Suzi Love (7 page)

“No, they’re not the sorts of establishments unmarried women can visit without damaging their reputations. So who is escorting Julia to these places at present?”

“She seems to use several gentlemen as escorts, yet — ”

“Yet?”

“The man who is her current lover remains a mystery. For some reason, she is determined to keep his identity a secret.”

• • •

Becca watched Cayle puzzle over the depth of Julia’s involvement, then transcend from bewilderment to full consciousness was a revelation. She’d no doubts that with his quick reasoning he had participated in many investigations and skirmishes and emerged unscathed.

He moved with the lithe grace of all the St. Martin men. Yet, as she’d discovered last night, his large body was hard and unyielding. His snug coat had undoubtedly been fashioned in France for it stretched across his broad shoulders and enclosed his muscled arms like a second skin. Trousers of the finest cloth hugged his thighs so closely that the fabric remained perfectly smooth despite his energetic movements.

After hours spent poring over Michael’s anatomy books, she and her sisters considered Sherwyn’s well-endowed form a prime example of the male species. To her dismay, even their roguish aunt had preened when Cayle made his bow.

While bent at the waist, the duke had unknowingly treated them, front and back, to an intriguing display of breeches stretched over strong thighs, a muscled derriere, and given them all a glimpse of other intimate areas. The male parts well-bred young ladies were forbidden to notice.

However, the inappropriateness of her sisters’ and aunt’s stares hadn’t caused the scowl now plastered across her face, because she’d reacted in exactly the same way to his display. For some unfathomable reason, the blatant admiration firing from three other sets of Jamison eyes had stirred Becca’s ire, seen her stabbing fingers claw a small hole in the settee’s upholstered arm.

In addition, her insides were stirring rather unpleasantly, her stomach rolling until she feared she’d have to scurry out the door. Feared her distressed stomach would require an embarrassing dash to the water closet.

Ridiculous for someone who never suffered a day’s sickness from one year to the next. Unbelievable for someone who’d never been troubled by missish upsets in her entire life.

Cayle turned away, fists clenched at his sides. He should have guessed the haute ton would have gathered like vultures to pick over the bones of the St. Martin family. And as it had been Becca’s cousin who’d deliberately trapped him at a ball, Becca would have heard every detail a hundred times over.

Queen Victoria believed that gently bred young women should pretend blindness when confronted with the seedier side of the city. Hard to do when scandalous literature was sold in the Bond Street bookshops they visited and the girls lived with brothers who reeled in at all hours stinking of wine and cheap perfume. Preachers of morality may stand on every street corner, but the only ones close enough to listen were the prostitutes who hawked their wares in the same places.

Becca clapped her hands. “Go on. We haven’t much time.”

She waited until her sisters and aunt had set out on their allotted tasks before she said to Michael, “And you must return to Oxford. I promise we won’t take any risks.”

With a grim look, Michael muttered, “Easy for you to say. I’ll be four hours ride away if anything happens. How can I not fret?”

“Your university papers are due. Right now, your priority is finishing your degree. We’ll send for you and Jonathon if things get worse.”

Michael looked grim. He shook hands with Cayle and said, “Glad to know you’ll be around.”

“Rest assured, I’ll watch over your family. I’ll set more guards around the house at night. If the women must leave the house, they will either be under my escort or followed by my men.”

Becca rolled her eyes and clutched her chest. “Please. We’re only helpless ladies. We need a duke to save us.”

Anger roughened his voice until it sounded like wheels grinding on train tracks. “I understand your resentment. However, men are expected to protect. Women are expected to forgo independence and accept protection. You asked for my assistance. Therefore, Michael has my solemn promise that no harm shall befall you under my watch. Hate me if you must, but I intend taking charge of this operation.”

Michael said, “Be warned, Sherwyn, Becca can be prickly at times.”

“Michael! I am standing right here.”

Her brother chuckled. “But my sister will do whatever she is told. With good grace and as little argument as possible. Will you not, Becca?”

Becca, once again, rolled her eyes before sketching a curtsy. “My feeble female mind is relieved to have such an intelligent man take over.”

Michael groaned.

“But as I don’t want to worry my fretting brother any more, I will bend like a willow
to Your Grace’s will.”

“Heaven help you, Sherwyn. When Becca becomes sarcastic, we all scurry for safety.”

After a commiserating look and a slap on the back for Cayle, Michael strode out the door.

• • •

As soon as they were alone, Becca fired the first shot.

“Thank you for your concern, Your Grace.”

Cayle cringed. Michael was correct about Becca in a haughty frame of mind. She was like a train engine, a compact red-headed steam-blowing version, who’d have the bravest of men shaking in their Wellingtons. He risked a small smile. This passionate parcel befuddled his senses and yet he felt more alive than he had in months.

“However,” a finger stabbed his chest, “if I require a guard, I’ll engage a Metropolitan Policeman. A professional in trapping criminals. Which you, on the other hand, are not.”

He was tempted to contradict her but this was neither the time nor the place, so he swallowed his confession. He watched Becca’s rant with amusement and admiration. Fiery, flaming red, and in full steam. His blood heated, roiled, and matched her rampant hair colour.

“Therefore, your only task will be to collect some records. Only when I’m certain there will be no danger to you. At the first sign of suspicion from one of your peers, you’ll stop.”

With the fluidity of a cat, he straightened to his full height and looked down at her. “I’ve been in precarious situations more times than you’re eaten kippers for breakfast. No termagant in a redheaded temper will dictate what I may, or may not, do. You’re in my hands, whether you like it or not.”

She scowled. “I. Will. Not.” Stabs to his chest accompanied her words. “Accept that.”

“You either accept my protection or I refuse to gather the evidence you require to convict these men.” Anticipating victory, he displayed a smug smile.

Though his ultimatum silenced her, her foot tapping resumed. Drat the woman. She was probably pondering how best to prick his momentary bubble of swollen-headedness.

She tapped a finger to her front teeth. “As you’ve declared open warfare, I’m forced to reveal my trump card.” His attention skidded away from her mouth and his smile slipped a little. “You require our assistance as fully as we need yours. It has come to our attention — ”

“Laura or Charlotte? Who was eavesdropping this time?”

“How we gain our information isn’t important. What matters is that you are about to be besieged.”

His demeanour changed as quickly as a jungle animal that had scented a predator. “Besieged. By whom?”

“We feel reasonably sure we know the identity of your foe but, despite intensive enquiries, we can’t confirm the identity of the person who is orchestrating the plan. We’re narrowing the events down. Estimating times and locations the plot will be executed.”

“Damnation! Your convoluted explanations tie my thoughts in knots.”

“I’m surprised I need to explain. I expected that a man of your ilk would detect a trap long before it snapped shut on him.”

“Just tell me how and why I’m about to be trapped?”

She gaped at him. “I thought it was obvious. You’re a duke. Someone wants to force you to marry.”

“Marriage?” Sweat dotted his brow. Not another of these schemes. “I can promise you I’m not marrying anyone. Not for a long time.”

“No matter your wishes, if we can’t stop it, you will be caught.”

He swiped at his damp forehead with his coat sleeve. “If your aunt thinks she can force me to marry one of your sisters, she is very naïve.”

“Oooh!” Her hands went to her hips and his eyes followed every movement. “Your ducal conceit is beyond ridiculous.”

He met her angry eyes. “Perhaps it’s you! Maybe you’re after my title.”

“Certainly not!” Her hands flew upwards. “A married woman is a man’s possession. Marriage would rob me of the control I’ve worked so hard for.”

“Husbands could shoulder the burdens. Instead of you ladies.”

“Ha! Relieve us of our burdens while they rob us of our fortunes?”

“Not all men think that way, you know.”

“Most do. And Laura certainly isn’t after you. She cares little for titles. She’s studying the aromas men emit. Their differences. If a man’s scent attracts us, draws us to be with him, then he could be the perfect mate to provide companionship and to give us children. I advised her to attack the problem scientifically. List each gentleman’s qualities, good and bad, and according to Madame Faberge’s summations. Unsuitable gentlemen are quickly eliminated. Some will be given further tests.”

“Rather a cold-blooded scheme.” He considered the idea. “Unless of course,” he said with a smirk, “the final test is bedding each candidate in turn. Comparing their virility.”

“Ridicule Laura’s methods if you must, but I agree with Madame Faberge. If men constantly think about — ”

“Women’s bosoms?”

“Marital relations. Wives should know how to please their husbands in bed. Otherwise, married men will keep mistresses. Or visit brothels.”

Images of a willing Becca catering to her husband’s every whim burned his eyes. The notion that some nameless man-about-town would benefit from Becca’s well-researched sexual activities burrowed like a maggot into his brain.

Though their selection process seemed methodical, detached, and even vaguely humiliating for a candidate, he could easily picture himself auditioning. Could see Becca’s red curls rioting across his pillows. Feel her small feminine body spread beneath him. Within seconds, he was hard and aching and sure as hell not thinking clearly.

He’d forfeited any right to see Becca’s body, unclothed and glorious, when he’d left. Even if he was prepared to fall to his knees and beg her forgiveness, he couldn’t give up his vow of celibacy. Not if he wanted to show his peers how well he was managing the St Martin’s estates and reclaim his position as a respected social leader. Dukes were supposed to set gentlemanly examples. To avoid gossip and scandal. Sometime in the future he’d no doubt keep a mistress but he’d ensure his liaison was so casual and so discreet that none of the ton’s tabbies would notice. For the present, he was doomed to a private and celibate hell.

Visions of hell flames engulfing him still didn’t prevent him asking, “What have you learned from the infamous Madame Faberge, font of all lovemaking knowledge?”

In his smugness, he’d failed to notice her eye colour deepening to a stormy sea-green and her face reddening. Oh, hell. She licked a finger and dragged the moistened tip along the scooped neckline of her morning dress. He tracked its path with breathless attentiveness.

“Men don’t regard it as making love.” Her seductive murmur sent fiery shocks through every nerve and centered them in his groin, like sharp stabs from heated prongs. “Rather, as satisfying lust. Women are vessels to receive — ”

“Enough!” He swung to one side as his erection, hovering the past hour at half-mast, swelled to full arousal. After an attempt at tugging his coat flaps together, he mistakenly glanced her way. The infuriating minx had the audacity to grin.

“But I haven’t described all the ways Madame’s girls are taught to pleasure men.”

“Dammit, did they also explain that taunting a man in this wanton fashion stretches his restraint?” His voice deepened. “If you don’t cease, right now, I’ll toss you on that rug and demonstrate the numerous ways I know to pleasure a woman.”

Becca gulped, glanced down, and the bulge in his trousers swelled to an even more uncomfortable size. She stepped forward with a hand outstretched.

“Cayle, I’m sorry. May I do something to help?”

The mixture of seductress and innocence drove him over the edge. Thrusting her hand away before it touched its mark, he turned his back. For two long minutes, he surveyed the limited merits of a country painting on the far wall before he could face her.

“Becca, never, and I repeat, never, ask a provoked man if you can assist him. Men … even many gentlemen … will take advantage of you.” He scrambled for a distraction from a situation he should never have allowed. Where the hell was his mind? “Do you know when, and where, my hypothetical entrapment into marriage is to take place?”

“At Lord and Lady Hetherington’s house party in two week’s time.”

Shock and horror paralysed him. He needed to digest the implications of this. If indeed Becca’s information was correct. And, if he trusted what she told him.

“Coincidental that my stepmother insisted I accept that particular invitation, and that I not ride my stallion, but journey with her in the carriage.” Becca frowned, looked worried, but stayed silent. “Is that who’s involved? Julia? She’s as cunning as she is greedy.”

“That is why you need our protection from this marriage net.”

With a sigh of resignation, he nodded. “Regardless, I alone will question the inner circle, while you confine yourself to discreet questioning amongst the ladies.”

“That … that is patronising, unreasonable, and — ”

He pressed his fingers to her lips, firmly. “On the matter of your safety we shall agree, here and now, that I’m in charge. Or, I shall exclude you entirely.”

As soon as he freed her mouth, she blurted out, “Exclude me, you arrogant — ”

Once again, he covered her mouth. “Calling me names does not alter the fact that you need me, the Duke of Sherwyn. Now, agree to my terms so we may decide how to proceed.”