You may as well tell me. I shall find out from Bucky anyway.
Marianne frowned. I am Marianne Cotterwood. Mrs. Cotterwood.
Oh, yes, a widow. I forgot.
I wish you would stop using that supercilious tone. Why should I say I am a widow if I am not?
I dont know. Perhaps you are. On the other hand, perhaps it is simply part of your sham.
I am not shamming. This is a pointless conversation, and I am leaving.
She started around him, but Lambeth reached out and grasped the low cabinet, blocking her exit. Not until you tell me why you were sneaking up and down this hall, peering into all the rooms. And why you came into this one and proceeded to walk around it, lifting each picture, until you found the one with a safe behind it.
Mariannes throat was dry, and only partly because of her trepidation. Lambeths body was only inches from her; his eyes were boring into hers. It was hard to breathe, and she felt strangely hot and cold.
You are a thief, Mrs. Cotterwood, he said in a low voice. I can think of no other explanation.
No. Her voice came out barely a whisper. Her lips were dry, and her tongue crept out to moisten them.
Lambeths eyes darkened, and his hand came up, his thumb tracing her lower lip. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met, but I really cannot allow you to go about robbing my friends. He paused, and a smile touched his lips. On the other hand, Lord Batterslee is not really what I would call a friend. More an acquaintance, actually.
He leaned closer, his warmth and scent surrounding her. Marianne closed her eyes, almost dizzy from his nearness. Then his lips were on hers, and she jumped slightly in surprise, but she did not move away. The sensation he was creating in her was too sweet and unfamiliar. She relaxed, giving in to the pleasure. She felt the hot exhalation of his breath against her cheek as he sensed her yielding. His arms went around her, and he pulled her closer, his mouth sinking into hers urgently.
Marianne felt as if she were melting, her loins hot and waxen, her whole body shimmering with pleasure. No man had ever made her feel like this. Indeed, she had rarely allowed a man to touch her, not since Daniel. Daniels kisses, too, had been sweet at first
Marianne stiffened at the thought of Daniel Quartermaine. Another aristocrat with kisses and soft wordsand no thought in his mind except using and abandoning her. Suddenly she realized what Lambeth was about. She jerked away from him, her hand cracking against his cheek in a resounding slap.
He stared at her, surprised, his hand going to his cheek.
I know what you are trying to do! she cried.
It seems fairly obvious, he replied dryly.
You think that I will bed you to keep you from telling everyone I am a thief!
His eyebrows sailed upward. I never said
You didnt have to. As you just said, it is obvious. You accuse me of being a thief, then start to kiss me. What else would I think?
That your beauty distracts me from my duty.
Please. I am not a fool. Nor am I a whore. You are wasting your time. I wont sleep with you, no matter how you might slander me to everyone you know. Mariannes eyes flashed. She had no idea what an arousing picture she madeher eyes sparkling, cheeks flushed, her lips soft and moist from his kisses.
A thief with morals, in other words.
The faint amusement in his voice goaded her, and Marianne opened her mouth to reply hotly. But at that moment the door opened, and a middle-aged man stepped into the room. He stopped and gaped at them.
I say.
Lord Batterslee. Lambeth nodded to the older man.
Mariannes stomach turned to ice. Now it would come. He would tell the owner of the house that he had found her going through his study, searching for something to steal. Her only hope lay in the fact that she had nothing on her that she had stolen. But the accusation of a dukes son would be enough to bring a constable.
Oh. Lambeth. What the devils going on here?
Lambeth smiled suggestively. Exactly what it looks like, Im afraid. I wasah, seeking a place of solitude to, um, convince the lady of my regard for her.
Heat stole into Mariannes face. He was intimating that they had sneaked off to the smoking room for a romantic interlude. She was torn between relief that he had not turned her over to the authorities and humiliation that he was blackening her reputation.
A tryst? In my smoking room? Really, Lambeth
Lambeth shrugged, and his hand went pointedly to his reddened cheek. Not a tryst, exactly. As you can see, Mrs. Cotterwood was somewhat averse to my suggestions. He looked toward Marianne. You neednt turn violent, you know. A simple no would have sufficed.
Dont speak to me! The emotion in Mariannes choked voice was real enough. She felt as if she might burst into tears at any moment from all the conflicting feelings that were tearing at her. But she also had the presence of mind to seize the opportunity to flee. Spitting out, You cad! to Lambeth, she rushed out the door, skirting Lord Batterslees rotund form. Lord Lambeth could hardly come running after her with the other man standing right there.
She ran down the hallway to the stairs, only slowing when she came in sight of the other partygoers. It would attract attention to run down the stairs in full view of everyone, but she walked as quickly as she could, her body tensed for the sound of her name or a touch on her shoulder. However, she made it to the front doors without incident, and since there were several hackney coaches in the street in the hopes of catching fares from the party, she was able to scramble into one immediately.
To her relief, the hackney set off at a smart pace. She turned and looked out the window. There was no sign of Lord Lambeth. With any luck, he had gone back to the ballroom, thinking that she would have rejoined the party. Or perhaps he would not care enough to search for her. She doubted that Lord Lambeth had any trouble getting women; he would not need to track down a recalcitrant one. But why had he lied to Lord Batterslee? Perhaps he had hoped that he could still blackmail her with his knowledge, given a little more time to persuade her.
Marianne smiled to herself. He was going to find it difficult to see her again. No one there tonight, not even Mrs. Willoughby, knew where she lived. She was always careful to keep her private life separated from the world of what Piers called the flats. Besides, this was the first time that she had made a foray into the highest society of London. In years past, they had worked on the well-to-do, the Cits and lesser gentry both in London and in other cities. Their quarry had not moved in the highest circles. The last year or two, as sort of an audition, they had spent their time in the resort towns of Brighton and Bath, where she had mingled with the upper crust who were vacationing there. It had been only two months ago that they had decided to try their game among the ton of London.
She had spent the time establishing herself in London, calling on the women, such as Mrs. Willoughby, whom she had met in Bath and Brighton and who had encouraged her to visit them if she ever came to London. She had hoped to gradually work her way into their social spheres, meeting ever more people. It had been sheer good fortune that she had been calling on Mrs. Willoughby the day the woman received her coveted invitation to Lady Batterslees party. Gleeful and wanting someone to witness her triumph, Mrs. Willoughby had impulsively invited Marianne along, thus propelling Marianne higher and more quickly into Society than she had ever dreamed.