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Authors: Mia Marlowe

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BOOK: Touch of a Scoundrel (Touch of Seduction 3)
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“Perhaps I’m more concerned about your intentions toward my brother.”
She peered over the top of the book at him. “Theodore and I have not known each other long. I intend to continue our association until I’m satisfied on the question of whether or not we would be well-suited.”
“And it hasn’t occurred to you that the brother of an earl and the daughter of a scholar might be fundamentally ill-suited for each other?”
“Simply by virtue of our births? Theodore swears it makes no difference to him, though it’s obviously cause for concern to you.” She replaced the Scott as carefully as if it were fashioned of glass. “I must confess, since you’re Theodore’s brother, I thought you might be more enlightened.”
“What makes you think I’m not?” Every man of good conscience wished to be considered enlightened. Devon was a peer of the realm. Who was this backwater bluestocking to make him feel like a cretin?
“So far you’ve not shown a talent for thinking that differs from the accepted.” She ran her fingertips over the leather-bound Dickens collection. Devon almost felt the caress along his own spine. “Though I do admire your taste in literature. Please tell me you have actually read these.”
“Most of them.” Devon rose and walked toward her. “Perhaps you’ll allow that concern for my brother motivates me.”
“Perhaps. That would be the most charitable view of your attitude toward me.”
Miss Farnsworth had no idea of his true attitude toward her. Despite his determination not to, he roused to her again. Prickly and unpredictable she might be, but against his better judgment, Devon was drawn to her. Like the heliotropes in his garden that tracked the sun, he couldn’t seem to look away from her.
“I’m thankful Theodore has a more open mind,” she said.
Ted had always been charming, athletic and popular. Devon’s brother was many things, but a deep thinker had never been one of them.
“Laying aside the question of whether or not you and my brother are well-suited,” Devon said, “can you give me an example of Teddy’s open-minded thought?”
She fixed him with a direct gaze and he sensed she was taking his measure in some fashion.
“Very well. Here’s an example. When a discovery is made in an academic realm that upsets the previous order of thought about a subject, some scholars try to discount the new knowledge.” She adopted a pedantic tone. He tried to focus on her words instead of the way her breasts rose and fell with each breath, but he wasn’t entirely successful. “It means they must alter, sometimes discard completely, their previously held positions, you see. No one likes to acknowledge they’ve been wrong.”
He’d never heard a woman speak so authoritatively. His estimate of her intelligence ticked upward by several notches. And so did his appreciation of her bosom.
“But the first time Teddy saw the Tetisheri statue, he wasn’t the least concerned that it would change a number of preconceived notions,” she said. “He didn’t fear taking a new direction to advance our body of knowledge.”
Devon scoffed and tried to steer his imagination in a new direction, away from undoing the neat row of buttons on Miss Farnsworth’s bodice. “What Theodore knows about ancient history wouldn’t fill a thimble.”
“On the contrary, he might surprise you. He’s been studying with my father every day since we met. I’ve never met anyone so anxious to master the finer points of Egyptology.”
She pulled a copy of
Titus Andronicus
from the shelf that housed his Shakespearean collection and then leaned against the bookcase as she flipped the pages.
Probably looking for the gore-filled etchings embedded in the edition,
Devon supposed.
“In fact, Teddy grasped the statue’s significance almost immediately and without Father pointing it out.”
“My brother has never shown the slightest interest in ancient history and even less in statuary.” Unless the artwork featured a scantily clad female form. Theodore was obviously delving into ancient Egypt in an attempt to win Miss Farnsworth’s favor. Devon couldn’t blame him.
“Nevertheless, Theodore recognized the statue’s importance.” She tilted her chin up to meet his gaze. “I wonder if you would. Perhaps you should ask my father to show it to you.”
“Perhaps I will.” He leaned a hand against the bookshelves, pinning Miss Farnsworth against them. She held the copy of
Titus Andronicus
against her chest as if it was a shield, but she didn’t try to scuttle away from him.
An eerie sense of recognition descended upon him. Devon suddenly realized that he and Miss Farnsworth were positioned exactly as they’d been at the beginning of his vision. Close, so close he could smell her sweet, peachy scent.
He felt a tug toward her, but resisted. Teddy would never forgive him.
She looked up at him, her eyes enormous. “What about you, your lordship? Are you the type to bow to convention or would you take bold action whether it’s approved by the world or not?”
Yes, blast it all, he was very likely to take action. And kissing his brother’s almost fiancée would most definitely not be approved.
Unless . . .
Unless he did it to
save
his brother from a woman who was undoubtedly wrong for him. It could be argued in that case that Devon had Theodore’s best interests at heart. That motivation would cast his actions in a very different light.
Miss Farnsworth tilted her head slightly. Her warm, sweet breath streamed across his lips.
“Damnation,” he murmured and covered her mouth with his.
C
HAPTER
5
O
h, no!
Emmaline thought as the earl bent to kiss her.
She ought not to have goaded the man, but honestly, he was so blasted pompous and remote, she couldn’t resist needling him. Evidently, he found her argumentative behavior attractive for some odd reason. Now there was no way to escape his attentions gracefully.
Then, as he slanted his mouth over hers, she wasn’t sure she wanted to escape.
His mouth fitted to hers perfectly, moving, seeking. His tongue traced the seam of her lips and, God help her, they parted enough to grant him entrance. He invaded her mouth and a low fire flared to life in her belly. A deep throb began in her lady parts, but the ache was far from unpleasant. Her knees went wobbly.
Oh, for pity’s sake. Pull yourself together, Emma! Is there anything more trite than weak knees?
Anyone would think her a pudding-headed debutante, the way she sagged against him, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. His kiss was a drugging elixir and she wasn’t ready to stop imbibing yet.
The copy of
Titus Andronicus
slipped unheeded to the floor. She grasped both his lapels and hung on for dear life.
Lord Devonwood’s hands found her waist and pulled her flush against his body. Beneath the superfine of his waistcoat and the lawn of his shirt, the earl’s corded muscles didn’t have an ounce of give in them. If she struggled to free herself, she’d be on the losing side of the contest.
But she didn’t exactly
want
to free herself.
This wasn’t her first kiss. She’d received amorous attention from a number of gallants during her travels, but their stolen kisses were meaningless and quick and even more swiftly forgotten. Theodore had kissed her on three separate occasions, but she’d been careful to keep a firm rein on the situation each time.
Now she couldn’t delude herself. Emmaline was wholly out of her depth. Lord Devonwood was not some swain who could be put off with a coquette’s arts, even if she possessed any. For the first time in an amorous situation, she was not in control.
Judging from the low groan the earl made into her mouth, he wasn’t either.
He needed something from her and her body wept to give it to him. Emma heard herself moan, and she began kissing him back with a fierceness that surprised her. She nipped at his lower lip. She suckled his tongue.
Good heavens! I’m kissing a man I dare not call by his Christian name. Why, I don’t even know his proper name, in point of fact!
The realization shamed her, but did nothing to quench the sense of longing.
Lord Devonwood ground his body against hers till her back pressed the uneven spines of the books. His hard maleness rocked against her belly. Even through the layers of her skirt and crinoline, the contact was both alarming and arousing. Moist warmth pooled between her thighs.
Emmaline broke off the kiss and wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling a little like a drowning victim trying to climb atop her rescuer.
Or was Lord Devonwood the undertow trying to drag her down?
His long fingers found the buttons marching down the front of her bodice. Her nipples perked to hard awareness.
And so did her reason.
He was trying to ruin her. He intended to drive a wedge between her and Theodore. Worse, he’d ruin the scheme she and Monty were running. They’d be out on the street with Monty’s hacking cough growing worse every day before she could say
Titus Andronicus
three times fast.
She pressed against his chest, but he didn’t release her. She tried to speak into his mouth, but even to her own ears, her vocalizations sounded more like passionate babble than protestations.
Finally Emmaline did the only thing she could think of. She brought up her knee into Lord Devonwood’s groin as sharply as her skirts allowed.
 
Pain exploded in his ballocks, followed by debilitating nausea. Devon released her with an oath and bent double, clutching his belly. She tried to dart away, but he grasped her forearm before she could escape.
“Why did you do that?” he said between gasps.
“Why did you kiss me?” she returned tartly.
“Damned if I know.” It had seemed the right thing to do at the time. If he exposed Miss Farnsworth as a lightskirt who’d submit to anyone’s caress, Theodore might be furious at first, but in time he’d come to thank Devon for saving him from a life-altering mistake.
How could he have suspected she’d try to unman him for daring to kiss her and prove him wrong, destroying his plan utterly?
Along with his balls.
“You’re hurting my arm, milord.” Her voice quavered. She wasn’t nearly as calm as she pretended to be. “Of course, since you made advances to me, it’s obvious you don’t mind wounding your brother. I suppose it’s of little consequence to you if you injure me.”
“I’ve never hurt a woman in my life.” He released his grip and, to her credit, she didn’t bolt. Devon forced himself upright, swallowing back the aching misery between his legs. Surprisingly enough, his headache was gone, but he’d willingly wish it back for the off-chance that he’d still be able to father children someday. He stifled a groan. “Let me assure you, Miss Farnsworth, you’re in far less danger from me than I obviously am from you.”
“But you
kissed
me.”
“And you
liked
it.”
Her mouth opened and closed a few times as she tried several retorts on her tongue and discarded them unspoken. Finally one corner of her mouth turned up. “Yes, I suppose I did.”
“You have an odd way of showing it.” Devon winced as another twinge of discomfort coursed through his groin. At least she was honest. A woman who could admit to enjoying physical pleasure was an oddity in a land where brides were admonished to grip the bed frame securely on their wedding night and “think of England.”
“I apologize for having discomfited you,” she said. “But you surprised me, milord.”
“The feeling is mutual.” Few men had ever blindsided him so. Certainly no woman.
“However, we ought not wonder at the fact that we enjoyed the kiss,” she said. “You’re a man and I’m a woman. It’s human nature to take pleasure in such things.”
“Indeed.” Amazingly enough, his traitorous cock stiffened at her words despite his still aching balls.
“However, it is of no significance. While we humans share animal passions, unlike lower creatures, we do not have to be governed by them,” she said, careful to keep beyond his reach. Her breathing was shallow and hitched uncertainly at times. “As soon as I collected my wits, I realized that however much I enjoyed your kiss, it was wrong, in the worst possible way. And it had to be stopped.”
“Also in the worst possible way,” he grumbled.
She crossed her arms over her chest. He knew she was continuing to talk because her lips moved and he heard the flatly accented sound of her Yankee voice, but no meaning registered in his brain.
Devon was distracted by the top two buttons of her bodice. They were still unhooked and the white expanse of her throat beckoned so loudly that her words faded to unintelligible noise. Despite everything, Devon’s mouth watered to suckle that tender skin, to make her cry out his name, to make her ache so that she wouldn’t fight him, wouldn’t order him to stop. Instead she’d beg him
not
to . . .
“. . . and so it makes no sense whatever to burden Theodore with this,” she was saying.
He refocused on her words in time to realize she wasn’t going to tell his brother that he’d kissed her. He had to admit that was damned decent. The true account would only make Devon look like a scoundrel for trying to encroach on his brother’s would-be fiancée.
“From the time we passed Gibraltar, all I heard from Theodore was how wonderful his brother Devon was and how he couldn’t wait to see you again,” she said. “It would devastate him to hear of this.”
“Agreed,” Devon said, shoving his hands into his pockets to disguise his semi-roused state. “Of course, you realize why I kissed you, don’t you?”
“I don’t believe that reason has changed much since our first parents were driven from Eden.”
He shook his head. “The only reason I kissed you was to test your regard for my brother.”
Her mouth formed a silent “oh.” The skin of her neck flushed to the peachy color of the tea roses in his garden. Then the blush rushed upward to paint her cheeks with a most beguiling stain.
“It didn’t feel like a test,” she said, one hand straying to stroke her kiss-swollen bottom lip.
The simple gesture rendered Devon rock hard again. He looked away. “Well, it was.”
“Then since I rejected your advances, I assume I passed,” she said after a few heartbeats. “I have no wish to hurt your brother.”
“Which is not to say you love him.”
The words had tumbled out of Devon’s mouth before he could stop them. He was not one for sentiment. The idea that Miss Farnsworth had fallen in love with his brother after such a short acquaintance sounded ridiculously soppy, even to his own ears. He had no idea why he’d even brought it up.
“No, it isn’t,” she said without a flinch. “I have not claimed to love Theodore.”
It was difficult to catch a person up if they wouldn’t indulge in a self-serving lie. Whatever else she might be guilty of, Emmaline Farnsworth seemed devoted to baldly telling the truth.
“However, whether or not I love your brother is an intensely personal matter and not a topic of discussion I ought to pursue with you, milord.” She dropped a shallow curtsey. “If you don’t mind, I’ll be on my way now.”
She turned and headed toward the door.
“Without anything to read?” he called after her. Wasn’t that why she’d invaded his library in the first place? He waved a hand toward the Shakespeare she’d left on the floor. “What about
Titus Andronicus
?”
“I’ve read it,” she said. “Too violent for my taste.”
“I find that difficult to believe from a woman who’s just done her best to geld me.”
She flashed him a grimace and slipped out the door. Devon stood perfectly still until the swish of her kid soles on the marble floors faded completely.
He expected his headache to descend once more. He had no idea why it had miraculously disappeared. It usually took all of a day to recover from a full-blown migraine after spending the night using his gift, but from the first moment his lips had touched Miss Farnsworth’s, his head had felt perfectly fine.
He wished he could say the same for his balls.
So, Emmaline Farnsworth wasn’t the light-heeled chit he took her for. She was honest. Painfully honest about both her reaction to his kiss and her relationship with his brother. Devon couldn’t find reason to fault her.
He ought to have been satisfied, except for the niggling worry that there was something else afoot, something besides a misalliance in the making in Miss Farnsworth’s attachment to his brother. Instead his gut roiled in a jumbled mess. Something was very wrong here. There was nothing specific he could point to, but he’d learned to trust his instinct in such matters.
He’d watch the American lady and her father like a mastiff guarding the estate grounds.
Devon started to bend down to pick up the discarded
Titus Andronicus,
but stopped himself before his fingertips brushed the tome. The last time he’d retrieved something Emmaline had dropped, he’d seen himself kissing her.
What if the next vision showed him shagging her silly?
While his body applauded this line of thinking, his head rejected it as disloyal to Teddy in the extreme. Even if Emmaline would let him take her to bed, how could it be worth betraying his brother?
Devon swallowed down the tightness in his throat.
She was so soft and sweet, a disreputable part of him thought she’d definitely be worth it.
He might have been able to rationalize kissing the girl to save his brother from her. Swiving her was another thing altogether.
He strode from the room, leaving Shakespeare on the floor. Baxter would pick it up later. Devon couldn’t chance it. He didn’t want to know.
If he was destined to defile his brother’s fiancée, he preferred to let the fact that he was a Judas come to him as a surprise.
 
“You’re certain the old man still has it?” The gentleman raised the pint to his lips and sipped the sour ale, pinky out, dainty as a doily.
Thomas O’Malley suppressed a grunt of disgust. Whatever contempt he might feel for his employer, it wouldn’t do to openly disrespect the man who paid the bills.
The jacket his lordship sported was shiny in spots with wear. O’Malley suspected he’d dressed carefully, probably borrowing threadbare clothing from his valet in order to blend in with the working-class pub patrons. His true breeding, however, showed in every foppishly aristocratic movement.
BOOK: Touch of a Scoundrel (Touch of Seduction 3)
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