The Pleasure Trap (7 page)

He spied Eve’s notebook, picked it up, and began to thumb through it. Near the back, he found something he’d missed before, a map of the southeastern border of the city, stretching to Dartford in Kent. She’d marked off places of interest. It took him a moment to realize that they were all the homes and estates of people of rank and money.

He heard steps approaching the door, quickly replaced the book, and crossed to the table with its array of fans. The door opened. The faint scent of flowers was unmistakable. He recognized her perfume. “Miss Dearing,” he said, as he turned to face her.

She didn’t ask how he knew her real name, nor did she care. Her mind was seething with all his offenses, not least the fact that he had invaded her dreams and made her act in ways that were contrary to her nature. She’d awakened that morning in the wee hours, fretting, fractious, and vaguely afraid of the woman in her dream. Now here he was again, the man of her dream, looking as fresh and debonair as she had ever seen him, while she felt as embarrassed as a guilty schoolgirl.

“So you know my name,” she said. “What of it?”

“How many names do you have, Miss Dearing? Two? Three? More?”

She took a quick step back at the sudden change in him. “I haven’t the least idea of what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t come the innocent with me! You’re Angelo! Admit it!”

Her jaw sagged. “What gave you that idea?”

“Your father is a landscape gardener, isn’t he?” He gestured to her notebook on the sofa table. “You’ve made a map of the stately homes and gardens close to town and marked some of them off. Are those your next targets? Are these where your next batch of stories will come from? Don’t you care that innocent people may be hurt?”

She seemed to be rooted to the spot, then she bounded away from him, snatched her notebook from the table, and turned to face him. “You had no right—” She had to stop to suck in air. “This book is private property. If you wanted to read it, you should have asked my permission.”

“You left it in plain view for anyone to read. And that’s no answer. Why have you marked off those properties in Kent?”

She advanced on him on the balls of her feet, like a cat stalking its prey. Eyes flashing, she said, “Now, you listen to me, Ash Denison. I am not Angelo. My father does not give me ideas for my stories. He never did and he never will. For one thing, we’re not that close. Yes, I’ve marked off gardens and places in Kent I want to visit, but that’s because I think I may have visited those gardens with my mother. There’s a quarry nearby.” She faltered a little before continuing. “It’s the last place we visited before she died.”

She broke off and pressed her lips together. It was anger that had loosened her tongue, and now she wished she had kept her mouth shut. She didn’t want to share her innermost feelings with this man. She didn’t want to share anything with him.

He studied her for a moment and smiled sheepishly. “I’m truly sorry. I seem to have made a mistake. I should think before I speak.”

His apology did not soften her. “Yes, you should, and also before you hold someone up to ridicule with one of your speaking looks.”

The look she had intercepted between him and his cousin had festered into a raw sore. She’d surprised those looks on other faces before now. The crazy Claverleys were a laughingstock. They belonged with the freaks at the county fair.

His voice was controlled and cool. “Explain yourself, Miss Dearing.”

“I saw the look you gave Amanda when my aunt mentioned Angelo. It spoke volumes. If you knew my aunt’s character, you would treat her with more respect. She is a dear, sweet lady who never thinks ill of anyone.”

His voice chilled. “If you knew my character, Miss Dearing, you would know that no insult was intended.”

“I know as much of your character as I want to know. You’re the darling of society. You know how to dress a lady.” The sleepless hours she’d spent fretting after she had awakened from her dream made her more honest than wise. “You’re more at home in the
demimonde
than you are in polite society. Your only ambition is to chase women or squeeze as much pleasure from every novel experience that comes your way.” She fumbled for words, unsure of how she had entangled herself in this web. “There should be more to life than that.”

A deep chuckle made her tip up her chin. His head was to the side as he studied her. “So it
was
you I saw last night, spying on me out of the coach window.”

She gasped. “I did no such thing! You were making a spectacle of yourself in a public place. Can I help it if I saw you?”

He scratched his chin. “And you’ve summed up my character because of one careless kiss? You may be a writer, but you have a lot to learn about men, and a lot to learn about pleasure, in fact.”

That was a careless kiss? Her mind boggled at the thought of what a passionate kiss must be like, and she couldn’t help looking at his lips. When that mouth that was made for kissing turned up at the corners, she jerked her eyes up to meet his.

“I know as much about men,” she said, “as I need for my novels.”

“Of course. I should have remembered. Your heroes are accessories, aren’t they?”

When she didn’t reply, he edged closer. “If I’d praised your books at the symposium instead of pointing out a few obvious flaws, would you, I wonder, have taken me in such dislike? Or perhaps you don’t dislike me. Perhaps it’s yourself you’ve taken in dislike.” His eyes glinted with amusement. “You don’t fool me. There’s more to you than shows on the surface. There’s no shame in that. Put yourself in my hands, Eve, and I’ll teach you about pleasure. That’s what you really want, isn’t it?”

Her eyes went as round as saucers. “What did you say?” she asked hoarsely.

He frowned at the change in her. She seemed thoroughly confused. “It was only a game,” he said. “I’m not trying to seduce you. Word of honor.”

Gesturing to the table behind him, she said in a shaken voice, “Lady Sayers asked me to fetch the fans. Would you mind?”

He did not budge but stood with feet apart, studying her intently. “What is it, Eve?”

There was a step at the door. When Amanda entered, Eve took a quick step back. Ash cursed under his breath.

Amanda didn’t seem to notice the strained atmosphere. As she came up to Ash, she said, “Do you have your snuffbox with you?”

He replied with less than his usual grace, “I do. Why?”

Amanda’s eyes danced. “Grandmama is going to show us how to take snuff.” To Eve, she said, “I had no idea that my grandmother was such a dashing lady in her younger days. I think she must have been a flirt. She’s having the time of her life and she doesn’t want it to end. We’re all invited to join her for the opening of Vauxhall Gardens on Saturday.”

As Ash handed over the snuffbox, he gave Eve a searching look. She gathered up the fans but kept her eyes averted. She was still reeling from the words he’d used, the very same words he’d used in her dream.

Amanda went on merrily, “It’s a masquerade, and Grandmama and Lady Sayers between them have offered to lend every lady one of their treasured gowns. I’ve always fancied myself in hoops and panniers. Anyway, I’ve never seen such excitement. Grandmama and Lady Sayers are behaving like…well…schoolgirls.” To Eve, she added meaningfully, “And we’re missing all the fun.”

She and Eve walked to the door. Over her shoulder, Amanda said, “I almost forgot. Grandmama says you can go, Ash. Lady Sayers has promised to send us home in her own carriage.”

Eve dipped him a curtsy. “Good-bye, Lord Denison.” And that was all she said.

On the other side of the door, Amanda said, “What was that all about? When I entered the music room, I thought some deity had turned you both into statues.”

Eve hardly knew where to begin. Her mind was still buzzing; her feelings were still raw. She liked Amanda immensely, but they were not so close that she felt she could confide in her.

Amanda went on, “It’s about Miss Claverley, isn’t it? You caught the pained look on Ash’s face when she mentioned Angelo. Don’t be too hard on Ash. Did he mention our aunt Agatha?”

Eve shook her head.

“He’s very fond of her, but he has the typical male’s suspicion of what he calls ‘quackery and witchcraft.’ He may have a point with Aunt Agatha. She truly believes she can communicate with departed spirits and is forever holding séances at her house. Quite honestly, it’s creepy. Miss Claverley, on the other hand, is entertaining.” She shrugged her lovely shoulders. “I’m sure she doesn’t expect us to take her seriously.”

Oh, yes, she does,
Eve thought darkly while managing a weak smile.

They’d arrived at the door to Lady Sayers’s dressing room and could tell from the laughter and raised voices inside that the ladies were enjoying themselves immensely.

With her hand on the doorknob, Amanda said, “I hope you’ll forgive my cousin. I’m sure he meant well, but he is, after all, only a male.”

“Yes,” said Eve, “he’s only a male.”

Ash barely touched the fine dinner that was sent up from Grillon’s dining room. He sat at the table, drumming his fingers, contemplating the long evening that stretched ahead of him. Out of the score or so gilt-edged invitation cards that graced his mantelpiece, he’d selected five for his consideration. He’d already excused himself from the do his grandmother and Amanda were attending—another dinner party with Lady Valmede’s oldest and dearest friends.

All the same, he couldn’t muster a tepid interest in the invitations he’d selected, all of them from experienced women of the world. He wasn’t a cad. He never trifled with gently bred girls or with women who had marriage on their minds. So what in Hades did he think he was doing with Eve Dearing?

He flicked one gilt-edged card with his thumb. Sophie Villiers was a beautiful, passionate woman who never contradicted him. She tried too hard. He flicked another card. Letitia Sutcliffe was both beautiful and intelligent. She had no sense of humor. He flicked another. Barbara Hallet had only one subject of conversation—herself. And so it went on.

What was it about Eve Dearing that made her so memorable?

She’d brought him up short and made him think about where he was going and what he was doing. Well, two could play at that game. Her life, or lack of it, didn’t bear too close a scrutiny, either.

You’re more at home in the demimonde than you are in polite society.
She was off the mark there. He felt at home in both worlds, as did the overwhelming majority of his male acquaintances. That did not mean that they were libertines or lacked honor.

Your only ambition is to chase women.
Was she blind? Hadn’t she seen last night the struggle he’d put up to get away from Madame Felicité? A smile curled his lips. Of course, he hadn’t struggled too hard. That would have been ungentlemanly. Perhaps he should have told Eve that the house was a gaming club, but she would probably have lectured him on the vices attached to such dens of iniquity.

He sighed and reached for his wineglass. This was the third time in the space of two weeks that he’d been taken to task for lacking a worthwhile purpose in his life. He knew what was expected of him, and that was to put his house in order, marry some eligible girl, and produce the next crop of Denisons to secure the family name and title.

And that was supposed to give his life meaning?

The faintly cynical smile on his lips became more pronounced. He’d played that game once before. He and his brother had been pawns in their father’s ambitions. As a boy, he was groomed to fulfill his destiny, and he had never questioned it. Harry was the “spare,” but when it became evident that Harry would always be sickly and have the mind of a child, he’d been hidden away as though he were too grotesque for Polite Company. As for their mother, she’d feared her husband more than her sons did, but she’d found solace of sorts by dulling her pain with opium.

He couldn’t think of his mother or Harry without feeling that he’d let them both down. He’d been devastated when his mother died, but when Harry died, everything changed, or perhaps it was truer to say that
he
had changed. Would he ever forget his father’s words to him? It was a blessing in disguise. Harry was becoming too old to keep at home. Arrangements were already under way to have him committed to a suitable asylum. Providence had blessedly intervened and provided a way out of their dilemma.