Must Love Lords

Tempting His Mistress

Samantha Holt

Copyright 2014 ©Samantha Holt

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organisations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Chapter One

Hampshire, England 1869

Lilly had to resist the urge to swipe her clammy palms down her gown. Today she would come face to face with her father’s murderer—Lord Hawksley, Marquess of Hawksley. Even now, her heart throbbed against her bodice. What would he look like? Sinister? Depraved? Ugly, no doubt, to match his ugly soul. Revenge and greed must have twisted the man to sink to such lows as to hire someone to kill her father.

You remind me of your mother, Lady Stanley said on a sigh, a smile teasing her lips.

Her imaginings vanished and she turned her attention back to her hostess. Feathers bobbed in her hair, and her austere blue gown matched the shade of the wallpaper. Yet Lady Stanley could never be accused of being a wallflower. Even at the age of sixty-eight, she exuded elegance, and vitality shone from her.

Lilly eyed the older woman and noted the twinkle in her grey eyes. Because I look like her? she asked innocently.

Lady Stanley arched an eyebrow. Because you are as stubborn as a mule.

Lily smothered a laugh with an inelegant snort. Indeed her mother had been a wilful character in her time. She had long suspected it was one of the reasons her father loved her so dearly.

You have been refusing my invitations for far too long. You should not have had to mourn for your father alone.

Lady Stanley—

Violet, the grey-haired woman corrected.

Violet, it has only been eleven months—that is not a lifetime. I came to you no less than a month before Papa’s death, did I not?

Indeed you did, but you would have been far better mourning him with someone who cares for you. I shudder to think of you all alone in that house.

Well you mustn’t fear for me. She leaned over and rested a hand on Violet’s bony fingers. I like my solitude and I’m well used to it. Though she feared it would come to an end soon enough. Her cousin, heir to her father’s fortune and current guardian of her home, had made plenty of noises about needing to rent it out. Which left her, well, homeless.

Lilly glanced around the drawing room. The old fashioned décor was not to her taste. A few new pieces—a Hepplewhite chair and some Gillows furniture—adorned the room that hadn’t been redecorated in at least fifty years by her reckoning. Her mother’s house had recently been renovated in an oriental style. She loved the modern touch, but goodness knows what her mother would have thought of it.

You take too much pride in your independence, Lilly, Lady Stanley scolded.

Should I be dependent on those who would rather not even look upon me? Lilly asked, a brow arched.

I would look upon you. Your mother was my dearest friend and as her daughter, you are as dear to me as she.

Yes, but you, Lady Stanley, are an exception. I shall not see the same warm welcome from your guests.

Lilly’s mother had always credited Lady Stanley’s liberal views to her education in Italy. Lilly concluded that the continental lifestyle must be very liberal indeed for Lady Stanley to have remained friends with a woman shunned by society—and her illegitimate daughter.

My guests will welcome you or they shall have me to deal with.

Chuckling, Lilly smoothed down her lavender skirt and awaited a rebuke but none came. In spite of being ostracized by society, her mother insisted on impeccable manners. Illegitimate or not, she would remind her, you are still the daughter of a lady.

She swallowed the lump that gathered in her throat. Though grateful to be out of her mourning wear, it only reminded her she was no closer to finding the man who’d killed her father.

Until now.

So will you tell me why, after all this time, you have finally taken up my invitation to stay?

Reasons burned in her mind. To find a killer. To confront the man who had taken away a beloved father. She might be no more than a mistress’s daughter but her father had been a good and kind man. He loved her mother and he loved her. He did not deserve such an ending.

Instead of letting the words spill forth, Lilly smiled. Because I’ve missed your vibrant company, Lady Stanley.

Guilt curled in her stomach, restricting it further than any corset could. Lady Stanley had been a staunch supporter of her mother when her father had taken her as his mistress and given Lilly his name. Even after her mother’s death, Papa had ensured she was taken care of. Few people understood the love and devotion her parents had for each other, not even Lilly. Her mother was a stronger character than she, surely? If her mother’s heart broke every time her lover returned to his wife, she never showed it.

I am glad to have your company, dear Lilly.

Maybe she should confess she was here for one reason, but what if the lady tried to dissuade her? Lilly shook off the notion. To her mind it was always better to ask for forgiveness than for permission.

Lord Hawksley and his companions should be here in a few hours. His hunting lodge is but four miles from here.

How fortunate you are to have him so close by, Lilly replied.

Lilly?

My lady?

Violet, she corrected again. I recognise that tone. There is something snide in it. What on earth has Lord Hawksley done to offend you? I don’t recall you ever having met him.

Not a thing, Lilly lied. I am sure he is as charming as any other marquess I have met.

All of whom dismissed me upon learning I was illegitimate, she thought archly. But being well used to such behaviour, she seldom succumbed to self-pity. Once she turned five and twenty—only two short years away—the investment her father left in trust would be hers and she could command her own destiny. She needed no attention from a man.

In truth, a man would probably hinder her ambitions. Already, women’s rights were garnering more attention. With the opening of the first women’s college but a few years ago, Lilly anticipated that being a woman of independence in such a time could be a great thing indeed. Maybe if she invested wisely, she too could bring education to women or attention to ways the law was so unfavourable to wives.

You would do well to be pleasant, Lilly. Lord Hawksley is an influential man. It would do you no harm to speak with him. Maybe you shall learn something. He is a little gruff at times, but I find him to be intelligent and well informed.

Lilly eyed Lady Stanley. I fear you are an optimist, my lady. Few people are as open and hopeful as you.

And you, my dear, are jaded for so young a person. Even your mother held onto hope. People can surprise you.

Mother held onto hope and love, but what did that bring her? A life of being hidden away.

Your mother had love.

Lilly released a full snort this time. Love? I know full well my mother and father were a love match and they had some happy moments but to become a mistress, to withdraw from society and risk such scorn...all for love? I do not think I could ever do such a thing.

Ah, but you have never experienced such love.

And I shall not. No man shall ever look at me and see anything other than the illegitimacy of my birth. Lady Stanley opened her mouth to protest, but Lilly held up a hand. Don’t fear, for I am quite content alone. I have plans to lead a full and busy life now that I am out of mourning. And once she had confronted her father’s murderer and seen him brought to justice. In the meantime, I shall enjoy your hospitality and I promise to be courteous to your guests.

Clamping down on the nerves roiling in her stomach, Lilly offered Lady Stanley a shaky smile. She refused to do anything to embarrass her mother’s friend, but somehow she would find out what she needed to know about Lord Hawksley’s dealings with her father. One way or another, she would ensure he paid for killing her father.

Chapter Two

There you go, my lady.

The maid finished threading blue flowers into the back of her hair and tugged several curls so they spilled down her neck and touched her cheeks.

My thanks, Annette.

Lilly put a hand to her chest and waited for the maid to leave before spritzing on some perfume. Jasmine infused the air and she took a deep breath, fingering the ruffles across the low neckline of her pale blue gown. To be free of mourning colours was a relief, for black and dark colours never suited her pale skin or light brown hair. She looked ill in such colours. But her heart panged with sorrow.

While at times she resented her parents’ love—the sacrifices her mother and herself had made so her father could have the best of both worlds, his wife and his mistress—Lilly acknowledged few children of mistresses would be as blessed with such a doting father. Lilly wanted for little—aside from more time with her father—and Charles Claremont had loved her dearly. An ache gathered in her throat and she curled a fist.

Voices carried up from the entrance hall and Lilly jolted, snatched her gloves and pushed back the chair. Lord Hawksley and his hunting party had arrived an hour ago while she had been getting ready.

She had peered past the heavy drapes to view him arriving in his town coach but had been unable to assess the three gentlemen properly as their top hats hid their features—though one was clearly older and more portly.  Was that Lord Hawksley? She had heard he was only one and thirty. One of the younger gentlemen had glanced her way, raising his head to latch his gaze onto hers. Her stomach twisted, and she drew back behind the curtains to watch the rest of the party.

The two ladies—the marquess’s sister-in-law and an older woman of her acquaintance—were dressed in the highest fashions. While Lilly attempted to keep up with the fashions of the day, not daring to step foot in London meant she likely dressed like a country bumpkin to them.

Lily sighed. It was hard to keep up with the fashions when you spent all your time in the countryside. As much as she enjoyed the fresh air and beautiful scenery of Hampshire, she longed to experience the excitement of London or Bath.

She slipped on her gloves and placed a bracelet over the top. One day she would, she vowed. If she was to make progress in women’s rights, she would have to brave London and the scorn of those who believed her to be inferior because of her birth. Sadly, the daughter of a wealthy shipping merchant—even if claimed—would never be accepted. Lilly snorted to herself. If her father had owned a title of some kind, her chances of being accepted might have been much higher.

A prayer uttered, she smoothed her hands down her bodice, checked her reflection and stepped out of the room. She paused at the top of the stairs and heard voices in the saloon. Lady Stanley’s deep laugh echoed off the pillars, and Lilly smiled. Following the curve of the stairs, she paused at the sight of one of the men at the bottom—the man who had caught her observing them earlier. That unfamiliar flip flop of her belly almost caused her to stumble as he watched her descent.

Lilly forced a weak smile onto her lips and glanced around for Lady Stanley. Her laughter echoed again from the other room, and Lilly suppressed a grimace. Violet had never been one for formality in  her home, particularly at evening dinners, but to be confronted by this man with no formal introduction was more than she could bear.

Particularly when the man in question eyed her through a dark gaze, mouth pulled thin.

His gaze stripped her of her determination. How was she to find out more about her father’s death with this man watching her like a hawk? When she reached the final step, he dipped his head in greeting. When he lifted his head to peer at her from under his brow, her heart skipped and threatened to escape her bodice.

Miss Claremont, I presume?

Yes. Her response came out breathy. The man towered over her, his shoulders emphasised by the exquisite cut of his dinner suit. She searched frantically for Lady Stanley but to no avail.

Still, he did not smile but interest flickered in those dark eyes, so brown they reminded her of the finest chocolates. Allow me to introduce myself as our hostess seems to be somewhat engaged. Lord Hawksley at your service.

Lilly didn’t even manage to smother her gasp of surprise. This was Lord Hawksley? Where was the depraved look in his eyes? His hooked nose and sickly countenance? This was not at all how she’d pictured the man who had ordered the killing of her father. His complexion spoke of a fair amount of time out of doors, and his nose was not the slightest bit hooked. It was straight and well... perfect. How unfair he should be so attractive.

Miss Claremont, is something amiss? he prompted.

His deep voice sent a delicious whorl of excitement into her belly. She felt her eyes widen as she tried to fight it. Forgive me. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lord Hawksley.

His lips remained as straight as an arrow, though they were firm and pleasant-looking even in such a severe position. Lilly dragged her gaze from them and met his stare. Heat rose in her cheeks but she held her ground. Was this really her father’s murderer? The coldness in his expression said yes, but something in his eyes—a spark of amusement or maybe even warmth—kept quashing that belief.

Lady Stanley has told me much about you.

Indeed, my lord? Her voice still refused to stay strong, as if his presence had sucked the air from her.

But was that not to be expected? Here was a cold-hearted killer who thought nothing of getting revenge for some money lost by sending out a hired assassin. Words swirled in her mind—bitter and angry. They sat on her tongue and begged to be spilled but she could not, not yet. She had no proof Lord Hawksley had hired the man who had beaten her father to death on a deserted street, nor did she wish to embarrass Lady Stanley. At the moment, she was relying on her cousin’s words alone that rumours of underhand behaviour followed the marquess. Being an outcast had its disadvantages when it came to keeping up with popular society. If she was to find out more, she needed to get closer to him.

I fear I might be at a disadvantage, she continued and suppressed a sigh of relief when her reedy tone grew stronger. I know little of you, save that you are a good neighbour, my lord.

Then we shall be able to get better acquainted so as to redress the balance. The tiniest smile lifted one corner of his lips.

The difference it created almost sent her reeling backwards. Lilly suspected if the man ever smiled fully, he must send every debutante swooning. Not she, of course. She had never been one to fall for the charms of the opposite sex. Few were interested in her once they learned of her inferior birth and any who persisted had little intention of offering her anything but further ruination.

But Lord Hawksley, with his dark, slightly curly hair, soulful eyes and broad shoulders had likely ruined many a woman with ease.

I look forward to it, my lord, she lied while her stomach bunched.

Lord Hawksley indicated to the saloon with a tilt of his head. Shall we, Miss Claremont?

Hatred, hot and burning, swirled in her gut while her common sense warned not to let it overcome her. She entered the saloon at his side while her mother’s incessant reminder to be better than her birth also repeated through her mind. Just because society’s opinion of you is set, does not mean it cannot be changed. Do not live up to their expectations, Lilly, her mother would say.

Her mother, the steadfast romantic, had always hoped good manners and Lilly’s pretty—if a little simple—looks would be enough to recommend her. Once she had the money her father left to her, she would be wealthy enough, so maybe some man might pay her attention, but she didn’t wish for someone interested only in her money, someone who felt he could ignore the status of her birth if induced by enough wealth.

Drawing in a breath, she kept a polite smile on her face as Lady Stanley approached. Had she been foolish in believing she could confront her father’s killer yet not expose herself and her friend? Lady Stanley didn’t deserve any kind of dramatic scenes. Lilly needed to hold her tongue until she had found out the truth behind Lord Hawksley’s dealings with her father and maybe wait until the two week long party at Oakholm Hall was over.

Lord Hawksley, I see you have already met my dear friend, Miss Claremont. Her mother and I were the closest of friends and now she is almost a daughter to me.

Lilly resisted the desire to roll her eyes. Guilt now extinguished the hatred. How could she humiliate Lady Stanley in any way? Any accusations would have to wait. She eyed the older woman whose lively green gaze matched the deep emerald of her gown and caught something. She reminded her of a mischievous child. Did the lady know something of her reason for coming here?

No, surely not. Only her cousin knew of the papers alluding to her father and Lord Hawksley’s dealings. Henry had been the one to alert her to the rumours surrounding the marquess and his dissatisfaction at her father losing a good deal of his money.

Lilly was introduced to the other members of the party. All treated her well, though she noted the cold mien in Lady Richdale’s gaze as she eyed Lilly’s dress. Her husband, who was also the marquess’s brother, was, however, charming and jovial. He had a similar dark colouring to his brother but his features were softer, more classically handsome, she supposed. The older man, Lord Brexley—a good friend of the marquess it seemed—was pleasant enough too, while Mrs Willis, a recently widowed lady, held no censure in her gaze.

I hear you hold a place in the country, Mrs Willis commented.

Yes, some ten miles from here. Marshgate Lodge.

I do enjoy the country. I seldom visit it. My husband preferred London while I tired of society there.

The company is certainly more colourful in the country, Lady Richdale remarked and her gaze skimmed Lilly’s dress once more.

With every one of the blonde hairs perfectly in place and a touch of light make-up, Lady Richdale made her feel unkempt and dowdy in her old dress.

Resisting the urge to pat her hair or smooth the taffeta, Lilly merely smiled. Lord Hawksley positioned himself not far from her elbow, and heat leapt across the gap. She stiffened to prevent herself from shuddering.

The country has its benefits to be sure. Pleasing scenery for one. His gaze landed on her but no hint as to whether he meant anything more than that he enjoyed the hills of Hampshire lingered in his expression.

I have always preferred the country, she declared. The fresh air is known to be good for the health and when it’s home to people like Lady Stanley, you cannot go wrong.

How right you are, Miss Claremont, Mrs Willis agreed. If only my husband could have been persuaded to spend more time in the country, it would have vastly improved his health.

Lord Hawksley shifted so that his arm brushed Lilly’s elbow. Indeed, Miss Claremont shall likely outlive us all and live to be a hundred.

The two women laughed while Lilly waited for the tingles racing down her arm to cease. Somehow she managed to keep the surprise from her face at such a sensation. You suggest that I spend too much time in the country, my lord?

Do I? Maybe I do. It isn’t good for a person to spend so much time in one place. I believe variety to be better for one’s health than stagnating.

You think I am stagnant? She lifted her brows. Holding her tongue was going to prove harder than she thought with such a man around.

That flicker of amusement was back, and this time it tugged both corners of his lips upward. Not at all, Miss Claremont. You are far from stagnant, but it seems a shame to deprive London society of your company simply because you wish to outlive us all.

Was he having a jest at her expense? Lily couldn’t work the man out. I have sincere doubts, my lord, that anyone in London feels bereft of my company.

The curve of his lips dropped, his eyes, if possible, appeared to darken. The room felt larger, and she much smaller. A prey for the hawk perhaps? Yes, this man very much suited his name. Like a predator, he loomed over her. A trickle of fear danced down her spine and mingled with the heat low in her belly.

I cannot speak for London as a whole, but I’m certainly regretful we have not met sooner, he said quietly.

Lilly glanced at the two other ladies, grateful to see their exchange had clearly bored them and they had moved onto other topics. Her cheeks scalded and were likely crimson. If the marquess’s expression was anything to go by, he had seen her embarrassment and shock. His gaze traced her features and lingered on her cheeks and lips.

Lilly opened her mouth, when the bell for dinner rang. Clamping it shut, she let out a long breath through her nose and turned to see Lady Stanley take the arm of the elderly earl. You shall take myself and Mrs Willis in, she announced.

Inwardly, Lilly cringed. She had secretly hoped to be left alone with the uneven numbers. Lord and Lady Richdale would go in to the dining room together, leaving her with Lord Hawksley.

Shall we? He offered his arm.

Certainly. Lilly laid her fingers over his arm and in spite of her lace gloves, the warmth of his skin somehow reached hers. She glanced at his large hands. The image of those capable-looking fingers on other parts of her flashed through her mind, and she released a squeak.

Is all well, Miss Claremont? Do you need some air before dinner? I am sure Lady Stanley wouldn’t object. You know she is not one for formality.

I am quite well, I assure you, she snapped.

What was wrong with her? This man had ordered the death of her father. Why would she imagine such a thing? Yet something about him made her forget her purpose for wishing to meet him.

One eyebrow arched but that was his only acknowledgement of her snappish tone. You look quite flushed.

Please don’t concern yourself, my lord. I am not the sort of woman to swoon from getting a little warm.

Quite so, he remarked as he led her into the dining room. I didn’t think you the sort to be swooning at every possible chance, Miss Claremont. You do not seem the type to thrive on attention. Which is why I asked. I suspect even if you were unwell, you would do your best to disguise it.

Lord Hawksley waited for her to be seated before seating himself. The glow from the gas lamps reflected off the gold frames on the walls, and the dark red colour of the walls failed to make the room appear any smaller. Though she had dined at Oakholm Hall many times, the long table and heavy chandeliers never failed to remind her of her insignificance.

An insignificance that Lord Hawksley seemed determined to ignore. Indeed, he treated her as if she were of great interest to him. Why, she could not fathom. While she expected little formality at a house party, she didn’t expect his oddly flirtatious manner.

If that was what it could be called. She believed him to be teasing—he smiled so rarely, it was hard to tell.

You do propose to know me very well, she prodded once she had drawn off her gloves. Her purpose as to her visit niggled in her mind. She had to keep the lord talking and find out more about his relationship with her father.

I only know what acquaintances have told me and what I have observed.

And what have you observed, my lord?

That you are forthright to a point but you blush easily.

Lilly almost groaned when the blush he referred to made itself known once more. Any response was prevented by the arrival of the soup. Grateful for a respite, she turned her attention wholeheartedly to the course, all the while aware of the marquess’s hawk-like gaze on her as the other guests offered only titbits of chatter.

A hawk indeed. That was how she would think of him, but he toyed with his prey—teasing it until the time was right to swoop. For surely any attention he gave her had to be for his own amusement. Perhaps he gained some sick pleasure over tormenting the woman whose father he had taken from her. She clenched her spoon until her knuckles whitened. Whatever game he played, she would not fall for it.

Chapter Three

Evan observed the whitening of those delicate hands. He had her riled, and he was not entirely sure why. But as surely as he had aggravated her, she aggravated him. He had known of Lilly Claremont through her father and Lady Stanley. Of course, neither of those sources were to be trusted. An unusually doting father and a close friend were always likely to exaggerate the truth. Mr Claremont, a man of great business acumen, had loved Miss Claremont’s mother—his mistress—with deep affection. So his tales of her beauty and intelligence could be taken with a pinch.

And, yes, the talk of her looks had been as he had expected. Though she was pleasing to the eye and that delicate stain on her cheeks charmed him in ways he had not thought possible, her light brown hair was nothing exceptional and her pretty features couldn’t compete with some of the beauties he had known in his time.

So, why then did this unexceptional woman interest him so? He had little time for the foibles of society; he held no stock in the gossip of idle women and hearing that Claremont’s illegitimate daughter was to be at Oakholm Hall interested him about as much as the latest fashions in Paris. He’d planned to be courteous but as indifferent as he could get away with.

Tension twisted in Evan’s gut and he sneaked another glance at her. She was aware of him—he could tell by the slight stiffening of her shoulders.

Shoulders that were so creamy, they made his mouth water.

Of its own accord, his gaze traced the ruffles of her gown to the rounded curves peeking over the top of them. If he was not careful, he was going to make a damned fool of himself.

Perhaps Claremont had been right about her intelligence. Maybe that was what captured his attention. Her bold tongue had already caught him off guard several times. Few women traded words with him so quickly, but the riddle of her character intrigued him most. Those lips pursed on occasion as if holding back further truths. Miss Claremont swung between tight-lipped propriety and bold audacity at a moment’s notice it seemed.

Intriguing indeed.

Pleased when the soup course was over, Evan turned his attention to serving the woman at his side as the kickshaws were brought out. Platters of shrimp, oysters and various other appetizers filled the gaps on the table. She said little and he felt the urge to provoke her further.

Instead—and unusually for him—he made an attempt at being gallant. Probably, he decided, to see how she would react to that. I was sorry to hear about your father.

Her attention snapped away from her plate and that delightful pale blue gaze locked onto him. Were you?

He scowled. Of course. He was a wise business man. Your father, Miss Claremont, made me a rich man.

Well, a richer man anyhow.

She gave him a thin smile. I know little of my father’s business dealings, only that he came from little and my mother credited him with being extremely shrewd in his transactions. But —she paused and put a fingertip to her mouth. He eyed it avidly and imagined taking that tip and nibbling on it— I had heard your last deal with him didn’t go so well.

How did the little chit know anything of her father’s dealings? As far as Evan knew, Claremont’s estate had gone to a cousin somewhere—his wife being dead and having sired no legitimate heirs. The poor girl probably begrudged Evan for such financial success. Truth be told, he dabbled in many speculations, some successful and some not so much. Claremont’s advice had generally been sound with the exception of the last speculation.

It did not, he confirmed. But that is the nature of speculation. One shouldn’t dabble, if one is not willing to lose it all.

Miss Claremont jabbed a shrimp with her fork. You make it sound like gambling.

It is gambling of a sort, I suppose.

Yet I imagine you gain or lose a lot more than could be lost at a game of cards.

Clearly, you have not met many gamblers. But for the light-hearted gambler, speculation might seem too steep a risk, yes.

I have not met many gamblers, you’re right. I prefer the company of more stalwart characters, she replied haughtily.

Miss Claremont, you think me inconstant?

I think nothing of the sort. I know only what you tell me and unlike you, I don’t claim to know anything of your character yet.

Evan could not resist smiling then. The way she spoke, passion bright in her eyes, even as uncertainty haunted her posture, delighted him at every turn. I hope, Miss Claremont, that I shall have the chance to prove you wrong and that you may get to know my character more... fully.

He dropped his voice unintentionally. The woman seemed to have that effect on him. She loosened his tongue too. He rarely indulged in flirtations, particularly not with an innocent of insignificant birth. However, he couldn’t deny the thought of getting to know her more intimately held great appeal.

Blast, this would not do. Here he was trying his damndest to see through the thick material of her gown and praying for it to slip a little further down to give him a better look at those beautiful breasts, when he should be paying attention to his hostess and concentrating on his plans after his two week stay at Oakholm was over.

The thought of what the next few months in his life likely held weighed like a stone in his stomach. Forceful mothers pushing their daughters onto him and simpering women interested in nothing more than his title. Though he still had his doubts as to whether that was a good idea or not. He refused to end up like his father. But it had to be done. At his time in life, he needed a wife.

And not an infatuation with a woman like Miss Claremont, no matter how fascinating she was. Evan scowled. Infatuation? No, not infatuation. A passing interest, that was all. He had never been fixed on a woman.

His brother had been and look where that had got him. His wife might still be considered a beauty but there was little underneath that façade. Thomas had fallen too quickly for Harriet and was paying the price for it now—being lumbered with a vacuous, demanding wife.

Miss Claremont kept her gaze on the appetizers but the colour in her cheeks had spread to the tips of her ears. His fingers twitched with the need to brush a curl behind them and toy with the delicate earrings in her lobes. He too jerked his attention back to the food before he did something foolish like drag her away from the table and nibble her ears until she begged for more.

Thankfully his imaginings were interrupted by Lady Stanley as she turned her attention from his brother to them. Miss Claremont, you are exceptionally quiet this evening. I hope yesterday’s journey did not tire you.

Miss Claremont offered a weak smile. Not at all, Lady Stanley.

Tell me, did you pass Upton Hall on your way here?

I did. Miss Claremont narrowed her eyes at Lady Stanley.

Evan couldn’t decipher why the remark caused such a reaction, but Lady Stanley appeared to have a purpose.

You have heard, Lord Hawksley, that it has been turned into a women’s college, have you not? Lady Stanley prompted.

Evan let slip a thin smile. Now he saw her purpose. She wished to bring some debate to the table. The old woman never failed to enjoy a lively talk, even if politics were not considered a proper topic of conversation for a dinner party.

I had heard that, Lady Stanley, he offered with a noncommittal lift of his shoulders.

A waste of a fine home, if you ask me, his brother put in.

Evan almost groaned as Thomas rose to the bait. Lady Stanley was a well-known supporter of women’s rights and Thomas should have known that.

But Lady Stanley remained quiet. Instead Miss Claremont surprised him by snapping to attention. A waste, Lord Richdale. How so?

Thomas’s brows dipped slightly at the challenge, and his wife darted a wild look between them. Tension hung in the air. Evan tried not to smile.

Women shall never be able to grasp subjects such as the sciences. I believe it to be a waste of time.

A waste of time? Miss Claremont exclaimed. How can wanting to better oneself ever be considered a waste of time? And if we don’t give women the chance to study such subjects, how shall we know if they are capable of grasping them?

Thomas floundered at this and Evan stepped in. My brother is right. While women can gain no qualifications, it is indeed a waste of time.

It was believed women would never be able to take the same examinations as men so while they might study the same subjects, none would ever gain from their education like men did. Until colleges like Cambridge allowed women to become qualified, he did, indeed, deem it a waste.

Miss Claremont turned her wise eyes on him. I suppose you think we are better placed in the home, ready to serve our husbands without question.

I did not say that, Miss Claremont.

You did not need to.

I suppose you think women should be able to vote, and divorce their husbands, and gallivant all over this country doing whatever they please too? By some miracle, he managed to keep a straight face as indignation crossed her expression.

Of course. Any man has such freedoms, so too should a woman. Are we not citizens of this country? Should we not have some say in our future?

A woman’s place is in the home, Lady Richdale put in. If we should all start doing our own thing, who would raise the children?

The help, no doubt, Miss Claremont uttered so quietly only Evan heard it. He resisted a chuckle.

The fact is, Miss Claremont, his brother said, and I mean no offence by this, women are soft creatures in need of protection. Husbands offer this, and in return women should continue doing what they have done best for hundreds of years. Stay at home, tend the house and raise the children. I see no need for change.

And what of the women who are forced to suffer whatever their husbands might put upon them, whether that be a beating or worse? Where is their protection?

Evan gripped his fork. Thomas was too young to remember much of what had happened those many years ago, but Evan remembered it all too clearly. An education will not offer those women protection, he said tersely.

No, but an education will pave the way for change. Of course, men have always been fearful of change.

I agree, Miss Claremont, men fear change more than anything. Indeed, at this very moment, his heart beat rapid and his palms grew clammy. This bold woman had wrought a change in him—one he did not want or need. Desire had taken hold and he feared it wouldn’t release him until it was quenched.

Ah, and here is the pheasant. Lady Stanley announced brightly, though her smug smile indicated she had enjoyed the debate immensely.

Miss Claremont, he murmured as she turned away from him. The rise and fall of her shoulders told him she was quite riled. While I believe we are leaping too early into the education of women, let me assure you, I do not think any woman should have to suffer a beating merely because the man doing it is her husband.

She whirled her head around and stared at him for some time as if trying to decipher whether he spoke the truth. Her lips parted and she shut them again before turning back to her meal. Evan fought the animalistic sound rising in his throat at the sight of those petal pink lips moving in such a way that it only brought to mind the ways in which he could kiss them into submission.

Jaw clenched, he reached for his wine. This would not do. He was either going to have to get truly foxed to try to forget her or do something drastic like steal a kiss from her and hope it satisfied his need. He snuck a glance at her again as she put her wine glass to her mouth. Damnation, one kiss would never do it. He had no other choice—he would simply have to force the woman from his mind.

Evan drained his wine.

Chapter Four

After the men had retreated for brandy and cigars, the evening had quickly grown tiresome and quiet. The only lady still talking animatedly was Lady Stanley and as much as Lilly adored her, Lady Stanley had the uncanny ability to hold a conversation wholly on her own with little input from anyone. Exhausted from spending the evening trying not to look at Lord Hawksley and fighting such mixed emotions, Lilly excused herself.

When she came to the bottom of the stairs, she debated whether bed was the best option. Her mind was still awhirl. Lord Hawksley had confused her. His words on women’s education had been a deliberate jab, she suspected. He spoke to get a rise from her. That he had confessed he felt the law unfair towards women had astounded her, yet maybe he only said as much to charm her in some way. She couldn’t see why he would bother. She was of little consequence to him.

Instead of heading to her room, she decided to take a turn around the garden. With everyone occupied, she wouldn’t be interrupted. When she stepped outside, cold air swirled around her bare shoulders and she regretted not wearing a shawl but at least it would clear her head.

Lilly strolled around to the rear of the house. A path led down into a large rockery and she endeavoured to walk all the way through it and up the large rows of box trees before returning to her room. The rockery had been the work of the late earl and even in the dim moonlight, the layout of the stones on either side were impressive. Short, unusual plants mingled between them. Lilly knew from Lady Stanley that the earl had gone to great pains to collect plants from all over the world for this garden.

The crack of a twig made her jump and she paused and peered behind her. An animal, she concluded, and continued up the path until the large trees swallowed her. Here the formal garden directed her down a long gravelled path toward a huge stone fountain.

More crunching sounds came and her heart bounded into her throat as a figure appeared farther down the path.

Lord Hawksley, she exclaimed and regretted the words. He had not spotted her and she might have been able to hide had she not caught his attention.

Miss Claremont. He strode over and eyed her severely. It’s late for you to be out on your own and... he scowled, his gaze brushing the tops of her shoulders, it is too cold for you to be so... so... he waved a hand.

Lilly caught the scent of brandy on his breath. She had noticed he indulged quite freely with wine all evening and he appeared a little unsteady on his feet. Strange, for Lady Stanley hadn’t mentioned the lord enjoying spirits and Lady Stanley rarely kept anything to herself.

I didn’t think I would meet anyone out here and I had need of some fresh air. Why are you not with your brother and Lord Brexley?

I detest cards. He shrugged out of his jacket and laid it across her shoulders.

The scent of soap and the warmth from the fabric enveloped her. His gloved fingers skimmed her shoulders for the briefest moment, yet it was as if she had jumped into a furnace. Her skin blazed with remembrance.

I thought you a gambling man, my lord.

He considered her, his lips remaining in a firm thin line. Speculation on the advice of a good man is not gambling, Miss Claremont. It seems I did not make myself clear on that point. Lord Hawksley motioned down the path and they walked side by side for several minutes.

Lilly used the time to gather her thoughts—a difficult task when his strong masculine scent pervaded her nostrils and muddled her brain. At dinner, he had constantly surprised her. While he remained gruff and difficult to read, he hardly seemed the sort to go around killing people. And he genuinely didn’t seem to be concerned by the money her father owed him.

Or else, he was a fantastic actor. The only real spark of emotion she had seen had been at the mention of husbands harming their wives.

She peeked sideways at him and noted how attractive his side profile was for the hundredth time that evening. Just because he was handsome didn’t make him a good man, she reminded herself.

But the way he treated her with his odd brand of civility puzzled. Many women might be offended by his abrupt manner, she supposed. The marquess was so rich, he need not care whom he offended, but Lilly felt there was honesty behind his manners. She had never been one to enjoy false niceties—not that many bothered disguising their contempt for an illegitimate daughter. However, it was as if Lord Hawksley paid no heed to her background whatsoever.

What of you, Miss Claremont? Are you not missing out on time with the women?

I detest gossip, she replied with a smile.

The smallest hint of amusement sparked in his gaze as he eyed her. Though it softened his severe brow, she still shuddered under his study. Even if Lord Hawksley had the ability to release a genuine smile, he would still look like a predator.

You are cold? he asked, a finger to her shoulder where the jacket rested.

Not at all.

What was she to say? That she thought him like a hawk and when he looked at her it sent tiny tremors through her body? Or that the sensations confused her, for they should have been from fear but felt too much like excitement?

Could her cousin have been wrong? When he’d handed over some letters from her father to her mother, the note of the debt had convinced her Lord Hawksley must have been angry indeed at the loss of so great a sum. And when she had probed Henry about the debt, he had confirmed he’d heard rumours of the marquess’s threats to make her father pay.

But gossip was never to be trusted. Surely she knew that better than anyone?

Lord Hawksley paused and took a swift step in front of her. Lilly froze and lifted her gaze to his. His fingers landed on the lapels of the jacket, a mere inch or so away from her breasts.

Lord Hawksley could not be trusted either. How could one trust a man so closed off and perplexing?

Her throat threatened to close over, her mind drifted into a fog. Tendrils of night air wrapped around her bare skin and emphasised the heat sizzling through her veins. Around her, the trees swayed and an owl hooted, but her breaths became the dominant sound as their gazes clashed. For the life of her, she could not move nor make sense of that moment in time. Clawing through the fog in her mind, some remnants of common sense screamed at her that this man could be dangerous—that she might be alone with a murderer—but when he tugged the lapels together and shifted marginally closer, that voice fizzled.

Of their own accord, her lips parted. This movement caused his gaze to drop to them. They tingled as if he had touched them rather than merely looked. Lilly took in his hooded gaze and eyes so dark, he looked as though he were a creature of the night. In the moonlight, his dark hair shone and it brought out the stark planes of his face.

Lilly almost laughed to herself. If he didn’t scowl so often, he would be the handsomest man she had ever met. But any inclination to laugh vanished in a puff when his head lowered.

She closed her eyes, tilted her head. Her limbs refused to work. Her arms were as stiff as iron rods. When she should have been placing her hands to his chest to push him away, she found herself swaying toward him.

Then the grip on the jacket loosened and nothing but air drifted across her lips. Lilly snapped open her eyes and frowned. Lord Hawksley had straightened and stepped back. He peered at her as if she were some mystifying creature. Lilly didn’t doubt she returned the look.

Disappointment weighted her heart, and anger heated her belly. What was so wrong with her that she would want a kiss from the man who might have killed her father? She had come here to find out more, maybe probe him about his dealings—not kiss him!

His gaze sharpened and a scowl crossed his face. It is late. I shall bid you good evening, Miss Claremont.

Lord Hawksley swivelled on his heel and stormed in the opposite direction. Open mouthed, Lilly watched the easy movement of his shoulders until he turned a corner. Need twisted deep inside and tangled like a web. She had intended to trap the marquess, not the other way around. Was she in his web or he in hers?

And, of course, she was still no closer to discovering the truth.

With a deep breath, she continued on. The breeze had picked up, fluttering her curls, and she grasped the dinner jacket tighter. Oh Lord, she had forgotten his jacket. She would have to return it to him quietly somehow and before the maids picked it up for washing.

She continued her walk through the hedges until she reached the fountain—a magnificent three-tiered structure. Stopping to trail her fingers in the water, she peered back at the house. The large windows glowed against the red brick. Would Lord Hawksley return to the men or had he continued his walk as she had?

By the time she returned to the house, the cold had seeped under the marquess’s jacket and any warmth left from his body had dispersed, although the scent of him remained. What brand of soap he used, she did not know, but the fragrance was enough to make a woman swoon. Not she, however. Lilly had never been particularly interested in the opposite sex. Most paid her little enough heed and though she’d trifled in the odd kiss or two, at three and twenty she thought herself past silly flirtations.

She shucked off the jacket before she entered and kept it held by her side in the hopes her skirt would hide it from prying eyes. Only a few servants were present in the hall, and the din of male laughter rang out from deeper in the house. It was likely Lord Hawksley had decided a game of cards was not such a bad idea. Certainly more appealing than kissing her.

He had been about to kiss her, had he not?

Maybe her limited experience with men had put her at a disadvantage and now she was seeing things that simply didn’t exist. Like a wealthy, attractive man wanting to kiss her.

Lilly took the stairs quickly, skirt in one hand, jacket in the other. Of course, that wealthy, attractive man could be a murderer. She mustn’t forget that. It soothed her bruised esteem a little to think that she would not want a kiss from him anyway. He was the least appealing prospect here—someone who thought nothing of killing a man over a debt.

Her heart beat rapidly in her breast as she strolled up the corridor. She would have to walk past the guest chambers and Lady Stanley had informed her she intended to put Lord Hawksley in the blue room—a mere few steps away. The door was