Mischief (6 page)

Imogen Waterstone had already caused enough commotion in his life, he decided. It was time he took control of his own fate. He always fulfilled his promises, but, as he had warned Horatia, he did so on his own terms.

A series of thuds guided him to the open door of a bedchamber on the left side of the passageway. Matthias halted in the opening and surveyed the interior.

The chamber was a dark, shadowed room that had been decorated in the same funereal style as the rest of the house. Heavy black curtains had been tied back from the windows, but the light that entered had little impact on the overall gloom. The bed was shrouded in colors suitable to mourning. Black and maroon hangings cascaded from the ceiling.

Far and away the most interesting sight in the chamber was Imogen’s nicely rounded backside. Matthias felt a sharp tug in the vicinity of his groin.

The lush curve of Imogen’s derriere was displayed in a provocative manner due to her somewhat awkward position. She was bent over at the waist, attempting to haul a large iron-bound trunk out from under the black-draped bed. The skirts of her bombazine gown had risen several inches in back to reveal elegantly shaped calves clad in white stockings. Matthias had a sudden, nearly overwhelming desire to explore the territory above the tops of the stockings.

The powerful wave of desire that rolled through him took him by surprise. He drew a long breath and forced himself to concentrate on the problem at hand.

“Miss Waterstone?”

“What in the world?” Imogen came upright with a quick, startled movement. She whirled around, her face flushed from her recent exertions. Her hand swept out and struck a small, ugly statue of a tomb deity standing on a nearby table. The little clay monstrosity crashed to the floor and shattered.

“Oh, dear.” Imogen frowned at the broken statue.

“Don’t waste any regrets on it,” Matthias advised after a single glance at the remains of the statue. “It’s not Zamarian.”

“No, it isn’t, is it?” Imogen reached up to straighten her little white cap, which had listed to one side. “I did not hear you coming down the hall, my lord. You cannot possibly be finished with the library?”

“No, madam, I have barely even begun. I have come up here to discuss something more important.”

She brightened. “Our plans to trap Vanneck?”

“Your plans, not mine, Miss Waterstone. Mrs. Elibank and I have discussed the matter in some detail, and we are both of the same opinion. Your scheme is ill-advised, rash, and possibly quite dangerous.”

Imogen stared at him, dismay darkening her eyes. “Sir, you cannot stop me.”

“I was almost certain you would say that.” He studied her for a moment. “What will you do if I refuse to assist you by playing the role that you have assigned to me?”

She eyed him uncertainly. “You refuse to keep your promise to my uncle?”

“Miss Waterstone, the promise I made to Selwyn was rather vague in nature. It is open to interpretation, and since I made the promise, I shall interpret it.”

“Hmm.” She put her hands on her hips and began to tap her toe. “You intend to default on your promise, do you not?”

“No. I always keep my promises, Miss Waterstone, and this one will be no exception.” Matthias realized he was growing angry. “I have concluded that the best way I can repay my debt to your uncle, however, is to keep you out of dangerous mischief.”

“I warn you, sir, you may refuse to aid me, but you cannot stop me from carrying out my plan. I will admit that your support would be invaluable, but I am certain that I can attract Vanneck’s attention without you.”

“Is that so?” Matthias took a step into the chamber. “And just how will you do that, Miss Waterstone? Will you meet him in a private bedchamber again as you did three years ago? I must admit, such an offer will no doubt capture his interest.”

Imogen looked dumbfounded for an instant. Then outrage lit her eyes. “How dare you, sir?”

Chagrin lanced through Matthias. He suppressed it. The ends justified the means in this case, he assured himself. He clamped his teeth together. “I apologize for bringing up the incident, Miss Waterstone.”

“As well you should.”

“But,” he continued relentlessly, “I fail to see how either of us can ignore the past. Facts are facts. If Vanneck seduced you once, he will surely attempt to do so again. And unless you intend to use your very charming person to lure him into your plot—”

“
Bloody hell
. Vanneck did not seduce me three years ago, sir. He compromised me. There is a vast difference.”

“There is?”

“One is reality, the other is merely a matter of appearances.” Imogen sniffed disdainfully. “I would have thought that a man of your intelligence would have been able to detect the essential distinction between the two.”

Matthias’s temper flared without warning. “Very well, split hairs, if you will. It changes nothing. The problem remains. You are not going to find it easy to handle a man of Vanneck’s nature.”

“I assure you, I can and will handle him. But I am beginning to think that you are correct in one regard, sir. Perhaps I do not require your services. When I initially formed my plan, I thought you would be extremely useful, but now I begin to wonder if you might prove more of a hindrance than a help.”

For some reason that Matthias could not fathom, Imogen’s scathing retort served only to further fan the flames of his anger. “Indeed?”

“Obviously you are not the man I had believed you to be, my lord.”

“Hell and damnation. Just what sort of man did you believe me to be?”

“I had assumed, incorrectly it seems, that you were a man of action, the sort of man who does not flinch from danger. A man capable of going forth into adventure without a second’s hesitation.”

“Where did you gain that peculiar notion?”

“From your articles on ancient Zamar. I concluded from the thrilling accounts of your travels and explorations that you had actually lived through those adventures.” She gave him a scornful smile. “Perhaps I was mistaken.”

“Miss Waterstone, are you implying that I base my articles on secondhand researches, as that damnable I. A. Stone does?”

“I. A. Stone is entirely honest about the sources of
his
information, sir. He does not claim to have observed firsthand all that he writes about. You do. You pass yourself off as a man of action, but now it seems that you are not that sort of man at all.”

“I do not pass myself off as anything but what I am, you exasperating little—”

“Apparently you write fiction rather than fact, sir. Bad enough that I thought you to be a clever, resourceful gentleman given to feats of daring. I have also been laboring under the equally mistaken assumption that you are a man who would put matters of honor ahead of petty considerations of inconvenience.”

“Are you calling my honor as well as my manhood into question?”

“Why shouldn’t I? You are clearly indebted to me, sir, yet you obviously wish to avoid making payment on that debt.”

“I was indebted to your uncle, not to you.”

“I have explained to you that I inherited the debt,” she retorted.

Matthias took another gliding step into the grim chamber. “Miss Waterstone, you try my patience.”

“I would not dream of doing so,” she said, her voice dangerously sweet. “I have concluded that you will not do at all as an associate in my scheme. I hereby release you from your promise. Begone, sir.”

“Bloody hell, woman. You are not going to get rid of me so easily.” Matthias crossed the remaining distance between them with two long strides and clamped his hands around her shoulders.

Touching her was a mistake. Anger metamorphosed into desire in the wink of an eye.

For an instant he could not move. His insides seemed to have been seized by a powerful fist. Matthias tried to breathe, but Imogen’s scent filled his head, clouding his brain. He looked down into the bottomless depths of her blue-green eyes and wondered if he would drown. He opened his mouth to conclude the argument with a suitably repressive remark, but the words died in his throat.

The outrage vanished from Imogen’s gaze. It was replaced by sudden concern. “My lord? Is something wrong?”

“Yes.” It was all he could do to get the word past his teeth.

“What is it?” She began to look alarmed. “Are you ill?”

“Quite possibly.”

“Good heavens. I had not realized. That no doubt explains your odd behavior.”

“No doubt.”

“Would you care to lie down on the bed for a few minutes?”

“I do not think that would be a wise move at this juncture.” She was so soft. He could feel the warmth of her skin through the sleeves of her prim, practical gown. He realized that he longed to discover if she made love with the same impassioned spirit she displayed in an argument. He forced himself to remove his hands from her
shoulders. “We had best finish this discussion at some other time.”

“Nonsense,” she said bracingly. “I do not believe in putting matters off, my lord.”

Matthias shut his eyes for the space of two or three seconds and took a deep breath. When he lifted his lashes he saw that Imogen was watching him with a fascinated expression. “Miss Waterstone,” he began with grim determination. “I am trying to employ reason here.”

“You’re going to help me, aren’t you?” She started to smile.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’ve changed your mind, haven’t you? Your sense of honor has won out.” Her eyes glowed. “Thank you, my lord. I knew you would assist me in my plans.” She gave him an approving little pat on the arm. “And you must not concern yourself with the other matter.”

“What other matter?”

“Why, your lack of direct experience with bold feats and daring adventure. I quite understand. You need not be embarrassed by the fact that you are not a man of action, sir.”

“Miss Waterstone—”

“Not everyone can be an intrepid sort, after all,” she continued blithely. “You need have no fear. If anything dangerous occurs in the course of my scheme, I shall deal with it.”

“The very thought of you taking charge of a dangerous situation is enough to freeze the marrow in my bones.”

“Obviously you suffer from a certain weakness of the nerves. But we shall contrive to muddle through. Try not to succumb to the terrors of the imagination, my lord. I know you must be extremely anxious about what lies ahead, but I assure you, I will be at your side every step of the way.”

“Will you, indeed?” He felt dazed.

“I shall protect you.” Without any warning, Imogen
put her arms around him and gave him what was no doubt meant to be a quick, reassuring hug.

The tattered leash Matthias was using to hold on to his self-control snapped. Before Imogen could pull away, he wrapped her close.

“Sir?” Her eyes widened with surprise.

“The only aspect of this situation that truly alarms me, Miss Waterstone,” he said roughly, “is the question of who will protect me from you.”

Before she could reply, he crushed her mouth beneath his own.

Imogen stilled. For an instant all her senses seemed to collide, producing a dazzling chaos. She had always prided herself on the strength of her nerves. She had never suffered from an attack of the vapors, never felt faint, never succumbed to light-headedness or a giddy sensation. But at that moment she felt utterly dazed.

Her breath caught in her throat. Her palms were suddenly damp. Her thoughts, which had been quite lucid only a second before, were now in a shambles. Everything around her appeared to have gone suddenly askew. She shivered and then felt a delicious, almost feverish warmth spread through her.

If she had not been positive that she enjoyed excellent health, she would have thought she was ill.

Matthias groaned and deepened the kiss, crushing her closer to his hard, unyielding body. She felt his tongue trace her lips and realized with a shock that he wanted her to open her mouth for him. Intense curiosity swept over her. Tentatively, she parted her lips. Matthias’s tongue surged between them.

Shocked by the intimate kiss, Imogen went weak at the knees. The world spun around her. She gripped Matthias’s shoulders very tightly, afraid that she would fall if he were to release her.

But Matthias made no move to set her free. Instead, his arms tightened around her, pulling her so close that she could feel the alarming bulge in his snug breeches. She knew that he must surely be aware of her breasts pressed against his broad chest. He shifted slightly, bending her backward. One of his booted feet slid between her legs. She could feel the fierce strength in his thigh.

Sensations flowed through Imogen, wild, turbulent feelings that were unlike any she had ever known. She was not entirely without experience, she reminded herself in a desperate bid for sanity. But there was no denying that not even Philippe D’Artois’s practiced kisses or Alastair Drake’s chaste embraces had tumbled her senses into such shimmering disarray.

Passion. This was true passion at long last. A thrill of fiery excitement unfurled within Imogen.

With a soft, wordless exclamation of delight that was somewhat muffled by the pressure of Matthias’s demanding mouth, she tightened her arms around his neck.

“Imogen.” Matthias raised his head. His austere face was taut. His eyes were no longer an emotionless, ghostly gray. They burned. It was as though he looked into an oracle glass in search of answers to some unknown question. “What the devil am I doing?”

Reality returned with a shattering effect. Imogen gazed at Matthias, aware that he regretted the rash impulse that had made him take her into his arms.

Ruthlessly Imogen squelched the keen sense of loss that welled up within her. She fought for composure while she desperately sought appropriate words for a most inappropriate situation.

“Calm yourself, my lord.” She struggled to adjust her cap. “This was not your fault.”

“It wasn’t?”

“No, indeed,” she assured him breathlessly. “This sort of thing can happen when the darker passions are aroused. My parents had the very same problem. Any argument that flared between them always ended in this fashion.”