Too Wicked to Marry (28 page)

"I come from a large family, my lord. There's many a rogue dangling on my family tree."

That comment reminded Martin of many more things he wanted to learn about Harriet MacLeod. He wanted to know about her family, and her place in it, and why she'd chosen the path that led her to knock on the door of his Italian villa in the exact instant he needed her cool head and helping hands. He
must
be a rogue, he thought, because if he were to listen to his own advice, he would let the woman go and forget they'd ever crossed paths. Anything else was too tangled, complicated, and… "Fascinating." He breathed the word like a prayer, remembering the dreadful ennui that settled over him when they were apart.

"What?" she asked, tilting her head curiously at his odd remark.

"Being with you is never boring, I'll grant you that."

Word of their approach raced before them, as did the tale of their kissing on the stairs. The company was already primed for their entrance. Harriet knew all eyes were on them when they appeared in the doorway of the crowded reception room, but she could not manage to take her eyes off Martin. If it looked to the crowd that she gazed upon him with rapt worship and heated need… well, sometimes what she truly felt showed raw and open and real. This time Harriet wasn't sure if she could bottle it up again.

Which didn't mean she wasn't still angry with him.

She could almost see the sensual glow surrounding them as they moved into the room. If the masculine eyes were turned to her, then all female gazes settled on the self-assured, deeply masculine figure of Martin Kestrel. There was a fluttering of fans and eyelashes, and bright, enticing smiles turned his way. Harriet almost wished the man wasn't so blasted handsome, but tonight it had its uses.

As they reached the center of the crowded room, they shared a glance and then parted without a word, working like a pair of agents who had been partners for years. Martin spun into the orbit of the obsequious and hearty Sir Anthony, who clapped him on the back and announced loudly, "Well done, my lord! Well done, indeed!"

Harriet allowed her arm to be taken by a balding man in a red and yellow striped vest. She checked his lapels while he made some jocular comment, and moved on as soon as she saw that he wore no lily on his coat. She proceeded to make her way through the crowd, drawing attention to herself with flirtatious laughs, sultry smiles, suggestive comments, and the liquid, languid, tempting movements of a woman who loved to make love.

Tonight's entertainment called for dancing and gaming, with a buffet meal to be served at midnight. Doors had been thrown open between the reception room, dining room, gaming room, and terrace, creating an open and airy setting for the crowd to circulate through. There was altogether too much crystal and gilt and red velvet for Harriet's simple tastes, but the gaudy surroundings had a certain decadent magnificence. Massive arrangements of hothouse flowers in huge gold and silver vases decorated every table, lending even brighter color, and their sweet scent perfumed the air. The women were dressed as brightly as butterflies, and equally beautiful. Every now and then she caught a glimpse of Christopher moving with agile grace among the crowd. His flamboyant dark reddish-brown hair was combed neatly back off his forehead, his formal clothes nondescript. He knew how to make himself inconspicuous, and she did her best to help cover him.

After what seemed like forever of dancing, smiling, and permitting a certain amount of discreet groping, she caught her brother's eye one more time. This time he nodded, and the merest tilt of his chin aimed her gaze in the direction of a rotund man standing in the doorway between the gaming and reception rooms. When the man moved toward the terrace, Christopher followed discreetly.

"Ah," she said. They had their man; now it remained to see who else would approach him. Her impulse was to grab Martin and follow her brother with him, but she stayed where she was for now. She couldn't stop from turning a triumphant smile Martin's way, though.

So the quarry is spotted at last
, Martin thought. He knew even before Harriet turned his way. One moment he was watching a coquette charming a roomful of jaded roues, then, from one heartbeat to the next, he saw her sensual pose change to one of alert, focused attention. While the dark, erotic beauty dressed in peacock finery fascinated his senses and stirred his loins, the woman who turned to him to share her moment of triumph caught his heart.

The end of the chase was near. He smiled in return, happy for her. Inwardly he mourned, though he knew national security and a young man's safety hung in the balance. The bargain was fulfilled; his liaison with Harriet was at an end. So soon? He felt cheated, for he had not made love to her anywhere near enough. She would disappear into her strange, shadowy world—and apparently the loving bosom of her family. He'd be left—with strangers in his bed.

Wasn't that what she was?

Perhaps, but it hadn't felt that way.

It struck him like a bolt of lightning that he could not bear the thought of her ever being touched by any man but himself. He wanted her, body and soul. For days now her masks had been stripped away one by one, and beneath them was no stranger. He'd kept telling himself she was, but that was his wounded pride trying to put all the blame on her for making a fool of him. The woman he'd punished was guilty of no more than protecting him, even saving his life. He was the one who'd wronged her, cursed her, and treated her like a whore. He wanted a chance to hold her, cherish her, protect her, make endless passionate love to her. He didn't know what he could do to gain her forgiveness, to gain her love. He didn't know how to start, and doubted he'd be given the time to try.

His frustration ate at him so hard he mouthed a quiet curse.

He did not think anyone heard, but discovered his mistake when Lady Ellen put a hand on his arm and said, "You're such a moody fellow, I don't know why I'm drawn to you." Before he could react to the impulse to shake her off, she glanced across the room, and a smile played across her lips at the sight of Harriet.

"She's playing you for a fool, my lord. First the American, now every man at Strake House seems to be her prey."

"Play fair, my sweet," Sir Anthony said as he turned from another conversation at the sound of Lady Ellen's voice. "With the exception of intervals hanging on Lord Martin, you've been circulating constantly since you arrived. I'd hoped to have time with you myself when you put in a surprise appearance, but no!" He waggled a finger beneath her pretty, pert nose. "You've led me a merry chase, insisting on meeting every new gentleman the moment he arrived."

"But I haven't taken a fancy to anyone but Lord Martin," she replied. "There are a few people I must meet yet tonight, though," she added, patting Martin's arm as she whirled away from him. "Leave your pretty pet in Sir Anthony's care, Martin," she advised before moving toward the gaming room. "Then come visit me at Hancombe next week. I promise you a lovely time."

"Perhaps I will, my dear," Martin called after her. It was a politeness with no meaning. The thought of any woman but Harriet in his bed left a taste of ashes in his mouth. Even worse, the thought of trying to hold a decent conversation with anyone but the quick-witted, tart, and complicated Miss MacLeod was impossible to imagine.

"Interesting woman, Lady Ellen," Sir Anthony commented when she was gone.

"I find her… pallid," was the most polite description Martin could find, when he actually meant that he found her deadly dull.

Sir Anthony chortled. "You've obviously never had her between the sheets. I meant interesting in that she's never been so flighty before. At first she refused my invitation, because she wanted to meet you at the Hazlemoors' party. She informed me that you were the best catch in Britain and she intended to wed you. When she did show up here I assumed that she was so besotted with you that she followed you to become your mistress, for she knows you're not the sort to marry the kind of woman who is on a first-name basis with a man of my reputation. I know I'm looked down on in the clubs and in correct society. If respectable folk occasionally find their way to my country house, and never discuss what goes on here, well, then, the services I provide are tolerated."

Martin was not interested in Strake's whining about being a barely tolerated pimp for the rich and powerful, but he
was
suddenly interested in Lady Ellen's presence at Strake House. "You think Lady Ellen followed me here?"

"So I thought at first," Sir Anthony replied. "But she hasn't put much time into pursuing you. I don't think she expected to see you here."

"She was surprised to see me," Martin agreed. The look on Lady Ellen's face when they met could not have been the wiles of a superb actress; not even Harriet was that good.

"I get the impression she's both besotted with you and distracted by so many men to chose from," Strake went on. "I'd be happy if she'd settle on me, but she's been going from man to man like a bee from flower to flower, not staying long enough to pollinate anyone."

"Looking for something." Martin rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. He remembered how he'd scoffed when Harriet told him that women made excellent spies since no one paid them any mind. Or easily mistook a search for a courier as a hunt for a lover? Lady Ellen wanted him, Martin was sure of that, but she'd invited him to her home next week, not offered to take him to her bed tonight. She could no more afford to let desire rule her tonight than Harriet, could she? "You think Lady Ellen is looking for someone specific?"

"People come and go all the time at my gatherings," Sir Anthony replied. "No doubt the man for her will show up eventually if she waits long enough."

"Yes," Martin said. "I'm sure. Excuse me, Sir Anthony." Lady Ellen was making her way from one group of people to the next, heading for the doors to the terrace. He did not see Harriet's brother in the room. Never mind MacLeod, Harriet's back was to him and he could see the alert tension in her still form, an elegant sighthound straining to be let off the leash now that the game was identified. She was surrounded by avid admirers. The eagerness of so many hungry males set Martin's teeth on edge. He went to retrieve his beauty from the company of beasts.

"Come out on to the garden with me," he said, taking her by the arm and leading her away. "There's some statuary I want you to see."

Harriet could have kissed him then and there for this timely exit. She waited until they were outside before she pulled him into the shadows beyond the golden light that flooded from the doorway and kissed him there. An hour or two ago she still had been angry enough to think she never wanted to touch him again, but now she realized that this was the last chance she'd ever have, and took full advantage of it.

Martin's arms came around her and his mouth clung to hers with hunger that matched her own. Her hands traced the strong muscles of his back and combed once more through his thick black hair. She breathed in his scent, drew in his warmth, and memorized every nuance of being held by him. It was both bitter and sweet, and it could not last.

Their lips still touched when she sighed. He understood, and moved away. "I've mussed your hair," she said, trying to get her emotions under control.

"And ruffled all my feathers besides," he added with a dimpled smile. He stayed close to her, but he put his hands behind his back. "What now?" he whispered.

Harriet peered past his wide shoulders to have a look around the terrace. Neither Christopher nor the courier was anywhere within sight. "The garden," she answered. "Everyone rendezvous in the garden." He nodded, and went to take her by the hand. Harriet shook her head. "I want to make sure no one is following me. If we can set a trap, so can our opponents. I doubt anyone suspects that our side has found out the rendezvous point, or knows anything about me, but better safe than sorry. If you could wait here for a few minutes and make sure no one follows me into the garden, I'd appreciate it."

He frowned and flicked a finger against her cheek. "You're a suspicious one, but since you ask so nicely, I'll wait and watch. But not too long," he added.

"Thank you." She placed a quick kiss on Martin's cheek, then lifted her heavy skirts and hurried down the marble terrace stairs. Though she hated to retrace her steps through the woods, she knew where she would go if she wanted to meet someone in a very private place. No light came from the grove on the other side of the trees tonight. Perhaps it was too early for an orgy, or perhaps a bacchanal was not a nightly occurrence. What mattered was reaching the grove without being observed. So Harriet bid adieu to the perfection of her lovely gown and stepped off the path to pick her way quietly through the woods, though this route took longer.

She might as well have not bothered with caution, for the grove was empty when she reached it. Or so she thought, until she discerned a deeper lump of shadow in the darkness beneath the trunk of an ancient oak. She moved cautiously, until the lump moaned.

Harriet rushed forward and fell to her knees, helping the man on the ground to sit up. "Oh, Kit," she complained. "What have you done?"

Her brother moaned again and put a hand on his head. After a few seconds he took a deep breath and said, "You could ask if the wound's mortal."

"What happened?" she demanded instead. Her fingers probed gently at the lump on her brother's head while she questioned him. "Who attacked you? Did you find out about Michael? Did you completely destroy all our covers? How many fingers?" she added, holding her hand up before his face.

"It's dark, Harry. Three. No, two. Lord, but I'm dizzy. Ouch! Stop poking me."

"I'm trying to see how you are."

"I'll live. Help me up." When she did he swayed dizzily and leaned on her while he said, "There were two agents, one to make contact, one to keep watch. Thought I'd eluded the second, but no such luck. Came from behind and knocked me on the head. Lucky he didn't finish me off. They didn't suspect me. I remember the first one said I probably came here to meet Kestrel's lover. The courier was skittish, they had to keep him from running off, so they left me alone. Tried to get up, then I passed out."