London's Most Wanted Rake
‘It was the warmer air and the slight change in light patterns when the door opened,’ Alina confessed in aloof tones, making clear that he was not welcome, that she’d come out here to be alone, not to invite private conversation. ‘How did you know I was out here?’ For two people who did not do well together, they had a knack for always knowing when the other was near.
Channing tapped his head with a finger and grinned. ‘Your hair. All that platinum is like a star in a night sky. Still, you’d make an admirable spy. Have you thought of offering your services to the Home Office?’ he joked.
‘I’ll pretend that’s a compliment, not a criticism.’ She was having none of it. A careless woman was too easily sucked into his easy flattery and then it was too late. Alina forced him straight to the chase. ‘What did you really come out here for?’
‘Fresh air and answers.’ Channing’s voice was sharp and quiet in the darkness as he, too, discarded any veneer of civility. The people they’d once been had been forged into new people who were harder, stronger, people who were built to last.
Of course he’d want answers. He’d had a few hours to contemplate the situation. Now the questions would start as he tried to fill in the pieces.
‘I met Seymour,’ Channing began. ‘He doesn’t seem like your sort. Perhaps you might tell me what you need an introduction for.’
She was not going to make it easy on him. ‘I’m the one paying your fee.’ Let him be reminded that for all his tricks and flattery, she was the one in charge here. She’d hired him, not the other way around.
‘I can terminate the contract at any point if I am not comfortable with the terms,’ Channing reminded her. ‘Perhaps you mean to lead me into nefarious crimes as an unwitting assistant.
‘Scandal? You? Hah!’ Alina snorted in a most unladylike fashion. What he posited was ridiculous, all things considered. ‘It won’t work, you know, you standing there posturing like a virgin with a reputation to protect. You’re Channing Deveril, the “luckiest” man in London; a new woman, a new bed, every night. You’re worried about scandals? You are a scandal.’
‘I will not blindly get you an introduction and find myself embroiled in scandal,’ Channing repeated calmly.
She met him with silence. This would be a perfect opportunity for him to go back inside and in his manly pride feel he’d emerged from the encounter triumphant. But the dratted man didn’t take the chance.
‘If you won’t tell me about Seymour, why don’t you tell me about dinner?’ Channing said rather drily. ‘I should point out to you that Seymour noticed our little table game. From his response, it wasn’t clear he understood the game wasn’t for his benefit. Or was it? You clearly have his attention. Why do you need me to approach him?’
Channing was a dog with a bone. This question wasn’t really about dinner. It was still about Seymour, just from a different angle. She gave a throaty laugh. ‘You should know, a lady never promotes herself to a gentleman on her own behalf. It would be too pushy by far.’
‘Yes, well, that being said, I must inform you that a lady also doesn’t stroke the stem of her wine glass as if it were a man’s phallus.’
Her voice lit with dark humour. ‘Why, Channing Deveril, what a naughty mind you have! And to think you got all of that out of the way I held my wine glass. Along those lines, one might think you were cupping the underside of a woman’s breast the way you held yours.’
‘Maybe I was.’ Something hot and dangerous sparked between them. At some point in their exchange they’d turned towards one another, neither of them looking out over the expanse of garden any longer. The space between them was negligible. If she drew a deep enough breath, her breasts would brush the front of his dinner jacket. This was where she had to be careful. The line was so very close, so very easy to cross. If she crossed it, she’d have to be cautious—what was work, what was pleasure?
For him it was always work. She would do best to remember it because she’d forgotten once to her detriment. This hot détente could not last. She glanced over his shoulder into the drawing room. ‘Shall we go in?’
Channing turned his head to catch the scene through the doors. ‘Ah, is it bedtime already?’
‘What a rather clumsy segue for you. Usually you are more...’ She waved a hand to indicate she was looking for a word.
‘Suave? Debonair?’ Channing supplied.
‘Subtle.’ She raised her brows, sensing her chance to even the playing field. He’d come out here looking to clarify their situation. She’d give him some clarity, then. ‘Since we’re not being subtle at the moment, let me remind you, I’m paying you for protection. I’m not paying you for sex.’ She gave him a knowing look and ran her gaze down the length of him in provocative suggestion. ‘I’ve had that from you before for free.’
‘I would remind you, nothing is free, comtesse. Bonne nuit.’ Channing bowed smartly over her hand and was gone.
Chapter Four
Had she done it on purpose; turned the conversation from business to an exchange of wits that fell somewhere into a grey area between flirtation and warning? Channing wondered as he undressed for bed. Such techniques might have distracted other men, but she’d have to try harder than that to distract him.
He knew better than anyone that she saw everything as a strategic seduction. Conversations, people, all were delicious games to be played and won. Such knowledge kept his own guard up. Only a foolish man would assume the comtesse needed anyone. He was far from a fool these days. He wasn’t the soft-hearted young man she’d encountered in Paris. She’d have to do a far sight better than flutter a fan and stroke a wine goblet if she meant to distract him.
Channing stretched out on the bed, revelling in the novelty of being alone. Maybe it was worth coming to the house party simply to have his own bed. Well, almost worth it. Alina made things tricky. He had a careful line to walk with her. Yes, he was here to honour Amery’s contract and that technically put her in charge. But, no, he would not blindly do her bidding if he questioned the legitimacy of her motives and he was questioning them.
On the most obvious front, something wasn’t right. This house party didn’t fit her profile, the one she’d worked so hard to cultivate since returning from France. Seymour didn’t fit her circles either. After listening to him talk over port, Channing didn’t care for the oily bastard one bit. Whatever business Alina had with him, it was no good. Both those items added up to trouble.
Alina had to be cautious here. Her image among society was not pristine. There were still those in London who took the conditions of her husband’s death and the accusations that followed quite seriously. She might have gained some respectability in certain circles, but one false step on her part and that thin cloak of respectability would be stripped away. If that happened, there would be no second chances, no benefit of the doubt extended to her another time. It made Channing wonder what she wanted from Seymour to justify such a risk.
Wondering was bad, Channing scolded himself. It led to curiosity and curiosity led to evil things when it came to the comtesse. He’d learned in Paris during their brief affair that she knew how to use a man and how willing a man could become to being used. He would not let curiosity make him that vulnerable to her again. He told himself, he was only wondering about her circumstances now out of a sense of self-protection. He hoped that was the truth. It was no wonder Amery had felt out of his depth. This was an assignment that pitted one master against another. She might be good at these games, but he was good, too. Damn good.
* * *
She’d been very good the prior night. Alina stretched in the morning sun as it fell across the wide expanse of her bed. She was still revelling in her little victory of last evening. Her strategy had worked divinely. A flirtation at dinner and then later on the veranda had neatly deflected Channing away from further enquiries about her business with Seymour.
It had been work of a sort, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t been energising. Flirting with Channing was invigorating, perhaps because it was dangerous. He would not hesitate to strike back, perhaps because it was a challenge. Channing embodied a healthy amount of resistance to her charms and that was novel in itself. He wasn’t overcome with her looks or her wit. Not like Parkhurst’s scion who was so obviously infatuated he might as well just offer her carte blanche on the back of a calling card and let her run roughshod over him. She was not interested.
Alina rolled over and yanked on the bell pull next to her bed. There would be more of the same kind of work to do today. Yesterday had just been the beginning. An easily obtained gentleman held no appeal for her. Perhaps that was why Channing’s parting comment, Nothing is for free, still lingered in her thoughts. She wasn’t even sure what he’d meant by that, but it had been enough to keep her thinking about it, keep her thoughts going back to a certain moment, to a time she wanted to remember as much as she wanted to forget it. Still, she could make use of it.
The comment was the perfect launching point for the next level of her distraction game. She wanted Channing to be so busy sparring with her, pursuing her, he’d not be watching her transactions with Seymour. At least that was what she told herself. Her choice of gambit had nothing to do with a pair of disarmingly blue eyes and a ready smile set amid the perfect planes of elongated squared cheekbones and a length of straight aristocratic breeding.
Her maid, Celeste, was prompt, bearing with her a tray of morning chocolate. Celeste had been with her since her disastrous marriage to the French comte and was arguably the best thing she’d taken away from her time abroad. ‘Bonjour, madame,’ she sang out, always cheery, as she set the tray on a table by the window and turned to the wardrobe. ‘There’s a ride planned for this morning, madame. There’s to be two groups, one for casual riders and one for the more advanced group.’
‘I’ll need the blue habit with the jaunty little hat. We’ll put my hair up in that twist you do so well, Celeste.’ Alina got out of bed and went to sit beside the tray, her thoughts already starting to work: what to wear, what to say, where to ride, how to subtly create the right impression to draw Seymour in.
Celeste tossed a knowing smile over her shoulder. ‘Oui, the young blond lord will like that. He likes to look at your neck.’
Alina sipped her chocolate. ‘It’s not for him. It’s for Seymour.’
Celeste made a pouting moue as she laid out the riding habit. ‘I like the young lord better.’
‘This is business, Celeste.’ Alina said sternly. She’d decided last night after the veranda she could no longer wait for Channing to procure an introduction to Seymour. It wasn’t that she doubted Channing’s ability to get the introduction. He would get it and he’d have it by the end of the day. But he would make her pay for it with questions and enquiries. He’d want to know what she intended to do with the introduction and she had no intention of telling him. If he knew, he’d want to get involved. ‘Which group is Seymour riding with?’
‘The advanced group, madame. Mr Deveril is riding with them as well.’
‘Send word I’ll want a suitable horse for that group, too,’ Alina instructed, finishing the last of the chocolate. She would have liked to have lingered in the sunny bower of the window, but there was work to be done and elegance like hers didn’t come easy. Alina crossed the room to the dressing table where her pots and brushes were laid out. ‘Time to work your magic, Celeste.’
Then she would work hers. At least on the ride she’d have both men where she could see them. One could play with a man like Channing, flirt a little, but one couldn’t trust them—couldn’t trust them to leave well enough alone, couldn’t trust them not to get under one’s skin without even trying. And because of those reasons, she couldn’t wait for him to get the introduction. She had to do this her way and she had to do it fast before Channing could step in. She’d already paid twice in the past for his involvement in her life, once physically and once emotionally. The first time she’d been naïve. She could forgive herself for that. The second time, she’d simply been a fool who had trusted the wrong man. Well, no more. The Comtesse de Charentes had emerged from the fires of her marriage, wiser to the ways of men.
* * *
The drive in front of the house was full of milling people and horses by the time she arrived downstairs. A honey-bay mare was waiting for her, prancing eagerly. Alina eyed the prancing horse warily. She was a competent horsewoman, but she’d rather have ridden with the casual group, more time for talk and conversation. This feisty girl was going to demand her attention, starting with getting on. Alina looked around for a mounting block.
‘Need a leg up?’ Channing materialised at her side. He stroked the mare’s shoulder, looking golden and handsome in the morning sun. There was nothing for it. The mounting blocks were all busy. But she would have refused if she could. He had a way of touching a woman that made her feel special even when she knew better, even when the task was as mundane as mounting a horse. Perhaps she imagined his hand lingered at her leg a moment longer than necessary as he checked the girth.
‘Are you riding with this group?’ A line creased his brow between his eyes.
‘Yes,’ she answered smartly, gathering the reins. ‘You’re not worried, are you?’ She didn’t want him concerned. It made him warm, likeable.
‘Are you sure you can handle the mare? She’s a fine horse, well trained but spirited, too,’ Channing quizzed.
Alina gave him a confident smile. ‘I can handle her. I’ve ridden bigger horses than this one.’ The gelding she had had in France had been nearly seventeen hands.
He gave her a naughty look. ‘Size isn’t everything.’
She laughed and moved her horse forward. A line was beginning to form. She wanted to get closer to Seymour at the front. ‘You’d better mount up if you mean to come.’
‘Oh, the things I could do with that statement.’ Channing gave a loud laugh and drew several eyes their direction.
‘Hush, will you?’ Alina scolded.
He smiled and stepped back, relenting. ‘I’ll be along shortly. I need to find a servant to take care of something before I can ride out.
* * *
She couldn’t keep up. After the first two miles, it was apparent the mare was willing. It was her own skill that would not allow her to take certain risks. She could ride the flat ground well enough, giving the horse its head over the wide meadows, but she didn’t dare take the jumps over hedges and logs at full speed. She took them at a slower, cautious rate. That put her at a disadvantage and whatever ground she’d made up on the flat was soon lost, putting her at the back of the ride while Seymour continued to ride in the front.
Alina reined the mare to a trot, giving the horse a chance to breathe and herself a chance to think. She would never catch Seymour at this rate. She needed a short cut, a detour that would take her around the designated course and bring her up with the leaders. She caught sight of a path cutting through the woods to the side of the course. Ah, some luck at last. Alina veered to the path and into the woods.
This was better. There were no logs or hedges to jump, only the occasional tree root to navigate and her horse was sure footed enough. She’d make up time fast enough now. But that was before the screech of a hawk split the quiet of the woods and her mare took off as if it were a clarion call to arms.
She had no time to react. It was a testament to her competence that Alina stayed on as long as she did. A forest at full tilt was no easy trail. There were dangers aplenty in low-hanging branches and jutting roots. One stumble on the horse’s part would be all it would take to dislodge a rider.
Alina gave up any attempt at steering. The horse had a mind of its own and Alina sensed the mare was running not so much out of the crazed urgings of a spook as it was because it wanted to and nothing, certainly not she, was going to stop it. Her only option was to stay on and ride the mare out. That worked fairly well until they came to a tree lying across the path.
With no idea of what might lie on the other side, Alina pulled at the reins in a final attempt to stop the racing mare. It was the wrong choice. It slowed the horse, but not enough to turn away from the jump, only enough to take it with a little less momentum than she needed. The mare cleared the log, but the landing was shaky. The mare stumbled in the soft mud, depositing Alina in the shallows of a forest stream on the other side. It was a most ignoble finish to a gallant ride.
The mare recovered her feet and trotted to a stop on the other side, whinnying happily as if this were the greatest of larks. Alina smacked the water with an angry fist and shouted, ‘Don’t you dare laugh at me, you silly horse!’
It felt good to vent some of her frustration, but there was still plenty of it left. She’d never get to Seymour first at this rate. Her habit was soaked. ‘You’ve ruined everything, you know,’ she scolded the horse. ‘I’ll never get to the picnic now. I’ll have to go back to the house and change. You have no idea what you’ve done. Channing will get to Seymour first and then he’ll have all these questions.’ She hit the water again for emphasis.
‘Hey, don’t hurt the water!’ a cheery male voice called out and Alina froze. Within a moment, Channing appeared around the edge of the log, leading his horse by the reins. It occurred to her briefly to get up out of the stream. But why? Her humiliation was already complete. Of all the people who could have found her in this situation, it had to be Channing Deveril. Getting up now wasn’t going to change that or dry her clothes any faster. She might as well wallow in it.
‘Are you hurt?’ he asked, tethering the two horses together on a low bush.
‘Just my pride.’ She struggled to stand. Her skirts were heavy and she was embarrassed to find she couldn’t quite manage it.
‘Wait, let me help you or you’ll fall again.’ Channing extended a hand, his boots sinking into the muddy bank.
She took his hand and resisted the temptation to pull him in with her, but he’d already sacrificed his boots to the cause and she opted not to be petty. ‘How did you know I was out here?’
‘I was behind you, quite a way, but I saw you veer off into the forest. I wanted to make sure you were all right.’ He leaned against a tree trunk while she sat on a stump, wringing out her skirt. Channing shrugged out of his coat and offered it to her.
She didn’t want to take it, but it felt good after the cold water of the stream. The day itself was warm and she’d dry soon enough, but for now the warmth of his coat was irresistible. The coat smelled of him, all spice and vanilla. It was like being wrapped in his arms, a most dangerous place to be. She knew from experience it was a place full of a false sense of security. He was a seductive man, but he wasn’t for her, couldn’t be for her. Sons of earls didn’t marry women widowed under a cloud of suspicion. Besides, she didn’t want another marriage anyway. One disaster was enough. Although with Channing, it would be a disaster of a different sort.
‘What were you thinking, to strike off on an unknown trail with a horse you’d never ridden before?’ Channing stroked the long nose of her horse. His tone was less cheerful.
‘This is not my fault.’ Alina answered with a certain amount of terseness. ‘It’s her fault.’ She nodded towards the mare who was perfectly docile under Channing’s attentions. ‘We were doing fine until she heard a hawk and took off.’ She dropped the folds of her skirt. She’d got out as much excess water as possible, but the wringing had left the skirt wrinkled and she could do nothing about the mud stains.
‘I’ll have to go back to the house,’ she said, disappointed.
Channing shrugged. ‘Maybe. We might have an alternative to that. First, tell me why you came this way? You haven’t answered my question yet. Does it have to do with Seymour?’
From anyone else, it would have been a shot in the dark. From Channing, it wasn’t a lucky guess. ‘You always could read minds,’ Alina admitted ruefully. ‘I wanted to put myself in his sphere of influence.’ She could confess that much at least. It was no more than what he would have heard her shouting to the horse about as he came upon them.
Channing pushed off from the tree and came to stand in front of her. ‘Tut-tut, that’s almost a lie. As in I almost believe you, but not quite. Why would you do that when there’s no need? Your little flirtation at the table last night securely put you in his sphere of influence. Seymour noticed you. I told you that much on the veranda. Second, I am going to befriend him at the picnic, at your request, I might add. By nightfall you would have had your introduction just as you planned. Thus, there’s no need to further your efforts.’
At this declaration, Channing began to pace in front of her, giving her a fine view of long legs and tight buttocks encased in riding breeches, her absolute favourite piece of male attire. She was regretting not pulling him into the stream after all. The breeches would be spectacular wet. Other things would be spectacular, too.
‘What?’ Channing stopped his dissection of her motives, which were all too on the mark for her taste. She hated how he could see right through her. It was time to change that, time for him to be the one off balance for a change.
She closed the small distance between them and twined her arms about his neck, her voice low and sultry. ‘I was just thinking it’s been a while since I’ve seen you naked.’
‘It has been.’ Channing’s teeth nipped at the column of her neck. A tremor ran through her at the delicious contact. Her mouth claimed his in a long kiss full of tongues and tastes.
She pressed her hips lightly against his. ‘You’re wrong, you know, size does matter.’ He murmured something hot and husky against her neck and she reached for him through his breeches, intending to cup his length. But he stepped back.
‘I’m not that easy, comtesse. I’m sorry if you felt I was.’
‘What I felt wasn’t “easy,”’ Alina shot back, letting anger disguise her disappointment. The little interlude had been nice until he’d gone and ruined it along with her plans for distraction.
‘Perhaps I should clarify. When I said easy, I meant easily distracted.’ Channing returned to his tree and folded his arms, an amused smile playing across those kissable lips.
‘Can’t a girl just give a man satisfaction in the forest?’ Alina retorted. She would have been more coy about it if she thought it would have worked.
Channing laughed. ‘You never change. Do you really think I don’t know what you’re doing?’
‘I don’t know. Why don’t you explain what it is you think I’m doing and I’ll tell you if that’s right?’
‘I’ll do better than that. I’ll cut straight to the chase.’ He fixed her with an intense blue stare that would have singed lesser mortals. But Alina knew how to stand her ground against anyone, even handsome Englishmen who thought they had her best interests at heart.
‘Others would conclude your haste in rushing to Seymour’s attention is that you doubt my ability to get you the introduction. But that’s not it. It’s just the opposite. You know I’ll get that introduction and you’ve decided you don’t want me to. I wonder why? Am I close?’
‘Amery has more tact than you.’ Alina snorted. She pulled off his coat and handed it to him
‘Amery isn’t here. Perhaps that’s for the best. He doesn’t know you the way I do.’ He reached out and took his coat, but instead of taking it, he used it to tug her to him. His hands rested at her waist. When he spoke again the edge was gone from his voice. ‘Since I’ve known you, you’ve never let anyone help you. You rush your fences and not always for the best. There’s a difference between taking decisive action and being impulsive. You’re rushing your fences now with Seymour. I think you’re missing the potential consequences. It will not look good if you are too forward with him. You know what people will say.’