Authors: Christine Wells

Sweetest Little Sin (22 page)

BOOK: Sweetest Little Sin

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There was a smug light in those hard gray eyes. Why wasn’t Faulkner scared? He ought to be. But that bulldog tenacity shouldn’t be underestimated. Faulkner was an old hand at this game.

“I would have delivered the list to you, nevertheless,” Jardine answered. “And you know it, so why this charade?”

Faulkner grunted. “All Lady Louisa was supposed to do was get another operative of mine an invitation to this party. She did, and they were to travel together to Radleigh’s house.” He paused. “My agent did not arrive.”

There was no emotion in his voice as he said it, but Jardine knew he must fear the worst.

Faulkner shrugged. “Perhaps you and Lady Louisa can work together. You are acquainted, I presume?”

Jardine set his teeth. “She’s Lyle’s sister. I am, perforce, acquainted with her.” Thank God she was already on her way back to London. “She is a gently bred lady. You had no right embroiling her in this.”

“No right?” Faulkner raised his shaggy brows, his eyes widened a little. “We do what is necessary, Jardine. You know that. I saw the interest flourishing between Radleigh and the lady. I had some previous acquaintance with her and asked her—quite mildly, you understand—for a favor. Her role was insignificant, hardly likely to get her into trouble.”

“You didn’t warn her about the dangers—”

“As a matter of fact, I did. Lady Louisa is a determined young woman. In fact, she wanted more responsibility than I was prepared to bestow.”

Faulkner’s brows knitted slightly. “There is something about her. A core of strength and steadfastness, and a deep, cold rage. She would be a perfect operative, given time and training. But we didn’t have the time, so I sent someone else. Someone who seems to have vanished between here and London.”

“So this betrothal
is
a sham.” Elation shot through Jardine, a profound satisfaction that he hadn’t been wrong about her motives. A drastic step to take. What a nerve the woman had!

“As to that, I could not say.” Faulkner spread his hands. “I certainly did not urge such a thing. I told Lady Louisa that Radleigh was dangerous.”

Faulkner fingered his chin. “Sometimes, danger makes a man so much more attractive to a woman. Don’t you think?”

The words clanged in Jardine’s head as he and Ives rode back to the house. This was no longer a scouting mission. He needed to find Smith and do it now. And the only way to do that would be to draw him out of hiding. Dangle some juicy bait.

He had thought his presence might be enough to draw his old enemy out, but no such luck.

The next step was to get hold of that document, the list of operatives that Smith would kill to have, the one that Radleigh was offering up for sale.

Jardine smiled grimly. There was no need for thievery or subterfuge, after all. He’d simply buy the list himself.

LOUISA drove back to Radleigh’s house at a spanking pace, causing the groom standing behind her to give a startled grunt. “Never fear. I shan’t overturn you,” she threw over her shoulder.

They came to a straight stretch of road and she dropped her hands, shooting them forward at an even faster clip. If Jardine overtook her before she arrived at the house, she was sure to be kidnapped and bundled into a coach headed for London.

High-handed, pigheaded man
. Had he seriously expected her to meekly do his bidding?

She shook her head, but she smiled, too, because in those kisses, in that embrace, in his concern for her safety, Jardine showed more than arrogance. He showed he still cared.

Why had he sent her away so cruelly on the morning after her birthday? There must have been a reason, one that seemed cogent and compelling to him.

She doubted she would find it so.

The smoldering coal of anger in her heart flared. Why did men always think they knew best? Why must they always try to shoulder everything alone, thrust their women aside when things became difficult?

Her father had been the same. If only he’d shared his problems instead of keeping them locked inside, he might still be alive today.

Radleigh’s fantastical house burst into view, artfully framed by copper beech and cedar and oak. If she could reach the house before Jardine discovered she hadn’t meekly followed orders, she’d make sure he had no other opportunity to eject her from the party without creating an undesirable scene.

Exhilaration and fear made a choke of laughter catch in her throat as she pulled into the stable yard. She’d arrived without incident, and with the gruffly expressed admiration of the groom, who took over the ribbons.

She tipped him and alighted with her basket. Grinning a little and swinging the basket to and fro, she turned to leave the stable yard.

“My dear.”

The smile fell from her face. She stopped, feeling as if two fingers pinched the back of her neck.

Somehow, she managed to find her smile and paste it back on. Turning, she said, “Mr. Radleigh. Duncan. How do you do?”

He was an imposing figure in buckskin breeches and a bottle green coat. He carried a crop that he tapped against his boot in a rhythmic way that seemed to string her nerves tighter with every stroke. “You have been to the village this morning?”

“Yes, I always like to take exercise in the morning but I found my basket became heavy with all my purchases and I decided to take a hired conveyance back. It’s a pretty village, is it not?”

She was babbling. She needed to calm herself.

He nodded. “I had it moved there when I landscaped the park so it wouldn’t spoil the view from the house.”

“Oh.” There didn’t seem to be much to say in reply to that. She knew it was done all the time. The practice had always seemed to be a little hard on the villagers, however.

She lifted her brows. “And you, sir. Have you been riding?”

“Just about to. Care to join me?”

She looked down at herself. “I’m so sorry. I’m not dressed for riding. Perhaps tomorrow?”

His hazel eyes glinted. With anger? Frustration? “Yes. Tomorrow, then.”

“I shall look forward to it.” Something about his expression sent chills creeping over her flesh. Every fiber within her seized with the need to get away from him.

“You won’t escape me forever, you know, Lady Louisa,” he said softly, as if reading her thoughts.

Despite the hairs that pricked at her nape, she forced a light laugh. “Why, Mr. Radleigh. What nonsense you speak! We are betrothed. Why should I desire to escape you?”

“I don’t know.” He tilted his head. “It’s a question, isn’t it?”

Before she could think of a reply, he bowed over her hand, turned on his heel, and strode away.

Louisa looked after him, watching sunlight glint on his fair hair. He jammed his hat on his head and cracked his crop against his top boot.

Radleigh grew impatient. It was scarcely to be wondered at, but she hoped his impatience was for the alignment of their two houses and not for their wedding night.

Until now, she’d managed to hold him off. His assumption about the coldness of her nature, her prudishness, had been one she’d wholeheartedly encouraged.

But an engaged man was entitled to some liberties with his fiancée, wasn’t he? She didn’t know how much longer she could elude him.

JARDINE rode in as Radleigh came trotting out of the stables on a raw-boned stallion.

“Ah. Just the man.” Dismissing Ives, he wheeled his mount and accompanied his host. “Mind if I join you?”

Radleigh could hardly refuse. He narrowed his eyes, giving Jardine a quick survey. “Why not?”

They rode in silence for a way. Then Radleigh said, “I know who you are.” He spoke in a pleasant tone, but with an unmistakable edge. “I don’t know why you should be making up to my sister. . . .”

“Don’t you?” Jardine’s mouth lifted at the corner. “Then you are not as acute as I’d imagined.”

They cleared a high hedge, and Jardine leaned forward to pat his mare’s neck while he waited for Radleigh to catch up. “I hear that you have an interesting piece of merchandise for sale. I want it.”

The time for groping in the dark was done. The matter lay open between them. Jardine was prepared to match any price to save his colleagues—and to secure the bait that would draw Smith into the open. What Smith could do with that list of agents . . .

“Who do you work for?” Radleigh rapped out.

Jardine curled his lip. “My dear fellow. I haven’t done a day’s work in my life.”

Radleigh cracked a laugh. “You want me to sell you what I have? A lone individual? Jardine, I have nations vying for this, offering me untold wealth and power.”

Slowly, Jardine shook his head in a pitying gesture. “They won’t keep their bargains. Think about it. Why should they leave you alive, once they have the list? Alive, you are an expense and a liability. Dead . . .” Jardine shrugged. “A problem solved.”

Radleigh was silent. They rode on while he considered, weighed the pros and cons.

“And don’t forget that I know what you’re up to, which means I can go to the powers that be and tell them their entire network of spies is compromised. They’ll take action to dismantle their operations, and your information will be worthless.”

He let Radleigh digest this information. Eventually, the other man said, “Why do you want the list if you’re not working for them?”

Jardine snorted. “You really think I’d tell you that? You might as well ask what’s the highest price I’m willing to pay.”>

They circled one another now, their horses catching the mood, snorting and tossing their heads.

Turning away from Radleigh, Jardine squinted up at the sun. “Some can give you money, true. But you are already an extraordinarily wealthy man. What I can give you is beyond any foreign ambassador’s power, for I have the ear of the Regent.”

He caught the moment Radleigh’s eyes sharpened. “A knighthood?”

“Perhaps. But . . . let us not be ungenerous. Every East India man and his boot boy has a knighthood these days.” Jardine smiled. “How does ‘Lord Radleigh’ sound?”

The bastard couldn’t hide his shock.

“Think of it,” purred Jardine. “I could turn you into a hero, Radleigh. Not the sniveling petty villain who somehow came by a sensitive piece of government information he managed to sell the highest bidder. But the great man who discovered such a plot and foiled it single-handedly.”

He watched Radleigh absorbing the grandiose picture he’d painted. The man was far too cool a customer to show elation, but Jardine could tell the notion warmed the cockles of his corrupt, black heart.

In every man, there is at least one weakness, and one deep-seated desire. Sometimes, the two are the same.

Faulkner had said that to him once, and Jardine had never forgotten. Let criminals and soldiers use force to achieve their aims. Jardine was a master at turning the key that unlocks a man’s brain, his heart, his soul.

He opened them wide, turned them inside out. And then manipulated them until they yielded exactly the result he most desired.

“Think about it,” he said with a hard smile. “I’ll expect your answer tomorrow morning, before I leave.”