Authors: Suzanne Enoch
“I believe that action would cost me a brother,” he said crisply, and faced Jenny. “Your mistress has sent you to see Lord DeLayne and inform him that she’s spoken with the Duke of Melbourne. Rather than allow a scandal,” he went on, glancing at Sarala, “the duke is willing to come to terms—but only if the viscount comes to Griffin House immediately to meet with him. Can you tell him that?”
To her credit, Jenny didn’t hesitate before she nodded. “What if he should ask me what the terms are, Your Grace?”
“You don’t know what they are, but you do know that I’m not very happy.”
Jenny’s shoulders heaved. “I can do that, Your Grace.”
“Then do so at once. We may not have much time. Shay’s a resourceful fellow. We’ll wait for you there,” he continued, pointing, “around the corner.”
The maid stood as Melbourne opened the coach door for her. “Oh, dear. What if Lord Charlemagne should arrive while I’m there?”
“Duck.”
As he reached Griffin House, he spotted both DeLayne’s curricle and the Carlisle coach. Had Melbourne summoned Sarala, as well? Had DeLayne said something about her? His heart pounding, Charlemagne handed Jaunty over to Timmons and strode up the shallow front steps.
The door opened as he reached it. “My lord,” Stanton said, stepping aside.
“Where’s DeLayne?” he asked, yanking off his coat and hat and throwing them aside.
“In the blue room, my lord.”
“Good. Leave us be.” He walked to the door and stepped inside. “De—”
Someone shoved him hard from behind. As he stumbled, the door slammed and the key turned in the lock behind him. “Stanton!” he roared, charging the door and hitting it with all his weight. It groaned, and he heard something crash to the floor out in the hallway.
Good.
The door at the other end of the room was locked as well. Well, that wouldn’t stop him. Not when he was this close to killing that devil. Charlemagne picked up the writing desk chair and headed for the largest of the front windows. As he raised the chair over his shoulder, the door rattled and opened again.
“Shay! Put that down.”
He did, none too gently. “I know you’re not stepping into the middle of my business, Melbourne,” he snarled, heading straight for his brother and the open door beyond him.
The duke put out his hand. “No, I’m not. But you need to listen for a moment.”
“I’ve listened all I intend to today. Get out of my damned way.”
“Don’t you want to know why he’s here?”
For a second he allowed himself to wonder, then pushed the question away again. “Get out of the way, Melbourne. I’m not going to say it again.”
His brother stepped aside. Eyes narrowed and his breath hard and fast, Charlemagne pushed past him—and stopped. Just beyond the duke, Sarala stood, her eyes wide and worried.
“What—”
She moved up to him, grabbing his clenched hand and pulling him back into the blue room. “I’ll tell him,” she said over her shoulder, her gaze not leaving his face.
With a nod Sebastian closed the door again, leaving them alone in the room. Charlemagne pulled his hand free. “Tell me what?” he snapped.
“You have to stop and listen to me,” she returned, her own voice clipped.
“I’m already rather angry,” he said in a low voice, still pacing. “I’m not certain I want to know what you’ve done.”
“Listen anyway,” she countered. “When you left my home, I came to see your brother.”
“And why is that, pray tell?”
“Because I didn’t want you to kill DeLayne.”
That was exactly what he
didn’t
want to hear—that Sarala had a reason, any reason, for wanting to protect that bastard. “What did you think would happen after what you told me?”
“I thought you would let me go, idiot.”
That shook him a little. “That’s the second time you’ve called me an idiot,” he ground out. “Explain.”
“If you kill DeLayne, you could be sent to prison, or hanged, or transported. I won’t let that happen to you.”
“I’m not letting you go back to India for
any
damned reason. So I think we’re at an impasse.”
“No, we’re not. As I said, I talked to your brother. I told him everything.”
“‘Everything.’” Hot anger began turning to cold dread. Melbourne knew about a threat of scandal. A threat through Sarala, for whom he didn’t feel any particular affection. Charlemagne would not let her be sent away, whatever his bloody brother decided. At worst, he would go with her. “And what was Melbourne’s suggestion?” he asked, his voice shaking.
“We’re still working on that. At the moment, the plan is to pretend cooperation with DeLayne until we can determine just how greedy he is, and how much risk he might be willing to take to get what he wants.”
His breath left him with a rush. Charlemagne sat in the chair he’d nearly smashed. “I don’t understand.”
Sarala walked carefully closer. “What don’t you understand?”
“Sebastian wouldn’t do this.”
“But he is. It was his idea, in fact. And if you can assist us, we could certainly use your help.”
“How can you stand to be in the same room with him?” he asked, looking up and meeting her gaze for the first time since she’d surprised him in the doorway.
“Because I don’t want to have to leave London,” she whispered, and a tear ran down her cheek.
His heart thudded in his chest. That did it. Slowly, working to rein in his rampaging temper, jamming his anger and his surprise back down to where he could control it, Charlemagne stood. “What do you need me to do?” he asked.
She swept forward and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “I don’t know,” she said, her voice muffled against his neck. “We’ve been trying to get him to drink and not punch him while we waited for you.”
For a long moment he stood with his arms around her, breathing in the cinnamon scent of her hair, before he slowly extricated himself. “Let’s go plan something, then,” he murmured, shifting his grip to her hand.
“You won’t kill him?” she whispered.
“I won’t kill him
right now.
”
“What have you been chatting about?” he asked, glancing across the room at his brother as he walked to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a generous drink.
“Business,” Melbourne answered from his position by the window.
“Any in particular? What do you fancy, DeLayne?”
The viscount cleared his throat, pushing forward in his chair. “I’m glad you asked that, Lord Charlemagne. The—”
“Call me Shay,” Charlemagne broke in.
“Shay, then. The Marquis of Hanover happened to mention that you’ve entered into some sort of dealings with the emperor of China. That you even have Prinny and Liverpool involved. This is exactly the kind of trade I’m looking to be involved in. High-profile, prestigious, and clearly lucrative.”
“That’s not—”
“Interesting that you should choose that one,” Charlemagne said, cutting his brother off. It was a pity he hadn’t had more time to develop a relationship with Yun and the other soldiers—if he could convince them that DeLayne had been behind the theft rather than Blink, he would consider that a good day’s work. Still, there were several possibilities, and some very sharp-looking weapons. “We’re meeting with the Chinese buyers tomorrow.”
“That’s what Hanover said. I think I’ll join you.”
“Very well.”
Charlemagne wanted so badly to put a fist into DeLayne’s face that passing by him without doing so was actually painful. He stopped by Sarala, brushing her elbow with his hand, seeking control from her appearance of calm. “Our meeting will be at noon tomorrow, just west of the pond in St. James’s Park. Don’t be late, DeLayne. They place a very high importance on promptness.”
The viscount nodded. “And what will my role be? I don’t relish standing in the background and going unnoticed.”
“I’ll make certain they know you’re our partner,” Charlemagne assured him. “And dress well—they admire wealth and ostentation.”
“That sounds simple enough. What about profit?”
“We haven’t agreed on all the details yet,” Melbourne put in, walking to the drawing room door and pulling it open, “but as you said, it looks to be very lucrative. For all of us, of course.”
DeLayne, unmoving, sipped his claret. “Of course.”
“And in return, we will have your silence, yes?” the duke continued.
“Yes. Why would I wish to harm my business partners?”
Beside Charlemagne, Sarala began shaking. “I’m going to kick him,” she breathed, starting forward.
He put out a hand, gripping her wrist above her tightly clenched fist. At least he wasn’t the only one beyond fury at both DeLayne’s arrogance and his pomposity. “If you’ll excuse us,” he said, facing the viscount again, “we have a few things to attend to. We’re planning a wedding, you know.”
DeLayne stood. “I understand. But don’t attempt to cross me, or to cut me out of this, or you will regret it.”
Beside the open door, Melbourne stiffened. “I am a man of my word,” he drawled. “Stanton, will you see Lord DeLayne to his carriage?”
The butler appeared in the doorway. “Right away, Your Grace.”
“And I’ll see you tomorrow at noon.” DeLayne nodded at Sarala. “My thanks, my dear. I knew you would be profitable.”
Charlemagne charged the door, but Melbourne closed it just before he reached it. “If this is going to succeed,” the duke said, “you are going to have to control your temper.”
“I am controlling my temper,” Shay snarled.
“So your plan is to make DeLayne overdress for the Chinese, and have him appear an hour late?”
“Yes, that’s exactly my plan, since you seem to have an objection to my killing him.” Charlemagne took a deep breath. “Since I, for one, can’t think of anything more absurd-sounding than a trio of Chinese swordsmen descending on London, and since we will have to discredit DeLayne if I
can’t
gut him and toss him into the Thames, the best I could come up with in two minutes is to combine the two.”
For a long moment Sebastian looked at him. “I think it’s fortunate that we’re brothers,” he finally said, “because I shudder at the thought of ever going up against you in a fight.”
“I’d still rather kill him,” Shay said, meaning it.
“There’s always time for that if your plan doesn’t work.” As they heard the front door open and close again downstairs, Sebastian pulled open the drawing room door once more. “We still don’t have much time. I’m going to summon some reinforcements. I hope you’ll be staying for dinner, Sarala.”
Sarala looked from one Griffin to the other. Her head was spinning, the circumstances were changing so quickly. “I’ll have to send a note to my parents,” she said, “but I doubt they’ll object.”
“Hold off on that for a bit,” the duke returned. “We may wish to have them here, as well.”
With a nod he left the room. She looked at Shay, who was gazing at her intently. “What is it?” she asked.
“You went to Melbourne.”
“I told you that I had.”
He closed the door with one foot while he yanked her up against him and lowered his mouth over hers. Sarala closed her eyes as heat washed over her. She’d nearly lost all this today, before she’d figured out exactly how much it—he—was coming to mean to her.
“You risked our betrothal,” he continued, turning them so she was pressed between him and the door. His hands twisted into her skirt and lifted the material above her knees and past her thighs, bunching it at her waist.
“Because that was better than risking you,” she returned unsteadily, kissing him hungrily, reaching down to unfasten his breeches and fumbling to pull his shirt free.
“But I won’t risk losing you,” he breathed, shoving his trousers down. He lifted her up, guiding her legs around his hips. Slowly he pushed forward, impaling her with his hard, engorged manhood.
Pinned between him and the door, Sarala could do nothing but hold on to his shoulders, moaning as he thrust into her, filling her again and again. She could feel the remnants of anger in him, feel as they slid into fire that seared her heart. That had been his one and only worry, that he would lose her.
With a gasp she shattered, clinging to him as he continued to ravage her. “Shay, Shay,” she murmured, no breath left in her body.
A low, guttural growl burst from his chest as he gave a last, deep thrust and held her to the door. She felt his shudder all the way through to her bones. They had to do something. This man aroused her mind and her body like no one ever had and ever would. Whatever hesitation she’d felt about joining with him was gone. If after all this they had any choice in the matter at all, she was not going to give him up. Ever.