Trial by Desire (Carhart 2)

“My instincts differ,” Ned said carefully.

Harcroft straightened, brushing his coat down. “If you won’t rein your wife in, I’ll do it for you.”

Ned’s hands cramped with the effort of not clenching into fists. He stepped forward, squaring his shoulders. “What, precisely, are you threatening my wife with?” he asked.

Harcroft glanced at Ned’s shoulders once, and then smiled uneasily. “Oh, don’t be so melodramatic. When I find Louisa again, I’ll need to make sure she’s not exposed to unsavory influences. I’d hate for you to be considered one of those.”

Harcroft had fenced as long as Ned had known him. He was good with a rapier and quick on his feet. In all those years that Ned had known him, that confidence had made Ned believe the man was taller than he was. But standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the earl, Ned realized for the first time that he was actually taller. And after months aboard ship, where he’d labored alongside common seamen, Ned was stronger, too.

No amount of expertise with a rapier could save Harcroft from someone who had two stone on him. It helped alleviate some of Ned’s wariness.

“Don’t worry,” Ned replied, as carefully airy as Harcroft. “I’m not about to engage in anything untoward, and you can rely on my promise to free my wife from all unsavory influences.” Such as you.

“Good man.” Harcroft smiled. “I knew I could depend upon you.” And then he paused, as if waiting for Ned to return the compliment.

Ned ought to have done so. One little lie would put distance between Harcroft and his wife. But the words choked in his throat, as bitter and cutting as cinder. “I’ll take care of matters here,” he finally managed.

Harcroft smiled again. Even though Ned had washed just ten minutes before, and brushed with tooth powder, that smile made Ned’s mouth taste foul. He should have protested. He should have told the man to take himself off for good. But if he had, Harcroft’s suspicions would have been roused. They were already on point, and while it would have been satisfying to smash the man’s face in, it wouldn’t have been particularly wise. His own wants gave way to cold clarity.

“I knew you’d see it my way,” Harcroft said with a smirk. “You’ll see it with your wife—soon enough, mark my words. Perhaps I shall even be the one to show you.”

That self-satisfied expression was too much to bear. Clarity abandoned Ned, and he leaned in. “I’ll conduct your search for you. I will tell you what I unearth. As soon as you leave, I’ll canvass the county on your behalf. But, Harcroft—there’s one thing you need to know.”

Harcroft screwed up his mouth quizzically.

“You are never to threaten my wife again.” As Ned said this, he brought himself up to his full height. Harcroft looked up at him, as if realizing for the first time just how much larger Ned was than he. “She’s mine to contend with.”

She’s mine. It was not the most settling thought, but after last night it had begun to be true. She’d done precisely as she’d said; she’d gotten inside the hard confines of his control. Perhaps she was his, but he was ceding a portion of himself to her. And that scared him more than any smirk that passed over Harcroft’s face.

Harcroft met his eyes. And then, slowly, he jerked his chin in a nod. Just as slowly, he got into the carriage. Ned contented himself with the thought that the earl was going away. The footman shut the door and clambered up onto the seat behind the carriage. The reins shuffled, and Harcroft’s horses pulled in their traces.

Ned listened to the rattle of wheels over gravel as the carriage pulled away.

For now, they’d earned a respite from all outside cares. And Ned intended to use it very, very well.

Now it was time to talk to his wife. After what had happened last night, he had no idea what she thought of him. The possibilities ranged everywhere from very excellent to very bad. He looked around him at the dreary autumn morning.

How terrible could matters be, with Harcroft gone?

For the first time since he’d woken that morning, a true smile curled his lips.

KATE WOKE when her door creaked open.

The person who entered wasn’t her maid. Kate could tell, because the air against her face was warm. Someone had already laid the morning fire. But the curtains were still drawn shut, and the light that seeped around their edges was pale and insubstantial.

In other words, it was not yet time to rise. Waking would mean thinking. It would mean greeting her husband—and how she was to do that after the confusion of last night, Kate couldn’t say. She was too sleepy to even contemplate humiliation, and so she closed her eyes again.

Sadly, footsteps had the temerity to approach her bed. She glanced up through slitted eyes.

Of course it was Ned. And of course he was carefully groomed, his hair curling about his ears in entrancing little waves. Kate didn’t even want to think about what her own hair looked like. After last night, she didn’t want to see him until she was clad in her favorite dress. Perhaps the aquamarine silk—the one everyone always said made her eyes look blue.

“Oh, good,” he said in a tone far too cheerful for a morning that had not even properly started. “You’re awake.”

No. She wasn’t. This was a bad dream. “Mmm,” she croaked in protest, and pulled the covers to her chin.

He clicked his tongue at her. “Aren’t you going to rise? There’s something I want to show you.”

She blinked up at him in bleary-eyed horror. “You want me to get out of bed? Isn’t it enough that you sleep in the cold? Why in heaven’s name would you want to arise? It’s barely dawn.”

But she could see at least one benefit—it was too early for her to work herself into embarrassment about what they had done together last night.

“You could join me,” she added, before her sense of shame woke properly.

Ned’s grin broadened and he held out one hand. “Right now I think I would lose my head entirely if I tried anything beyond holding your hand. I want to savor you.”

The way he said that word—savor—made Kate think of all the word’s meanings. To dwell on; to enjoy; to taste…

“You,” she said shaking a finger at him from the warm cocoon she’d made of the covers, “are an evil, evil man. Particularly if you expect me to get out of bed.”

He shrugged. “My natural modesty requires me to disclaim the description of evil until you’ve seen what I can do. I’ve done nothing truly wicked yet. Right now I must insist on labeling my behavior up until this point as merely tormenting.”

He walked to the bed and leaned over her. He set his hands on either side of her head, gripping the covers around

her. “Kissing you,” he murmured, “now, that would be mischievous.”

“Yes.” She inhaled his breath. Her lips tingled.

“Touching you all over—that would be rather sinful.”

“Indeed,” she breathed as she felt her body react sinfully to his words.

“Bringing you to release, I suppose, might count as truly wicked.”

“It would be almost as good on a morning as a cup of tea.”

He leaned down, his eyes meeting hers. They had that sinful sparkle in them, as if he were planning something truly diabolical; his voice was low, and she shivered in expectation. Maybe he’d held back last night because he planned to touch her this morning. Given the pleasure she’d experienced last night, whatever he had planned was sure to be decadent. She could anticipate the languorous slide of his hands down her sides. He would touch her, soon. He had to, or she would lose her sanity.

“Do you want to know what might be classified as truly, darkly, unforgivably evil?”

“Yes.” Her assent was quick and breathy. “Oh, yes.”

He smiled broadly. “This.”

His hands fisted in the covers and then he yanked them away from her—everything from the muslin sheets to the warm wool coverlet.

Cold morning air hit Kate’s skin and she yelped in protest, curling up involuntarily. “Ned, you beast! You led me to expect—”

He laughed. “You wanted me to be evil, didn’t you? Well. This is all the evil you are going to get for now. I’ve rung for your maid. I’ll see you downstairs in ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes? You expect me to be ready in ten minutes? You’ve truly lost your mind.”

Something flitted across his expression at those words—a hint of wariness, perhaps, in the tweak of his mouth—but he shook his head at her. “Ten minutes,” he warned her. “Trust me. It will be worth it.”

She managed to ready herself in half an hour by for-going the usual four layers of petticoats, and settling for a tidy pink walking dress—the kind she might wear for a visit to a tenant farm. Not quite in fashion, but easy to travel in. Her maid twisted her hair up into a simple knot and handed her a wool shawl, and Kate dashed downstairs. It was a measure of how evil he truly was that she didn’t even consider taking longer.