Elusive Passion (18 page)

But could she trust him with her heart, with her soul?

“Will you force me to give up performing?” she blurted, instantly wishing she could take it back. It hardly mattered.

He seemed startled by the question. “I hadn’t given it much thought.” He paused. “In fact, I haven’t given it
any
thought.” He rubbed his jaw, which was already showing a shadow of stubble. “Do you want to continue performing?”

Nonplussed, she nodded. This was not the response she had been prepared for. “I do, yes.”

“Then by all means continue. Of course—”

Ah,
she thought,
here it comes.

“—I would prefer that you didn’t tour, but I see no problem with you playing some of the local theaters and for various acquaintances.”

Her eyes widened. “You won’t stop me from playing?” Not that it made much of a difference. Now that all of the ton knew she was one of them, it would be unseemly for her to perform in public anymore.

He grinned crookedly. “I’d have to be pretty cruel to prevent you from doing something you love so much, wouldn’t I?”

“Yes,” she replied, a little disconcerted. “I suppose you would.” Ivan would have forbidden her to continue with her music. He would have been ashamed of her performing for the general public.

The orchestra struck up the first few chords of a waltz. Couples began to gather around the dance floor.

Varya watched them without really seeing them. She was too busy trying to sort out why she was simultaneously dismayed and pleased by Miles’s words.

“Would you care to dance, Varya? It is, after all, normal behavior for the betrothed.”

Snapping out of her reverie, Varya nodded. “Yes. I would like that, Miles. Thank you.”

He led her onto the floor with a gentle hand at the small of her back. She could feel the warmth of his palm through the thin material of her gown. A tingle raced through her body, tightening her nipples and flooding her lower body with heat. She wanted him with a sudden desperation.

Instead, she stepped into the strong circle of his arms and allowed him to guide her around the floor in graceful turns. He danced as if on a cushion of air—incredibly elegant for a man of his stature.

“Some conversation is appropriate, I believe.”

She stared up at him. “What would you like to talk about?”

He thought for a moment. “You found nothing in Bella’s belongings to give us any further idea who her murderer might have been?”

Varya shook her head, and her earrings swung against her throat. She was a little annoyed that he felt compelled to discuss the murder at their engagement party, and guilty for forgetting about Bella. “Nothing. Carny was quite dismayed.”

Miles grinned, and Varya caught her breath. What a beautiful face he had.

“Yes, Carny would be disappointed. He loves nothing more than a good mystery that needs solving.”

“Perhaps we shall find our answers at Lord Dennyson’s evening party tomorrow.” She tried to sound hopeful, but she had begun to despair ever finding her friend’s killer.

She must have looked as disheartened as she felt, for Miles’s hand tightened on her waist. She raised her questioning gaze to his.

“We will find Bella’s killer, Varya.”

It had been a long time since anyone had promised her anything with such conviction. She nodded, unable to voice her fears.

There was always the chance that the killer would find them first. Hadn’t someone already broken into her house and tried to smother her because of her connection to Bella? She shuddered at the thought of what might have happened had Miles not barged in when he had. Odd, but they had talked very little of the attempt on her life—as if by ignoring it, they could eventually convince themselves that it hadn’t happened.

But it had. A very swift attack in the privacy of her own home had almost—how did the English say it?—put a period to her existence. Varya couldn’t shake the feeling that the attack had been personal, driven by
more than a desire to keep her from finding the identity of Bella’s murderer. But what other reason could anyone have to want her dead?

The waltz ended. As Miles escorted her off the floor, Varya caught sight of Caroline waving to her. Summoning her brightest smile, she waved back, knowing that one of her guests could very well be Bella’s murderer.

And that she was next.

“D
o you think anyone saw us?”

Varya knelt behind Lord Dennyson’s desk and began opening drawers. Miles felt around the surface of a globe in search of a hidden compartment.

“It’s doubtful,” he replied in a loud whisper, moving to the bookcase. Rifling through the volumes, he continued, “Even if we were seen, it is not considered wholly improper for an engaged couple to sneak off for a bit of privacy.”

“I suppose not,” she replied somewhat coolly. “It’s nice to know our engagement offers such a convenient excuse. So did our earlier arrangement.”

He turned to face her, his features cast into harsh relief by the pale light. “You know that’s no longer feasi
ble. Would you prefer that we
had
snuck off for a moment of passion?”

Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. “Perhaps.” She lifted her chin defiantly. “Not that you deserve such sentiment.”

He laughed. He actually
laughed
.

“Just what do you find so amusing?” she asked in the haughtiest tone her wounded pride could manage.

“I missed you as well.” His gaze was as soft as his voice.

Varya could only stare. He had missed her? She didn’t know what to say.

Miles cleared his throat and turned his attention back to the books. “Have you found anything yet?” he asked rather stiffly.

She sighed. Now she had offended him with her silence. Is this what their marriage would be like? Decades of mincing words for fear of wounding the other?

“Not yet.” She stretched her arm as far as it would go into one of the desk drawers. Nothing.

Miles snapped the book in his hands shut, sending up a thick cloud of dust. Lord Dennyson needed to have a word with his housekeeper.

“I’m not having much luck here either,” he rasped, choking. He leaned against the mantel to steady himself until the coughing subsided.

Wiping his eyes, he stared intently at one of the carved cherubs on the mantel. “What’s this?” He pressed the angel’s belly. A low grating sound filled the silence of the room.

Varya moved from behind the desk. “What is it?”

Miles stared into the small hole his fumbling had revealed. “I daresay it’s a secret compartment.” He reached inside.

She was at his side in seconds, clutching his arm as he withdrew a small wooden box from within the mantel.

“You know, I really think I should install one of these things,” he remarked lightheartedly. “It seems I’m the only man in London without one.”

Her nose wrinkled. “Smells like smoke.”

He smiled. “Well, it was hidden inside a fireplace.”

“Open it.”

Rolling his eyes, Miles moved toward the desk. “If you’ll be patient for a few moments, I shall do just that.”

He set the narrow box on the polished surface of the desk. It wasn’t locked. Obviously Lord Dennyson had assumed his hiding spot was sufficient to protect the tiny chest and whatever secrets it held.

“Hurry up,” Varya urged, practically jumping up and down in excitement.

Miles cocked a brow and pretended to study her intently.

“You’re exceedingly anxious. Are you in need of a tonic?”

He was pleased by her answering laughter.

“Just open the box, Miles.”

Holding his breath, Miles did as he was bid. As much as he hoped that Dennyson
wasn’t
the murderer, he wanted nothing more than to catch the madman who had not only killed Bella, but had attempted to take Varya’s life.

Inside the box were various papers. Both Miles and Varya began leafing through them. There were business contracts and missives, but the bulk of the letters were from former mistresses, Bella in particular.

“It would seem our Lord Dennyson has very peculiar sexual preferences,” Miles remarked derisively.

“I’m learning more than I ever wanted to know about these
gentlemen
.” Obviously disgusted, she placed yet another bill for “damages” from a London brothel on top of a steadily growing pile. It seemed Lord Dennyson enjoyed a little violence with his debauchery.

“The man’s a pig,” Miles spat. “What I don’t understand is why he would keep such incriminating records.”

“A trophy, perhaps? A sign of his power?”

Her insight was both astute and troubling. Miles was of the opinion that no woman should have to know just how evil some men could be.

“And to think up until this point we believed his only fault to be an abundance of saliva.”

Varya suddenly caught his arm in a tight grasp. One look at her face told him that she had found something much more enlightening and important than Dennyson’s nasty secrets.

“What is it?”

“A letter from Bella,” she replied, and began to read, “‘Lord Dennyson—I ask that you please refrain from further attempts to correspond with me. You will no longer be admitted to my home or granted an audience in my rooms after a performance. In exchange for your promise to pretend we have never met, I give you
my solemn vow not to go to the authorities with all I know about you and your “secret.” The choice is yours.’”

Miles met Varya’s astounded gaze with an open-mouthed stare.

“Do you think Dennyson did it?” she whispered. “Is he the killer?”

Her excitement was contagious. The idea that they might actually be able to bring Bella’s murderer to justice was more deeply meaningful than any of his experiences during the war. He truly felt as if he was doing something
important
.

“We still have to prove it,” he reminded her. “First, we must find out where Dennyson was on the night Bella was killed.”

“Yes, of course.” It was obvious she was trying to rein in her excitement. Her eyes were bright, as if fevered, and Miles could almost see her trying to link Dennyson with the murder in their dark blue depths.

He took Bella’s letter from her trembling hands and wrapped his fingers around hers.

“We need proof, Varya,” he repeated. “Without it we have nothing. We can’t go off half-cocked and expect Dennyson to confess. We must be careful.” It would not do for either one of them to give themselves away, which Varya might do in her haste to uncover the truth.

She nodded, taking a deep breath. “Yes. I understand, Miles.” She lifted her face to his. “But don’t you find it stimulating that we’ve made such a discovery?”

Much to his chagrin, Miles realized that it wasn’t the thought of catching a killer that was the basis for
his “stimulation.” It was a pair of sparkling dark blue eyes and slightly parted pink lips, and yes, the way her breasts rose and fell with every excited breath, that were the cause of his sudden agitation. He closed his eyes as he felt a familiar tightening in his groin. How
completely
inconvenient.

When at last he opened his eyes, it was to find Varya staring not at his face, but at his crotch.

“Oh damn,” he groaned. “Pretend you don’t see that.”

She gazed at him, eyes dark and wide with surprise. “Why? Isn’t it because of me?”

Not only did Miles’s treacherous flesh jump under her scrutiny, but his whole body lurched at her softly spoken question.

“Uh…yes. It is.” He felt a hot flush creep up his neck. “Most women would be mortified by such—demonstrations.”

Her eyes glittered with amusement, and something else. Something wild and hot that only made the throbbing in his groin more acute.

“You should know by now that I am not like most women, Miles.” Smiling, she wound her arms around his neck and kissed him softly on the lips. “I’m flattered.”

That was all the encouragement he needed. Miles grabbed her hips through the thin silk of her gown and hauled her to him. She was soft and warm against his hardness and he pressed himself into her, wishing desperately there was less fabric between them.

Ignoring her soft gasp of surprise, he slipped his tongue into her mouth as one of his hands slid down
to cup her buttocks. Oh Lord, she wasn’t wearing drawers!

Miles’s brain was on fire with images of Varya’s naked body, of her pink and white breasts, and of shoving himself between her soft thighs. He didn’t care if it happened on the floor, on the desk, or against the wall, but he was going to have her.

Now.

“If we don’t stop,” he said, tearing his mouth from hers, “I’m going to drive myself into you right here and to hell with the consequences.” Somehow, his other hand had found its way into her bodice; her nipple was hard and puckered against his palm. The urge to pinch and tease it until she cried out was almost overwhelming. The last thing he wanted was to lose control, but his resolve was slipping…

And went completely out the window as Varya wiggled her alabaster shoulders, allowing the top of her gown to slip down her arms and torso, baring herself to him.

“Isn’t this what we want people to believe we’re doing?” Her voice was a low, husky purr.

Miles was speechless. Her breasts filled his hands, starkly white against his dark fingers. The nipples were hard and tight against his palms. He caressed them with his thumbs, pinched them with his fingers until she whimpered and squirmed against him.

Keeping a desperate grip on his control, Miles forced himself to stop long enough to ask, “When was your last monthly?”

She stared at him, her eyes dark and dazed with desire. “Just two days ago.”

Then there was little risk of pregnancy. “Good.”

He lowered his head, taking a hard nub of warm pink flesh into his mouth. He sucked it, nipped at it, and laved it with his tongue until her whimpers and cries of delight became desperate moans. Then he moved on to the other.

Lord, but he was mad for her! Every nerve ending in his body was acutely aware of his desire for her. Never had the need to be one with a woman made him forget his surroundings or his common sense, but it did now. His one and only thought was to lose himself inside her, with her.

He pinned her against the desk, just as on the night they first met in that tiny hovel where she had unmanned him. She still had the power to strip him of all his arrogance and control, and just as on that first night, he could do nothing to stop her.

Driven by lust, defiance, and something akin to anger, Miles bent her back over the desk, his mouth and tongue still torturing the softness of her breasts. Her flesh was rosy from his passionate attentions and glistened with moisture from his mouth. Her fingers gripped his shoulders as she arched her back, rhythmically pressing her loins against his and thrusting her breasts toward him.

“Do you want me, Varya?” he growled against her flushed throat. His fingers tangled in her skirts, bunching them until her entire leg was bare and he could slide his hand underneath the froth of fabric to stroke the soft flesh beneath.

“Yes,” she panted. “I want you now. I want you here. Please, Miles, please.”

The pleading hunger in her voice was the only incentive he needed. His hand moved between her splayed legs and felt the dampness there—on her thighs and on the downy lips of her sex. She was ready for him. She wanted him.

“You’re so wet,” he murmured, sliding a finger inside her warm, tight passage. Her muscles clenched at him, and his body throbbed in answer. He found the sensitive nub between the warm folds of her flesh with his thumb and rubbed it almost violently. Varya moaned and fell back against the desk, spreading her legs even wider for him.

He wanted to taste her, wanted to tease that little bud with his tongue until it pulsated with her release and left her sobbing in pleasure with her thighs around his shoulders. He also wanted to bury himself inside her, and it was that selfish, almost unbearable need that finally won out. Miles withdrew his hand and moved over to the sofa just a few feet away.

He was seated before she seemed to realize he was even gone. He met her surprised gaze with a lazy smile.

“Come here, Varya,” he commanded softly.

She did; desire shone in her eyes as bright as the jewels around her neck. Unable to take his eyes off her, Miles fumbled with his falls.

Varya watched in sensual fascination as Miles pushed aside the fabric of his breeches. He drew out his hard shaft, stroking it with his hand and watching her as she moved toward him.

“Straddle me,” he demanded hoarsely.

Varya did. She could feel the head of his sex blunt
and warm against her own as he guided it to her. Every muscle in her body quivered with anticipation. She gripped the carved wooden back of the sofa as he pushed down on her hips, filling her. She had never experienced anything like it. There was no pain like last time—only the intense sensation of his body becoming part of hers.

“Am I doing this right?” she asked, moving her body up and down on his. It felt good, so good.

“Yes,” he groaned. “Ride me. I want to feel you come when I explode inside you.”

That sounded good to Varya and she thrust herself down on him, only to quickly lift herself again. She kept going until the ache became too much and she had to quicken her movements.

“That’s it,” Miles grunted. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her buttocks, rhythmically lifting her. His rasping breath was hot against her ear.

Varya’s thighs screamed in protest, but she refused to stop. She slammed her body down onto Miles’s lap feeling as if a dam had broken inside her, releasing a torrent of the most incredible spasms of pleasure. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and cried out against his jaw.

His cries mixed with her own as he held her firmly to him, his hips lifting and bucking as he emptied himself inside her.

They stayed that way for quite some time. Locked together, they were silent, save for their slowing breathing. Varya eventually became aware of his hand rubbing her back while the other massaged her thigh.
It had felt so good, so right to lose control with this man. The realization both pleased and frightened her.

“Are you all right?”

She raised her head and smiled at him. “I believe so. You?”

He gave her such a sweet, warm smile that her heart twisted painfully at it. Lord, how she loved him! She loved this man who claimed to be incapable of returning the emotion. Surely this was no less than what she deserved for all her lies and deceit.