Enchanted by Your Kisses (14 page)

Could she know who he was? Once again, he found himself wondering, and he'd learned to trust when his instincts sent him a warning.

Either way, by tomorrow night, he would have found out.

If Ariel had thought herself nervous the first time she'd confronted Nathan, knowing who he truly was, that was nothing compared to this night's excursion. She paced her father's salon. The musty smell of a house long closed up filtered into her nose. She hadn't wanted
Trevain
to bring her here, had needed the time alone to compose herself. But now she wished she had her cousin with her, even though she would have hated to involve Phoebe. No, this would be the last night to confront him. That she was settled upon.

"My lady, he is here."

One of the few members of the staff left behind to keep up the house stood by the salon door. "Very good. Show him in."

The man nodded, turned.

"Is everything ready?" she asked in a rush.

The man turned back. "It is, my lady."

"Very good. We shall eat at half-past the hour."

Once again the servant turned, once again Ariel wanted to call him back with a question, but delaying the confrontation would serve no purpose.

One last night, Ariel. '
Tis
all you must endure.

And she would do this. She could. Whatever Nathan wanted, it must involve this house and her father somehow. Why else would he befriend her? And if he was after documents, they must be documents he could not find on his own. She had no doubt that he was professional enough to have looked in the obvious places before selecting her to unwittingly help, though what he could be looking for she had no idea.

"My lady."

And there he was by the doorway, his broad shoulders covered by yet another black coat, his scar more pronounced tonight for some reason. The same black diamond winked from his stock, his leather shoes catching the glitter of the fire. His white stockings were stark against his black breeches.

"Mr.
Trevain
. I'm glad you've come."

He walked forward. Ariel felt her heart speed up with every step. "Are you?"

He was flirting with her. Or was he? His silver eyes were intent, his look seeming to pierce her soul. What was it he sought in her eyes, she wondered.

"I thought you might change your mind," he said, stopping before her.

She stared up at him, at his tan, masculine face. Up into eyes that glittered as they stared down at her. "As you can see, I did not."

He reached for her hand. Her breath caught. He lifted it, kissed it softly, then released it. She felt almost disappointed by the loss of contact.

He stepped back from her, placing his hands behind his back, his gaze focusing on the room around them. "This is a very lovely home."

"Thank you."

"Perhaps you could give me a tour later?"

She looked at him sharply. Her senses went on alert. "Of course." She gestured to the sideboard. "Would you like something to drink?"

He seemed pleased by the suggestion. "Yes, I would, although I insist on pouring." He crossed to the sideboard, which held three bottles and four glasses. "Would you like some wine?"

"Yes," she answered, knowing she shouldn't. Wine was something she drank rarely, but tonight she found herself wanting something stronger. Truly, she should have had a glass of brandy to steady her nerves before he'd arrived. She should have had ten drinks of brandy.

"What is the view out of that window, by the way?" he asked over his shoulder as he poured.

Ariel watched the glass fill with liquid. "The house sits next to one of His Majesty's parks."

"It must be beautiful."

She glanced at the window as if she could see out of it. "It is."

He turned back to her, a glass held out. "To trusting me," he murmured, lifting it and taking a sip.

She did the same, the wine tart on her tongue, the taste foreign. He watched her intently, so much so that she felt her face heat like warming stones. She took another sip to cover her nervousness.

"Did you have a pleasant ride over?" Mundane, silly question, she knew, but she needed to say something to cover her nervousness, a nervousness that increased with each passing moment.

"Very pleasant. Thank you."

Hmph
. Now what? She elected to sit down on the sofa, relieved when he sat on the sofa that stood across from her. "And your uncle. Are you on speaking terms with him after last eve?"

His expression turned rather wry. "I am,
more's
the pity."

She took another sip, the liquid burning a path down her throat.

"I am sorry for what happened."

She would wager he was. "'
Tis
of no import. I know you had nothing to do with it."

Already she could feel the effects of the wine, one of the benefits of drinking nothing but lemonade for the past few years. "I assume you didn't tell him our engagement was a sham?"

"No, I did not."

She nodded, wondering what to say next.

"You seem nervous," he said, his voice low.

"Me?" She feigned innocence. "What have I to be nervous about?"

"You are alone with me."

She settled back on her sofa, suddenly feeling rather languid. "Yes, there is that, I suppose. I don't make a habit of seeing strange men alone." She frowned. "At least I didn't until I met you."

He leaned forward, his elbow resting upon his knee. "And has meeting me been such a bad thing?"

She found herself nodding before she realized what she was doing. "I rank my meeting with you right up there with the day my horse lost a shoe on Archibald Worth's estate."

"How flattering."

"Yes, well, at least the horse wasn't injured."

"But you were."

She waved her glass around in a gesture of dismissal. Some of the liquid sloshed. She hardly noticed. "Only later, and just my heart. But really, what matters a broken heart when one has lost one's reputation?"

"And that bothers you?"

"No," she answered, her tongue feeling thick. "It doesn't bother me. It annoys me, and sometimes when I see the way people look at me, it hurts. Only 'tis worse when they direct that animosity at my cousin, too. I tell myself to pay it no heed. After all, most of them are a bunch of no account snobs."

"And what do you think of me?"

She peered at her glass. She hadn't drunk much wine, but it certainly felt like it. Yet she was more than lightheaded. She felt odd, her body heavy, her thoughts sluggish. "What kind of wine was this?" she asked, staring into the glass.

"The kind made from grapes," he answered.

She flushed again. "Why, thank you for that edifying bit of information."

"You didn't answer my question."

She looked up at him, having to blink a bit to focus. "Mayhap because I do not want to answer it."

He smiled. She became entranced with that smile for a moment. Heavens, but the man had a heavenly smile.

"Why don't you want to answer it?"

"Because I do not wish to insult you."

The smile spread. "Go ahead. Answer me. What do you think of me. Honestly."

"Very well. I think you're a lying, cheating, traitorous bastard."

His amusement abruptly faded. Not surprisingly. Her words would have had a dampening effect on most people's mood.

"Why do you call me that?"

She almost told him the truth. She almost opened her mouth and let fly the words, "Because you are a spy." But something stopped her at the last moment, some last drop of sanity that floated through her brain. "Because all men are that."

He seemed to buy the words, though his eyes had narrowed. "Not all men."

"No? Name me one man in my life who deserves my admiration."

"Your father."

She snorted. Actually snorted. Gracious, but she felt odd. "My father is the coldest man I've ever met. How he ended up with my mother I shall never know."

"Why do you say that?"

She shrugged, liking how relaxed her shoulders felt. She wiggled them again, almost closing her eyes. "Everyone knows how cold he is. At the Admiralty they call him Block of Ice Bettencourt."

"So he does not speak much? He does not share with you any of the county's secrets?"

Something nagged at the back of her brain, something insistent. "Oh, no. I'm lucky if I hear two words out of him when he deigns to see me. Pity, really. The secret of how he ties his cravat will go with him to the grave." When she focused on him again, she noticed he was smiling. How odd, for she couldn't remember him ever smiling so, so. . .sincerely.

"Has he ever told you what is in that hidden room of his?"

She found herself nodding before she realized what it was she did. A buzzing had begun in her head.

"What is it?"

She shrugged.
Something is most odd, Ariel.
The voice rang out so clearly in her head, she found herself looking around for the speaker.

"Ariel?"

She had a hard time focusing. An even harder time remembering his question.

"What is in that room?"

She blinked, her eyes narrowing sluggishly. "You drugged me."

"I did," he admitted.

"Why?" she slurred.

"I need information from you. This seemed the most expedient way of getting it."

She sat up, knowing her upper body swayed but helpless to stop it. "
Hmph
. What a sterling idea. I'm surprised you did not try that earlier. Would that I had thought of it."

"And why would you want to drug me?"

"Because you," she pointed at one of the two Nathan
Trevains
, "are a spy."

She thought she saw him stiffen, thought he might have risen half out of his chair, but she couldn't be sure. Things had grown rather fuzzy of late.

"How do you know who I am?"

She began to lean to one side. He shot out of his seat before she fell.

"Ariel, answer me. How do you know?"

"Your ring." She smiled triumphantly. "And the way you responded to the note I sent you—Helios."

He released her. She immediately fell over, her upper body landing on the arm of the couch. She wanted to close her eyes. Just for a second. But he wouldn't let her.

"Damnation," she thought she heard him murmur. But then he came to her again, grabbing her arms. "Tell me how to get into your father's private room."

So that was what he wanted. Access to the hidden room off her father's office. How. . .funny.