Suzi Love (4 page)

“Yes, yes, I know. They’ll dispense with us regardless.” She lifted her chin a notch. “But I can resolve this situation. Given a little more time, plus a little assistance from you.”

“Ah! Back to the crux of the matter. What you require from me.”

He widened his stance, pushed back his coat tails and leaned on one hip, though the intensity in his eyes belied his casual pose. Eyes that shone as black and mysterious as an eastern sultan’s eyes pierced, probed, and penetrated to the depth of her soul.

• • •

She shivered. Against the backdrop of a richly embellished Mayfair house, Cayle appeared like a demon-god who could breach the defences of mere mortals, including her, with one dark look. Ridiculous fancy.

“As the Duke of Sherwyn, you’ve entrée into the best houses and social events.”

After a scowl towards the ceiling, he muttered, “Thanks to my stepmother, I’m forced into it. But what does my recent social popularity have to do with your current predicament?”

“In daylight, with other ladies, I can stroll about the streets. Visit shops, sometimes slip unnoticed into the twice-weekly stock auctions at the Hall of Commerce in Threadneedle Street. And I’ve already searched the desks of many of the mere misters and lesser peers of the lower orders of the consortium, as their houses aren’t guarded like fortresses.”

“Do you mean to say you entered these men’s homes and rifled their papers?”

“Well yes, but — ”

“Are you mad?”

“I risked little because those sort of houses cannot afford a footman guarding every passageway. Especially not on occasions such as those I attended, where every footman is needed to fetch drinks for belligerent guests. Slipping into those libraries was child’s play.” She sighed. “What I cannot do is visit the homes of the highest ranking peers to scour their correspondence for any that bears the special seal of the consortium. Nor secure enough privacy to copy any incriminating letters I may find. Someone always hovers, and watches, at those type of houses.”

He paced before her like a restless panther, an angry scowl pulling his face taut. His fine looks had always turned heads, but this brooding beast carried a lethal combination of strength and menacing masculinity. She shivered. His newly acquired arrogance of bearing enhanced, rather than detracted from, his magnetism, although this time, she knew to avoid his magnetic pull.

“You intend searching the houses of every peer in the city who is making money from stock shares?”

“No, no, not all of them. We’ve done a lot of research — ”

“We?”

“My family have become quite adept at research. We’ve narrowed our search to gentlemen known to invest in railway expansions in a large way. Our final list is of those we consider to be involved in the inner, and most secret, tier of the syndicate. It contains eighteen names, the majority of whom are high-ranking peers.

“Bloody hell, Becca.” He ground the expletive out through clenched teeth. “You’re out of your depth. I’ve been involved in similar commercial groups. They’ll stop at nothing for the sake of money.”

“Nevertheless, we need certain details you may overhear at clubs about certain gentlemen having sudden windfalls. Or things gleaned at certain balls and soirees.

“Unbelievable.” Both hands went up in the air. “That’s
certainly
as clear as muddy water.”

“Clear or not, I’m asking you to trust me. To help me.” She held out both hands, palms up, and hoped he wouldn’t notice their tremors. “With your assistance, I can verify more names. Collect proof of each one’s involvement and hand it over to Scotland Yard. Time is of the essence, as we’ve now less than two weeks.”

She watched him absorb, assess, decide. In under a minute, he guided her to his desk and seated her before it. “Make a start. List the names of every man you suspect to be a member.” He placed writing materials before her. “Then list those you consider inner tier, and include their ranking.”

He walked away, leaned on the mantelpiece, waited, a too-poignant reminder of the last time he’d walked away in silence. In her naiveté, she’d imagined their carefree youth, their first love, predestined a lifetime together. Stupid, stupid fool. This powerful new duke, stalked by every husband-hunting chit and matchmaking mama and invited to prestigious social events, was far above her touch. Her chest pained with the sharp slice of loss.

Moisture pooled in her eyes so she squeezed them shut, rubbed them with closed fists. She focused on the reasons she’d entered his residence unchaperoned. To safeguard her family and, if possible, warn her childhood champion of his future entrapment. Nothing else.

He walked back, frowned, and pointed to the blank foolscap. “Go on, then. Names, titles, levels. What do they call it? An alliance?”

“A circle or a coterie, with tiers of membership.” She sketched a cartwheel with radiating spokes. “Larger rings of membership decrease to a smaller number of the inner elite, the ones who hold the real power. The most desperate and the most evil.”

“Add a column for any specifics about each of them. Next, write what evidence the Yard requires as absolute proof to take these men to trial. If they hold titles, they’ll demand exemption from incarceration, exclusion from public trial, and use every trick to avoid charges. Also, list the railway stocks you — or rather — Michael, plans to buy.”

He grinned at her, pesky man. No doubt he saw through her ruse over who formulated their share plans, but for now she chose to ignore that, too.

“Time was obviously spent calculating the best mathematical outcome on each locality, and forecasts plotted for their suitability for expansion. I assume that’s in those ledgers, the ones these men thought would be kept in Peggy’s cottage.”

“I cannot disclose details of the investments Michael is planning for the women. Not yet.” She wrote quickly, filling in columns with details of the syndicate and then pushed the paper towards him. “The less you know, the less the danger. For you, and for my family.”

She folded her hands in her lap and adopted her best big-sister-do-as-I-say voice. “You may explain any further concerns you have to my family tomorrow morning.”

“I’m to meet your family? Huh! A request. Or one of Lady Rebecca’s royal commands?”

“Stop being difficult.” She stood and stomped one foot. When he grinned, she scowled and stomped harder. This dratted extra-thick carpet made no satisfying sound under her foot, despite heavy maid’s boots. His grin widened until every white tooth gleamed in the firelight. Her jaw was so rigid she could barely spit out words. “Yo … you’re still the most ex … exasperating man, I’ve ever met.”

She marched to the settee and plunked down.

“Easily explained.” He stalked after her, threw himself down beside her. “I’m the only man who’s ever dared question your ladyship’s orders.”

She glared, inched further along the settee, and pointed a finger at him. “Regardless, you will present yourself at Jamison House in Grosvenor Square, at precisely ten o’clock.”

“So, if my inquisitiveness is to be satisfied, I must obey — without question — your ever-so-sweetly worded request? Despite the fact that I’ll obtain no rest tonight. Due to lying awake worrying about you being slaughtered in your bed.”

Leaning forward, he angled his face closer until she was forced to scrunch into the corner. His nose came close enough to her neck that she could feel the warmth of his breath. It blew across her skin below her ear and goose flesh rippled in its wake. He inhaled deeply before giving a long and sensual moan.

Her throat constricted and her pulse raced. “Wh … what … a … are … you … ”

She couldn’t finish her stuttered question. After five years alternately cursing him or forgiving him over his rushed departure and her consequent misery, she’d recently been congratulating herself on her more mature attitude. She spoke of the
incident
between Cayle and her cousin
as a strengthening exercise every young and naive girl should experience if she was expecting to find a suitable marriage partner.

“What am I doing? Why am I near you?”

She shook her head, vigorously, and resisted the childish urge to cover her ears so she didn’t have to listen to his reasons. Her declarations to her sisters that seeing Cayle wouldn’t upset her had quickly been proved to be false bravado. After this brief time in his presence, her head spun, her senses reeled, and old yearnings had revived with a vengeance.

“I remember your smell. Like the wildflowers you gathered. Strong and wild.” His voice purred in her ear, a well-remembered seduction. She swallowed and prayed her shivers would pass unnoticed.

“Being near you calms my shattered nerves.”

“More nonsense! Your nerves were always rock solid.”

The tip of his cool tongue touched her heated skin. Shock, surprise, and wonder turned her into a wide-eyed statue.

“I also want to know if you taste the same.”

She wriggled away and jumped to her feet, tugging to free her skirt from under his leg. “Of course I taste the same.”

The wretched man stayed seated but lifted his hand towards her.

“If I touch your skin, will it still feel silky smooth? Soft like velvet?”

“No, no, no.” She held up her hand, palm out, and backed away. “You cannot touch me. And you certainly cannot taste me. We may have been close in the past, but you severed our relationship. Rather cruelly, in fact.”

He sighed. “I prayed that you’d understand why I had no choice. My father convinced me that leaving England would ensure that your family, and mine, could still hold their heads high. It was the only honourable thing to do. I hoped you’d forgive me. Eventually.”

She nodded with as much emphasis as she’d shaken her head minutes before. “No. I mean, yes. I no longer care about the past. I learned from my mistakes. Moved on.”

He flinched. “Is that all I was, Becca? A mistake?”

“Our kissing was a mistake. One never to be repeated.”

He smirked. “On the contrary, my little innocent, we will repeat it. Soon, very soon.” Rising to his feet, he gave her a taunting look. “Though I remember a lot more than kissing.”

Memories had her body stirring and awakening. She clenched her fists and scowled but words failed her.

“Naturally I was referring to dancing and riding. Perhaps you mistook me to mean certain other things?”

Her face heated. Dratted revealing complexion! “If I recall anything else,’ she said, moving backwards to prevent their torsos touching, “it merely reminds me that men are untrustworthy.”

He groaned. “My intentions were honourable, Becca.” He reached for her. “I could blame it all on bad timing and scheming women but I should never have left.” He pressed nearer until her nostrils filled with his well-remembered aroma of musky spices. His lips hovered a scant breath from hers. Dark eyes pierced her soul. “Please accept my belated apology.”

• • •

Nothing was going to plan. She’d swallowed her damaged pride to ask for his assistance. Determined to be courteous, yet distant, in order to get the help her family needed. Instead, he’d offered a few repentant words, some soft touches, and she quaked.

If she was to avoid more heartbreak, she needed to bury any soft feelings and think rationally, like the men she pitted her wits against. Like the man standing before her. If she wanted to keep men at a distance, she should have approached another peer, any other peer. If she were sensible, she’d turn and run for her life.

But his large hands clasped her waist and held her motionless. He dipped his head and covered her lips with his. They were warm, enticing, coaxing her response. She shivered in his arms and he deepened and widened the kiss until she drowned in a sea of sensations.

Though she wasn’t alone. All signs of Cayle’s earlier foggy-headed lethargy vanished as he bent unerringly to her mouth for a second time. By the way his body hardened and responded, he was also remembering.

She twisted away and sucked in a deep breath. A feeble attempt at breaking his spell so she could uphold the vow she’d made years ago.

Never to let herself be fooled by a man again.

She circled the settee and shook her head. Undeterred, he followed.

“N-no, no, enough,” she said, even as his long sigh of regret tugged at her softer side. Heaven help her, she was doomed.

Cayle moved with her. He blocked every one of Becca’s meagre attempts at escape. “Not enough for me, my reticent friend.”

• • •

Without giving her, or him, time to think, he tugged her against him, too desperate for the feel of her to consider his actions.

“One taste is not nearly enough. Show me you remember how I taught you to kiss.”

“I was younger then. I no longer enjoy such fripishness.”

He spluttered. “Fripishness? Is that even a word?”

“It is a word, if I say it is,” she announced, as she tried to wriggle out of his grasp.

Pretty little teeth popped out to worry her bottom lip. One front tooth was slightly off kilter, different like her. Her views were as unique as her wild mop of red curls or her freckled nose. Only she could add a completely ridiculous word to the English language, and make it seem as if it belonged. She raised her haughty nose.

“Within a month, the ton will be repeating it at every gathering.”

He threw back his head and laughed until he shook.

“All right. It’s probably not a real word and the likelihood of anyone of refinement copying it is remote. People will label it yet another strange thing I’ve done.”

A well-remembered urge to protect her from cruel detractors, to bolster her self-confidence, struck him. “I, however, think fripishness is a delightful word. I shall use it whenever possible.”

She sniggered. “Society will assume Sherwyn has joined the Jamisons in Bedlam. If you’re shrewd you’ll deny acquaintance with me, especially if you wish to add new sparkle to your previously tarnished character.”

The thought disturbed him despite the truth in her supposition. In order to reach his goals within the next year, he needed to remove any lingering blemish from the St. Martin name. Only by adhering to Julia’s contract would they be free from her incessant greed.