Too Wicked to Marry (31 page)

"Then you'd best tell Harriet."

"But I don't know where she is!"

Lady Phoebe folded her hands before her and looked calmly up at him. "I am sorry, young man, but for once I am not lying. I have no idea where my great-niece is this time. She should have returned to the safe house with her brothers. If she did not, and didn't tell them where she was going…" The old woman gave a slight shrug. "I can't help you." She put a hand on his arm. "Go home. Get some sleep. I'll do what I can to find her. Come back tomorrow, and I'll tell you whatever I find out."

He wanted to search Lady Phoebe's house from attic to basement, wanted to demand Harriet be produced like a rabbit from a magician's hat. But he believed what the woman told him. She had no knowledge of where her niece was. He swore under his breath, and didn't bother to apologize. She didn't seem to mind.

"Go home," she urged again.

He nodded wearily. "Thank you," he said, and for some reason he did not understand, he kissed her cheek before he left her parlor. Dejected, utterly disheartened, he hailed a hackney and ordered the driver to take him to his town house.

Most of the servants were still away on their summer holiday. Martin was glad. He didn't want company, he didn't want anyone fussing over him. If he didn't have Harriet, he wanted to be alone. He climbed the stairs, but instead of turning down the hallway that led to his bedroom, he turned at the landing and walked up one more flight. His mind was blank but for the pain; his footsteps led him on the familiar path of their own volition. First to his daughter's bedroom, then through the schoolroom, toward the governess's bedroom.

There was a faint light under the door.

His heart stopped. "Harriet?" he called softly, and pushed the door open.

She turned as he entered. She wore a familiar dove-gray gown, and her dark brown hair was tumbled over her shoulders and down her back. She held her silver hairbrush in her hand, and blushed when she saw him.

"Martin?"

He stood frozen in the doorway, unable to move any farther. His heart rammed hard in his chest, coming back to life. It took him a moment to find his voice. "What are you doing here?" he finally asked.

"Well…" She put the brush down on the dressing table. "I needed something to wear. And a bath." Her words came out with slow diffidence that made him believe that the simple necessities of life were not the only reason she'd retreated to this spartan room in an empty house.

"You wanted to be alone," he interpreted.

"I—yes." Her shoulders slumped. "Oh, Martin, you have no idea how much I needed to be alone for a while."

"Shall I"—he gestured toward the doorway, trying to behave like a gentleman, though he ached to rush forward and take her in his armsù"leave you, then?"

"Leave me?" Her voice cracked. "Do you want to?"

He shook his head. "No. Not at all."

"Well…" She gestured toward the room's one chair. "Well, then…"

"Politeness does not become you. Not when dealing with me," he added.

After a hesitation she said, "Nor you with me." After another pause she asked, "Why is that, do you think?"

"Because we are a great deal alike." He moved closer to her rather than sitting down. He didn't think she noticed moving closer to him, as well. They stopped face to face in the center of the room.

"You think we're alike?" she asked.

He nodded.

Her shoulders tensed, and her hands balled into fists at her sides. "We're not alike," she said. "You're a good man. I'm not a good person at all."

"A good man would not have put you through the last few days," he confessed. "A good man would not have needed to do the things I did to salve his wounded pride. I haven't told you how sorry I am yet, but I am. I know you said we are through. I know you probably can't forgive me for… despoiling you like I did."

She looked at the floor. "I did agree—"

"To save your brother. I know it wasn't done out of some secret desire to sleep with me."

"Well—" Her gaze flashed up to his, and she smiled slightly. "I did enjoy the experience." Her voice grew more confident as she added, "I am not the fainting maiden sort, you know."

How he wanted to touch her, to kiss those smiling lips. "I still shouldn't have been so insistent. How can I ever ask you to forgive me?"

She shrugged. "You could try saying, 'Harriet, I'm sorry.'"

He rubbed his jaw. "I was hoping you'd tell me that there was no need for forgiveness."

"Not for the despoiling part. But that card game—"

"I wasn't trying to publicly humiliate you. I see now how you could interpret it that way, considering that I'd been behaving like a bastard to you the whole day. I only acted like that because I was enjoying your company too much."

She considered his words for a moment, then said, "Your logic escapes me."

"It escapes me as well, now. But at the time I was trying to talk myself out of being in love with you."

"Oh. I thought you were doing a very good job of keeping me from being in love with you."

"Oh." He put his hands gently on her shoulders. He was afraid to do more.

She was there, and he wasn't letting her out of his arms again no matter if she wanted to fly or not. He hoped, prayed, that she didn't truly want to fly from him. There was something eating at her, some truth she feared to tell himùbut there were other issues to work through first, to smooth the way. He was good at talking, good at diplomacy, and this was the negotiation of a lifetime. It meant a lifetime together or apart—and he wasn't about to lose.

Harriet felt as brittle and fragile as ancient glass. Martin's hands on her shoulders were the only source of warmth in the world; his touch was the only thing steadying her. She felt as though she were going to break apart, or drift away. She felt so full, and yet so empty. So full of the truth she wanted to bring out in the open. The emptiness was a precursor of the hollow shell that would be the rest of her life if he heard the truth and turned away.

Hours away from him had shown her that all she wanted to do was rush back to his side, and stay at his side. Love did not leave room for stiff-necked pride, she'd discovered in the hours she'd spent hidden in
this familiar sanctuary. She wanted to be with him, every day, for as long as he wanted. If that meant continuing as his mistress, she'd revel in the role and be the best mistress any man had ever had. She wanted to make love to him, laugh with him, fight with him, make any sort of life she could with him.

But he might not want her, if she told him.

Yet how was she to live with herself, or with him, if she did not? Love had to have truth on both sides, or it really wasn't love at all.

"Did it work?" Martin asked, interrupting her reverie.

She frowned at him. "Did what work?"

"My wretched behavior at Strake House. Did it convince you not to love me?
Do
you love me?"

"Do you love me?" she countered. Then she wished she hadn't asked. She had no right to ask, not when she hadn't yet told him about—

"With all my heart," he answered, and bent forward.

She thought he was going to kiss her on the lips, but he chastely kissed her cheek like a proper suitor, while her heart and her head kept repeating,
With all
my
heart
. Her knees went weak, and warmth flared deep inside her.

"I love you," she heard herself say. "With more than my heart."

He kissed her other cheek, then her forehead, then her temples, one by one. "More than your heart?" he whispered in her ear. "With your soul, perhaps?"

"That, too," she answered.

His rich, wicked chuckle sent a shiver through her. "With your body, perhaps?" he asked.

Her breath caught. "Yes. With that."

"Ah." His hands brushed across her, not quite touching, as he had seduced her at Strake House, once again kindling a trail of fire in her imagination. "You love me." His voice was like warm honey.

"Yes." She closed her eyes as she sighed. She didn't recall when her body had fitted itself against his, but it felt good and right to press against him like this.

"Since you love me, you won't find fulfilling our latest bargain onerous." Harriet stiffened and pushed away from him. Or would have, if his arms had not been like steel bands around her. "You do recall you promised to do anything I want?" he reminded her.

She searched his face. He was wearing his diplomat's cool mask, but there was a wicked sparkle in his gray eyes. She didn't know what to make of the combination. All she could do was warily acknowledge, "I remember."

"Good. We'll get back to the bargain in a moment. First, my love, my heart, my Harriet, you must tell me what's troubling you." He kissed her on the lips this time, deeply and passionately. "Tell me," he urged again. "And let me help make it better."

Her heart sank. Panic threatened and she wanted to run for the door.
Love demands honesty
, she sternly reminded herself. A minute from now he might not love her, but there was no putting it off any longer.

"I am not like other people, Martin. Not like civilized people. My background is unconventional. I was raised to be self-sufficient. I was also trained to… act… if need be. I killed a man." She looked Martin in the eye and spoke with the utmost calm. "I put a gun to his head and shot him. Can you love a woman who is capable of doing that?"

Silence reigned between them for a while. He looked very thoughtful but not repulsed. He did not push her away. Finally, he said, "Harriet, my wife tried to have me murdered."

"She did not try to kill you herself.
She
was not personally capable of murder. I am. Do you want a woman who knows how to kill in your bed, at your board, living in the same house with your daughter?"

"Yes," he answered. "Do you have any more questions?"

"Martin! You are not taking me seriously."

He almost grinned. "You know how to kill people—I will always take you seriously. Besides, if you are going to be my bodyguard—"

"I have never been that. That is what the foreign office pays Cadwell for. I work in a supervisory capacity."

"Cadwell?" He did not sound outraged. "I should have thought of that; he was in the army. But
you
saved me from the assassin; that was hardly supervisory. That
is
the man you shot, isn't it? The one who tried to kill me?"

She nodded. "He did fall over the cliff, but not until after I shot him. The gun was knocked out of my hand when he fell. He grabbed me by the wrist as he went over, and I don't recall anything after that. As far as I know, his body was never found."

"But his death still weighs on your conscience."

"I do not approve of killing, Martin. I did what I had to, but—" She suddenly found herself clinging to him, and his coat was wet with her tears. "It was awful. I have nightmares… still… I see his face, and the blood—and how could you love me when I… did… that…"

He held her close, and he let her cry. His embrace was like a shield against the night, against the evil of the world. She felt safe with him, and if he could love her, if only a littleùmaybe she would be all right.

After a while, she sniffed one last time and muttered, "Oh, blast. I can be so pathetic sometimes."

"A little weakness now and then is a good thing," he told her gently.

"Do you hate me?" she asked him. "Should I go now?"

"Woman, I adore you—guns, insane family, and all. Harriet, you saved my life. I can never show you how grateful I am. Never love you enough for what you did, and what you are, and what we can be together."

"Together?" she asked, and dared to let herself hope. "Really?"

He nodded. "I've been an arrogant fool. I hope that you'll someday forgive me for what I put you through. You are a heroine, a shining paragon of honor and duty. I am humble before you—"

"You are going to make us both ill if you don't stop soon," she warned.

"You are also the only sure antidote for my pomposity," he concluded. "How could I possibly live without you?" He put his hands on her shoulders again and moved a little way back from her. "Now," he said, "are you prepared to fulfill our bargain?"

"Actually, I realized you were bluffing about that as soon as I had time to think about it."

"You still agreed—in front of a witness."

"Christopher would swear on a stack of Bibles that he didn't hear a thing."

"You are a very difficult woman." He was grinning like a maniac gargoyle as he said it, and she couldn't help but laugh.

"It takes a difficult woman to deal with a difficult man. All right," she added, fully prepared to plunge into whatever the future offered. "What shall we do?"

"You can't very well remain my mistress, if we live in sin, your father will have my balls on biscuits." He waved a finger under her nose. "You are going to marry me, young woman. You will make an honest man of me, and be a mother to Patricia. And mother to many more sons and daughters before we're done. You've already agreed to it."

She grinned back at him. "I have. I will."

"We have a deal, then?"

She nodded emphatically. "Mr. Ambassador, we do."

They did not seal the bargain with a handshake, but came together like a force of nature, and sealed their bargain with a kiss.

Dear Reader,

If you're like me, once you've finished one book you are already reaching for the next. After all, it's so hard to leave a good love story behind, and it's only the prospect of being swept away on another romantic adventure that keeps me going. Well, you won't have long to waitùnext month, look for these spectacular Avon romances.

Connie Mason,
USA TODAY
bestselling author, returns with
A Touch So Wicked
, her newest and most sensuous Avon Romantic Treasure yet! When Damian Stratton arrives in the Scottish Highlands, he seeks to prevent a wedding by kidnapping the defiant bride, Elissa, Maiden of Misterly. Soon, he has little choice but to marry the infuriating woman himself.

Lovers of contemporary romance will be thrilled that
USA TODAY
bestselling author Patti Berg's
Something Wild
is coming next month and it's filled with all the sexy sass that her many readers have come to love. Here, meet Charity Wilde—a Las Vegas showgirl who is not about to let anyone take advantage of her. But she wants to be a star, not a rancher's wife… even if the prospective husband is handsome Mike Flynn.