Chapter 9 #3
‘You certainly don’t shy away from rather risqué fashion, dear cousin,’ he murmured near her ear as he helped pull the coat up her arms and settled it onto her shoulders. The scent of leather blending with rosemary and bergamot only further heated his blood.
She stepped away from him, and Sir Robin resumed his place on her shoulder. ‘I don’t shy away from much, Grey.’
The butler opened the door, waiting dutifully for them to exit.
‘And yet you’ve suddenly developed a great fear of the dark.’ Thomas raised a brow and secretly thrilled at the heat flaring in her eyes.
Good God, anger suits her.
‘I need to speak with you.’ She flicked her eyes to the butler, who stood with his back straight, his eyes staring ahead at nothing. ‘Come.’
The imperious command should have stoked his anger. But instead, another emotion – just as hot and twice as dangerous – flared deep in his chest as she swept out of the front entrance, down the steps, and into the night. Without thought, he followed her.
Clio’s heeled boots crunched over the gravel drive to where her carriage waited, sans footman. Thomas eyed the empty back seat.
‘Where is your man?’ He attempted to keep his voice level.
She looked around, going so far as to check under the cabriolet. ‘Oh dear. I must have misplaced him.’ She opened the door and patted the seat for Sir Robin, who happily hopped in and fluffed his feathers.
‘Did you drive here alone?’ He wasn’t trying to keep his voice level any more. It was futile.
Clio’s golden eyes flashed with warning, but he cared not. He could withstand her fury. Indeed, he welcomed her fire.
‘I didn’t feel the need to bring my footman when I knew the carriage would be watched over by your sister’s groomsmen.
It seemed a waste of poor John’s time to sit out here in the cold for hours waiting on me to finish my dinner.
I am more than capable of managing the journey from my house to here and back again alone.
This is hardly St Giles or Whitechapel.’
Thomas stepped forward, gripping her arm.
‘You will do no such thing. It’s bad enough you insist on driving yourself, but to come without the protection of a footman is unacceptable.
Only a fool would tempt fate so boldly. A lady such as yourself is just as apt to find trouble on the streets of Mayfair as anywhere else. ’
The lamps lighting Cynthia’s drive flared and popped as Thomas’ fingers began to tingle, then burn where he touched her.
‘Must I remind you again? I am no lady. If you are so concerned with safety, look to your own. Men issuing commands to someone like me have far more to fear than any woman driving alone.’ Clio’s arm was hotter than fire, even through the layers of satin and leather.
Rosemary and bergamot filled his lungs as her scent intensified with the heat.
His hand reacted instinctively, releasing her as quickly as one might pull back from a burning coal.
He looked from his unmarked palm to her covered arm. Heat waves emanated from her body in the wavering lamplight. But it wasn’t fear that filled him. It was wonder, and a desperate need to know what in the blazes was going on with this woman.
‘You are keeping secrets from me, Clio Blair.’
She narrowed her gaze. ‘I could say the same of you, Thomas Grey. You told me you came back to Viscount Beachley’s the other day to give the maid your card.
That’s how you found me in the study. But you gave her your card in the servants’ dining room.
I watched you hand it to her, and I watched her take it.
So, tell me, why did you return to Beachley’s after we concluded our interviews with the servants?
What were you looking for in the study?’
Damnation.
‘I was looking for you.’ Her anger stoked his own, and he clamped his teeth together, frustrated that he let her provoke him so easily.
Uncertainty showed as she hitched her shoulders. ‘Why?’
There were a million reasons why he might look for Clio Blair, but none of them were appropriate to share. ‘Has no man ever pursued you before, Miss Blair?’
Lifting her chin a fraction, he noted her error.
Her white throat gleamed in the moonlight like a flag waving in the dark, but this was no mark of surrender.
This was a warning before the battle began.
Thomas wanted to pull her closer, breathe her scent, taste the vulnerable skin behind her ear and make her shiver. Instead, he held himself in check.
‘My romantic history is none of your business.’
Ah. So, you’ve never been courted.
If he needed any more proof that men were idiots, this would suffice.
Clio was wealthy, beautiful, and intelligent.
She should have a bevy of impoverished lords seeking her hand in marriage, yet there were none.
And Thomas could guess the reason: her entire person defied anyone who might try to control her fate.
No man, titled or not, would be willing to let his wife hold the reins, and Clio wasn’t about to give them up willingly.
‘I suppose you’ve never wished to be courted.’
She curled her lip in a sneer. ‘I’d rather go swimming in the Thames on a snowy day in January.’
It made sense. She didn’t need a man for income or security.
She and her female relatives had done an exemplary job of creating a life relying entirely upon their efforts alone.
Unlike so many unhappy ladies within the beau monde, she did not need to marry and would never be forced into a union by her aunt.
If a man wished to woo Clio Blair, he would have to convince her that what he offered was worth her time.
And Thomas guessed no man she met was ever willing to take on such a challenge. Until now.
Absolutely not. She is not for you. And you certainly have nothing to offer her beyond physical pleasure.
But even that was impossible, Thomas did not dally with virgins, especially a witchy one with a raven on her shoulder and fire in her eyes.
‘No man has ever tempted you before?’
Why was he asking these questions? He didn’t want to know her answers. He certainly had no intentions of pursuing her. No matter how enticing the challenge of making her want him might be. Of all the men in London, he was the worst choice for Clio Blair.
‘Not a single one.’
Ouch. That arrow hit its mark.
Clio shifted her feet, her hand resting on her hip. ‘You are trying to distract me, Grey. It won’t work. Why were you following me?’
He raked his hand through his hair and grasped at the easiest lie. ‘I wanted to ensure you arrived at your home safely.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Please. Neither of us believes my safety ranks high on your list of priorities, no matter how you bluster on about my missing footman.’
She was wrong. Her safety was becoming increasingly more important to him.
But he could hardly admit that to her, as he was only just realising it himself.
‘Fine. I wanted to determine where you were going after our investigation. Because I don’t trust you.
’ That was also true and put him in a prickly conundrum.
‘When you doubled back and re-entered the house, I realised my suspicions about you were justified.’
She blinked, her amber eyes as hot as molten gold. ‘What suspicions are those, Grey?’
‘You aren’t being honest with me, Miss Blair.’
‘Who is ever completely honest? We all have our secrets. Even you.’ Her pupils dilated. For a terrifying moment, he thought she knew. Had she somehow seen the hidden shame he kept buried in the darkest cellar of his soul? But that was impossible.
She blinked, breaking the odd spell. ‘And you shouldn’t trust me either. I won’t hesitate to cut you down, any chance I get.’
That was an invitation he could accept. The warrior in him flared to life. He might not rise to the challenge of courting her, but he certainly wouldn’t back down from fighting her.
‘I expect nothing less.’ He risked her heat and stepped closer. When she didn’t back away, and he didn’t instantaneously combust, he took another step. ‘I will discover your secrets, Miss Blair, no matter how cunningly you hide them.’
‘Careful what you wish for.’ She gripped the back of his neck, sudden and shocking, pulling his head down to hers and stopping when their lips almost touched.
‘You might discover some truths are best left alone. If you come after me, I’ll make sure we burn together.
’ Instead of closing the distance as he ached for her to do, she pushed him hard.
He stumbled back. She was stronger than she looked, and he nearly landed on his arse.
Turning in a swirl of leather and silk, she swept into the driver’s seat with the grace of a bird taking flight. Before Thomas could recover from his near fall, the smart little buggy was trundling away. Sir Robin cawed, ‘Bastard!’ from the window.
Blast and damn!