“Conspiracy makes for strange bedfellows, I suppose.”
“Did Father ever take you to one of Podmore’s affairs?”
“No. Perhaps because he knew it wouldn’t be to my taste.”
“What did he say about him?”
“Only that he was off to see him. Has his name come up during your quest?”
He slowly shook his head. That was disappointing. She’d hoped to garner some information before she attended that particular lord’s latest affair. “It probably means nothing then.”
She finished off her brandy. “I’m sorry I couldn’t have been of more help.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You went to all that bother to arrange this meeting to toss out one name? You could have provided that information in a missive.” Placing his elbows on the table, he leaned forward until she could see the silver in the blue of his eyes. “Why did you want to see me?”
She licked her lips, then cursed herself for doing so when his eyes darkened with desire. It stemmed from her youth when she would become nervous, sometimes going so far as not to lick but to gnaw until she drew blood. “I just thought the namemight prove helpful.” And perhaps he might do some investigating, learn of the upcoming affair, and attend to determine if he could garner any information. Although for the life of her, she didn’t know why she wanted him there. His presence would simply interfere with her task.
He came half an inch closer, and yet given the manner with which her heart thudded, he might as well have touched his nose to hers. “Liar. What did you hope to gain?”
“To put my past with your father to bed.”
She shouldn’t have mentioned that particular piece of furniture because now his eyes smoldered.
“My father... or me?” he asked in a silky voice as though they were already locked together, her arms wrapped around those broad shoulders, her legs around those narrow hips as he pounded into her. “Perhaps you want to put me in your bed.”
Another lick of her lips. A hard swallow.
“You’re drawn to me,” he said huskily, and she imagined that rough voice whispering naughty words into her ear.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Did she have to sound so damned breathless as though she’d just spent the last of the air in her lungs crying out his name in ecstasy?
“Let me be absolutely clear, Ice Princess. I would never partake of my father’s leavings.”
As her carriage rumbled through the streets, Esme was disappointed that she’d finished off herbrandy before he’d uttered his horrid and ugly words. She’d have taken immense pleasure in tossingherleavingsin his darkly handsome face. Instead, she’d laughed caustically and said, “How arrogant you are to think you appeal to me in the least.”
When he appealed to her on far too many levels to count. Then she’d stood, bid himadieu, and with her head held so high she was bound to have an aching neck come morning, she’d stormed from the establishment.
Why had his words smarted? Why did his opinion matter? She was accustomed to not feeling, to never experiencing remorse, regret, or doubt. Dear Lord, she’d gotten something in her eye. Both of them as a matter of fact because they each stung. How careless of her.
Her upset was a result of the ordeal she’d endured for the past year, that was all. The aftermath of Wolfford’s deception. She vaguely wondered how Marcus Stanwick would react if he knew the truth of things, of how it had truly been between her and his father. Probably wouldn’t care in the least. She was a fool to find herself attracted to him. It had been a good long while since she’d been a fool.
The carriage came to a stop. A footman handed her down. She strode into her residence, passed off her reticule and umbrella to the waiting butler, and then held out her arms, welcoming Laddie as he leapt into them. She hugged him tightly. Unconditional love. Would that people gave it as freely.
“Did you learn anything of significance?” Brewster asked.
“He knew you were following him. He questioned me about it.” She wandered into the front parlor, set Laddie in a chair, went to the sideboard of decanters where she poured two brandies, and offered one to her most trusted ally—which meant she trusted him just a hair.
“Blast him,” Brewster muttered before sipping. “Anything else?”
“Not really.” She lowered herself to the chair. He hadn’t reacted to the name Podmore so she suspected the viscount might not be as involved as O thought. She’d probably find nothing at all within his residence. “He wasn’t as tidy.”
She’d wager he’d not taken a razor to his face since the night he’d come here. His unkempt state was rather appealing, made him appear more rugged and dangerous. Or perhaps that was a result of his disgust for her.
“What are you thinking?” Brewster asked.
She released a long, slow, drawn-out sigh. “That I’m ready for this matter to be done with.”
Chapter 5
