Seducing the Rake (Mad, Bad and Dangerous Heroes) (33 page)

“Let ‘em wait! Tradesmen or matrons, I’ve nothing to say.” Morland bent and nuzzled the already pouting crest of Chessy’s breast. “Sweet heaven—next
year.
Definitely, next year.”

Footsteps approached the door. Low whispers came from the corridor. A moment later, Whitby’s voice rose, more strained than ever. “But it’s from
him
! The
duke,
your lordship! From Wellington himself. The groom says His Grace is fit to be tied and has sworn to come around in person if he doesn’t hear from you within the hour.”

Morland sighed.
Wellington.

Suddenly that other world seemed so dim and unimportant. All that mattered was being here with Chessy, caught up in wonder and discovery.

Bloody, bloody hell.

Whitby cleared his throat carefully. “And there is the duchess. She has sent around several messages of her own. Er, eight to be exact, my lord. Somehow she learned of your, er—accident, and she is most upset.”

Morland cursed softly.

“You—you’d better go.” Chessy stared wistfully at his mouth. Her fingers toyed with the crisp hair matting his chest.

“Damned if I’ll make it
anywhere
with you looking at me like that.
”

“Like what?”

“Like you want to do exactly what I want to do. Right now. Hard and deep and fast. And then slow. Gloriously slow and thorough.”

Chessy bit her lip and tried to pull away, but Morland caught her fingers and brought them slowly to his lips. His burning sapphire eyes never left her face as his teeth nipped at the soft mound of her palm.

“I’m sorry, Chessy. It looks as if I really must—”

Chessy swallowed.
Not yet—not so soon
…

But she smiled brightly. “Of course I don’t mind. You must have a great deal of business to attend to.”

“If it were anything else, anyone other than Wellington—

“I understand.”
No, stay! Don’t go. If you go, I’ll have to think of what I’ve done, face the changes that this day must bring.

But Chessy said none of those things. Though her eyes gleamed with a suspicious brightness, her smile was steady. “Be gone with you then. Sooner gone, sooner returned.” She gave his jaw a final touch, memorizing its faintly rough texture, the power of bone and muscle beneath warm skin.

The muscles flashed at her touch. “Give me—fifteen minutes? I shan’t be longer. Not if the Regent himself comes pounding at my door.”

Chessy drew her hand away. Her smile wavered for just a second.
“
Twenty
.
After that I’ll begin to think that—that you’re sorry.”

“Sorry? Never.”

Chessy swallowed hard and wriggled from beneath him, then propped her back against the headboard and tugged the sheet up to her chest. “I’ll be counting, I warn you. Your dressing gown is there by the screen, on the floor. Mind the broken glass.”

Go now. Make it swiftly, before I lose the last shreds of my
composure.

Morland still did not move, and Chessy forced a vexed look. “Out with you, barbarian! A woman needs
some
time alone, after all! I must look an utter fright.”

“You look a spectacle, to be sure.” His eyes darkened. “An utter spectacle of beauty.”

Chessy closed her eyes and drew a sharp breath. “Do not try to flatter me, my lord.” She struggled to make her voice light and teasing. “Twenty minutes is my absolute limit, and I won’t be budged.”

After a final, swift kiss, Morland slid to his feet and strode to the door, his body a magnificent line of broad chest and naked, rippling thigh.

Afterward, Chessy was very proud of herself.

She didn’t cry until he’d tossed on his dressing gown and padded out into the hall.

 “I am most sorry to bother you, your lordship.”

Whitby hurried to match the earl’s long strides.

“Quite all right, Whitby.” Morland tried to hide the sharp impatience he felt. “Of course you had to fetch me.”

No, you didn’t. Why in the hell did the message have to come now? Why won’t the world just go away?

“Where is it?”

“Right here, your lordship.” Whitby held out a wafer-sealed letter.

Morland frowned as his fingers brushed the sheet sealed with a dark stamp of crimson wax.

Blood red, the wafer was. Just the color of a wound beginning to thicken.

He shoved away his foolish sense of uneasiness and ripped open the seal.

So they had done it. They had finally run down one of the criminal society’s members. Now they had to make the fellow talk, and that would be no easy task.

Morland turned slowly. One hand rose, braced against the window while he stared out into the late afternoon rain.

Rain again. Funny, it had never seemed to rain in Macao. There the days had stretched forever, long and golden, and the nights had fallen like black velvet.

“Is everything—that is, will you be making any answer, your lordship?”

Morland wadded up the note and shoved it deep into the pocket of his dressing gown. “An answer?” he repeated absently.

“To the duke’s message.”

“Message?” A muscle flashed at Morland’s jaw. “Yes—I suppose I must.” His eyes darkened and he seemed to give himself a shake. “Ask the groom to wait, if you will, Whitby.”

~ ~ ~

It was a lovely room, Chessy thought blankly. Strange that she’d never really noticed until now.

Palest gray
moiré
silk wall coverings. A bed lush with purple velvet hangings. Etchings of English men-of-war in high seas. Bright, delicate watercolors of English cantonments in foreign climes. Botanical prints beneath gleaming wall sconces.

She felt a strange lump gather in her throat. Sniffing defiantly, she scrubbed at her cheeks. She ran her hands slowly over the cut velvet tester, the same shade as the damask bedspread.

Just the color of your eyes,
Tony had told her only an hour before. Chessy shivered and drew her arms across her chest.

What was happening to her? How had she managed to lose years of discipline in the passage of a single day? Especially now, when her father’s fate hung so precariously, dependent on her skill and focus.

Quickly, before she could question the decision, Chessy tugged on her black silk jacket and pants. Slippers in hand, she crept to the door and pushed it open.

The corridor was quiet. Far below she could hear the tap of shoes near the marble entrance. Shaking her long hair back over her shoulders, she moved down the corridor. Only a few steps later, the creak of a door brought her up short.

“Oh, it that you, Miss Cameron?” Mrs. Harris’s round face was full of kindly curiosity. “It’s tired you must be, what with all the care you’ve been giving his lordship. I’ll send up anything you’d care for—porridge? Scones? A boiled egg, perhaps? Now which one would you be preferring?”

How heavenly it all sounded. But there was no time, not for any of it.

“Maybe later, Mrs. Harris. I’m just on the point of—”

Of running away. Of leaving before the earl can find me.

Chessy frowned. “That is—I must go and refill my case.” She gestured at the black leather bag beneath her arm. “Herbs, you understand. Needles of various sizes to sharpen and clean.”

The plump, gray-haired housekeeper shuddered. “Needles, do you say? Lord bless me, what will they think of next! But I wouldn’t want to be keeping you from your work, miss. Just you let me know when you’re hungry. It’s my baking day today, and down in the kitchen is where you’ll find me.” With a broad smile, she turned and padded off down the corridor.

Chessy’s breath hissed free. After giving Mrs. Harris a head start, she moved to the rear stairs. At the first landing a bright-cheeked housemaid in a white mobcap came toward her, humming quietly. When she saw Chessy, she dropped a quick curtsy.

“Are you—that is, would you be lost, miss? I’d be most gratified to show you the way, if so. Looking for the salon, was you? Or perhaps for Mr. Whitby?”

She waited expectantly.

Chessy bit down an oath and smiled back. “I was, er, needing some—some water. Yes, some boiled water.” What an execrable story! The woman would think her daft!

But the young maidservant only smiled and dropped another curtsy. “Then you’re on the right path. Straight down these stairs and to the left is where you’ll find the kitchens. But I’d be ever so happy to help you. Was it boiling water you was needing? For a bath, like? If so, I’ll have the grooms fetch you up the copper tub and—”

“No!”

The maidservant frowned a little, confused by the desperation in Chessy’s voice.

Think, fool!
Chessy pasted a bright smile on her lips. “No, not for a bath. It’s for … for my medicine, you understand.”

The young woman’s eyes brightened. “Oh, yes. Of course, miss. I’ll be happy to fetch it. We’re all ever so thankful to you for saving his lordship’s life. It’s a wonderful man he is.” She blushed suddenly. “You see, he was ever so good to my mum and brothers when they come down with the fever last winter. Let me off to visit them every day, he did. Even gave me food from Mrs. Harris’s pantry to see them through.” She smiled crookedly. “Would’ve died without him, I’ve not a shred of a doubt. And him with his own problems to worry about, what with his knee and all. And those two children to care for—”

Abruptly she recalled herself, blushing furiously. “Oh, but I do beg pardon, miss. Here I am letting my tongue run on wheels! I’m sure I never meant—” She gave a quick, nervous curtsy. “I’ll have the water up in a trice, miss. No need to bother yourself about that.”

Chessy gnawed on her lower lip as the slender figure disappeared down the stairs. That meant the servants’ staircase was out. Which left only the front entrance.

And it would have to be fast. She had only a few more minutes until the earl returned.

Chessy quickened her pace, suddenly terrified of seeing his face, with the telltale flicker in his eye or the hardening at his jaw that betrayed his regret or distaste for what had happened between them.

After all, she was no beauty. She had no illusions about that. Her shape was tolerable enough, she supposed, but she lacked any of the airs and graces that captivated men and made them take on a moonstruck expression.

No, what happened had been the result of Tony’s illness, or because he felt some sense of obligation to her for her care. She would be a fool to believe anything else. And Francesca Cameron was determined that she would not allow herself to become a fool over Tony Morland.

Not a
second
time.

Her hand trembled on the polished wood of the banister as she stared down at the alcove. A groom passed, and somewhere down the corridor she heard the low murmur of voices.

Time to
go. She knew it was the only choice open to her, but her heart still resisted.

Drawing a ragged breath, she crept down the thickly carpeted spiral staircase. The groom was gone, and no one was watching the broad oak doors. In a minute it would be done. She would be away.
Free
.

Down the corridor she heard low giggles. Frowning, Chessy turned, looking for a place to hide, but she was mid-staircase, and her only choice was to go up or down.

At the top of the stairs she heard Whitby’s voice.

That left only down.

Quickly she sped down the last few steps, only to run smack into a pair of stealthy figures sneaking past one of the marble columns at the entrance.

Chessy’s mouth dropped open as the taller of the pair turned and brought his finger to his lips, signaling her to silence.

“But who—”

Swiftly, he caught her arm and tugged her back into the alcove as Whitby passed on the landing.

The boy—for it was a boy, Chessy saw now—clutched at her arm, signaling urgently for silence. Chessy felt a moment’s misgiving at being an accomplice in their stealth.