Dicing with the Dangerous Lord. Margaret McPhee
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than any swagger or shouted bravado. The very air was ripe with danger, the threat so real that only a complete fool would fail to recognise it.
No one moved. No one spoke. But Venetia felt the villain’s fingers tighten around her arms.
And even though she was waiting for it, holding her breath in expectation, Linwood’s move, when it came, still shocked her. He lashed out quick and deadly as a viper, the wolf’s-head of his walking cane flashing silver in the moonlight as he swung it to land hard against the head of the villain who held her, sending the villain reeling and freeing her. Then Linwood kicked the leg of his accomplice that held her bullet. The man screamed with pain as he crumpled to writhe in agony on the pavement.
Linwood did not even look at the men he had felled. Just walked up to her and, taking hold of her arm, guided her briskly away down the street. By the time the doors of the surrounding houses had opened and lanterns were being held aloft, Venetia and Linwood had been swallowed up by the darkness. Only when they turned the corner into the next street, the street in which she lived, did Venetia stop and stare up into his face.
‘What are you doing here? I thought that you were still at Razeby’s. I thought you were…’ Eating fruit from a courtesan’s naked body like every other debauched gentleman in the marquis’s dining room.
‘The after-dinner entertainment was not to my taste.’
Her eyes searched his, looking for the lie and finding no hint of it.
‘And then I learned that you had decided to walk home alone.’ He sounded as if he were distinctly not amused. His face was as stern as when he had faced the two ruffians. ‘A foolhardy decision, Miss Fox, and I had not thought you foolish.’
She flushed beneath the harshness of his criticism, knowing he was right and balking all the more because of it. ‘I had no mind to stay in that house a moment longer. Besides, I was not exactly defenceless.’
‘So I saw.’ And she was not sure if he meant what he said or was being ironic. Her cheeks burned hotter. They both knew what would have happened had he not arrived.
‘Next time, wait for me.’
‘Next time?’ she demanded, her temper sharpened by her wounded pride. ‘I believe you are a trifle presumptive, my lord.’
He said nothing, gave no hint of reaction upon his face. Just looked at her and there was something in those dark eyes that made her feel ashamed of her pettiness.
‘Forgive me,’ she murmured, glancing away. ‘I am grateful for your intervention.’
She turned her eyes back to his and they looked at one another through the darkness. She should feel as afraid of him as the two ruffians that they had left behind. But what she felt was wary curiosity and physical attraction, not fear.
‘I will see you safely home, Miss Fox.’ He did not offer her his arm. He did not smile.
She gave a nod, knowing that she was close to ruining all that she had worked upon with him, knowing that she should say something to redeem herself and the situation, but unable to do so. She felt uneasy, uncomfortable, shaken more than she wanted to admit. Not by the two men, but by Linwood.
They walked side by side, in silence, an awkwardness between them that had not been there before, only stopping when they reached the front door of her home.
‘Goodnight, Miss Fox.’ She felt as if there were a hundred miles between them, that all of the rapport that had flowed between them earlier in the evening had gone, that she was in danger of losing the game when it had barely begun. He rapped the knocker on her front door, then walked away.
‘Linwood,’ she called out, before she could change her mind.
The dark figure stopped by the railings. He turned slowly and looked at her, and the light of the nearby street lamp illuminated him in its soft yellow glow. She walked slowly towards him, ignoring the front door opening behind her, walked right up to him, her gaze never breaking from his, reached her face up to his and brushed his lips with her own.
‘The next time I will wait for you,’ she said softly.
She saw something flicker in the darkness of his eyes, then she found herself in his arms, his mouth upon hers, kissing her.
Linwood’s mouth was masterful. He kissed her and she forgot what any of this was supposed to be about. He kissed her and Venetia had never known a kiss like it. Her heart thundered, her pulse raced, every inch of her skin shimmered with a desire that was all for him. She had never experienced anything so raw, so powerful, so shockingly arousing. Her body melded to his, her arms winding themselves around his neck as she clung to him, wanting him with a passion that roared in her ears and fired her blood to unbearable heat. His tongue stroked against hers, lapped, teased, enticed, and her own leapt to meet it. He kissed her and everything else in the world seemed to slip away and the heat for him, the desire for him, roared with a primitive ferocity.
She broke the kiss, drawing her face back and staring into his eyes, those dark dangerous eyes that hid so many secrets. She was shocked at her loss of control, shocked at the strength of feeling coursing through her, at the blatant physical desire that had her body pressed to his and a heat scalding the tender skin of her thighs. She stepped back, opening up a space between them, feigning a control she did not feel.
They stared at one another through the darkness, both their breaths loud and ragged in the still silence of the night. The tension hummed in the small space between them. She did not trust herself to speak, only to turn and slowly walk away into her bright-lit hallway. Only then did she glance back to find him still standing there, watching her. Their eyes met once more before the door closed and her butler turned the key.
She sagged back against the solid support of the thick oaken barrier, wondering if he was standing out there still. Her legs felt weak. She touched a finger to her kiss-swollen lips.
‘Are you all right, ma’am?’ Albert, her elderly butler, peered at her with concern.
She nodded. ‘Perfectly.’ She forced a smile to allay the worry from his face. But it was a lie. Venetia was not all right. She felt hot, aroused and more disturbed than anything by her reaction to Viscount Linwood.
‘There is no need for a night porter tonight. Miss Sweetly will not be home until tomorrow,’ she said and made her way towards the large sweeping staircase.
‘Very good, ma’am. I’ll send Daisy up to attend you in your bedchamber.’
‘Thank you.’
But even when her maid had helped her to change into her nightdress and Venetia had climbed beneath the bedclothes she could not sleep. She could not even lie still, let alone close her eyes. There was a tension throbbing through her that had not been there before. Her body felt restless and twitchy, her mind, milling a thousand thoughts.
The after-dinner entertainment was not to my taste. Linwood’s words seemed to have etched themselves upon her brain. It should not have mattered to her in the slightest. Even if he had climbed upon Razeby’s dining-room table and ridden Miss Vert before them all, such an act paled in comparison to what he had done. And yet Venetia found that it did matter, very much. He had not stayed to indulge a base appetite with the other men. He had come after her. And only because of Linwood was she lying here safe now within her own bed. There was a heavy irony in that. And in the fact that she was attracted to him… and he to her. She squeezed her eyes shut, knowing that it made her objective both more difficult and easier at once. The sooner she discovered something useful against him, the sooner all of this would come to an end. But she would have to be careful, careful in a way that neither she nor her brother had ever contemplated. Careful not of Linwood, but of her own response to him.
Chapter Four
Linwood stood alone in his rooms, gazing down into the dying embers of the fire. The open newspaper still lay on the table behind him, the London Messenger, the newspaper that Linwood owned, discarded where he