Shameless (5 page)

“I have to get
him
”—glancing down, she prodded the slack-mouthed Lord Rosen with a disdainful, golden-shoed toe—“and myself out of here without anyone seeing us. If I don’t, if anyone discovers us like this, I will either be forced to wed him—which I won’t do—or be hideously, horribly ruined.” Her eyes met his. “You came in through the window. I thought perhaps you could help me lower him out of it, then lower me down as well. From there, I could get up to my bedchamber by the back staircase without anyone seeing me, I think. I could say that I gave William his congé, and he left, and I then went upstairs. And—and perhaps you could convey Lord Rosen home, or at least somewhere other than
here
?”

Her tone was hopeful. So were her eyes. His mouth tightened with impatience at himself even as his gaze slid reluctantly over her. Granted, she was beautiful and vulnerable and, yes, even somewhat ridiculously endearing with her resolute expression and glorious hair and arms folded tightly over her bountiful bare bosom—but she was also a danger to him. There was no getting around that. When the time came, she could bring ruination down upon him with just a few words.

Something of his inner battle must have shown in his face, because her eyes widened at him as she added hastily, “I have money, you needn’t worry. I’ll pay you for helping me. Pay you
well
.”

Neil suddenly made up his mind. It was stupid of him and he knew it was stupid of him, the kind of soft-headed error that could end up costing him dearly if, later, anything went wrong, but he realized in that instant that he was going to take a chance: he wasn’t going to kill her after all. She was lovely, charming, very young, and totally undeserving of death, an innocent who tonight had simply had the misfortune to find herself in the wrong place at the wrong time. And he wasn’t, he was surprised to realize, quite as devoid of human decency as he had long supposed.

To kill this girl simply because she’d had the misfortune to stumble across him was something that he simply did not want to do.

It seemed that the Angel of Death, as they called him in certain circles, had a heart after all.

Or if not a heart, then something. A shred of conscience remaining to him, maybe. Or at least a predator’s lack of interest in killing something that was not its natural prey.

He would take her bargain. As the decision crystallized, he felt the tense muscles of his neck and shoulders relax.

“Very well.” He hesitated, then pointed a monitory forefinger at her to underline the point. “But you must keep your end of it, mind.”

“You’ll help me? Oh, thank you!” Relief and gratitude blazed from her eyes, which were once again that beguiling delft blue. “You needn’t worry, I shan’t tell on you.” Then she made a quick, wry face at him. “Though if you are a burglar it is probably very wrong of me. If you would just engage to find some
other
residence—” Rosen groaned and she broke off, glancing down at her erstwhile suitor nervously. “Um—never mind. Can we hurry this along? Much longer and someone’s bound to discover us.”

Rosen was stirring in earnest now. The lady’s expression as she looked down at him turned truly alarmed. It appeared that he was, indeed, on the verge of regaining his senses at any moment.

Grimacing at his own folly, Neil moved with quick grace, leaning over the now groaning-in-earnest Rosen. By means of a quick, brutally efficient right to the jaw, he instantly restored him to total unconsciousness.

“Oh, well done,” the lady said with unmistakable admiration, and despite his own annoyance at himself and the situation, Neil almost smiled. The reaction felt strange, foreign even, and he realized that it had been a very long time indeed since he had relaxed enough to enjoy a situation the way he was starting to enjoy the fix he was in.

“Thank you,” he said. Then, by the simple expedient of hooking a hand in the collar of Rosen’s too-elaborate coat, he dragged him over to the window while his new partner in skullduggery followed anxiously along behind.

“Shall I help . . . ?” she began as the curtains billowed around them. She broke off as Neil flipped Rosen over onto his stomach, then reached down and grasped the seat of his breeches. A heave, and Rosen’s bulk was up and over the iron railing that edged the small stone ledge (it was too narrow to be properly termed a balcony) outside the window.

The man was heavy and limp as a sack of stones. For a moment, as his fingers tightened in it, Neil feared that the cloth he was grasping would not be up to the task. But the superfine breeches held. For an instant longer he dangled Rosen by them and the slippery satin collar of his coat, carefully positioning him, and then—not without some satisfaction—he let go.

Fortunate for you we’re just one story up,
Neil thought as Rosen crashed into the welcoming arms of a stately privet. The prickly branches swallowed him up, all but hiding him from view. Only the faintest gleam of white from Rosen’s breeches pinpointed him in the bush.

There was a distant click as the door to the library opened. The sound was unmistakable. Behind him, the lady jumped like a scalded cat.

Neil whipped around instinctively just as she stumbled into him
with all the force of a recoiling cannon. The resulting collision almost sent them both over the rail. Had he not had the sharply honed reflexes of a man who was constantly one unhappy surprise away from his own end, he would not have been sure-footed enough to stave off disaster.

“Easy.”

He grabbed her shoulders, steadying them both, but she wasn’t even paying attention. Her back was to him, and her gaze was fixed fearfully on the crimson velvet wall of the once-again-closed curtains. She was rigid as buckram now. Beyond the curtains, someone was speaking.

“I thought you said my son was in here.” The voice sounded like it belonged to an older woman. It was cold, imperious.

“I am sorry, Lady Rosen. Lord Rosen must have left without my seeing him.” The other speaker was male, and clearly a servant.

“Was Lady Elizabeth with him?”

“I really couldn’t say, ma’am.”

“Hmmph.” Cloth rustled and heels tapped sharply on the parquet floor as Lady Rosen marched out. Softer footsteps marked the servant’s exit. With a gentle
whoosh
and a barely audible
click,
the door once again closed.

“I take it that you are Lady Elizabeth?” Neil murmured inquiringly into the closer of her ears. Her shoulders were slim and supple beneath his hands. They felt good beneath his palms, warm and rounded. Her skin was pale enough to glow faintly in the light of the barely there sliver of moon that was, at that moment, peeping out from behind a gathering tower of silver-limned black clouds.

The smell of rain was in the air. So, closer at hand, was the tantalizingly faint scent of lavender.

Although he faced a night spent moving around in the open, Neil knew which he found more disturbing.

She nodded, then glanced at him over her shoulder. The brisk breeze caught her hair, sending a strand of it fluttering against his mouth. It, too, had the texture of silk. “That was William’s mother.”

“So I gathered.”

“She’s looking for him. And me. Oh, I
must
get out of here.”

She pulled free of his hands and whisked around to face him.

“Can you lower me down?” she asked urgently, moving to the rail and looking over. The view encompassed the narrow, lushly landscaped side yard, which was screened from the street by an iron fence and a tall hedge, and the high brick wall of the mansion next door. As he happened to know from his earlier reconnaissance of the area, it was presently empty, its owner having apparently chosen to remain in the country this Season. Its windows were dark and shuttered, and its shelter provided the strip of ground beneath with almost total privacy.

“I have a better idea.” His hands dropped to his sides, although he was ready to swear he could still feel the heat of her skin on his palms. “I’ll get down myself, and then you jump and I’ll catch you.”

She cast a hunted glance over her shoulder. “Fine. Just hurry.”

Vaulting the rail required little effort. Neil dropped lithely to the ground, managing to avoid, with the ease of long practice, both the bush that had cushioned Rosen and the gravel of the walk leading toward the back of the house. He landed on the balls of his feet on soft grass, found his balance, then turned and looked up to find that the intrepid Lady Elizabeth, gleaming ball gown and all, was already clambering over the rail.

“Bother,”
she muttered as her skirt got caught.

Neil finally succumbed to that lurking, unaccustomed smile as he was treated to a view of slim, shapely calves sheathed in the finest white silk stockings, blue garters tied around flashing pale thighs, and the sweet curves of a round little derriere that was enticing enough to make his loins ache. Then, as she jerked at it and muttered another imprecation, the skirt came free and quickly dropped to cover most of what had interested him. Although her ankles—delicate, fine-boned ankles—and the lower part of those delectable calves were still on display, courtesy of his vantage point beneath her.

It was only when he glanced farther up, toward her face, that he realized the best had been yet to come. The exigencies of holding on to the rail apparently required the use of both her hands. Which meant
that the beautiful full globes of her breasts were totally bared. Bathed in moonlight, they were perfect opalescent teardrops that rose and fell enticingly with her every breath.

He was, after all, human. And male. His body stirred sharply and painfully. He swallowed, and stared.

“Close your eyes,” she hissed, scowling down at him. She was on the wrong side of the railing, clinging like a cat in the precise place where he had gone over, the one place where it was easiest to avoid both bush and gravel, her toes balanced precariously on the tiny sliver of stone on the outside of the iron bars.

“Drop. I’ll catch you.” Recovering his focus with an effort, Neil became aware that he was still smiling a little even as he positioned himself beneath her.

“I
said,
close your eyes.”

“If I close my eyes, I might miss.” His tone was reasonable. He held up his arms for her, prepared to spend the next few minutes persuading her that she could safely drop into them.

Apparently, she harbored no such doubts.

“Cawker,” she said severely, and dropped, plummeting like a small golden bird shot out of the sky. She fell into his arms in a rustle of silk and a swirl of red curls, surprisingly heavy for so small a package. His arms closed around her automatically even as he took a step back for balance. For a moment she simply lay there, cradled like a babe in his arms, blinking at him and looking slightly stunned while she recovered her presence of mind and he once again inhaled lavender and treated himself to the view.

Her breasts were soft round globes still jiggling with the aftermath of her landing. Her skin was creamy perfection. In the moonlight, the circles around her nipples were simply dark, and the nipples themselves darker still. His response was instinctive, atavistic. His body hardened to granite; his breath caught; his pulse speeded up.

It took every ounce of self-control he possessed not to lower his mouth to taste one of those small, jutting buds.

Fortunately, he possessed a great deal of self-control.

“You may put me down now.” She recovered faster than he did, once more snapping her arms closed over those delectable breasts, glaring at him with well-founded suspicion written all over her face.

“You’re welcome.” There was irony in his tone as he set her on her feet, knowing that it was folly to do anything else, however tempting the possibilities might be. She’d roused him to lust, but there were plenty of other women available to slake it if he chose. In any case, big-eyed innocents such as she had never been his style.

“Oh—thank you,” she said belatedly as she swept her bright hair back from her face with a quick toss of her head. “I really am very grateful for your help.” Her arms remained tightly clamped over her bosom; a worried frown marred her brow as she glanced toward the shadowy garden at the back of the house. “If you will come around tomorrow—no, wait, you can’t very well call on me under the circumstances, can you? Very well, then. I always walk in Green Park around ten in the morning. If you’ll meet me there at, say, the Folly at ten minutes past, I’ll have your money for you.”

She was practically bouncing on her toes, glancing nervously around, clearly eager to be gone. Neil felt a small pang of regret as he realized that this amusing flicker of warmth that had so unexpectedly appeared in his otherwise cold and disciplined existence was getting ready to go out, and succumbed to temptation for the first time in years.

“I prefer to collect my payment immediately.”

Without waiting for her response, he caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger. Even as her eyes widened, he bent his head and touched his mouth to hers. Her lips were warm and soft, slightly moist and parted with surprise. The kiss was a nothing, a mere sampling of the charms he regretted not being able to thoroughly explore, but she jerked her head back and jumped away from him as if burned.

“You
cad
.” Her voice quivered with outrage. Her eyes shot sparks at him. “How dare you?”

“Payment in full.” He bowed slightly, already regretting what he had done. “Now, if you’ll provide me with your erstwhile beau’s direction . . . ”

Her face was easy to read, even by moonlight. It was clear that indignation at him was struggling with the pragmatic need to get the situation quickly resolved. Pragmatism won out.

“He lives at 29 Beecham Street.” With that, and another searing glare meant to wither him, she was gone, darting away toward the dark garden at the back of the house. Neil watched her until the shadows swallowed up even the golden gleam of her gown, and then, deliberately shrugging off a ridiculous sensation of loss, he turned his attention back to Rosen.

He must have hit him harder than he’d thought, because the man was still out. Neil fished him out of the prickly privet—not without difficulty, because he had an aversion to staining his linen, which due to the circumstances was in perilously short supply—and rolled him onto the ground. Then, in the interests of both providing a cover story to explain Rosen’s battered state and maintaining his own solvency, he swiftly went through the man’s pockets. The pocket watch and snuffbox were of no interest to him, although he took them anyway to make it appear that Rosen had been robbed, but the thick wad of the ready Rosen was sporting was enough to keep him in relative comfort for a number of days. As he pocketed the notes with pleasure, Rosen’s eyes flickered and he murmured something incomprehensible through slack lips.