Tempt the Devil (12 page)

“I won't let it be over,” he said obstinately.

But what if she insisted on leaving? He had a reputation as a ruthless dog but even he balked at locking her in the house in York Street like a captive in a harem.

“You can't mean to use the secret of my son's whereabouts to force me, Erith.” Desperation sharpened her features. “It's not just me you'd hurt, but Leo and my cousin and the good man she's married to. Surely your pride isn't worth that damage.”

Her cousin? That was interesting. He remembered the kind-faced woman he'd glimpsed so briefly outside the vicarage. Perhaps Olivia came from a higher level of society than he'd imagined. If her brother had been born a gentleman in rank if not in honor, his crime against her was even more heinous.

“Erith?” She sounded genuinely scared now and her face was strained and pale.

He realized he hadn't answered her. “Contrary to public opinion, I still retain a shred of honor.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I won't betray you or Leo.”

“How can I trust you?” Blistering anger invested the short question.

“I give you my word, Olivia. Your secret is safe.”

Of course it was useless asking her to trust him. She didn't trust anyone. Particularly men.

She sent him a stormy look, clearly unconvinced. “Even if I leave you?”

How easy to use his knowledge to keep her. But he'd reached a point where lying to her, even by omission, left him feeling small and grubby.

“Even if you leave me.” He paused then invoked the only hold he still had on her. “What about our wager? Do you admit I've won?”

She pursed her lips into a luscious bow as if dismissing the thought. “I don't consider a mutual agreement to part to be surrender.”

“No, you wouldn't.” He laughed shortly and leaned back, crossing one booted leg over the other. “But it's surrender all the same. You're running away and using the excuse of my execrable behavior today to justify your cowardice.”

She arched her eyebrows with disdain. “You've tried this tactic before, Erith. It worked then but palls through familiarity.”

He shrugged and kept his voice light. “Then stay for the challenge. Stay because you want to. Stay because I'll be gone after my daughter's wedding and you'll move on with memories of the one affair that didn't follow the pattern.”

The carriage lurched to a complete halt and the coachman shouted abuse at someone. Inside, the silence crackled with tension.

She looked down at her hands then up at him. There was a troubled, turbulent light in her eyes.

“Don't pretend it's so simple, Erith.” She made a furious gesture with her hand, slicing the air. “Already you know more about me than anyone apart from Perry. It gives you a power I can't accept. I've spent my life evading any man who tries to dominate me.”

He let the implications of her admission sink in before he answered. It was clear that she felt the pull of attraction between them, but she fought it with all her might. With her history, he knew why.

“I don't want to know about you so I have power,” he said quietly.

Her brows contracted as if she didn't understand. When she spoke, her voice was edged with new bitterness. “Men always have power over women.”

“Except you.”

“That hasn't always been true.”

Tragically, after today, he believed her. “I'm not your enemy, Olivia.”

A cynical expression hardened her face. Briefly he recalled the cold, manipulative courtesan he'd first met. He'd never think of her as that woman again. “Yes, you are.”

Yes, he was the enemy
.

The organ in his trousers made him her enemy. His powerful male passions made him her enemy. The fact that he wanted her more than he wanted to take his next breath made him her enemy.

The carriage swerved into motion again. He automatically adjusted to the movement. Heavy rain began to drum on the roof, underlining the dismal slide of his mood.

For once he had no idea how to win a woman. And the more he saw of her, the more he wanted her. The real her, not the beautiful, counterfeit shell.

He couldn't believe he'd reached this pitch of desperation. All he'd learned of her today just built his endless craving. He hardly recognized himself anymore.

But how could he regret following her? He'd never wish away what he now knew about her.

To think he'd been so blasé about choosing a mistress to adorn his weeks in London. A woman to entertain him while his attention focused on what was really important. His rapprochement with his children.

Olivia Raines had put him through more emotion in the last few days than he'd felt in the last sixteen years. Dangerous, painful emotion that he'd spent half a lifetime running away from.

So why the hell did the prospect of saying good-bye to her make him want to smash something?

Through the increasing gloom outside—the weather became a squall of the first magnitude—he noticed familiar house fronts. They weren't far from York Street.

“What are you going to do?” he asked. Then with more difficulty, “I want you to stay.”

“Until July,” she responded tartly.

“Olivia,” he said with a hint of asperity. “Right now I'm trying to keep you into the next five minutes. It's premature to worry about what happens in a couple of months.”

Her jaw set with a stubbornness he recognized. “Nevertheless, Erith—”

He interrupted before she could say the irrevocable words. “No.”

He banged hard on the roof until the coachman slid the panel behind his head open. “Yes, madam? My lord?”

“Drive to the park,” Erith snapped.

“W
hat on earth are you doing?” Olivia asked in bewilderment. “We're nearly back in York Street.”

“I want to talk to you.” Erith ignored the coachman, although he felt the man's avidly curious eyes boring into the back of his head.

An impatient frown crossed her face, bringing it back to vivid life. “You've talked all the way from Kent, for heaven's sake.”

“I want to talk to you away from this damned black box that belongs to damned Peregrine Montjoy.”

“But it's the middle of a rainstorm.”

“I don't care.”

“Madam?” The coachman sounded like he thought his betters had lost their minds. Olivia stared at Erith through the gloom as if she believed he'd gone mad too. He himself wasn't even sure of his sanity. What he was sure about was that he wasn't going to tamely watch her move out of his life.

He intended to fight for what he wanted. Probably for the first time ever.

No wonder he made such a god-almighty hash of it.

For a long silent moment she studied his face. The Devil knew what she saw there. But sudden decision entered her expression.

“Sherrin, his lordship wishes to promenade in the park.” She glanced past him to the coachman. “So the park it is.”

“Yes, madam.” The coachman looked unhappy. Given the water cascading over his oilskins, Erith couldn't blame him for his lack of enthusiasm.

“Stop at the first folly.”

“Very good, my lord.” Sherrin slid the panel closed.

Olivia sent Erith a long-suffering look as the coach began to move again. “We'll both end up catching our death. Not to mention poor Sherrin. He's got a wife and six children.”

“If I take you back to the house, you'll leave me,” he said obstinately. He knew he made an utter fool of himself. He wished he could stop, but some demon possessed him.

“I can leave you from a park as well as from a drawing room.”

Soon the carriage drew to a stop. Erith peered out the foggy window and saw the looming bulk of a Greek temple. The panel behind his head slid back again. “Here, your lordship?”

“Yes, Sherrin. Wait in the building until we summon you.”

“Very good, my lord.”

The carriage rocked as the man climbed down, and Erith watched him dash through the teeming rain and disappear into the temple. He turned back to Olivia. “Shall we walk?”

She sent him a disbelieving topaz glare. “It's a deluge out there.”

“Just a soft spring shower.” Roughly, he released the door catch and stepped into the storm, tugging her after him. “You won't melt.”

“I honestly believe you belong in Bedlam.” He expected her to struggle, but she didn't fight as she tumbled out of the carriage and into the weather.

“Probably.” He'd only been outside seconds and already the lashing rain slicked his hair over his forehead. He blinked away the streaming water that obscured his vision. The wind blasted rain at them in cold needles. She was right. He did belong in an asylum. No person in their right mind would willingly go out into this storm.

He felt far from in his right mind.

Taking her arm, he headed doggedly toward a gray and soggy grove just off the path, his boots splashing through the puddles. She scurried to keep up. Her elaborate gown was a sodden mess and her bonnet collapsed into a lump of wet straw.

She removed it, observed it for a second, and tossed it to the side of the overflowing track. “Irredeemable, I'm afraid.” She had to raise her voice above the rain.

“Like my character.”

“Like mine.”

“Then we suit each other.”

“That doesn't mean we should remain together.” She ducked her head as an eddy of wind gusted a torrent of cold water over them. “If I freeze to death, it won't matter whether I've decided to stay or not.”

“Does that mean you're thinking about it?”

“Right now I'm thinking of a warm fire and dry clothes. And perhaps a brandy and a cigar.”

At last they reached the copse. Erith dragged her under the shelter of the trees. He dropped his hold on her. Instinct told him if she'd come this far, she wasn't likely to run.

“You've got to stay with me, Olivia.” He didn't have to shout here, thank God. “I'm the only man in Christendom who will tolerate your eccentric ways.”

“That's the pot calling the kettle black. Who forced whom out into this tempest? Perry told me you had a reputation for
coolness and calculation. I've seen precious little evidence of either. Couldn't we have this discussion in the carriage?”

She shivered. Her face was paper white. He should be horsewhipped for making her stand in this downpour. Still, stubbornly, superstitiously, he refused to return her to the carriage that would take her away from him.

“You tried to keep me at a distance,” he said with a trace of sullenness he immediately resented.

“And drowning me will make you feel closer? If that's the case, can't we do this when there's a warm bath handy?”

The idea of her long graceful limbs slick with soap and hot water sent searing arousal through him that not even the freezing weather could douse.

For a woman compelled into the middle of a tempest, she didn't sound particularly angry. Irritated but not furious. He wondered what went on in her complicated, fascinating, brilliant brain. He wondered what went on in his to haul her about like this.

She wiped her face. But it was useless. Water still poured down. Her neat braided hairstyle, so different to the intricate creations she usually sported, came apart under the flood, and her hair, darkened to old bronze, clung to her face and neck in long straggling rats' tails. She didn't look at all the glamorous creature he was used to.

She looked more breathtakingly beautiful than any woman he'd ever seen.

She fixed an uncompromising regard on him. “Say what you have to and let me get back into the dry.”

He moved nearer, partly to shield her from the weather, partly because he needed to have her within the shelter of his body. The scent of rain filled the turbulent air, but underneath he caught a hint of her delicate scent. He'd recognize that fragrance from the other side of a room.

He stared hard at her. Raw, eviscerating emotion made him shake. He felt lost, exposed, threatened. “Are you going to leave?” he asked starkly.

Her face contracted with dismay. “Don't. I'm not worth it.”

“Of course you are,” he snarled with sudden anger. He caught her arm in a hard clasp. “Damn it, Olivia, I surrender. You can have your public avowal of power over me. If you'll stay.”

“I don't care about the bet,” she snapped. “Why is having me as your mistress so important?”

He answered with perfect, bewildered honesty. “I have no idea.”

“Neither do I. You've had no pleasure.”

His mind filled with his delight in her quick wit. His delight in her beauty. His delight in her spirit. His delight in…
her
.

“That's not true.”

“Yes, it is. You won't take what I offer, and I can't give you what you ask for. Yet still you plague me.” Her eyes were like washed gems between the wet fringe of lashes. Her face was white with cold and tension. “
What do you want, Erith?”

The rain had eased as they argued. It provided a gentle pattering background to that one bleak question.

He could only speak the words engraved on his soul. The soul he thought had calcified into stone over the last sixteen years of grief and loneliness. “I want you.”

He caught a flash of pain in those brilliant eyes. “But I don't want you.”

“I can make you want me.” His voice cracked with desperation. His chest heaved as he fought for breath.

“No, you can't.”

She reached up and touched his cheek. The glove was smooth and wet against his skin. It was the same gesture she'd made last night. After all the strife, her sudden tenderness then had torn his heart. The simple touch still made the breath catch in his throat.

Closing his eyes, he let her warmth soak into his bones. She said she didn't want him, but that touch hinted she was far from indifferent.

He shouldn't do what he was about to. He knew it would destroy any chance of convincing her to stay. He opened his eyes and tightened his hold on her arm, not bruising but enough to stop her stepping away.

“Olivia,” he whispered, just for the pleasure of hearing her name.

He saw awareness seep into the clear brown eyes, turn them the color of dark whisky. She trembled under his hand.

With cold? With fear?
With desire?

He couldn't say. But she didn't recoil as he leaned closer.

“No, Erith.” It was a mere thread of sound. Her breath brushed across his lips, heat to his chilled flesh.

“Yes,” he said as softly. He cradled her jaw in his free hand and gently tilted her chin toward him.

For one suspended instant, the rain, the wind, the cold, receded to nothing. There was just the woman and the promise of the kiss to come.

She whimpered as his mouth touched hers. Unless he'd been so close, he would not have heard. Just for a moment, he lingered, tasting the coolness of her skin, the freshness of the rain. Then he pulled away a fraction so the ghost of the kiss hovered even after the kiss ended.

The rain fell in a curtain around them, adding a sweet edge of innocence to what they did. She parted her lips and sucked in a shaky breath. He waited for her to wrench away as she had when he kissed her before. But she remained completely still. Apart from the endless waves of trembling that combed through her tall, willowy body.

He must stop. That kiss meant more than anything she'd ever granted him. More than the contemptuous seduction of his body with her mouth their first night.

Right now he had her grudging consent. He had no right to demand more.

But he was only human and he'd wanted to kiss her since he first saw her. He bent forward and grazed his lips over
the mole on her cheek. Then before she could protest, he sipped at her lips again. They were soft and smooth like damp satin.

He'd kissed her before, but he hadn't known what was at stake then. It was a game they played.

This tentative kiss was more important than life and death.

Delicately his tongue touched the seam, savoring a trace of the warmth inside. She made a soft humming sound deep in her throat and for a brief instant opened. Her breath touched his tongue and almost imperceptibly her lips moved against his.

He sighed and the hand cupping her jaw curved into a caress. Her tiny, hesitant, unpracticed response made him dizzy with arousal. Arousal tempered by an agonizing tenderness that made him want to cherish as much as ravish her.

He tasted her kiss for an endless moment, knowing to ask for more was to invite disaster.

But he couldn't stop himself increasing the pressure. Fleetingly her lips softened, parted, answered his.

Then she stiffened under his hands and pulled away. But slowly, as if she woke from a dream. She'd closed her eyes, and as her heavy lashes rose, he glimpsed the young girl she'd never had the chance to be.

Her dazed expression changed to horrified realization. “You kissed me.”

“Yes,” he said helplessly, wanting her so much, he thought he'd die of it.

“Take your hands off me.” Her voice shook.

With an ironic gesture of apology, he released her arms. She struggled to erect barriers against him. But she was more vulnerable than he'd imagined.

Erith could be gracious in victory. For the present.

Now that he wasn't holding her, he became aware of his surroundings. The rain was cold. The wind rose again. The
thunder in his heart found an echo in the crescendo of thunder in the sky. It was muddy and dank underneath the trees. An icy trickle of water ran down his face and disappeared into his sodden neckcloth.

“I'm going back to the house. Don't come with me.”

“Let me escort you to the carriage.” On such a foul day, the park was deserted, but nonetheless he didn't like the idea of her unprotected.

Her laugh sounded like a muffled sob. “I want to walk.”

“Olivia, don't be absurd.” He reached to catch her hand but she stepped away.

“Kindly allow me my way in this at least.” She turned on her heel and twitched her saturated skirts, more black than green after their soaking. With her shoulders straight and her head high, she stepped out from under the trees.

He couldn't let her go like this. With nothing resolved. He snatched her arm and this time wouldn't let her rebuff him. “What are you going to do, Olivia?”

She cast him an unreadable topaz glance. “Change my clothes, for one thing.”

She'd retreated into Olivia Raines, queen of courtesans. Although the queen of courtesans looked woefully bedraggled. It said something for the equally woeful state of Erith's emotions that he found her disheveled state endearing. More than endearing. Hugely alluring.

He let her go. And said words the notorious Earl of Erith would once never have believed himself capable of uttering. “Please don't leave me, Olivia.”

For a fleeting instant her hauteur melted. He saw deep into the wild turmoil in her soul before she whirled around. With a choked curse, she picked up her skirts. He watched in despair as she ran across the muddy ground into the rain-swept afternoon.