Notorious

“I used to like Fitz,” Dev said, “before he started behaving like an ass.”

“That is because you and he had so much in common,” Chessie said with the sort of unflattering truth that only a sister could get away with. “You both like women and gambling and sport and drink. Or at least you used to,” she added. “When you were permitted to do so. Before Emma.”

“One thing I don’t like is sightseeing in a mausoleum,” Dev said. Susanna had wandered across the aisle now and was looking up at the mosaics that rioted across the cathedral’s dome. As he watched, a beam of watery sunlight cut through the gloom to pin her in a ray of light. She looked bright and ethereal, though anyone less like an angel would be difficult to imagine. Fitz, however, looked as though he had been struck by a vision.

“You should find someone else,” Dev said abruptly.

“It was difficult enough finding Fitz,” Chessie said. “Had you not noticed, Devlin, that I do not have suitors queuing up at the door?”

“You have a good dowry,” Dev said. Alex, their cousin, had put ten thousand pounds aside for Chessie’s future.

“A modest dowry,” Chessie corrected. “No one is going to take me for that when there are heiresses to catch. Not when I have no eligible connections.”

“You have me and Alex and Joanna,” Dev said.

“That,” Chessie said, “proves my point. No eligible connections and plenty of scandalous ones.”

Dev drew her hand through his arm. “Come along. I will distract Lady Carew whilst you ask Fitz a question about Restoration architecture or something.”

“Could you not do that permanently?” Chessie said hopefully. “Take Lady Carew away from Fitz, I mean. You could pretend to be in love with her. Or you could just seduce her. You used to be quite good at that sort of thing, so I heard.”

“That is not the sort of thing one wants one’s sister to hear,” Dev said. “Or to suggest, for that matter.”

“Don’t be stuffy,” Chessie said. “Do it for me.”

Seduce Susanna …

The temptation grabbed Dev like the grip of a vise. To pursue Susanna ruthlessly, to tumble her into his bed, to sate his desire in that cool, untouchable body … He had always wanted what he could not have. Already the lust drove him at the mere thought.

He took a deep breath and the carved faces of the cherubs on the tombs swam back into focus. This was, Dev thought, a most inappropriate place to harbor such carnal thoughts.

“It wouldn’t work,” he said. “Lady Carew is too clever—she would realize what I was about in a moment. And Emma would probably notice, too.”

“Where is Emma today?” Chessie said. “Usually she sticks to you like glue. It is very peaceful without her,” she added.

“Emma is at home with the earache,” Dev said. “Which is why, just this once, I can help you by distracting Lady Carew.”

“You will be the one with the earache when Emma hears of it,” Chessie said frankly. “And Freddie will make sure she does hear. He is a frightful gossip and malicious with it.” She looked at him. “Freddie will do all he can to spoil matters for you, you know. And he will do it for fun, no better reason.”

“I’ll talk Emma round,” Dev said.

“Your life’s work,” his sister said coolly. “That is your future, Devlin—charming Emma into good humor for the next forty years, all for the sake of her money.” She sailed across to where Fitz, Susanna and Freddie were gathered around the tomb of Sir Joshua Reynolds and slipped her hand through Fitz’s arm.

“I fear all this culture is giving me the headache, my lord,” she said. “It may well do for intellectuals like Lady Carew—” she shot Susanna a limpid smile “—but you know that I am not bookish. What do you say that we go to Gunters for refreshment instead?”

Dev grinned. There was something to be said for the direct approach and Chessie was, after all, only following his advice in being the opposite of Susanna. It had worked, too. Fitz was looking relieved at the prospect of escape and just for a second Susanna looked absolutely furious before she smoothed her irritation away and smiled in agreement with the plan. Chessie, having captured Fitz’s attention at last was hanging on like a limpet and when it looked as though Fitz were about to offer his other arm to Susanna, Dev stepped forward and placed himself between them.

“I see you have the guidebook, Lady Carew,” he said. “Can you tell me if Lord Nelson is buried here?”

Susanna was obliged to pause and Fitz and Chessie moved past them, walking together toward the door. They were already deep in conversation, Chessie smiling up at Fitz with sparkling eyes, all her vivacity apparently restored now that she had his attention.

In contrast, Susanna’s green eyes were bright with anger rather than pleasure as they contemplated Dev’s innocent expression.

“Lord Nelson is not only buried here,” she said politely, “but he is spinning in his grave at the thought that a former Naval captain might not know it.” She looked up at him, her body taut with annoyance, her tone fizzing with frustration. “You already knew the answer to that question, did you not, Sir James?”

“It was the best I could think of on the spur of the moment,” Dev admitted, without a trace of apology. “I wanted to speak to you—”

“Again?” Susanna snapped. “I hardly flatter myself that you have an inclination for my company.”

“Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that I wanted to delay you,” Dev conceded.

His blunt honesty was rewarded with another glare.

“I am aware of that,” Susanna said. “I understand your strategy perfectly.”

She ignored the arm that he offered her and started to follow Fitz and Chessie toward the door. One of the guides was already running to call them a hackney. The fine weather had broken abruptly and the sky outside was now a dull, pale gray and rain dripped from the guttering to pool on the pavement outside the cathedral.

“I am afraid that you will have to share a carriage with me, Lady Carew,” Dev said, very politely, as Fitz helped Chessie up into the first vehicle. “Unless you would prefer to ride with Mr. Walters, of course?”

“Hobson’s choice,” Susanna said. The quick tap of the guidebook on the palm of her gloved hand betrayed her annoyance.

“Think of me as the lesser of two evils,” Dev said, smiling at her. “Unless,” he added, “you would prefer to walk to Berkeley Square in the rain? I regret I do not have an umbrella to offer you for protection.”

Susanna shot him an exasperated look.

“Try not to keep the horses standing,” Dev added as she hesitated.

Susanna gave an irritable sigh. “Oh, very well!” She accepted the hand Dev proffered to help her climb in, touching him with as much reluctance as though he had some contagious disease. Once inside the dark, poky interior, she released him abruptly and moved to the corner, as far away from him as possible. Dev sat opposite, stretching out his legs and crossing them at the ankle. His boots brushed the hem of her gown; Susanna moved her skirts aside with great deliberation as though he might contaminate her.

Dev smiled lazily at her through the darkness. “Fitz is easily distracted,” he said. “You are going to have to exert a greater hold on him if you wish to have his sole attention.”

Susanna turned her gaze on him. “Fitz is like a small child in a confectionery shop,” she said. She made no effort to hide her exasperation and Dev found he almost liked her for it. There was no artifice in her—no pretence that she had any regard for Fitz other than for his title, and Dev had a reluctant admiration for that honesty. If she had pretended to any affection for the Marquis he would have despised her hypocrisy.

“An apt metaphor,” he said. “Sweet and pretty confections do catch Fitz’s eye.” He allowed his gaze to travel over her appraisingly. “No doubt he sees you as a particularly nicely wrapped treat.”

“Well, he won’t be helping himself to this treat anytime soon,” Susanna snapped.

“I imagine not,” Dev said. “If you withhold your favors for a while you are likely to gain far more from him.”

That won him another flash of those vivid green eyes. “Thank you for the advice,” Susanna said. “I assure you I prize myself far too highly to become Fitz’s mistress too easily.” She turned her face away from him, gazing instead out of the grimy window at the rain-streaked streets. Her profile was exquisite beneath her saucy little feathered hat, eyelashes thick and black, the line of her cheek pure and sweet, her lips tilted always as though on the edge of a smile. A cluster of ebony curls nestled against her throat, so silky and black that Dev felt a physical urge to run his fingers through them to see if they were really as soft as they looked. It was extraordinary, he thought cynically, how someone as venal as Susanna Burney could look so alluring, extraordinary that her ruthlessness did not spill out in some way, spoiling the pretty picture of the captivating widow. Yet that, he supposed, was part of her skill. She did not attempt to compete with the innocence of debutantes. Her appeal lay in her sophistication and charm. In truth she was little different from a courtesan, a very high class, very talented, very beautiful courtesan, but available to the highest bidder all the same, as long as it was marriage he was offering.

“Do you intend to seduce Fitz into marriage?” he asked.

Her gaze came back to his face, mocking him. “What a very vulgar question, Sir James. I have no intention of answering.”

“As you have said yourself, a widow may use certain experience to her advantage.”

A smile touched Susanna’s lips beneath the shadow of the bonnet. “Very true,” she said. “Just as a rake may use his knowledge and skill to trap a debutante heiress.”

There was silence between them, thick and taut, in the dark, enclosed world of the hackney coach. The rain drummed hard on the roof. The wheels splashed through the puddles on the road outside.

“You’re staring,” Susanna said coolly. “Try the window instead.”

“I see London every day,” Dev said. “I was admiring you.”

Susanna laughed. “I doubt that very much.”

“I meant in the aesthetic sense,” Dev said. “You are very beautiful. I’m not telling you anything you don’t know,” he added.

“You can spare me the compliments,” Susanna said dismissively. She smoothed her skirt with a gloved hand. “I am quite comfortable with silence.”

“I was trying to play nicely,” Dev said.

She cast him another glance, disdainful. “I doubt you do anything nicely, Devlin.”

“I make love very nicely indeed,” Dev said. “Do you not remember?”

“No.” She turned her face away again so that he could not read her expression. Her voice was cold but Dev sensed some emotion beneath her words. Discomposure? Discomfort? Surely so experienced an adventuress as Susanna could not be embarrassed by a reference to their mutual past so perhaps she was simply annoyed to have given him the opportunity to raise the subject of their passionate, shameless lovemaking. He felt a sudden strong urge to bait her further.

“You must surely remember it,” he said. “You were as wild and wanton in your response to me as any woman I have ever met.”

For a moment he thought she would win the encounter simply by ignoring his provocation but this was too blatant for her to let it go. He saw her eyes flash as she rose to his challenge and felt a stab of triumph to be able to force a reaction from her.

“How sweet of you to recall it after all this time,” she said cuttingly. “But I am afraid that for me it was in no way memorable.”

Liar.

The word hung on the air between them. Dev saw a tinge of color sting her cheeks as though he had spoken aloud. He shifted on the seat, shrugging.

“Perhaps the experience has been superseded by so many others that your memory fails you,” he said politely.

She looked at him with contempt. “Perhaps you confuse my romantic past with your own, Devlin. I heard that you were scarcely fastidious in your choices before your engagement to Lady Emma. Quantity over quality was your motto, so I believe.”

Touché. He had indeed been an enthusiastic rakehell.

“Once again I am flattered by the attention you give to my life,” Dev said. “Are you very interested in my romantic career?”

“Of course not!” Susanna said. Her face was very pink now; hot, angry, animated.

“All evidence to the contrary,” Dev said. “It is perhaps an odd preoccupation for my former wife—”

“You always did have good opinion of yourself,” Susanna interrupted. “Or perhaps I mean a boundless conceit.”

“I plead guilty,” Dev said. “But there are some things at which I do excel.”

Susanna rolled her eyes. “Why do men feel the need to brag of their sexual prowess?”

“I could demonstrate my prowess rather than simply talk about it if you prefer,” Dev offered blandly.

Now it was Susanna’s smile that was edged with scorn, her eyes vivid with challenge. “You would try to seduce me? I don’t believe you would have the nerve, Devlin.”

Dev laughed. “It’s dangerous to dare me.”

Susanna shook her head. “You are all talk. You would not do anything to put your betrothal with Lady Emma at risk.”

“She wouldn’t know,” Dev said. He’d behaved like a monk for the past two years not, he was obliged to admit, for reasons of honor but simply because Emma would give him hell if she heard any rumors of infidelity. Emma would never tolerate the discreet liaisons with courtesans to which other wives and fiancées turned a blind eye. She was far too possessive. Her demand of fidelity was, Dev knew, nothing to do with her feelings but another sign that she had bought him and could dictate his behavior.

But Susanna was the one woman who could never betray him because he knew too many of her secrets.

The idea stole his breath. He liked it; he liked it far more than he ought. When Chessie had suggested earlier that he should try to take Susanna away from Fitz he had not entertained the idea seriously. Now he did. To make love to Susanna again, to uncover her body to his gaze and his touch, to press his lips to that silken skin, to taste her again and feel her response … His body hardened again at the mere thought of it.

“I would tell Lady Emma you tried to seduce me,” Susanna said, her words cutting through his most intimate fantasies.

“I know too much about you,” Dev said. “You’d never denounce me for fear I would betray you.”

Their eyes locked in mutual dislike and an equally blistering and sudden mutual desire. It seemed to heat the small dark carriage, scalding the air between them.

“You don’t like me,” Susanna said. There was a thread of something in her voice now that made Dev’s blood burn. She could deny an attraction to him for as long as she wished but he knew better. He had wanted her from the moment he had seen her walking across the ballroom toward him and he knew she felt the same.

“I don’t like you,” he agreed. “What is that to the purpose?”

“You would make love to a woman you don’t like simply to demonstrate to her what she has been missing?”

“I could do that, certainly,” Dev said. “But that is not how it would be with you, Susanna. I would make love to you because I want you and you would respond to me for the same reason.”

He saw the ripple of disquiet shiver along Susanna’s skin. She wanted to refute his words but something held her silent. Dev took her hand, peeling the silk glove from her fingers, tugging so that it came away and left her skin bare. Her hand lay in his now, gentle, warm and soft, all the things that Susanna was not. Dev brushed his lips against her fingers. He wanted to make her tremble. He wanted to prove to her that she was not indifferent to him, prove it so that she could never deny it again. He turned her hand over and pressed his lips to the pulse at her wrist. It was racing, yet her face was expressionless and her hand in his was quite still.

“You seem agitated,” he murmured against her palm.

“Not at all.” Her voice was cool. “I am merely curious to see how far you would take this charade.”

Dev licked her palm with one sly stroke of the tongue. Her skin was smooth; she tasted delicious, salt and sweet together, a taste that kicked his awareness of her up another notch.

“I’d take it much further than this,” he said. He released her and felt the frisson of relief that shook her. “I was only kissing your hand,” he said gently. “Did you like it?”

“No, I did not.” Her tone was firm but Dev had felt the tremor that coursed through her.

“Yet you are shaking,” he said.

He leaned across to touch the fall of ebony ringlets at her throat. Instantly her hair curled confidingly about his fingers, entrapping him in a sensual mesh. It felt more slippery than silk; the faintest scent of honey rose from the dark strands, teasing his nostrils, wrapping about his senses.

Beneath the tumble of curls, his knuckles grazed her throat, gentle against softer skin. Her breath caught, a tiny sound but enough to betray her. He traced the vulnerable hollow of her collarbone, then his fingers dropped lower to the rich lace that edged the neckline of her gown. He followed it down. The filigree lace was whiter than the creamy skin beneath, both framing and concealing the swell of her breasts, designed to incite carnal need whilst appearing irreproachably innocent.

A sudden fierce urge seized him to tear that lace aside and slide his hand beneath the silk of her gown, to cup her breast and feel the nipple harden against his palm. The game that had started as challenge and provocation had suddenly changed. Now he, for all his experience, was the one feeling as primed and lust-ridden as a youth and she looked as cool as spring water, only the flutter of her pulse and the shimmer of heat in her eyes betraying her desire.

He slid his index finger down to the valley between her breasts and felt her shiver under his touch. They were very close now. He could hear her quickened breathing and see the color that ran up under her skin, heating it from the inside out, stinging her pallor with arousal. Her lips were slightly parted and she bit down on her full lower lip and his body clenched. He knew nothing other than that he had to kiss her—he had to kiss her now—but he retained enough shreds of sanity to know that despite her apparent quiescence if he tried she would probably stab him with a hairpin.

He was not going to take that risk. Quick as a flash he wrapped the cord of her reticule about her wrists, binding them together. She gave a little gasp of shock but he held the thread tight, forcing her hands down and in her lap.

“I’m tying you up so you can’t hurt me,” he said. He scarcely recognized his voice, rough and hoarse with need.

She might bite him, of course, but he might enjoy that. That was a risk he was prepared to take.

He saw her eyes flash with fury but beneath the anger he also saw a reluctant fascination that made the hunger roar through him.

“You’re a brigand,” Susanna said. Her voice was not quite steady.

“A pirate,” Dev said. “You know it.” He tugged on the cord of the reticule. The movement jerked Susanna’s wrists and brought her closer to him. He bent his head and took her mouth with his.

Her lips were very lush and they trembled beneath his like a debutante receiving her first kiss. It felt unpracticed, uncertain, as though she had not kissed anyone for a very long time. Dev hesitated, completely thrown by her response. He had not for a moment supposed that she was an innocent. Her history contradicted it; she had denied it in her own words, and yet her lack of finesse spoke for itself. There was no pretence between them, either. It was as though the moment he had kissed her all the barriers between them had dissolved and there was no anger and no resentment left, nothing but longing and sweet, aching need. For a moment Dev felt swamped by dangerous emotion and then Susanna opened her lips beneath his and she tasted so shockingly familiar, so enticing, that his senses spun. He forgot everything, releasing the cord about her wrist so that he could draw her into his arms and kiss her with hunger and passion and an ever-deepening tenderness.

His tongue tangled with hers, coaxing it into a potently carnal dance. Desire leaped to greater desire within him like a fierce flame. Soon, he knew, he would be lost to everything other than the need to make love to Susanna here and now in a flea-infested hackney carriage in broad daylight on the streets of London. He struggled to remember that he could not yield to this seduction. He was supposed to be proving something to Susanna, not losing himself in her. Yet it seemed he could not resist. He did not want to need her but he could not help himself.

He brushed aside the ebony curls with fingers that shook, and pressed his lips to her throat. Her skin was cool beneath his touch and Dev felt like a starving man offered manna in the desert. His self-control hung by a thread. He slid the gown down a little and nipped at the curve of Susanna’s shoulder, biting softly, tasting her. The scent of honey was on her skin, faint and sweet. Dev had never eaten honey in his life but he wanted to eat it now. He wanted to lick her all over. He felt almost light-headed with the craving.

The bodice of Susanna’s gown rustled softly as it slipped another inch lower. Dev felt the filigree lace rough against his lips and Susanna’s breast soft beneath it, inciting him to rip the material away so that he could take her in his mouth. He groaned.

Susanna put one hand against his chest and pushed him away. Dev was so surprised that he let her go.

“Have you finished trying to make a point yet, Sir James?” She sounded slightly bored.

It took Dev a moment to cut through the clamor of his body and to focus. When he did, it was to see that Susanna was adjusting that provocative lace and was patting her hair back into place beneath the saucy bonnet, which had been knocked askew in their embrace. Her face was perfectly blank, pale, composed, the indifferent mask of a lady of fashion.

Shock and disbelief raked through Devlin that he should feel such an intensity of desire and, more disturbingly, such a treacherous sense of affinity with her when to Susanna it seemed it had been nothing but a dare.

“You were pretending?” he said.

Her green eyes were expressionless. If anything, she looked slightly puzzled. “Of course I was,” she said. “Weren’t you?”

“I …” There was an odd emptiness beneath Devlin’s heart. “That innocent response,” he said. His throat felt dry. “It was feigned?”

She smiled. It was a smile that made him feel a naive fool. “Men seem to like it,” she murmured.

“And you always give men what they want,” Dev said. He could feel the bitterness rising like bile in his throat.

“If it gains me what I want.”

Dev took her by the shoulders, searching her face for any clue that she lied, looking for even a hint that the storm of sensation that had racked him had touched her, too. She met his gaze defiantly.

“I don’t believe you,” he said. “You wanted me, too.”

Susanna shrugged and turned her face away from him.

“Your opinion is not important to me,” she said. “You were trying to prove a point. You failed.”

Dev let her go, sinking back onto the seat. The taut desire had drained from him now and he felt chilled and empty. Susanna’s words were no more than a salutary reminder of how cynical she had become.

“I find I would rather walk than suffer any more of your … conversation,” Susanna said. She rapped sharply on the roof of the carriage. The hackney jerked to a halt.

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