A Study in Scoundrels Page 17

  “I’m sor—”

  Grey pressed a finger to her bee-stung lips. “Don’t you dare apologize. You did everything right, and I’m a greedy man. I want your passion, sweetheart.” He swallowed hard and lowered his finger. Dropping a hand to her knee, he said, “I want you.” His face lit in a sensual grin. “We were moments away from you finding out how much.”

  “You presume I would let you do more than kiss me.” The snipe was born of frazzled nerves and wounded pride. They both knew she was no longer the proper woman she’d long attempted to be.

  “Who’s refusing to tell the truth now?” He rubbed gently at her leg, causing her skirt to ride above the edge of her boot. Grey took advantage, slipping his hand down to stroke at her stockinged leg before dragging his fingers up the back of her calf. “When I make love to you, I intend to do so properly.” Slipping his hand under her skirt, he stroked higher. “To take my time. To pleasure you until you scream my name.”

  “You mistake me for one of the ladies clamoring for you outside the stage door.” In complete contradiction to her words, she parted her knees to ease his way.

  “Never.” He stilled at the top edge of her stocking before dragging his fingers across the skin of her bare thigh, just at the lacy edge of her drawers. “I see you, Sophia. I know who you are behind that unforgiving corset and all those damned buttons.”

  “Grey.” Sophia hissed his name because she sensed they were on an edge from which there was no turning back.

  He withdrew his hand slowly, then resettled the folds of her gown over her legs. “You can’t hide from me behind your father’s rules. I don’t want you to.”

  When she could think again, when the throbbing need in her body eased, she looked over, where he sat hunched and tense across from her. “But you’ll continue to hide?”

  Lightning fast, he reached for her hand, pressed her palm flat against his chest. “I can’t hide this.” Under her palm, his heart thrashed wildly. “Nor this.” He moved her hand down to hover near his groin. Her fingers grazed the stiff ridge of his arousal.

  When he released her, she snatched her hand back and pressed it to the upholstery. “Many women spark that reaction in you, I’m sure.”

  “Not like you do.” He crossed his arms, turned his face toward the carriage window. She thought perhaps he’d told her the absolute truth. She yearned for his claim to be true. To believe that somehow she, a cold country spinster, could tempt a scoundrel as no other woman ever had.

  At the moment her heartbeat began to settle back into its natural rhythm, and the carriage made a sharp turn. The crunch of pebbles indicated they’d turned off the road into a private drive.

  “There it is,” Grey said in an ominous murmur as he dipped his body toward the window to peer beyond. “Longcross.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “I take especial care not to judge a case or a suspect too quickly. When a solution seems simple, I dig deeper.”

  —CASEBOOK OF EUPHEMIA BREEDLOVE, LADY DETECTIVE

  Sophia’s gasp was what he’d come to expect when visitors got their first glimpse of the Stanhope estate.

  Grey peered out the window and stifled his own nervous inhale. Not because he felt any sense of awe in response to the house’s sumptuous grandeur. Nor because the building housed only miserable memories. Until Richard’s death, he’d found his share of happiness as a child, despite his parent’s marital scandals. He’d been luckier than his siblings. No one ever expected much of the Stanhope spare.

  His reaction to Longcross centered on the moment when everything changed. When the estate became not a luxurious stomping grounds but a mausoleum to the tragedy he’d caused. A moment he’d given anything to reverse. A nightmare he’d gladly strike from his memory if he could.

  “It’s extraordinary.” Sophia pressed to the carriage glass with childlike eagerness. Watching her, remembering the silken texture of her cheek, studying the elegant bones of her beautiful face, gave him ease. Her nearness tempered the queasiness in his gut, stayed his urge to bolt. To get out. To flee this bloody moving box and go back to the life he’d made.

  In a matter of hours, he could catch a train to London, buy a bottle, and find a willing woman. Lose himself in sex and indulgence.

  “All those windows,” she said on an awestruck breath. “Twenty-six windows on the front facade alone.”

  “Twenty-four panes in every window,” he conveyed with no enthusiasm, reciting details drilled in as a child.

  “You must have an army of servants.”

  “The Stanhopes have always measured their worth by the size of their houses and the multitude of their staff.” He couldn’t bring himself to claim the pile, no matter how appealing. He stared vacantly at the endless swath of emerald lawn hugging every edge of the house, blinked as waning sunlight glinted off gilded pediments above each window. Not even the majestic bronze horses charging up from the enormous fountain sparked a hint of interest, despite how they’d fascinated him as a child.

  More than the house, or his father ailing inside its walls, what he truly couldn’t bear to face was the responsibility for Longcross. Soon, it would be his alone.

  “I’m not dressed well enough to enter those doors.”

  “You’re perfect.” The sight of her made his mouth water. Not only because he wanted her desperately but for the pure pleasure of having her close. Her sweet scent and good sense seemed essential if he was going to step from the carriage and through Longcross’s elaborately carved front door.

  Sophia turned from the window, eyes brightened by the sun. “Is that how you seduce all women? Compliments and exaggeration?”

  “In fairness, I haven’t seduced all women.” He hated to admit to her how little he worked at seduction. His style was short on words. More a matter of heated glances, the enticement of a touch, a stolen kiss filled with promise.

  “But you wish to seduce me?” She swiped a hand across her sleeve, straightening the seam, as if that action was much more vital than meeting his eyes.

  He caught her nervous hand and sensed a little tremor along her skin. Bringing her fingers to his mouth, he kissed the back of each, touching the tip of his tongue to the last. “I’d prefer we seduced each other.”

  She drew in a ragged breath that lifted her bosom, and he wished, as he’d hadn’t wished for anything in years, that they were alone in that shabby room above the Eagle and Stag. That he had time to undress her slowly and dispose of every doubt and pretense and strip of clothing between them.

  “One more kiss, Sophia?”

  She pressed a hand to his chest to keep him at bay and glanced nervously out the window. Longcross loomed nearer. “I don’t think we should.”

  “Please.” He released her hand, stared at the floor of the carriage, and clenched a fist against the upholstered bench below him. He’d never pleaded for a woman’s affection in his life.

  She cupped a palm against his cheek. Bending forward, she pressed her lush strawberry mouth to his. A gentle kiss, full of tenderness, sweetened by the stroke of her fingers along his jaw. When she pulled away, the heat of her gaze quelled his unease.

  A moment later the carriage jerked to a stop in front of Longcross. Sophia sat back and waited patiently for the coachman to unload their luggage.

  As Grey handed her down, she said, “Perhaps we should tell your cousin and his wife that I am an acquaintance of Liddy’s.” Explaining her presence still worried her, but he was simply grateful to have her by his side.

  “We should tell Becca the truth, at least.”

  “What is the truth?” she asked as he approached the house’s tall oak door.

  Grey turned back. “That you’re the sister of a friend and have assisted in my search for Liddy.” That I need you here.

  After a moment, she nodded and joined him on the threshold, glancing at him expectantly. Tension rode his shoulders, tightened his neck. He looked down into Sophia’s sea foam gaze and drew in a sharp breath, catching her cl
ean lavender scent on the breeze. “Prepare yourself,” he warned. “The entry hall can be a bit overwhelming.”

  He almost grinned when lines of confusion knitted the silken arch of her brows. Before he could explain, the door swung open with a heavy groan, and Blessing strode forward.

  “Lord Winship,” the hoary older man pronounced, as if he was not a bit surprised to find the heir of Stanhope on the doorstep after ten years’ absence. “My lady.” He offered Sophia a curt bow. The man was much like Grey’s father. Always a soft spot for the ladies. Shuffling back, he urged them inside and then squinted at their two bags. “Is this all you’ve brought, my lord?”

  “The large one’s mine,” Grey said defensively, immediately back in the role of child at Blessing’s judgmental commentary.

  “Welcome to you both.” Becca’s voice echoed off the high-ceilinged entry hall. “Blessing, have one of the maids take the young lady’s bag up and prepare a guest room.” She’d never been intimidated by the tall, domineering man in the least. The butler immediately snapped into action, casting Sophia one more appreciative glance before directing a footman to retrieve their bags.

  “Come in so we can shut out that heat.” Becca waved them into the foyer, gave Grey a brief hug, and then offered her hand to Sophia.

  “Becca, may I introduce Sophia Ruthven. Sophia, Lady Rebecca Fennston, my cousin’s very capable wife. She has the run of Longcross, and I suspect the entire estate is better for her guidance.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Miss Ruthven.”

  As the two exchanged niceties, Grey strode through the carved wooden arch that led to the house’s multistory main hall and stopped to take in the familiar display. A renowned Italian artist had been employed to paint a spectacular bacchanalian fresco full of fleshy bodies on the ceiling and upper walls. Gilt had been plentifully applied to stairwells, railings, and cornices around the room, and the bold black-and-white checkerboard tile floor had always made him dizzy.

  “Oh my,” Sophia said on a breath as she came up next to him, tipping her head this way and that to take in the frescos, art, and tapestries. Which was exactly what the wealth had been spent for in the first place. To catch the eye, to mesmerize. To blind visitors with beauty, so they’d forget all the petty hurts and unforgivable infidelities committed within the house’s walls.

  He longed to reach for Sophia’s hand, to offer her reassurance as much as to steel his own resolve.

  Heavy footsteps sounded on the polished tile. Grey’s body tensed, ready for a fight, expecting his father to come barreling around the corner. But it couldn’t be Father. Somewhere up above, in his parent’s palatial suite, the man was dying.

  “Liddy?” A young man’s hopeful voice called out.

  Grey pivoted toward the sound, and the world went red. He lunged past Sophia, heard her cry out. Then nothing more. Just the gush of blood in his ears as he wrapped his hands around Clive Holden’s neck.

  “Jasper, no!” Becca’s shriek filtered past his rage.

  Holden’s pale skin began to mottle in shades of crimson and purple as the man clawed at Grey’s hands.

  “Grey.” A firmer voice, resonant and warm. “Please,” Sophia pleaded as she laid her hand on his arm, gentleness against the violent contraction of his muscles as he choked the life out of his former school friend.

  He loosened his hold before shoving Clive away. The man pinwheeled toward the wall, clutching at his throat, gasping for air. A maid and two footmen gathered nearby, whispering nervously.

  “Have a tea service sent to the yellow drawing room,” Becca instructed as she took Sophia’s arm and led her away.

  “Shall we send for a doctor, my lady?” one of the maids squeaked.

  “No,” Clive rasped. “Not necessary.” He stared wild-eyed at Grey. “Winship, you must allow me to explain.”

  Grey nudged his chin toward the drawing room, indicating Holden should precede him. He didn’t trust the bastard at his back.

  The ladies had taken seats on adjacent settees. Grey couldn’t sit. Couldn’t stop pacing. Furious energy rattled through his body, and he gripped the cool marble of the fireplace mantel to steady himself.

  Glancing up, he sought Sophia’s gaze. She watched him worriedly as a maid wheeled a tea trolley into the room. Becca began pouring tea and distributing plates of biscuits and finger sandwiches. So civilized. So perfectly proper. So oblivious to the murderous impulse still bubbling in his blood.

  Once they were all served and the room fell silent but for the clink of teaspoons on porcelain, Grey clenched the marble until his knuckles paled and demanded, “Explain yourself. Use as few words as possible. My patience has run thin.”

  “Mr. Holden only meant—” Becca began.

  “No!” Breathe, man. Control yourself. “Forgive me, Becca, but I must hear from Clive. He is the rotter who led Miss Ruthven and me on a merry chase from Brighton to Cambridge.”

  Becca harrumphed and fussed with the cuff of her gown, muttering, “If you wished to hear from him, perhaps you shouldn’t have strangled him.”

  Clive cleared his throat. “Liddy swore me to secrecy.”

  “You’re blaming my sister?” Grey couldn’t stop the seething. The urge to silence the man overwhelmed him, despite how much he needed to know why Liddy fled to London in the first place.

  “I think we should allow him to finish,” Sophia said quietly.

  Grey nodded at her and then managed to force his tense body into motion, joining her on the settee.

  “When she came to London,” Clive continued, “I hadn’t seen your sister in years. She’d grown so much, become a vibrant, intelligent young woman. And I became completely besotted. An utter love-struck fool.” Clive dropped his head in his hands before looking up again. “I thought she cared for me too. I planned to ask for her hand in marriage. I didn’t know he’d already seduced her.”

  “Who?” Grey barked, edging forward. He needed a target for the storm raging inside.

  “Lord Westby,” Sophia murmured under her breath.

  Becca’s eyes widened, and Clive gave a sharp nod.

  “You knew?” Grey managed past his clenched jaw. Everyone else could keep secrets from him, but he couldn’t stomach falsehood from Sophia.

  “No,” she insisted. “Just intuition based on my own . . . encounter with the earl. Logically speaking, Mr. Holden seemed a much more obvious suspect.”

  Clive grimaced and lifted his hands. “I only lied to protect Liddy.”

  At that moment, Grey would have happily throttled Holden and Westby both, at the same time, one neck squeezed in each fist.

  “Why Cambridge?” Sophia asked. “And where is Lady Phyllida now?”

  “With my aunt,” Becca said as she stood to refill her teacup.

  “The same aunt,” Grey cut in, “who was supposed to serve as chaperone in London but allowed her to slip away?”

  “Lady Fennston’s aunt isn’t to blame.” Holden’s voice had returned to its usual mellow pitch. “Liddy is clever. And determined to do precisely as she pleases.” His face pinched in a sad grin, as if he admired her tenacity, no matter how much heartache she’d caused him. “She went to Cambridge in the hope Westby would join her there. Elope with her to Scotland. He said as much, apparently, but I suspect it was merely a ruse to get her away from London. She’d begun to become a nuisance, you see. Expecting more than he ever intended to give.”

  “And you retrieved her from Cambridge and brought her home?” Sophia, as Grey had come to expect, was doing an excellent job of sorting out the facts. Her steady voice was also working wonders at calming his wrath. A bit.

  “Yes, but she refused to return to Longcross. She insisted on going to Lady Fennston’s aunt’s cottage on the Hartley estate.”

  Grey worked to moderate his breathing as he studied Sophia sipping daintily at her tea. He memorized the striking curves and angles of her profile, gilded in the waning afternoon light. Her hair, her skin, even her gown had taken o
n a golden cast.

  “Why wouldn’t she wish to come home?” she asked softly.

  Grey could name a dozen reasons. Perhaps Becca understood too because she remained quiet.

  Holden glanced at each of them in turn. “She feared that perhaps she is . . . ” He paused and caught Becca’s gaze, only continuing when she offered him a minute nod. “She fears she is with child.” Holden stood and took a single step toward Grey. “No matter her circumstances, Winship, I wish to marry Liddy.” He bowed his head and let out a weary sigh. “But I’ve yet to convince her.”

  “You’ve also yet to receive the blessing of this family.” A begrudging kernel of respect for Holden and his commitment to Liddy was lingering somewhere inside of Grey, but a ruddy haze of anger still dominated. The man led him on a wild goose chase when he might have confessed all of this in Brighton.

  “Jasper.” Rebecca’s voice held that tone. The motherly, chastising tone he’d always loathed. “I’ll go and speak to Phyllida again,” she said more gently. “Perhaps you could accompany me, Miss Ruthven. We are both fond of your New Ruthven Rules for Young Ladies.”

  Grey snorted. For all the good those rules had done Liddy. Standing, he immediately felt heavier, more burdened, for stepping away from Sophia. She provided a sense of calm more quickly than any liquor he’d ever consumed. And he was quite sure he’d tried them all.

  “We must convince Liddy to come home,” he announced. “Whatever dilemma she’s facing, let her be at Longcross. I won’t have her exiled from her family.”

  Becca’s gaze shot to his, and Grey stared back. He, better than anyone, understood the hypocrisy of his words. He couldn’t blame his sister for following the example provided by their parents. Not to mention his own debauched lifestyle. None of them had protected her as they should have.

  “Once I know she’s safe,” he added, “I’ll go to London and confront Westby.”

  “You needn’t go to London.” Clive ran a shaky hand through his guinea-gold hair. “He is due to arrive in Derbyshire for the opening of the hunting season.”