Stranger in My Arms(61)

The accusation filled him with cold fury, but he kept his reply quiet and calm. “You’re distraught.”

“And you’re damned convincing,” she shot back.

“But Hawksworth would never have chosen Lara over me. He loved me, not her.”

“Sometimes love doesn’t last,” Hunter said, his initial liking for her fading rapidly. It was hard to understand why she was so certain of her superiority over Lara.

Lady Carlysle’s grief was suppressed in another deep pull on the liquor, and she leveled a cold stare at him, the kind that men exchanged over pistols at dawn. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Lord Hawksworth,” he said, as if he were speaking to the village simpleton.

She laughed bitterly. “Does Lara believe you? I’ll wager she does, the featherbrain. She never understood Hawksworth, or gave a fig for him. It would be easy enough to convince her, especially given such a remarkable similarity of appearance. But I knew Hawksworth better than anyone on earth, and I could prove in less than a minute that you’re a fraud.”

“Try,” he invited.

Suddenly she looked almost admiring. “What nerve you have! I would, had I anything to gain from it. But the only thing in the world I want is Hawksworth, and you can’t give him back to me. I suppose there would be some satisfaction in hearing you admit that you’re an impostor-” “You’ll never hear that,” he assured her. “Because it isn’t the truth.”

“I suspect, my lord, that you wouldn’t know the truth if it bit you in the ballocks.” She stood and set the empty glass aside, her balance uncertain. “Good luck,” she advised, though it was clear that she wished him anything but. “You’re a talented charlatan, and anyone who believes you deserves whatever he-or she-gets. Fool them all, if you can. But you haven’t deceived me, and it will be a cold day in hell when you manage to convince the dowager countess that you’re her son.

She’ll put an end to this charade when she returns from her travels.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, but I do. And here’s something else for you to ponder-Larissa is nothing but a pretty wax doll.

You won’t get any more satisfaction from her than Hawksworth did.

There’s nothing beneath the surface, do you understand? No warmth, and precious little intelligence. Bedding her isn’t worth the bother.”

“Esther,” he said softly, “I think it’s time for you to go home.”

“Yes.” She nodded, looking furious, disappointed, and weary. “I think so too.”

Filled with agitation, Lara sat alone in the guest parlor off the entrance hall. She relived the scene in the ballroom a dozen times, and wondered what Hunter and his former mistress were doing right now.

The pair hadn’t been seen for some time. Surely they wouldn’t have the bad taste to arrange a tryst on the spot. On the other hand, they were passionate lovers who hadn’t seen each other in over three years.

A strange feeling bubbled up inside her-jealousy that left an acid taste in her mouth. The image of Hunter with Lady Carlysle, his hands roaming her body, his dark head bent over hers … oh, it was unbearable! Why couldn’t she feel the relief she had so eagerly expected?

Groaning, Lara stood and left the parlor. She would have one more drink, and then she would return to the ballroom and act as if she were delighted by the situation. She would toss her head and laugh, and dance until her slippers were worn through. No one, not even her husband, would be able to guess at her turmoil.

Wandering into the great hall, she paused to exchange pleasantries with a pair of women who were strolling toward the downstairs gallery. It was a frequently trafficked area, filled with paintings, sculptures, and long marble benches. The women wandered away arm in arm, chatting animatedly, while Lara decided to head to the library. She knew that Hunter kept the sideboard well stocked with a variety of wines and spirits. One small glass of something bracing, and she would rejoin her guests in the ballroom.

To her dismay, she saw Hunter enter the hall at the same time she began to cross it. They both stopped and stared at each other, separated by perhaps ten or fifteen yards.

Hunter’s face was as smooth and hard as granite … but the black glitter of his eyes revealed the barely contained violence inside him.

Driven by a strong instinct for self-preservation, Lara turned to flee.

Hunter closed the distance between them in rapid strides and caught her easily. His fingers closed over her gloved arm, and he hauled her away unceremoniously. His pace obliged her to run beside him, while she sputtered protests with every step.

“My lord… what are you… Stop, I can’t…”

Hunter dragged her into the dark corner beneath one side of the double staircase… the convenient place where the maids sometimes consorted with their followers, or the footmen stole kisses from their sweethearts. Lara had never imagined herself being accosted in the same corner. In spite of her breathless objections, she was pinned against the wall by fourteen stone of anger-charged male. One of his hands sank into her sleek coiffure, while the other gripped her hip through the soft fabric of her gown.

Hunter’s voice was filled with fury. “Somehow I don’t recall having seen Lady Carlysle’s name on the guest list.”