Compromising the Marquess Page 16

  His hand reached her breast and brushed against it so gently that at first she thought she’d imagined the contact. Even if she had there was no imagining the surging tide of heady emotion when his hand closed about one sensitized peak and gently caressed.

  “You like that?” he asked, his voice a husky whisper, so deep and low she could barely make out the words.

  “Yes.” She instinctively pushed herself into his hand.

  “Patience, little one,” he said, flicking her rock-hard nipple with his thumb, sending shivers of liquid excitement trickling down her spine.

  “I am being patient.”

  His laugh was soft and infectious. “No you’re not. You’re following your instincts. Usually that’s a good thing, except when in pursuit of pleasure. You see, pleasure ought never to be rushed.”

  “If I’m to follow my instincts, does that mean I can touch you in any manner I wish?”

  “No.”

  She angled her head, curious to know what she’d said to make him react so firmly. “Why not?”

  “Because I’m the instructor and you are the pupil.”

  She offered him a challenging smile. “I believe you’re afraid, my lord.”

  “Of you?”

  “Why else would you insist upon complete control? I understood that in matters of amour both parties should give and take.”

  His hand continued to caress her torso, stopping frustratingly short of her breasts, which no longer appeared to engage his interest.

  “Good heavens, whatever gave you that idea.”

  “Some of Papa’s books,” she said. “He had rare editions of erotic verse.”

  “And he allowed you to read them?”

  She could hear condemnation in his voice. “Of course. I did so about a year before he died.”

  “When you were fifteen?”

  “Yes. I’ve already told you, he encouraged me to broaden my mind.”

  “What did you read?” he asked, the hand on her thigh moving to her shoulder, where he picked up strands of her hair and let them fall through his fingers. He was no longer touching her inappropriately but the gesture still affected her profoundly.

  “Er, poems by Sappho of Lesbos.”

  Leah sensed rather than observed the elevation of his eyebrows. “In Greek?”

  “Certainly in Greek. It was a rare tome and one of my father’s most prized possessions. He vowed never to sell it, even though he was offered a goodly sum for it. That and other rare books like it were both his pleasure and his security for his family should he fall upon hard times.” Her voice caught and she expelled a sorrowful breath. “Unfortunately, in spite of his precautions, they weren’t secure enough to withstand fire.”

  He brushed his hand down the length of her hair and returned it to her thigh. “But they gave both him and you pleasure for a time.”

  “Yes, at least there’s that.” She smiled up at him, his features flickering in and out of focus according to the whim of the lantern. “I’ve also read Fanny Hill.”

  “Have you indeed!” His eyes expressed both surprise and amusement. “Then your education is complete and you have no need of me.”

  She jerked upright on his lap, removing her head from its comfortable resting place on his broad shoulder. “My education is theoretical. I require practical experience.”

  “If you’ve read Fanny Hill, then I’m surprised you asked me what else we could do.”

  “You refer to Phoebe instructing Fanny when she first arrived in London?”

  “Indeed. I’ll be your Phoebe, but I won’t be your Charles.”

  He lowered his head. Anticipating his kiss, she lifted her face, their lips melding in soft acquiescence. His kisses varied in intensity, but the passion and force that drove them was always volcanic. Leah pressed the breasts he’d just caressed against his chest, wishing there wasn’t the barrier of clothing between them, too timid to suggest removing it in such a public place.

  She could feel the strength of what Fanny would have referred to as his “wonderful machine” pushing into the back of her thighs and wriggled until it was closer to the place where she wanted it to be. Hal immediately broke the kiss and tipped her off his knee.

  “My rules, remember,” he said harshly.

  Leah, frustrated by his intransigence, was plagued by a different sort of desire to the one he’d just engendered in her. It was the desire to pick a fight with him. She wanted to tell him she was at least as determined as he was to have her way. If he thought she would allow him to hold back from his role as Fanny’s Charles, then he still had much to learn about her character.

  She resisted, frightened of scaring him off when he had been patently reluctant to enter into the arrangement in the first place.

  “Of course, my lord,” she said with a sweet smile.

  “Hal,” he reminded her as he picked up the blanket, folded it across his arm and steered her back towards the Boar.

  “Hal,” she dutifully repeated, scraping her hair back beneath her cap.

  “Just remember that you came to me for instruction and so we will play this game according to my rules.” Damn him, was he now a mind reader? He stopped walking and fixed her with a stern gaze. “Are we agreed?”

  “Yes, your terms are entirely satisfactory,” she said primly, crossing her fingers behind her back as she spoke.

  His deep throaty chuckle, full of wicked intent, caused her insides to roil.

  “Oh, you will be,” he said. “That I can guarantee.”

  “Shall you adopt my suggestion of a ball?” she asked, thinking it wise to change the subject as they made their way towards the gatehouse. She would never win an argument about romantic love with this master of the art.

  “I’ll talk to Rob about it when I return home but, yes, I think I very likely will.”

  “Good.” She flashed a brief smile in his direction and nodded her approval. “That poor young man must be running mad with all the waiting. He saw his papa murdered and must now hide away like a common criminal.”

  “He is starting to get impatient,” Hal acknowledged. “If I decide to go ahead with the ball I shall have Flick enlist your help, and that of your sister, with the preparations.”

  “With the greatest of pleasure.”

  They had reached the gatehouse. He bowed over her hand and kissed it with almost comical formality. Only the light in his eye gave her an indication of his true thoughts. He looked like a handsome pirate with his long hair still loose, waving about his shoulders. She wanted him to kiss her once more. Properly. With passion that hinted at the delights to come but knew he wouldn’t do it, not in such an exposed place.

  “Until tomorrow,” he said, releasing her hand and standing back so that she could walk through the gate he’d just opened for her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Hal strode back to the Boar, repeatedly shaking his head, unsure what he’d committed himself to. Leah Elliott was a complete puzzle to him—like no other woman he’d ever met. No sooner did he think he understood her than she revealed another aspect to her character that rendered him speechless.

  He mentally catalogued all he’d learned so far, wondering what further revelations he still had to look forward to. He was fairly sure she had hidden depths and he was in for further surprises. She single-handedly supported her sister, selflessly setting aside her own aspirations to secure her sibling’s future. It probably made her skin crawl to have anything to do with Morris’s tawdry publication but she contributed to it anyway, doing what had to be done in order to survive. She sang like an angel, was attractive in an unconventional sort of way, possessed a body that would reduce even the most devout monk to self-flagellation, and considered reading erotic poetry in Greek to be a normal activity.

  To cap it all, she had now calmly invited him to bed her, simply because the subject had piqued her curiosity. Hal scrubbed a hand down his face, willing to admit, at least to himself, that he was in trouble. He was in trouble because a
s soon as he touched her he wanted more. A damned sight more than a gentleman of honour could ask of her. She might be willingly offering it but, in spite of her intelligence, Hal wasn’t convinced that she fully understood the implications of that offer.

  He reached to the Boar and collected his horse from the ostler. Perhaps a fast canter home would dampen his ardour.

  Somehow he doubted it.

  Rob and Gabriel were both at home. Hal took a moment to retie his hair and then joined them in the drawing room, helping himself to a snifter of brandy.

  “I think I have a solution to our problem,” he said by way of greeting.

  “Good.” Rob cast aside the book he was reading and focused his attention on Hal. “Our visitor gets daily more restless.”

  “What’s your solution then?” Gabe asked.

  “A ball. I know we discussed having an entertainment of some sort and dismissed the idea, but Jean-Philippe is running out of patience so we’ll have to make it work.” Hal seated himself beside the fire and grinned at his brothers, waiting for the explosion that wasn’t long in coming.

  “A ball?” Rob’s looked astounded. “How the hell will that help? Somehow I find it hard to believe that you’ve developed a sudden yen for dancing.”

  “You hate entertaining,” Gabe reminded him.

  “Our suspects don’t appear to be in any hurry to visit us, so what say you that we take matters into our own hands?” Hal paused to take a long sip of his drink. “The ball will be to celebrate our victory over Napoleon. A lot of other people have held similar events so it won’t seem out of the ordinary. And since I worked closely with all our suspects, they’d feel slighted if I didn’t invite them.”

  Rob nodded. “It makes a peculiar sort of sense, I suppose. But are you sure it’s safe to have them here, at the Hall, I mean? When we discussed something less grand before, you worried for Flick’s safety.”

  “I shall ensure that she’s well protected throughout the night.”

  “If any of the suspects decline the invitation then presumably we can cross them off the list,” Gabe said.

  “Exactly so.”

  “I’m not convinced it will work, but it’s worth a try,” Rob rubbed his chin and scowled off into the distance. “Jean-Philippe is so bored that he’s starting to sulk. I spent all the evening on board playing chess with him, and letting the young tyke win, I might add, all the time trying to persuade him it won’t be for much longer.”

  Hal chuckled, knowing how hard it must have been for his chess master brother to deliberately throw a game to an inferior player. “We all have to make sacrifices.”

  “Some more than others.” Rob levelled his gaze on Hal’s face. “Seriously though, we’ve been telling Jean-Philippe that it will soon be over for a month now. It’s not what he wants to hear and he no longer believes it anyway.” Rob shrugged. “Can’t say as I altogether blame him for that. He’s not the brightest spark in the tinderbox but even he must have realised by now that we’re not making any progress in identifying his father’s killer.”

  “Balls take time to organise,” Gabe pointed out.

  “Not necessarily.” Hal rang the bell. “Potter,” he said when the butler materialized, “I plan to give a ball. Can all the arrangements be put in hand in ten days?”

  Potter, to his credit, didn’t flinch. “If I can hire additional staff, my lord, then I don’t anticipate any difficulties that Mrs. Goodson and I between us won’t be able to manage.”

  “Good man. I’ve leave it to you to inform Mrs. Goodson.”

  “That could be a problem,” Rob said. “Hiring outside help, I mean. We don’t want strangers on the estate.”

  “Can you find all the people you need in the village, Potter?”

  “Undoubtedly, my lord.”

  “Very well then, hire whoever you need, just so long as they’re locals.”

  Potter inclined his head. “Twenty additional persons should be sufficient.”

  “I shall discuss the arrangements with Lady Felicity in the morning and I’ll leave it to the three of you to get things organised. Other than a list of the people whom I wish to see invited, I’ll not get involved.”

  Potter looked relieved to hear it. “As your lordship pleases.”

  “Well, big brother,” Rob said after Potter left them. “Let’s hope your lordship’s pleasure bears fruit.”

  Hal, his mind still occupied with Leah’s extraordinary demands and pleasures of a very different nature, almost choked on his brandy.

  * * *

  Flick wasn’t given to lying in bed, so Hal knocked at her sitting room door at an early hour the following morning. He found his sister occupied at her writing desk. Whoever she was corresponding with, she clearly didn’t wish Hal to know about it, and hastily covered her half-written missive with a blotter.

  “Good morning,” she said, swivelling on her seat to face him and offering him a dazzling smile, presumably intended to divert his attention from her letter. “What have I done to deserve such an early visit? Presumably you’re displeased with me. I can’t think why that should be, but—”

  “For once I have no complaints to make about your conduct,” Hal said, suppressing a smile.

  “Well, that makes a pleasant change.” Flick wrinkled her brow. “So what—”

  “I plan to give a ball to celebrate our victory over Napoleon,” he said, throwing himself into a chair, simultaneously steeling himself to withstand her surprise and a barrage of questions.

  “Good heavens, what’s brought about this sudden desire to entertain?” she asked, elevating one brow. “First a dinner party and now this. If I didn’t know better, I might think you’d developed a sociable disposition.”

  “Nothing that drastic, I assure you. But even I must accept that our heroes should be properly recognized. Since, as Mrs. Wilkinson is so fond of reminding me, I’m the figure of authority around these parts, I ought to lead by example.”

  “Certainly you ought, but that’s never prevented you from following your own path in the past.”

  “Do you want to play the part of my hostess or should I look elsewhere?”

  “Well, of course I do! What a silly question.”

  “It will mean a lot of work.”

  “Do you want it to be for the benefit of our returning forces?”

  “Can a benefit be organised within the next ten days?”

  “Don’t be so silly.” Flick waved a hand. “Even ordinary balls take months to organise. If we are to turn it into a benefit then it will take even longer.”

  “This one won’t.” He stood to kiss the top of his sister’s head and made a mental note to think of some other way to support returning servicemen who had no employment awaiting them. “Ten days it must be.”

  “Oh, very well then.” Flick surprised him by putting up no further objections. “But I give you due warning that it will be bedlam here at the Hall between now and then.” She wagged a finger at him. “This is your idea, so don’t you dare complain.”

  “Me, complain?” Hal raised a haughtily innocent brow. “When do I ever do that?”

  Flick snorted but refrained from comment.

  “Here.” He handed her the list of people he wished her to invite.

  She scanned it and paled. “There are hundreds of names,” she wailed.

  “It wouldn’t be much of a ball if there were less than that.”

  “You’ve left off a lot of local names.”

  “Well, of course we must invite our neighbours, but you know who they are. I’ll leave the addition of their names to you.”

  “We shall have to invite Lady Bentley,” Flick said with an impish smile.

  “Naturally.” Hal schooled his features into a neutral expression as he headed for the door. “I’ve already primed Potter and by now he’ll have spoken to Mrs. Goodson.” He paused, turning back to face her with his hand on the doorknob. “You can’t do this all alone,” he said in a negligent tone. “Why don’t
you get the Elliott girls to at least help you write the cards?”

  Flick cast him a considering look. “Yes,” she said slowly. “That’s a good idea.”

  * * *

  Hal returned to his study to find a report awaiting him from the investigator he’d put on to Morris. It confirmed much of what Leah had told him. The unworthy cove had set up as a pamphleteer in London very shortly after Leah’s father’s death. Too shortly, surely? His suspicions on high alert, Hal scowled and read on.

  Morris excels at setting others to do his bidding, whilst he sits back and rakes in the rewards. As well as his pamphlets, he also paid a number of Covent Garden lightskirts to pass on information about their customers. He then blackmailed them—the customers, that is. He was clever in that he didn’t target the aristocracy, probably aware that they would close ranks against him, but rather cits and supposedly respectable members of the middle classes.

  He miscalculated when he attempted to put the squeeze on Dominic Read, a textile merchant of growing reputation. I couldn’t find out precisely what Read did to drive Morris out of London, but he clearly didn’t fear exposure and called Morris’s bluff. Morris certainly hasn’t spent much time in the capital, as far as anyone knows, since decamping to Brighton in some haste.

  He claimed he left the capital because he wanted to start a regional newspaper in an area close to the Prince Regent’s playground. He has done that but I get the impression that he left town more from necessity than choice.

  Morris is now well established in Brighton, printing books as well as his paper. I haven’t yet been able to discover if he continues to use blackmail in his new environment but I am on my way to Brighton now and will report again when I have learned more.

  Hal folded the missive, deep in thought. He’d been wondering about Morris’s true purpose in deserting the capital. Now he knew that London had become unsafe for him. He also suspected that he’d somehow used the fire at Elliott’s print works to his advantage. Had he gone so far as to set it himself? It seemed unlikely since he gained nothing from it, but Hal’s instincts told him that the man knew more about it than he’d apparently let on.