Sweet as the Devil (14 page)

“There—finished,” he murmured, trying not to inhale the scent of her skin or take note of her corsetless torso only millimeters from his fingertips. Save for the handful of fabric she held to her breasts, she was nude to the waist. And much too close. God help him.

Glancing over her shoulder, Sofia unknowingly offered him relief. “I’d appreciate it if you’d shut your eyes.”

He instantly obliged her and felt the tension in his shoulders melt away. Even understanding the difficulty of this assignment, he was forced to acknowledge that he wasn’t monkish enough to be in close proximity to Miss Eastleigh’s ripe charms for any length of time. It might be wise to sleep outside her door. More than wise—a necessity.

Unless he suddenly found religion.

And he was years past such enthusiasms.

Fully intent on her plans, Sofia let her gown drop to the floor the moment Jamie shut his eyes. Kicking aside the voluminous yards of patterned silk, she quickly stripped off the drawers that wouldn’t fit under riding pants, slid her arms through the shirtsleeves, closed the irritatingly small pearl buttons, and pulled on the twill trousers. Tucking in the shirttails, she buttoned and belted the pants. The leather jacket went on next, and with a glance at the mirrored doors of the wardrobes, she decided,
Good enough for what I have to do.
Everything was slightly large but not so much as to impede her actions.

She was grateful the boots were very near her size, and once she’d laced them up, she stood. “You may open your eyes.”

Jamie surveyed her, careful to keep his breathing even. “Rough but practical. You’ll be able to ride now if you wish.” He held out his arm. “I expect we have a carriage waiting.”

“A last request if you please.” She looked up at him with what she hoped was a suitably shy expression. “I have to use the lavatory. I doubt we’ll be stopping much and”—she lowered her lashes modestly—“a few moments surely won’t matter.”

He considered going with her. Trust was a worthless commodity in his business. But he decided to give her the benefit of a doubt. That they were on the third floor was a salient factor in his decision.

More fool he.

In a very few minutes, he knew he’d been gulled.

Swearing under his breath, he strode to the bathroom door and tried the knob. Locked—no surprise. Backing up a small distance in order to exert the most force, he kicked the lock with his heel, heard the satisfying crack of wood shattering, and with a second kick, the door swung open.

A sumptuous white marble bathroom lay before him. With a window open wide to the starry night.

You have to give her points for courage
, he decided, striding toward the open casement. They were three stories above the ground. Which meant she was either a circus performer or desperate—the latter most likely. Although it wouldn’t hurt if she was the former as well, so he wouldn’t have to report to Ernst that his daughter had been found dead on the drive at Groveland House.

Reaching the window, he quietly eased his head past the frame, careful not to frighten the devious little bitch and possibly contribute to her fall.
Judas Priest.
There she was—the intrepid vixen—inching along a narrow ledge thirty feet away. He guessed she was making for the roof of the porte cochere, from which she’d be able to descend any of several rose trellises to the ground.

He had two choices.

He could follow her out the window. But she might panic should he do so and be even more at risk.

His other option was to make haste to the drive and position himself to catch her should she fall. A better solution if he was swift enough.

In seconds he’d traversed the duchess’s dressing room, slowing his step only as he passed through the duchess’s bedroom in order to say to Miss Tabby, “I’ll be right back. Miss Eastleigh forgot her reticule.”

The moment he was outside in the hallway, he broke into a run, took the two flights of stairs in great flying leaps, and on reaching the ground floor, raced down the corridor opening onto the carriage entrance. He stepped out onto the drive in record time, looked up, and exhaled in relief.

Miss Eastleigh had reached the roof of the porte cochere and was agilely navigating the slippery slate shingles as if she routinely tread such treacherous surfaces. A moment later, he watched her slide her legs over the edge of the roof, momentarily search for a foothold on the rose trellis, and finding one, nimbly descend the rose trellis in a shower of white rose petals.

Just as her feet came to rest on the petal-strewn garden bed, Jamie stepped from the shadows. “I gather the armistice is over.”

She spun around to find him towering over her, the devil in evening clothes. “Damn you! Go away—better yet, go to hell!”

“My feelings exactly. Now, may I escort you to the carriage.” Meeting the blazing anger in her eyes, he brusquely said, “It’s not a request.”

“And if I scream?” She saw the rigidity in his stance, the harsh planes of his face, the grim set of his lips, and even then she chose to be rash and opened her mouth.

“Do it and I’ll muffle you.” He’d had enough nonsense for one night.

“I
hate
you!”

“I don’t give a damn.”

She swung her arm up.

“Don’t,” he said, his gaze as dense and unyielding as stone.

And even she didn’t dare when she’d always dared anything.

She dropped her hand and stood there stubborn and contemptuous. “Very well, you win. I have no choice it seems. Either I’m threatened by you or some killer from Vienna.”

“It’s not about winning,” he muttered, grabbing her hand and pulling her along. “It’s about staying alive.”

For a man who viewed women as pleasant diversions when the mood struck him, he was suddenly faced with a recalcitrant bitch instead of the usual willing-to-please female. In addition, he’d be closely sequestered with this temperamental artiste who didn’t seem to understand that her life was in danger and who’d require constant guarding or she’d slip her leash.

But he curbed his temper because he knew he must, and after a taut moment of disciplining his emotions, he was able to speak with courteous forbearance. “I believe we’ve had this conversation before, but allow me to apologize again for the duress you’re under. With luck, you won’t be caught up in these adverse circumstances for long. We’ve cabled Vienna, and Von Welden and his men are being watched. The moment you’re safe in the Highlands, my men and I will see that Von Welden’s eliminated. Please bear with us for a few days. A week at the most.” It was a lie, but perhaps not too much of a lie.

His voice was mild, his gaze benign, the warmth of his hand holding hers soothing in a bizarre way. With an inner sigh of resignation, Sofia yielded to his rationale or perhaps his apology, and while not entirely reconciled, she at least recognized his attempt to make amends. “I swear, Blackwood, you could charm a wild beast.”

“At the moment, I’d be grateful if I could charm a small wild thing in riding pants.” His smile was practiced and full of grace.

She lifted one brow at his suave rejoinder. “How very sweet. Now, tell me—how many days will this require? Lie if necessary.”

“Honestly, as few as possible. Believe me, I want this over as much as you. Perhaps more.”

“Will you promise to be nice to me?” she drolly asked, not entirely in jest.

“Of course.” He would have promised her the moon at the moment.

She smiled. “How nice?”

“Not that nice,” he said with an answering smile.

“We’ll have to see, won’t we?” she lightly returned. “Perhaps I can change your mind.” She found her good humor marginally restored at the thought of a passionate interlude with the splendid Jamie Blackwood. And at base, having no choice in this misadventure, she might as well try to enjoy herself.

Deep in thought as they made their way around the side of the house to the front entrance, Sofia debated how best to seduce a man. She’d never been faced with the necessity; rather the opposite had always been the case. Although she wasn’t averse to the role of pursuer with the studly Jamie Blackwood as prize.

The image of him that morning at the Countess Minton’s was etched in her memory—an athlete of the boudoir, a great favorite of the ladies, all lean power, animal grace, and flagrant sexuality. Hmm—she could picture him lying gloriously nude in her bed wherever that might be. A most gratifying prospect. She must see that she had painting supplies with such a glorious subject at her disposal.

Unaware of his companion’s amorous schemes, Jamie was considering how to accomplish their departure from London within the hour. Once they were on the road, he’d deal with the other complexities.

Ernst’s carriage was waiting at the door. Jamie knew it would be, just as he’d known the prince and his guard were long gone. Ernst wasn’t one to cool his heels.

Assisting Sofia into the carriage, he followed her and out of prudence took the opposite seat. She looked tempting as hell in her men’s attire, exotic, erotic, defiant of convention.

A major problem.

Unlike most women, she didn’t wait to be asked.

As if on cue, Sofia patted the velvet upholstery near her thigh. “Come closer.” Her voice was sweet, her gaze inviting.

“Not just yet.” He chose evasion in lieu of discourtesy now that peace had been restored.

Leaning back against the green velvet squabs, she slowly smiled. “When?”

“We’ll talk about it.”

“I’d rather do something other than talk.”

“We can talk about that, too,” he said, his courtesy unimpaired.

“Under the circumstances, you can’t avoid me for long.”

“I know.”

“Nor can you resist me forever.”

“I don’t have to forever.”

“Let me reword that. I’m intent on seducing you. How do you feel about that?”

“No comment.”

She grinned. “You don’t
have
to talk. Just give me what I want.”

He beat back the surge of lust spiking through his body, the thought of giving her what she wanted doing violence to his self-control. “We’ll be traveling fast. There won’t be time.”

“I’ll find time.”

“Maybe I don’t like assertive women.”

She glanced at his crotch. “Tell
him
that.”

His nostrils flared. “You’re going to be a damned handful.”

“I expect you’re more than a handful.” Her gaze drifted downward. “Actually, I can see that you are.”

“Jesus Christ,” he groaned. “Why me?”

“I couldn’t agree more,” she dulcetly replied. “But since we’re both caught in this damnable trap, my dear Blackwood, why not take pleasure in our plight?”

“You don’t understand.” His voice, in contrast, was sharp. “None of this has anything to do with pleasure.”

“Au contraire,” she said, sultry and low. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy sex with you.”

Cursing under his breath, he slid into the far corner, shut his eyes, and tried to think about anything other than fucking Miss Eastleigh. Or whether she was equally audacious in bed. Which thought wasn’t in the least helpful to his peace of mind.

By sheer will, he forced himself to focus on Von Welden, and for the remainder of their journey he occupied himself with various scenarios having to do with the manner of Von Welden’s death. The image of Von Welden being flayed alive was particularly useful in curtailing his lust.

By the time the carriage came to a halt before Prince Ernst’s house, Jamie’s sensibilities were fixed on the mission ahead, and he was able to assist Miss Eastleigh to alight with relative equanimity.

A
CONDITION WAS sadly lacking as they stepped into the entrance hall—the scene one of total anarchy.

A swarm of terrorized servants were milling around while a slender black-haired beauty was seated on a pile of monogramed luggage screaming conflicting orders to both Ernst’s minions and the many retainers who’d accompanied her to London.

A day ahead of schedule.

Which appeared to be the problem.

“I don’t care whether you know where the prince is or not.
Find him!
Now, now,
now
! Don’t tell me you don’t know where to go. I don’t
care
! And where’s my
champagne
? I don’t see it”—she waved her arm like a wild woman—“in my hand! What kind of household is this when a simple request requires hours,
hours
, to be discharged!” Another frenzied wave of her arm set afloat the swansdown trim on her silk cape. “Surely the prince has a bottle of ’74 vintage! Or have the rabble in his staff drunk it all?
Why
is everyone still loitering about? Who are
you
?” she snapped as Jamie approached her. “Have you brought my champagne?”

“Lord Blackwood at your service, ma’am. I’ll see that the prince is fetched immediately.”