Sweet Enemy: A Veiled Seduction Novel Page 5

  But she didn’t. Rather, she opened her mouth, seemed to think better of it and closed it again. Did she plan to give him a much deserved set down? Well, he bloody well wished she would get on with it and leave.

  Instead, she uttered a disgusted sigh. “I hurt you when I fell from the ladder, didn’t I?”

  Surprise lanced through him as surely as the burn speared through angry muscle. Whatever he’d expected her to say, it wasn’t that. Still, the last thing he needed was a rush of female pity right now. “I assure you, I am well—,” he said, only to be cut off as she stepped near and raised her hand to his brow. Her cool fingers barely skimmed his skin, bringing gooseflesh followed by a rush of heat.

  “I recognize the signs of pain,” she murmured, her eyes on his briefly before sweeping him. “Your pupils are dilated more than the dim light accounts for and your skin is slightly clammy and cool to the touch despite your proximity to the fire.”

  Her hand trailed down his neck, where she pressed gently. He swallowed, hard.

  “Your heartbeat is still accelerated. Intoxication would cause such symptoms,” she said, removing her hand from him. “Yet judging from your reflexes as you caught me and the fact that I—” Her face turned nearly crimson in the firelight. “I…tasted no liquor on your lips, you aren’t the least bit intoxicated.”

  He glanced at the decanter of brandy on the mantel, relief so tantalizingly close, yet so far away. “Not yet,” he grumbled.

  Miss Claremont cleared her throat. “Well, while you don’t deserve it after behaving like such a…such a…bounder,” she said, finally settling on an insult, “I can’t, in good conscience, let you continue to suffer when you injured yourself catching me. Not when I can help.”

  Geoffrey snorted. Why wouldn’t the woman just leave, so he could get intoxicated? It was the only thing he knew that would dull the agony. “You can help? What are you? Some kind of debutante doctor?”

  Miss Claremont’s violet eyes flashed and her lips pursed. “Something like that.”

  “I appreciate your concern, but it is nothing that won’t be fine by morning. Now, go back to your room.”

  She stared at him a long moment, a frown pulling at the corners of her lips. And yet she also looked vaguely…relieved. “If you insist, my lord.”

  Geoffrey relaxed his stance as he watched her walk away, grateful he’d soon be alone.

  Miss Claremont paused beside the bookcase nearest the passageway opening and bent to retrieve something.

  His gaze followed her movement. He saw a book, lying open, cover up, on the floor. Oh yes. He’d thought he’d heard a thud right before she’d landed in his arms. As she picked it up, he squinted his eyes to see which volume had so interested Miss Claremont that she’d risked climbing a rolling ladder in the dark to reach it.

  He blanched when he realized what she’d chosen. Had she known what she was pulling from the shelf? Alarm clenched his gut. Had she looked inside it yet? God, he hoped not. He should have removed that book years ago. “Miss Claremont,” he barked.

  She ignored him, quickening her step.

  His lower back throbbed as he limped after her. She reached out to unlock the double doors as if she hadn’t heard him. “Miss Claremont,” he bellowed. “Halt!”

  She jerked to a stop, her shoulders stiff. Geoffrey grimaced, regretting his authoritative tone. He stopped beside her. Moonlight washed her face pale and she kept her expression blank and controlled. He was a cad, an ogre even, not to let her escape the library with what dignity she had left after he’d trapped her, kissed her and then so harshly rebuffed her offer of help, but he couldn’t allow her to take his brother’s private volume. She had no business seeing anything it contained.

  “I’m sorry,” he said as he held out his hand. Miss Claremont surrendered the book easily, much to Geoffrey’s relief. She wouldn’t look at him, but her hand trembled minutely as she withdrew it. His remaining anger deflated. “Might I assist you in choosing another book?”

  She turned her head to him then. Her face was as cool as the sea off Cornwall, yet her eyes blazed purple fire. “No, thank you, my lord,” she said bitingly. “I find I no longer care for your library, or anything in it.” She took a deep breath and swung open the doors. “You shan’t find me here again.” She marched off in the direction of the central hallway.

  Geoffrey scowled at her retreating form for a moment, then pulled the doors closed. He limped back to the fireplace, stopping at the tray that held the brandy. He laid his brother’s book on the mantel, grasped the decanter and poured.

  He knew from experience that he’d need more than a couple of drinks to dull the pain before he could stretch out his gnarled muscles enough to sleep. He threw back another glass and settled into the wingback chair near the crackling fire.

  “You ass,” he said aloud, shaking his head. His behavior had been deplorable. This damned house party had him on edge. Yet he couldn’t deny the thrill he’d felt with her in his arms and at the awareness he’d seen form in her eyes. He breathed in her scent, which still clung to him. What a pleasure it would be to awaken Liliana Claremont’s passion.

  Geoffrey caught himself. “Watch out, old boy,” he said, taking another swallow of brandy. That was the pleasure of a husband.

  He pictured his mother’s smug face earlier this afternoon when she’d sprung this ordeal upon him, and his fingers tightened around his glass.

  What the hell had he been thinking, taking such a chance with Miss Claremont? The countess would have invited women cut from the same cloth as herself. Miss Claremont might have shown compassion because she thought she’d caused his injury, but no doubt on the morrow she would find a way to use his foolish actions to her advantage. Damn.

  After several drinks, his pain and guilt receded on a brandied cloud and his mind returned to her. He’d have to apologize, of course. And then he’d determine what the delectable chit’s real intentions were toward him and nip them if he must.

  Because he’d hang before he married anyone attending his mother’s bloody little house party.

  Chapter Four

  L

  iliana peeked around the corner of the upstairs family wing, looking to see if any servants still hung about. She saw nothing but the late-morning sun streaming in through the massive mullioned windows. She’d spent most of her morning looking for another way into Stratford’s study while maids had tidied the family suites and the private parlors. Now she intended to try her luck searching them.

  She stifled a yawn. Curse Stratford, she thought for the umpteenth time this morning. Her fatigue could be laid squarely at his arrogant, self-righteous feet. After their little encounter, she’d hardly slept a wink. She tried the first door handle but found it locked.

  What a blasted fool she was. How could she blurt her true feelings about not wanting a husband? Stratford had given her the perfect excuse for her presence, both in his library and at Somerton Park, when he’d accused her of setting out to trap him. Why hadn’t she leapt on it?

  Liliana released a tight breath as she tried the next door handle to no avail. Because I don’t think well on my feet. She preferred things to go as planned, and when they did not, she needed time to process.

  And then she’d gone and drawn more attention to herself because she couldn’t bear to see the man suffering on her account. Yet an entire sleepless night spent evaluating her actions—and his—left her more troubled than resolved. He’d seemed awfully sincere in his belief that she was just one of the many females out to land him. Perhaps he hadn’t connected her to her father. Perhaps he didn’t suspect her true motives at all.

  Liliana groaned. If he hadn’t before, he very well might now. Considering their disastrous encounter it had become imperative to avoid him at all costs.

  A scuffling sound drew Liliana’s attention. Her muscles tensed and she held her breath, listening. A rhythmic scraping, like slippers on wood, raced up the stairs at a hurried pace. A loud creak sounded from one
of the upper steps. Drat—if she were caught again, she’d certainly be exposed!

  Liliana shot down the hall, hoping to make it around the corner before a maid or housekeeper emerged. She jerked left into a tiny nook and jiggled the door handles on either side, but neither would give.

  Blast. But she wasn’t caught yet. She tucked herself as tightly into the corner as she could manage, praying the servant had no reason to venture this far.

  The footsteps persisted, getting closer, and Liliana stopped breathing.

  “Psssst.” The harsh whisper sounded familiar. “Lily, are you up here?”

  Relief poured through Liliana. “Penelope?” The stricture in her throat eased. She stepped around the corner to see her cousin looking quite out of sorts. A blond ringlet had slipped from Penelope’s normally perfect coiffure, and she struggled to catch her breath from the quick upward flight.

  “There you are!” Penelope gasped. “I’ve been searching for you everywhere.” She rushed forward, grasped Liliana’s hand and started tugging her back toward the stairs.

  “Why?” Liliana asked, allowing herself to be pulled along. “And where are we going in such a hurry?”

  “Back to our room,” Penelope answered over her shoulder. “I just hope we’re not too late. I know I promised to cover for you should you be missed, but even I can’t help you now.”

  Had Stratford told Aunt Eliza about last night? That was the only reason for Penelope to be so upset.

  “Too late for what?” Liliana demanded, her chest tight.

  “Mother is on her way up to our room right now to fetch you.”

  “Fetch me?”

  “Yes. Now that Mother knows Stratford is interested in you, she won’t let you alone for a moment,” Penelope said. “And if you’re not in your bed, sick, like I told her you were, there will be a lot of explaining to do.”

  “What?” Liliana asked, confused. She jerked to a stop, her grip on Penelope’s hand pulling Pen up short as well. “What are you talking about?”

  “Stratford,” Penelope snapped, as if it were Liliana’s fault she didn’t understand. “He came up to Mother and me after the morning festivities. He asked about you. He seemed particularly concerned with your whereabouts.”

  Thank goodness. He hadn’t told after all. Liliana smiled and released a breath before the real worry grabbed her. “Why would he do that?” She grimaced, berating herself. She’d been a fool last night, too careless, too loose with her tongue. In more ways than one.

  “I don’t know.” Penelope tilted her head, her heart-shaped face etched with concern. “Do you think he’s onto you?”

  Probably. “No,” Liliana assured her. “Of course not. I’ve given him no reason to look twice at me.”

  Penelope stared hard for a moment, and Liliana did her best not to squirm. She never could get one past Pen. “Well, whatever the reason, Mother’s convinced Stratford is smitten with you,” Penelope tossed over her shoulder as she resumed their pace.

  “That’s absurd,” Liliana exclaimed as they exited the stairs and made their way to their door. Despite her words, something that could only be described as excitement ran through her, pooling in unfamiliar places that left her feeling unsettled and…unsatisfied. She frowned.

  “Nevertheless,” Penelope said as she bustled Liliana inside the still empty room, “she’s determined to take advantage.” She finally let loose of Liliana’s hand and skirted around behind her. “I warned you that by not telling Mother your true reasons for accepting this invitation, you were giving her tacit approval to matchmake,” Penelope scolded, quickly unbuttoning the back of Liliana’s dress. “I told you that you didn’t comprehend what you were letting yourself in for.”

  Liliana stepped out of the garment, which Penelope snatched up and draped over a cream armchair.

  “You know I couldn’t tell her the truth,” Liliana defended, the familiar anger simmering through her. Aunt would prefer to pretend that her brother and his unorthodox wife never existed. Aunt had always considered it an embarrassment that Liliana’s mother had flouted convention and practiced as a healer…and that her father had allowed it. Maybe that’s why the woman had always tried so hard to change her, to erase her parents’ influence—causing Liliana, in turn, to fight harder still to carry on their work, to not let her parents’ memories die.

  Her fingers fumbled as she undid her garters and rolled her stockings off. “Besides, Aunt never would have agreed to fund this trip if she didn’t think I was serious about finally finding a husband.” She reached for the thin nightgown Penelope held and yanked it over her head. “I didn’t think she’d aim so high. I’m virtually on the shelf, for goodness’ sake. I’d rather hoped she would focus her efforts on snagging Stratford for you.” And ignore me.

  Penelope huffed. “Oh, wonderful. Throw me to the wolves.”

  “You know that’s not what I meant,” Liliana replied as she climbed into bed, settling herself under the covers.

  Penelope waved a hand. “Of course. Poor Mother…when she learns that I’ve set my cap for a mere baron, she’ll likely have an apoplexy. With all of these hasty preparations, I don’t think I’ve had the chance to tell you, but I met Michael in the park the afternoon before last and he—”

  The doorknob turned sharply, and Pen’s mouth snapped shut. She dropped into a chair just as Aunt Eliza pushed into the room.

  “Good afternoon, Mother,” Penelope chirped, a little too enthusiastically.

  “Good afternoon, Aunt,” Liliana parroted, quite feebly.

  “It is precisely that…afternoon.” Aunt Eliza’s green gaze pinned Liliana. “An entire morning wasted. Gentlemen have been arriving in a steady stream whilst you lie about and let the other girls have the advantage. Of course”—her voice dropped in tone and volume—“so far I have been less than impressed with the quality of prospects. Only a handful of titles amongst them, and very little in the way of fortune.” She tsked, staring thoughtfully at a point behind Liliana and Penelope both. “Several are quite old,” she remarked, “and there is at least one or two who I am certain are not even persuaded toward…” She blinked, catching herself before saying something Liliana was sure would have been quite interesting.

  Aunt Eliza clapped her hands sharply and crossed toward the bed, looking down on Liliana. “Never mind that, as it appears you have already caught Stratford’s attention, my dear—and he, the best catch here!” Aunt’s pinched face broke into a rare smile of approval.

  Liliana returned the smile weakly.

  “I see you are still flushed,” Aunt Eliza observed. Her expression softened as she reached out a hand to touch Liliana’s face. She motioned for the family’s longtime servant, Mrs. Means, to enter the room.

  Liliana relaxed and blew out a wan breath. Perhaps she could play on Aunt Eliza’s sympathy and buy herself more time. “I’m afraid I’m not up to going out this afternoon,” Liliana said. She touched her own hand to her forehead. “I’m still not quite well.”

  Aunt Eliza snapped her fingers. Mrs. Means scurried over and handed Aunt a silver cup. “Pish. This is a campaign, my dear, and our adversaries will not rest on their laurels. You haven’t the time to be unwell.” Aunt swirled the cup, agitating a sluggish brown liquid. A foul smell wafted and Liliana’s nose twitched. “Mrs. Means has prepared a tonic that will have you feeling up to snuff in no time.”

  Liliana shook her head, turning away from the offensive offering. Even she, with all of her experience with healing herbs and tinctures, was unable to discern what made up that sludge. She slid off of the bed to escape Aunt Eliza’s ministrations but didn’t make it far.

  Aunt grasped Liliana’s shoulder, pressing her down onto the embroidered stool of the vanity. “We shall have to place you in Stratford’s path at every opportunity,” she said as she plopped the tonic in front of Liliana, the silver cup clicking against the wood.

  Liliana’s stomach clenched. That was the worst thing they could do. She opened her mouth t
o protest. “I—”

  “First, we must ensure Stratford stays entirely focused on you.” Aunt Eliza took in Liliana’s appearance as if evaluating which slice of beef to serve Prinny himself. She snapped her fingers again, and Mrs. Means stepped behind Liliana, vigorously taking a brush to her hair. “We shall turn you out beautifully. Penelope?”

  “Yes, Mama?”

  “Fetch the light blue striped muslin,” Aunt said, “and the sapphires, I should think. Oh, and the matching parasol and gloves. We shall be out of doors this afternoon.”

  Liliana could hear Penelope rummaging through the armoire. “Surely tomorrow will be soon enough for me to join the group,” she argued, swiping at the brush. She’d worry about how to get out of tomorrow’s activity tomorrow.

  “Stratford inquired about you today,” Aunt Eliza said, her lips firming. “That means you are on his mind, but you won’t be for long if we don’t get you down there. By tomorrow, this afternoon even, another could have taken your place. Particularly Emily Morton,” Aunt Eliza murmured thoughtfully, tapping a finger to her lip. “Yes, she is quite persistent and rather lovely.”