Tempting His Mistress (3 page)

After the men had retreated for brandy and cigars, the evening had quickly grown tiresome and quiet. The only lady still talking animatedly was Lady Stanley and as much as Lilly adored her, Lady Stanley had the uncanny ability to hold a conversation wholly on her own with little input from anyone. Exhausted from spending the evening trying not to look at Lord Hawksley and fighting such mixed emotions, Lilly excused herself.

When she came to the bottom of the stairs, she debated whether bed was the best option. Her mind was still awhirl. Lord Hawksley had confused her. His words on women’s education had been a deliberate jab, she suspected. He spoke to get a rise from her. That he had confessed he felt the law unfair towards women had astounded her, yet maybe he only said as much to charm her in some way. She couldn’t see why he would bother. She was of little consequence to him.

Instead of heading to her room, she decided to take a turn around the garden. With everyone occupied, she wouldn’t be interrupted. When she stepped outside, cold air swirled around her bare shoulders and she regretted not wearing a shawl but at least it would clear her head.

Lilly strolled around to the rear of the house. A path led down into a large rockery and she endeavoured to walk all the way through it and up the large rows of box trees before returning to her room. The rockery had been the work of the late earl and even in the dim moonlight, the layout of the stones on either side were impressive. Short, unusual plants mingled between them. Lilly knew from Lady Stanley that the earl had gone to great pains to collect plants from all over the world for this garden.

The crack of a twig made her jump and she paused and peered behind her. An animal, she concluded, and continued up the path until the large trees swallowed her. Here the formal garden directed her down a long gravelled path toward a huge stone fountain.

More crunching sounds came and her heart bounded into her throat as a figure appeared farther down the path.

“Lord Hawksley,” she exclaimed and regretted the words. He had not spotted her and she might have been able to hide had she not caught his attention.

“Miss Claremont.” He strode over and eyed her severely. “It’s late for you to be out on your own and…” he scowled, his gaze brushing the tops of her shoulders, “it is too cold for you to be so… so…” he waved a hand.

Lilly caught the scent of brandy on his breath. She had noticed he indulged quite freely with wine all evening and he appeared a little unsteady on his feet. Strange, for Lady Stanley hadn’t mentioned the lord enjoying spirits and Lady Stanley rarely kept anything to herself.

“I didn’t think I would meet anyone out here and I had need of some fresh air. Why are you not with your brother and Lord Brexley?”

“I detest cards.” He shrugged out of his jacket and laid it across her shoulders.

The scent of soap and the warmth from the fabric enveloped her. His gloved fingers skimmed her shoulders for the briefest moment, yet it was as if she had jumped into a furnace. Her skin blazed with remembrance.

“I thought you a gambling man, my lord.”

He considered her, his lips remaining in a firm thin line. “Speculation on the advice of a good man is not gambling, Miss Claremont. It seems I did not make myself clear on that point.” Lord Hawksley motioned down the path and they walked side by side for several minutes.

Lilly used the time to gather her thoughts—a difficult task when his strong masculine scent pervaded her nostrils and muddled her brain. At dinner, he had constantly surprised her. While he remained gruff and difficult to read, he hardly seemed the sort to go around killing people. And he genuinely didn’t seem to be concerned by the money her father owed him.

Or else, he was a fantastic actor. The only real spark of emotion she had seen had been at the mention of husbands harming their wives.

She peeked sideways at him and noted how attractive his side profile was for the hundredth time that evening. Just because he was handsome didn’t make him a good man, she reminded herself.

But the way he treated her with his odd brand of civility puzzled. Many women might be offended by his abrupt manner, she supposed. The marquess was so rich, he need not care whom he offended, but Lilly felt there was honesty behind his manners. She had never been one to enjoy false niceties—not that many bothered disguising their contempt for an illegitimate daughter. However, it was as if Lord Hawksley paid no heed to her background whatsoever.

“What of you, Miss Claremont? Are you not missing out on time with the women?”

“I detest gossip,” she replied with a smile.

The smallest hint of amusement sparked in his gaze as he eyed her. Though it softened his severe brow, she still shuddered under his study. Even if Lord Hawksley had the ability to release a genuine smile, he would still look like a predator.

“You are cold?” he asked, a finger to her shoulder where the jacket rested.

“Not at all.”

What was she to say? That she thought him like a hawk and when he looked at her it sent tiny tremors through her body? Or that the sensations confused her, for they should have been from fear but felt too much like excitement?

Could her cousin have been wrong? When he’d handed over some letters from her father to her mother, the note of the debt had convinced her Lord Hawksley must have been angry indeed at the loss of so great a sum. And when she had probed Henry about the debt, he had confirmed he’d heard rumours of the marquess’s threats to make her father pay.

But gossip was never to be trusted. Surely she knew that better than anyone?

Lord Hawksley paused and took a swift step in front of her. Lilly froze and lifted her gaze to his. His fingers landed on the lapels of the jacket, a mere inch or so away from her breasts.

Lord Hawksley could not be trusted either. How could one trust a man so closed off and perplexing?

Her throat threatened to close over, her mind drifted into a fog. Tendrils of night air wrapped around her bare skin and emphasised the heat sizzling through her veins. Around her, the trees swayed and an owl hooted, but her breaths became the dominant sound as their gazes clashed. For the life of her, she could not move nor make sense of that moment in time. Clawing through the fog in her mind, some remnants of common sense screamed at her that this man could be dangerous—that she might be alone with a murderer—but when he tugged the lapels together and shifted marginally closer, that voice fizzled.

Of their own accord, her lips parted. This movement caused his gaze to drop to them. They tingled as if he had touched them rather than merely looked. Lilly took in his hooded gaze and eyes so dark, he looked as though he were a creature of the night. In the moonlight, his dark hair shone and it brought out the stark planes of his face.

Lilly almost laughed to herself. If he didn’t scowl so often, he would be the handsomest man she had ever met. But any inclination to laugh vanished in a puff when his head lowered.

She closed her eyes, tilted her head. Her limbs refused to work. Her arms were as stiff as iron rods. When she should have been placing her hands to his chest to push him away, she found herself swaying toward him.

Then the grip on the jacket loosened and nothing but air drifted across her lips. Lilly snapped open her eyes and frowned. Lord Hawksley had straightened and stepped back. He peered at her as if she were some mystifying creature. Lilly didn’t doubt she returned the look.

Disappointment weighted her heart, and anger heated her belly. What was so wrong with her that she would want a kiss from the man who might have killed her father? She had come here to find out more, maybe probe him about his dealings—not kiss him!

His gaze sharpened and a scowl crossed his face. “It is late. I shall bid you good evening, Miss Claremont.”

Lord Hawksley swivelled on his heel and stormed in the opposite direction. Open mouthed, Lilly watched the easy movement of his shoulders until he turned a corner. Need twisted deep inside and tangled like a web. She had intended to trap the marquess, not the other way around. Was she in his web or he in hers?

And, of course, she was still no closer to discovering the truth.

With a deep breath, she continued on. The breeze had picked up, fluttering her curls, and she grasped the dinner jacket tighter. Oh Lord, she had forgotten his jacket. She would have to return it to him quietly somehow and before the maids picked it up for washing.

She continued her walk through the hedges until she reached the fountain—a magnificent three-tiered structure. Stopping to trail her fingers in the water, she peered back at the house. The large windows glowed against the red brick. Would Lord Hawksley return to the men or had he continued his walk as she had?

By the time she returned to the house, the cold had seeped under the marquess’s jacket and any warmth left from his body had dispersed, although the scent of him remained. What brand of soap he used, she did not know, but the fragrance was enough to make a woman swoon. Not she, however. Lilly had never been particularly interested in the opposite sex. Most paid her little enough heed and though she’d trifled in the odd kiss or two, at three and twenty she thought herself past silly flirtations.

She shucked off the jacket before she entered and kept it held by her side in the hopes her skirt would hide it from prying eyes. Only a few servants were present in the hall, and the din of male laughter rang out from deeper in the house. It was likely Lord Hawksley had decided a game of cards was not such a bad idea. Certainly more appealing than kissing her.

He had been about to kiss her, had he not?

Maybe her limited experience with men had put her at a disadvantage and now she was seeing things that simply didn’t exist. Like a wealthy, attractive man wanting to kiss her.

Lilly took the stairs quickly, skirt in one hand, jacket in the other. Of course, that wealthy, attractive man could be a murderer. She mustn’t forget that. It soothed her bruised esteem a little to think that she would not want a kiss from him anyway. He was the least appealing prospect here—someone who thought nothing of killing a man over a debt.

Her heart beat rapidly in her breast as she strolled up the corridor. She would have to walk past the guest chambers and Lady Stanley had informed her she intended to put Lord Hawksley in the blue room—a mere few steps away. The door was ajar and the trotting beat in her chest turned to a full gallop. Perhaps it would be wise to slip in and leave his jacket on a chair? That way they wouldn’t have the embarrassment of trying to hand it back without anyone seeing and leaping to conclusions.

Mouth dry, she paused and waited outside the door. Lilly peered through the gap but saw no movement. She listened and all remained quiet. With a gentle push, the door swung open, but before she could step across the threshold, the sight that greeted her turned her legs to stone.

Lord Hawksley’s brows rose when he met her gaze but he said nothing. Lilly released a tiny ‘oh’ but found herself unable to look away. With no jacket and his necktie cast aside somewhere, the glow from the candles highlighted a firm figure in his crisp white shirt. A tanned neck and the top of his collarbone revealed itself at the loosened collar.

Lilly swallowed heavily. “I... I have your jacket.” She thrust it out, still staring at his sun-kissed flesh. He really had to spend a lot of time hunting and riding for such a colour.

He seemed hesitant to step forward. Sensation returned to her legs but propriety stopped her from crossing the threshold, no matter how much her body willed her over it. She bunched a clammy hand at her side and waited for him to take the garment from her. The marquess took one step, then another and his wide shoulders filled her view.

Lord Hawksley grasped the jacket and their fingers brushed briefly. With her gloves tucked away, the warmth and slight hardness to his fingertips startled her. He turned to throw the jacket on the bed, and Lilly’s head swam.

Images assaulted her—images of things she had no business knowing about. Her mother had been wise enough to instruct her on the marriage bed and even admitted to the pleasure that could be found there, but never had she pictured what it might be like to indulge in it with a man.

Tangled limbs, sleek skin and hot kisses taunted her mind. The only naked men she had ever seen were statues but from the breadth of his shoulders, she had a good idea of what Lord Hawksley would be like naked.

Her corset grew too tight. She pressed both hands to her rib cage and drew in several deep breaths.

“Miss Claremont, are you unwell?”

“No, Lord Hawksley,” she snapped breathlessly, “I am perfectly well. Why must you always enquire after my health? Do I look sickly to you?”

Any concern fell from his expression and it turned downright sour. “No, indeed, you look in full health. Even when breathless and red-cheeked, you look well indeed.”

He seemed to say this begrudgingly, as if the admission pained him, and Lilly frowned. From any other man, she might have thought it a compliment. “I was merely hoping to return your jacket so I dashed up the stairs...”

“You did not know I was here,” he pointed out.

“Well, I...”

“I am no fool, Miss Claremont. You feel this... connection between us too. It makes you hot and breathless as it does me, but let me assure you, nothing shall come of it. I am not one for taking innocents and I shall be searching for a wife soon.”