Elusive Passion (10 page)

Varya’s wide-eyed surprise at her realization that Charlotte’s sister was Lady Rochester faded as her shock gave way to what Miles could only assume was pique. He should have told her of the connection earlier, but inviting her to his sister-in-law’s home for sex hardly seemed the proper thing.

Gathering herself, Varya lifted her chin and regarded his former family with a regal air. Miles would have laughed were he not dreading the meeting.

“Miles, how good to see you.” Lady Caroline Rochester stepped toward him with a wide smile on her lovely face—a face that looked even more like her late sister’s now than it had five years ago. Her hand reached out for his.

He complied, surprised by the gesture. “Hello,
Caro. Robert,” he replied, mustering all the enthusiasm he could, but failing miserably.

Fortunately, both Lord and Lady Rochester were too preoccupied surveying Varya to notice his discomfort. He had hoped to prevent Varya from falling prey to their blatant and sometimes vicious curiosity. Unfortunately, now he had little choice but to make the introductions.

“Delighted to meet you, Miss Ulyanova,” Caroline gushed when the deed was done. “Rochester and I had the pleasure of seeing your performance at the King’s Theater several weeks ago. Never have I ever heard anything as lovely as your music.”

Miles’s eyebrows flew up in shock. Was this truly Charlotte’s sister standing before him? For the years since his wife’s death, a bitter and sullen woman had occupied Caroline’s body. He was surprised and delighted to think perhaps that woman had finally been replaced by the warmhearted girl he remembered.

Varya relaxed at her kind words and accepted the praise with grace. Miles was strangely proud of how she conducted herself in company. She treated everyone with the same warmth and ease. A title never impressed her, and he wondered once again if she was a member of the upper class. Her profession wasn’t that of a lady in the social sense, but she had certainly been taught to act like one. Her past was a mystery begging to be solved.

“We’re off to Rochester House tomorrow,” Robert mentioned. “Will we see you there, Miles?”

Miles thought he detected a sneer in his former brother-in-law’s voice, but his expression was the very essence of affability.

“Yes. Varya and I have decided to attend.”

Miles looked down at the woman at his side. Varya’s eyes were calm, her expression serene. He decided then and there that he didn’t care what social sphere she had been born into. She was worth a dozen highborn ladies in his mind.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Varya said politely, breaking the tense silence.

“As are we,” Robert replied, and this time Miles was certain of the snide undertone in his cultured accent. “Perhaps you’ll deign to
entertain
us, Miss Ulyanova?”

A polite nod. “I would be quite pleased to, Lord Rochester.”

Miles glared at the other man. Varya may not have interpreted Robert’s double entendre, but he certainly had. He hoped the savageness of his expression would tell his former brother-in-law clearly that he had no intention of sharing Varya with Robert or anyone else. How Caroline bore Robert’s licentious behavior, he would never know.

Robert returned his animosity with an innocent smile. “Come, my dear, we must let these two resume their stroll.” He gave his wife’s arm a not so gentle tug.

Caroline surprised them all by grabbing Varya’s hand as her husband pulled her away. “I am so pleased that you will be joining Miles, Miss Ulyanova. I’ve long since wanted to make your acquaintance.”

A sweet smile curved Varya’s lips. Miles’s heart twisted at the naked sincerity of it. By defying her husband and society’s dictates by being so openly kind to a woman deemed beneath her, Caroline had just made herself a new and devoted friend.

“I look forward to seeing you as well, Lady Rochester.”

“Caroline,” she corrected, and then they were gone. Caroline practically tripped over her gown trying to catch up with her husband as he yanked her behind him.

“He was very charming,” Varya remarked dryly as they resumed their stroll.

“He’s a bastard,” Miles growled.

She chuckled. “Well, since they also went in the direction of the Lovers’ Walk, why don’t we choose an alternate end for our evening?”

“Such as?” he asked, turning to face her.

“Why don’t we go back to my house?”

He stared at her in disbelief. Had it been so simple? Was she finally going to be his?

“Are you certain?”

She was silent, but the smile she gave him was so full of promise that Miles felt himself growing aroused by the images it called to mind.

Luck was finally on his side.

“That’s one thousand pounds you owe me, Your Grace.” Varya smiled triumphantly as she fell back in her chair.

“That’s my
lord
.” Miles hiccupped.

She frowned, waving aside his words. “It is not. I played it.”

He squinted blearily at her. “What the devil are you talking about?”

“You tried to claim my card as your own.” She wagged a finger at him. At least she thought it was only one; it appeared to be two.

“I didn’t say ‘card,’ I said ‘lord’!”

She winced at the volume of his voice. “What’s
He
got to do with it? Really, Miles, you are being a ridit…ridict—sore loser.”

Miles tossed his cards on the table and rubbed his face with both hands. “My head hurts,” he groaned.

Varya raised her brows, wondering if all Englishmen were such poor drinking companions. She splashed another liberal amount of clear liquor into his empty glass.

“Have some more vodka, you’ll forget all about your head.” She filled her own glass as well, spilling a few drops on the table’s felt-covered top. “Oops.”

She glanced up to find him watching her strangely. “What?”

“I’ve never gotten foxed with a woman before.”

She grinned, happy to be the first. “I’ve never gotten drunk with a marquess before either. Let’s go sit somewhere more comfortable.”

With the bottle in one hand, and her glass in the other, Varya stood and moved toward the thickly cushioned sofa. Her knees felt shaky beneath her, and she realized that she was indeed well on her way to being “disguised,” as the English so politely put it.

The bottle landed on the small side table with a resounding
thud
as she sank deep into a corner of the plush brocade-upholstered sofa. Her fingers absently stroked the ice blue fabric.

“Am I your first marquess?” he asked, falling down on the cushion beside her.

Hadn’t she just told him as much?

“Yes,” she replied slowly, hoping it would sink in this time.

Suddenly, he was looming over her. A mixture of surprise and excitement coursed through her relaxed body. He was so close she could feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek.

He took her glass, placing it beside the vodka on the table. The vodka sloshed against the rim, spilling a little onto the polished wood.

He propped himself up on his elbow, and she felt his fingers tug at the pins that held her hair up. “I want to be your last marquess, Varya.”

She had no problem with that. It was very unlikely she’d ever drink vodka with someone of his social status again.

“I want to be the last,” he murmured against her temple, his breath sending a delightful shiver down her spine. “The last and the only man.”

Realization washed over. Her loyalty to Bella raised its head long enough to be driven back to the far recesses of her mind. She didn’t want to be loyal to Bella just then.

“Will I be your only woman?” she whispered, both fearing and anticipating his answer. Surely it was the vodka causing her to act this way. She didn’t want to be his only woman, did she? That kind of commitment bespoke a vow she’d sworn never to make.

His fingers combed through her hair, draping it over the arm of the sofa, fanning it around her like a halo. It was such a delicious sensation; she sighed in delight.

“You can be whatever you want,” he answered. “I don’t think I’d ever find another to compare to you.”

His mouth came down on hers before she could say anything. Soft and warm, his lips coaxed hers into
parting and closing almost rhythmically. His tongue slipped past her teeth, hot and moist against her own. She moaned softly, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Even if she had wanted him to stop, it would have been next to impossible to push him away. Her muscles were languorously heavy.

He tugged at her skirts, pushing them above her knees. The warmth of his hand against her bare thigh was possibly the most sensual thing she had ever felt. She felt a tingling sensation in the pit of her stomach, and she knew that it was because of him, not the vodka.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, tenderly stroking the silky russet strands. Her hips rose beneath him, pressing against the hardness of one muscular thigh.

As if sensing her body’s growing arousal, his fingers slid up her leg to her hip, bunching her gown around her waist. The vodka had completely robbed her of any inhibitions. Her legs parted, her body begging for his intimate caress.

“Oh God,” he groaned against her mouth.

“Yes,” she panted.

“No!”

Varya bolted upright as he heaved himself off her. Bewildered and tipsy, she could only watch as he staggered across the room. He grabbed blindly at the back of a chair, almost pulling it over in his effort to gain support.

“What is it?” Good Lord, was he suffering some kind of fit?

He shook his head, his back to her.

“Damn it, Miles! Look at me!”

He did. His face was white and drawn. His expression could only be described as a mixture of discomfort and regret. Had kissing her been so awful?

He started to reach for her, but then pulled back and pressed his hand to his stomach as something akin to fear contorted his features.

“Miles, what is the matter? I’ll have Piotr send for a physician.”

Truly frightened, she leaped to her feet and ran across the room toward the bellpull to summon Piotr.

“No!” Miles gasped from behind her. “I don’t need a doctor.”

She whirled around. “Miles, you look horrible and I’m worried. Please tell me what is wrong?”

She got her answer not even two seconds later when Miles made a low sound that seemed to rise up from deep within him, fell to his knees, and cast up the contents of his stomach all over her Aubusson carpet.

H
e longed for death.

Surely even hell would be preferable to the pain he was now in. His eyelids felt as though they were lined with shards of glass. His skull throbbed with every motion of the carriage.

Miles made the trip to the Rochesters’ country estate with the windows covered. The carriage jostled from side to side and seemed to hit every rut in the road. He lay prone in the corner, praying either for the headache powder he had used to take effect or for the angel of death to smite him.

“Just what did you do last night that brought about this wretchedness?” Carny asked from the seat opposite him.

Miles grunted and pressed his hands to his aching head.

“Let me guess,” his friend continued mockingly. “It has something to do with the Elusive Varya.”

Miles was heartily sick of that damned nickname. Opening his eyes as far as the pain would allow, he summoned what he hoped was a glare.

“I knew I would regret inviting you along.”

Carny chuckled. “I seem to remember showing up on your doorstep this morning and inviting myself. You were too concerned with keeping your head out of the chamber pot to stop me.”

“As you say.” The powder began to take effect, alleviating Miles’s agony enough for him to open his eyes without feeling as though his brain might squeeze out through the sockets.

Carny frowned and propped one boot against the carriage wall. “What happened last night? I haven’t seen you this foul-tempered in ages.”

Miles was touched by his friend’s concern, but he wasn’t about to confess that he had vomited all over Varya’s music room and then run out of her house.

He’d never been so humiliated in all his life. And that Varya had witnessed it was not to be borne. How could she ever see him as a lover now? No doubt she would take one look at him and burst out laughing.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Carny. Stop pestering me.”

“She’s really gotten to you, hasn’t she?” he persisted.

Miles said nothing.

Carny chuckled and shook his head. “She must be very talented in bed. Is that it?”

Miles shot him a warning glance.

Carny’s face paled. “My God, you’re not falling for her, are you?”

Miles frowned. His annoyance at Carny overrode the ache in his head. What a ridiculous notion. So why did his heart lurch at the words?

“Of course not.” Then as an afterthought, “I like her exceedingly well.”

The blond man snorted.

Sighing, Miles rubbed his forehead. “What is so wrong with that? Is it not possible for me actually to like a woman?”

Carny raised an insolent brow. “And just what do you like so
exceedingly
about her?”

Miles was taken aback by the question. Pushing himself into an upright position against the squabs, he considered his reply. “Well, she’s intelligent and witty. She’s beautiful and talented and easy to talk to…Oh, what now?”

Carny was smiling despite the scowl directed at him. “You
are
in love with her.”

Miles opened his mouth to protest, but his friend stopped him by gripping his arm.

“I think that’s just wonderful, my friend. I just want you to know there are no hard feelings. My intentions toward her were not quite so noble as yours, but that’s all water under the bridge, eh? I wish you both happy.”

“Damn it, I’m not in love with her!” Miles shouted,
his head reverberating in agony. Was he was going to have to do his friend bodily harm before he got that point across?

This time Carny laughed out loud. Dabbing at his eyes with the tip of his finger, he sniffed and replied, “Oh yes, you are.”

“Was there anything in particular I could help you find, my lady?”

Varya jumped.
Caught. Damn.

Slowly, she closed the desk drawer. Lifting her chin imperiously, she willed her heated cheeks to cool and met the curious gaze of the servant who had stumbled upon her just as she was about to sneak a peek into Lord Rochester’s desk.

It wasn’t right to attempt a search without Miles there, but the temptation was overwhelming. And since she couldn’t be certain that Miles was even going to show up, she had convinced herself that she wasn’t truly deceiving him. In her excitement, she hadn’t given any thought to being caught.

“Yes,” she answered quickly with a shaky smile. “I was hoping that I might be able to find some writing paper. I would like to send a letter to my…dress-maker.”

A flicker of disbelief crossed his face before the butler, or whatever he was, schooled his features once again into bland indifference. Varya thought he would have been used to the eccentricity of the various London visitors.

But she wasn’t aristocracy, was she?

“I’ll see that a supply of paper and ink is sent up to
your room, my lady. May I ask which chamber you are staying in?”

“I believe Lady Rochester called it the white room.” Who in the devil was she going to write to? She supposed she would have to write to someone or else her request for paper would look suspicious.

“I’ll see to it right away.” He turned to walk away and paused. “Lady Rochester and her guests are in the west sitting room, my lady, if you should care to join them.”

Varya took the hint. He wasn’t about to leave her alone in his master’s private domain.

“I would like that, thank you.” Plastering a stiff smile on her lips she stood and exited the room ahead of him. Where was Miles when she needed him? No doubt he would have sent the patronizing little rodent on his way and they could have continued their search.

No doubt His Lordship was still in London nursing a wicked headache and feeling quite ashamed of himself. She had tried to tell him that being sick from drink was nothing to be embarrassed about, but he had run from her house as though an army of Cossacks were on his heels.

If he chose to stay behind in London with his tail between his legs while she braved this…debauchery, she would never forgive him. Already she had been propositioned by two dandified lords who had a hard time accepting refusal. Luckily she had been rescued by Lady Rochester.

Part of her had been glad that Miles had chosen to be ill when he had. What if she had actually allowed
him to make love to her? She was heartily ashamed of her behavior—not because it was wanton, but because she hadn’t cared that Bella had loved him. She hadn’t cared at all about her loyalty to Bella—she had wanted Miles inside her, and nothing else had mattered.

She
still
wanted him.

With that very thought echoing in her head, she turned the corner and stepped out into the front hall. If she wasn’t mistaken, the west sitting room was down the opposite corridor.

“Varya!”

Miles and Carny stood inside the doorway, obviously just arrived. Oddly, Carny appeared to be happier to see her than Miles did. In fact, Miles looked as if he had just bitten into something quite bitter. His pride, no doubt.

She sketched a polite curtsy. “My lords, I am pleased to see that you have
both
arrived safely.”

“Lord Wynter was a tad under the weather when I called on him this morning,” Carny informed her with a knowing smile, tipping his hat. “I’m afraid it was exceedingly easy for me to invite myself along.”

Her gaze shifted to Miles. His face reddened at Carny’s reference to his hangover.

“Are you feeling better now, my lord?” she inquired. His face was pale, his eyes heavy, but other than that he appeared to be in reasonable health.

“Obviously,” he replied brusquely, not quite meeting her gaze. “Am I not here as promised?”

She raised both brows. He was certainly in fine form. Why was he angry with her? Did he regret kiss
ing her now that he was sober? It hurt more than she cared to admit that he might feel some remorse for his actions.

“You could have sent a note excusing yourself if the idea of traveling pained you.” Yes, a note would have been fine. Then she could have made her own excuses and departed. It would have saved her the humiliation of his present indifference.

“I gave my word, madam, and when I give my word I keep it. Perhaps you are unfamiliar with such behavior, but I strive to be a gentleman.”

“Miles!” Carny gasped, staring at his friend in horror.

The words stung like a slap. Did he imply that she had no breeding? That she was incapable of giving and keeping a promise? Was this the same man who just last night told her he wanted to be the only man in her life?

“Indeed,” she replied icily, watching the dull flush creeping up Miles’s cheeks deepen. “And you are
nothing
, Lord Wynter, if not a gentleman. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m expected in the drawing room.”

Without even a backward glance at the man who preoccupied so many of her thoughts, Varya made the most dignified exit she could.

By six o’clock, all the guests had arrived and were installed in their private chambers, preparing themselves for dinner at eight. No doubt preparations for the secret assignations to follow had been made much earlier.

Alone in his room on the second floor, Miles paced and cursed himself for being such an idiot.

He had behaved abominably toward Varya upon his arrival. He could find no excuse for it other than that he was still embarrassed over ruining her carpet, and that he had given in to the burning desire to prove Carny wrong in his assumptions.

He was
not
in love with Varya, but that was no excuse for his rudeness. He would have to apologize as soon as he saw her, which—he checked his watch—would be in approximately twenty minutes, when the company congregated in the drawing room before dinner.

He didn’t know why Carny’s insinuations had made him so uncomfortable, but he had a few suspicions. Love made a man weak and open to attack. He supposed that was a good enough reason for not wanting to experience the emotion.

His reasons were not quite so noble, however.

He tried to justify them. He reminded himself that he knew nothing about her. At the very least, she had something to hide. A voice somewhere inside scolded him for being so distrustful, but it could not be helped.

She obviously had money, but he didn’t want to hazard even a guess as to how she had acquired it. Ladies of the upper class did not swill vodka like most people drank tea. He knew from firsthand experience how vile the stuff was. Ladies did not run about Covent Garden at night abducting men at gunpoint. Nor did they engage in murder investigations.

No, if Varya were a true lady, her parents would
have had her safely married off by now. There was a chance that she could be a widow, but that still didn’t explain her lifestyle.

Miles considered himself very open-minded, but not even he would consider falling in love with and marrying a woman he could not fully trust.

Trust and love were important facets of a successful marriage. His parents had enjoyed such a bond and had shared a happy life together. After what had happened with Charlotte, he wanted more than society’s idea of a “good match.”

It had been his experience that those kinds of marriages, no matter how agreeable in the beginning, always ended in despair. And he would not allow himself to fall in love with a woman he could not marry. He had already married a woman he had not loved. Better to be alone than cause the unhappiness of so many people.

He believed it.

Truly.

Regardless, his fears did not excuse his boorish behavior. Varya had given him no reason whatsoever to suspect that she entertained notions of marrying him. He doubted she would even consider such a thing, given the opinions on marriage he had overheard her confide to Blythe.

They could probably be lovers. He knew several ways to prevent pregnancy, and with each of them having a separate life, there was no fear of their growing too attached. Marriage forced such intimacy upon people, forced them into close quarters and gave them
a false sense of security. Even with Charlotte he had believed they would live to an agreeable old age together—maybe have another child or two.

The death of his son and wife had been senseless. He would not risk such pain again. He could not bear it.

But there went his head, making up things for him to be worried about when the only thing that should concern him was apologizing for being such an ass. Imagine how Varya would laugh if she knew he actually fretted over falling in love with her! Why, she herself would call it a ridiculous notion.

He wondered how she would react if she ever discovered he had hired an investigator to look into her past.

A brief knock sounded against the door. “Time to face the lions, old man,” Carny announced, sticking his head into the room.

“Then let’s do it,” Miles replied, giving him a gentle shove out the door. “The quicker this evening is over with, the better.”

Could anyone see her heart pounding in her throat?

Well into her second glass of champagne, Varya was very careful to appear nonchalant as Miles and Carny entered the room. It was very difficult, given the rush of heat that hit her as soon as her gaze fell on Miles. Lord, everyone there believed her to have intimate knowledge of the man’s body, and she couldn’t help blushing like a schoolgirl!

Even though she was playing the part of a mistress, it made her very uncomfortable to be in company with so many men and women who obviously weren’t mar
ried. Even worse was the fact that she knew several of the gentlemen’s wives, who no doubt didn’t know or didn’t care where their husbands were.

But the real slap in the face was her reaction to Miles. She was supposed to be
angry
with him, for heaven’s sake, not holding her breath waiting for him to notice her!

She was still confused by his rude treatment of her earlier, but she refused to allow it to ruin her evening. If she had to spend the evening watching endless scenes of licentiousness unfold, she would make the best of it. She certainly wasn’t going to become part of it. She would stay as far away from Miles as possible, and if he wanted to speak to her, well then he—

“Good evening, Varya.”