Scandals of an Innocent (20 page)

“I fight against the injustice because it is so wrong, but there seems so little that I can do,” Alice said. She looked up and her clear blue gaze met his. “I thought you were different,” she said, with the simplicity that always stole Miles’s breath. “Last year when we first met I thought that because you worked for justice and the common good…” She let the sentence fade away, shaking her head a little. There was an undertone of disappointment in her voice. “I made a mistake,” she finished. “You were merciless and selfish in pursuing what you wanted, just as you are now.”

“I wanted you and I wanted your money,” Miles said. “I still do.” He knew he could not defend himself against her accusation. It was true.

“So you seek to blackmail me into marrying you,” Alice said, “which amounts to forcing me to your bed.”

“I may be a fortune hunter and a rake,” Miles said, “but I have never forced an unwilling woman to lie with me. I would never do that.” He looked at her. There was no skepticism in her gaze and once again he was struck by how naturally open and honest she was. He had never met a woman like her.

He did not deserve a woman like her.
That was the truth.

“Never?” she said.

“I am being honest,” Miles said dryly. “I would never do that.”

Something eased in Alice’s face and she smiled a little again, and her radiance hit him like a punch.

“So you would not force me to lie with you even if we wed,” she said.

Miles gave her a very straight look. “But I would not be forcing you, would I, sweetheart? You would come to me of your own free will. You know you want me as much as I want you.”

“I…” Alice put her hands up to her scarlet cheeks.

Miles took one of her hands away from her face and imprisoned it in her lap. “That is the thing that troubles you,” he said softly. “That you can dislike what I stand for and yet still desire me.”

Alice sat looking at him, her lips parted, the troubled look still in her eyes. There was a flush on her cheekbones that was, Miles suspected, a compound of indignation and the deep desire that he knew he could arouse in her.

“I will tell you what
would
trouble me,” she said. “I would hate it if we were wed and you were unfaithful to me. You are a rake, Miles. Can you be faithful, or would that be too difficult for you?”

Miles thought about it. To be true to her as long as they both lived…That was a hell of a commitment to make, forsaking all other women. But since he did not appear to have any space in his mind even to think about any other women at present, let alone any desire to make love to one, it suddenly seemed less implausible than it might have done.

“I don’t know,” he said slowly. “That is the truth. I have never attempted to be faithful to anyone. I think
I can say that I would try my hardest.” He stopped. Once again a strange tenderness for her took him. To try his best seemed woefully inadequate and far, far less than Alice deserved. Damnation, he really was losing his grip now, striving to become a better man to please her. He had never had any urge to improve before. He was quite happy as he was. And now he found himself trying to change. He did not like it.

“I suppose I cannot fault you on your honesty,” Alice said, “even when I might prefer a different answer.” She spoke lightly but Miles thought he could detect a hint of some emotion beneath. She freed herself from his clasp and moved away a little along the seat. “I am not at all clear how we come to be discussing this,” she said. “I was trying to tell you that I had misled you as to my fortune.” She looked at him, her eyes suddenly both wary and challenging. “I am not…quite…as rich as everyone supposes.”

“You have misled me as to your fortune,” Miles repeated. He felt a rather chill sense of premonition as he looked at her pink, defiant face.

“Well, not precisely misled,” Alice said. “The eighty thousand pounds is intact and safely invested.”

Miles experienced a sinking sensation. “I sense a
but,
” he said.

“But I have spent all the current interest and have borrowed against future interest, as well,” Alice said, “which I am entitled to do under the terms of my inheritance.” She took a deep breath. “So theoretically I am in debt.”

Miles felt like putting his head in his hands. Alice was watching him and although she was trying to look nonchalant he could see that she was nervous of his
reaction.
Theoretically
she was in debt? What the hell was a
theoretical
debt? He had yet to come across a debt that was not very, very real.

“Your trustees should be shot for letting you do this,” Miles said. He tried to hold on to his temper. “How much?” he added softly.

“Oh, a few thousand pounds to Lowell to buy modern machinery and livestock for the farm, and sufficient invested for Mama to live out her days in comfort, and then some for the workhouse children and other charities and…” She looked sideways at Miles as though to assess his reaction. “I also invested in the windmill cooperative.”

“The windmill cooperative,” Miles repeated. He felt slightly dazed.

“Yes,” Alice said. “A great many of us have invested as a way to encourage new businesses in the village.”

A small silence fell between them.

“What else?” Miles said.

“Well,” Alice excused. “There are a few other small things. Mama, for example, is very extravagant and does like the trappings of luxury. I did not like the money, anyway,” she added defiantly. “It was making me unhappy.”

“Lack of money has been making me unhappy for quite some time,” Miles said. “Why did the possession of it have the opposite effect on you?”

“Because I had been a servant and I am accustomed to working,” Alice said. “Sitting around sewing or reading or drinking tea and gossiping…” She shrugged. “Once the novelty of having leisure had worn off, it seemed like a monstrous waste of time to me. Oh, I love some of the things that money can buy,” she added. “I
love that I am not obliged to work until I drop with tiredness. I love buying clothes. But I was bored, I am afraid. I needed to be active.” Miles saw her steal another look at him under her lashes. She looked scared and defiant. He wanted to shake her. He wanted to kiss her.

“And I have made over the house in Skipton to Miss Cole as a place where she and her baby may live in future,” she finished.

Miles was shaking his head. “Alice, you really are the most infuriating woman—”

“It is
my
money,” Alice argued, “and I can do with it whatever I like until I am wed.” She looked at him. “You are angry.”

Miles looked at her. “I would be less than human—or lying—if I denied it.” He ran a hand over his hair. He was aware of feeling furious and frustrated but at the same time of a perplexing admiration for her and what she had done.

“Devil take it, Alice…” He ground out. “We shall
both
end in the Fleet at this rate.”

“Well, I was not to know that you were so desperate that you would want all the eighty thousand and all the interest, as well,” Alice pointed out. “Blackmailers deserve a few unpleasant surprises,” she added trenchantly.

Miles reached out and pulled her angrily into his arms. “I am furious with you,” he said, his cheek against hers.

She glanced up at him, and the softness of her cheek moved against the rough stubble on his skin. “You are greedy,” she said huskily.

Miles shook her a little. “I want everything.”

“You cannot have it.” She slanted her head and gave him a look of challenge. “Are you going to jilt me now that I am not as rich as you thought?”

A wave of desire took Miles so hard it almost floored him. “No,” he said. “I will have you, Alice. Perhaps you are not quite as rich as I had hoped but I will have you all the same.”

She sat back, out of his arms, and gave him another look of challenge that made him burn. “You forget that there are still two months of our courtship to run,” she said. “Free me from the blackmail,” she added suddenly. “Let me make my own choices.”

Miles thought about it. Surprisingly he found it more difficult to refuse her than he had expected. There was something about Alice’s shining honesty that demanded an equal integrity in return. But the risk was too great. He could not gamble on losing Alice or her money and anyway, it was a long time since he had prided himself on his integrity.

“No,” he said. “I cannot.”

Her expression did not alter. She did not even look surprised, rather as though she had not expected it of him anyway. He supposed that he had not disappointed her because by now she had no illusions about him.

“I do not like to be coerced,” she said evenly.

“None of us do,” Miles said. He drew her close again and tilted her face up to his. She met his gaze fearlessly but he could feel the tension in her. “I am not going to risk losing my advantage,” he said, against her mouth. He kissed her, parting her lips with his tongue, delving into the sweetness of her mouth, demanding a response. She was still beneath his touch as she had been before when he had comforted her,
neither withdrawing nor engaging. He closed his teeth about her lower lip and bit down just hard enough to force a gasp from her.

“Respond to me,” he said, taking her mouth again, his hand coming up to palm her breast. The rough silken slide of the velvet bodice skimmed under his fingers and she gasped again at the friction.

“That is one thing you cannot make me do,” she whispered. Her lips were damp and parted, tempting him unbearably. He wanted to kiss her senseless. “You said earlier that I would come to you of my own free will,” she said. “You were wrong. You may be able to blackmail me into marrying you, but you cannot force me to respond to you.”

Miles knew it was true, but all his frustration at her damned independence and her refusal to break suddenly went into the kiss, and he pushed her down on the sofa and plundered her mouth until she was helpless and quiescent in his arms. She offered no resistance to him but neither did she return his embrace, which only angered him the more. The need to command a response from her, to make her acknowledge her desire for him, roared through him. He held her head still so he could take her mouth in kisses that were deeper still and loosed the gown from about her neck to expose her tender skin to the questing exploration of his lips and hands. The demands he made on her were merciless; the pale skin of her throat and shoulders was pink and ravished from his touch and her nipples peaked hard against the velvet of her bodice. And at last he felt the answering desire in her and the triumphant masculine possession flared in him—until he drew back, saw the look in her blue
eyes and knew her spirit was far from broken. For a moment they stared at each other like gladiators, and then Miles remembered all the things Alice had said about taking by force. It was like a shower of icy water. He let her go with a savage oath, gathering her close in his arms, feeling the instinctive resistance in her and hating himself for causing it.

Gradually her tense breathing eased and she relaxed against him and he pressed his cheek against hers in apology and penance.

“I am sorry,” he said. “My desire for you almost made me a liar.”

She moved against him a little, her body soft and yielding against his now. “And I would be lying, too, if I pretended I did not want you,” she said, “but I will not give in.” She put a hand up and touched his lips gently. “Miles. I hate what you are doing to me. I cannot concede.”

“I know,” Miles said softly. “You cannot capitulate but neither will I.”

He was wrenched with a sudden deep regret. He could not risk losing her and yet more than anything he wanted her response to be freely given. The conflict tightened deep within him.

“Do you know what happens when you deny yourself something that you want very badly?” he murmured.

Alice’s eyes met his, deep lavender blue in the lamplit room. “You develop exceptionally good self-discipline?” she said.

Miles smiled. “No,” he said. “You just want it all the more.”

“W
AS IT YOU
?” Lydia, panting and crying, threw herself into Tom Fortune’s arms. “Did you do it, Tom? Did you try to kill Alice?”

She had run all the way from Spring House across the snowy meadows to the ruins of the old priory where Tom was currently encamped. She had been waiting all day for word from him, growing steadily more anxious and upset, and now she could not seem to stop the tears or stop the shaking in her body.

Tom swung the cellar doors closed behind them and drew her into the shelter of his arms. He held her close, soothing and petting her and speaking softly to her, Lydia thought, much as he would calm a skittish horse. And surprisingly, it was comforting. The sobs that racked her body died away and she felt strangely at peace. Except that he had not answered her question.

“Well?” she demanded. She could not see his expression clearly because the wick on the candle had already burned so low, but she thought that he was smiling at her.

“Of course not,” Tom said. “Why would I wish to kill Miss Lister?”

“I don’t know,” Lydia said, shivering, “but someone did.”

Tom drew her down to sit beside him on the floor.
The cellar was surprisingly warm in comparison to the frosty night outside but it was scarcely welcoming. Tom’s pitifully small collection of possessions were scattered about: a bag, a cloak, a pistol. Lydia shuddered to see it.

“Whoever shot at Miss Lister had a rifle,” Tom said, following her gaze. “I heard the tales in the tavern.” He unstoppered a bottle and tilted it to his lips. “Elder-flower champagne,” he said. “Mrs. Anstruther keeps her wine down here. Would you like some?”

“I don’t think you should steal it,” Lydia said primly.

Tom’s lips twisted. “It is only one more thing to add to the list against me. I know they will be looking for me twice as hard now they think I tried to kill again.”

“It isn’t safe for you here,” Lydia said. “Dexter Anstruther is a bare hundred yards away in the Old Palace, and Miles Vickery is staying at Spring House.”

“I know,” Tom said. He leaned forward and kissed her. He tasted of champagne and smelled of musk and leather, and Lydia shivered at the memory of his skin against hers.

“I like the danger,” Tom said, his words muffled against her lips. “I cannot help myself. It excites me.”

“Then it is a good job that I have more sense than you,” Lydia said, pushing him away, albeit reluctantly. “Now listen, Tom—” She paused, losing the thread of her thoughts as he started to nibble at the soft skin of her neck, using his teeth and lips and tongue to raise the goose bumps on her skin. “Stop!” she said. “I need to think and you are distracting me!”

“Good,” Tom said, pulling the ribbon that held her cloak in place and unraveling it slowly.

“Be serious,” Lydia said weakly. “Do you think that
these murders or attempted murders are all the work of one man?”

“They must be,” Tom said, raising his head for a second. “I refuse to believe that there is more than one dangerous criminal on the loose in Fortune’s Folly.” He pushed her cloak aside and started to nuzzle at the neckline of her gown, his tongue dipping wickedly into the cleft between her breasts.

“Who,” Lydia said, determinedly ignoring him even as her heart pounded like a drum, “is the least likely person to be that criminal?”

“Hmm…my brother, Monty? Your parents?” Tom really did not sound as though he cared. He popped Lydia’s breast out of the rounded neckline of the gown with shocking suddenness and bent to suckle it.

“Tom!” Lydia remembered at the last moment that she was supposed to keep quiet, and her keening cry came out as a ragged whisper instead. His mouth at her breast evoked all the welter of emotion and need she had ever felt for him, dangerous feelings she had thought were buried forever.

“I am five months pregnant,” she protested, even as she arched to his touch.

Tom’s free hand curved over the swelling of her belly. “That just excites me the more,” he said.

“That cannot possibly be true,” Lydia said. She had hated the sight of her thickening body because it had seemed to mock her stupidity in giving herself to Tom in the first place.

“It is true.” Tom released her breast and kissed her with all the simmering passion she remembered. “It makes you very, very desirable, Lyddy.”

When they broke apart Lydia was breathing fast,
and she felt as though her entire body was lit as bright as the candle flame. She looked at Tom and his eyes were dark with all the secrets and wickedness and excitement that she remembered.

“Could we…” she began hesitantly, and saw him smile.

“If you want to.”

“Oh, I
do.
” Suddenly she was feverish with need. “Only, it will not hurt the baby?”

“No,” Tom said. “We will be very gentle and very careful….”

“Oh,
yes,
” Lydia said, settling down into his arms with a sigh.

A
LICE SAT IN FRONT
of the mirror in her bedroom, brushing her hair very slowly. The fire was banked down in the grate ready for the night, and the candle stood on her nightstand ready to light her bedtime reading. The house was creaking and settling softly down to sleep.

Alice was thinking about Lydia. She had caught her friend creeping into the house very late, shaking the snow from her cloak and easing herself out of her sodden boots. Lydia had looked radiant, glowing and vibrant, as pretty as Alice had ever seen her. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks rosy. Alice had known at once that Lydia must have been with Tom Fortune.

Alice sighed now as she viewed her reflection in the glass. Lydia’s situation worried her very much indeed, for her friend had looked so happy and Alice simply could not bear to think that she might get hurt again. They had had no chance to speak, for Miles had come down the stairs just after Lydia had come in, and the
smile had immediately drained from Lydia’s face leaving her looking pale and terrified. She had thrown Alice a pleading look, had muttered a good-night to Miles and had run away up to her room. Alice had picked up Lydia’s cloak and taken it off to the kitchens to dry out, and now she felt guilty and with her loyalties painfully torn.

The hand holding the brush stilled and came to rest on the dressing tabletop. Alice sat still. What was she to do? She cared deeply what happened to Lydia but she was so afraid that Tom would betray her friend yet again. And she wanted to confide in Miles—she wanted to trust him with a strength of feeling that surprised her—and yet, she could not do so if that would cause more misery and pain for Lydia.

She got to her feet. Laura Anstruther was coming to visit in the morning. She was Lydia’s cousin by marriage as well as Miles’s cousin. Perhaps she might be the very person to bridge the gap between them all and persuade Lydia to talk. And in the meantime, Alice thought, the best thing that she could do would be to get a good night’s sleep. Her injured arm still ached abominably and she felt tired to her bones. In the end she had given in to Miles’s demands that he be permitted to stay at Spring House. Her mother had wanted it and Alice had felt too tired to continue objecting. So now Miles was sharing her roof, occupying a room across the landing from her, and she felt oddly on edge at the thought even though the house was full of other people, as well.

Perhaps it had been Miles’s parting words to her in the parlor earlier that had been the problem.
You know
what happens when you deny yourself something that you want very badly…You just want it all the more…

She knew that he had been speaking for himself. Unfortunately his words applied to her, too. She
did
want him, too much to be comfortable in such proximity to him. But she could not surrender to him whilst he still refused her a free choice in her future. No matter how difficult the denial, she was determined not to give in.

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Alice called, thinking that Marigold had come to bring her a cup of hot milk.

The door opened and Miles walked in. He stopped when he saw her and his gaze went from the corn-colored hair loose about her shoulders to her bare feet, where they peeped from beneath the hem of her nightgown. Alice was suddenly acutely aware that she was naked beneath her night rail and robe and that Miles was still fully dressed. For some reason it felt doubly disturbing that he had all his clothes on whilst she lacked most of hers.

She could feel the pink color stinging her face. Sometimes it was a terrible curse to be so fair and blush so easily. “Lord Vickery!” Her voice was not quite steady. “I thought you were my maid. What on earth are you doing here?”

Miles’s gaze came up to meet hers. “I have come to search your room and make sure that you are safe for the night,” he said.

“To search my room?” Alice felt appalled. “Surely you do not suspect anyone of breaking in and concealing themselves in here?”

“I don’t know until I check,” Miles said. He moved
across to the window, looking behind the long curtains. His gaze seemed to rest on the bed for a long time, contemplating its rumpled sheets and invitingly tumbled pillows. Alice’s breath hitched as he looked back at her.

“A somewhat inflammatory choice of reading for bedtime, Miss Lister,” Miles said, gesturing to the copy of
Tom Jones
that was on the nightstand.

Alice raised her chin. “It is a classic novel,” she said.

“I do not dispute it,” Miles agreed, “but I suspect it will cause you a restless night.”

Alice doubted that a mere book could disturb her as much as Miles was doing now. He had moved across to the big rosewood wardrobe and opened the door. Alice’s breath caught again. She had not imagined that he would be searching through her clothes. This felt far too intimate, though why it should disquiet her she was not sure, since he had eased her out of that very underwear only a fortnight back, so there really was no cause for false modesty. His hands moved amongst the linen and lawn of her underclothes, tanned against the pristine whiteness. It made Alice shiver as though he was touching her skin.

“There, uh, there does not appear to be anyone in here,” Miles said. His tone was a little rough. His gaze, dark and intense, tangled with hers. He shut the wardrobe door carefully.

“Well, um, thank you,” Alice said, feeling absurdly self-conscious. She wondered a little despairingly whether Miles’s presence in the house would always make her this uncomfortable. She would have to hope that they would find the criminal soon or she might just combust.

Miles paused with his hand on the doorknob. “Do
you think that Miss Cole was with Tom Fortune tonight?” he asked suddenly, over his shoulder.

Alice jumped, taken by surprise. She realized that he had sprung the question on her deliberately, knowing she would have no time to dissemble.

“Yes, I think that she was,” she said evenly.

“She did not say anything to you?”

“No, she did not,” Alice said.

Miles nodded slowly. He turned fully to face her, leaning back against the door panels. “Do you think she will speak to Laura tomorrow?”

“I doubt it,” Alice said. “I know that Mrs. Anstruther is her cousin but—” she shrugged helplessly “—her feelings for Tom are too strong to betray him.”

“Why do you think that she trusts him?” Miles asked.

Their eyes met and held. “Because she loves him,” Alice said. She sighed. “For no better reason than that.”

“Do you think her instinct to trust him is correct?” Miles said.

“I doubt it,” Alice said. “Tom is a scoundrel, and love is more likely to distort one’s good sense than to reinforce it.”

Miles smiled slightly. “You sound almost as cynical as me, Miss Lister,” he said. “Lock the door behind me,” he added, checking that there was a key, “and do not open it until your maid knocks in the morning. Ask her to call out to identify herself first. I will be in the room across the landing—should you need me.”

He went out and Alice turned the key in the lock with fingers that shook a little. She got into bed and lay there for a moment before blowing out the candle.
Tom Jones
would have to wait for another night. She was already quite sufficiently disturbed as it was.

Perhaps it was the relentless ache in her arm, or the fear that someone might indeed attempt to break into her room, or more likely the disquieting thought of Miles Vickery across the corridor, barely feet away from her, but Alice did not sleep well that night. Miles’s face seemed obstinately to appear in her broken dreams. His dark hazel eyes invaded her most private thoughts. Even after he had left her bedchamber his presence seemed to dominate the room, as though she could not escape him. She could hear the echo of his question about Lydia in her dreams and her answer: She trusts him because she loves him…

She woke shivering whilst it was still dark and burrowed under the blankets as much for comfort as warmth. Love made one do such foolish things, such as entrusting oneself to a man who might be a dangerous criminal, or indeed to one who was an accredited rake who could never be faithful or trustworthy or any of the things that a sensible woman would wish for in a husband. She opened her eyes and stared at the shadowy canopy of her bed. She could
not
be falling in love with Miles Vickery all over again, not when she could see so clearly his faults and imperfections now, not when she was supposed to have learned from her bitter lesson of the previous year. She was far too levelheaded for that, too practical, too wise. She knew that she was suffering from a bad case of thwarted lust—the sort of thing that ladies pretended never to experience, let alone speak about—but that was merely a physical problem. Anything deeper and more profound was out of the question.