Too Wicked to Wed (23 page)

Gryff blinked. “You mean…breaking and entering?”

A pained expression crossed Cameron’s face. “My dear fellow, I am never, ever so clumsy as to
break
anything. The art of a successful sortie hinges on the ability to leave no trace of your having been there.”

“Sounds jolly intriguing,” responded Gryff. “Perhaps you could use a hand?”

“Have you any experience in wielding a set of picklocks?” asked Cameron. “Or aligning the tumblers of a wall safe?”

Gryff shook his head.

“How about navigating the pitch of a slate roof in the dead of night. Or stringing an escape rope between buildings?”

“Well, er…”

A slight clucking sound left no more to be said. “Unlike the patrons of The Wolf’s Lair, I make it a point to be in and out as quickly as possible.”

“Might we get back to the subject of entering a town house?” muttered Connor. “Are you sure you don’t mind risking…”

“Pfffph.” Cameron tugged at his cuff. “There’s no risk at all in something as simple as this. Now if you were to ask me something halfway challenging, like removing Prinny’s—”

“I am not sure I care to know the full range of your capabilities.” Slapping a scrap of paper on table, Connor scribbled a few lines and passed it over. “That is the location of the place. It is my turn to take the eight-to-midnight watch tonight. Meet me at quarter past the hour at the Crowing Cock on St. Alban’s Lane.”

“That should afford enough time to get the job done.” Cameron tucked the note away. “By the by, what does Lady K think of how the investigation is progressing?”

“I have not told her any of the details. Nor do I intend to,” said Connor curtly. “I mean to keep her well distanced from any danger.”

“You don’t feel that leaving her in the dark is dangerous?”

Connor felt himself bristle. “Damn it, man. I am capable of keeping Alexa from harm.”

Cameron arched his brows. “In my experience, females often have a mind of their own when it comes to this sort of thing. They do not always take kindly to being ordered away from the action and come up with their own alternatives. Some of which might very well turn your hair from gray to white.”

“Trust me, in my line of business I, too, have learned never to underestimate the wiles of a woman,” assured Connor.

“Forgive me for pointing it out, but your judgment has not proved infallible of late.”

Connor’s chair hit the floor with an emphatic thud. “I shall take care not to make any more mistakes.” Turning to Gryff, he snarled, “If we are done talking, perhaps you would be so good as to take a stroll through the ale houses along the Strand. It would be useful if we could catch a glimpse of DeWinter’s three companions.”

His two friends turned and left the room together, leaving the earl to make his own way out.

“
What?
” Limbs weary, temper frayed from the fruitless search, Connor could not keep his voice from rising. He had come home for a quick supper, hoping to avoid any discussion about the investigation. But Alexa had a mind of her own about the matter.

Her chin rose. “There is no need to shout at me. I am simply trying to be methodical in looking at the problem. After making a preliminary inquiry, I thought to—”

“Bloody hell! For once, will you do as I say and stop meddling in my business? It is not your concern.”

“
You
are my concern,” she countered. “At this point, I should think that would be obvious.”

“I don’t need—or want—your help in this.”

She recoiled as if struck. “So you wish to be partners only when the urge moves you?”

The barb hit a raw nerve. Connor heard the growing anger in her voice but was too furious to care. “Don’t twist the meaning of my words!”

“Why not?” she said hotly. “You don’t hesitate to manipulate things to your advantage whenever it suits you.”

Something inside him snapped.

He was upon her in two quick strides, his palms coming up to trap her face. “That’s right, I am a ruthless reprobate used to handling things exactly as I please. Don’t pretend to find that surprising. I made my character abundantly clear to you during our first encounter, when I forced you up against the wall and shoved my tongue in your mouth.”

“I slapped you at the time for your overbearing arrogance.” Her hands clenched. “And at this moment, I am itching to do it again. I will not tolerate being treated as a toy.”

He seized her wrists before she could make good on her threat. The bare flesh felt scorching beneath his fingers. “Then don’t keep seeking to play at a man’s game, Alexa! You ought to have learned by now how high the stakes can run, and how quickly it can turn dangerous.”

She struggled but Connor tightened his hold. He, too, was a prisoner, gripped by a need he felt powerless to combat. “Escape is impossible. You will only hurt yourself in trying.”

Alexa suddenly went very still. “Is this another lesson?”

“God knows, it was not planned as such,” he growled, aware that heat crackling through his limbs was now taking on a decidedly different fire. “Though there is a fine edge between anger and arousal.” One that was now dangerously close to slicing through the last shreds of his self-control.

“I think I am fast discovering that for myself.” Her mouth, which only a heartbeat ago had been twisted in righteous fury, now pursed to a rueful grimace. “The question is, how does it resolve itself.”

“Striking out is one way.” His lips feathered against hers. “But seeing as that is not an option at present, you will have to resort to other extremes.”

“Y-you are not playing fair,” whispered Alexa.

“Life is rarely fair.”

Whispering an oath that ghosted into a sigh, she drew him into a deep kiss. The inside of her mouth was velvety smooth, like the skin of a ripe peach. She tasted of freshness, of sunlight.
Simple pleasures, long forgotten.
The fight drained out of him as he surrendered to her sweetness.

Hearing him groan, she slipped a hand inside his shirt, threading a caress through the coarse curls.

God Almighty, it was his wife who was not playing fair.

Was she aware of the power she now wielded over him? With a wordless sound—half curse, half cry—Connor dragged his lips down the arch of her throat. Her lace fichu gave way to a ragged tug, then his mouth closed hungrily over her breast. The dampened muslin clung to her softly rounded flesh as he teased her nipple to arousal.

Fire speared through his body, and his hands tangled in the tapes of her gown before Connor managed to get hold of himself.

“Alexa,” he rasped, forcing himself to a semblance of sanity. “Listen to reason.”

“I can’t.” She crooked a tentative smile. “My heart is speaking too loudly to hear anything else.”

He didn’t dare pay attention to the thudding in his own chest. “In the heat of the moment, don’t misinterpret physical—”

“Lust?” Her hands clenched on his coat. “You think all that connects us is the flare of desire and a bit of enflamed flesh?”

Connor closed his eyes, not knowing what to say. How to admit that his existence had grown so intertwined with hers that he could no longer separate the two? The realization was still inexpressibly confusing.

“Damnation, Connor Linsley—I love you!”

She loved him.

A wave of hope crested in his chest, followed by a vortex of desperate fear.
What if he somehow failed her?
He had been on his own for so very long, and the dangers were now so very different.

“I…” Had he ever said the words? It was so long ago that he couldn’t remember. Elusive shadows—they swirled beneath the surface of his memory, caught in cross-currents that kept them just out of reach.

Pulling away from her embrace, Connor brushed a kiss across her knuckles before letting go of her hand.

“I…must go out.”

Alexa flinched as if struck. “Look at me, Connor. I open myself to you. I let you inside me, and you—you keep me at bay.”

“Perhaps an old dog is not capable of learning new tricks.” Avoiding her eyes, he moved for the door.

The breath caught in her throat, but she made no effort to release it until his hand touched the latch. Even then, the sound was so soft he wondered whether he was only imagining the words.

“You may turn tail and run from me now. But some day I shall make you say it too.”

Connor wasn’t sure whether the prospect made him want to laugh or to cry.

Chapter Twenty-two

T
his just arrived for you, madam.” The footman placed a small tray upon the desk, a letter centered squarely on its surface.

Alexa eyed the missive as though it were a serpent coiled on the polished silver. That word should come from her brother was inevitable, she reminded herself, but that did not make her any more eager to read his reaction.

With the tip of a pen, she drew the paper closer, quelling the urge to shove it unopened into one of the drawers. At least he had kept his venom to a minimum—there appeared to be just a single sheet, and a small one at that. No doubt he was waiting until he arrived in person to sink his fangs into Connor.

Oh, what a tangle she had made of the Wolfhound’s life.

And her own.

Her fingers sought the twist of wool she had brought back from the earl’s estate. But rather than offer any comfort, its silky softness was a harsh reminder that of late, goats were the only creatures whom she had not rubbed the wrong way.

Repressing a sniff, Alexa looked back down at her notebook and slowly thumbed through the sketches she had been working on. Somehow, she could render the ideas for bold new architectural and agrarian innovations in a sure hand, the details drawn in with unerring precision. She knew where each element fit in and how it worked.

But when it came to designing her personal life, her imagination seemed to run amuck.

She paused at a blank page, wishing she could draw in an ordered outline. Instead, her pen had a mind of its own, scratching a random pattern across the paper. It took her a moment or two to realize the doodle was taking shape as a wolf’s head. With several quick strokes, she altered the jawline, softened the nose, and added a pair of eyes crowned by a sweep of windblown hair. Still, it bore only faint, mocking resemblance to Connor. She had failed to add any real life to the dribbles of ink. The essence of the man remained elusive.

Snapping the cover shut, Alexa forced herself to set aside the reminders of Linsley Close and face up to the present predicament. She took up the letter opener…only to feel a stab of relief. It was not her brother’s slashing script that confronted her, but an altogether unfamiliar handwriting. Curious, she quickly broke the seal.

The message was succinct, the directions clear. And yet, she took care to read it over several times before setting the sheet down. On her own, she had been having no luck in trying to shuffle the random clues into any meaningful order. But now, fortune appeared to have dealt her a fresh hand. If she played her cards right, with a bold…

Drawing a deep breath, Alexa refolded the letter.
Duty versus desire.
Connor’s own words echoed in her head. For once she would consider the consequences of acting on impulse. Especially as a glance at the clock showed there was time to be true to both her head and her heart.

“No sign of a bloody soul.” Splinters scraped against iron. “Mebbe the poxy cove got wind he was being watched and found hisself another bolt hole,” grumbled the smuggler as he edged out from his hiding place among the broken barrels.

Connor kicked away the butt of a cheroot and an empty brandy bottle. “From the look of things, a regiment of Foot Guards could have marched down the stairs and you wouldn’t have noticed.”

“I swear on me mother’s grave, Wolf, I didn’t take an eye off the place!”

“Mother?” He slipped into the sliver of space, his temper not improved by the sight of his boots sinking up to the ankles in ooze. “I always assumed you crawled out of a barnacle.”

Spotted Dick gave a wheeze of laughter. “Well yer guess is as good as mine. Never knew neither of me parents—though mebbe they be clinging to the bottom of ’Arry’s boat.”

“Stow the chatter and shove off.” Wedging his shoulders against the grimy brick, Connor turned up his collar. “And try to keep Harry sober enough to relieve me at midnight.”

“Aye, aye, sir. Ye ain’t got nuffink te worry about.”

As the smuggler’s reply floated off in the fog and mizzle, he tried to settle in. But the memory of Alexa’s words was still burning in his brain, and the lingering imprint of her body was still hot on his flesh. Even more uncomfortable was the prospect of the bleak hours ahead, stuck with naught but his own thoughts for company.

Cold cheer, indeed.

A crick was already starting to take hold in the back of his neck. The day had been a nightmare. And the way things were going, the evening did not promise to get any better.

“Mary?” called Alexa.

The only answer was a feral scrabbling in the rotting garbage.

“Mary McPhee?” Fog swirled, blurring the words to an indistinct echo. Though her misgivings were mounting, Alexa took another tentative step into the alleyway.
Had she made a mistake?
The directions had seemed clear enough, but once she had stepped down from the hired hackney to continue on foot, there was a chance she had taken a wrong turn.

Despite the thickness of her cloak, she felt a chill steal up her spine. Circumstances had forced her to move more quickly than she would have liked. The note from Mrs. Weatherly had offered a golden opportunity. The widow had made a few discreet inquiries and learned that one of Sir Gervaise’s maids was willing to talk. But the girl was frightened, and fleeing Town. The meeting would have to take place that very night, in a secluded spot in Seven Dials.

Or not at all.

True to her promise, Alexa had sent word to Cameron, informing him of the sudden turn of events. But the messenger had come back with news that her husband’s friend was not at home. Nor had Connor returned from wherever he had run off to. Her mouth quirked at the irony of it. She had wished to err on the side of caution, yet when push came to shove…

Alexa had waited until the last minute before slipping out the side entrance of townhouse. As a salve to her conscience, she had dispatched another servant to Cameron’s residence, this one carrying the letter from Mrs. Weatherly and a scribbled note explaining her own actions. At least she had done her best to adhere to the spirit, if not the letter, of her pledge.

Somewhere close by, a hinge rasped, its rusty groan startling her into falling back a step.

A last call, decided Alexa as she stopped to catch her breath. Then she would backtrack and seek to regain her bearings.

“Mary!”

This time, a wink of light appeared in answer. For an instant it took shape as a lantern, the weak glow illuminating a shrouded figure before dissolving back into the darkness.

“This way! Quickly!” A brief flicker reappeared, pointing out a jagged gap in the row of rookeries.

Without stopping to think, Alexa plunged in between the splintered boards, following the hurried slap of steps. The way was narrow, and as it twisted left and then right, she was forced to turn sideways to squeeze through the space. Blackness shrouded her movements, and the surrounding stench leached the air from her lungs.

She stumbled to a halt, and must have given voice to her dismay, for from up ahead came a call of encouragement.

“It’s just a little farther, then it’s safe to talk. Mind your head as you round the last turn.”

Feeling her way along the wall, Alexa inched forward. Cobwebs caught in her hair. Broken glass cracked under her feet. An overhanging beam forced her to bend low. Finally, the scrape of a flint lit a spark and she exhaled a sigh of relief.

“Where—”

As the cudgel came down on her skull, Alexa heard a trill of laughter before sinking back into oblivion.

The drumming in his left ear was becoming more insistent. Roused from his melancholy musings, Connor turned sharply, his hand instinctively going for the knife concealed in his boot.

“Having sweet dreams?”

“Sod off, Cam.” He straightened his leg. “Have I ever told you what an extremely irritating prick you can be?”

“I can think of one or two occasions.”

“I’ll have you know I wasn’t napping,” added Connor. “I was…thinking.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Then perhaps you will have an idea on what to do about this.”

Connor felt a crackle of apprehension as his friend unfolded some papers. “I stopped by my townhouse to pick up a few essentials for the job, and found these waiting for me,” recounted Cameron. “What do you know of a Mrs. Weatherly?”

“Nothing. Never heard of the lady,” he replied. “Why do you ask?”

“Because just hours ago, she sent an urgent missive to your wife.” Cameron quickly read both notes aloud. “As you see, it sets out the time and place for a clandestine meeting between Lady K and a servant who works for Sir Gervaise.”

“Gervaise?” Connor frowned. “You must be mistaken. The man is a thoroughly dirty dish, but I can think of no reason why Alexa would be interested in looking into his affairs.”

“There is no mistake.” A sudden ghosting of moonlight showed that Cameron’s expression had turned deadly serious. “I am afraid the blame lies partly with me. I supplied her with names of several patrons of The Wolf’s Lair who might wish you ill. But only on the condition that she do no more than ask a few questions. She promised not to take any action without seeking my counsel.” He looked down at the topmost note. “She did try to honor her part of the bargain—”

Connor grabbed his friend’s dark scarf, choking off the rest of the reply. “Damn you to hell. I ought to slice off your tongue and your testicles.”

“You are welcome to hack off any appendage you wish—but do it later. If we hurry, we may still be able to catch up with her. I have a hackney waiting one street over.”

It wasn’t until they were inside the vehicle, and the wheels struck up a clattering over the cobblestones, that Connor spoke again. “Why the devil does she feel she must take such awful risks?”

“Is that a rhetorical question,” asked Cameron. “Or do you wish for an honest answer?”

A brusque nod signaled him to go on.

“Because she loves you. She’s willing to risk anything to win your heart.” Cameron crossed one booted leg over the other. “And you, you ungrateful cur, ought to have your teeth kicked out through your arse if you don’t appreciate what a rare and wondrous gift that is.”

Their gazes met, steel against steel. Neither of them blinked.

“You think I don’t love her?” demanded Connor.

“It doesn’t matter what
I
think.”

He shifted against the squabs but there was no escape from the piercing stare. “She
must
know how I feel.”

“Have you told her?”

“Well…damn it, not in so many words.”

“Women are odd creatures,” murmured Cameron. “They seem to require hearing it said in no uncertain terms.”

Connor covered his confusion with a hot retort. “I had not realized that you were such an authority on what women want, seeing as I never see you spending much time in their company.”

Cameron accepted the implied insult with a nonchalant shrug. “I know a great many things that might surprise you.” He checked his watch. “Based on the average speed of a hackney coach, we will be arriving at our destination in a touch under five minutes, so might I suggest you check the priming of your pistol.” With a quick sleight of hand, he drew a weapon from his own pocket. “I trust you came armed with more than just teeth and claws.”

The jolt of the carriage jarred Alexa awake. Her head ached abominably. So, too, did her wrists, which were lashed tightly together with a length of rope. She tried to sit up, but a hard shove forced her back against the cracked leather.

“Y-you?” Alexa blinked twice, trying to bring her muzzy wits and the tilted face into focus.

Mrs. Weatherly resumed her place on the opposite seat and calmly smoothed the wrinkles from her cloak. “I confess to being a trifle disappointed. From all that I had heard about you, I expected a more difficult challenge in luring you out. However, your intelligence appears to have been greatly exaggerated.”

At that moment, Alexa was inclined to agree.

“Only a fool would walk straight into such an obvious trap.”

Alexa allowed the gloating to die away before asking, “Why trap me at all? What sort of threat do I pose for you?”

“None whatsoever.”

Cast in the glow of the carriage lamp, the widow’s prettiness took on a harsh, unyielding edge. Alexa was once again reminded of a marble statue. She shuddered, wondering how she had missed the cold stare, the bloodless smile.

“It’s the Irish Wolfhound I am after. You are merely the means to an end.” Mrs. Weatherly gave a small laugh. “Or should I say, the bait. Though I shall be glad to get rid of you as well. Without your pesky interference, Killingworth would have been crushed in the jaws of my ingenuity some time ago. He has grown more wary, but with the right morsel to draw him out, I’ll not fail again.”

A woman scorned?
Alexa did not wish to think of Connor’s past dalliances, but his animal magnetism had assuredly attracted any number of willing females. Or perhaps it was the lady’s husband who had suffered crushing losses on account of the earl’s skill at cards.

“I am sure that Killingworth never intended any injury, to you or your husband—”

Laughter, even more shrill than before, cut her off. “There is no Mr. Weatherly. He and his gentry family from the Lake District exist only in lies and rumors.”

Still dizzy from the blow to her head, Alexa could only stare in open-mouthed shock.

“But it is astounding how easily you highborn lords and ladies are deceived. A bit of paint, the proper gown, a heartfelt sigh—oh yes, I learned early in life the importance of appearance and the power of suggestion. Despite its penchant for gossip, the
ton
rarely looks beneath the surface. It sees what it expects to see.”

Her captor flung open her cloak. “For example, you observed a gown that was modest in both cut and color, but clearly of good quality and styling. So you assumed that the wearer was cut from the same cloth. The widowed Mrs. Weatherly, a lady of genteel birth and education…” The cultured voice turned quite a bit rougher around the edges “…when in truth what you saw was Helen Snow, a lightskirt born on the docks of Dover.”