Kathryn Smith (16 page)

Apparently she didn’t have to explain it at all. Minnie
seemed to have a worryingly clear understanding of the situation already.

Nathaniel nodded. “That was my point exactly.” He lifted his gaze to Moira’s. Were her eyes crossing? “Be cautious until you do ascertain his intentions, but do not constantly assume they are the worst.”

“He must like you,” Minnie added. “He’d be daft not to. You are a good person, you are pretty, and you are rich. And you like him. Why wouldn’t he like you?”

There it was, the way the world should be in the mind of an eighteen-year-old. Why wouldn’t he like her indeed?

And why did Moira suspect that deep in her heart she wanted so much more than mere “like”?

He couldn’t escape her.

Lying on the brocade sofa in his little brown and gold parlor, Wynthrope stared at the ceiling, counting the swirls in the plasterwork.

No matter what he did, or how much he counted, he could not get Moira out of his head. She haunted his waking hours with memories of conversations, laughter, kisses—and that unforgettable night in her library. When he went to bed it became even worse, because every time he replayed that fateful chess match and her demand to be kissed, his dreams turned it into a much different situation—a situation in which he came in her, not in her hand.

He spent most of his time frustrated, wracked with longing when he wasn’t ravaged by guilt. He wanted her with a vengeance. He missed her when she wasn’t around, and he could not reconcile his feelings with the fact that he was going to have to steal from her, no matter how much he tried, or pretended. Most days he simply tried not to think about it.

But today he had done nothing but think of it. He was going to betray her, and no one but he and Daniels would ever
know the truth. Moira would never know it was he. Could he continue the charade? Could he lie to her just to keep her in his life? He couldn’t tell her the truth. She could go to the authorities and make matters worse. She might tell Octavia, and Octavia would tell North in an instant. Or worse, she might do something that would put her in danger. If Daniels had any suspicion that Wynthrope had exposed him, he wouldn’t hesitate to harm Moira to get that tiara.

Moira would blame him for whatever Daniels did to her, and she would be right to. No, she was better off not knowing—if for no other reason than that he couldn’t bear to see the hate in her eyes. He would rather turn his back on her and have her think him a heartless cad than realize what a fraud he was.

She thought he—the real he—deserved love. What did she know? She was a woman of a certain age who obviously had experienced no sexual gratification in her marriage or outside it. He wasn’t a rake by any stretch, but he knew the look of a woman who had been brought to her first orgasm. She might have roused similar sensations by herself, no doubt she had at her age, but he had been the first man to make her come.

And in turn she had made him a god, if only for a few minutes, and only in his own mind.

By Christ she had been beautiful, all wild and wanton in his arms. So wet and willing. He should have taken her. He could have.

So why didn’t he? Some foolish sense of chivalry had kicked in. Perhaps it would have been wrong of him to take advantage of her. Perhaps he wouldn’t have been able to achieve another erection. No, he could have been hard again in a minute if she had commanded it. He had been afraid to do it. He had promised to seduce her, had told her that he intended to do just that, and she rose to the challenge. But what
happened after he succeeded? He didn’t want to walk away. It wouldn’t be easy to walk away, and unless he wanted to spend possibly the rest of his life lying to her, he would have to walk away.

The rest of his life. Had he ever entertained the idea of spending his life with one woman? No. He had always thought marriage a prison. Certainly his parents and many of their contemporaries had proven him right. But Devlin and North, they were the exceptions. They had good marriages, to women they adored. They were adored in return. He had seen both of them changed by their women, and not changed in a negative way, as many men liked to joke. Blythe and Octavia were positive additions to the Ryland family, helping to heal the wounds his brothers had both carried for far too long.

Could Moira help heal him? Would she want to? Was it too much to ask that she give him anything more than he was already poised to take from her? She trusted him, or at least he feared she did. She let him into her home thinking he was there for no other reason than her. Perhaps she suspected he had seduction alone on his mind. Perhaps she had no idea that it had become so much more than that.

God willing, she had no idea just how much he had come to need her in his life. He hoped she would never know how much of a coward he was, but he couldn’t risk his heart, not when there was a job to be done, not when he couldn’t be certain she would want the shriveled little fig.

Not when he had no idea whatsoever of how to give it to her. The idea of it terrified him more than the thought of prison or death or being responsible for North’s ruin.

“What are you doing in here all alone in the dark?”

Speak of the devil. Was it dark? He hadn’t noticed. And he should have thought twice before giving North a key to his home.

“Light a lamp if it bothers you,” he replied, not bothering to get up.

There was the sound of footsteps behind him and then the striking of the flint. Soon, golden light flooded a corner of the room. Yes, it was dark. Very dark. What would he do when the days lengthened again and there was no night to hide in? He would have to draw the shades and pretend.

“Are you ill?” his brother demanded, coming around to stand before him.

“No.” Not in the manner North meant, at any rate.

“Then why are you just lying about?”

Turning his head on the cushion, he smiled weakly. “I felt like it.”

North scowled. “This is not like you.”

Wynthrope chuckled dryly. “Not like me? Of course it is like me. I’m the brooding one, remember? I brood. I like to think about things and be melancholy. I’m thinking about giving lessons.”

His brother was unimpressed by his wit. It was just as well. It seemed to take more effort these days just to be flippant. Sarcasm didn’t come as easily as it once did, and the only person who seemed shocked by anything he said or did was he.

He sighed. “Why are you here, North?”

His brother seated himself on the arm of a large chair. “Do I need a reason to visit my brother?”

“No, but you always seem to have one regardless.” Perhaps flippancy wasn’t so difficult after all.

North’s expression was totally blank, but he could not hide the disquiet in his eyes. “Octavia thought you might like to join us for dinner. She doesn’t think you eat enough.”

Wynthrope smiled at that. “Your wife is too good for you.”

Of course his brother did not argue. “I tell myself that daily. Will you come to dinner or not?”

Folding an arm behind his head, Wynthrope shifted position on the narrow sofa. “Give Octavia my thanks and apologies, but I think I’ll remain where I am.”

“Damn it, Wyn!” So much for that blank expression. It had quickly given way to one of frustration. “What the devil is wrong with you?”

Now it was his turn to be expressionless. “Nothing.”

North scowled. “You are a frigging rotten liar.”

Laughing, Wynthrope faced his brother with a thankful smile. “I am fine. I just do not feel like company this evening.”

North tilted his head, his mouth curving slightly. “Not even the lovely Lady Aubourn?”

He should have seen that coming. Perhaps if his head wasn’t lodged so far up his own arse he would have.

“Since she is a lady, and not very likely to come to a bachelor’s lodgings unescorted, I sincerely doubt that will be an issue.”

He also should have known that his brother was just getting started. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with her lately.”

Facing the ceiling again, Wynthrope closed his eyes. “Yes, I have.”

“People are talking.”

“Yes, they are.” Was there a point to this conversation?

He could hear North shift on the chair. “She’s a good friend of Vie’s, you know.”

Ahh. Now they were going somewhere. So much for his brother not needing to have a reason to come calling. “I know.”

“I think very highly of her as well.”

Wynthrope raised his brows but still did not open his eyes. “No doubt.”

“Octavia and I would hate to see her…
disappointed
in any fashion.”

“As her friends, I imagine so.” How calm he sounded, even though the future was already laid out before him. Moira was going to be disappointed by him, one way or another.

“For Christ’s sake, Wyn, will you look at me?”

Another sigh as he opened his eyes and rolled them toward his brother. “What do you want me to say, North?”

His brother fixed him with a scowl that threatened bodily harm. “Tell me what your intentions are toward Moira.”

“I do not know. To get to know her better, I suppose.”
Liar.
It was a wonder he didn’t choke on the words.

“She deserves more than a tumble.”

He was right. She deserved much, much more—more than he could probably ever hope to give her. “Is that what you think I am after?”

North’s gaze was shrewd as his lips flattened into a grim line. “I do not know. What are you after?”

Damn. He should have known North would know how to trap him. Carefully wiping his face of any emotion, Wynthrope replied, “More than a tumble, obviously. I could get one of those anywhere for considerably less effort than I’m putting into the lovely widow Aubourn.”

“Is that what she is to you, an effort?”

Something within him snapped, and he bolted upright, swinging his legs over the side of the sofa. “What she is to me is none of your frigging business!”

North stared at him, his jaw slack. Wynthrope might have laughed if he weren’t so angry at himself for losing his temper.

He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled a deep breath before speaking again. He was calmer this time. “What is this inquisition about, North? You and Octavia think I am out
to harm Moira, that I’m toying with her in some manner?” He supposed he was, but that wasn’t the point.

North shrugged. At least he had the grace to look uncomfortable. His pale blue eyes didn’t quite meet Wynthrope’s. “You never stay with one woman for more than a week or two.”

“I have been seeing Moira for almost four.” Good Lord, had it been that long already? Yes. He had met her early in the month. Today was the twenty-ninth of December.

“That is why we are concerned. It is obvious Moira is not some casual affair.”

Wynthrope slumped against the back of the sofa. Christ, he was tired. “If you are so certain she’s not a casual affair, why the questions?”

“Because Octavia and I are concerned that she might be expecting more than you are prepared to offer her.” His brother raised a brow as though to make a point.

“Marriage?” How spiteful and bitter he sounded.

North nodded. “You are the first man she has shown any interest in since the death of her husband. She is still unsure of herself.”

“She wasn’t unsure when she had her hand wrapped around my cock the other night.” The second the words left his mouth Wynthrope wanted to snatch them back. This wasn’t about Moira, and he had no right befouling her in this way. He made the other night sound cheap and tawdry, and it had been anything but.

“I am going to forget you just said that,” North informed him, his gaze as cold as his tone.

Wynthrope rubbed his eyes. “Good. Maybe I can as well.”

His brother wasn’t about to let up just yet, however. “The way I see it, one of two things is happening here.”

North was little more than a blur when Wynthrope opened
his eyes. Blinking, he watched his brother, wishing to hell he would just leave. “And those are?”

North folded his arms over his broad chest. Wynthrope had always envied his muscular build. “Either you are out to destroy Moira for some reason, or you are in love with her.”

Wynthrope’s heart slammed against his ribs—at which suggestion he wasn’t certain. “Perhaps it is both. Perhaps I want to destroy her by falling in love with her.”

The scowl on his brother’s face deepened. North really could be an intimidating bastard when he wanted. “What the hell does that mean?”

Chuckling hoarsely, Wynthrope shook his head, his hands limp in his lap. “I do not know.”

Obviously North wasn’t prepared to give up. “You do know, else you wouldn’t have said it.”

Good point. “I do not want to destroy Moira, North. I think too much of her to ever
want
to hurt her, but I’m not sure I am capable of doing anything else.”

There was little more than a few months separating them by birth, yet Wynthrope felt as though he were years older than his illegitimate brother at this moment. Poor North, he looked so confused.

“You sound as stupid as Devlin did when he first met Blythe.”

Wynthrope made a sound of disgust. “There is no way I could ever sound
that
stupid.” Poor Devlin. He was a happily married man now, but there had been a time when he had risked turning his back on his feelings for Blythe because he thought he wasn’t good enough for her.

“Can you not hear yourself? You talk as though you do not deserve a woman like Moira.” North’s tone was incredulous.

Was he insane? “I don’t.”

“Do not be an idiot.” If words were whips, he would have been flayed alive then and there.

“I’m not. If I were a monk and did nothing with my life but perform good deeds I would not deserve a woman like Moira.” He sighed and raised his weary gaze to his brother’s. “It does not mean I would not aspire to such heights if given the chance.”

His reply seemed to surprise North as much as it surprised him.

“You are falling in love with her.”

Again there was that uncomfortable thumping in his chest. Perhaps North had struck too close to the truth, or perhaps it was guilt that made him feel this awful. “I do not know what I am doing. Before you showed up I was trying not to think about it.”