Portia Da Costa (14 page)

And despite his espousal of total honesty, Wilson was currently lying and avoiding the issue just as much as she was. He was jealous. Jealous of her “gentlemen of pleasure,” furious about the very idea of them without even knowing whether she was fibbing to him or not. Perhaps he hated the idea that she might even
consider
such men?

“The diamonds belong to Mama, and it’s up to her who wears them. I have no special rights.” How long were they going to dance around the real thorn in Wilson’s paw? “Although I thought you might claim the diamonds as part of
your
bequest, Wilson. I half expect Grandpa to initiate litigation to acquire them any day.”

Wilson let out a bark of laughter, causing one or two ladies in the vicinity to look around. “What do I want with diamonds? I’ve no interest in any of the Ruffington assets. I’ve got plenty of money of my own...and I certainly don’t want the stupid title, either.” He sounded dismissive and vaguely bitter.

Against her will, Adela bridled. She remembered seeing a porcupine raise its quills in threat when she’d recently visited to the Zoological Gardens in Regent’s Park, and she imagined herself the little mammal, affronted. “And of course
I
do?” She flung the question at him. “You think that’s all we’re interested in, somehow getting our hands on Grandfather’s wealth, and maybe his title if we could find a way to twist the law? To you we’re just useless parasites, sitting around bewailing the fact someone else is going to end up with the money we think should be ours?”

“I never said that!” snarled Wilson, his eyes flashing. He looked vaguely guilty, too, and Adela felt a small stab of triumph. “Well, perhaps I did say something like that, but I never meant it. I was probably distracted at the time....”

Forgetting the room and the women around them, Adela watched, hypnotized, as Wilson closed his eyes and raised his long fingertips, pressed together, to his lips. He was attempting to master strong emotion through sheer force of will, as she often did herself. Seen in him, it was exciting, and made her want to goad him, to test that mastery.

“I’m sorry,” he said in a low voice. “What I said about you, and your mother and your sisters, was churlish and thoughtless. I take it back.” He seemed about to reach for her hand, then thought better of it. His face hardened again. Had he lost his battle?

Adela didn’t know whether to press him and goad him into admitting the source of his ill humor, or instead to try a more gentle tack and reach a rapprochement. It wasn’t fair to Mama, or to their hosts, to make an embarrassing scene, and she was just formulating a conciliatory comment when the double doors to the salon were thrown open and the rest of the gentlemen began to amble in, noisy in their bonhomie and the effects of fine brandy. Adela wrinkled her nose. A powerful smell of tobacco drifted around the army of males that passed by her, and she was glad that as far as she knew Wilson had no fondness for smoking.

The arrival of the men coincided with a change of entertainment. Minnie was dragged firmly away from the piano by her frowning father, and another young lady, unknown to Adela, took her place. A far more accomplished musician, this one. The newcomer launched into a piece by Schubert, played lightly and with skill.

“That’s better,” observed Wilson, disquietingly bland. “Now that
is
talent, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Absolutely. She’s very accomplished. I wish I could play so well.” Adela had taken lessons, as most well-brought-up young women did, but her aptitude was minimal and she’d soon abandoned it and returned to her first love, drawing.

“You don’t need to play the piano, cousin. You have gifts that far exceed a modest battering of the ivories.” Adela opened her mouth, not really knowing what she was about to say, but Wilson held up a hand. “Don’t deny it.” His lips curved, his expression mutable. She couldn’t tell whether he was taunting, or genuine. “I should like to see what’s in that portfolio of yours, Della. You managed to distract me this afternoon, in a way that was undeniably pleasant.” His long, thick eyelashes flickered. “But I’m determined to discover your secrets...artistic and otherwise.”

Curse you, Wilson. One single moment of behaving like a human being and you’re back to your tricks again. I don’t owe you any allegiance or responsibility.

“This afternoon was an aberration. A mistake.... I’ve been overwrought about various matters lately, and I acted, and spoke, very foolishly.” She kept her voice low, too. People were close by, and at least two or three eager mothers were still eyeing Wilson as a potential stallion for their young fillies. “And if you have any chivalry in you, cousin, you’ll forget it, too.”

Wilson’s eyes were almost metallic, with sparks in their pale silver-blue depths. He wasn’t going to take the bait that she’d offered in jest, to annoy him. He was a razor and could always detect lies.

He shrugged his shoulders. Was he going to let her off, after all? She noticed absently, with her artist’s eye, how powerful those shoulders were beneath the fine dark cloth of his coat. He’d filled out since they’d last been close enough and spent time enough in each other’s company to quantify such things. He’d gained muscle, become fully a man, leaving the last vestiges of his adolescence behind him.

Coffee was being brought around to some of the gentlemen now, and Wilson took a cup, accepting a tiny dash of cream but no sugar. He sipped the brew and grimaced, then put the cup down very precisely on the occasional table at his side. With a sensation that an ax was about to fall, Adela glanced around the room again. The headache was nagging as if some demon imp were stabbing repeatedly at her temple, exacerbated by the cigar smoke, the brilliance of the salon’s many gas lamps and the elevated level of chatter since the menfolk had returned.

“So, are there drawings of these ‘gentlemen of pleasure’ in your portfolio? Naked studies of them...and their accoutrements...the way you once drew me?”

The stabbing imp was Wilson now, and his implement a rapier, going straight for the jugular.

11

The Very Molecules of the Night

“That’s none of your business, Wilson.” Her brown eyes were steady and cool, dismissive. “It’s enough that you know I draw erotic subjects. The identity of my models is none of your concern.”

But it
is
my concern. Everything about you is my concern.

Wilson almost laughed. He was being childish about this most adult of topics. But he couldn’t disengage his feelings. They had him by the throat, and as a man of rationality and cool logic, that appalled him.

The thought of Adela with another man—other
men—
turned his blood molten. He’d always been an equable and, in the main, pacifistic man, abhorring unnecessary violence both in personal matters and on behalf of the nation. But right now, he wanted to seek out these so called “gentlemen of pleasure” of hers and inflict on them all the harm of which he was capable. His fists clenched, ready to box, ready to strike.

“I should like to know who these men are. And what it is about them that you find so alluring.”

She didn’t quite gasp. It was just a little huff of air, let out in obvious exasperation. “Why will you not let this topic alone? I...I was exaggerating. To distract you. You wouldn’t have let me leave that room otherwise.”

Her face was blushing a delicate pink, the hue enchanting. She blushed like that in the throes of passion, just as she had this afternoon. He pictured that face, glowing against a white pillow as she lay in his bed, sprawled on tangled sheets, her slender limbs slack with repletion. It was a gorgeous image, and he hardened instantly. He’d already become semierect, simply from being in her vicinity.

Her mouth was an angry line now, but he imagined it bruised from kissing. Kissing him, not some anonymous, purchased swain. Ire boiled up again, more acidic and fulminating than before.
Who’d
been kissing her?
Who’d
been touching her and fucking her? Somebody had, and he wanted to destroy him.

Oh, why could he not contain this anger? There seemed to be no mental box that would hold it, and worse, it was dragging out other feelings, other hurts in its wake.

“I don’t believe you, Della,” he growled, and a woman not too far away turned from her brainless conversation about some acquaintance she didn’t like, and looked his way. “There has to have been something in what you said, or else why say it?”

Adela clamped her jaws together, fierce tension in her face. He knew he was right. She’d spoken the truth, even though she hadn’t meant to. And now that truth was making him a madman. He wanted to be ferocious with her, although not ever hurt her. He wanted to fuck her into submission, bind her and blind her with pleasure, so that she never again thought of another man.

“I don’t wish to discuss this with you, Wilson. As I said before, it’s none of your business and you have no rights over me.” She turned away, reaching for her tiny coffee cup again, even though he could see from where he sat that it was empty. “Please go away. You’re embarrassing me. People are starting to look.”

“Let them look.” He glared around at the curious faces turning toward them. Then forced a smile when he saw Mrs. Ruffington twisting her handkerchief anxiously. When he gave her a little wave, she smiled back at him, her entire demeanor signaling a sudden, intense relief.

What had he done now? Given the clucking mama some false hope? He didn’t really care anymore.

“Della, who are these men? I need to know.... I’m concerned for you.” It was only partially a lie. Who knew what she’d got herself into? She was a bold woman, though he’d never thought her foolhardy. But even the cleverest of either sex could be duped sometimes, especially when the urges of the flesh were concerned.

“I won’t discuss it.”

His desire surged. She was indefatigable. A warrior queen. His cock ached like the very devil and he wanted to toss her down onto the Aubusson carpet, fling up her skirts and mount her right now, regardless of the great and the good around them watching.

“You’re a coward, Della. You’re afraid to be honest with me.” It was nonsense. She was the least cowardly person he’d ever encountered. But he had to get to her. “You ran from facing the truth with me before, and you’re shrinking from it again.”

Now he was the coward, almost ready to physically shrink from her. She didn’t move, but in every other way seemed to reach out and strike him.

“I won’t talk here. I have a headache and I’m going out into the garden to take some air.” Snatching up her reticule, she rose abruptly in an elaborate swish of black taffeta, already walking away from him. “If you care to join me, that’s your affair.” She flung the words over her shoulder.

Not cowardly now. She was challenging him. He rose to his feet, walking behind her, his eyes on her slim waist and the proud line of her back.

“Mama, I have a little headache and I think a stroll in the garden will revive me,” she said on reaching the group of ladies where her parent held court. Wilson waited for her to completely ignore his existence, standing behind her, but got a surprise. “Cousin Wilson has offered to escort me, to ensure I come to no harm.”

He almost laughed out loud, but managed to curb it. What would Mrs. Ruffington think if she could read his churning thoughts and his animal urges? Clearly, she couldn’t, though, for the plump blonde woman looked almost ecstatic. One of her goals for this house party achieved, no less. Her plain daughter courted by the “target” gentleman, an answer to so many problems.

“Oh, that’s such a good idea, darling. The fresh air is sure to make you feel better.” Mrs. Ruffington patted her daughter’s hand, and beamed around her in Wilson’s direction. “It’s most kind of you, Wilson. I know you’ll take good care of her.” She slid a black shawl off her shoulders and handed it to Adela. “Slip this around you, Della sweetheart. Just in case.”

“Thank you, Mama.” Adela’s voice was clipped and she almost grabbed the shawl, then stomped away. Wilson nodded to the matriarch and followed in her wake, smiling to himself. That little “act” must have stuck in Adela’s throat like a fish bone, but she’d carried it off. Now she was in a clear hurry to get out of the room, and it wouldn’t surprise him if she took to her heels once outside, so he quickened his pace, pausing only briefly at the French doors to salute her mother. Mrs. Ruffington favored him with another beam of approval, but Wilson noted a definite scowl from that solicitor, Blair Devine, adjacent to her.

What was all that about? He filed the datum away for perusal later. Adela was his prime concern now, and just as he’d suspected, she was stomping away in an impressively fleet fashion down the garden path, every step an expression of animosity.

You can run all you like, Della, I’ll still catch you. You’re mine and you can’t get away from me.

Mine?
Mine?
The thought almost made him stop in his tracks...but not quite. Adela was getting away.

* * *

I
T
WAS
HOPELESS
. She would never get away from him. Wilson was tall and long-legged, with a stride like a Thoroughbred’s, and she was hampered by layer after layer of petticoats twisting around her calves and ankles. Wretched things.

Sweeping along the edge of the formal garden, away from the house and the lights, Adela flung herself down onto a bench, panting hard. But it was more tension and annoyance—and her accursed corset—that made her gasp for breath, not exertion.

Her cousin was but footsteps behind her, and before she had a chance to compose herself, he was there, too, sitting at her side, long lean legs once more stretched out in front of him. In the shadows, he looked threatening and mysterious.

“So? Aren’t you going to interrogate me again? That is what you’ve come out here for, isn’t it?”

His eyes gleamed in the low light as if they were polished, but he didn’t speak, the contrary creature.

“Well, in that case...” Adela leaped to her feet again, but Wilson whipped out his arm, faster than should have been possible, and grabbed her in a fierce, unyielding grip.

“Let me go!”

“No. Sit down. I want to hear about these men of yours.”

She tried to shake loose, but it was like being in a shackle, on a very short chain.

“You’re hurting me.” It was a lie, but it worked. He released her instantly.

If I run to my room he’ll only follow. If I lock the door, he’ll either break in or sit outside until I yield.

With a sigh, Adela sat down again. “I suppose if I told you that I’d been exaggerating, you wouldn’t believe me, would you?”

“No. When you first claimed what you claimed, it was spontaneous. A completely unfeigned and guileless statement. I know you weren’t lying then, even if you’d like to do so now.”

Heat flowed through her body, not only from what she had to tell him, but because perversely, the prospect of telling him excited her. And she’d called
him
a contrary beast. He was a simple, basic, masculine animal compared to the swirling muddle of fears and desires that she’d become.

“I’m not afraid of feeling desire for its own sake.”

There was a long silence. The night air around them felt thick, like a blanket of deep thought pressing down on the pair of them.

“Nothing to say now, Wilson?”

Her cousin was staring out at the turf between his feet, as if some answer lay there.

“I’m trying to bring order to my thoughts. To reconcile my natural reactions with what I know, intellectually, to be correct.” Apparently unaware of what he was doing, he assumed his inimitable position of pondering. Slumped back, he pressed his hands together and laid the tips of his forefingers against his lips. Adela could almost see the cogs of logic disengaging, spinning free, then locking again.

“Well, for those of us who aren’t philosophers, have you arrived at any conclusions?”

He turned to her, eyes still on fire. “Why? Why would you seek out these gigolos? Wouldn’t it have been better...safer...to pursue marriage to satisfy your carnal urges?”

Adela burst out laughing. She could barely believe it. Her free-thinking, progressive cousin...when had he turned into such a fossil? Such a throwback?

“I never realized you were so traditional. I thought you of all men would be a supporter of the rights and emancipation of women? Of equality in all matters. Political, economic and not least of all the freedom to dispose of one’s body as one wishes?”

He looked horrified, but whether at her or himself, she couldn’t tell.

“I am...but I hate the idea of you paying to be serviced by strangers. It’s unsafe. You could get with child, catch some disease....” Shooting out a hand, lightning fast, he grabbed her arm again. “I can’t bear to think of them touching you.”

Ire burned like acid in Adela’s chest. A dozen different kinds of anger. How dare he be so possessive now when in all likelihood he’d barely spared a thought for her in seven years? How dare he think so little of her common sense, her intelligence? Against all the odds, she’d believed that he knew her, and knew her worth.

“What kind of featherbrained nincompoop do you think I am, Wilson?” She jerked her arm, trying to free it, but his hand was an iron clamp again. “I know there are ways to avoid pregnancy, and disease. I’m not one of these silly little chits who just succumb willy-nilly to the attentions of men.”

Wilson snorted with laughter as Adela realized what she’d said. Seven years ago she’d succumbed willy-nilly. Seven years ago, she’d opened her legs for Wilson without even the knowledge that there were “measures” to be taken, much less the idea of employing them. She could only thank the heavens that her cousin had been as virgin as she, and that by some trick of luck she hadn’t conceived her first time.

“I’ve grown up a lot since then, Wilson. And learned a great, great deal. I might have been an idiot that once with you, but never since.” She pulled again, and this time his grip seemed to loosen a little, but he still didn’t release her. “At the establishment I attend, all precautions are taken. The gentlemen happily submit to regular examinations by a doctor...and, um, whenever congress occurs, French letters are employed.”

A vile, profane oath seemed to split the very molecules of the night air. Adela was aware of the word Wilson used, but had never heard it spoken—shouted—in anger. Her cousin, the rarest and most handsome man she’d ever seen, looked almost ugly, like a ferocious beast, enraged and hurt.

“What? Would you prefer they not use a device? Don’t be ridiculous.”

Wilson released her. Did he think her polluted? She couldn’t tell. But he looked as if he’d been poleaxed.

“I’m entitled to pleasure, Wilson. Like every woman,” she said in a low, gritty voice. She wouldn’t be cowed or shocked, or reveal any fear. “And as there have never been any admirers or suitors at my door, there’s been no opportunity to obtain what I wanted through those more conventional means. So I took my chances...bartered a commodity I had in abundance, so I could experience what I lacked.”

“You could have come to me.”

What? What nonsense was he speaking? Adela glared at her cousin and matched his stubborn expression with one of her own.

“Don’t be ridiculous! You didn’t want me. You didn’t want anything to do with me. You sought other women...” How could he not see how impossible this was? “Wilson, you just
weren’t there!
”

“Well, I’m bloody well here now!”

Like a great cat from the jungles of Africa, he lunged forward, pushing her against the back of the seat, holding her with the weight of his body while he took her face between his hands and jammed his mouth against hers in a hard, savage kiss.

The urge to resist was pure instinct, and she thumped Wilson and pummeled at him even while her traitor mouth yielded. His tongue dived in, pushing against hers, teasing it and taunting it, his fingers around her face and head, digging into her hair and making it impossible to get away from him.

Animal!

Her eyes were wide-open, and on that thought, his shot wide, too, silver-blue and brilliant like metal fire. Dear God, he was laughing at her, though in silence. He was amused by her struggles and their lack of effect on him.