Read Sweetest Little Sin Online
Authors: Christine Wells
Sweetest Little Sin (24 page)
The room was called a cabinet for the very reason that it was so small, about the size of a dressing room, purpose-built to hold all a man’s treasures from his Grand Tour. The wall that backed onto Louisa’s room was lined with two sets of shelves, with a small space in the middle for a couple of framed miniatures.
Jardine’s skin prickled with unease. He chose the miniature at eye level and moved it aside.
A noise made Louisa glance over her shoulder as she searched the sitting room next to Radleigh’s bedchamber. God help her if he caught her in here. She’d searched every other likely place and concluded that if Radleigh owned a safe, as Faulkner suggested, it must be in his private apartments.
Though it was after dinner, Radleigh would not retire for several hours yet. There was no reason for his valet to be there, but she listened at the door for some time before she opened it.
Radleigh’s private rooms were opulent, all gilt furnishings and heavy brocade. She scanned the anteroom, but the delicate, spindle-legged furniture could hold no surprises. There was not a desk nor any similar receptacle in the place.
Perhaps a safe lurked behind one of those oils on the wall. Quietly, she checked behind each painting and found nothing. Two of the paintings were so large, she didn’t dare move them in case she made too much noise.
She couldn’t open a safe. Did Faulkner intend to send someone else to do that work?
Why hadn’t Faulkner asked Jardine to do it? He seemed proficient in any number of nefarious activities—breaking and entering her bedchamber, most commonly. Had he already searched here? Was she wasting her time?
Nothing. She moved into Radleigh’s bedchamber, swiftly checking the walls there. Radleigh must attend to all his correspondence in the library, for there wasn’t even an escritoire in this room. Just an ornate canopied bed surmounted with snarling gryphons, a rather elegant Adam fireplace with two wing chairs on either side of it, and a Chippendale table by the window.
Another door presumably led to his dressing room.
From that room, she heard noises. She froze, then slowly, silently backed out of the room. She turned and hurried to her own chamber, fishing the key out of her pocket as she went.
She inserted the key into the lock, but the tumblers didn’t seem to want to move. Panicked, she darted a glance up the corridor. No one. She tried the handle, and the door opened easily.
Strange. Had she omitted to lock the door, after all? Or . . .
She hesitated on the threshold, her heart beating hard. Bustling footsteps sounded down the corridor, coming toward her. With a quick huff, she blew out her candle. Having retired with a headache, she couldn’t afford to be caught outside her room. She had no time to consider but made the choice, whisking herself into her chamber, closing the door softly behind her.
A hand clapped over her mouth from behind and an arm stole around her waist. She was clamped to some man’s body, her head forced back against his shoulder.
Fear spiked inside her, rushed through her body, drummed in her ears. She tried to bite the hand that covered her mouth, struggled in a frenzy to get free, kicked backward, but her slippered heel made no impression on the man.
Her captor spun her around, pushed her against the wall. Her cry was cut off by his mouth, hard, demanding, plundering hers.
Jardine
. She knew his kiss, his scent.
. She knew his kiss, his scent.
Fear turned instantly to hunger, anger, longing, as his lips dragged from her mouth, his sharp teeth bit her ear, her throat.
“Yes, yes,” she whispered.
His body pressed against her, flattened her between him and the wall. She wore only her night rail, a flimsy defense. The loose wrapper she’d thrown on for respectability lay discarded on the floor somewhere, ripped off in their struggle.
She felt the hardness of him—his chest, his hands, his length pressed against her.
“Yes,” she said again, kneading his back with her hands, undulating her hips against him, tempting him, hoping beyond reason that this meant something, that this was real.
He still hadn’t spoken a word. She let her hands wander lower, gasped when he captured them and swiftly pinned them to the wall above her head. With his other hand, he pulled down the gathered bodice of her night rail, exposing her.
The fabric caught beneath her breasts, lifting them as if to offer them up to his pleasure. Jardine bent his dark head and took full advantage of the offer, suckling her strongly, licking, kneading one nipple while he pinched and rolled the other between his long fingers.
With a pleasured sigh, Louisa laid her head against the wall and succumbed.
After that leisurely foray, he made his way back to her mouth by degrees, trailing kisses and nips along the small mounds of her breasts, the hollow of her throat, behind her ear.
His tongue traced her lips and she opened to him. He kissed her deeply, released her so that he could explore.
His hands roamed her body, setting off fireworks across her skin. Against her lips, he panted. “Ah, God, Louisa. You make me insane.”
She clung to him, and her loins throbbed, cried out for him. “Love me, Jardine.”
Panting, he set his forehead against hers.
Their harsh breathing mingled. He kissed her, closed his arms around her, and held her tightly.
Tenderness, agonizing and poignant, swept over her.
“Take me to bed, Jardine,” she whispered.
Let’s forget everything but us.
Let’s forget everything but us.
“Dammit, I can’t.” His arms fell to his side. He pulled and tweaked her bodice so that it covered her once more and bent to pick up her wrapper.
Suddenly cold at his unequivocal rejection, she took the wrapper and held it tightly around her. She made as if to move away, but he trapped her again with his body. “Don’t move.” The words were a breath in her ear. “He might be watching.”
“What? Who?”
“Hush.” He rested a finger against her lips, tilted his head to listen.
His lips brushed her ear as he all but breathed the words. “Radleigh has a peephole in that wall. He’s been watching you.”
Louisa was dazed, uncomprehending. It took moments for his words to sink in.
Radleigh had seen her in the supposed privacy of her bedchamber? She gave a ragged gasp, buried her face in Jardine’s coat.
“Louisa?”
Horror held her speechless. She’d been naked in this room. He’d seen her undress. Embarrassment crawled over her skin.
“Louisa? Do you understand? Nod if you understand.”
Mutely, she nodded, squeezing her eyes shut against angry, humiliated tears.
“He is not there now, but I can’t take chances. This is a blind spot, right here, where we stand.”
She just nodded again. How many times had she revealed herself to that lecherous swine’s avid gaze?
Jardine rubbed his hands up and down her arms, as if to warm her, and she realized she was shivering.
“This has gone far enough, Louisa. You must leave here, you understand? Get dressed. Meet me in the orangery in twenty minutes. We’ll work out a plan.”
He waited for her to give another wordless nod. Then he slipped from the room like a shadow.
Louisa hugged herself tightly and slowly slid down the wall to huddle on the floor.
Seventeen
BY the time Louisa arrived in the orangery—rather more than twenty minutes later, Jardine noted—she was clearly furious.
“Hanging is too good for him,” she hissed as she stalked through the door. “I’ll cut off his privates and feed them to the dogs.”
Jardine exhaled the breath he seemed to have been holding since he’d seen that peephole.
“Bravo, Louisa.” He took her hand and guided her down a long row of orange trees. The air was redolent of citrus, sharp and sweet. “I thought you were going to turn maudlin back there.”
“Well, it was a shock,” she admitted. “But how dare he spy on me like that?”
“You were here to spy on him,” said Jardine mildly.
“That is beside the point. He is doing the wrong thing. I am acting for altruistic reasons.”
God, how he’d missed her! “He will see you without your clothes on every day once you’re wed, you know. It’s part of the contract.”
“Is it?” she answered dryly. “I hadn’t noticed.” Her gaze ran over him with bold speculation that heated his blood and sent it due south.
“Jardine, you know very well that betrothal was a sham.”
He had guessed, of course, but to hear her say it made his insides turn over with relief. “A risky one. The entire venture was most ill-conceived. How on earth did you come to be working for Faulkner?”
She shrugged. “He made me take an oath of secrecy when there was all that fuss over Kate’s diary. I did a few small favors for him. And then he asked me to get one of his operatives an invitation to this house party.”
Jardine frowned. Her story certainly tallied with Faulkner’s. “Faulkner said the operative disappeared before she even reached Radleigh’s house. Who was it?”
Louisa shrugged. “She called herself Harriet Burton. Whether that was her real name, I have no idea.”
Jardine frowned. He didn’t know her, but that meant nothing. Faulkner had plenty of agents on the payroll and commonly, they weren’t acquainted. It was safer that way.
“So it was never your brief to get hold of this list yourself.”
“No, of course not. Why should they trust me with an important mission?” She gave a huff of exasperation. “And they were right. I’ve made no progress whatsoever.”
She told him all she knew and he let her, seeing that it was a relief to unburden herself. She wasn’t cut out for this game, she was too softhearted, but he couldn’t help but admire her resourcefulness as her story unfolded.
Her courage, her utter, foolish courage in hunting for that safe tonight. “There’s no need to keep searching. I’ve made Radleigh an offer he can’t refuse. I hope to have that list in my hands by tomorrow morning.”
She tensed, and he guessed how chagrined she must be that her efforts had come to naught. “I can help you.”
He took her hand. “You were very brave, darling. But now it’s time to go.”
“Don’t patronize me, Jardine!” She snatched her hand away. “How will you get him to sell the list to you? He must have other offers.”
“Yes, but you see there’s something I can give him that no one else can. Or that’s what I’ve led him to believe.”
“And what is that, exactly?”
“What our friend Radleigh desires more than anything is an entrée into our world. Thus, his betrothal to you. He is already wealthy beyond most men’s comprehension. He doesn’t need more money, and what would he do with the foreign honors those other nations wish to bestow? But a peerage . . .” He shrugged. “I’ll have that paper in my hands by lunchtime.”
He jabbed a finger at her. “So, there is no need for you to continue this dangerous charade. Make your excuses and leave as soon as breakfast is over.”
Her chin came up. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll see this through to the end.”
Did the woman never learn? “What is there for you to do save get yourself into trouble? Good God, what more evidence do you need of Radleigh’s character than that damned peephole?”
He turned to face her, gripped her shoulders, and shook her. “He will do worse than merely look at you, Louisa. You know that!”
“What can he do in the middle of a house party?”
He didn’t know. He didn’t know how far Radleigh was prepared to go to achieve his aims. The one saving grace was that he wanted Louisa as his wife. That should keep her alive, but . . .
“Promise me you won’t let him touch you.”
She gave an exasperated sigh. “Jardine—”
“You will not be alone with him. You will say he can have nothing without the ring on your finger. Is that clear?”
“You don’t think I want him to touch me, do you?” She shuddered.
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