Elusive Passion (7 page)

Miles’s jaw dropped. Varya? Carny? What the devil?

“I want to know what kind of game you’re trying to play with Miles.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Miles smiled at the ire in her tone. Apparently he wasn’t the only man capable of drawing her claws.

“Filling his head with this nonsense about discovering the identity of Isabella’s murderer. It’s all a scheme to get your hooks into him, isn’t it?”

Careful, Carny
, he thought, well aware of the fading bruise on his temple.
She’ll knock you senseless
.

“My relationship with Miles is none of your concern! Think of me what you will, my lord. I do not care.”

Miles chuckled softly.

“I’ll tell you what I think of you, madam. I think you turned down every other man who made an offer to you because you’re a lying opportunist using Bella’s murder as an excuse to snare one of the wealthiest titles in all of Britain!”

Miles started. He had never heard Carny speak that way to a woman before. Anger began to worm up from within his belly. His hand went to the shrub, about to push it aside so he might confront his friend. To his surprise he heard Varya chuckle, and he paused.

“Snare him? Oh, my lord, I’d like to believe you might find me smarter than that. What man of Miles’s rank would ever lower himself to marry a mere musician?” She laughed.

“I remember the generous offer you made me several weeks ago, Lord Carnover, and I remember that marriage was not on the list of what
you
wanted from me. Tell me, are you speaking out of concern for your friend, or are you simply trying to find an excuse for my apparent preference for Miles over you?”

Now
this
was an interesting turn of events. Carny had said nothing about Varya refusing an offer from him.

The silence that followed her question betrayed Carny’s guilt.

“Lord Carnover, I did not choose Miles as my protector.” Varya’s voice was calmer now, soothing even. “If he told you that the rumor was started because we were investigating Bella’s death, then he told you the truth. If we had not been caught together in Lord Pennington’s study I would be carrying on as I always have.”

Miles had to press his ear against the foliage to hear Carny’s softly spoken disbelief.

“You mean to tell me that Miles hasn’t wooed you?”

“Yes. You needn’t take it as an affront to yourself or
as a danger to your friend. My relationship with Miles is purely platonic, I assure you.”

Miles made a face. Even though he had told Carny that there was nothing between them, it irked him that Varya found him so easy to resist.

“It seems I have made quite an ass of myself,” Carny remarked.

Yes, you have
, Miles agreed.

“It is something I have learned to expect from your sex, my lord.” There was laughter but no censure in Varya’s voice.

“You’re too kind,” Carny replied with a dry chuckle. “May I escort you back inside?”

“No, thank you,” she replied lightly. “I don’t think my reputation could survive an association with both you
and
the Marquess of Wynter. I’ll return in a few moments.”

“As you wish.”

Miles waited until Carny’s retreating footfalls died away before stepping from his hiding spot.

“You handled that quite graciously.”

He had the pleasure of watching her jump and whirl around, indignation flashing in her sapphire eyes.

“Sinking to eavesdropping, my lord? How petty.”

Still angry, was she? Miles smiled. “Not so petty as you if the charges Carny laid were true.”

She frowned. “You know very well that they are not.”

“Do I?” He paused to smell a white rose that blossomed on the trellis. “You sought me out—and in a very attention-grabbing manner, I might add.” He
raised a questioning brow. “Perhaps it is not Bella’s murderer you wished to catch, but her former lover?”

He just barely managed to grab her wrist before she could strike him, but wasn’t quite quick enough to escape her foot. It connected with his shin with bone-jarring force.

“I’ve been wanting to do
that
all evening!” She glared at him, her eyes dark with indignant rage.

“That’s quite a temper you have, madam,” he ground out, resisting the urge to rub the spot where she had connected. He held fast to her wrist.

“’Tis only you who brings it out of me, my lord.”

She tried to free herself from his grip, going so far as to pry at his fingers with her free hand.

“You insufferable man! Let go of me!”

He smiled at her exertions, but had no intention of letting her go just yet. The throbbing in his shin was worth the knowledge that, if nothing else, she was truthful in her desire to catch Bella’s killer.

“Bastard!” She clawed viciously at his fingers.

Tightening his hold on her arm, Miles yanked. She fell against him with a surprised yelp, and her free hand slammed into his chest. He grunted at the impact, but maintained his footing.

She sneered at him, her body rigid where it touched his. For a moment he half expected her to spit in his face, so foul was her expression.

The warm fullness of her breasts pressed against his torso. He wondered if she could feel his heart pounding against his ribs through the layers of clothing that separated them.

Miles smiled. He was tired of all this arguing. He
was tired of pretending she didn’t affect him. “There’s so much fire in you, Varya. I think you are one of the most intriguing females I have ever met.”

She continued to watch him warily, but some of the stiffness left her body. She seemed to be at a loss for words, something that surprised him.

“If you hadn’t been forced into this farce of ours by circumstance,” he began, his voice sounding strange and husky to his own ears, “would you have chosen me over all the others as you told Carny you had?” As he spoke them, the words astonished him. What was he doing?

He relaxed his hold on her arm, and as she withdrew it, peeled off her glove to bare the flesh underneath. The bruises he had given the night of their struggle were dark against her pale skin.

“I’m sorry for this,” he murmured, balling the silk in his fist. “Does it hurt?”

“A little.”

He brought her hand to his lips, planting feathery kisses along the sensitive flesh on the inside of her wrist, up to her palm. She gasped softly. He nipped gently at the tip of each finger, savoring the salty-sweetness of her skin.

He released her, and his hand came up to caress her cheek. He gazed down at her, searching for any indication that she wanted him as desperately as he wanted her. Her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted. Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. So she wasn’t immune to him after all.

“Would you have chosen me, Varya?” he asked again, plucking a rose from the trellis. He brushed his
lips against her forehead, her temple, and the soft skin of her cheek, trailing the petals of the rose along her throat, down to the expanse of creamy flesh revealed by the neckline of her gown. “Would you?”

Without waiting for her reply, his lips claimed hers. Her mouth opened and he could taste champagne on her breath.

She didn’t try to fight him. Her free hand gripped the lapel of his coat as if to pull him closer. Her tongue met his as it slipped past her lips. His heart leaped traitorously within his chest, and Miles knew that he would soon be lost.

Reluctantly, he let her go. Taking a step back, he studied her flushed face as he fought the urges that threatened to consume him. Her lips were moist and red; her nostrils flared with every panting breath. She seemed to have difficulty pulling herself together.
Good
. Lord knew he wouldn’t be able to reenter the ballroom until a certain part of his anatomy righted itself.

She opened her eyes, but instead of desire in their dark blue depths, he saw a raw vulnerability that frightened him. She looked like a woman going to meet her executioner rather than one succumbing to passion. He reached for her.

“No!” she cried, jerking back from his grasp. “No, I wouldn’t have chosen you!”

“You lie,” he chided gently, his fingers brushing her cheek.

Varya pulled away from him as if his touch burned. Her eyes were wide and wild against the pallor of her face.

“You mustn’t ask me such questions,” she whispered hoarsely. “Please do not ask me again.”

With that, she turned and fled down the steps into the garden and into the darkness without a backward glance.

Miles stared after her, stunned by her behavior. Why had she so fervently denied her desire for him? He had felt it, as hot and consuming as his own.

He stared down at the glove in his hand. It wasn’t much, but that flimsy scrap of silk would be a suitable excuse for calling on her the next day.

Then perhaps he would learn why she had lied.

Varya sighed and lifted her quill from the paper. So far, none of Bella’s paramours had presented himself in a very flattering light.

She looked down at the last name on her list. She had written it with a great deal more flourish than the others.

With a disgusted snort, she crossed off his name, dipping and redipping her quill until there was nothing but a large black blob where the words had been.

Her attempts to put him out of her mind had been futile. She had managed a brief respite during the few hours sleep she had gotten after returning home from the ball. Even then, he had been her last thought before falling asleep, and her first thought upon waking.

How could she ever face him again after making such a fool of herself the night before?

She had hidden in the garden maze until she could stand to stay there no longer. By the time she had found her way to the exit, most of the guests had already departed. Miles was one of them. She made her excuses to Lady Beckwith-Breyer—who had been all too happy to see her finally leave—and called for her carriage.

Lady Pennington and Lady Jersey were waiting for Lady Jersey’s carriage, since Lord Pennington had departed earlier for one of his clubs.

Varya stood in stony silence for as long as she could bear, listening to Lady Pennington’s stage-whispered slurs against her character. Lady Jersey tittered and giggled, and tapped her companion’s arm with her fan when she uttered an especially biting comment.

When her carriage finally pulled up in front of the walk, Varya turned to Lady Pennington and fixed her with a sweet smile that was anything but sincere.

“Lady Pennington,” she began, meeting the woman’s haughty gaze. “Would you do me the courtesy of thanking your husband for the flowers he sent me after my performance at the King’s Theater the other night?” She watched in satisfaction as the blond woman’s face darkened.

“But please tell him that in light of my current
arrangement
with the Marquess of Wynter, I must regretfully decline the generous offer he presented to me earlier this evening.” She bowed her head slightly in parting and forced herself to descend the steps to the street in a slow and regal fashion. She would have preferred to hike up her skirts and run, but her pride refused to allow it.

Sighing, she tried to return her attention to the list, but the invitation she had received that morning caught her eye. It was from Lord and Lady Rochester, one of the haute ton’s more liberal-minded couples. Their gatherings were renowned for their sexual exploits. Guests would often bring their spouses and meet new lovers during the course of the visit. It was not unusual behavior at any such gathering. Varya had been invited to their house party scheduled to begin that Thursday. Since it was still the season, the party would last only until Sunday so guests would not be away from the delights of London for long.

She didn’t want to go, especially not alone, but Lord Rochester had been another one of Bella’s conquests. Varya was beginning to comprehend that no matter how kind and sweet a friend Bella might have been, she had absolutely no scruples when it came to the opposite sex.

Still, she owed it to her friend to continue her search for her killer, even if it meant attending Lord and Lady Rochester’s hedonistic party. She would feel so much safer if Miles were to accompany her, but she wasn’t sure she had the courage to go with him if he asked.

No man had ever affected her senses as he did. With
Ivan she had feared for her safety. With Miles she feared for her heart. In some respects, that made him the more dangerous of the two.

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.

“Enter!”

Piotr stepped into the room, his stocky frame seeming almost small in the large doorframe.

“Forgive me, Excellency, but that man is here to see you.”

Varya’s smile was tolerant if somewhat shaky. “I assume by ‘that man’ you mean the Marquess of Wynter?”

Her servant nodded.

“Show him in, Piotr, and please refrain from calling me ‘Excellency’ in his presence.”

“Yes, Excellency.” He bowed and backed out of the room.

Miles. Varya laid a hand against her midriff as if it might quell the uneasiness there. She hadn’t expected to see him so soon. What would she say? More importantly, what could he possibly have to say to her?

She stood, brushing at her skirts to smooth out any wrinkles in the soft lavender muslin.

He entered, looking dashing in a wine-colored coat and buff trousers; his hat and gloves in his hand. He sketched a small, stiff bow.

Varya swallowed, unsure of what to say other than “Good day, Miles.”

“Good day.” He held out a square of fabric to her. As she took it she realized it was the glove he had removed the night before. Her fingers brushed his as
they closed around the silk. Heat suffused parts of her body she had never known to feel warm before.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “Will you sit?”

“I will, thank you.”

That he seemed as uncomfortable as she felt did little to soothe her nerves. She left her position by the desk and followed him to the sitting area, seating herself on the chaise. He took the chair across from her.

They sat in tense silence. Varya stared at a point just beyond his shoulder, while Miles twiddled his thumbs and glanced about like a caged animal.

He cleared his throat, and finally folded his hands. “How are you?”

“I am very well, thank you,” she replied softly. “And you?”

His smile was strained. “Fine, fine. I received an invitation to a house party at Lord Rochester’s country seat this morning.”

“So did I.”

“Ah.” He nodded, tense as he sat on the edge of the seat, as if any second he might bolt for the door. Did he regret his actions the night before? Or had the kiss left him as shaken as it had left her?

“I think I might go,” she began, as if the idea had just occurred to her. “Lord Rochester was one of Bella’s lovers.”
Just like Miles
, she reminded herself.

“Yes. I know.”

“Oh yes. Of course.” A movement by the door caught her attention. She almost sighed in relief at the interruption. “Ah, Piotr. Vodka. Good.”

The manservant entered the room and set the tray on the low table between them. He shot Miles another one of his intimidating glares, only slightly less hostile this time.

Miles smiled weakly and took the glass she offered him. He drank deeply, hoping the potent liquor would boost his courage. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Varya’s eyes widen at his behavior. He lowered the glass, but it was already empty.

“Would you care for another?” Her voice betrayed her bewilderment.

He shook his head.

“I think I may attend the Rochesters’ party as well,” he said in a careful tone.

“Oh?”

“Yes.”

“It probably would be a good idea for both of us to be there in case one of us finds evidence linking Lord Rochester to Bella’s death,” she agreed somewhat lamely.

“Exactly.”

The ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner seemed abnormally loud in Miles’s ears. The flesh underneath his stiff collar and cravat was moist with sweat and beginning to itch.

“We could go together.” Hesitantly, he raised his gaze to meet hers. What the devil was the matter with him? He hadn’t been nervous with a woman for years.

The color had deserted her face, to be replaced by two bright crimson circles high on her cheeks.

“I don’t think that would be wise.”

“More fuel for the gossips, I suppose. Perhaps we should arrive separately.”

“I think that would be for the best.”

He stared at her, suspicion tickling the edges of his mind. “Is it the gossips you wish to avoid, or my company?”

She jumped to her feet, as if to dodge the question.

“I have a list of Bella’s suitors. Perhaps you’d like to take a look?” She hurried over to the desk.

He rose and moved to join her by the desk. With a gentle tug, he took the fluttering parchment from her hands and read what she had written.

“Nice penmanship.”

“Thank you.”

He began to chuckle. Some of her comments were hilarious, scathing even. Unfortunately for the gentlemen she referred to, they were all accurate.

“Lord Dennyson drools. How cruel of you to mention it, Varya!” He laughed heartily.

She tried to snatch the paper out of his grasp, but he held it out of her reach until she ceased her futile attempts.

He smiled, pointing to a huge inkblot. “Was that me?”

She blushed. “Yes.”

“Ah. What damage did your stinging wit do to my manhood?” He held the paper up to the sunlight streaming through the long, narrow windows.

“I said you were too arrogant for your own good,” she replied waspishly.

“No you didn’t.”

She made another grab for the list.

He held it above his head, which might as well have been a mile away for all of Varya’s futile stretches as she tried to snatch it away.

“No,” he insisted, squinting. “I think I see a D.” He eyed her skeptically. “Surely you didn’t call me dastardly”? He gasped mockingly.

“No!” She succeeded in rescuing the paper from his fingers and clutched it tightly against her.

“I know.” He turned a smug smile toward her. “You said that I was
dangerous
.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Instead of the indignation he was expecting, she went completely still and white. For a moment he feared she might faint.

Realization coiled heavily in his stomach. That was exactly what she had written.

“I must seem very silly to you, don’t I?” She sank down onto the chaise, subdued. The paper slipped to the carpet.

Alarmed by her distress and hurt by her accusation, he seated himself beside her. He hesitated for a few brief seconds before reaching out and taking her hands in his. She tried to pull away, but he held fast.

“Varya.”

He sighed when she didn’t respond and continued speaking to the top of her head, “You must understand that I would never set out to purposely shame you—”

“Shame me!” She bolted to her feet, yanking her hands free of his loosened grasp. As she turned to face him, he watched her expression change. Gone was the wounded pride she had shown moments before, replaced with a mask of fury.

“How could I feel anything but shame when I’m attracted to you?”

This certainly wasn’t what he had anticipated. He stood. “What the devil do you mean by that?”

“I am talking, my lord, about the fact that Bella loved you. How can you expect me to betray her this way? I am thoroughly disgusted with myself.” She threw her hands into the air. “I don’t even particularly like you!”

Miles didn’t know whether to laugh or feel hurt. “I believe insulting my character gives you leave to call me by my first name, Varya. Let us not stand on ceremony.”

She scowled at his teasing, but remained silent.

“All right,” he conceded. “If you want to be like that—I don’t consider you a particular friend either.” She raised a brow. “And I trust you about as much as I would trust Napoleon—perhaps a
little
more.”

Her jaw dropped at that confession, and he moved closer. Standing only inches away, he lifted her chin with his finger.

“But that doesn’t stop me from wanting to kiss you. Bella’s friend or not.”

Varya stared at him, her eyes like giant sapphires against her alabaster skin. Desire glowed in their depths as her lips parted in unconscious invitation. It was insanity, but it was obvious that she wanted him as much as he wanted her…

“I think you should leave.”

Her words hit him like a wet glove. Gone was the passion he had seen in her eyes, replaced by cool determination and…was it…regret?

“Are you certain?” he asked gently. Surely she didn’t mean it.

“Yes,” she whispered, turning her head away from his touch. “Please. Go.”

Miles took a step back, suddenly wanting very much to be out of her presence. No woman had ever rejected him before and Varya’s refusal left him with the very bitter taste of wanting something he could not have.

“Your loyalty to Bella is admirable.” Stiffly, he walked toward the small table where Piotr had left his hat and gloves.

“I vowed never to be any man’s property, Miles,” came her husky reply. “Even were it not for Bella I could never consent to being your mistress. You value your control far too much for my liking.”

He stopped and turned. She faced him with all the bearing and dignity of a princess, despite the slight tremor he had heard in her voice.

“I was asking you to be my friend, Varya. Perhaps even my lover—not my mistress. There is a difference.” He set his hat upon his head. “If you happen to change your mind, you know where to find me.” And then, with all the dignity befitting his station, he bowed in her direction and strode from the room.

“Are you certain you want to do this?”

No. He wasn’t certain at all. He held the key, heavy and cold, in his hand. It hovered before the lock as though being repelled by the house itself.

“Yes,” Miles replied grimly. He shoved the key into the lock and twisted. He dreaded what he might find
in Bella’s house, dreaded the memories and ghosts that waited for him across the threshold.

The door swung open with an alarming squeak that sent his heart pounding. Only silence—no ghostly apparition—greeted them.

Carny entered first. Miles stood on the step and stared into the dusty dimness. It seemed so wrong that this house be quiet and empty.

A deep breath, and he stepped inside. A chill raced down his spine as the heat of the day met the cool interior of the house.

“What do you hope to find?” Carny asked, trailing a finger along the dusty top of a little oak table.

Miles shrugged. “I have no idea. Answers? Redemption, perhaps.”

Carny shot him a puzzled glance, but Miles ignored it. Instead, his gaze swept the room, lingering every once in a while on a familiar ornament or trinket. Bella had been dead for almost two months and Varya had not yet packed up all her things. He could only imagine how difficult it was for her to enter this place. It filled him with sorrow just to be there. After all, he had bought the house.