Wicked As Sin Page 6

  He hung his head in a moment of solemn silence. His short speech should have relieved her. It made sense when she remembered his wife Mary’s sympathetic looks at Jeremy’s memorial service. The fact that Jeremy had proved himself a monster did not mean that his brother shared his penchant for cruelty.

  “I am well, my lord.”

  And yet as she stood before him in her heavy burgundy robe she felt inexplicably exposed and ill-at-ease. She assumed her discomfort stemmed from the realization that he closely resembled his brother in physical appearance.

  His honeyed voice sent an unpleasant spark down her spine. “Mary wondered if you were indisposed for good reason. We wish to offer our support to you.”

  “How is your wife?” she asked, thinking of the pleasant if rather plain heiress who doted openly on Guy.

  “She’s expecting another child. A girl again, the midwife has warned us.” His pale eyes drifted over her, calculating, unsettling. “May I speak frankly with you?”

  She hesitated. Why had she not asked the footman to stay? Because she had expected her visitor to be a different man? “There are servants within hearing. If this is a personal matter, perhaps we should wait until my brother and cousin return. I do not think it proper to—”

  “Come outside,” he coaxed. “Walk with me through the garden. The country air is safe for sharing confidences.”

  It was not safe for other purposes. Her heart lurched against her ribs. In her mind she saw Jeremy forcing her into the dark, covering her mouth with his hand.

  “It’s too late to walk—”

  “Alethea,” he said gently. “I know what happened between you and my brother.”

  Her head jerked up in alarm. “What did you say?”

  “I know that you became his lover the night he left.”

  His lover. A twisted version of the truth. Not an act of love at all.

  Her temper rose. “Is that what he told you?”

  He gripped her gently by the elbows. “If you have borne a child in secret, Mary and I have discussed how best to help you.”

  “Pray do not touch me, my lord. That is the last time I shall ask you. And to satisfy your curiosity, there is no secret child.”

  He released her arms. She backed away.

  “You retired to the country for over a year. I would have thought if grief had—it does not matter. What matters is that you need a protector, Alethea.” Yet the manner in which he began to circle her did not make her feel safe. “A woman in your position—bereft, vulnerable. It is an invitation to certain ugly realities of the world.”

  How much did he really know? Had he guessed? Or had Jeremy confessed to him to clear his conscience? Guy must have thought it odd that she did not weep at his brother’s service.

  “I wish you had asked for my help, Alethea.” He paused. “Should my brother have married you, you and I would have become close, I’m sure. You would have trusted me. Trust me now.”

  “I have told you the truth.”

  But not that she had hoped she would never see him or any of Jeremy’s family ever again. The time of uncertainty over a conception had long passed. Her flow had come, a nerve-racking week after her nightmare. She would have found the strength to bear that cross had it been laid upon her shoulders. Now she merely had to make peace with her ruined status and what that entailed. She held little patience for grieving her stolen virtue. She had been shamed, but she still had her brother and their cousin to care for her, her friends in the village.

  “Lord Hazlett,” she said resolutely, “is there something else you wish from me? Your brother’s engagement ring? I regret to say I lost it the day I learned of his death.”

  “No, my dear,” he said. “I can well afford to buy you another. Is that what you wish? Do you desire jewels? Some pretty clothes?”

  She forced herself to look steadily into his face. “I have nothing of value to give in return, except advice on manners which I suspect you would not heed.”

  “You’re wrong, Alethea.”

  She held his regard with cynical reluctance. His green eyes seemed to offer her only sympathy; her instincts did not trust him. And yet she was more angry now than afraid. She would not suffer further violation.

  “I fear you don’t understand me,” he told her. “I do not possess my brother’s, let us say, temper and tendency to aggression.”

  So he did know.

  “Your composure is admirable,” he added. “I don’t know that I would be as forgiving in your place.”

  “Perhaps there isn’t anything to forgive.”

  He smiled knowingly. “Another woman would have gone into hysterics. My fool of a brother was afraid you would tell half of England what he did.”

  Her mouth tightened in revulsion. “Well, let the dead rest in peace. I have no confessions to make.”

  “But I am worthy of your confidence. I shall keep your secret for you. And, if you allow me, I shall make your life better than it would have been otherwise. I know what a little swine my brother was. Spoiled, taking everything he ever wanted.”

  She swallowed tightly. She need not panic. There were servants within the sound of her cry.

  “My primary concern is your future, Alethea.”

  “My concern,” she said. “Not yours.”

  “There are only so many options open for a woman in your fallen state.”

  She felt her stomach turn, yet managed to say, “If I fell, I have since found my footing.”

  “Just between you and me, I see no shame in passion. Jeremy swore that you encouraged him—that you sought to give him pleasure the night before he left.”

  “Did he?” she asked faintly, for “pleasure” was the last word to describe what she had experienced.

  “If so, it was a generous gift, one that—”

  “I say that there was shame.”

  He shrugged, slowly nearing her again. “Then that ill memory must be supplanted by a more desirable reflection. Perhaps even by desire itself.”

  “Is this a proposition on behalf of your late brother or for yourself?” she asked in distaste.

  “You are unclaimed, Alethea, secluded in this place. There are arrangements for women like you who no longer fit into the polite world.”

  “I know what I am. And what those arrangements are,” she said, her voice shaking with anger.

  “Then you know what I am offering you, and why it is a sensible solution for a beautiful young woman who was never meant to be a governess.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Gabriel had begun to feel like a bit of an idiot as he approached the quiet manor house. He’d forgotten that in the country all the yokels dropped into bed at an ungodly hour. It certainly did not offend his rules of behavior to visit a young lady unannounced, using his housekeeper’s bare pantry as an excuse. However, he could not recall when, if ever, he’d called upon a beautiful woman to beg a bowl of flour for his supper.

  It was a ridiculous pretense. He wouldn’t be able to keep a straight face when he presented it, and Alethea would see right through him, as he suspected she always had. It was a pleasant thought, sharing a laugh with her at his expense. But when he reached the end of her drive, his amusement vanished. There was a carriage parked in front of the entrance steps, although only one or two faint lights glowed behind the windows. Alethea had apparently not yet retired. And, apparently, she was not alone. He should not have been surprised, but he was.

  But he was not naïve. To deny the implication of a late-night visit would be gullibility in the extreme. Alethea was unclaimed, inviting, a beautiful woman. It was not difficult to imagine other men desiring her or being lured as he was to her door.

  He dismounted and tethered his horse to the post at the curve of the drive. The two footmen standing against the carriage nodded as he passed. He ignored them.

  A gentleman, of course, would not intrude on a liaison. But he was curious. He was a gambler. An unprincipled beggar with an empty bowl.

  He r
an up the front steps. He knocked softly, waited a few seconds, then let himself inside.

  Restrained voices drifted from the end of the entrance hall that led to the main staircase. He cleared his throat.

  “Anybody home? The butler, the baker…Alethea? Lady Alethea, are you here?”

  He paused. He heard her deep, well-bred voice. From the sound of it she was not engaged in pleasing conversation.

  “That must be one of your footmen calling for you, my lord,” she was saying. “I shall bid you good night.”

  “You will reconsider my offer?”

  Gabriel’s hackles rose. He walked toward the two candlelit figures. What kind of offer did a man make at this hour?

  “Well, there you are,” he said heartily. “I’ve been knocking for ages.”

  “I didn’t hear anyone knocking,” the other man said.

  “I did,” she said quickly.

  He studied her tautly drawn face for a sign that he was unwelcome and decided she felt relieved at the intrusion. The realization awakened his aggressive instincts. Her visitor had not been invited. He glanced past her in open appraisal of the tall man in the florid brocade jacket who stood beside her. No local squire, by the look of him, but not entirely unfamiliar, either. Was he a suitor?

  Not one whose company she’d sought, judging by the enthusiasm with which she rushed forth to draw him into the hall.

  “Sir Gabriel,” she announced with such strained gaiety that he wondered fleetingly if she had become one of those midnight tipplers. “How good of you to come! I had given up all hope.”

  He could have sworn that when they had last met in the woods, they had parted on unstable terms. “Well, it’s really—”

  She grasped him under the arm and dragged him between her and the other man. “You’re an hour late, sir.”

  “So I am,” he said smoothly, deliberately nudging her back behind him.

  “Better late than never, though,” she said with a nervous laugh.

  The other man straightened. “Then it must be later than I realized, and I should be on my way if I’m to have a meal before bed.”

  Gabriel braced his hip against the sideboard as if he had no intention of being the first to leave. Indeed, he would not go until assured that she was rid of her unwanted guest. Alethea had not moved, except for a small involuntary shiver when the visitor glanced at her.

  “What I have offered you still stands,” the gentleman said to Alethea, at the same time turning his back on Gabriel. “I do not like to think of you bearing your grief alone.”

  “I have had a year to grieve,” Alethea replied.

  Gabriel snorted lightly. He’d like to get this man alone in a dark alley and give him some grief. He hadn’t arrived a moment too soon by the look of it.

  “Better hurry,” he said. “The bridges in this area can be murder. There are ghosts, too. And bats.”

  The older man glanced around to give him a long, hard stare. “You are not a person I recognize, sir. Have we met?”

  “Not unless you frequent the gambling hells.”

  The man’s upper lip curled in a sneer. “Fortunately, I do not. But I have seen you—Boscastle?”

  Gabriel stared back at him. Now he knew who this pompous ass was. The elder Lord Hazelnuts. The heir. Gabriel’s older brothers had stolen Guy’s horse and given it to the gypsies when they’d caught him whipping it in a tantrum. “You have the advantage. I do not know your name.”

  “Major Lord Guy Hazlett.”

  “Ah.” Gabriel responded with a dismissive smile, signifying that the name meant nothing to him. “And you’re Lady Alethea’s—uncle?” he asked, as if questioning the age difference between the two were a sign of respect and not a blatant insult.

  Hazlett frowned. “I would have been her brother-in-law had misfortune not befallen my family.” By which he clearly meant that this gave him the right to pop in on her at late hours.

  Her brother-in-law, his arse. Gabriel laughed inwardly. He knew a darker quest when he saw one.

  Hazlett lifted his shoulder. “And your business with her, sir?”

  He plopped down on the hard oakwood hall chair. He hadn’t been invited to sit. It was bad manners. However, as Alethea voiced no objection, he decided it was up to him to send Hazelnuts packing. She could lecture him on his deportment later.

  “We’re neighbors,” he said succinctly. “In fact, I have something for her.” He slid his bowl to the floor and withdrew from under his arm the riding crop she’d dropped earlier in the day. “You left this in the straw when you woke me up today,” he said guilelessly.

  Alethea’s brows rose. “How thoughtful of you.”

  “Well, since I was coming anyway—”

  “All that way to deliver a whip,” Hazlett muttered. “As if it could not have waited until morning or been brought by a servant.”

  Gabriel grinned as she took the crop from his hand. “You never know when a little discipline will come in handy,” he said. “I understand one cannot safely open one’s door at night even here in the country. Who knows what nasty people might be lurking about?”

  Hazlett smiled without humor. “Indeed. May I drive you home, now that your good deed has been discharged? My carriage is right outside.”

  “No need,” Gabriel said airily. “I’ve got my horse, thank you, and as a matter of fact, I have been sent by another agent on a different matter. A private one, I should add.”

  “A private matter?” Alethea and Hazlett echoed in chorus.

  Gabriel gave a solemn nod. “It’s rather embarrassing. I’m not at liberty to reveal it to anyone but Lady Alethea.”

  Alethea pressed her lips together and did not comment. Hazlett shook his head in defeat.

  “I should be on my way before the inn fills for the night,” he said. “I shall take it upon myself to check on you from time to time, Alethea.”

  Gabriel surged to his feet. “I think that between her brother and the parish, we shall be able to keep her safe from evil influences…don’t you, Alethea?”

  She muttered something under her breath. He smiled back in shining innocence. He had a feeling he was going to catch hell from her for playing about. Perhaps she really did like this Lord Hazelnuts. However, when finally the man took his leave, Gabriel did not feel the least bit guilty. Not at all.

  Not even when Alethea looked up at him and asked, “What are you doing here this late at night, Gabriel?”

  “I saw a light in the window—”

  “And a light drew you from your house? Liar.”

  “I thought you just said I was invited.”

  “Oh, honestly.”

  “‘How good of you to come!’” he quoted. “‘I had given up all hope.’”

  “That was…” She bit her lip. “It was an excuse.”

  He laughed quietly. “Then I’m not really welcome?”

  “Gabriel, I am usually abed at this hour.”

  The powerful sense of protectiveness he already felt now mingled with lust. “Better late than never?”

  “Is that the private matter you have come about?”

  He hesitated. “My housekeeper sent me over for a bowl of flour.”

  She shook her head in resignation. “I should have known. Mrs. Miniver is the worst housekeeper in the world. Follow me.”

  “My bowl—”

  “Never mind. I’ll send over a sack.”

  It was a long walk to the kitchens. For once Gabriel blessed the old-fashioned architecture of bygone days that separated one building from another. The arrangement caused certain discomforts, but it gave him a few moments alone with Alethea, although she did not seem inclined to appreciate the opportunity herself.

  They entered a dark low-beamed hall at the end of which firelight glowed through an arched doorway from a kitchen hearth. He put his hand on her shoulder.

  “You did not like that man,” he said softly.

  She turned, her dark eyes evading his. “I didn’t. Thank you.” />
  “For—?”

  “Your welcome intervention.”

  “Did he upset you?” he demanded, his anger flaring. “By God, did I arrive too late or just in time?”

  She shook her head. “You came at the perfect moment.”

  “Were you distressed because he brought back memories of his brother?” he guessed, suddenly feeling awkward and not wanting this moment to end. He sensed that she was reluctant to answer, that she probably wished he would leave.

  Her voice was barely audible. “It was upsetting to see him, that’s all.”

  He frowned, realizing she had escaped a truthful response. “Do I upset you?”

  She laughed unexpectedly. “Yes. Yes. From the very moment I laid my eyes on you, you have been a disconcertment. I had always hoped—”

  “Alethea.”

  He caught her by the waist, his eyes locked with hers, and slowly molded her to his length. For a moment neither of them moved; he thought it better to act as if he were contemplating their situation than to confess his desire for her had bedeviled him.

  “Gabriel,” she whispered, “it’s—”

  “Don’t make me go yet. Please, please.”

  She shifted indecisively, then subsided into acquiescence, her hand rising to rest lightly on his arm. His body hardened in unashamed anticipation. He needed to kiss her as desperately as he needed air. But this time he braced himself for what she would make him feel, and determined that she would feel a similar turmoil.

  He gazed down at her in brooding silence, waiting, until her lips parted on the sheerest of sighs. His invitation. He slid his hand up her back, between her shoulder blades, to her nape, to support her head. She said nothing, her dark eyes undoing him, questioning what his next move would be.

  He bent his head in answer. She tensed; he settled his other hand firmly on her hip as his lips teased hers. Her eyes drifted shut. Her guard dropped, and his heart pounded in excitement until every pulse in his body echoed with the unmerciful refrain of his desire.

  She was his for that moment. He knew it as he kissed her. She was his until she made an indistinct sound that brought him to his senses. Even then he could not move, his mouth still touching hers so that he tasted her exhalation of breath, the sweet aftertaste of sherry. “I’m sorry. I believe I’ve lost the thread of our conversation.”