The Trouble With Moonlight (3 page)

“Have you asked your mother to retrieve the watch for you?” The slight tilt of her lips suggested she thought he was a bit of an addlepate, which was his intention. He was sorely tempted to drop the pretense just so he’d stand taller in her eyes. Still, he needed to finish the game.

“She wouldn’t hear of it. Mrs. Farthington suggested I come to you.” The name had registered with her aunt, but only a hint of recognition showed in the faint separation of the niece’s enticing lips. She was competent at hiding her emotions. Thank the powers that be that the likes of Miss Havershaw would never be admitted to a gentleman’s club for the purposes of a card game. He’d lose his shirt. Of course, if he lost it to Miss Havershaw, that might not be the worst of experiences. “Mrs. Farthington mentioned that you had retrieved an item for her for which she is most grateful.”

“Yes, well, I would have preferred that Mrs. Farthington had not shared that information.” She narrowed her gaze, studying him with an air of skepticism. He concentrated on the teacup, hoping to avoid her scrutiny.

“Are you familiar with Lord Pembroke, Mr. Langtree?”

What the devil? His cup rattled on the saucer, as he lowered it to the table. His disguise must be failing! He delicately touched his napkin to his upper lip, just in case the steam from the tea had weakened the spirit gum.

“No. I’m afraid not.” He balled the napkin in his palm. “Of course, I expect to show my gratitude with a financial boon for the return of my watch.”

She studied him a moment longer, her distrust still lingering, then glanced at the tall parlor clock.

“How much of a boon, Mr. Langtree?” the aunt asked.

“Shall we say, twenty pounds?” Her eyes widened and he hastened to add before she questioned his generosity, “It is a very dear and rare watch.”

Judging from the state of their brougham and the parlor furnishings, it would be a difficult offer to decline. Besides, he hadn’t the social boon that the pair had extracted from Mrs. Farthington. The women exchanged a glance.

“Perhaps you should tell us more about this watch, Mr. Langtree,” the aunt interceded with a piqued interest. “Where do you suspect it to be?”

And so he did. Their tea finished and the bait set, he stood to take his leave. “When do you suppose I’ll see my dear watch again?”

He noticed the aunt’s eyes shift to the tall clock in the corner, while Miss Havershaw kept him firmly in her gaze.

“I imagine before the week is out,” the aunt said.

He nodded. “Good day, ladies.”

LUSINDA ATTEMPTED TO DISCRETELY PEER THROUGH THE draperies at Mr. Langtree once he had left the town house. There was something about the man. Something that just didn’t register as true. His clothes and mannerisms seemed at odds with the sharp glittering acuity in his eyes. There was something familiar about him as well, disturbingly familiar. The fine hairs at the base of her neck prickled.

“This has certainly turned into a profitable week.” Aunt Eugenia could hardly contain her excitement. “First, Mrs. Farthington and then Mr. Langtree, we shall have enough funds for the household expenses and a little extra to put aside for the winter.”

“Winter,” Lusinda grimaced, Aunt Eugenia’s euphemism for living on the street. Fighting starvation while avoiding detection, without a shelter to call home and hungry mouths to feed . . . Yes, she understood her aunt’s joy at avoiding that dire turn of circumstances. But still, there was something about that man . . .

She recalled his expression when she had first entered the room. Given his odd clothes and overabundance of facial hair, he was hardly what one would consider a handsome man. Yet, a delicious warmth had spread beneath her corset at his appreciative stare. Even now, at the memory, a strange fluttering pushed at her stays. Then he spoke, his voice soft and deep, like a childhood lullaby meant to seduce the listener to do one’s bidding . . .

“Lusinda? Are you listening to me, dear?”

Her aunt’s voice chased Mr. Langtree’s pleasant attributes from her thoughts. “I’m sorry, you were saying?”

“I was noting that you only have about two more nights of full-charge moonlight left. When do you propose to retrieve Mr. Langtree’s watch?”

She bit her lip. On one hand, the unsettling contradictions about Mr. Langtree’s person normally would cause her to dismiss the notion of retrieving his watch. No harm would be done. He would simply seek other means to recover the watch. The city teemed with the sort of disreputable person who would recover any item for a minor price. However, should she do that, she would miss the opportunity of seeing him and, more important, hearing his voice again. She would be denied the opportunity of unraveling the riddle of his disparities.

Then, of course, there was the lure of twenty pounds . . .

“Tonight,” Lusinda replied with a nod to her aunt. “Best to keep winter at bay.”

A WICKED EXHILARATION FILLED LUSINDA AS SHE walked the summer streets of London, bare-bottom naked. As long as the moon bathed her in its beams, she was invisible and free to do all the things a respectable woman only dreamed about. She could sashay up and wiggle her arse in the face of the ton, and they would be none the wiser.

Recently she had even slipped inside the Velvet Slipper bawdy house to satisfy her curiosity. It was a bold adventure given the crowded rooms and needed dexterity to avoid accidental discovery. That excursion had left her with more questions than when she had entered, but she had no time to dwell on that tonight. No time for mischief this evening. She had a job to do and twenty pounds to collect.

The house stood behind a high brick wall with an ornate iron fence. She smiled. Locks on iron gates were notoriously easy to pick. There’d be no need to attempt to scale a brick wall or a prickly fence in the all-together. A couple of foppish dandies strolled down the sidewalk, so she quickly pressed against the cold iron to avoid being accidentally touched. After so many years of avoiding detection, such actions had become second nature. Again she waited as a carriage ambled down the street. One of the wheels slipped in and out of a road rut, jostling the carriage inhabitants. Once the street had quieted again, she easily picked the gate’s lock and slipped inside.

Whoever lived here liked their privacy, she thought, closing the gate silently on its hinges. She turned and glanced at the stylish Georgian architecture hidden behind the walls and amended that observation. They obviously liked their money as well.

She quickly discovered several open windows on the first floor. Jupiter, some houses just begged to be trespassed. She pulled herself over the sill and slipped into the dark and silent interior of a salon. A clock somewhere to her right softly ticked the passing minutes. Mr. Langtree had suggested the watch would most likely be in the library at the rear of the house, so Lusinda quietly left the room and padded down the hallway in that direction.

The pocket watch wasn’t difficult to find. In fact, the moment she opened the door to the library, a glint of moonlight flashed on the engraved gold where it rested on the desk. The lid was open, as if someone had just checked the hour, but the desk chair was empty and no light other than that from a single window behind the desk illuminated the room. Her sense of smell never worked quite as well when she was in full-phase, but she recognized the scent of candle wax, peat, and something else. Something familiar, but out of place . . .

She hesitated, caution suggesting she turn and flee. Still, the watch beckoned so close at hand . . . She only need grab it and go. She glanced quickly about the room, not able to see deep into the shadowy corners. The current owner was probably asleep in his bed, unaware that a stranger had penetrated his domicile.

She stepped over to the desk, picked up the watch, and gently closed the lid. However, before she could take two steps toward the door, something fell from the ceiling wrapping her in thick heavy ropes. A trap! Panicked, she dropped the watch and ran, but her legs entangled in the foul-smelling webbing. She lost her balance and fell to the carpet.

Her worst fears realized, she fought the knotted ropes pressing into her tender skin. She choked back a cry, pulling at the heavy threads, seeking an end to the encompassing snare.

A match struck and yellowish light filled the room. “I hadn’t expected you quite so soon, but I’m glad you came tonight. ”

She gasped, recognizing the low, mesmerizing voice. “Mr. Langtree?”

Her gaze swept the freshly illuminated corner. He had exchanged the unfashionable tweeds for more appropriate evening attire, the bushy mustache and eyebrows had disappeared, as well as the thickness cluttering up his middle. But the eyes, those intelligent assessing eyes, those were the same. His lips, now free of the burdensome mustache, lifted in a superior sneer.

Her initial fear hardened to anger. The devious son-of-a -cur! Once she escaped from this stinking fishnet, she would cause havoc on his person every moonlit night for the rest of his life. She jerked the biting ropes out from under her and tried to slide beneath them to the side.

Surprised, James glanced quickly around the room. He heard her voice, but where could she be hiding? And how did she control this writhing unnatural entity trapped by the ropes? “Miss Havershaw?”

He advanced into the center of the room, searching the areas that still clung to shadows. “You can come out now.”

The net undulated with the shifting form beneath. Amazing! He could see straight through the wave of movement clear to the other side. “How do you do it?” he asked, his awe evident even to his own ear. “There’s no thread or wire. I can’t see a thing even in the light.”

There was no answer, no reply, but the bulge in the net slowly rolled toward the side, approaching eminent escape. Without hesitation, he sprawled on the wave, overpowering it with the weight of his body. “We’ll have none of that,” he said, feeling it struggle beneath him. “Not until my questions are answered.”

Lord, that sweet exotic scent fairly surrounded him, overpowering even the rancid scent of the ropes. Miss Havershaw must be near. He grasped one of the smaller ripples and discovered something that felt a bit like bone.

“Get off of me, you lying, deceitful blackguard!”

The hot breath of her curses burned his neck, bringing with it the realization that Miss Havershaw did not control the creature, she
was
the creature. The delicious discovery both stunned and thrilled.

She thrashed beneath him, not an entirely unpleasant sensation. Arousing thoughts of this she cat similarly trapped in his bed caused him to momentarily forget the purpose of the encounter. However, a rope knot pressing into his increasingly sensitive groin brought him round.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Miss Havershaw.” He moved his hand to the spot he approximated to be her shoulder. Instead of a fabric-bound collarbone, his fingers pressed into a soft warm mound with a fleshy peak that extended between the ropes.

She gasped and instantly stilled. All his senses tuned to the fingertips that circled and explored the pebbling peak. His groin tightened, not needing to see what his fingers instantly recognized.

“Take your hand off my breast, Mr. Langtree.”

“You’re naked,” he said, his body responding with acute awareness and tantalizing pressure. Common sense whispered that he should withdraw his hand, but sense, common or not, abandoned him. Her lungs expanded against his chest as she gulped for air, driving the enticing nub deeper into his palm. Her position suggested her hips—naked hips—would be perfectly situated for penetration. His hardening manhood signaled it was up for the task. Sweet heavens, if only he could see her to tell if desire swept through her features the same way it played havoc with his. If only . . .

A quick blow to his privates ended all thought. He groaned and rolled to the side, curled in a ball like a babe.

Lusinda was somewhat surprised at the effectiveness of her instinctive knee jab. However, once relieved of the weight of his body, she easily crawled out of the cumbersome net.

Free of his fiendish trap, she looked back at the motionless Mr. Langtree. A vague sense of remorse tugged at her heart. She couldn’t recall ever having purposefully injured another before. Though instinctively wanting to flee, she hesitated.

“Will you be all right?” No answer. “Mr. Langtree?” Still silence. She bit her lip, not wanting to leave him alone if he needed a doctor’s attention. She took a step toward his back curled like a protective shell.

“I’m leaving now,” she said. Of course, he wouldn’t know if she was leaving or not. She was careful not to make a sound as she crept closer, avoiding the rope webbing. She had bent over his head, just to make sure he was still breathing, when his arm lashed backward and grabbed her ankle. She cried out as she fell. He let go of his hold, but it was too late. She had lost her balance and crashed on top of the Persian carpet. He crawled along side of her while she gulped for breath.

“Miss Havershaw, may we call a truce? Truly, I have no wish to harm you. I hadn’t anticipated . . .” He pulled himself to his knees and removed his jacket. He held it out to her. “Take it, please. Even though I can not see you, I can understand that you might feel a certain disadvantage.”

“If I wear your jacket, I shall lose my only advantage. You’ll be able to see my location.” She struggled to slow her breathing, assuming that was how he knew precisely where to offer the garment. For the love of Jupiter, she should have run out the door when she’d had the opportunity.

His eyes crinkled and a smile teased his lips. A pair of most handsome lips, she noted, now that they were free of the mustache. “I assure you,” he said, still a bit breathless, “I could find you even without clothing.”

“Impossible.” She’d gone unnoticed too many times to believe anyone would have that ability. She pulled herself to her feet. He did the same, though he hunched a bit with his hands on his thighs. The bottom of the offered jacket puddled on the floor by his feet.