A Daring Liaison

“I’ve done no more than make appointments, sir. I think all of London must be waiting on someone or other.”

He laughed at her assessment. “Then you will be with us for a while yet?”

“So it would seem.”

“And I am doing my best to keep her diverted,” Sarah said. “I am taking her to my modiste tomorrow.”

Ethan slipped his hand into Sarah’s, an endearing gesture that belied their four years of marriage. “Her favorite establishment,” he explained. “Though I always suspect there is some manner of mischief afoot there.”

Sarah nudged him. “Tease! The only mischief is to your accounts. Marie is simply the best dressmaker ever. One has not truly arrived in London until one has had a gown fashioned by Madame Marie. Her judgment is unerring.”

Ethan read Charles’s expression, smiled and edged a knowing glance toward Mrs. Huffington. “Have you seen the Hawthorne gardens, Mrs. Huffington? The topiary is extraordinary.”

“I’ve not had that pleasure, Lord Ethan.”

Taking the cue, Charles offered his arm. “Allow me to show you the grounds, Mrs. Huffington.”

She hesitated, then blinked and took his arm, her hand trembling just a little, and he surmised she had been about to refuse. Did she realize he was on to her “poor widow” act? That his interest in her now was due to his suspicion of her? Or was she remembering their last encounter in a garden?

“Bring Georgiana back before long, Charlie. I really must introduce her around,” Sarah called after them.

He gave his sister a sardonic wink. Sarah had admonished him more than once for his rakish ways, but he was not about to lie just to set her mind at ease. Instead, he led Mrs. Huffington through the ballroom and out to the terrace.

“I fear I’ve appropriated you with falsehoods, Mrs. Huffington,” he admitted.

“You have no knowledge of topiaries?”

He smiled down at her, a bit diverted by the subtle scent of her perfume—a note of flowers blended with ambergris—similar to the scent his former mistress had used. But on Mrs. Huffington it was quite heady. Lush and seductive. “None,” he admitted. “Absolutely none.”

“Then we shall have to bumble along on our own, shan’t we?”

Quite adventurous of her. He’d just given her the perfect excuse to return to the house, and she hadn’t taken it—not that he’d have let her escape. Perhaps she had her own reasons for wanting to speak to him alone.

They strolled deeper into the twilight, guided by the lantern-lit paths. She did not prattle on like most women in like situations. To the contrary, after her initial reluctance, she seemed composed and calm, and he supposed that was due to the familiarity of such a walk. Had her husbands strolled with her through gardens before going down on bended knee?

They reached a path of hedges trimmed in various forms. He paused at one with a sharp spire. “Here we have the ever-popular boxwoodicus pointum.”

She laughed, a sound that sent a shiver up his spine. “I shall commit that to my memory, Mr. Hunter.”

He led her a bit farther from the house, curious how far he might take her. Far enough for privacy? “How have you come to know my sister?”

“I am not long in her acquaintance,” she admitted. “Miss Eugenia O’Rourke—oh, sorry, Mrs. Hunter since her marriage to your brother, but she was an O’Rourke when I met her—introduced us.”

“And how do you know Gina?”

“Last fall when Aunt Caroline and I came to town, we met in mutual company. I was previously acquainted with the Misses Thayer, who made the introductions.”

“Hortense and Harriett? Aye, the twins know everyone between the two of them. Did you all go about together?”

“Occasionally.” She paused and looked up at him as if she would say more, then glanced down again and the moment passed. “Not long after our arrival, Aunt Caroline and I returned to Kent. There was … trouble. And Aunt Caroline felt we should go home.”

Trouble? Was that how she thought of her most recent conquest’s death? Aye, he’d wager that would send her back to the countryside to hide. He stopped and took her hand, mildly surprised by its softness and warmth. “May I offer my condolences on your aunt’s death? I am told time will ease the loss.”

Tears welled up in her eyes and she brushed them back with her free hand before they could fall. “It was quite unexpected. I do not believe she was much in pain.”

As they continued to stroll in silence, still holding hands, Charles was surprised that she hadn’t sought to break the contact. All the better for him, since accustoming her to his touch was a part of his plan. Her little half smile was back and he breathed a little easier. He’d learned that the more a woman smiled, the less suspicious she was.

After a moment or two, she spoke again. “Did I hear your sister say that you are bound for the Foreign Office?”

“It has been mentioned to me as a possible option, but I have not made a decision. I have unfinished business where I am.”

“And where is that, Mr. Hunter?”

“London,” he told her without a twinge of conscience. Though it was no secret that he was with the Home Office, he perpetuated the myth that he was a minor clerk to Lord Wycliffe at Wycliffe’s suggestion. Only his brothers knew the extent of his activities.

“The Foreign Office sounds wonderfully exotic. I think I would love to travel, though I have not done enough of it to know.”

Charles shrugged. “My family has always believed in service to one’s country. All of us have traveled extensively, and allow me to assure you, Mrs. Huffington, that there is no place on earth like England.”

“Still, I have nothing left to hold me here, and it might be nice to see something of the world. That is the one benefit that Aunt Caroline’s infirmity denied me.”

He looked down at the top of her head, bowed to the pebbled path. Her scent, the soft warmth of her hand as it rested in his, the curve of her throat that begged his kisses, and the fullness of her lips just waiting for his. His eyes slipped lower to the provocative swell of her breasts above the modest neckline of her gown. Though they were mostly hidden from view, his imagination fueled an immediate and strong response in his body. One that he hoped Mrs. Huffington was yet innocent enough to miss.

He shook his head to clear it. Was this part of her allure—this mixture of worldliness and innocence? The undeniable appeal that had lured two men, perhaps three, to their deaths?

“Is something amiss, Mr. Hunter?” she asked.

The lowered intimacy of her voice caused him to stop and face her again. There was an unquestionable risk in growing closer to the woman, but he was a man who’d always liked the thrill of danger. “Mrs. Huffington, I hope you will not think me presumptuous, but how long do you plan to be in town?”

“No longer than it will take me to settle matters regarding Aunt Caroline’s estate. I find London society a bit … ruthless.”

He, too, lowered his voice. If the chit was flirting, he’d give her more than she’d bargained for. “If you are referring to the gossip shared over teacups, I cannot deny it. But I hope you will be staying longer.”

Georgiana’s heart tripped. He leaned closer. Too close. “Are you flirting, Mr. Hunter?”

He gave her the boyish smile that used to turn her insides to mush. “Neither of us is innocent of the world and its … pleasures.”

She held her breath as he lifted her hand and bent his head to brush his lips across her knuckles. A dark lock of hair fell across his forehead, and instant warmth seeped through her. She knew quite well that Aunt Caroline had been right about him. He teased, he flirted and once he’d stolen a kiss, he was on to the next woman. Who would know that better than she? Charles Hunter was an irresistible rake who had broken half the hearts in the ton. But not hers for a second time. She was immune.

After two marriages and a rather serious courtship, she had experience of a man’s passion. But Charles Hunter’s slow, easy grace was nothing like poor Arthur’s, who’d done no more than kiss her before his tumble down the stairs. Nor was his seduction akin to Gower’s quick, hard passion, come and gone in a blink. Yet not so sweet as Adam Booth’s humble kiss.

No, Mr. Hunter was in no hurry, and that unsettled her. He was a challenge to everything she’d come to believe—that love and passion were not for her, and marriage would be a disservice to any man for whom she bore any fondness at all. But it might almost be worth a kiss or two, since she no longer bore any fondness for him. Just curiosity. Could he still render her senseless with his kiss? Cause her heartbeat to race? Kindle a burning in her soul?

She looked up into those deep unfathomable eyes and he seemed to read her mind. He lowered his head toward hers, parting his lips just slightly. She wanted to cry. To run. But she wanted to kiss him even more. Aunt Caroline’s voice echoed in her mind. Once a man like Charles Hunter has what he wants, he will go on to the next conquest.

Slowly, reluctantly, she withdrew her hand. “You are most gallant, sir, but I think we’ve … studied the topiary rather longer than we intended.”

He offered his arm, which she took. A frisson of misgiving warned her that there was more to Charles Hunter than Aunt Caroline had suspected. The night had deepened and the shadows encouraged her to say things she might not have dared in daylight. “Why did you really ask me into the garden, Mr. Hunter?”