She was up to something.
Rufus soaked in the delicate features of her pale face in the moonlight, watching the play of emotions. Sorrow followed by rage, followed by fear, and dash it all, hope. What was she thinking?
She understood the trap he had caught her in and what he would want from her. His mouth curved up in amusement at her apparent attempt at seduction. He looked forward to seeing how far she’d go.
Slice the knife home. You have the opportunity.
Triumph similar to the pride he’d felt when he’d broken Caesar to saddle danced across his skin. He had Rheda at his mercy.
He had too much to lose by not pressing his advantage. She was their only lead.
She was far too young to remember anything about the night his father died, but he was certain she could lead him to Dark Shadow. The smuggler held not only the key to uncovering the traitor he and Stephen had been ordered to capture, but the spy may also know the truth about what happened to his father. Had his father really betrayed his class and country?
The sound of her soft voice giving Jamieson orders sent chills skittering over his skin. The older servant looked about as happy as a man facing the gallows.
Despite the fact that he’d already guessed her plan, seeing her here, with his stallion, shocked him to the core. Here was a baron’s sister, a lady, dressed as a stable boy, caught in the wrong; yet she stood defiant, as regal as any princess. Unabashed at being caught thieving. She didn’t even have the decency to fear him.
She had a lot to learn.
The horses and men left, leaving the two of them alone in the moonlit paddock. Even dressed as a young boy, she radiated sensuality. It poured from her in the flare of her hips, hugged by her breeches, the curve of her breasts bouncing free of any corset, and the feminine pout of her luscious lips. Watching her from beneath hooded lids, he let his gaze follow the line of her breeches up to her tiny waist, onward over her full breasts to the white flesh he glimpsed at the open neck of her shirt.
His hands fisted at his side. They longed to stroke the curves so blatantly displayed before him. Like a man who’d suddenly lost his sight, her shape was imprinted on his brain. His inner voice screamed a warning, stay away from her, but with mounting anger at his weakness, he ignored it, tilting his head slightly as he watched her in increasing fascination.
With a quiet oath that reflected his self-disgust, he stilled his rush of desire.
Damn her, the maddening minx!
The ruthless part of him wanted to end it now. Force her to comply with his demand and reveal the truth. He had the ammunition.
Would Father have done this? Would he have been as ruthless?
As always, his conscience warred—honor was his salvation and his curse.
His discomfort fed his temper. “Come here. I do not intend to shout our conversation across the field.”
“Please.”
He had the irrational urge to storm the short distance between them and put her over his knee. He had never met a more irritating woman. Or more tantalizing.
He bit his tongue and refused to rise to her challenge. He would not let her crawl any farther under his skin.
“
Please,
come here so I may converse with you.”
Rheda slowly made her way toward him. His nerves began to sizzle as he watched her smugly smile and state, “There will be no kissing tonight. Now that you know who I am. If you do not behave like a gentleman I shall inform Lady Hale.”
“Your point is?”
“She will expect you to adhere to the niceties of the
ton
. If not you will find yourself betrothed. She’s been trying to marry me off for years. I’m sure you won’t want me for a wife—think of the Strathmore name—scandal follows me wherever I go.”
“So I have heard. Society would not think anything less of me for a dalliance with the likes of you.”
He watched a small frown form on her lovely face. “I am infamous? I have never even had a Season.”
He was well aware of that, for he would have remembered. A beauty stands out, and Rheda was outstanding. “No. I don’t know your name from London. Lady Umbridge was indiscreet tonight.”
She drew herself upright. “Let me guess, Prince Hammed.”
“Yes, that is how I began to understand your interest in Caesar.”
She stood ramrod straight, staring him in the eye.
“Aren’t you going to defend yourself?” he said quietly.
“I do not know what she said, so how can I?” She shrugged a shoulder. “Moreover, I do not really care. Those closest to me know the truth. That is all that matters.”
He wanted to know. He wanted to know if she was a fallen woman. Wanted to know she was not a virgin. Wanted it so badly he wished the gossip were true. But then, why should he care? He had her trapped by her own behavior, and she was mistaken if she thought he was not ruthless enough to take advantage of it.
Every muscle in his body clenched. He hated how ruthless he’d become, but his job for the Foreign Office left him little choice. This was not the life he would have chosen. However, his father’s traitorous behavior left him little alternative. He pulled at his gloves, trying to staunch the bitterness from seeping into his skin.
His father’s death had opened his eyes to the hypocrisy of Society and its rules. Up until then he’d lived his life quietly, respectably for a young man of his breeding and wealth. He had been content to let his father oversee the family holdings and investments knowing he was being given his freedom before he had to take his place beside his father at the head of the family.
As a young man finding adulthood, Rufus enjoyed the same pursuits as most gentlemen of breeding—gambling, the horses, and of course women, but he could easily have walked away. He couldn’t wait to work at his father’s side. He had hero-worshipped him.
Rufus knew what he wanted to do. Rheda and he were alike in this respect. He could understand her dream and her desire to breed horses. It was ironic really. He’d wanted to breed the finest racing horses in England. Still did. Unfortunately, fate saw to it that his dream of breeding Royal Ascot winners had yet to be fulfilled.
Even at twenty he would have been quite happy to settle down, live quietly, breed horses, and run the family home. The Strathmore estate, Hascombe, northeast of Cambridge, was not far outside Newmarket. He’d been engaged to the daughter of a duke, and life was wonderful.
Then his father died.
Shot himself, accidentally, while out hunting on this very estate—Hastingleigh. Accidentally, that was, until all the rumors started. Rumors insinuating that his father was a traitor. That he’d taken his own life rather than be caught.
Rufus could not find out how the rumors started, but they soon took hold until every door in the
ton
slammed closed to him and his mother and younger sister. Even Julie, his fi-ancée, who professed to love him more than her own life, deserted him.
His face hardened. Overnight his dream of breeding racehorse winners died. Who’d buy a horse or back the horse of a traitor’s son? Worse was the impact on his mother.
Memories of the humiliation his mother endured during the first few years after his father’s disgrace gave him the resolve to do what must be done. His mother staunchly defended his father’s innocence. So he’d avowed to prove her right.
Rufus pulled at his cuffs and swore under his breath. He was not about to let a wild, uncivilized native of Kent ruin this mission. Not when he might be close to the truth. He would clear his father’s name at any cost. He owed Society, and this woman in particular, nothing.
Folding his arms across his chest, he let her suffer, the silence stretched out between them. Her pulse must be racing knowing he had her trapped. Deliciously trapped by her nefarious behavior.
However, his anger leaped when he observed her more closely. She stood, calm and cool, as if she had all night and it was his time that was a wasting. With the stupid cap hiding her curls, her delicate features took on a waiflike fragility in the moonlight. The masculine clothing hugging her curves delectably emphasized that she was indeed all woman.
A woman dangerous to his senses.
A distraction—two could play that game. “I would like the truth. I want the truth about how you came by the barrel.”
Chapter 8
S
he wanted to laugh at his arrogance. As if she’d simply tell him. Instead, she crossed her arms over her chest and lifted both brows, regarding him in cool surprise, but inwardly her heart hammered with anger and fright. It was all she could do not to shrink back from his knowing gaze.
“What barrel?”
He frowned at her, looking irritated, then he angled his chin downward, staring at her as though she were a rodent under his foot.
“Who gave you the barrel?” he asked in an icy tone. Her resolve began to crumble. Her arms slipped to hug her waist as if in protection. She would play dumb. Most men never considered she was smart enough to outmaneuver them.
“You want the barrel? Meg has the barrel, so I can’t give it to you in payment for Caesar’s services.”
But then she’d forgotten he was not like any man she’d ever met.
Despite his best intentions, his temper cracked. His desire to conquer the woman before him was a powerful yearning inside him—he vowed he would crush any tender feelings for this infuriating vixen, beauty or not.
“Who gave you the barrel?”
he suddenly bellowed without warning. “The barrel I found you trapped by, on the cliff the other day.”
Her green eyes were wide and filled with innocent shock. “Cliffs? I don’t remember seeing you alone on the cliffs, ever.” She paused for emphasis. “If I tell you about the barrel, I’ll have to tell my brother and Lord Hale what you did to me. The whole truth ...”
His mouth firmed. So this was how she would play it.
What started as a perfect lead in his quest to find a smuggler and subsequent traitor now resembled a Shakespearean tragedy.
Miss Kerrich was not a local wench he could accuse of lying. Nor would Lady Hale approve of his treatment of Miss Kerrich. Lady Hale had been so kind to his mother, he’d hate to disappoint her, or worse ruin his mother’s relationship with her one true supporter. Without any evidence he had nothing to charge her with. His pulse hitched a notch. Miss Kerrich made a challenging adversary. She was a bright, intelligent woman, who for the past eight years had singlehandedly managed to hold a bankrupt estate together.
There was every possibility she knew Dark Shadow. Smuggling would seem the logical means to stay afloat in the wilds of Kent. Her estate’s agricultural ventures would not have earned enough to save her.
Tonight was proof enough that she was not opposed to “taking” whatever she required. Her bold plan to use Caesar without Rufus’s permission was all the evidence he needed.
He raised an eyebrow. “I see. Let’s change the topic then. You seem keen to discuss payment for Caesar’s services.”
She wetted her lips with a nervous flick of her tongue. He was finally getting to her. “What do you suggest?” she asked.
“You should be nervous. I’m the one you’d better worry about now,” he warned in a low voice. “Your mares’ ownership is in my hands.”
Rheda stared at him intensely as if weighing up what challenge he truly posed.
“I have no means of immediately paying you. If you could give me more time I will endeavor to come up with the money.”
He stared at her. Running his eye over her body, watching her face flush knowing what he was seeing. “I’m not interested in money.”
“You’re disgusting,” she snapped with a flash of renewed temper.
He swallowed a sharp retort and calmly stated, “A few days ago I’d hardly call your response as disgust. Quite the opposite in fact. You all but melted in my arms.”
She looked wildly around her, as if trying to locate any avenue of escape. When she found none, her shoulders straightened and her demeanor changed. The tigress was back. Rufus couldn’t help but be impressed.
The hellion in front of him clenched her fists and lifted her chin. “Stop playing with me. What is it you want? The sooner you get it, the sooner you can leave me alone.”
“The last thing I’d like to do is leave you alone, sweet Rhe,” he murmured, his tone deliberately low and silken.
Rheda took a step back.
He followed. It was time she became a little afraid. Her scent wafted up through the balmy night, and he simply had not been prepared for his body’s response. In addition, the sight of her plump derriere had caused his groin to ache. All he could think about was taking her, bending her over the fallen tree trunk behind her, and possessing her body.
Bloody hell, he’d been driven to possess her from the first moment he laid eyes on her. Yet this incessant need to conquer, this lust, was more dangerous, more compelling than mere attraction.
Remember Marguerite.
“You have courage, I’ll give you that. You openly defy me, knowing the trouble you are in, and refuse to give me what I want.” He smiled thinly, studying her, trying to judge her next move. A suspicion flared. “Are you protecting someone?”
Her body tensed and she looked away. So she
was
protecting someone. Who? Her look became more mutinous. How far would she go to protect the source of her barrel? What would make her break? He had to find the key to her cooperation—soon. Until then he had to devise a way to keep this beauty in his sights. “You aren’t going to tell me, are you?”
She gave a small shrug. “There is nothing to tell.”
“I don’t believe you. Until I find out the truth of how you came by that barrel, you and I are going to become very close friends.”
“I ... don’t understand.”
“Surely you can grasp my meaning. Your mind is like a steel trap.” Rufus swore under his breath. Perhaps he was unwise to instigate the idea circling in his mind, but he could not afford to wait. He needed information, and fast. Time was running out. He was sure his plan would disturb him far more than it would her.
He caged his lust and, keeping his features enigmatic, said, “I require your services for the next month in lieu of payment for Caesar’s pedigree.”
“Very funny.”
“I’m serious. I shall even agree to Caesar servicing your mares for as long as they are in heat. In return, you will be at my beck and call. Any time of the day or night I require your services, you will oblige me.”
Her jaw clenched. He could almost hear her inner battle—the trade-off, her horse stud dream or her pride. The silence stretched into the approaching dawn. He could wait all night if he had to.
“You would force me to be your mistress? You’d ruin me.” Her voice had risen.
He met her hot gaze levelly. “Only moments ago you informed me you had no reputation to ruin. Among other things, I wish you to be my social secretary or hostess for the month. I am looking for property in the area, and I would like you to aid me in the search. If, in addition and by your own free will, you wish to share my bed, I would welcome it.”
She gave him a scathing look. “I’d never willingly share your bed.”
“I beg to differ. Only a few days ago I could have bedded you without too much effort.”
“As I recall, I said no.”
“But I didn’t try very hard. You’ve yet to experience my more persuasive methods.” He took a step toward her. “Care for a demonstration?”
She tensed and his body’s natural response to her charms diminished. She still refused to admit her desire. Drawing a sharp breath, she took a step backward to a safer distance.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” he chided, seizing her around the waist as she tried to flee. She let out a small shriek and fought him as best she could, but Rufus was undeterred, easily restraining her.
He laughed. “Calm down. I’ll make you a promise. I won’t take you if you’re unwilling. I give you my word.” His lips nuzzled the soft skin of her throat. “At the moment I’m more interested in your knowledge of local matters than your acquaintance with more carnal topics.”
Liar.
With every rapid pulse kicking in his groin he wanted to sink between her thighs.
“It’s simply that you have knowledge of the people and places around Deal. You have lived in the area all your life. You know everyone, and all the estates in the area. Men would not see you as a threat when discussing pricing. But I know differently. Your beautiful face hides a mind as sharp as a rapier’s point, a most useful weapon for me to wield.”
She struggled in his grip, her plump breasts pushing fully against his chest. He felt himself harden.
“And what exactly will my duties be?”
He bit his tongue to stop an unsuitable “duty” from slipping out. He moved his hips so she could feel the evidence of his arousal. After all he’d been through over the past few days she deserved to be frightened just a little, but he needed her cooperation. “Nothing that would cause your ruin.”
She twisted and managed to flee his hold and back away from him, as if her life depended on it. “I would never have relations with you, even if it was my only chance of getting out of hell.”
He strode after her, his thoughts turning more primal as he took in her swaying hips. There was a reason women did not wear breeches.
“Have you forgotten your brother is in the house behind us? One word would have him handing ownership of your mares to me.”
She ignored him and continued walking.
“One month. One month is all I ask. I would like you to help me navigate the local gentry. I could call on you. It may even enhance your reputation.”
“You rate yourself too highly, my lord. Your reputation is tarnished, too.”
“Then help me out of the goodness of your own heart. Tell me who has estates to sell and the reasons behind the sale—which families were being forced to sell due to financial woes. Not much to ask considering what price the offspring of Caesar will bring you.” He paused hoping to get a positive response, but Rheda merely sighed. He cleared his throat. “In addition, it would help me manage mothers with marriageable daughters in the area.”
Rheda’s laugh was filled with wry amusement. She halted so suddenly he almost tripped over her as she swung back to him. “You must think me simple. A man as skilled at dodging the parson’s noose needs protection from local mothers with marriageable daughters? Hardly.” She cocked her head. “Still, I can see how when a man is trying to find a smuggler, mamas with marriage on the brain could be most annoying.”
He clenched his hands at his side. She knew he wanted the source of her barrel and guessed it was to find a smuggler, yet she still refused to give him a name. She had to know who Dark Shadow was. He grew more determined to break her cool reserve.
“Has Mrs. Rathborne cornered you already? She’s been trying to marry Mildred off to Christopher for the past twelve months.” With a laughing gleam in her eye she added, “I bet Mrs. Rathborne was the first woman he persuaded his mother to invite to your welcome dinner.”
Rufus found himself gritting back a reply. Christopher? Lord Hale’s name on her lips sounded intimate. It shouldn’t bother him in the least. Yet his body buzzed with jealousy.
“If you were to accompany me while I was in Kent, the implication would be there and I would likely not be bothered.”
She gave a very unladylike snort. “I doubt that. You heard the gossip tonight. I have not a shred of respectability left in the district. A woman like Mrs. Rathborne would not see me as an impediment to marrying her daughter to Viscount Strathmore.”
“And that would upset you?”
She looked like she was about to expand on that point but instead said, “Your wealth and status would overcome her objections to your behavior with Rheda Kerrich, the local fallen woman. She would assume a man of your status was simply engaging in a dalliance while in Kent. That would not advance my good character.”
“Very likely. However, it can’t hurt, either. Alternatively, tell me the truth about the barrel now and your help is not required.”
“You’re not listening to me, my lord.” She looked away. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m immune to your charms, or have you forgotten?”
The tone of her voice, haughty and disdainful, left him in no doubt she would never help him unless forced to. “Your memory seems to be very selective. I can still recall how responsive you were in my arms.” A fierce surge of heat flooded his body at the memory of her soft curves beneath his. “You were very tempting. I have never met a ‘lady’ who romps around the countryside dressed so inappropriately.” He wanted to punish her. “Nor one who succumbs quite so readily to a stranger’s seduction. So don’t tell me you’re immune. I know from experience that you want me.”
She gasped, and he caught her hand before it reached his face.
“I wouldn’t advise it. You have tried my temper to its limits tonight. My offer is fair. The price of Caesar’s stud services are almost five thousand pounds. You’re a smart woman. You’d be a fool to refuse.”
He lowered her hand to her side, and she didn’t fight him. In fact, she seemed to be seriously considering his proposal. He pushed his advantage.