House of Trent 01.5 - His for Christmas (13 page)

His lips curved. “Can you?”

“And that is my proposition. I will give you the information you shall require to find him if you allow me to come with you.”

“Allow you to come with me.” He repeated her words slowly, tasting them in his mouth as images washed through him. Taking this lovely specimen of womanhood with him in his hunt across England for Roger Morton. Sampling the beds of different country inns. Long nights of feasting on her pale, curvaceous flesh, of vigorous lovemaking…

He studied her face. The color was high on her cheeks now, and her implacable features had hardened, giving her an expression of iron resolve. He stood close enough to her to feel the thrum of purpose under her skin. Whatever this was about, it meant a great deal to her.

“Why would you wish to travel with me?
Alone
with me?” He put emphasis on the word
alone
to remind her of the potential permanent repercussions to her reputation. She was a lady, after all, and ladies simply did not travel alone with gentlemen unless they were married to them.

“Because,” she said, her voice throbbing with certainty, “I want to find Roger Morton, too.”

He narrowed his eyes at her.

“And then I want to kill him.”

Emma was out of her depth. She knew this. But even though her heart raced, she gazed at Lord Lukas Hawkins steadily, refusing to allow him to intimidate her. He’d come to Bristol now, just in time to save her from an existence certain to drive her mad. She wouldn’t let this opportunity pass her by.

He didn’t move an inch away from her. He just studied her with those penetrating, devastating icy blue eyes. When she’d come looking for him in the downstairs tavern, she’d no idea he’d be so…compelling.

And…she’d let him kiss her. Good
Lord
.

Do you like to be bound, Mrs. Curtis?
Her stomach had clenched hard in response to those words. It hadn’t recovered yet.

“You don’t seem to be the murdering kind of woman, Mrs. Curtis.” He gave her a wolfish grin. “After all, I’m standing here with you, and I’m not in the least afraid for my life.”

She simply continued to stare at him, knowing that if her suspicions proved true, she’d gladly kill Roger Morton.

“Very well,” he said after a moment, “I’ll play. Why do you wish to murder Roger Morton?”

“Vengeance.”

His arms tightened at her sides. They were strong arms. Masculine and powerful.

“What for? What did the man do that was so terrible you wish to end his life?”

Where to begin? If she was correct in her suspicions, Morton had destroyed nearly every aspect of her life. But she supposed it was best to start with the worst of his crimes. She closed her eyes and pushed the words out one at a time. “He…
murdered
…my husband.”

Silence. Then, “Ah.”

Ah?
That was all he had to say? She opened her eyes, fury rising. But then he shifted and his hand came to her face, cupping her cheek in his hand, his thumb stroking her cheekbone. It had been so long since a man had touched her…kissed her. And the touches and kisses of her past had been nothing like the ones Lukas Hawkins, a man she’d known for less than an hour, had bestowed upon her. And certainly no one had ever asked her if she liked to be bound.

Heavens
. She didn’t want to think about any of this right now. She needed to remain focused.

“When?” he asked her softly.

“It’s been…a long time.”
A lifetime
. “A year ago.”

“How long were you married?” he asked. “You’re very young.”

“We were married for only three months before Henry died. But I’m not so young. I’m twenty-three.”

He looked at her with those smoldering, blue-fire eyes, and something within her melted, even as she admitted to herself that Lord Lukas was dangerous. Rogue, rake, scoundrel—however one wished to label this kind of man, he was its epitome.

And she knew about rogues, rakes, and scoundrels. Henry had been of that category as well, with his approachable visage and penchant for drink and gambling…and women. When he died, she’d promised herself that she’d steer clear of those kinds of men in the future.

And now, here was Lord Lukas Hawkins, handsome and dangerous and radiating something so raw and so appealing that a part of her wanted to fall straight into the nearest bed with him.

She’d allowed him to kiss her.

So very, very dangerous.

She steeled her resolve. Danger or not, he was looking for Roger Morton. And, danger or not, she wanted nothing more than to find that man.

“Pretty Mrs. Curtis,” Lord Lukas said in that silky voice that seemed to slide down her spine in a wash of smooth heat, “what’s your Christian name?”

“Emma,” she told him. There was no reason he shouldn’t know it, after all.

“May I call you Emma?”

She hesitated. Only her father, sister, and one or two close acquaintances called her Emma these days.

Still, she couldn’t seem to bring herself to tell him no, so she responded with her own challenge. “May I call you Lukas, then?”

“Never.” His lips curled into a heart-stopping smile. “But you may call me by the name my mother uses: Luke.”

“Luke, then.” She realized he’d stepped back and was no longer trapping her against the door. A part of her—that stupid part that had fallen for Henry Curtis—felt bereft.

She clasped her hands in front of her. “I heard the Dowager Duchess of Trent had gone missing. I am sorry.”

He gave a slight nod of acknowledgment, but the lightness in his eyes vanished. Clearly, his mother’s disappearance, though it had occurred months ago, ate at him.

“Do you believe Roger Morton had something to do with her disappearance?”

Luke sighed. Turning away, he ran a hand through his dark blond hair, making it stick up at odd—and somehow endearing—angles. She tamped down the urge to push her hands through his hair to tame those spikes. Instead she kept very still, her back pressed against the door.

“Morton was definitely involved in my mother’s disappearance. She was with him the night she left home. He remained with her for at least a month after that.”

She nodded. “Roger Morton is evil,” she said in a low voice. He’d killed Henry and stolen her father’s fortune; she didn’t doubt he had done something horrible to the Dowager Duchess of Trent.

Luke slouched against the window frame. Crossing his arms over his chest, he gazed at her across the tiny room. She stared steadily at him, ignoring the little kick in her chest the sight of his relaxed masculine form gave her. Tall black leather boots clasped his calves like a second skin. He wore dark breeches that hugged strong thighs, a gray-and-black striped waistcoat with the top cloth button open to reveal a simple white cravat and a high-collared black cutaway coat with gray silk lining that emphasized his broad shoulders.

“If Roger Morton is evil, then it wouldn’t be very chivalrous of me to allow a lady to join me in my search for him, now, would it?”

She shrugged.

“You’ll be happy to hear I’ve never been accused of chivalry.”

“Well, thank God for that.”

He didn’t smile. “Still, why should I allow you to join me?”

“Because, as I said earlier, I can help you find him.”

“How?”

“I am in possession of certain clues that I am certain will lead us straight to him.”

“What kinds of clues?”

“Documents.”

“Documents of what nature?”

“Receipts and letters.”

His lips twisted. “And how did you come to be in possession of those?”

“You ask too many questions. Until we finalize our agreement, I shan’t tell you another thing.”

“The agreement in which you reveal the location of Morton, then I take you with me to find him. And when we succeed in locating him, you intend to kill him.”

“Yes,” she said flatly. “But not before you discover everything you can about what happened to the duchess.” And not before she discovered what he’d done with her father’s money.

“How generous of you, to give me a few moments to question the villain before he suffers a violent death.”

“I think so,” she said.

Luke laughed again. She liked the sound of his laugh—it was low and soft. It made her want to smile and laugh with him. But she didn’t. No, the stakes were too high.

She’d known Luke was dangerous from the moment he’d opened those piercing blue eyes and looked at her over his ale glass. But while he spoke to something intensely carnal within her, Emma had learned her lesson. She wouldn’t be dragged into iniquity by the wicked seduction of another man who never saw her beyond her face and the curves of her body.
Never
again, no matter how she reacted to him on a visceral level.

“So, then,” she asked, “are we agreed?”

He stared at her for a long moment, assessing her with those fire-and-ice eyes. She felt exposed. Like he systematically removed every stitch of her clothing, burning each seam away so it fell around her in tatters, leaving her stripped bare.

Then his lips curled into that sensual, knowing smile, and a deep flutter spread from her core and through her limbs in response.

His lips had felt so wickedly
good
against hers. She’d wanted—badly—to kiss him back. She ought to have pushed him away. But the angel and devil inside her were engaged in such a furious battle that she hadn’t been able to move at all.

“Yes,” he said. “We’re agreed.”

Her muscles suddenly went limp, and she had to battle to keep from sagging to the floor. Only now did she realize how worried she’d been that he’d deny her.

Thank you. Thank you.
We’ll find him. We’ll find Papa’s money
…and maybe, just maybe, she could save her family.

Slowly, the strength returned to her limbs. She gazed steadily at Luke. “There’s just one thing, my lord.”

He cocked a brow. “What’s that, Emma?”

She swallowed against her suddenly dry mouth. She’d never spoken so freely to a gentleman before, not even to Henry. But certain things needed to be said.

“If you want my help, I cannot…” She took a deep breath and continued. “I cannot engage in relations—of any kind—with you.”

His brow remained firmly nocked upward. “Why not?”

“I’m not the kind of woman who…bestows her favors easily.”

He leveled his gaze at her. “You came up here with me. That is evidence contrary to your words. How do you think following me up to my room should be interpreted? By me, and by the people in that tavern downstairs?”

The obvious interpretation of her actions was that she was a loose woman. That she fully intended to offer him any and every favor he chose to ask of her.

It was stupid to have come up here…yet perhaps not so stupid. She didn’t care what anyone thought about her anymore. She had nothing to prove to anyone. He hadn’t hurt her—something inside her had told her he wasn’t a danger, at least not in the most overt sense of the word. She’d been determined to get him to agree to her plan, no matter what it took. And speaking privately with him had seemed like it would offer her an advantage that speaking with him in the noisy tavern wouldn’t.

And a part of her, a tiny portion of her mind, had wondered what it would be like to throw away every sense of propriety and responsibility, go upstairs with a man she didn’t know, and lose herself to the sensual pleasures that his heated gaze had promised her from across that undersized table.

She spoke carefully. “I don’t care what everyone thought, my lord. But I want you to know that wasn’t my intention. I wished to offer you a business proposition. Truly, I cannot help the fact that I am a woman.”

His gaze raked her body up and down, leaving trembling gooseflesh in its wake. She was glad her half-mourning dress covered so much of her skin and that he couldn’t see how his gaze affected her.

“No,” he murmured. “You certainly can’t help the fact that you’re a beautiful woman.”

She swallowed hard. “This is a business proposition. Nothing more. You and I are searching for the same man, and we’re assisting each other in that endeavor.”

“I don’t know,” he mused. “What if I require the need for female companionship during the term of this business partnership?”

“Then I shall turn a blind eye,” she said automatically. Still, something in her chest clenched at the thought of him seeking out a woman.

His eyes narrowed into slits. “Oh? What if I decide that female ought to be you?”

“I imagine you’re capable of controlling yourself.”

“Perhaps,” he said. “But what if you’re not?”

She laughed, but something about it sounded high and false. “I’m entirely capable of controlling myself, too. Not that there shall be anything to control.”

His lips twisted, and she didn’t blame his disbelief. She made a poor liar.

“You want me, Emma.” He studied his fingernails as if something fascinating lurked in the nail beds. “Mark my words, it’s only a matter of time before you beg me to take you.”

“Oh, I think not, my lord.”

He looked back up at her, giving her a wicked smile as he dropped his hands to his sides. “We’ll see.”

She took a breath, not answering. But her cheeks felt like they were ablaze.
Please,
she thought,
don’t let him see that I am blushing.

But his gaze brushed over her face, and his smile deepened.

“Yes,” he continued, “I’ll agree to your business proposition. You help me find Roger Morton and you may join me in my search. I will refrain from engaging in…what did you call it? Oh, yes…
relations
with you.”

She gave a very businesslike nod, as if they truly were men of trade agreeing on the terms of a deal.

He raised a hand as if to stop her. “But I have a condition of my own.”

Her heart sank. “What’s that?”

“I can offer you the heights of pleasure, Mrs. Emma Curtis. If, at some point during the term of our agreement, you were to beg…I promise, I’ll not deny you.”

A Hint of Wicked

A Touch of Scandal

A Season of Seduction

Confessions of an Improper Bride

Secrets of an Accidental Duchess

Pleasures of a Tempted Lady

Once Upon a Wicked Night
(e-original)

The Duchess Hunt

The Devil’s Pearl
(e-original)

The Rogue’s Proposal