Desire Becomes Her Page 7

  Leaning toward Gillian, his lips inches from her ear, Luc pointed and said, “You see the opening in the distance with the sea beyond it? That wide stretch of beach is Cuckmere Haven and is a favorite landing spot for some of our local smugglers.”

  Gillian nodded, aware of a sudden kick in her pulse at his nearness. “Uncle mentioned at dinner the other night,” she said, turning her head away from Luc’s disturbing closeness, “that smugglers are very active around here.”

  “That’s true,” Luc said, smiling at her withdrawal. Was it mere dislike that caused her reaction, or was the lady as aware of him as he was of her? He preferred to think the latter. Straightening, he added, “The worst of the gangs are led by Will Nolles, the owner of the tavern named The Ram’s Head.”

  “But if his identity is known,” interjected Sophia from his other side, “why is he allowed to continue his activities?”

  “The smugglers are a close-knit community and most people in the area are either smugglers themselves, or they have family that plies the trade, or they benefit in some way from the smugglers’ activities,” he answered, glancing at Sophia. “Besides that, Nolles’s gang is a powerful one and he and his men are greatly feared. You’ll not find many who are willing to go against them.”

  When both ladies looked uneasy, Luc cursed his unruly tongue and apologized. “Forgive me! I did not mean to frighten you. There are smugglers about, but you have nothing to fear from them. They have no wish to bring attention to themselves and generally go about their business with no one the wiser.” He grinned. “Usually the only sign of their passing is a cask or two of fine French brandy left in one’s stable or barn.”

  Sophia chuckled and murmured, “You mean like the brandy Uncle drank last night?”

  Blue eyes dancing, Luc nodded. “Exactement! And enough of this talk about smugglers and contraband—I am forgetting my role as guide.” Waving a hand in the direction of Cuckmere Haven, he said, “Those chalk cliffs you see before you are the Seven Sisters; the tallest of them rises five hundred feet above the Channel.” His grin deepened. “And that, Madame Easley, is the extent of my knowledge of the area.”

  He looked far too attractive, Gillian thought as she watched Sophia respond to his charm. It irritated her that she had noticed the russet color of his coat intensified the azure hue of his already striking eyes and that the excellent fit of his buckskin breeches kept drawing her gaze to the smooth muscles of his thighs. And we won’t even mention, she scolded, the way his coat displays his shoulders and arms or how handsome he looks on horseback. She jerked her eyes away and stared straight ahead, but a few minutes later they strayed back to his tall form. Broad shoulders and strong arms, she admitted, with a quiver down low in her body.

  Annoyed with herself, Gillian said sharply, “Uncle said that the nearest village is Broadhaven. Is it nearby?”

  “Not far,” Luc replied, wondering at the note in her voice. More dislike? Surely the lady was not jealous of his attention to her cousin? “Broadhaven,” he added cheerfully, pleased at the idea she might be jealous, “is beyond that rise just below us.” He looked at Gillian with a cocked brow. “Would you like to ride through the village?”

  Displeased that she had allowed her annoyance with herself to color her words, Gillian forced a smile and replied, “Perhaps not today. I just wondered where it was.”

  “Well, I, for one, am ready to head back to High Tower,” said Sophia. “This has been most enjoyable, but the breeze is no longer as pleasant as it was when we began our ride, and unless I miss my guess, the temperature is falling. If we tarry much longer, we’ll be chilled to the bone by the time we arrive home.”

  Aware of the creeping coolness in the air and the cutting edge to the breeze, Gillian agreed. “You’re absolutely right,” she said. “We should be going back. We’ve left Uncle alone long enough as it is.”

  “As you wish, ladies,” Luc said gallantly and swung his horse around.

  Sophia had been right. The air was distinctly chilly by the time they arrived at High Tower. With the groom holding the reins of the horses, Luc first lifted Mrs. Easley down from her horse before turning to Gillian to help her dismount. His hands around her slim waist, his eyes met hers and for a moment time stood still.

  Gillian’s breath stopped as she looked into those azure eyes. She could feel the warmth and strength of his hands through the heavy velvet material of her riding habit, and a mixture of pleasure and wariness churned through her.

  Their gazes clung and Luc’s hands tightened around her waist, the urge to pull her from her horse and into his arms overpowering. His eyes fell to her lips and desire coiled within him. Would that tempting mouth taste as sweet as it looked? And how would that slender body feel pressed next to his?

  “Ah, there you are,” drawled a voice from the direction of the house. “We wondered when you would return. Uncle has been most anxious.”

  The spell broken, Luc politely lifted Gillian down from her horse. The moment her feet touched the ground, his hands fell away and he put several feet between them.

  Looking at the speaker, his brow cocked. Stanley Ordway. Now why wasn’t he surprised? It would appear that the vultures were gathering around his friend. An unpleasant smile curved his mouth. Whatever nefarious plans Mrs. Dashwood and her half brother had for his friend Silas, he certainly intended to disrupt. His eyes slid over Gillian. And he would take pleasure in doing so.

  Chapter 4

  Gillian’s heart sank at the sight of her half brother standing on the steps of the house, his lips curled in that derisive smile that always nettled her and brought out the worst in her. The surge of vexation she felt didn’t surprise her—even as very young children, the two of them rubbed each other the wrong way and time had changed little. In her opinion, from a scornful boy, he’d grown into a condescending coxcomb.

  Oblivious to Luc, she stalked toward her half brother. Stopping at the bottom step, her eyes hard on Stanley’s face, she demanded, “Did Uncle know you were coming? Or have you, as usual, simply inflicted yourself on him when you’ve fallen into dun territory?”

  Stanley’s face darkened. “I see that you are as rude and impolite as ever.” He looked at Mrs. Easley, who walked up to stand beside Gillian. “And I suppose you’ll take her side—just as you’ve always done.”

  “Perhaps I take her side,” Mrs. Easley said coolly, “because she is usually in the right. Gillian asked a reasonable question: did our uncle know you were coming?”

  Scowling at the two women, he snapped, “I hardly need an invitation to visit my uncle.”

  “That’s true,” Gillian agreed. “But could you tell me why you come to visit him only when you need money?”

  “What about you?” Stanley shot back. “Don’t tell me you’re here because of the great affection you bear him—you haven’t stepped foot in this place for years, and before that, you weren’t here more than two or three times.” He smirked. “So tell me, why are you here?”

  “Whatever her reasons, she is here now,” Luc interposed smoothly, “and that is all that need concern you.” Placing a hand beneath each woman’s arm and ushering them forward, he smiled at Stanley. “Now if you’ll excuse us—there’s a chill in the air, and if you wish to continue this, ah, discussion, I’m sure that the ladies would prefer to do so in more comfortable surroundings.”

  Mrs. Easley glanced at Luc and chuckled. “A man with common sense—how rare.”

  Luc laughed and urged the ladies forward, leaving Stanley no choice but to follow. Inside the house, the women disappeared upstairs to change out of their riding habits and boots; Meacham whisked away Luc’s hat and gloves before showing him and Stanley into the front salon.

  A fire burned on the hearth, and the scent of mulled wine wafted in the air. A slender young man, garbed in a blue jacket trimmed in black braid and gray pantaloons, a pewter mug in one hand, lounged near the fire, and Silas sat enthroned in his usual chair. On the low table in front of Silas r
eposed a silver tray heaped with various items and refreshments.

  Silas greeted Luc with a smile, but Luc sensed that it was forced. Smiling down at his friend, Luc said, “I have returned the ladies safely. They are presently changing before joining us.”

  “Good! Good!” Silas indicated the young man by the fire. “Think you met Welbourne’s youngest son, Lord George Canfield, during the Season in London.” At Luc’s nod, he added, “He is a great friend of my nephew’s.”

  Acknowledging Canfield with a slight bow, he said, “How do you do?”

  “Fine, thank you,” said Lord George Canfield, his nostrils quivering as if he smelled offal.

  When Canfield offered nothing more, Luc murmured, “I’m doing well. Thank you for asking.”

  Canfield’s lips tightened. After a second, Luc turned away and winked at Silas. Canfield’s reception, though he acknowledged a slight sting, amused him, and heaven knew this wasn’t the first time he’d been snubbed. He’d already come into contact with other members of the ton who felt that their consequence was so high that rubbing shoulders with the bastard half brother of Viscount Joslyn was beneath them. But not so far beneath them, Luc thought, that they weren’t willing to gamble with him. Canfield had done so and rose from the gaming table after a night of cards with Luc, several thousand pounds lighter in the pocket. But Luc had been aware of Lord George Canfield for another reason—Canfield, along with Lord Padgett, had been cronies of Thomas Joslyn. A connection between Thomas’s friends and Nolles’s gang had never been discovered, but Luc, Barnaby and Lamb had wondered if other seemingly respectable gentlemen might have been seduced by the easy money to be made. Hence, Luc had cast a speculative eye upon them from the moment they had been introduced, but he’d seen nothing to raise his suspicions, except Canfield was here now... . Interesting.

  Indicating the chair next to him, Silas said to Luc, “Sit here and tell me about the ride. Where did you go?”

  “I showed them the Seven Sisters, Cuckmere Haven and the general location of the village,” Luc answered, sitting down next to Silas. “There was no time to explore the village—the hour was growing late and I wished to have them home before dusk.”

  “Capital!” A sly gleam in his eyes, Silas said, “They’re both excellent riders, are they not?”

  Luc grinned at him. “Indeed.”

  Waving a hand in the direction of the refreshments, Silas said, “Help yourself to some mulled wine Meacham just brought in a few minutes ago. Pour me a mug while you’re at it.”

  Luc leaned forward and ladled some of the wine from the big silver bowl set in the center of the tray into a mug for Silas and, after handing it to Silas, helped himself. Settling back into his chair, Luc stretched his long legs out in front of him and breathed in the scent of cinnamon and lemons before taking a swallow of the warm wine. Heady flavor caressed his tongue and he relaxed as the warmth of the mulled wine spread through his body. “Bon!” he said. Smiling at Silas, he asked, “Do you think that Meacham would share the recipe with me?”

  Silas chuckled. “There’s not many he would but I think he’d be pleased to give it to you.”

  “You appear to be quite at home,” Stanley observed. “How often do you visit my uncle?”

  “As often as I ask him to,” said Silas, sending Stanley a sharp glance from beneath his brows. “And I fail to see that it’s any business of yours.”

  Stanley flushed. “I would remind you, Uncle, that you are no longer a young man, and though it pains me to say so, there are people who take advantage of the elderly.” Silas sucked in an outraged breath but Stanley pushed on doggedly, “I would be remiss in my duty as your nephew if I didn’t question your sudden friendship with a stranger.” He glanced at Luc. “Of course, I mean you no insult, but I’m sure you understand my position. I am only looking out for my uncle’s welfare.”

  “I ain’t in my dotage!” snarled Silas, the knuckles of the hand holding his mug of mulled wine gleaming white. “Furthermore, I don’t need you or anyone else to look out for my welfare.” His eyes narrowed. “You’ve just insulted a guest in my house. I’ve a good mind to send you and that namby-pamby friend of yours packing.”

  The double doors opened at that moment, and the ladies walked into the room. Neither woman could pretend not to notice the charged atmosphere, and Gillian’s eyes flashed instantly to her uncle. One look at his face told her that he was agitated and she had little doubt of the cause: Stanley.

  Gillian rushed to her uncle’s side and placed one hand protectively on Silas’s shoulder. Glaring at Stanley, she demanded, “What have you done to upset him this time?”

  Luc admired the picture she made with the sable hair swept back, her cheeks flushed as rosy as the elegant woolen gown she was wearing and her eyes flashing with golden fire. He considered the slim, white hand on Silas’s shoulder and her aggressive stance. A lioness on guard, he thought. But to what end? Challenging Stanley for the bone Silas represented? Or was she as concerned for her uncle as she appeared?

  “All I did,” muttered Stanley, not looking at anyone in the room, “was inquire how often Mr. Joslyn came to visit.”

  “That was just before he informed your uncle of the treacherous people who prey on the elderly ... strangers such as myself,” Luc interposed helpfully.

  Gillian paid him no attention. “And what business of yours is it,” she asked Stanley, “how frequently Mr. Joslyn comes to call? Surely it is up to our uncle whom he invites to his house and how often?”

  “That’s my gel!” chortled Silas, his good humor restored.

  Thinking this was as good a time as any, Luc rose to his feet and, setting down his mug, said, “I must be on my way.” He bowed toward the ladies and murmured, “Thank you for a most enjoyable ride. Perhaps you’ll give me the pleasure of escorting you again around the neighborhood in the near future.” He grinned. “Especially now that I know what intrepid riders you are.” Amidst protest from Silas and Mrs. Easley, Luc prepared to leave. He noted that Gillian and the other two gentlemen didn’t add their voices to the others.

  Before he could make good his escape, Silas demanded that he come to dine with them on Friday evening. When Luc hesitated, Silas added coaxingly, “Meacham will prepare more mulled wine ... and have the recipe for you. I’ll ask Cook to serve some of those buttered lobsters you complimented her on a few weeks ago.”

  Luc laughed. “It would be rude of me to refuse such a tempting invitation. I shall see you then, sir.”

  Gillian didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed when Luc Joslyn left. His presence provided a counterpoint to Stanley and Lord George Canfield, but he was also a problem she didn’t need to deal with right now. She sighed. Stanley and Canfield provided enough trouble for her without adding the distracting Mr. Luc Joslyn to it.

  Taking the chair Luc had just vacated, she studied her half brother. Tall and slimly built, his tawny hair was worn without powder and, except for a few locks on the side, tied into a queue. Stanley was a handsome young man, she admitted, but there was nothing remarkable about him. His complexion was pale, his eyes brown, and he was correctly garbed in a long-tailed blue coat, buff pantaloons and black boots.

  Stanley generally avoided the country, and she wasn’t aware that he was particularly fond of their uncle. Yet here he was. The reason wasn’t hard to guess: money. But why, she mused, as she took a cup of tea from Mrs. Easley, had Stanley brought along Canfield? Her gaze shifted to Canfield, who, from the way he was staring at them, appeared to be fascinated by his boots.

  Canfield, like Stanley, had been a crony of her late husband, and like Stanley and Charles, he was addicted to all games of chance; she had never cared much for his company. She took a sip of her tea. Of course, she thought dryly, she could say that of nearly every one of Charles’s friends.

  Canfield’s eyes lifted suddenly and he looked straight at her. He smiled and something in that knowing smile infuriated her. Her chin lifted and her eyes glittered
with temper as she met his stare. She’d be damned if she’d let a wastrel like Canfield intimidate her. She had done nothing wrong, no matter what the wags claimed, nor how much was whispered behind her back. She had not murdered her husband!

  But something in Canfield’s pale blue eyes made her uneasy. He looked as if he knew a secret. She stiffened. Surely he could not know of Charles’s despicable bargain with Lord Winthrop? It was impossible! No one knew except Charles, Lord Winthrop and herself ... unless, she thought sickly, Winthrop had bragged to his friends... .

  Even more determined to hold her own across the short distance that separated them, Gillian’s eyes clashed with Canfield’s, and when he dropped his gaze a long moment later, one of her hands had curled into a tight fist and she discovered she had been holding her breath. Letting her breath out slowly, she forced her fisted hand to relax and kept her eyes lowered, her thoughts unpleasant and chaotic.

  She considered the terrible possibility that Canfield knew of Charles’s bargain with Winthrop, and it was several minutes before she could tear her mind away from that dark place. Forcing herself to concentrate on the conversation going on around her, she wasn’t surprised that Stanley had once again brought up the subject of Luc Joslyn.

  “I do not mean to harp, Uncle, but do you think it wise to foster a friendship with Mr. Joslyn?” Stanley asked. “I mean, I realize that his half brother is a viscount, but need I remind you that Luc Joslyn is illegitimate?”

  “There are many within the ton who refuse to acknowledge him,” drawled Canfield.

  “Well, I ain’t among them,” snapped Silas. “Luc Joslyn’s a fine man, and I’m proud to call him a friend.” His gaze sharpened on Canfield. “I seem to remember that you didn’t have any problem sitting down with him and losing several thousand pounds to him in May.” He smiled with his teeth. “Perhaps that is why you were rude to him.”

  Canfield flushed. “I didn’t see any reason to encourage his pretensions.”