Ripe for Pleasure (10 page)

Without comment, Sandison untied the bundle, unfolded
the first letter, read it over—turning it about and squinting to make out the crossed lines—and then, with a low whistle,
passed it on to Devere. When he reached the third letter, he began to shake his head and click his tongue. When he finished
the last one, he sighed and downed his untouched glass of brandy in a single gulp.

“You’ve got yourself into some very dangerous territory there, Vaughn.” His incongruously dark brows were pinched over his
nose. Leo could practically see the clockwork of his brain whirling behind his eyes.

Leo nodded. You could always count on Sandison to understand just where all the pieces stood in any important game. Thane
kept the coolest head, and Devere was often first to act, but it was Sandison who saw things clearly. “There’s nothing to
link my family to the plot—”

“Thank all that’s holy for that,” Devere said,
sotto voce.

“But,” Leo said loudly, cutting off his friend’s mumbled comment, “it’s always risky to cross paths with treason, even a generation
later.”

“Especially when you’re not the only one who knows about it and the other party is—how shall I put this?—not entirely friendly.”

“Not entirely sane,” Devere said, folding the final letter and dropping it onto the table as though it were scalding his fingertips.

“Charles isn’t mad. He’s just decided he’s entitled to take what he wants, whatever the cost, and he’s not willing to share.”

“And just how determined are you?” Sandison cut straight to the heart of the matter, his query as sharp as a knife.

For the barest moment, Leo felt a flicker of greed and shame burn within his chest. Things had already gone further than they
should have. He’d already failed Viola and his own sense of honor. “I won’t kill for it.”

“And your cousin already has.” Devere looked unusually somber, his dark hair and dark eyes sliding from deepest brown to black—a
mere trick of the light, as a cloud passed over the sun, but chilling all the same.

Leo nodded. “Not Charles himself, but his men, yes. They killed Mrs. Whedon’s footman, and you both saw what they did to the
lady and myself.” He waved a hand over his face, past the mottled bruise around his eye and the split and swollen lip.

Sandison tied the letters back up and handed them over with a hard look. “Burn these. There’s nothing in them we’ll need to
revisit, and they’re dangerous.”

CHAPTER 9

V
iola fumed inside the velvet cocoon of Lord Leonidas’s well-sprung coach. Her maid dozed on the opposite seat, the ruffles
of her cap swaying. Leo himself had chosen to ride, thundering along beside them on a glossy blood bay that made the team
look like ponies.

Unlike his family’s now-damaged town coach, this one had no coat of arms upon the door. The grooms were dressed in simple,
serviceable clothes rather than distinctive livery. They had slipped from the city in the predawn hours, slipping past those
of the late-night revelers with anonymous ease.

The sun had risen as they’d sped past Luton. The roads had quickly dried after last night’s storm, making the journey far
easier than she’d thought it would be. The lone window was a blur of blue and green, with occasional flashes of her protector’s
oatmeal coat, dark queue, and glossy mount.

Viola shifted position, sliding across the plush upholstery to sit closer to the door so she could keep Leo in
sight. What was it about a man on a horse? Watching them parade up and down Rotten Row had been a favorite pastime for years.
But this was far more satisfactory. An intimidatingly handsome man with an equally splendid mount, the two of them racing,
hair and mane flying, and powerful muscles straining.

The attraction was magnetic, as enchanting today as it had ever been. She couldn’t bear to take her eyes off him. Couldn’t
help but know, bone deep, that he would touch a woman with every bit as much skill and control.

God, how she wanted to find out.

Any other man would have joined her in the coach. Would have made love to her to while away the drive. Leo had handed her
a novel and a loaded pistol and shut her up like a jewel in a box.

Eventually he slid out of her view and she let herself sink back into the corner. The novel Leo had given her still lay open
on the seat. Viola picked it up and resumed reading.

Her stomach growled as they clattered into the yard of a coaching inn. The door opened, and Leo practically yanked her from
the coach.

“You’ve got as long as it takes to change the horses, to eat, stretch your limbs, and use the necessary. Bing,” he said, calling
to the publican by name. The grinning man thrust out his chin by way of acknowledgment. “Get the lady whatever she requires.
My men and I will have ale and meat pies. Mrs. Whedon”—he bowed and brushed his lips over her hand—“I’ll return to fetch you
in just a few minutes.”

Leo strode off, claiming a tankard of ale as he went,
shouting for the ostlers to hurry. The innkeep looked her up and down, the knowledge that she was no lady writ plain upon
his face.

“My maid and I shall have tea, and if there’s somewhere I could tidy up…” She let the question hang. Lady or not, welcome
or not, Mr. Bing wasn’t likely to risk the future custom of the Vaughns just to put her in her place.

True to his word, Leo reappeared before she’d even had time to finish the small cup of weak tea that had been grudgingly provided.
“Wrap the pie in your handkerchief, love; we’re off.”

He hustled her back to the coach, Nance trailing behind them, as if they were in the midst of an elopement and a mob of angry
brothers was closing in. The door was already open, the steps let down, awaiting her. The coachman and one of the footmen
stood to one side, heads together, a hushed argument raging between them.

“—not a chance. You get it out.”

“It’s your job, Sampson, to see that things like this don’t happen.
You
get it out.”

“Get what out?” Lord Leonidas’s curt question cut them both off. The footman, Sampson, glanced into the coach and then back
at him. Viola craned her neck, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever it was that had caused such consternation.

“It’s-it’s a dog, my lord,” the coachman said. The animal in question jumped from one seat to the other, causing the entire
coach to bounce. It flopped down, tongue lolling out as it panted.

“A huge black one, like some sort of monster.”

“Must’ave jumped up when we was changing the
horses. And now it’s sitting there like it was the king himself and won’t come out no how.”

“Queen,” Viola said, trying not to laugh.

“What?” All three men looked at her.

“Like she was the queen herself. That’s a bitch.”

“Bitch or dog, it won’t come out of the coach, my lord. When we—”

“I!” the footman insisted testily.

The coachman glared at him. “When Sampson here tried to grab it, it growled and bared its teeth.”

Leo grumbled under his breath and took two steps toward the coach. “Out.” He snapped his fingers and pointed. The dog cocked
her head and obligingly leapt down, then trotted over and flopped down at Viola’s feet, catching her skirts beneath it and
pinning her to the ground. Nance squealed as though she’d been bitten and hid behind the footman.

Viola tugged at her skirts, but they remained firmly trapped beneath the enormous dog. Her eyes welled as she took in its
state. It was dreadfully skinny, mottled with patches of dirt and dried blood. Large patches of fur were missing, and what
were clearly bite marks stood out in several places. One ear was caked with scabs. Its stump of a tail was broken in several
places, kinking to one side like a pig’s.

A fighter, now groveling at her feet. A creature who did what it had to do to survive. Recognition burned.

The dog rolled over, exposing its belly. Viola knelt and ran her hand over the expanse of soft, pink skin. The dog whined
and licked. Viola looked up to find Leo glaring at her, every inch a duke’s son, impatience writ large on every bit of him.

•     •     •

Leo prayed for patience as he saw Viola’s hand splay protectively over the mangy cur at her feet. She was damn lucky the thing
hadn’t bitten her. God only knew what the mongrel’s parentage was, but, at a glance, he’d guess someone’s mastiff had got
at the local butcher’s dog and the resulting pups had ended up being used for some sort of blood sport. Bull baiting? Bear
baiting? It was impossible to say. Whatever its past, it was no lady’s lapdog.

“My lord?” Her voice was tentative, but the plea in her eyes was easy enough to interpret. Viola was going to keep the damn
thing. And nothing he could say was going to dissuade her. The mulish set of her jaw was incontrovertible.

He let his breath out, tasting resignation and defeat. Viola’s hand absently stroked the dog. Its mangled tail churned the
dust beneath it.

Leo knocked a bit of mud off the skirt of his coat with his crop and gave in to the inevitable. “I believe my proscribed role
is that of
he who indulges every whim and fancy.
If you want to brave the ride with that beast locked up beside you, who am I to deny you?”

Viola smiled brilliantly, joy leaking out her pores. It hit him like a wave, like something physically manifest rather than
an emotion. It infused her whole being and left his chest with a hollow ache behind the sternum. He’d never seen her smile
before. Not like this.

This wasn’t the polite smile of a practiced seductress; it was simply her. Pure, true, original, and heartrending. The taint
of betrayal was like acid on his tongue.

She stood and, in clear imitation, snapped her fingers and pointed at the coach. “Up, sweetheart. Up!”

The dog heaved itself to its feet and scrambled back into the coach. Viola caught him by the arm, lips brushing his cheek,
there and gone before the kiss had even registered.

“Thank you, my lord.”

He simply handed her into the coach, head swimming with the rush of something so simple. She plumped her skirts, spreading
them out onto the seat. The dog pushed closer, its enormous head burrowing into her lap.

Leo stepped back to allow Viola’s maid to enter, but found that she was instead being boosted onto the seat beside the coachman.
“What, Nance, not going to share your seat with the beast of Avon?”

Flustered, back stiff with annoyance, the little maid glared down at him. “I’m not getting anywhere near that animal, my lord.
Not if it means my job. You can leave me right here in the yard if it comes to it.”

“It won’t,” he assured her.

Sampson grinned at him as Nance wedged herself in beside the coachman. Leo nodded back at his footman. Sampson always did
like them dainty and willful. With a shake of his head, Leo knocked his hat against his thigh and turned back to the open
coach.

“My lord?” Viola’s voice trapped him, hand still on the door. “Could you fetch another pie? I’m afraid she’s eaten mine.”

Leo gave in to the moment, laughter impossible to resist. It filled the hollow in his chest and flooded his limbs with warmth.
“Handkerchief and all?”

She held up the soggy, chewed scrap of linen and lace that had so recently held a pie.

“I’ll bring you several. I doubt one has satisfied that beast in the slightest, and I’d hate to arrive at Dyrham to discover
she’d eaten you, too.”

CHAPTER 10