More than Tempted (Scandal Sheet Survivors Book 1), page 8
“If you’re too afraid to tell me what you dream about, Nicholas, let me reveal the whimsical nature of my thoughts.” She stepped closer, forcing him to retreat until his back hit the wall. “I want to imagine you brought me here to kiss me. Imagine your strong hands roaming over my body, your mouth moving—”
“Stop!” He touched a shaky finger to her lips as his breathing quickened. “Please, Helen. We’re supposed to act like siblings.”
She brushed his hand away. “No, we are not. I see an attractive man. A man whose mouth I want to feel on mine.”
“Miss Langley—”
“Surely you’ll not deny me one small pleasure.” She laid a hand on his chest and the hard muscle flexed beneath her fingers. “At least then we will know if an attraction exists between us. Maybe we might blame it on our brush with death. As a man who always cares for my needs, you cannot let me die without ever being kissed.”
“You’re not going to die.”
“You don’t know that.” She moistened her lips. “The first time may have been a warning. The villain may be tampering with the carriage wheels as we speak.” Soft beams of moonlight slipped through the glassless window, the silver stream touching his lips as if they were a divine gift from God. “There is something tangible between us, Nicholas.” The time they had spent together in his bedchamber this morning confirmed that.
When she leant closer, he whispered, “Don’t.”
“Why, will you push me away? Will you inform my brother? Tell me, Nicholas. What would you do if I pressed my mouth to yours?”
A low growl rumbled in his throat. “Devour you.”
In the breathless seconds that followed, every interaction with him flashed into her mind. The gentle way he’d swept his thumbs over her cheeks at her mother’s funeral. The comforting words whispered against her ear. His sharp intake of breath when their knees touched during the bumpy carriage ride to Grayswood.
“The second our mouths meet, I’ll be lost,” he breathed, confirming he felt this undeniable attraction, too. “Don’t make me break a vow. Don’t make me ruin your prospects of marrying well.” His voice turned dark and husky. “Because I will ruin you, Helen. Trust me. Should the barricade between us fall, I shan’t stop until you are writhing naked beneath me in bed.”
Nicholas!
It took little effort to imagine him pushing inside her. Her heart was his, and she would give her body freely. The thought left her sex pulsing, her nipples hard against the thin cotton nightgown. The urge to unbutton her pelisse and let Nicholas St Clair ravage her senseless was almost impossible to deny.
“You say the words like a threat, yet they offer every enticement.”
Her comment did not make him set his lips to hers and make good on his promise. The groan that escaped him was not the sound of pleasure, but frustration.
“Then you must forget what I said. Sebastian wants you to marry a lord with an impeccable lineage. Chadderton is to inherit a baronetcy while I shall always be a mister. A man whose good name is about to be dragged through the mire.”
“It’s not up to Sebastian,” she began, but Nicholas captured her hand and marched out of the tiny tower, pulling her with him. “I wouldn’t care if you sold fish at Billingsgate Market.”
“Forget I said anything,” he repeated as he led her along the woodland path. “Forget we were here tonight. It was an error of judgement on my part and won’t happen again.”
Her heart constricted as if being crushed in a vice. “I cannot ignore my feelings, Nicholas. You want to kiss me. I cannot forget that.”
“I am not the right man for you.”
No matter what she said, he proved as stubborn as a mule. Indeed, he stopped responding to her provoking comments and did not speak another word until they had climbed the servants’ stairs and reached the first-floor landing.
“I’m returning to London in the morning.”
Her heart lurched. “You’re running away?”
“Call it what you will, but I need to put some distance between us.” He glanced along the dark landing. “I trust you will keep my secret. I mean to return to town and deal with the matter myself.”
“But we’re partners. We might be more than—”
“No.” He cut her short to say something damning. “We can never be anything more than family.”
Chapter Seven
Nicholas closed his bedchamber door and released a weary sigh.
He had been one heartbeat away from taking what he wanted. A second away from ruining the woman he had sworn to protect. Like the savage he hid beneath a facade, he would have laid her down in the tower, settled between her sweet thighs and fed his craving.
Thankfully, in a moment of clarity, he’d recalled something his mother had once said: a passionate woman often confused lust for love.
It had been as good as plunging his head into a water trough, enough to shock him to his senses. Like his father, he had everything to lose. He might make the ultimate sacrifice only to suffer a lifetime of pain and regret.
The mere memory of his parents’ marriage, the fights, the loneliness, the disappointment and despair was enough to swear a man to celibacy.
Yet as he pushed away from the door, his body still thrummed with the need to join with her, to make Helen Langley his.
Merciful Lord!
It would be a long and miserable night if he didn’t do something to cool his blood. He might take himself in hand, but the second he closed his eyes, Helen would be there with her beguiling smile, begging to be kissed.
No, what he needed was brandy.
Copious amounts of the stuff.
Enough to numb his senses.
Prising the door from the jamb, he crept along the corridor, stopping only to hide in the shadows when he noticed Mrs Waltham, Holland’s paternal aunt, creeping downstairs.
Thankfully, the woman disappeared down a dim corridor, so Nicholas snatched the brandy decanter from the drawing room and marched back to his bedchamber.
After tossing back the contents of his first glass, he poured another and stood at the window, staring out into the darkness.
It didn’t take long for thoughts of Helen to consume him, for him to list the reasons a union between them would be impossible. His blood pact with Sebastian. His ruined name. His fear of making a mistake like his father. He would rather live without Helen than know he was the cause of her misery.
But the imp on his shoulder took to whispering in his ear.
She wants you—and not as a damn brother.
She would have kissed you tonight.
She is not your mother.
He knocked back the rest of his brandy and refilled the glass.
To his relief, he spotted two people strolling through the garden. Guessing their identities offered the perfect distraction, but they clung to the shadows, making it almost impossible to note any distinguishing features.
The exercise proved tiring.
Drinking the remains of the brandy acted as the ideal tonic.
Indeed, he vaguely recalled dropping onto the bed before he slipped into a deep slumber and dreamt of Helen.
Helen’s hands moved over his chest to grip his shoulders. Her voice washed over him in musical waves. “Mr St Clair.” She shook him gently. “Speak to me. Please wake up. Are you sick?”
The minx had refused to heed his advice and keep her distance.
Thank heavens he was dressed and not sprawled across the coverlet naked as the day he was born. Still, if he opened his eyes and saw her delicate face, her golden tresses falling about her shoulders, he would be done for.
“What’s wrong with him?” she said, worry tingeing her tone.
“I presume the empty decanter is to blame for his comatose state,” Sebastian mocked. “Doubtless he’s still drunk.”
The sound of his friend’s voice altered the dream considerably.
“This is all my fault,” she said.
Sebastian snorted. “Why? Were you prying into his personal affairs again? I know you want him to be happy, Helen, but Nicholas is a private man. The last thing he needs is a sister playing matchmaker.”
“How would you know what he needs?” she snapped, her reaction too dramatic. “Since Michael died, all you’ve done is take advantage of your friendship. Our brother is gone, Sebastian. Nicholas is not his replacement.”
Sebastian hissed a breath. “Did you fall out of bed this morning and bang your head? Perhaps you’ve also downed a quart of brandy because you’ve most certainly lost your wits.”
Nicholas had no choice but to prise his eyes open. In the heat of an argument, Helen was liable to mention their secret conversations.
“What are you doing in my room?” he said, squinting against the bright morning sun.
“Thank heavens,” Helen said, touching him briefly on the arm and encouraging him to lower his defences. “We’ve been trying to wake you for the last ten minutes. Are you unwell?”
Yes, he was heartsick and plagued by lustful dreams of forbidden encounters. “I couldn’t sleep.” The moment he met her gaze, he was transported back to the small tower, to all the things he should have said and done. “And so drank myself into oblivion.”
And he was paying the price this morning.
His head throbbed behind his eyes.
And his mouth was as dry as sandpaper.
“Have I missed breakfast?” Nicholas added.
Sebastian stepped into his line of vision. “More importantly, you missed our ride this morning. I wish to God I had stayed abed, too. The house is in chaos. Mrs Waltham is beside herself because no one has seen Charles Holland since he left his bedchamber late last night.”
The mere mention of his nemesis raised his hackles.
Had the fool left for London?
Had he decided to hunt for the thief?
“Has anyone looked to see if Holland’s carriage is in the mews?” Nicholas said, his calm tone belying his inner turmoil. “Has anyone checked Miss Thorndyke’s room? I saw two people in the garden last night, and the lady is in want of a husband. It’s no secret Mrs Waltham is desperate to see her nephew wed.”
“He came to Grayswood in his aunt’s carriage,” Helen said, worry lines still marring her brow. “And Miss Thorndyke is out scouring the estate with the rest of the search party.”
“We’re to join them when you’ve lugged your lazy backside out of bed.” Sebastian strode to the armoire, found a clean shirt and threw it at Nicholas. “Mrs Waltham seemed suspicious of your movements. I’d lie and say you were with me until dawn, but since you deprived me of your company again last night, I was in the billiard room with Chadderton and Bowden.”
Nicholas propped himself up on his elbows and winced against the pounding in his head. “Why, what did Mrs Waltham say?”
What the hell had Holland told his aunt?
“She thought it odd you were absent this morning. After yesterday’s debacle, when you stormed out of the dining room, she told everyone you hate her nephew.”
Helen cleared her throat. “It would help if people saw you about the grounds, searching for Mr Holland. The fact you’re in bed is fodder for the gossips.”
What she meant was Mrs Waltham suspected foul play.
Nicholas dragged himself out of bed and shrugged out of his crumpled coat. He could feel Helen’s gaze roaming over his back as he visited the washstand, and he was somewhat thankful when she left the room so he could change into clean clothes.
“Has Helen said anything about Chadderton?” Sebastian asked as he stood, arms folded across his chest, watching Nicholas tie a knot in his cravat. “She is out of sorts today, and Chadderton mentioned you gave him advice on how to court her yesterday.”
During the strained pause, Nicholas silently cursed.
“I’ve spent the morning wondering why you lied to him,” Sebastian continued. “After the incident with Parbrook, I thought we both agreed it would be better if she married.”
Nicholas slipped behind his indifferent facade. “She doesn’t want to marry Chadderton. And while I acknowledge a union might mitigate the scandal, I’ll not have her suffer my parents’ fate.”
“Where were you last night?”
Nicholas had locked his bedchamber door in case Sebastian came spying. “I walked the grounds, then downed half a decanter of brandy and fell asleep.” He decided to direct the conversation away from Helen. “Why? Do you fear I followed your advice, killed Charles Holland and dumped his body in the lake?”
Sebastian gave a nonchalant shrug. “I have seen how you deal with scoundrels. But I would rather you were honest with me. I cannot help you otherwise.”
Nicholas snorted. “I didn’t kill Charles Holland. I haven’t seen the man since yesterday afternoon. I don’t know why he’s missing, but I confess, I have not told you the whole truth. Let us find the fellow, then I shall explain what Holland wants from me.”
Sebastian seemed mildly appeased, and so, along with Helen, they joined the hunt for the missing fop.
“We should check the folly?” Sebastian gestured to the narrow woodland path. “Perhaps Holland met Miss Thorndyke there for a secret assignation.”
A blush stained Helen’s cheeks. “Miss Thorndyke is not the sort to sneak about in the middle of the night, though I did see her speaking privately with Mr Holland yesterday.”
“That’s odd in itself.” Sebastian was forever cynical. “The valet said Holland left his room to take some air, that he seemed preoccupied, a little agitated. With the folly tucked away amid the shrubbery, it’s the perfect place for a man to contemplate his life.”
Sebastian did not wait for a response but marched ahead in the direction of the woods and beckoned them to follow.
Helen cast Nicholas a sidelong glance and whispered, “We both know Mr Holland is not in the folly, not unless he visited in the dead of night.” There was an awkward pause. “Have you told Sebastian you’re leaving for London today?”
“No, not yet.” But he would be gone as soon as they located the crook. “He will understand why when I tell him about the blackmail demand. Silencing those who seek to destroy my mother’s name must be my priority now.”
Why would anyone want to steal her letters?
Was it a lie to gain his trust, his sympathy?
He would begin by speaking to Holland’s housekeeper in Bedford. Before he took to the road, he would threaten the valet. The Frenchman surely knew something of his master’s activities.
He hadn’t time to play amateur detectives with Helen.
He hadn’t the luxury of indulging in fantasies.
And she was such a damned distraction.
“But that’s not the real reason you’re leaving,” she said, daring to be bolder than she had ever dared before. “You’re leaving because of what happened between us last night. Why do I get the sense I won’t see you again? That you’re about to disappear from my life for good?”
“I dine at your house every Wednesday.”
The thought of seeing her in such intimate surroundings would prove difficult now he had revealed something of his inner torment.
“Nicholas, you seem more distant than ever. It’s harder to bear after hearing what you said last night.”
“You need to forget about last night.” He was a damn hypocrite. He’d thought about little else. “At least, for the time being. I must focus on dealing with Holland.”
He glanced ahead. Sebastian was thrashing the undergrowth with his walking stick, prodding and poking the bracken as if looking for a corpse.
Hell! What if Holland had tripped, smacked his head on a rock, and perished during the night? What would happen to the evidence of his mother’s blasted affair? What about the missing letters, stolen by—
A scream rent the air.
A woman’s shrill cry.
Amid sudden shouts and the ringing of a handbell, a dog’s gruff bark joined the eerie chorus.
Sebastian swung round to face them. “They must have found something sinister at the folly. Helen, return to the house and wait for us there. Nicholas, follow me and keep your wits.” Then he charged off towards the folly.
“Why does he always treat me like a child?” she whispered through gritted teeth. “A novice enquiry agent must face her fears if she is to solve her first case.”
“You should go back,” he said, a deep sense of trepidation marring his tone. “From that harrowing scream, we’re sure to find something disturbing.”
She clutched his forearm. “If it is Mr Holland, you will need my support. If anyone else knows of his blackmail attempt, you may be implicated in some way. Let’s pray it’s nothing more than a broken bone. Please God, he is still breathing.”
Based on the events of the last three months, Nicholas knew to expect the worst. Indeed, they reached the folly to find Thorndyke, a bell in one hand, stroking his sister’s back while she cast up her accounts. The excitable hound kept barking and trying to escape the lead Thorndyke had tied around a tree.
“Is it Holland?” Sebastian said grimly.
Thorndyke nodded, his mournful expression warning of what horror awaited them. He pointed to the small tower where Nicholas had almost kissed Helen last night. “He’s in there. Though I warn you, Miss Langley, do not cast your pretty eyes upon such a gruesome scene.”
Aware she had not obeyed his command, Sebastian cast her an irate glare before proceeding to the building. His gasp and muttered curse confirmed Holland had suffered more than a broken bone.
Sebastian exited the tower and jerked his head for Nicholas to look. “We must alert the coroner and the magistrate at once.”
“We can send word to Mr Hope in Guildford.” Thorndyke took his sister’s lace handkerchief from her hand and dabbed her brow. He averted his gaze to avoid looking at Nicholas. “One imagines he will attend immediately, what with the nature of the crime and Lady Brompton carrying such influence in these parts.”
While Sebastian spoke about preserving the scene before the jurors arrived, Nicholas stepped up to the doorway of the folly.
The stench of urine and bodily matter invaded his nostrils. Charles Holland lay sprawled awkwardly on the floor of the old tower. His hand was stiff and twisted at an odd angle, his face pale but for the bruise to his cheek where Nicholas had punched him yesterday.
