The Price of Temptation Page 9

  “Wait here. I’ll see if he is available.”

  Judging by the man’s swift acquiescence, Chatterley had grown into the loathsome man his father had been.

  However, he refused to wait on the doorstep. He pushed himself inside, shutting the door behind him. The footman paused as though reassuring himself that Adam would not follow. He waited, but every moment chafed.

  He couldn’t afford for Chatterley to get the upper hand. Manners be damned. Swearing under his breath and struggling with the reins on his temper, he stormed after the footman.

  “Sir, you cannot…”

  The footman had turned down this corridor. Reid Chatterley must be waiting behind one of these doors. His boots rang off the wooden floorboards as he paused to search every closed door for the glimmer of light that would betray a presence beyond.

  There—movement making the light flicker. Adam squared his shoulders, tucked his hand into his pocket for the pistol he didn’t want to use, and strode into the room to confront the man who had haunted his nightmares for the past four years.

  Chatterley was thinner than he remembered. Dressed in a colorless jacket and breeches, he barely resembled the dandy Adam had met on the pier. However, despite the changes, he was a softer man than Adam. He hadn’t faced his death on more than one occasion, hadn’t watched friends die or tried desperately to stanch the flow of blood from his own brother’s body. The only cruelties in his life were the acts he inflicted on other people.

  The door slammed against the wall. A hank of hair drooped into Chatterley’s eyes. As he brushed it away, looking up from his desk, his complexion turned a greenish white. His eyes widened. He scrambled to his feet, fumbling with the lock on a drawer.

  Gun. Adam pinned Chatterley’s hand to the desk. This close, he snarled into Chatterley’s face, using his superior size to his advantage.

  “You!” Chatterley squirmed, flinching away. “Unhand me at once. I’ll see you at dawn!”

  Adam sneered. He released his hold on Chatterley only to grab a fistful of his cravat and lever him down into his wooden desk chair. It rocked on its legs as Chatterley impacted it. The villain clutched the arms with white-knuckled hands, staring at the drawer behind Adam’s hip.

  The murderous rage roaring through Adam’s ears, dimming the man’s words, receded. Adam was in control. It was intellect, not brute strength, that would keep him there. He leaned against the desk and gave his victim a calculated smile.

  “Dawn isn’t terribly far, if that’s what you have inked into your diary. However, you might want to hear me out before you plan your funeral. What do you say?”

  Chatterley hurried to pull the shambles of his dignity together. He stared past Adam and snapped, “I’ll handle this. Leave us.”

  When Adam turned his head slightly, he caught only the barest whisper of movement as someone—presumably the footman—whisked out of sight. He hadn’t necessarily stepped out of earshot, so Adam kept his voice conversational.

  “It’s been ages, Chatterley.”

  For a moment, the man looked as if he wanted to rise. But in order to do so, he would have to step into the space Adam had claimed. For all his schemes, Chatterley was not courageous enough to test Adam. Particularly when Adam had nothing to lose. His life? He’d already lost his wife and her good opinion. She was all he’d ever wanted.

  Indignant, Chatterley drew himself up, his fear replaced by open hostility. “I recall instructing you to leave London.” He narrowed his eyes, simmering with vitriol. “I could end you with a word.”

  Of that, Adam was absolutely certain. If he had any doubts, he would never have followed this scheming coward’s instructions. His blood turned to ice at the reminder.

  He had found himself in an enemy’s den a thousand times. This was different. Lily’s future depended upon him calling a truce. “I know. Before you do, try washing out your ears and listening for a moment. As it turns out, you need me.”

  Chatterley spat on his floor, leaving the stain of mucus behind. “I need you to rot in your grave is what I need. If Lily discovers—”

  “Lily already knows I’m here. In fact, she invited me into her house for the time being.”

  Chatterley turned rigid. The muscles of his jaw clenched and unclenched. If his knees hadn’t been shaking hard enough to knock together, he might have found his feet after all. “She would never. She hates you, as she should. We share those feelings.”

  What other feelings did this weasel of a man want to share with his wife?

  “It’s true, she does. But if you hadn’t set her the task of stealing—when she is no thief—she wouldn’t have had to turn to me.” Adam ended in a silken voice and a smug smile. He held it as the desire to throttle Chatterley mounted. The man breathed shallowly but didn’t answer, and Adam continued, “So I’d like to propose a truce.”

  “Never.”

  Adam raised his eyebrows. “I suppose it depends how much you want the artifact you’ve tasked Lily with retrieving. If you want her to succeed, she’ll need my help. And in order to help her, I’ll have to stay in London, won’t I?”

  Finally regaining enough of his courage to stand, Chatterley tried to loom over Adam. The effect was laughable.

  “I’ll concede to your help, but not to you living in her house.”

  “I will inform you what is necessary in order to retrieve your artifact, Chatterley. Now sit down and listen.” Adam had used that voice in a battle once, to scare an enemy away from his brother’s prone body on the slippery ship deck.

  Chatterley sat.

  “By now, everyone knows of our marriage. Unless you want to shred her reputation by forcing her to admit to our estrangement”—Adam wouldn’t put it past the scoundrel—“we must keep up appearances. If not as her husband, I would have little excuse to spend so much time with her. And we’ll need time. Stealing that artifact will require a great deal of preparation.”

  “Preparation—”

  “Yes.” Adam shifted his weight to keep Chatterley in shadow when the other man moved to stand again. Standing might give Chatterley the false impression that he and Adam were equals. Not so—and the moment Adam managed to find a way to destroy the evidence Chatterley held over his head, he would make his position abundantly clear.

  For now, he had to think of Lily. “I don’t rob houses without discovering every last corner and danger to my mission.” He’d never robbed a house, in fact. He usually convinced a man with too much money to part with it for a high-risk investment. Leaning forward, he added darkly, “I won’t risk Lily’s life or reputation by moving too soon. If you want this, you’ll have to wait.”

  Chatterley simmered with loathing, his expression plain. The man’s desire to regain the upper hand by guile, manipulation, or foul tactic all but bled from his pores. The longer Adam gave him to think, the more likely Chatterley would turn the tables.

  “You never told her the target. Who are we to steal from?”

  Chatterley narrowed his eyes. The ghost of a smile crawled across his lips. “I’ll tell that to her when she accepts my offer. She hasn’t yet. Though, considering that she sought the help of a man she would sooner see dead, she clearly will.”

  “Yes. I imagine she decided that much when she decided I was more likely to help her than you.”

  Chatterley’s lip curled, but he averted his gaze. In a chair that dwarfed him, he looked like a sullen child. “How soon do you expect to finish?”

  “That depends on how quickly I’m given the information I need.”

  Chatterley glared at him. “I’ll tell Lily. Only her. What have you told her of your circumstances?”

  Adam’s throat closed. Even when he had the upper hand, the lies still clung to him like cobwebs. Lily was far too intelligent a woman to forgive him, especially when he withheld information from her. But Adam didn’t think Chatterley was
bluffing. He’d already shown he didn’t care for Lily’s happiness as much as he professed. He would ruin their lives simply to see them apart.

  When he hesitated a moment too long, the smile on Chatterley’s face grew. He stretched his legs out in front of him and laced his fingers over his belly. “I see you’ve followed our agreement. In this, at least. I did stipulate you were never to see her again.”

  “I followed your instructions to the letter,” Adam snapped—much like he would like to do to this cretin’s neck.

  No. Violence is never the answer. He shut his eyes and breathed deep, steadying himself.

  Evenly, he murmured, “I gave you the money. I left Bristol and stayed away from London. I told Lily none of it. She’s under the impression that I robbed her.”

  Chatterley raised his eyebrows. “Oh, but you did.”

  Not by choice. Lily would have suffered along with him, had Chatterley played his hand.

  “You robbed her of her innocence and her future,” said the cur.

  Adam’s vision clouded over with rage. He clenched his fists, feeling but not hearing his knuckles crack. The taste of blood in his mouth reintroduced him to reality. Somehow, he hadn’t moved an inch. His rigid muscles had locked him in place.

  But murder must have entered his expression, because Chatterley was white as milk. He gripped the arms of his chair like a vise, which belied the casual way in which he attempted to change the subject. “I expect to have the artifact in my hand within two weeks of her acceptance.”

  His demand would have been more convincing if not for the weak timbre of his voice.

  Clearing his throat and drawing himself up, Chatterley appeared to regain some shred of confidence. When he attempted to meet Adam’s gaze, he made it as far as the bridge of his nose. He stared at it as if willing the nose to wither from Adam’s face.

  “If you don’t provide me with the artifact, I will send those letters.”

  Adam didn’t dare breathe, anger simmering beneath his skin like an active volcano.

  The verbal reassurance of his blackmail gave Chatterley even more confidence. The color returned to his cheeks. His eyes glittered with malice, hard as he met Adam’s gaze. “Everyone will know that you faked your death and abandoned the navy. You are a crass, dishonorable coward. You aren’t fit to walk in Lily’s shadow.”

  “Let’s not give me too many compliments now. I wouldn’t want my ego to grow too large.” Despite his casual words, Adam dug his fingernails into the hard wood of the desk. The corner bit into his palm.

  He had done what he’d needed to survive. Adam had never enlisted in the navy; he’d been one of countless young men ripped from their homes and forced to serve. What Chatterley didn’t know—yet—was that he’d taken his brother’s identity at his brother’s dying request. Neither of them had wanted a life of bloodshed. What honor was there in killing men who had as little choice in the matter as they did? So Adam had reinvented himself. He had lived because his brother could not.

  “If I hear you’ve laid a finger on her…”

  “On my wife, you mean?”

  The possessiveness in Chatterley’s face felt like a slap. Whether he wanted friendship, obedience, or something more from Lily, he wasn’t going to get it. One way or another, Adam would save Lily from this man’s demands. And then he would do everything in his power to ensure that Chatterley never had the means to put her in a situation like this again.

  “Two weeks,” Chatterley bit off.

  Hopefully, by then, Adam could form a plan. He turned and left the house, the footman trailing behind him.

  Chapter Eight

  For the second time in as many days, Lily found herself standing outside the tea shop on bustling St. James Street. This time, she did not go inside. It was a rare sunny day, ladies strolling with their bonnets pulled low to shield their faces. Half of Mayfair must have turned out to partake of the shop’s renowned sweets. Inside, the air was thick and sweaty, the scent of sweet breads and cinnamon mixing with the musk. Although her sisters happily indulged themselves, Lily’s stomach had tied itself into more convoluted twists than the pastry knots served inside. She awaited Reid Chatterley outside the door—and he was tardy. That, if anything, rankled worse than the task he had demanded of her.

  She wiped her sweaty palms on her skirts and turned her face up to the sun. Her heart pounded painfully, anxiety tightening its hold until she could think of nothing except for how this endeavor might turn awry. Her sisters thought she had escaped for a breath of fresh air. She’d made that excuse twenty minutes ago. And Adam…

  He had insisted upon accompanying them out of the house, but her sisters’ censure had driven him into the bookshop next door. In the street bustling with men and women, Lily had never felt so alone or adrift.

  “Lily. You look lovely.”

  Reflexively, Lily offered her hand to the man who stepped abreast of her. He gave a short bow over it, his eyes twinkling and his smile wide. In the light of day, Reid resembled the hard man she had faced in his study in only the most peripheral of ways. His smile gave his face a youthful, open look. His hair, neatly combed, matched the pristine jacket and waistcoat he wore. All in shades of soft, warming brown. He squeezed her hand, looking her over.

  “When I didn’t hear from you immediately, I feared you had taken ill.”

  The reminder of her predicament ignited her anger. She pulled her hand back, fisting it at her side. How vain had he become that he thought illness the only reason she might avoid his company?

  Oblivious to the turn of her thoughts, he gestured to the door of the shop. “May I buy you a cup of tea or a pastry?”

  It was the least he owed her for this trouble. If not for him, she wouldn’t have lain awake for half the night battling the acute awareness of her husband, sleeping beyond the adjoining door. Thoughts of Adam would not have consumed her, the fruitless question of his fidelity all these years and the subsequent chiding of the turn of her thoughts. Lily didn’t care whether he had bedded another woman.

  Or so she told herself.

  Stiffly, she forced a polite smile. “No, thank you. Would you care to take a stroll?”

  Adjusting the topper on his head to shield his eyes from the sun, he gaily offered her his arm. “If you don’t care for the tea shop, why don’t we peruse the bookshop?” His expression brightened, a shadow of the young man she’d known. “The bookshop will be quieter and more private.”

  And it contained Adam. If Reid came face to face with her husband…

  “No. I prefer the open air.”

  A horse plodded by, lifting its tail to bequeath the cobblestones with a gift from its rear end. The stench of refuse curled through the air. Reid wrinkled his nose. From the look on his face, he thought her mad. She tugged on his arm, towing him past the door. He gave the books in the window one last lingering look, then sighed.

  “Very well. But I do think a new book will do you well. I borrowed a fascinating volume from the lending library the other day and—”

  Lily’s fingers hooked into claws on his sleeve. How dare he go on as if they were good friends! “I don’t have much time for reading.”

  Reid looked aghast. “My dear, you must make time.”

  “That isn’t the matter of which I’d prefer to speak, and you know it. Let’s not pretend we’re friends anymore.”

  The enthusiasm in his eyes dimmed. He strolled sedately, tilting his chin down to assess her as a solemn air enveloped him. “We could have remained friends. Better than friends, if you hadn’t made a foolhardy choice.”

  Surely he couldn’t be implying… “You never showed the least interest in”—she choked on the word—“marriage.”

  “Neither did you. Until him.”

  In other words, Reid hadn’t realized what he wanted until she’d chosen someone else. But would he have proven any bet
ter, in the end? Not if he was capable of this callousness. Lily certainly didn’t want him now. She didn’t want anyone.

  “You’re right,” she bit off. “I made a foolhardy choice.”

  In choosing to marry at all.

  They paused at the junction of streets, waiting for a carriage to pass before crossing with clipped steps. Lily didn’t trust herself to speak. Acid curdled in her throat.

  On the far side, Reid said, “I’ve changed, you know. Now I pursue what I want.”

  She clenched her jaw and raised her face to his. She felt as though diamond had crusted over her expression, hard and sharp. “Like the artifact you’ve tasked me to retrieve?”

  He hesitated. His expression turned businesslike, a blessing. When they turned the corner, he asked, “I take it you’ve considered my offer?”

  “I’ll do it.” The only answer she could give—as he must have anticipated.

  To his credit, he didn’t look satisfied, but grim. “The item I want is an armband. I sold it to Lord Granby about three months after my father died.” He pulled a folded letter from his pocket and handed it to her unceremoniously. “This is a rough sketch of the band, drawn before it was sold. It’s a few years old and a bit wrinkled, but I’m sure it will help you to identify it. I hope two weeks will be soon enough for you to retrieve it?”

  Lily stopped in her tracks as she struggled to breathe. She fumbled with the paper, stuffing it in a wad into her reticule, out of sight. “Two weeks?” Her voice was high and thin with panic.

  The mummy unveiling to which she had garnered an invitation would take place next week. After that, she would have little more than a week to insinuate herself into Lord Granby’s good graces, earn an invitation to his house, and steal his prized possession. It was too little time.

  Her lips trembled. “I cannot invite my way into a stranger’s home that quickly. You know how slowly the ton cultivates associations. Unless you can finagle an invitation?”