A Daring Liaison(18)
Long adept at covering his emotions with innocuous expressions and meaningless banter, Charles did nothing to betray his anger and suspicion. If Mrs. Huffington had been responsible, in part or whole, for Adam Booth’s death, what had she hoped to gain? Without the nuptials, she was not entitled to anything more than the small settlement her aunt had negotiated. Could she have done it to preserve her freedom rather than for gain? Did she not like her aunt’s choices? Or was she a secret man-hater who disposed of any who threatened her freedom? If so, he sure as hell knew how to find that out.
“Rational explanations or evidence aside, Mrs. Huffington, what do you think is behind it?”
Her bewilderment looked genuine enough. “Fate is as good an explanation as any I’ve pondered. Unless...”
“Pray, enlighten me.”
“If...if it is not a curse or coincidence, then it has to be deliberate. And if it is deliberate, then it must be personal. And if it is personal, then someone, for some unknown reason, wanted Mr. Allenby and Mr. Huffington dead—perhaps even Mr. Booth. And if that is true, then I am the common thread between them. But if that is so, then why hasn’t an attempt been made on my life?”
“Aside from tonight, you mean?”
She turned her lovely face up to his, and her expression was one of bewilderment. “To make me suffer? Or to hang for the crimes? Or could that person simply be taunting me until he is ready to kill me, too?”
Ah, she was good. He almost believed her. “Why? Who would despise you so much?”
“I cannot think of anyone I’ve wronged deeply enough to warrant such hatred.” Something of her desperation reached him. If she was telling the truth, she would be frantic, indeed. Her eyes were luminous in the dark coach. “That is why I must get to the bottom of this before something else calamitous can happen.”
Better and better. She was falling like a ripe plum into his open palm. “I collect it wouldn’t be much of a life if you feared any man you showed an interest in could die, and that you must always watch over your shoulder.”
She cocked her head to one side and her lips quirked in a sardonic smile. “Was that supposed to be comforting, Mr. Hunter?”
“Were you looking for comfort or honesty, Mrs. Huffington?”
“Honesty,” she conceded.
“I am prepared to help you, if you desire it.”
“Help me what?”
“Find out if there is anything sinister behind your ill fortune and the odd things that have been happening to you. That gunshot tonight, for instance.” Could have been Dick Gibbons targeting him, but she did not need to know that. “Apart from that, I think you will be needing a male escort. Delightful though they are, I doubt the Misses Thayer can offer you much protection.”
Her deep shudder told him that she’d feared the same thing. Mrs. Huffington was not just in fear for the lives of men who knew her, but in fear for her own life—unless this was an act to disarm him.
“I am nobody,” she murmured. “I cannot in my wildest imaginings think why someone would want Mr. Allenby or Mr. Huffington dead. Or Mr. Booth, for that matter. Nor is there anyone who might wish me dead. It has to be something else. And that is why...” She blinked and pressed her lips together as if she’d said too much.
“Why it is a mystery you are compelled to solve?” he finished for her. “Again, one with which I am prepared to help you.”
“I scarcely know what to say, Mr. Hunter. I appreciate the sentiment, but you would be putting yourself in danger.” She sighed and only the steady clip-clop of the horses’ hooves broke the heavy silence.
Charles took her hand, so delicate and small in his that he almost regretted what he was about to do. She was playing into his scheme, offering an opportunity only an idiot or a man with scruples would waste—and Charles was neither. No, he was a man about to test whether she was a man-hater or not. With his other hand, he lifted her chin to look up at him. Slowly, relentlessly, he lowered his lips to hers.
They were soft, plush, voluptuous and they trembled just a fraction. A studied response? Or genuine? He didn’t care which. He lost himself in the taste of honey, her heated moan and her almost unwilling response. He sensed that she wanted to deny him, but was unable. Could there be any sweeter revenge for her previous rejection than that?
And that was his last rational thought as he answered in kind, releasing her hand to draw her closer. His reaction was purely visceral—as primal and basic as that long ago night when he’d fancied himself in love. Time had done nothing to dull that edge. He wanted to lose himself in her, bury himself in her softness, feel her heat surround him, lay her bare to his study, watch her face as she found release in his arms. He was older now, more experienced than he’d been back then, but knowing what lay ahead only deepened his hunger and quickened his urgency.