London, May 1817
The last time she visited Brandon Deverill in his hotel rooms, she had climbed into his bed naked—a foolhardy scheme that ended in utter disaster.
Wincing at the scalding memory, Lady Katharine Wilde raised her hand to knock on the door to Number 7, then promptly lowered it again as the swarm of butterflies resumed dancing in her stomach. Gaining access to the second floor of Fenton’s Hotel this afternoon was the easiest phase of her clandestine mission. Disguised as a nobleman’s liveried male servant, she didn’t fear recognition. No, her anxiety stemmed from having to face Deverill again after six long years.
She fervently hoped that history wouldn’t repeat itself today. Before, when she’d brazenly thrown herself at his head, he had rebuffed her offer, gently but firmly.
“That is far enough, Kate.”
She froze in confusion, wishing she could express all the yearning she was feeling. All the chaotic mix of uncertainty, desire, and hope. “But I thought…”
His jaw flexed with determination or regret, she wasn’t sure. “You were mistaken.”
Remembering her abject humiliation that night, Kate bit her lower lip and stepped back from his door. How she had longed to crawl into a hole and die! Maddeningly, her wounded pride still stung all these years later, as did her foolish heart.
Turning, she paced the corridor in an effort to drum up her courage. Unmarried young ladies simply did not visit gentlemen’s hotel rooms unaccompanied—although at four-and-twenty, she was hardly young. And Brandon Deverill—a rich American merchant and former privateer whose fleet of ships had battled the British Navy—was barely considered a gentleman, even if he had recently inherited the title to an ancient English barony.
Yet she had numerous reasons for risking scandal today: To prove she had recovered from her hurt and show him she was not still nursing a broken heart. To test her fortitude and confirm that she could handle meeting him alone. To deal with her certain embarrassment out of the public eye. And to make her unusual proposition in private.
She’d vowed to have nothing more to do with Deverill, but her aunt by marriage, Lady Isabella Wilde, had asked for her help in turning him into a proper English lord. Since Aunt Bella was her dear confidante and the prime mother figure in her life, Kate felt she could not possibly refuse. Not at least without good reason.
Which would mean confessing the mortifying details of the most lowering experience of her life, when she’d pursued Deverill like the lovesick, starry-eyed, half-witted females she deplored.
Scolding herself for her cravenness, Kate returned to his door and managed to subdue the violent flutters raging in her stomach long enough to rap lightly. Last time, Deverill had unequivocally rejected her amorous advances. This time, however, she had something he wanted.
When eventually the door swung open, the first thing that struck her was his bold, dark eyes. They were much as she remembered—deep, penetrating, black-fringed. His arresting eyes had always matched his daring demeanor and actions, she thought in bemusement.
In their dark depths she saw his instant recognition of her, even though she was garbed in her noble family’s livery, complete with silvery powdered wig covering her auburn hair.
She had clearly taken him by surprise. Kate herself was startled by the sight of Deverill wearing only breeches. He was bare-chested and barefoot, while his overly long raven hair was damp and curling. Apparently he had just bathed and was about to shave, for he held a razor in one hand.
A stubble of beard shadowed his strong jaw, a raffish look that only accentuated his appeal, much to her vexation. A ruffian—a pirate, at that—should not look so blasted appealing. He smelled delicious as well, deuce take him.
Confounded by his unwanted impact on her senses, Kate stood staring back at him speechlessly.
When his gaze drifted down over her attire, one eyebrow lifted and she could see amusement spark in his eyes.
“I should have expected you to act unconventionally,” he remarked in that rough-velvet voice that never failed to rake her feminine nerve endings.
She could say the same of him. He didn’t seem at all nonplussed to be caught in a state of near undress. But then Brandon Deverill was the most infamous man of her acquaintance, which was saying a great deal, considering that she hailed from the scandalous Wilde family, who could boast centuries of notorious ancestors.
There were lines on Deverill’s face now that made his striking features more mature. But shirtless, with his sun-bronzed, muscular torso exposed, he was even more devastatingly handsome than she recalled. His masculine beauty put classical statues to shame—
Oh, merciful heavens, gain hold of yourself, you moonling.
She was badly mistaken about having conquered her vulnerability, though. She most certainly was not over him. Deverill still had the power to make her knees weak. And she was still swamped by the undeniable, unquenchable attraction that had hit her the first moment she met him so long ago.
Kate gave herself a violent mental shake. She would be in deep, deep trouble if she couldn’t contain her captivation.
Thankfully Deverill interrupted her muddled ruminations. “How did you find me?” he asked with a note of curiosity.
“At my request, the harbormaster was on the lookout for your ship and alerted me when you docked. I sent a servant to question him about where you were lodging.”
“I admire your resourcefulness, if not your prudence. What the devil are you doing here?”
“May I come in?” Kate pressed. “I wish to speak to you, and I would rather not hold our conversation out here in the corridor.”
After a moment’s hesitation, he stepped back to allow her entrance and closed the door behind her, although he didn’t appear elated by her presence. “Could you not have waited until I called on you tomorrow?”
“I felt sure there would be awkwardness between us, and thought it best to deal with it in private.”
“Will you be seated?”
Glancing around the small chamber, she saw a table and two chairs, a washstand, and a bed that reminded her uncomfortably of their last ign
ominious encounter. Kate smiled amiably to cover her discomfort. “I will stand, thank you. This should not take long.”
“Good. It would be best if you weren’t seen visiting my bedchamber. Does your brother know of your whereabouts?”
“No, and I don’t intend for him to find out.”
“Beaufort would have my head if he knew you were in my rooms.”
“You needn’t worry. Ash is in the country and is not expected to arrive in London until tomorrow.”
Deverill scrutinized her costume. “You aren’t concerned that someone might recognize the beautiful Lady Katharine Wilde?”
“No one looks twice at a footman.”
“Thus the disguise. You make a fetching lad.”
His compliment flustered her, but he followed it with a censorious remark. “Evidently you haven’t changed. You make a habit of frequenting gentlemen’s hotel rooms.”
“Not all gentlemen,” she returned archly. “Only yours.”
“Should I be flattered?”
She sent him her most charming smile. “Indeed, you should,” she quipped before catching herself. She had no business engaging in spirited repartee with Deverill as they’d enjoyed in the past.
Fortunately, he changed the subject by rubbing the stubble on his jaw. “Would you object if I continue shaving while we talk? My cousin Trey should arrive shortly to convey me about town. I have business with my solicitor regarding issues of the inheritance, and then plan to dine with Trey and his wife, Antonia, this evening.”
Kate had met Brandon’s distant English cousin Trey Deverill years ago, although she had not seen him recently and had not met his new wife. “No, I wouldn’t object.”
Deverill went to the washstand and picked up a cake of soap. “It has been a while since I last saw you,” he mused aloud as he began making a lather.
Six years, two months, and nine days. With another mental shake, Kate focused her thoughts on the future, not the past. “Aunt Bella has generally kept me abreast of your situation. I was sorry to hear of your uncle’s passing.”