The Devilish Pleasures of a Duke (17 page)

“I have a spy in your house who informs me of your whereabouts.”

“You don’t,” she said softly. “It’s Harriet, isn’t it? How could you, Adrian? You haven’t told my brothers?” she asked in an undertone. She swallowed hard. “They know. There’s no other explanation.”

Adrian trailed her at a respectable distance. “Well, they didn’t hear it from me. I would rather die than betray you.”

She noticed Harriet sneak away from the group. All of a sudden she seemed to have lost control over her entire life. “Harriet, do not place your hand into that urn. You don’t know what might be in there.”

The air was chill inside the museum. Rain had fallen steadily throughout the day. Yet with Adrian’s warm, wool-cloaked figure at her back, Emma felt almost overheated. In a barely audible voice, she asked, “Why exactly are you following me, Adrian?”

“Because I want—because I—oh, hell, Emma, may we walk alone in the hall for a moment?”

She glanced around. “
One
moment only.”

He looked back, noting Drake’s figure only a few feet away. “It isn’t over between you and me,” he said under his breath. “It can’t be. I have spent every hour since—”

He broke off as they turned a corner together and discovered her younger brother Devon sitting in a chair perusing a collection of state papers. “Well, isn’t this a surprise,” Adrian muttered. “The entire family is here. There’s your brother.”

Emma glanced back through the doorway in consternation. “It can’t be my brother. I can see him standing right over there with Charlotte.”

“The
other
brother. Devon.”

“Devon? In a museum? Now I have seen everything.”

Devon lowered his sheath of documents, pretending to look astonished to see them, and gave a friendly little wave.

“This has gone too far.” Emma came to a halt. The girls crowded into the arched doorway behind Adrian. “I shall put a stop to it as soon as I return home.”

Adrian looked at Devon, whose friendly expression had gone faintly discouraging all of a sudden. “All I want to do is talk to you, Emma. Without a full complement of guards.”

She glanced back meaningfully at her brother. “It seems as if you shall have to do so by committee.”

He crossed his arms. “Unless we can arrange a private meeting.”

“We can’t,” she whispered. “At least not until they stop pestering me like this.”

His gaze darkened. “Well, I’m not giving up. And just so that you’ll know what you’re dealing with, I have never failed in any mission before.” He stared at her in male arrogance underlaid with a very appealing vulnerability. “And I don’t intend to start now.”

“We’ll see,” she murmured.

To Adrian’s surprise, his declaration of amorous warfare would demand a good deal more strategy than the straightforward military conquests he had waged in the past. He had earned his reputation as a hard fighter.

He had not, however, masterminded a campaign against the Boscastle brothers before. He had to admire their ingenuity and determination when it came to protecting one of their own.

His admiration would not deter him from his purpose. In fact, it only made him more determined to win.

He just wasn’t quite sure how to go about it.

They were four Boscastle brothers and one of him. Obviously he needed a powerful ally. And a bolder plan of action.

Chapter Fourteen

Heath’s sleek black carriage rumbled over the glistening cobbles of the city street. The three brothers borne within stared back at the receding museum in silence until Devon tossed his black leather gloves onto the seat in disgust, if not defeat.

“This is getting a bit ridiculous. We can’t follow Emma everywhere. She’s planning on attending a Flemish needlework display this evening in Caven dish Square. A man does have his pride.”

“Dear God,” Drake muttered. “I thought ancient pottery was bad enough.”

“At least none of you had to buy pink lace in public,” Heath remarked dryly. “And tomorrow morning she’s been invited to inspect a parish school for the children of unwed prostitutes.”

“Well, count me out on that one,” Devon said. “I think Chloe is accompanying her.”

Heath snorted. “And Chloe, as we all recall, knows absolutely nothing about illicit affairs and staying away from dangerous men. If anything, Chloe will push Emma right into Adrian’s arms.”

“Well, we cannot accompany her forever on all these forays,” Devon muttered. “I’m beginning to feel like my dowager auntie. Moreover, I think Jocelyn is beginning to suspect I’m up to no good.”

Heath blew out a sigh. “We must hang in only until Grayson returns and we have a forum to decide on action.”

“Our presence doesn’t seem to have convinced Wolf to stay away from her,” Drake said.

Heath laughed. “Perhaps he can’t help himself.”

Drake grinned at him. “Emma and Wolf. He’s the complete opposite of our sister, the antithesis of all she holds dear.”

“Actually, he’s not,” Heath said reflectively. “He’ll be a duke one day. And with a little bit of polish, well, who knows? No one would have laid odds on any of us reforming not long ago.”

“As far as I can tell, she’s doing her best not to talk to him at all,” Devon said, folding his arms behind his head. “When is Grayson due to return, anyway?”

Heath drew aside the curtain. “By tonight if the storm doesn’t worsen.”

Jane, the Marchioness of Sedgecroft, and young matriarch to the Boscastle clan by marriage, had arrived at her London residence two hours ahead of her husband Grayson. It was dark by the time she had settled her son Rowan into the nursery with his nursemaid, Mrs. O’Brien.

She barely had time to fortify herself with a cup of brandy-laced coffee before she set back out in her own small carriage for her brother-in-law’s town house. She hoped Heath would not be home, but even if he was, it was safer to hold a ladies’ meeting there than at home where Grayson was liable to come bursting in and interrupt.

Besides, Heath’s wife Julia had called this emergency gathering. Perhaps Emma herself would attend, although Jane rather doubted it.

Julia’s message insisted upon secrecy and hinted at panic. Jane concluded there was not a moment to waste.

Indeed, Julia’s initial greeting at the door underscored her suspicions. “Thank heavens, you are here, Jane. Quickly. Quickly! Into the family drawing room.”

Jane divested herself of her cloak and gloves, following the taller woman to a private stairs at the side of the house. “Such intrigue. Would your bedchamber not offer more privacy?”

“Not from my husband,” Julia said offhandedly.

“Ah.”

“I meant—”

“No explanations are necessary, Julia. I am myself married to a Boscastle male.” And a hot-blooded breed they were, including the female members of the family, one of whom was already waiting in the candlelit drawing room.

Chloe Boscastle, Emma’s younger raven-haired sister, rose from her chair to embrace Jane. Chloe was not unknown to notoriety herself. In fact, she had married Adrian’s oldest friend, the dark-tempered Dominic Breckland, Viscount Stratfield, after a romance that had been sparked when Chloe had found him hiding half-dead in her dressing closet.

Seated comfortably on a tufted sofa behind Chloe were Emma’s cousin Charlotte; Devon’s young bride, the former Jocelyn Lydbury; and Drake’s wife, a past governess, Eloise.

Julia’s aunt, Hermia, occupied the French fauteuil that sat by the fire. While associated to the Boscastles only through her niece’s marriage to Heath, Hermia had been unofficially adopted by the entire clan. Her zest for life and penchant for trouble had earned her a place of favor. The one true love of her life, the Earl of Odham, had been unfaithful to her years ago and was still earnestly trying to win her forgiveness.

“How is that darling son of yours, Jane?” Hermia asked fondly.

“As plump and lively as ever.”

“Always getting into mischief, is he?” Hermia asked approvingly.

Jane sighed. “Especially when Grayson plays with him.”

Hermia chuckled. “I should love to paint him as young Cupid to add to our collection.”

“I assume you mean Rowan and not my husband.” Jane took the glass of port that Julia handed her. All of the women had been tippling since late afternoon, a sure indication of their concern. “It seems I have come from Kent not a minute too soon.”

“That all depends,” Julia said. “It might even be too late to thwart our male counterparts.”

Hermia set her glass upon the table. “Too late for what? It’s only ten o’clock or so. In my day, an evening’s entertainment would just be getting under way. You younger women must have been fed on milksops.”

“I am referring to the situation that has developed between Emma and Adrian Ruxley,” Julia said in annoyance. “Don’t you ever pay any attention to me, Aunt Hermia?”

Chloe, who had been playing idly with her pearl bracelet, glanced up with an incredulous expression. “Emma? And Wolf? A
situation
? This is too delicious.”

Eloise Boscastle, the former governess who had once hoped to work at Emma’s esteemed academy before marrying into the family, looked aghast. “Lady Lyons and that…mercenary? You must be mistaken.”

“Of course she’s mistaken,” Jocelyn said, almost choking on her sherry. “Emma and Lord Wolverton are the most unlikely match in all of London.”

“In England,” Chloe amended merrily.

“The whole of Europe for that matter,” Eloise said, clearly defensive of the paragon whom she still held in her heart as an untarnished example of all a lady should aspire to be. Indeed, it was no secret to the family that Eloise had esteemed Lady Emma for years.

“Julia, you must speak plainly to us,” Jane said. “If this is a matter upon which we are compelled to act, there is no time to mince words. All I know is that Adrian came to Emma’s rescue at a wedding. Perhaps not in the most graceful of ways, but—”

“It is already too late,” Charlotte Boscastle broke in very quietly.

Jane drew a breath. “I see. Then exactly how does the situation stand between our two—dare I call them—lovers?”

“I would say the situation is at a complete standstill,” Charlotte replied. “I don’t believe that Emma can take a step these days without one of my cousins peering over her shoulder.”

Chloe snorted lightly. “I do remember their smothering guard myself. It’s a miracle Dominic and I ended up marrying with the four devils boxing me in. And now they’ve added Gabriel to their ranks. Poor Emma. To think she’s found love this late, at last, only to—”

Jane wandered over to the window. “You’re probably right. They’ll ruin this for her—oh, Lord above. He’s
here.
”

“Lord Wolverton?” Hermia asked eagerly, halfway out of her chair.

“No. Grayson, the cabal leader, come to decide Emma’s—”

A dull
thunk
shuddered through the wall. “Did you hear that?” Jane asked, whirling around in alarm.

Chloe examined a loose bead on the instep of her slippers. “Yes. Grayson has never gone through a door he didn’t slam. You should know that by now, Jane.”

“It wasn’t the door,” Jane exclaimed. “It—”

“—came from the other side of the house.” Charlotte leaned forward, pointing over her shoulder. “From the side where Emma’s suite is located.”

Adrian climbed up the rickety wooden ladder and swung one arm, then his right leg over the sill, grateful to that imp Harriet for remembering to open Emma’s window. Of course he’d paid the greedy little urchin good coin for the favor. No doubt she would still try to blackmail him into buying her silence. Well, he would deal with Miss Gardner tomorrow. If all went well tonight, he might even want to reward her.

He glanced around, surveying the darkened chamber. He’d landed in the bedroom, as luck would have it. A sea coal fire smoldered amber-gold in the grate. Good. She wouldn’t be cold after he’d declared his intentions and taken her to bed.

Through the door that adjoined her suite, he glimpsed her sitting in the next room on a saberlegged rosewood chaise, a book on her lap. Her beautiful, long hair was loose, gathered over one shoulder. Rapunzel. He wanted to twist it around his neck, his arms, his hips. He could almost feel the softly spun strands caressing his back, his belly.

His beautiful Renaissance angel.

He moved quietly toward her. She hadn’t noticed him yet. In his day he could have sneaked aboard a ship of pirates and slit their snoring throats before he disturbed their dreams. Surely he could sneak up on the woman he desired and—drop to his knees beside her.

He walked straight into one of the potted plants on a marble pedestal that flanked the door. She leapt to her feet, her luminous eyes widening in shock.

“You!”

“Damn it, Emma.” He caught the pot of English ivy before it could crash to the ground, then rebalanced it carefully on the pedestal. “Please, whatever you do, don’t scream.”

“I have absolutely no intention of indulging in such a useless act.” She looked up slowly into his face. “If your appearance here is in regard to those lessons in deportment again, which you desperately need, I shall refer you to a certain French count who is an acquaintance of Devon’s. I understand he is more than happy to instruct Englishmen in the refined arts.”

He walked her back into the chaise. “Darling, I don’t give a damn about my manners. I never did.”

Her breath caught, a tiny hitch of sound that belied her composure. “Obviously.”

He lifted his hands to her shoulders. “I came here for one purpose only.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Adrian Ruxley, if you do not leave this instant, I shall—”

“I adore you,” he said, lowering his mouth to hers. “And I want you to be my wife. Emma, please, put me out of this torture. Do you feel as I do? No, don’t answer. I already know.”

He kissed her before she could utter a word. Soldier of fortune, he took advantage of her shocked immobility to brush his mouth across hers. He drew her against him and held her so there was no question of escape. Sensual pleasure pulsed throughout his body as he felt her lips, then her body soften against his.

Knowing Emma, he’d have little time to weaken her defenses before she rallied her guard. But he waited for her answer, anyway, his heart beating, wild and hopeful. He combed his hand through her hair, untangling a knot, cradling her nape, stroking her warm skin.

She moved slightly so that his mouth rested upon her cheek. “Are you proposing to me?” she asked in a soft, precise voice.

“Yes.” He laughed, disbelieving, happier than he’d ever been in his life. “Yes.”

Her eyes searched his face for deceit. He must look, sound, like a fool. He didn’t care about that, either, if she accepted his proposal. “And this is what you wished to discuss with me?” she asked, his skeptical little schoolmistress, the taskmaster he could not survive without. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

“When did I have the chance?” he demanded incredulously. “I followed you to a lacemaker’s stall, fully prepared to pop the question, only to find Heath picking out a pretty handkerchief for himself. It was
not
a moment conducive to a proposal.”

She shook her head in chagrin. “They do know. And they’ll kill us if we’re caught.”

“Let’s elope.”

“Elope? Tonight?”

He traced his gloved thumb over her lush mouth, then trailed it down her chin into the cleft of her bodice. “Why not?” he asked, his gaze darkly tempting.

She shivered. “And have my brothers chasing us across England? What a honeymoon made in hell. And what an example to the academy. We shall have a proper wedding, or none at all.”

He grinned, his thumb rubbing the plump curve of her breast. Her nipple beaded against his large warm palm. “Then you’ve accepted.”

“Did I?” she asked, gazing up at his face as he boldly caressed her senses into a state of dazed pleasure.

His eyes crinkled at the corners, warm, teasing her. Slowly he lifted his hand away to untie the laces of her bodice and free her firm white breasts. “You did.”

She crossed her hands over her swollen pink nipples. Adrian felt his breathing quicken.

“But my brothers—”

“Kiss me, Emma.” He swept her over his knee to the chaise. “Put your arms around my neck,” he said in a thick voice. “I need your kisses.”

She caught a handful of his coat. His body clenched in disappointment until he realized she wasn’t pushing him away. No, bless her. She was pulling him closer, right down on top of her, fanning the inferno that boiled inside him.