My apologies. I was out riding and didn’t receive your note until I returned.” He cast a quick glance over the assembled gentlemen. “I’m afraid I haven’t brought a solicitor of my own. Should I send for one?” The question was only half in jest.

“No, at least not yet. Hear me out before you decide whether that will be necessary.” Lord Denby’s tone was dry. “I have asked you and Reginald to be here today so we can conclude the matter of Somergate. I do not want to see the estate—so favored by my father and one of our older family holdings—escheat to Kew Gardens.”

Reggie made a sharp movement of protest, but Lord Denby held up his hand. “As my heir, Reginald, you are well provided for, and James and Caroline have fewer assets than befits their status.” He pinned Reggie with a sharp gaze. “I am aware there is no love lost between you and James—it is one of my deepest regrets that the two of you cannot be brothers in spirit if not fact. Frankly, I am reluctant to make him and his sister dependent on your charity when the title passes into your hands.”

“I would not accept–” James began.

“If you think—” Reggie spat, but neither of them got any further.

Lord Denby lifted his voice, overriding them. “As executor of the will, I have examined the pages James brought back from Tunisia and concluded that they were indeed the last remains of my father’s lost journals. James has satisfied the terms of the will and I am authorized to award Somergate to him. Since it would otherwise go to Kew Gardens, Reginald, you are losing nothing.” His look silenced Reggie’s protest. “Solicitor Clark and I have been through this carefully.”