Her Secret Lover (Aphrodite's Club 2)

“Don’t look, for God’s sake,” he growled. “He’ll see you.”

“He?” She was still trying to see, and suddenly she caught a glimpse of a short man crossing the road with a brisk, confident stride, his hand on his top hat to stop it being caught by the wind, an ivory cane in his other hand.

Lord Appleby.

Shock paralyzed her for the second time. Meanwhile her captor bundled her along, all but carrying her back through Hyde Park and into the Crystal Palace. There was an argument about their tickets—daily ticket holders weren’t allowed to leave the building. He muttered something and, propping her against the wall, found enough money in his pocket to purchase two more tickets.

I should run away, she told herself. But where would I go? Lord Appleby was on his way, and suddenly she knew whom she’d rather be with.

“This way,” he said. “There’s a refreshment room down here.”

There was indeed, and when they reached it he found a free table, sat her down in a chair, and drew another close to her, so that he could retain his grip on her hand. It might have been romantic if he wasn’t her jailer.

“I suppose you’re going to give me over to him now,” she said dully, staring at his fingers clasped around hers. “I hope he is paying you well.”

“Hardly,” he mocked. “I’m not going near him, and neither are you.”

She turned her face toward him and blinked. “But…”

“You still think I’m his man,” he said coldly. “Well, I’m not and never have been. Where’s the letter?”

Antoinette groaned. “Not again—”

“Yes, again. And again and again. Until you give it to me.”

“I need it,” she hissed.

“To give to your new protector—I remember. Where is he, by the way?” And he looked around as if expecting to see someone in ducal robes hovering among the potted plants.

“I only said that because I thought you…I thought Coombe would be impressed. I wanted him to believe I could give him his racing stable.” She tried to wrench her hand free, but still he held it tightly. Her fingers began to go numb.

“Everyone said you were Appleby’s mistress.” He was watching her intently.

“You shouldn’t listen to gossip,” she said coldly. “I was never his mistress. He wanted everyone to think I was so I’d be forced to marry him. It may surprise you to know I am quite an heiress.”

He shook his head.

“You don’t believe me.” She tried to keep the tremble out of her voice, telling herself it didn’t matter to her whether he believed her. But the truth was it did.

“On the contrary, I do believe you.”

He smiled into her startled eyes.

“Come, Antoinette, who do you think Madame Aphrodite sent to meet you? Why did I happen to appear at exactly the right time and in exactly the right place?”

Her face must have shown her sense of betrayal, because he reached out and brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers.

“No, she didn’t give you away. She’s on your side. And so am I.”

“You can’t be.” She spoke instinctively.

“Why not?” he retorted, moving in closer still.

Her gaze dropped to his mouth, and she found herself thinking about kissing. Antoinette’s eyes flicked back to his, and she saw him pick up on her feelings. There was a sudden tension between them, and this time when she found it difficult to catch her breath, it had nothing to do with exercise.

She realized he was waiting for an answer. “Because you want the letter, and the only person who would want it besides me is Lord Appleby.”

That gave him pause, but he rallied. “You’re wrong. That letter belongs to my mother. Appleby used it to take Wexmoor Manor from my father, Sir Adam Langley, and from me. I want it back.”