Cloaked in Danger (12 page)

He moved toward her.

“Lord Turleton, this room is quite lovely but you said we would see the dining room?”

“Call me Arthur—I insist.” The intimate timbre of his voice was impossible to miss.

“This is not proper. I wish to return to the ballroom now.” Emily would have been proud.

He stopped but a foot away. She was used to plenty of open space, and she hated having her own invaded.

She took a step back, and another, until the backs of her legs stopped at a piece of furnishing. Likely covered in red velvet, she imagined. She dared not take her eyes off the viscount, whose own had taken on a decided gleam she did not like at all. “I am certain Lord Merewood is looking for me.”

He smiled. “Come now, Miss Whitney, your reputation has preceded you. And you asked about the décor of my home.”

She shook her head in confusion. “And?”

He barked a laugh. “No one asks to see the décor unless they wish to see—” he pointed upward “—the décor.”

She looked where he was indicating and gasped. A mirror, or rather several small mirrors, had been placed on the ceiling. In it, she could see herself standing against the edge of, yes, it was indeed a red-velvet chaise lounge.

“It is well known in my circles, Ariadne. Something of a novelty, I believe.” He glanced upward. “My mother did not place the mirrors, I assure you. I have added my own improvements.”

“I imagine you did.” She glanced at the door, her heart hammering in her chest. This was terrible. She needed out. Now. “However, I truly only wished to see—oh!”

The viscount appeared in front of her and pushed her back until she sank onto the chaise. Before she could speak, he had dropped to the floor next to her, on his knees and now pressed against her.

“Get away from me,” she snapped, pushing at him.

His arm snaked about her head and forced her forward to receive his mouth on hers. With a cry of outrage, she bit down on his lip.

“Ow!” He yanked back and held a hand to his mouth, then pulled back and inspected it. “You wench, you drew blood!”

She scrambled to stand but fell back against the chaise. “I do not want your attentions, which you would have known if you had bothered to ask before attempting to maul me.”

“Maul you? You asked to come here.”

“Not for this!”

“Then what the hell did you want?” He stepped closer, and she could see his rage seething.

“Answers,” she blurted before her brain could connect to her mouth and she realized what a sublimely stupid decision it was.

What had she done?

Chapter Thirteen

Adam strode down the now-empty corridor, the fury in his chest propelling him faster. As he passed a table, he dropped the glasses of punch, not caring that they fell over and spilled red liquid all over the carpet.

Where the hell were Aria and Turleton?

Damn her! He had accepted her word, believed her promise to let him handle it. And the first minute he was out of sight, she’d gone off on her own. Why hadn’t she listened to him? It seemed she hadn’t stopped testing him since the betrothal was announced.

Adam had returned to the ballroom, not finding her anywhere. Until Blythe had told him they had started on a tour with the viscount. Then the slow burn of anger had built inside.

He knew exactly where to look for them. He only feared he’d be too late.

He heard a woman cry.

“You wench!” The words roared from Turleton’s study.

Adam barreled in the door. His gaze took in the scene. Aria was sprawled against a chaise lounge. Turleton towered above her with a murderous look upon his face.

“Get away from her.” In seconds, Adam stood between them. He gave Turleton a shove and grasped Aria’s arm to pull her up. He slid the arm over her shoulders to press her against his side.

“Turleton, I suggest you get out. Now.”

“This is her doing,” Turleton spat. “She wanted to come in here.”

“Let me deal with her,” Adam said harshly, in a tone Turleton would understand. “Go back to the ballroom, Turleton.”

His jaw clenched. “She said she was looking for answers. What sort of answers?”

“My stepmother and I made a bet,” Aria said before Adam could reply. “If I could see if the rumors were true about...about the mirrors, I would win.”

Turleton looked from her to Adam and back, and in moments, the fury was replaced by a mocking amusement. “A bet.”

“You’ve got your blasted answer,” Adam snapped. “Now get out.”

Turleton puffed his chest out, but Adam knew enough about the man to know he wouldn’t challenge him. He kept his abuse to those weaker than him.

He stepped back, offered a mocking laugh. “Perhaps you had best leave your childish bets to the schoolroom. And focused on less-worldly gentlemen.”

Aria snorted, and Adam squeezed her against him in warning. He’d lost ten years from his life, imagining what Turleton could do to her in the span of a few minutes. If the man so much as took half a step toward her again, Adam wouldn’t be responsible for his actions.

Turleton pulled the door shut behind him with a huff, and Adam immediately loosened his hold, grabbed her shoulders, and hauled her closer. “What the hell were you thinking?”

She stared at the door. “I’ve traveled much of the world and met far more worldly men.”

“Who gives a bloody hell about that?” The words tore from his gut, and he had to let go of her so as not to shake her. Instead, he fisted his hands as he paced the room.

She looked only slightly contrite. “I didn’t see the harm in a tour of his house, forgive me. I thought if I could...” Her words trailed as her gaze followed him about the room. “Adam?”

He stopped pacing, sucked in long breaths to shove down the remaining vestiges of fear. “Turleton is not a gentleman,” he managed.

“So I discovered.” She rubbed her arm, likely where Turleton had grabbed her. “It won’t happen again.”

“Did he hurt you?” His voice lowered into a growl.

“I am perfectly fit.”

“If you think you could have dealt with him, then you’re a little fool.”

Her beautiful features twisted into an outraged scowl. “I am no such thing.”

“You promised to let me handle this. Not more than an hour ago, remember?”

“And you thought that included asking your permission to take a step?”

“I need to be able to trust you. Damn it, I can’t keep you safe otherwise! Seeing you at his mercy...” He cleared the distance between them in two seconds, then pulled her into his arms. “Thank God you’re all right.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Her words were muffled against his chest.

He ran hands up her arms, over her shoulders. “Turleton has a very unpleasant reputation among the demimonde. He is not kind to women.”

“You mean...”

His hands cradled her chin, tilting it up. “You don’t know these people. Not everyone is what they seem. I wouldn’t step foot in this man’s house, except that we needed to be seen in as many public events this week as possible to stem any gossip about our betrothal. This ball guaranteed access to Turleton, and he’s on your bloody list, so we’re here. But I would not let a woman I care about be alone with him.” Unable to resist, he leaned in and took her lips in a swift kiss.

After a few seconds, she leaned into him as well, her soft curves pressing against areas getting harder by the moment. Her lips nipped at his; her hands curled into his hair. Every muscle in his body tightened, and he grew hard in seconds.

And then she pulled back from his embrace and smacked him on the chest. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this sooner?”

He struggled to find a cohesive thought that didn’t involve removing her clothing. “What?”

She turned away, stepping toward the chaise lounge, which only reinforced his recollection of the mirrors above it. His body surged in response.

“You should have told me about his reputation, not just that he wasn’t pleasant. That could mean anything. I never would have come in here with him had I known.”

He grasped the edge of the chaise and clenched it, trying to get his body under control. The fury was turning into a need to touch every inch of her, to ensure she was unharmed, to erase any thought of Turleton touching her. “I
did
try to tell you. But it shouldn’t have mattered.”

She gave a small cry of frustration. “Do you hear how autocratic you sound? You decided I did not need a very pertinent piece of information? Since when do you decide what is important for me to know?”

“I trusted your word when you said you would step back from this. You assured me you would discuss any actions you wished to take with me first, so I didn’t find it relevant.” As his volume and irritation rose, the ends of his words were snapped off like peas.

Had she lived up to her word, Turleton’s predilections wouldn’t have mattered. How could she not see that?

“Is this what I can expect if I’m married to you?”

He couldn’t help but step closer to her. “I expect you to live up to your promises. I am asking for your trust, Aria.”

“You don’t want my trust. You want subjection! I am not that woman, Adam. I never will be, no matter who my husband is. And even if my trust was all you wanted, it is not something I can hand over like a child’s treat.”

Her chest rose and fell in time to her rapid breaths and he couldn’t help darting his gaze there.

The surge of emotion startled him, it was so fierce. Every part of him was overcome with the need to keep her safe, to protect her, to earn her trust.

To make her his.

He took another step and wrapping an arm about her waist, pulled her to him. “Then let me earn it. Give me the chance to keep you safe, to help find out what happened to your father.”

“I am still mad at you,” she said to his chest. But instead of pulling free, she sank into him, and in that moment, he stopped fighting the desire to taste her again. He nudged her head back and took her mouth.

The sweetness of her, a little like honey and lemon, rocked him and he deepened the kiss, pulled her closer against him. She moved her arms slowly up his chest and over his shoulders, and the moment her fingers touched his hair, desire took hold. He wanted to touch her, all of her.

“God, I have wanted you from the moment I saw you,” he admitted.

She sucked in a breath. “You thought I was the duke’s mistress.”

“And I wanted to kill him for it.” Her cheek was smooth and soft as he peppered kisses along the curves of her jaw, savoring the sweet and salty taste of her skin before capturing her lips once again.

He could feel every curve of her body. The swell and dip of her back where his hand fisted at her dress. The softness of the skin behind her ear as he ran a finger around it. He reveled in the scent of her, the lushness of her figure.

She pulled back from his kiss and slid out of his grasp. Without a word, she hurried away from him over to the window.

“Aria?”

She shoved the window open, bringing in the chilled air to swirl around them.

He moved until he stood behind her and placed a hand on her arm. “Aria, what is it?”

“I can’t do this.”

* * *

Her heart rattled in her ear, sounding as if she’d run across London at top speed. She’d completely lost her head in those moments, uncaring about anything but the whisper of his lips against hers, the feeling that had spread through her like an untamed fire. She still felt it, whatever it was.

“Can’t do what? Aria, damn it, answer me.”

It frightened her, this intensity. This growing pull toward him that she’d never felt toward another person. And it confused her. Thrilled her. Since the day they had met, they’d been caught up in one crazy moment after another.

So how did she know this was even real?

“Aria.”

For better or worse, she was going to marry the man, so enjoying his kisses was a good thing. And yet, she couldn’t settle on one emotion, as he’d stirred them all up into a big, sloppy mess.

So instead, she stayed right where she was, stopping short of wrapping herself in the drapes to avoid stepping back against his warmth, letting him wrap her in the cocoon of his arms.

And wasn’t that the most confounding of all.

Mixed with all the other unsettling emotions, he also made her wonder about falling asleep with him beside her, to protect her. About being the person he turned to with his problems. He’d called her fierce, loyal.

She had someone to protect her, to give her loyalty. Two someones. Her father and John.

She shouldn’t want Adam, yet she kept testing the boundaries of this new life like a toddler seeing how far outside the nursery she could wander. She didn’t know where she fit anymore.

And she didn’t know how to handle this longing deep within, this insistence that she fit with him.

“We shouldn’t waste this opportunity. Let’s search the room.” She tried to slip past him, but he caught her arm.

“Don’t run away from this. Tell me what happened. Help me understand.”

“I think we need to take this one step at a time.”

His handsome face was scrunched in confusion. “Take what one step at a time?”

“Us. This!” She whirled her hand around her lips.

“You don’t wish for me to kiss you?”

“Yes, I do!” she admitted. “And that is what is wrong. I shouldn’t—this is not the time.”

“Yet here we are, betrothed.”

She didn’t have an answer, at least not one that would satisfy either of them.

“We should get back to the party.” His voice was gruff, regretful, but he patted her arm as if to tell her it was all right.

She leaned back against the desk.

The desk.

They really were wasting another opportunity. The viscount wasn’t likely to return for a while.

“I don’t like that gleam in your eye.” Adam widened his stance and crossed his arms.

Aria ignored him and hurried toward the desk. “I want to look around.”

“Are we back to this again?” He strode around the desk. She had already wrapped a hand around a drawer handle, so he dropped his on top. “You will not break into his desk!”

With a defiant look at him, she yanked the drawer back, pulling his arm with hers. “Didn’t we just have a discussion about you not telling me what to do?”

Smug satisfaction emanated from him. “Which ended in a kiss.”

“Do shut it,” she muttered. “This is a golden opportunity, Adam, and I am not stupid enough to squander it.” She peered inside. A stack of papers, a quill, perhaps an ink bottle.

“There, see? Nothing.” He moved to close the drawer. She slid her hand free and dropped down to the next drawer, pulling that open.

When she found a thick, bound book, her body hummed with unreleased energy. She pulled the book out. “What is this?”

“Put that back.”

She flipped open a page. “I think this is...Yes! This is an accounting book.”

“Were you going through Ravensdale’s private affairs the night I met you? Blythe said you were in his study. Is this what you were doing?” He placed his hand on the book, fingers splayed. “We can get your answers without betraying all sense of decency, Aria.”

“What is decent about nearly beating a man near to death, Adam? That’s what they did to John, the only man I have seen since it happened. So don’t prattle on about decency. I don’t care.”

“Fine.” He went to the door and turned the lock. “I suppose I’ll need to accept that in the near future, I’ll be dueling for your honor.”

“Dueling is illegal,” she said off-handedly, while flipping pages.

“And what do you call what you’re doing?”

“Here.” She tapped the page, ignoring his dry quip. “March and April. It’s an accounting of his monies.”

“And?” Adam called from where he leaned back against the door.

“In March, he was...Hmm,” she hummed. “Several trips made, it appears. And a few excursions to...” She squinted. “The Pleasure Pala—” She slammed the book shut, as heat rose up her throat. “He was in Bath. It wasn’t him.”

“He wasn’t in Egypt at the time.” Adam moved closer, leaned against the desk. “That is all you’ve learned. He could have hired someone to go there.” He paused. “I could have hired someone.”

She snapped her head up. “You said you would help. This is not helping. And John said my father knew the man.”

“I am trying to make you see this may not be as simple as checking names off a list. Whatever happened to your father was bad enough to make him disappear.”

“He is not dead.” Her words were adamant, but for the first time, Aria felt a small ripple of unease in her stomach. She stood, her legs shaky. Was she starting to question that herself?

“I didn’t say he was dead. But how do you know he was forcibly removed? Perhaps he left of his own accord.”