Too Dangerous to Desire (12 page)

“I’m learning.”

A wry chuckle, low and a little rumbled, set off a strange thumping inside her ribcage. His jaw was peppered with an intriguing texture of short, dark bristles. The perfect image of a pirate—slightly wild, slightly menacing.

Alluring as sin.

“I’m not sure whether to laugh or gnash my teeth over the fact that you are such a gifted student. The trouble is, a little knowledge can be more dangerous than none at all,” murmured Cameron. “So you had best come along with me. I can’t in good conscience leave you in the middle of a lesson.”

“You don’t have a conscience,” pointed out Sophie. “Or so you said.”

“On rare occasions, it rears its ugly head.”

Wind-tangled hair, sun-bronzed skin, a dark-edged smile…beauty was in the eye of the beholder.

“W-what do you have in mind?” she asked, finding her throat had gone dry as dust.

“Hard to say. First of all, let’s see what you have wrapped in that dainty little napkin.”

After setting the basket on the table inside the hut, Sophie carefully peeled back the folds of calico. “It’s a lock.”

“Yes, I can see that.” Cameron rubbed at his chin.
Would that the female mind’s intricate intertwining maze of gears and tumblers were as easy to comprehend
. “What’s not nearly as clear is
why
you have it, and
what
you intend to do with it.”

Her eyes darkened several shades—never a good sign with Sophie. Squalls rarely stirred her steady demeanor. When clouds rolled in, they usually presaged a full-blown storm.

“I should think those answers are obvious,” she replied. Edging forward in her chair, she braced her palms on the rough-hewn wood. “It’s a puzzle lock, like the ones guarding Wolcott Manor, and I borrowed it from Neddy Wadsworth.”

“Borrowed?”

“In a manner of speaking,” she replied.

“Ah.”

“I want to learn how to open it. And since you showed some skill in the subject last night, I thought you would be the best person to teach me.”

“No,” he said flatly.

“Fine.” She smoothed the napkin back in place.

Damnation, there was a new depth to her resolve that he couldn’t quite fathom. She was the same Sophie, and yet different. Shaped by forces he knew naught of.

“Would you care to elaborate on that?” he asked.

“No.”

Their eyes locked with an almost audible click. For someone new at the game of opening impregnable defensive mechanisms, she was proving awfully skilled at choosing all the right little levers to push.

“Click,” he muttered, shrugging his shoulders in reluctant surrender. “You appear to have a God-given natural talent for manipulation. You’ve turned the right key this time. But only because if I left you to your own devices, you might get yourself in deep trouble.”

The shadows softened, allowing a glimmer of light to brighten her gaze.
Sunbeam
. A spun-sugar flicker of gold, dancing like a dragonfly through the air. How was it that something so delicate could penetrate his Hellhound hide and fill his chest with warmth?

It was a question that he didn’t care to face at that moment.
Damnation, I should have slipped away when I had the chance.
For a lone predator, cold logic and icy cynicism were essential for survival. The longer he stayed near Sophie, the more dangerous it became. For both of them.

“Thank you, Cam,” replied Sophie. “If I am to defend myself, I need to know how to attack an opponent’s weakness.”

Ominous as that sounded, he decided to let it pass. “A wise strategy, in theory. However, if I am to help you put it into practice, I need to know a little more about what you have in mind.”

The wariness was back in her eyes. “There may come a time when I want to have a look around somewhere that is under lock and key.”

“Look, I applaud your spirit. But listen to reason—”

“Damn you, Cameron Daggett. Has it ever occurred to you that I am sick of being reasonable?” Her voice was perilously close to a shout, ragged and raw with emotion. “For most of my adult life, I have worn Reason like a corset, its unyielding stays and constricting laces pinching so tight that at times I could barely breathe.”

He watched her chest rise and fall.

“And yet,” she continued, “an ailing father and two high-spirited sisters depended on me to be sensible. Sensible! And so, every time a crisis loomed, I erred on the side of prudence.” She expelled a sharp sigh. “While look at you—you were never afraid to meet adversity head on, and haven’t altered a whit.”

“Good God, Sophie, don’t hold me up as a shining example of how to deal with trouble. I am hardly a patterncard of wisdom when it comes to making the right decisions in life.”

“But it seems to me that one is more apt to regret the things one hasn’t done,” she said. “Rather than the other way around.”

“Does it? Right and wrong is never black and white. We can’t always control the consequences of our actions.” Cameron turned back her cuff and gently traced a tiny scar cutting across the top of her wrist. “You have only to look here. I thought it a great lark to sneak into Squire Stoneleigh’s orchard and steal his prized apples. I was ready to suffer any consequences, but when I tripped and his mastiff came at my throat, it was you who fended him off.”

Sophie freed her hand and hastily hid it under the fringes of her shawl. “You cannot deny that there is risk in doing nothing as well. I—I don’t know how to explain it, but I feel I need…” She rose abruptly and began pacing the perimeter of narrow space. “…action.”

Watching the willowy grace of her body in motion, Cameron found himself distracted by the sway of her slim hips and the subtle rise and fall of her perfectly shaped breasts.

Lust pooled in his belly and spiraled to his privy parts.
So much for the resolve to respond to her arguments with reason.

It took a moment of iron-willed resolve to bring his rebellious body back under control.

“My mind has been tied in such terrible knots these last few months,” she went on. “I’ve been so confused, and unable to think clearly…And then, your first mad midnight kiss seemed to tug a strand loose. And…” In a frothing of skirts Sophie spun around. “And I’m not making any sense, am I?” She made a face. “I’m babbling.”

“I like the sound of your voice,” he murmured.

Sophie stopped, and all at once it was very quiet in the hut.

“I like the tilt of your chin, and the way you bite your lower lip when you are puzzling out a problem.”

Her lashes flicked up slowly, uncertainly.

“Sit down, Sunbeam. Life is a terrible tangle of spiders and serpents, and I, of all people, can give little guidance on how to untwine them.” He tapped a finger to the lock. “However, I can be of help in solving the secrets of this particular puzzle.”

She hesitated before resuming her spot in the facing chair.

“
If
I so choose.” Cameron held up a hand to cut off the protest he saw about to fly from her lips. “Against my better judgment, I shall. But in return you will have to promise me one thing. Before you put your new skills into action, you will have to tell me what you are planning.”

“Will you share your plans with me?” countered Sophie. “It seems only fair.”

“Hmmm.”

She frowned. “Which means?”

“Which means that I am thinking.”

“While you do so, I have another question. What were you looking for in Lord Wolcott’s study?”

Truth or lies?

“I was looking for any correspondence between Wolcott and Dudley or Morton,” he replied, choosing for the moment to answer honestly. “It’s important to understand the connection between them.” He steepled his fingers. “Much as I dislike Wolcott, I find it hard to see why he would involve himself in petty blackmail. He has no need of money, and why would he care about an old church mistake made by your father?’

“I—I don’t know.” Sophie shifted her eyes, just enough to catch his attention.

Truth or lies?

“I think,” said Cameron slowly, “that you are not telling me everything about Lord Dudley and the threat that he and his friend Morton are holding over you.”

“W-what makes you say that?”

“The fact that I’ve spent most of my life dealing with cutthroat criminals and conniving cheats. Sensing the slightest whisper of a false note is key to surviving in the stews.”

“I see that I have much to learn about the underworld of intrigue,” said Sophie softly.

A growl formed deep in his throat.

“It’s true, I haven’t given you all the details. But I didn’t want to draw you any deeper into my affairs, Cam,” she went on in a rush. “Good Lord, if I had thought Wolcott was involved in this sordid scheme, I never would have let you become involved in the first place. If not for me, you wouldn’t have come back here to Terrington, and put yourself in danger.”

“I have a nose for trouble,” he quipped. “A whiff of danger is perfume to my nostrils.”

Her expression grew even more pinched. “What Dudley wants from me isn’t important. If I get the wretched document back from him, he has to leave my family alone.”

“You underestimate evil. If a man like Dudley wants something badly enough, he won’t stop, Sophie. He’ll simply find another weakness, another target. Georgiana or Penelope, perhaps.”

All the color leached from her face.

Taking ruthless advantage of her fear, he pressed on. “So you had best trust me to be the judge of what is important.”

“Trust,” repeated Sophie. “You keep sending me conflicting messages. One moment you ask me to have faith in you and then in the next breath you warn me not to believe a thing you say. Which Cameron should I listen to?”

A good question.
“That depends on how much you are willing to risk, Sunbeam,” he said softly.

Curling her fingers in strings of her bonnet, she slowly untied the bow beneath her chin. “Very well—I might as well throw caution to the wind.” A flick sent the chipstraw headcovering fluttering to the earthen floor. “Let’s get down to business, shall we?”

S
ophie loosened a few hairpins, allowing a twist of curls to fall free. “I think better without all these cursed constrictions.”

“Far be it from me to object,” murmured Cameron.

Was he amused? It was impossible to tell what emotions were hiding behind the half-mocking specter of a smile.

“Now that you’ve shed those strictures, why not untighten your tongue as well? I want to know what you’ve been holding back.”

She made a face. “You ought to bare a few things, too.”

“Strip away all of our secrets?” He waggled a brow. “We’ll discuss that later. First, tell me about Dudley.”

A gust rattled the window casement and a hiss of air slipped in through a crack in the glass.

Trust, trust
, it taunted.

“As I told you before, he and Morton are looking for some sort of church document. They think my father might know something about it.”

“So you’ve said. Go on.”

“I’ve also told you Papa’s memory is so foggy that even if the paper ever existed—which I think is doubtful—he couldn’t tell them about it.” Sophie watched the dust motes dancing in the air, rather than meet Cameron’s gaze. “I’ve finally convinced them that his mind is not all there. However, they refuse to believe that I know nothing about it.”

“What makes them think you would have any knowledge about it?”

She hesitated.

“Sophie?”

“Because of you,” she admitted. “They seem to know that we were friends growing up.”

His expression remained inscrutable. Like the Sphinx, a half man, half beast carved out of solid stone.

“What sort of document?” pressed Cameron.

“They didn’t say, but along with some probing inquiries about you and your background, their questions concerned church marriage records. I pretended to have no clue as to what they were talking about.”

“Ah.”

The small sound could have meant anything. Silence followed, but with every nerve in her body on edge, she could almost hear the gears spinning inside his head.

“Cam…” They had only spoken of the subject once, when Lord Wolcott’s refusal to pay for a London doctor to treat Cameron’s mother had left him feeling utterly helpless. Furious at Fate’s cruelty, he had confided a family secret…

“This certainly casts a different light on things, Sunbeam,” he mused. “There was a letter mentioning Morton in Wolcott’s desk, but the implication seemed meaningless until now.” He didn’t explain. “Given what you’ve just told me, it’s even more imperative that I return to London and begin making some inquiries.”

“You think the proof of your mother’s marriage to Wolcott’s father, the old marquess, actually exists?” she whispered.

“To her dying day, she insisted that she was, in fact, his wife,” he replied. “But my half brother claims there was no such record in my father’s papers, making me naught but a bastard by-blow. I’ve always suspected that he destroyed the proof to protect his precious pedigree from mongrel blood.”

Sophie knew that the old marquess’s first wife, the mother of the present Lord Wolcott, was a highborn lady. While Cameron’s mother was an obscure governess who had met his father on sea voyage returning from Italy, where he had sought a warmer winter clime for his ailing health.

“What puzzles me,” she said slowly, “is how my father’s name has come to be involved in this. He could not possible have performed the ceremony, as it took place abroad.”

“There are a great many mysteries,” replied Cameron tersely. “None of which we will solve right now.” He picked up the lock and turned it over in his hands. “The thing about puzzle locks is, they may look horridly complicated, but as soon as one understands where the few key levers are located, they open quite easily.”

“Show me.” The words slipped out of their own accord.

Cameron didn’t react for a moment. He sat very still, the dark fringe of his lashes accentuating the black, brooding shadows beneath his eyes. “Mistakes can be costly. A slip sometimes triggers a hidden danger. I once encountered an Italian lock that spit a burning acid if the wrong tumbler moved. And then, there are clever Swiss models that set off a warning within the house, so the owner is waiting to welcome you with a brace of pistols.”

“I’m willing to take the risk,” answered Sophie.

“Are you?”

A question?
No, a challenge.

She made a show of dusting her hands, feeling a tingling in her flesh as her palms touched together. “I’m ready to go
mano a mano
, Cameron. In the past, I could hold my own against you in any game we played.”
Almost every game, that is
. “So let the tumblers fall where they may.”

Her bravado provoked a twitch of his lips. Setting the lock down, he slowly removed his coat. “Very well.” His cravat fell in a lazy, looping twist and hooked over the back of his chair. “Like you, I like work best when I am free of sartorial restraint.” Slowly, slowly, he rolled up his shirtsleeves, revealing a bronzed pair of muscled forearms.

In response, Sophie unfastened the top two tiny buttons of her bodice and fanned her cheeks. “Is it me, or it is warm in here?”

His throaty chuckle set a lick of heat teasing between her legs. Clenching her knees together, she shifted her legs a fraction and gave her skirts a small shake.

“Pay attention, Sunbeam. The lesson is about to commence.” A dangerous glitter kindled in his eyes. “A lock is like a virtuous lady.” He circled a fingertip around the keyhole. “There is a special little opening which allows you to delve inside her and learn her intimate secrets, but to gain entrance requires a carefully choreographed seduction. She doesn’t yield to just anyone. You must have a skillful touch to coax her into opening up. One clumsy slip can ruin all your hopes.”

Sophie felt herself blush.

Cameron chuckled again, and her cheeks were aflame.

“Shall I go on?”

“I am all ears,” she said, trying to match his silky tone.

“Sorry, but I must ask you to use other bodily parts in this exercise.”

“I…” To her dismay, her voice seemed to catch in her throat.

“Your
hand
, Sophie.” A devilish grin. “Give me your hand, palm up if you please.”

His long, lithe fingers encircled her wrist. “Relax,” he murmured. “Tension makes it hard to perform delicate maneuvers.”

“You are certainly an expert in this subject,” she said a little testily. “Can we get on with it?”

“Alas, you are right. A lock, unlike a lady, needs to be opened as quickly as possible. Still, its seduction is about more than mechanics.” Drawing a slim shaft of steel from his boot, Cameron carefully positioned it in her hand. “It’s about feel.”

The steel was sleek and cool against her skin.

He guided the probe to the keyhole and dipped the tip inside. “Close your eyes, circle the metal, and tell me what you feel.”

She did as he asked. “It’s smooth…and hard.”

“Come, you can do better than that.”

Frowning, she tried again. “There are two ridges—no, three.”

“That’s better.” Cameron pushed the shaft in a little deeper. “What about now?”

“A series of indentations.”

“Press each one very gently. Do you feel any movement?”

Sophie was surprised at how subtle a shift the steel could detect. “I—I think so.”

“Excellent. These locks are tricky, for they have a few additional elements. But it’s good practice. Now, give a little jiggle here…”

For the next hour, Cameron led her through the basics of how a lock worked. It was difficult, demanding training, requiring great patience and concentration. And Sophie found it exhilarating. She liked solving problems, and here, her efforts were rewarded with a supremely satisfying
snick
when she got it right.

“Not bad, Sunbeam,” he said, once she could spring the catch all on her own. “I know a number of cracksmen in London would be happy to engage your services, should you ever decide to seek employment.”

“I daresay it would be far more interesting than serving as a governess to a pack of unruly children.” Sophie blotted her brow. “Admit it—I do have a knack for this.”

“Pride goeth before a fall.” Cameron took a pocketwatch from his coat pocket and snapped open the case. “It’s all very well to master a mechanism when there is no pressure to perform. But when it’s dark, and time is of the essence, the task becomes a good deal tougher.”

He propped up the timepiece against an earthenware jug and angled the white porcelain dial her way. It was a beautiful object, elegant in its simplicity and exquisitely made.
Expensive
, she guessed, noting the finely crafted engraving and rich patina of the two-tone gold.

“Where did you get that?” she asked.

“Geneva,” he replied casually. “The citizens there are renowned for their watchmaking skills.”

“It must have cost a fortune.”

His lips twitched. “The asking amount was indeed quite high. However I was able to negotiate my own price.”

The ticking seemed to change to a deeper, darker tone.
Danger, danger.

Ignoring the warning, she pressed on. “What do your friends think of your illegal activities?”

Cameron shrugged. “As friends do, Connor and Gryff tolerate my faults. And while they don’t condone some of my more outrageous exploits, they do concede that I have some redeeming qualities. My skills have on occasion proved useful in helping Good triumph over Evil.”

Black and white.
As shadows scudded across his angled face, Sophie studied his profile. How strange—even though he had changed in a myriad of ways over the years, he was still essentially the same.
Cameron. Mercurial and mysterious.

Her opposite, and yet a kindred spirit.

Sensing her scrutiny, he turned abruptly and gave a quick tap to the watch’s crystal. “Back to our lesson, Sunbeam. Try to open the lock in, say, two minutes.”

Sophie watched several seconds tick away. “That’s an awfully short allotment.”

“You have no business attempting a real job until you can do it in half that time.”

Taking up the probe, she set to work.
Tick, tick, tick.
“Drat.” A rushed flick had jigged one of the wrong levers, freezing the gears in place.

Cameron looked a little smug as he released the catch on the inside of the lock.
Too smug.

“Let’s see you do it in under a minute.”

He proceeded to do so with maddening ease. “Forty-one seconds, to be precise.”

“I’ll bet you can’t do it in thirty seconds,” retorted Sophie.

A pause. “How much?”

The butcher’s bill was due on the morrow…Reluctantly, she shook her head. “I’m not plump in the pocket. I can’t wager money.”

“Fine.” He regarded her with a lazy, lidded gaze. “I’ll accept a different forfeit.”

“Like what? I left all of the sultana muffins with Neddy Wadsworth, and I doubt that you would care for hairpins.”

“You may keep the pins,” agreed Cameron. “I’ll take an item of clothing instead. I get to choose.”

“You are incorrigible,” she exclaimed.

“Impossibly so,” he drawled. “Dangerously so.” He shifted slightly, a subtle move, and yet Sophie was intimately aware of the ripple of masculine muscle, the powerful primal grace.

Dangerous, indeed.

“That’s enough of a foray to the dark side of propriety for today. You are smart to refuse the wager.” His expression didn’t alter, but she could sense that his mood had suddenly changed again, like quicksilver presaging a coming storm. She hated it when he retreated into himself, leaving only the shell of a stranger.

“Return to the light, Sunbeam,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “It’s too risky for you to stay here with me.”

Sophie watched the ornate steel hands of the pocketwatch sweep through another moment. “On second thought, I’ll accept your terms.”

I ought to make her go
. Cameron sucked in a shallow breath.
Make her flee before she’s drawn deeper into my netherworld of darkness and demons.
The risks were too great. It wasn’t just the physical threat, though God knows that was terrifying enough. Worse was the knowledge that to let her be part of his shadowy life was to draw her closer to the abyss of ruin. He still couldn’t offer her a respectable life, so it was wrong to relive their youthful camaraderie, when together they laughed in the face of any danger.

His heart shuddered against his ribs. Cameron reached across the table. The pocketwatch was mere inches away. Click the case shut and the game was over.

But I am an evil devil, who cares for naught but my own selfish desires.

His fingers pinched…and picked up the probe.

“Tell me when to start,” he said, turning a deaf ear to the chiding voices in the back of his head.

“Now,” called Sophie, her eyes intent on the dial.

Tick.
The catch popped open.

“Drat.”

“The higher the stakes, the faster my fingers,” he murmured, savoring the sudden flush of color that suffused her flesh. A soft pink-gold, the exact shade of a ripe, sun-warmed peach. “Hmmm, let me consider the choices. What item should I pick? A stocking, perhaps?”

She shot a reproachful look at the pocketwatch.

“A gentleman would let you off lightly. The Devil, however, might choose your dress.”

The pulsepoint on her throat gave a little jump. “You
wouldn’t
.”

“That,” drawled Cameron, “is exactly the wrong tumbler to press when playing with man who does not wear a stitch of honor.” He gave a flick of his arm, which was bare to the elbow. “Off with the gown. Unless, of course, you wish to renege on the bet.”

“And concede that at heart, I’m a craven coward?” Sophie scowled. “Ha! Let the Devil have his due.”

A few hurried tugs released the tabs at her shoulders. A shrug, a wiggle, and the garment slithered over her head and fell to the floor, forming a soft pool of muslin at the foot of her chair.

“There.” A prickling of gooseflesh pebbled her arms as the air stirred and tickled against skin. “In gambling, a loser is always allowed a chance to recoup his losses, correct?”