Too Wicked to Wed (15 page)

Not, admitted Alexa, that warming the earl’s sheets would have proved an onerous task.

Suzy did not seem the least bit perturbed at discovering Alexa’s relationship to the Wolfhound. Indeed, she seemed genuinely amused by the connection. “How on earth did you ever convince Connor to give up a share of the Lair? I know him well enough to be sure he would never do it for money alone.”

“No, he wouldn’t. And he didn’t. I won it in a game of cards,” admitted Alexa. “Not from the earl himself. From his friend, Lord Haddan, who had temporary possession of…that is to say, it was all a rather egregious mistake.” A harried sigh escaped her lips. “I’m afraid it’s a rather complicated story. Much to Killingworth’s annoyance. He wishes me to the devil.”

“This is getting better and better!” Suzy settled herself on the sofa with an air of expectation. “Do go on.”

“There is not really that much more to tell.” Alexa was quick with the rest of the account, glossing over a good many of the details. In retrospect, she wasn’t overly proud of her actions.

Suzy, however, appeared genuinely impressed. “Dressed in breeches…beat the gentlemen at their own game…” she murmured to herself. “And knocked the teeth out of the Irish Wolfhound…”

Her ruminations were cut short by the appearance in the doorway of the Wolfhound in the flesh. Shaking droplets of rain from his coat, Connor stalked into the room.

With a cry of delight, Suzy bounced up and hurried to press a kiss upon his cheek. “Dear Connor, allow me to offer my heartfelt congratulations! It seems you have finally met your match.”

Chapter Thirteen

K
indly stubble the show of hilarity, Suzy. At the present time, I’m in no mood for it.” Wincing, Connor pulled away from his erstwhile employee’s embrace. “Dare I hope that your unexpected appearance here indicates Drew has learned something useful?”

“It is a good thing that I know your bark is a good deal worse than your bite. Otherwise I might feel hurt at such a snappish welcome for an old friend,” she replied.

“He has been even more ill-tempered than usual lately,” offered Alexa. “Though I suppose being shot in the ribs would tend to make anyone feel out of sorts.”

“
Shot?
” Fisting a hand on each hip, Suzy fixed him with an accusing glare. “It seems that your letter omitted quite a number of interesting details.”

Women! Had the Almighty put them on earth simply to plague his peace of mind?

Connor made a face. “I didn’t think it necessary to give any more than the bare-bones facts.”

“Even when those bones were in danger of shuffling off their mortal coil?”

“That danger is well past.” He had no intention of allowing Suzy to put him on the defensive. “The threat to the Lair is what is of paramount concern. I’m anxious to hear what you have discovered.”

“I had better let Drew explain,” replied his old friend. “He had to stop off at Goat Cove to pick up something from Spotted Dick. I expect him here shortly.”

“We are expecting more guests?” asked Alexa faintly.

“My husband,” explained Suzy brightly. “What fun! I hadn’t expected that we could make an intimate little a party of the visit.”

“Neither had I,” said his pretend wife.

Bloody hell
, swore Connor to himself.

“Please excuse me while I go upstairs and change into something more presentable.” Alexa was twisting a dusty mobcap in her hands—and by the look she shot him as she swept by, it was clear she would like to do the same to his neck.

He rubbed at his temples. The years of working in close proximity to a houseful of lightskirts should have given him an intimate understanding of feminine logic. But apparently he hadn’t a clue as to what made it tick.

No sane man could, he thought glumly. It wasn’t murderous assault, attack on her virtue, or threat to her reputation that had Alexa Hendrie upset, but the fact that she was wearing an unbecoming outfit when company called.

Still, as he watched the swish of her ill-fitting skirts, draggles of dust clinging to the trailing hems, he couldn’t help feeling an odd pinch of protectiveness override irritation. She was embarrassed, and she did not deserve to be.

“An extremely intriguing young lady.” Suzy waited until the door fell firmly shut. “But then, I expected no less of your choice of a partner.”

His teeth clenched. “The partnership—in every sense of the word—is purely temporary.”

“Is it? I wonder.”

“Well, don’t,” he said curtly.

“Who knows what lies in the cards?” she said, slipping a hand inside her reticule. To Connor’s annoyance, there came the faint sound of shuffling paper. “You have suffered a number of setbacks of late, but I have a feeling your luck may be about to turn.”

He scowled. “You might have had a real knack for playing
vingt-et-un
while at the Lair, but I don’t recall you having any experience with predicting the future from bits of colored pasteboard.”

“No?” She regarded him with an inscrutable expression. “Despite all warnings to the contrary, I predicted that you would be the sort of gentleman who would help a girl in need.”

“That was different,” he said gruffly. “Besides, I would hardly mention this particular lady in the same breath as ‘luck.’ She has proved to be anything but.”

“Who is she?”

How to answer?
A torment? A temptation? A wish for redemption?

“Lady Alexa Hendrie. And unlike the girls who work at The Wolf’s Lair, she doesn’t need me to offer any help. She has a family of her own. A highly respectable one. Her father is the Earl of Bushnell, her brother Viscount Becton—an old army comrade.”

“Perhaps it is
you
who need
her
.”

A sarcastic retort, the sort that had become second nature, somehow eluded his tongue. Turning away, Connor stalked to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of brandy.

“
Sláinte
,” he muttered in Gaelic, and then tossed it back in one swallow.

Suzy arched a brow. “You know, I wouldn’t blame your wife if she put another bullet into that ornery hide of yours.”

“She is
not
my wife,” growled Connor.

To his relief, Suzy was distracted from further retort by the sight of a horse and rider galloping up the drive. “Oh, look, here comes Drew.”

“The King of Hearts,” he muttered, the burn of the brandy helping him recover his usual cynicism. “Let us hope he is bringing aught than the King of Spades. I am dug into a deep enough hole as it is.”

No choice.

That was, unfortunately, the depressing truth about quite a few aspects of her life, thought Alexa.

Repressing a grimace, she fingered the lone garment in the armoire. In the haste to flee London she had come away with only the gown on her back—a shapeless indigo sack, chosen to hide any distinguishing feature during her midnight foray.

At least it was freshly laundered. What did it matter if it was hideously unfashionable? There was an old adage that one couldn’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.

And seeing as she was naught but a plain country miss with a rather loud oink…

Still, as Alexa lifted it from the peg, she could not help but wish the neckline were a little lower, the bodice a little snugger.

She was just tying off the last tapes when a tiny click from across the room caused her look up. In the dusky light, the cheval glass reflected only a blur of shadows. Then, as a figure moved out from the paneled doorway, the earl’s features became recognizable.

Lud, she had all but forgotten that her quarters were designed for the mistress of the house—and that they connected to the master’s bedchamber.

“You ought not be here, sir,” she said sharply. “It is most improper…to leave your friends alone.”

His lips curved upward as he approached, a wickedly sensuous smile that stirred a most improper heat between her thighs.

“Ah, but we don’t seem to do anything by the rules.” Before she could make a move, he reached up and brushed an errant curl from the nape of her neck. “Do we, Alexa?”

His touch sent shivers of fire racing down her spine. There ought to be very strict rules about how a young lady reacted to a rake’s touch.

Oh, but there are
, she reminded herself. Lots of them. However, as all rational thought seemed to have gone up in a swirl of smoke, she couldn’t seem to recall what they were.

“You will soon be rid of all these unruly distractions, sir,” whispered Alexa. “And your life will fall back in proper order.”

Not that her own existence would ever be quite the same again, she thought. He would quickly forget her and this unwanted interlude. While his lean, chiseled face and these unreasonable, unquenchable flares of longing that it ignited would remain indelibly imprinted on her memory.

On her body.

“Perhaps very soon,” she added. Was that why he was here? To tell her that she would be leaving as soon as she finished donning the one gown she could call her own. “Has Mrs. Chatsworth’s husband brought the news you have been waiting for?”

Connor shrugged but didn’t answer. His fingertips, which were still resting lightly on her skin, shifted to the open armoire door and began to trace over the garland of roses carved into the dark wood. “This was my mother’s room,” he murmured after a long moment, almost too softly for her to hear.

Feeling even more of an interloper in his world, she edged back abruptly. “You should have told me sooner, sir. I had not realized I was trespassing on cherished memories.”

His laugh had a splintered harshness to it. “The only cherished memory I have of Linsley Close is the day that I left it.” Leaving off his inspection, Connor clasped his hands behind his back.

Alexa hated seeing him like this.
Bleak, brooding.
Bristling and baring his teeth at anyone who dared to come too close. She was sure that the Wolfhound’s hide was not quite so tough as he wished for everyone to think. Including himself.

But how to reach the reclusive man beneath it?
Her clumsy approaches seemed only to draw snaps and snarls.

“I will move into one of the other rooms,” she said quickly.

“I didn’t come to chase you from your quarters,” replied Connor.

It took a moment for his words to sink in. Of course. The earl had no wish for her to rejoin the others. He was finally in the company of friends—dear friends, she thought with a pang of jealousy—and would prefer to enjoy the respite without her abrasive presence rubbing his nerves raw.

“I seem to be constantly in the wrong place at the wrong time. Saying or doing the wrong thing.” She assumed a note of cold detachment—at least she hoped she had. “Be assured I have no desire to tread on your toes, or embarrass you any further with this unfortunate charade. I shall stay here, well away from you and your guests.”

He frowned slightly. “You misunderstand me, Alexa. That’s not why I am here.”

Alexa.
Again, the intimacy of her name, stripped of any formal title, sent a slow, shivering tickle down her spine. On his tongue, it had a lushness, like a murmur through a mouthful of honey.

How sweet it would sound—if only it were real.

“Then why have you come?” she challenged.

“You appeared uncomfortable around our visitor.” His mouth quivered. “Having a modicum of experience with females, I have come to know how absurdly sensitive you all are about matters of dress.” He withdrew an oblong leather case from his pocket and snapped it open. “So I thought you might wish to wear these.”

Nestled on a layer of black velvet was a necklace. The design was exquisite in its simplicity, the luminous luster of a double strand of pearls highlighted by a teardrop sapphire pendant set in filigreed gold. It was flanked by matching ear bobs.

Dear God.
The air leached from her lungs.

“H-how lovely.” Recovering her breath, she looked up in consternation. “I don’t understand—wherever did you get them? And why are you offering them to me?”

“It’s on my account that you were forced to flee with naught but the clothes on your back. I felt beholden to make some amends for your present predicament.” Connor lifted the necklace from the case. “As for these, they belonged to my father’s mother, who passed them on to my mother as a wedding gift.” Entwined in his fingers, the sinuous spill of pearls lay coiled on his callused palm. “When she realized my father was selling every item of value to support his vices, she gave them to me for safekeeping.”

Alexa wished to say something.
But what?

He closed his fist. “I was only eight years old at the time, but as she had drunk a great deal of champagne before coming to my room, I suppose the irony of asking
me
for help did not occur to her. In any case, like every child, I had a secret hiding place for all my imagined treasures. I put them away, and forgot about their existence.” He expelled his breath. “Until now.”

“But, sir!” Alexa tried to protest as he undid the clasp and started to drape it around her neck. “You mustn’t…you shouldn’t…”

He paid no heed. “A Linsley countess should appear in Linsley family jewels.”

The pearls were like slivers of ice on her flesh. And then like tongues of fire.

“Don’t waste their sparkle on a pretender, sir.” Alexa lowered her lashes, fearing that the looking glass would reflect the fierce flash of longing in her eyes. “They should be saved for the real thing.”

“We have been playing at pretenses for so long that another night won’t make any difference,” replied Connor.

The daylight was dying. And with it, the will to keep up her guard. This was a game far beyond her skill, and Alexa suddenly felt powerless to pretend she was anything other than a very inexperienced young lady. Uncertain, confused, and no match for the quixotic contradictions of his character.

Her face wreathed in shadow, Alexa pressed a hand to her bejeweled throat. “I confess, sir, I hardly know how to go on. I feel…lost.”

“It is not always easy to find your way in the world,” he said softly. “You are not alone in sometimes feeling unsure of which way to turn.”

Was it merely her imagination, or did the last dappling of sun catch a glimmer of regret for paths not taken? “But a wolf…” stammered Alexa. “Surely a wolf always knows where he is going.”

“The pitfalls are there for all of us.”

“You are being kind,” she replied.

“No, simply truthful. Do not confuse the two, Alexa.” The edge in his voice was back. “You still must watch your step very carefully, else in this wicked world of prowling predators, you might end up being eaten alive.”

Confusion caught in her throat.

It didn’t help that Connor had moved close—so close that their bodies were only inches apart. The earthy, virile scent of his maleness was suddenly overpowering.

Intoxicating.

Still, she managed to whisper, “I’m not afraid of you, sir.”

“You should be, Alexa.”

His lips feathered against the nape of her neck. The touch was barely more than a whisper, and for an instant she wondered whether it was just her own wishful longing that sensed the light play of pressure tickling the sensitive skin.

Summoning her courage, Alexa turned to face him and lifted her eyes to meet his gaze. Oddly enough, the silvery color seemed to ripple, the scudding shadows reflecting her own uncertainty. Without thinking, she reached up and slowly traced the hard line of his jaw. The stubbling of whiskers rasped beneath her fingertip, darkly masculine against lightness of her own flesh.

“You should be afraid of me,” he growled.