Sweetest Little Sin (8 page)

LOUISA’S entire body seized with tension. He was here tonight. Oh
God
, he was here.

She hadn’t yet seen Jardine when she felt his presence, like warm fingertips caressing the nape of her neck. The heat and shiver of it scintillated down her spine as she moved like an automaton through the steps of the quadrille.

Every instinct told her to flee. But she was in the middle of Mrs. Fanshawe’s crowded ballroom and that course was clearly ineligible.

She couldn’t stop herself scanning the crowd as she danced, searching for him.

There
.

He was not difficult to spot, half a head taller than most other gentlemen in the room. Hair black as his swallow-tailed coat. Sharp cheekbones, circumflex eyebrows, hard, brilliant eyes.

Her heart clutched, gave a sharp pound of excitement.

And then that awful, sick feeling returned.

Blindly, she curtseyed and clasped hands and wound through the rest of the dance.

Seeing him should not come as such a shock. They were bound to keep meeting; they always did in town. She would
not
disgrace herself with tears or by following him with her gaze.

At the end of the set, Kate took mercy on her and swooped on them. She waved Louisa’s partner away. “Do be a good fellow and make yourself scarce, Mr. Simpkins. I need to speak with Lady Louisa.”

Trust Kate to carry off a summary dismissal with such smiling aplomb. Louisa could have hugged her.

Kate signaled to a waiter, who brought them each a glass of lemonade.

“You are an angel.” Louisa sipped and her parched throat was grateful. “But I think I need something stronger.”

“Yes. I saw him, too.” Kate’s face held so much compassion, Louisa had to bite her lip to stop the threatening tears.

“Don’t sympathize, Kate. I can’t bear it.” She took a deep, shaky breath. “Let’s talk of something else.”

“I’m afraid that will be rather difficult,” Kate said. “He’s coming this way.”

“Your Grace.” Jardine took Kate’s proffered hand and bowed over it.

Louisa’s free hand remained fisted at her side.

If Jardine noticed the slight, he gave no indication, merely inclining his head to her as he released Kate’s fingertips. “Lady Louisa.”

Torrents of words flooded her mind. The pithy retorts she’d thought of too late, the accusations she burned to fling. But all she could force through her stiff lips was “My lord.”

Kate’s hand found hers. Louisa returned the pressure, then eased free. She needed to face him on her own.

Without taking her eyes from Jardine’s, she said, “Kate, I believe your husband is looking for you.”

She sensed the concern in her friend’s hesitation. Then Kate said, “Yes, I expect you’re right.” With a soft touch to Louisa’s arm, she left them.

Louisa swallowed. Her throat had dried again. She wanted to sip her lemonade but she couldn’t seem to move the glass to her lips. Her heart beat fast and hard.

Would her passion for him ever cool to the point where she might meet him calmly, without this violent twist of emotion in her chest?

His gaze ran over her body in flagrant disregard for polite convention. She wished she’d worn a more sober gown than this flimsy white muslin. When he looked at her like that, she felt stripped naked.

And she keenly resented that while she’d lost weight and color, his masculine beauty seemed to have intensified since that horrible morning.

Finally, he spoke. “You had my note.”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you meet me?” Jardine’s voice barely carried to her over the music and the noise of the crowd. His face was a polite mask, but heat raged in his eyes.

“I have nothing to say to you.” She fashioned her lips into a social smile. “Nothing that you would wish to hear.”

A brief grimace of frustration disturbed his features. His hand made a swift movement and she could tell he wanted to run it through his hair.

He quelled the impulse. “Dammit, Louisa, I . . . We can’t talk here. Tomorrow morning, in the park.”

In a low, vehement tone, she said, “I’m not going to meet you anywhere. You’ve made your feelings abundantly clear. I don’t know why you seek to torment me with these games.”

“Games?”
He looked impassive as a wall, but she knew he wanted to shake her. “You stubborn, pigheaded woman,” he said softly, vehemently. “This is more important than you and me.”

Shock penetrated her fury. He wasn’t attempting to reconcile with her or explain his brutal behavior. Her whole world had crashed about her ears that morning. Didn’t he know?

How had she been so mistaken about him, about what they meant to one another? What
could
be more important than the two of them?

She stared at Jardine, long and hard. She mustered all of her strength, but still her voice came out low and trembling and harsh.
“Stay away from me.”

Fighting tears, she turned and pushed through the crowd.

“A warm evening,” said Radleigh, as they stepped through the long windows onto the terrace that ran alongside the ballroom. “London in summer is almost intolerable.”

“Yes, indeed.” Louisa was still shaking, sick with misery. How was she supposed to hold a conversation with Radleigh when she wanted to curl into a ball and weep for days?

She searched for a response. “Why do you stay in London if you dislike it so much?”

He looked down at her, and his eyes grew hard. “Business,” he said. “Nothing that would interest you, my lady.”

Louisa tried to ignore the chill that slipped down her spine like a trickle of cold water. Something about Radleigh repelled her, yet she could not pinpoint the source of her discomfort. He was unfailingly correct in his behavior toward her, yet she sensed a blunt ruthlessness beneath his polished manners.

Something about his eyes . . .

He held out his arm to her. After a brief internal struggle, she placed her gloved hand upon it.

They were not alone. Other couples strolled the terrace, the gentlemen inclining their heads toward their partners, the ladies fanning themselves languidly. Involved with one another, wrapped in the intimacy of the soft, balmy night.

Jardine had left the ball, or she would never have consented to come out here with Radleigh. She shuddered at the thought of a confrontation between the two men.

But now, the task of convincing Radleigh she welcomed his advances seemed overwhelming.

Despite Millicent’s matchmaking bent, she’d never forced Louisa to suffer the attentions of a suitor she didn’t like. The mere thought of allowing Radleigh to kiss her made her stomach turn over. How could other women bear to bed men they didn’t love?

They strolled beneath bobbing paper lanterns, the soft tinted light playing over them. It was a romantic scene, and she wasn’t entirely surprised when Radleigh covered her hand with his large one and pressed it.

Panic rippled through her.

Oh, this was not a welcome sign. She would have to decide, here and now, how far she was prepared to go to achieve her mission. Fail to draw the line now and she’d make the fatal error of showing her distrust.

“What will you do when your mother weds, Lady Louisa?” said Radleigh.

She hated that question. It unsettled her, forced her to face the bleakness of her future without Jardine.

She lifted her chin. “Live with my mother and my new stepfather, of course.”

Radleigh squeezed her hand. His arm was solid and strong beneath. “You were not made for such a life.”

She stiffened. Did he mean to declare himself? “On the contrary, sir. Nothing would please me more.”

“No, no, my lady.” His voice thickened. He captured her hand and raised it for a kiss.

“Sir!” She snatched her hand away.

He chuckled. “Ah, that offends your maidenly sensibilities, does it? Forgive me. I forgot myself.” His smile deepened. “Are you afraid of me, Lady Louisa? Don’t be.”

She forced a brightness to her tone that she was far from feeling. “Afraid? Of course not! You startled me, merely.”

She chose her next words carefully. Better to set the rules from the start. Then there’d be no misunderstanding between them. She knew she’d betray her revulsion if he attempted to further their physical intimacy.

“If I seem startled by your . . . er . . . attentions, it’s because I don’t . . .” She fluttered a hand as if explanation were rather beyond her. “I am not the sort of lady who appreciates dalliance, Mr. Radleigh. Perhaps it is a certain coldness in my nature, but physical expressions of affection fill me with repugnance.” She smiled gently. “Such displays— if you don’t mind my saying so—are rather more suited to the lower orders.” Ugh, she sounded insufferable!

He watched her for a moment with a disquieting gleam in his eye. She hoped she hadn’t set herself up as a challenge to his masculinity.

But Radleigh made no attempt to change her mind. He turned and led her back toward the drawing room. “I must leave London for a few days, but on my return, I’d like to wait on your brother. Would that be acceptable to you?”

The lantern light glimmered palely on his fair hair. His gaze seemed to deepen, so intense, it captured her, held her fast. The notion that he might kiss her, given the slightest encouragement, passed through her mind. Jardine would have whisked her into the shadows by now.

But although his breathing came a little faster, Radleigh didn’t forget himself a second time.

Thank God
. An embrace would have tested her commitment to this cause to its limit.

Ought she to continue with this charade? He’d caught her off guard tonight. She hadn’t expected him to propose until the house party. If she rejected him now, there’d be no excuse for
her
to attend the party, much less the mysterious Mrs. Burton.

Louisa forced a smile. “I’ll tell my brother to expect you.”

JARDINE arrived home muddy, wet, exhausted, and savage with frustration. He’d spent the past week on reconnaissance, trying to get a handle on exactly how large a player this Radleigh was in England’s seedy world of organized crime.

But it seemed Radleigh was a man without history. Scant intelligence had arrived from Africa, where he claimed to have lived before settling in England a few months previously.

That was only to be expected, of course. British intelligence gatherers tended to concentrate their efforts closer to home. But Jardine had hoped to find out more about Radleigh’s operations in London.

The only link he’d been able to discover between the omnipotent Mr. Smith and Radleigh came from an informant who no longer walked among the living. Radleigh possessed a list of government operatives, albeit written in code. Smith wanted that list.

On the night of Louisa’s birthday, Jardine had found his informant with his throat cut. Jardine had been set upon himself and then tortured until he’d convinced his assailants he’d simply been passing by the wounded man and tried to help.

But the malice with which they’d wielded their knives, the fact they’d dropped his pain-wracked body at his own door, told him they knew who he was, what he did. And that he needed to be very, very careful.

So damned ironic and typical that Louisa should have chosen that morning to visit his house. That she still lived meant they probably hadn’t seen her, or if they had, they hadn’t been able to discover who she was.

He couldn’t take the chance of them finding out now. He needed to stay away from her until he could find that bastard Smith and put an end to his vendetta, once and for all.

He bathed and dressed and went to his club, where the gossip ran as high as at any gathering of old tabbies at Almack’s.

Luck was with him tonight. Louisa’s brother, Max, Duke of Lyle, was talking with Nick. Usually, Jardine and Lyle maintained the appearance that they were slight acquaintances, but Nick’s presence meant Jardine could join them and discreetly pump Lyle for information about his sister.