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Authors: Mia Marlowe

Touch of a Scoundrel (Touch of Seduction 3) (21 page)

BOOK: Touch of a Scoundrel (Touch of Seduction 3)
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Emmaline closed her book and slipped out of the parlor, nearly running into Baxter when she turned the corner.
“Oh, very good, miss,” he said. “One was afraid more forcefulness would be required.”
“Why were you afraid of that?”
“Because his lordship ordered one to fetch you, but one doesn’t think you particularly want everyone to know you’ve been summoned by him. Especially given his mood.”
“His mood?” Hers wasn’t improved by the fact that Devon had sent Baxter to retrieve her like a spaniel collecting a bloody wood duck for his master’s game bag.
“Oh, yes, miss. On a proper tear, he is.” The normally imperturbable Baxter actually wrung his hands. “One don’t think one has ever seen him quite like this . . . oh, one begs your pardon. One ought not say any more.”
“Oh, really? Why is that?” Like any tale tattler, Baxter liked to be coaxed.
He straightened and looked down his nose at her. “As you know, one tries to be the soul of discretion.”
“A difficult task to be sure, since you know everything that happens in this house,” she said.
He fixed her with a pointed glare. She wondered if he’d been lurking in the hallway last night and seen her slip out of Theodore’s room and back into her own.
“One is not privy to everything, Miss Farnsworth.” He turned and led her along the hallway at a briskly efficient pace. “But one has been known to be uncannily accurate in one’s guesses. Be forewarned. His lordship is extremely displeased with you.”
“Oh, he is, is he?” Hackles rose on the back of her neck. She was the one who’d lost her virginity and
Griffin
was displeased? She stomped after Baxter, thinking it just might be time for another well-placed knee to his lordship’s groin.
Baxter stopped before the door to the library. “Do you wish one to announce you, miss? If one is there, well, a third party’s presence always encourages his lordship to temper his responses.”
It was kindly meant, but she couldn’t accept. What she and Griffin had to say to each other was not fit for another’s ears. She squeezed Baxter’s arm instead.
“Thank you, Mr. Baxter, but I believe I’ll take my chances. Lord Devonwood has nothing to be upset with me about and I refuse to be bullied,” she said. “It’s time someone bearded this lion in his own den.”
“Very well, miss. If you say so.” He opened the library door.
When Emma caught sight of Griffin’s face, his expression was blacker than the storm clouds roiling outside and his eyes matched the iron gray of the sky. Her courage faltered a bit and she began to wonder if perhaps Daniel had regretted choosing the lion’s den, too.
C
HAPTER
24
G
riffin scowled at her, gripping the back of his chair till his knuckles went white. If she were a man, he’d have throttled her by now. No one lied to him with impunity.
His intent must have shown on his face because she blanched, her face draining of all color in a few heartbeats. Then she gathered herself and lifted her chin. “Mr. Baxter informed me you wished to see me.”
Putting on a brave face, eh? Brava, Eleanor Fairchild.
“The old boy was being diplomatic. I
demanded
to see you.” He never raised his voice when he was truly angry. Instead it sank into a low purr of silky menace. Most people seemed to find it far more unsettling than a loud tirade. “It’s a good thing you were prompt to heed my summons. I despise being made to wait.”
Almost as much as I despise liars.
Unfortunately, his body wasn’t as put off by this particular liar as his reason was. The rise and fall of her breasts demanded his attention, and he couldn’t help remembering how sweet the hard tips had been between his lips.
Seemingly unfazed, she sauntered toward his desk, her hem swishing against the marble floor. “Then we have an accord, Lord Devonwood. I, too, despise waiting and you’ve kept me in that unhappy state all day.”
“
I
kept
you
?”
“Yes.” She leaned across the desk and poked the center of his chest. “Didn’t it occur to you that after last night there might be things we need to discuss?”
Words, words, words. At least, when a man attacked him, he knew what to expect, be it fisticuffs or business machinations. A woman could
discuss
a man to death.
Griffin scoffed. “Is this the part where you play the injured virgin and demand I marry you?”
Her eyes flared while rain drummed against the tall library windows. Then she narrowed her gaze as if she were stepping into the storm without the protection of an umbrella. “No. I entered that bedchamber of my own accord. I do not hold you responsible for the outcome.”
“How very enlightened of you,” he said in a tone dripping sarcasm.
Her eyes filled and her chin quivered a bit. “Why are you being so . . . so hateful?”
If she let the tears fall, he’d be hard pressed not to soften. A weeping woman was his Achilles’ heel. He could’ve kissed her when she decided to glare at him instead.
“My feelings toward you are not hateful,” he said quietly. “Last night was proof of that.”
Her cheeks flooded with color. He’d have traded a year in paradise to know what part of their lovemaking was scrolling through her mind at the moment.
“Because of last night I realized something,” she said. “Something I owe you.”
Despite his resolve to stay upset with her, Griffin felt the fire leave his chest and settle in a lower part of his anatomy.
“You gave me a gift last night,” he said huskily. “You owe me nothing.”
“On the contrary, we both owe each other something.”
Here it comes. She has demands, after all.
“We owe each other the truth,” Emma said.
“The truth?” Griffin had just seen her truth in Sir Jasper’s files. He came around the desk and hitched a thigh on its edge, crossing his arms over his chest. “This ought to be entertaining.”
She cocked a puzzled brow at him, then laced her fingers as if she were about to give a scholarly recitation. “I suppose I ought to start at the beginning.”
“Perhaps you should start by giving me your real name,
Eleanor
.”
Her mouth formed a perfect “O,” then she clamped her lips shut for the space of ten heartbeats.
Reconfiguring her tale,
he decided.
“I was born Emma Potts.” Her eyes glinted like a fox, hard pressed by the hounds. The muscles in her throat worked as she swallowed before she forced more words out. “Monty is not really my father, but in all the ways that matter, he has been one to me since I was very young. I go by Emmaline Farnsworth to please him.”
“So Eleanor Fairchild was what you called yourself to please him when the pair of you were cheating folks in France a while back?”
She blinked slowly. “Apparently my estimation of Scotland Yard has been too low in the past. They are remarkably well informed.” The hunted expression faded and she fixed him with a direct glare. “And now, so are you. Tell me. Do you have all the women you bed investigated by the police?”
“I didn’t go there with that in mind. I went to report last night’s burglary,” Griffin said. “However, now that we’ve broached the subject, the fact that you are wanted in Paris might have been something you should have brought up in conversation, don’t you think?”
She laughed mirthlessly. “When have you and I ever spent much time in conversation?”
“Point taken.” If his body had its way, he’d be swiving her again now instead of all this infernal talking. But even bickering with her made him feel more normal than amiable conversation with anyone else. “We do seem to find other ways to communicate when we’re alone together, ways I thought we both enjoyed. Am I incorrect?”
She shook her head and he thought she leaned toward him by the smallest of degrees. Then she straightened and edged away. “Please, Griffin, I need to get through all of what I must tell you.”
“There’s more?”
She nodded. “Much more, and I ask that you keep still till I finish or I may not be able to.”
“Never let it be said I don’t let a lady finish.” Even though he’d been more than a little foxed, he’d made sure she had a ripping good time last night. Of course, that was as much for him as for her. Giving her pleasure made him feel like Prometheus, stealing fire from Olympus. He lifted a brow at her, but when she didn’t smile at his double entendre, he shrugged and waved her on.
“You are right. We are wanted for fraud on the Continent. And Monty is wanted in New York for forgery.” She massaged her forehead with her fingertips as if she wanted to smooth away her words as easily as she smoothed away the lines on her brow. “But that’s not the worst of it.”
“Most people would find outstanding arrest warrants bad enough. Do tell.”
“You’re not taking this seriously.” She glowered at him. “The truth is we entered your house for the express purpose of swindling Teddy and, by extension, you. The Tetisheri statue is most assuredly a fake, but Monty thought we could convince you to back an expedition to discover her tomb.” She sighed. “Of course, we have no intention of returning to Egypt.”
“Wanted there, too, are you?”
“No,” she said angrily.
“Then don’t discount returning. Seems to me you’re running out of places to go.”
Her face crumpled. “Monty is. That’s for certain. If I don’t find some way to pay for him to go to Görbersdorf sanatorium . . .”
The tears he feared earlier welled in her eyes again. This time she was less successful at suppressing them. Griffin took her into his arms and was strangely grateful when she came willingly.
It occurred to him that now would be the right time to offer to pay for Farnsworth’s treatment. He was inclined to do it, but contrary to what she believed, the earldom was not flush with available blunt. His father hadn’t been much of a steward and when Griffin came to the title, he’d inherited a mountain of debt, the last of which he’d be able to retire only if the
Rebecca Goodspeed
ever returned to port. Every spare farthing the estate claimed was tied up in plans for repairs, invested in tenant crops and the refurbishing of the mill at Devonwood Park.
Perhaps a trip to the whist tables would provide the needed funds.
He ran his hand down her spine in long comforting strokes while she clung to him. Even knowing she’d come to swindle him, knowing his brother still intended to make her his bride, Griffin felt a shimmering mantle of peace descend over him just from holding her.
It made no sense whatever. It simply
was
.
“All this subterfuge and conniving. You, my dear, are a proper scoundrel,” he murmured into her hair. “Usually, that’s my job.”
It occurred to him that using his gift to win at cards might be considered as fraudulent as foisting fake reliquaries on a trusting public. He and his lady scoundrel had more in common than either of them had realized.
Her shoulders shook with suppressed sobs. Griffin searched his soul for any sign of the outrage he’d felt before, but he couldn’t find a smidgeon.
He pressed a kiss on the crown of her head. “Is that why you came to my bed last night? So I’d pay to send your father to treatment for his consumption?”
“No.” A real sob escaped her throat. “I thought I was going to Teddy’s bed.”
Griffin whipped her away from his body and held her at arm’s length. “You thought . . .”
Why hadn’t that realization come to him before this? He’d been sleeping in Ted’s bedchamber. Of course, she wouldn’t suspect Griffin had switched rooms with his brother to avoid the events he’d
Seen
in a vision. She couldn’t have known it was he in the bed instead of Theodore. Once again, he’d tried to cheat fate and only succeeded in helping his vision come to pass.
“So you intended to give yourself to my brother,” he said woodenly.
“Yes.” She pulled away from his grip and found a handkerchief in her pocket with which to dab her reddened nose. “Of the two of you, he’s the only one who offered to marry me. I saw the way Lady Cressida had set her cap for him at Lord Whitmore’s. You told me you wouldn’t cut Teddy off if he married me; I decided I needed to do something to make sure Theodore didn’t change his mind and cry off so he could court Lady Cressida instead.”
“So you thought to settle the issue and make certain of the money for Dr. Farnsworth’s cure in one bold stroke.” Griffin’s voice came out flat and colorless.
A flawless, coldly logical plan. If he hadn’t bedded her and known how passionate she could be, he’d believe her the most heartless person he’d ever met. Her one saving grace was that she seemed to be motivated by the need to help the man she claimed as her father. The realization didn’t make Griffin feel any less gut-punched.
She’d thought she was bedding his brother. God help him if he actually fell in love with her. It would be the cruelest of passions.
“How unfortunate for you that I was in Teddy’s room instead,” he said.
“I told you I owe you the truth and I won’t stop now. The truth is . . . ” She looked up at him, her luminous brown eyes sad and shining at the same time. Her face was taut with suppressed emotion. “I wanted it to be you. Oh, God help me, how I wanted it.”
It had taken most of a fifth of whisky before he could summon the courage to try to avoid his vision. He told himself he’d tried everything to spare his brother pain, but that was a lie. He’d had a choice there in the dark and, foxed or not, half waking or half sleeping, he’d chosen to take her. He’d wanted it to be him, too.
She might be a scoundrel, but he had no stone to throw.
He stepped toward her and she was in his arms again before he could invite her. He bent and kissed her, reveling in the sweetness of her breath, in the way her twisted little soul sent a wave of unexpected freshness through his weary one. It took courage for her to admit to what she’d intended to do and what she’d done.
An honest fraud. She’s a paradox with feet.
But her feet were the last things on his mind, unless he counted how she stood on tiptoe so their mouths could reach each other more easily. He’d never wanted a woman as badly as he wanted this one. When she strained toward him, his desire was honed to razor sharpness.
He cupped her bum and lifted her flush against him. She hooked a leg around his to steady herself as he deepened their kiss.
Her moan into his mouth sent his cock into a granite-hard stand and made his ballocks bunch into a tight mound. His groin clenched when she suckled his tongue. His hands roamed over her body, exploring the tender curves and bends beneath the layers of her clothing. She wrapped her arms around him, her fingertips tracing love spells on his spine.
Griffin kissed his way down her throat, undoing the little seed pearl buttons as he went.
“I wanted it to be you,” she repeated, running a hand over his head. “I pretended it was you.”
Griffin picked her up and set her on the desk. He swiped off the inkstand and crystal paperweight, heedless of the way they shattered on the marble floor. Then he kissed her as she leaned back into a prone position. “When did you know?”
“I didn’t know it was you until you spoke.”
“I was barely thinking at the time.” He slanted a grin at her as he pulled up her skirt. “I don’t remember speaking.”
“You said, ‘No more pain now.’ ” She cupped his cheek and strained up to kiss him again, her lips soft and pliant under his. “What else don’t you remember, I wonder?”
BOOK: Touch of a Scoundrel (Touch of Seduction 3)
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