Three Weddings and a Murder (42 page)

Mazie slid her finger over her lower lip as she had seen the barmaids do. She had no idea if her gaoler would be so easily diverted. But, well, he was a
man
.

She watched Lord Radford watch her. A lock of dark hair had fallen over his forehead and made him appear much more innocent than he was.

His dipped his gaze to her lips again. Now. It was time to act now, before the footman returned. She stepped back and half-turned away. Her chin dropped down, shy. She hoped she looked coy. She was not much of a flirt, had never had cause to be one. She could count on one hand the number of times she’d been kissed.

The best liars were not actors. One had to believe in their story. Mazie peeked up at her captor, pushed aside her fear and studied him as a man. A very fine man. Dark hair, grey eyes and a face worthy of marble. He was a head taller than she, his shoulders broad and thick with muscle. If it came to a battle of might… She ignored the thought and slid her eyes over him, sought something innocuous to admire. A broad chest and flat belly. Long fingers and an uncanny ability to remain still.

It wasn’t hard to feign attraction to him.

He must have noticed, for he took a small step forward, tested her as she hoped he would. She snapped her head up and met his gaze, let there be fear in her eyes and something else as well.

His lips pressed together in a thin line. He would not make this easy, this attack.

“Thank you for the salve.” She wondered if he noticed that her voice shook. Truly, she shook everywhere with nerves. Her breaths came in little puffs as fear bound her lungs. “The ointment tastes like honey and calendula.” She ran her tongue over her lower lip.

He glanced away, but not before she saw the slight tightening of his posture. The hollows of his cheeks deepened, the jut of his jaw became more pronounced.

She stood up tall, drew in a full breath and pressed her breasts against the worn fabric of her gown. His gaze flashed down.

“Ah, I see how it is.” Radford crossed his arms. “You are playing your last card, and not a very original one at that.”

He called her bluff, but it did not matter. One way or another she would escape. She would be free or she would be killed.

Mazie knew how to march on in the face of impossible odds. She found the strength of her backbone and lifted her chin. “I promise I will be worth the effort.” There was no need to be shy now. She drew the linen fichu out of her black dress. Skin and décolletage gleamed white in the wan light of dusk. “We can talk about my punishment later.”

He cleared his throat. “You must think little of me to attempt such a common ploy.”

She walked toward him and unbuttoned the top of her bodice, her fingers fumbling with the task. It
was
her last card, and she had to play it well. Her life depended on it.

A muscle leapt in his jaw. “I cannot be seduced by some criminal’s Maid Marian.”

Her bodice gaped open to reveal the plump tops of her breasts.

“It won’t work.” His voice was a growl, and the line of tension deepened between his brows.

She took one last step forward and placed her hand on his chest, above the cross of his arms. She would hit him then run at once, down the servants’ stairs at the opposite of the hall and out into the darkening night.

Hit him!

She stalled, so nervous she could barely feel her feet. Radford uncrossed his arms and placed his hands on her shoulders as if he would push her away. Dash it. She couldn’t hit him now, did not have a good position. Desperate, she wound her arms around the back of his neck, pulled his head down and kissed him.

His lips were soft, smooth and he smelled of man. Virile man. His hands on her shoulders gave a firm push, but she did not budge. She opened her mouth, and he opened his as well, and she rubbed her tongue against his. A shock of sensation jolted through her, a new kind of nervousness curled low in her belly. She did it again.

“Hell.” He breathed against her lips, then turned his head away to end the kiss. But she pursued. Pressed up on her tiptoes, held his face steady in her hands. The scruff of his cheeks was rough under her palms. She sought his lips with her own.

“Vixen,” he murmured, again trying to push her away. But his attempt was halfhearted, his lips gentle as they moved over hers. Never once did he press on her bruise, never once did he hurt her.

It was delicious, this kiss. It poured through her like warm chocolate, stole her thoughts like a too-hot bath. She marveled at the soft texture of his tongue sliding against hers, the place where his hands gripped her shoulders.

She could lose herself in him.

Fool of a girl.
She forced herself to focus. The footman would return any moment. Her right hand trailed across Radford’s shoulder to his chest—she would not think about all that muscle—and set in place under his chin. His hands slid down her sides to her hips.

Heavens. Tremors coursed through her and not just from nerves. She forced in a breath, started to draw back, tension in her every muscle. On her next exhale, now—

He dodged. Tipped his head to the side. Her hand smashed against the wall. Pain shot through her palm, up her arm.

“Bloody hell.” He twisted away and wrenched her arm behind her back.

Icy fear froze her heart and breath rushed out of her. She couldn’t seem to inhale again. She told herself she was breathing, told herself air was coming into her lungs, but still she felt like she was drowning.

“You tried to punch me,” he growled, his voice at her ear.

Mazie’s knees wobbled and threatened to give way beneath her. Her arm throbbed both from where she had hit the wall and where he held it twisted behind her back. He would strike her now, as Harrington had.

She steeled herself for the blow.

But he did not abuse her. He let her go with a little push that sent her stumbling into the center of the room. She pulled her bodice together and whipped around to face him.

Lord Radford pinned her with his stormy grey eyes, his face held tight by fury. The man had a look, intimidating to be sure, as if he was seeing through her, through to the days she wound her hair in braids and held her mother’s hand. She forced herself not to react. He wasn’t all-seeing, or he would know who she was.

Her breath came in large gulps of air, and she rubbed her sore arm. Pushed away her worry with a determination honed from experience. He did not remember their introduction many years ago. There was that to be thankful for.

“This is a dangerous game you play, Miss Mazie. It would be best not to underestimate me.” His hands were heavy at his sides. She would not look at them.

“Yes. I will remember that next time.”

A flash of rage. She was pushing too far.

“Tell me where the highwayman is,” he demanded. “When were you to meet him again?”

Her chin raised, she walked to the window and gave him her back. She would give him nothing more. Not ever.

A gust of wind pelted rain against the window, obscuring the view over the drive.

“Very well, Miss Mazie. We do this the hard way.”

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“Naughty in Nottinghamshire” Series

The Runaway Countess

The Misbehaving Marquess

The Rogue Returns
(coming August 2012)

The Governess Affair

The start of the Brothers Sinister series

She will not give up.

Three months ago, governess Serena Barton was let go from her position. Unable to find new work, she’s demanding compensation from the man who got her sacked: a petty, selfish, swinish duke. But it’s not the duke she fears. It’s his merciless man of business—the man known as the Wolf of Clermont. The formidable former pugilist has a black reputation for handling all the duke’s dirty business, and when the duke turns her case over to him, she doesn’t stand a chance. But she can’t stop trying—not with her entire future at stake.

He cannot give in.

Hugo Marshall is a man of ruthless ambition—a characteristic that has served him well, elevating the coal miner’s son to the right hand man of a duke. When his employer orders him to get rid of the pestering governess by fair means or foul, it’s just another day at the office. Unfortunately, fair means don’t work on Serena, and as he comes to know her, he discovers that he can’t bear to use foul ones. But everything he has worked for depends upon seeing her gone. He’ll have to choose between the life that he needs, and the woman he is coming to love…

From Chapter One:

H
UGO LOOKED UPWARD.
“Drat.”

“Drat?” She hid a smile. “Surely a man as awful as you could conjure up a ‘damn’ in mixed company.”

“I don’t swear,” he explained. “Not in any company.”

“I see. You
are
bad.”

He glanced at the sky in exasperation. “I am aware that this fact in isolation hardly proves my point. Which is this: If you wish to speak to me in confidence, if you wish to tell your tale without fear of judgment, I’m your man. Nobody would dare to gossip with me.”

She stared at him. “You’re very convincing,” she said, in a tone that implied she believed anything but. “But you are…what, an accountant? Someone who keeps the household books?”

He nearly choked. “You could say that,” he finally said. “I suppose I make sure the books balance at the end of the day.”

She gave him a patronizing nod of the head. “All that ruthlessness, and only the books to balance. Poor Mr. Marshall.” She smiled at him. “I consider myself a good judge of character. And you, sir, are safe.”

Safe.

It had been so long since someone
hadn’t
taken him seriously that he’d forgotten what it was like. But here she was, dismissing him.

He sat gingerly on the edge of her bench.

“Maybe I am safe,” he said. “I don’t swear. I don’t drink spirits, either.” He took a deep breath. “You’re sitting here for a reason, though, Miss Barton, and I doubt it’s for your health. Is it so wrong of me to want to help?”

All the latent humor bled from her face. “Help,” she repeated blankly. “You want to
help
.”

“This is no triviality before you. A lady does not risk the wrath of a duke without reason. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“Why not?” she asked. “If you’re so ruthless.”

He smiled in spite of himself. “
Ruthless
doesn’t mean that I survey the available options and gleefully choose the cruelest one. It means that I solve problems, whatever the cost. I’m
good
at that.”

“And so out of the goodness of your heart, you’re offering—”

“No,” he said, leaning in. “You misunderstand. There’s no goodness in my heart—that’s what I keep trying to explain to you. You are a problem. It distracts me from my work to think of you here. To wonder…”

She sucked in her breath and pulled away from him slightly. Her eyes seemed round and very gray. She scarcely moved. The air around them seemed suddenly charged. He couldn’t look away from her, and he could almost hear his words echoed back at him.

It distracts me to think of you.

It was almost nothing, that faint sense of attraction he felt. It was no more than the scarcely-heard hum of an insect. Insignificant enough that he waved it away. But she had just noticed, and that small hint of interest, mild though it had been, had washed the smile from her face.

“Go away,” she said, her voice flat.

No, she wasn’t here because of an employment dispute. Clermont had a great deal to answer for.

Hugo reached down and plucked a spare twig from the ground and set it on the bench between them. “This,” he said, “is a wall, and I will not cross it.”

Her eyes fixed on that piece of wood, a few scant inches in length.

“I don’t believe in hurting women,” he said.

She did not respond.

“I do a great many things, and I’m not proud of many of them. But I don’t swear. I don’t drink. And I don’t hurt women. I don’t do any of those things because my father did every one.” He held her eyes as he spoke. “Now I’ve told you something that nobody else in London knows. Surely you can return the favor. What is it you want?”