Velvet Embrace (48 page)

He had been surprised to find himself concerned for her reputation, for he rarely let such considerations influence him. But then, she had been a virgin. He had been her first real lover. Perhaps that explained his current dilemma. He was experiencing a twinge of conscience, to say the least.

The situation was more complex, however, than Brie's loss of innocence, and he damned well knew it. He had become too involved with her, had let his passions interfere with good judgment. He should have left at once for France. Given time, he would forget the russet-haired beauty
who
had been in his thoughts so often during the past weeks. Or would he?

Dominic shifted in his chair, wondering why the devil he was dwelling on such thoughts. He had never been one to waste time analyzing his own emotions, particularly where women were concerned. He preferred instead to live his life without encumbrances, to act for the moment, not exactly drifting— for he had done quite well at rebuilding his fortunes—but the goals that he set for himself were always tangible challenges, avoiding completely the issues of relationships. His pursuit of Brie had begun as such. . . . So why now, when he had more pressing matters to consider, did he worry about a relationship with a woman he had met only a few weeks ago?

He knew full well why. Because he could picture Brie in his arms, passionate, warm, yielding. Because he could feel her soft, silken body writhing beneath him. . . . Devil take it, his heart started slamming against his ribs whenever he just
thought
about seeing her again. Virgin or no, making love to her had been one of the best experiences he had ever had with a woman—and strangely, the most satisfying. But why the tight constriction in his chest when he considered putting an end to their relationship?

Draining his glass, Dominic dismissed the nagging question. Brie
Carringdon
was an enchanting witch, impossible to ignore or forget, but he had to stop seeing her. There would be no honorable course other than marriage if he continued his pursuit of her, and not for any woman, no matter how ravishingly beautiful, would he suffer those chains willingly. He would use his trip to France as an excuse to dissolve what they had begun. He would see Brie on the morrow and explain that his departure was unavoidable. And by the time he returned to England, perhaps he would have conquered his fierce attraction for the beautiful little termagant. Indeed, dismissing her from his life should be no more difficult than discarding a favorite coat, Dominic told himself firmly as he raised his glass of brandy to his lips.

He did not, however, think it odd that he was required to drink almost a full bottle of the potent liquor before he believed himself thoroughly convinced.

Dominic was perusing the newspapers over breakfast the next morning—as well as trying to recover from a severe hangover—when Julian arrived, interested in hearing what had happened with
Germain
. When Dominic briefly recounted the details, Julian let out a slow whistle.

"You know, Dom, you lead a charmed life. I am truly in awe, for nothing like that ever happens to me. After you left last week, the most excitement I had was determining how to protect Brie and Caroline if we should come across any highwaymen. And since we weren't accosted by so much as a scarecrow, the journey turned out to be rather uneventful. I almost wish I were going to France with you. Although . .
.
aren't
you leaving rather suddenly?"

"It isn't sudden," Dominic replied. "In fact I've already delayed almost a week so I could attend the christening this morning."

"
Er
, of course. I merely thought that since Brie just arrived in town . . ." Julian hesitated, noting the sudden glitter in his friend's eyes.

"Yes?" Dominic
prodded,
his soft tone a warning in itself.

"Never mind," Julian replied, deciding not to press the issue. He told Dominic, instead, that Jester seemed to be healing nicely, and it served to turn the conversation.

They talked for a while longer before Julian rose to take his leave. "By the way," he said, keeping his tone casual. "I am escorting Caroline and Brie to the Vauxhall Opera this evening. You are welcome to join us, if you care to."

"Thanks, but I mean to attend the
Copely's
ball. I suppose I will see you when I return from
France.""Yes
. . . , well . . . , good luck then, Dom." His words were warm but his tone was stiff and formal. He turned to go.

"Julian," Dominic called after him.

"Yes?"

"Quit trying to play matchmaker, will you? You are much too obvious."

"Dominic," Julian said with a good-natured grin, "I begin to understand why someone wants to murder you. You know how to thrust where it hurts!"

The christening went smoothly and lasted only a short while. His afternoon free, Dominic drove his curricle to the Langley residence in Russell Square where Brie was staying. He planned to invite her for a drive, wanting a few moments alone with her. His expectations were short-
lived,
however, for when he asked to see Brie, he was told that Miss
Carringdon
was not at home. "I believe she is expected to return shortly," the butler added. "Would my lord care to wait? I would be pleased to inquire if Lady Langley is receiving."

Since Dominic had absolutely no desire to see Brie's aunt, he declined and politely thanked the servant. He was turning to leave when someone called his name. Looking up, he saw Brie's companion standing on the grand staircase, leaning heavily on a cane. She was staring down at him, one hand held at her throat, her age-lined face a ghostly shade. Dominic was puzzled by her expression. The elderly woman looked as distressed now as when he had brought Brie home the day of the shooting.

"Lord Stanton," Katherine said again, her voice unsteady. "I should like a word with you, if you can spare a moment."

"Miss Hewitt, is it not?"

"Yes, my lord. We can use the salon, there, to your left."

Dominic waited as Katherine slowly made her way down the stairs,
then
allowed her to precede him into the room, curious to hear what she had to say. He expected her to take a seat, but she only turned slowly to face him, eyeing him with that same strange mixture of horror and dread.

Dominic shut the door and moved to stand near the fireplace, letting his glance travel around the room as he waited patiently for Katherine to speak. The salon was done entirely in blue and cream shades, and elegantly furnished with Louis XVI furniture. There were several portraits hanging on the walls, and Dominic noted the one of Lady
Arabella
with an inward grimace. Brie's august aunt stared stiffly down from the canvas, her
likenes&evincing
the kind of chilling hauteur that shriveled souls. Her proud look subtly reminded Dominic of Brie, but he knew it would take Brie twenty years of practice before she ever came close to achieving the same degree of rigid imperiousness. Lady
Arabella
The
Terror, Dominic thought with a sardonic grin. She was a petty tyrant, ruling her household and those around her with iron control. Her husband should have taken her in hand from the beginning of their marriage, should have taught her to curb her temper and channel her natural aggressiveness into softer forms of expression. That was what he would do, should Brie become his—

Dominic caught himself abruptly. He had been about to say
wife,
for Christ's sake. Forcibly he turned his thoughts aside, giving his full attention to Brie's companion. "You requested an audience, Miss Hewitt," he prompted gently, wondering why she was looking at him as if he had grown a pair of horns and a tail.

"Yes," she replied, clenching her fingers around the knob of her cane. "I wanted to speak to you . . . about Brie. As her companion, it is my duty to look after her."

"I won't dispute that," Dominic said when Katherine hesitated.

"I am concerned for her."

He raised an eyebrow and waited.

"It cannot be good for her reputation for her to be seen in your company," Katherine continued at last. "This is not Rutland, my lord, where Brie is well known and respected. Her good name could easily be damaged."

If you only knew,
Dominic thought wryly. Aloud, he responded with a question. "Are you perhaps suggesting, Miss Hewitt, that I confine my calls to the times Miss
Carringdon
is well-chaperoned?"

"No, my lord.
I would like you to keep away from Brie entirely. You are not the kind of man I could wish for her to know too well."

Dominic's eyes narrowed. It was one thing to decide
himself
to stop seeing Brie; it was another to be warned away by a woman he hardly knew. He turned away to mask his anger, noticing the miniatures displayed on the
mantlepiece
as he did so.

His gaze was immediately drawn to a girl with russet hair and sparkling blue-green eyes—obviously a much younger Brie. The artist had executed his work well, Dominic thought as he glanced down at the tiny portrait. She was laughing, looking
very much as if she had the world in the palm of her hand, but there was a hint of something in her eyes that suggested fire and passion. Dominic found it hard to tear his gaze away.

"And if I do not choose to comply with your wishes, Miss Hewitt?" he said, almost to himself.

"Then I shall have to take steps to see that you do, my lord. I do not intend to allow Brie to follow the same path as
Lisette
."

"Who, may I ask, is
Lisette
?"

"You really do not remember, do you? You should look more closely at the miniatures, my lord. Perhaps you will recognize the one there on the right."

Growing impatient with her cryptic remarks, Dominic directed his attention to the other portraits. To the left of Brie's likeness were miniatures of several children, including a very young Caroline Langley and, Dominic assumed, her brothers and
sisters.
To the right was a matched set, one of an older man whom Dominic recognized as Brie's father, Sir William, and one of a dark-haired woman who could have been her mother. Dominic picked up the miniature of the woman, his gaze arrested by the look of sadness in her eyes. Staring at her, he felt the stirring of a vague memory. He was certain he had seen that face before. "Should I know her?" he asked, turning to look at Katherine.

"Yes, my lord, you should. That . . . that is Suzanne."

It was at the same moment that the formidable Lady
Arabella
swept into the room. "Good afternoon, Lord Stanton," she said with rigid politeness, not noticing how very still her guest had become or how his lips had tightened. "Carson informed me that you had called. I understand that you are acquainted with my niece."

Dominic ignored her entirely, his gaze narrowing on Katherine. "Suzanne?" he
repeated,
his tone soft but unmistakably menacing.

When Katherine made no reply but simply stared at him, white-faced, Lady
Arabella
broke in. "Whatever is the meaning of this, my lord?" she demanded in chilling accents.
"Why are you browbeating this poor woman?"