Lady Gone Wicked (Wicked Secrets)(30)
Poor man. He seemed so determined to convince her of his wickedness, as though to warn her off. “Tell me.”
His jaw worked as he struggled. She waited, hoping. Finally, he relented. “I killed a friend. He was French and knew things he ought not to know. He would have shared our battle plans with our enemy, had I not. And still…he was a friend. He was surprised when I stabbed him. Perhaps he knew who I was and chose to let me live. I don’t know.” He looked at her, his gaze calculating. “Now do you understand? I am not good.”
Dear God. What a heavy burden he carried with him. She caught him by his face with both hands, bringing him down so that they were eye to eye. “It was a terrible, ugly thing you did, murdering a friend.”
His eyes closed. “Yes.”
“Thank you.” She pressed her lips to his forehead, lingering for a moment before releasing him.
He stilled at her touch. “Don’t be kind to me. Scold me. That’s what I deserve.” But he burrowed closer to her, belying his words.
“I most certainly will not. You made the best decision you could, and I am sorry, so very sorry. It is a terrible burden to carry, to have done such awful things.” She touched his arm. “You help so many people, Nick.”
“I am not good!” he all but shouted.
“Heavens. Then I suppose it was a very good thing that Lady Margaret did not require your assistance. What would she have done if she needed someone to fetch her mother or a pair of scissors? Oh, wait.”
His lip twitched. “I did not play errand boy to help Lady Margaret, or even to help you. It wasn’t a kind thing I did, Adelaide.”
“No?”
“No.” He leaned closer. “Would you like me to tell you why I did it?”
He smelled of spice and lemonade. She wondered what he would taste like. “No, I think you had better not.”
He chuckled at that. “Too bad. I cannot have you thinking I am a good man—you might decide to have me, after all.” As he spoke, he encircled her with his arms, lowering his head to whisper in her ear. “I’m afraid there is no choice but to tell you every one of my depraved thoughts.”
His breath caressed her cheek like a summer breeze. It was madness, but she could not help moving deeper into his embrace.
“We weren’t in this hall by accident, you understand. I’d brought you here for a reason. What do you think would have happened if Lady Margaret hadn’t seen us? I would have followed through on my plans to seduce you in the library.”
“The library?”
The suggestion was unbearably erotic. She could almost smell the leather and paper mingling with the scent of their sex.
He smiled slowly. “Oh, yes. You would like that, wouldn’t you?”
She should say no.
But it would be a lie.
She gave a small nod.
His tongue delved into the little hollow of her ear, and she gasped.
“I helped Lady Margaret only because I wanted to be rid of her as quickly as possible, so I could take you to the library. I imagined you sitting on the shelf ladder, prim and proper, while I stuck my tongue in your cunny.”
A hot, prickly wave of lust washed over her. “Yes. Oh, God, yes.”
He kissed her, wild and lush. She clung to his shoulders with both hands. He kissed her with increasing need, his mouth moving from her lips to her neck and then the crest of her breast. She loved the urgency of his kiss, as though he were a man dying of thirst and she was the last drink of water.
If he kissed her long enough, maybe she could believe that this time, this kiss, was different. This time he would not leave her with her body slaked but her heart yearning.
In the distance footsteps trod on marble floors. Nick lifted his head. She dug her fingertips into his shoulders, a feeble attempt to prolong the moment, to bring him back to her. But he stepped back, saving her from herself.
His mouth tilted in a wry smile. “Next time, angel, we find the library, and we bolt the door.”
She shivered at his promise.
There wouldn’t be a next time.
Because this time, when he left her, was just like all the others.
Chapter Twenty-Three
When Parliament was in session, the Earl of Wintham could be found in his office every Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday from dawn until the House of Lords was called to order at a quarter to four o’clock. As it was now just past breakfast on Friday, and Nick had at last determined to speak to his father—after further prodding from Montrose—thither he went.
Upon his arrival in his father’s chambers, the clerk had called him Abingdon and told him to wait. Nick did not bother to correct his mistake. There was little point, when he would not be returning for a second visit.
“Ah, Nicholas.” His father appeared in the doorway. “You are not the son I was expecting, but you are the most welcome.” He gestured Nick to follow him.
“You cannot mean I am more welcome here than Nate. I won’t believe it,” Nick said incredulously.
Wintham blinked through his spectacles. “But it is true. He is my dear son, but he always wants difficult things. He wants the Bloody Code repealed, can you imagine? And for me to give a speech!”
“Why does he not give his own speech?”
“Abingdon hates to speak in public, you know that. His tongue ties itself in knots. I told him he has my support, but I cannot devote any more of my time to a hopeless cause. He should join forces with Colonel Kent—I told him so many times. They have the same ideals.” He grimaced. “But he refuses to do so, although I cannot fathom why.”