Logic and intelligence and a fair portion of good instincts mixed with luck had always served Nate Stokes quite well. At this moment, however, he knew it wasn’t any of those things that make his cock jump and come to life.
She wanted to distract him. Whether it was on her own behalf or that of one of her fellow Tantalus girls, he was more interested in discovering if this was a bluff or not, and in how far she would go to protect whatever secret this was. She was likely to find that he had no difficulty with using his own skills to get answers. Especially when the package in which they were wrapped was as delicious as she was.
Circles in circles in circles. If his life had ever been as simple as seeing someone he wanted and taking her, he couldn’t remember it. And it shouldn’t happen today, either, however gullible she was meant to think him. Or however attractive he found her. Unless he could make his mind stop spinning its wheels for a moment and simply do what his body wanted.
“‘Upstairs’? The thought might have crossed my mind,” he returned. “In passing, of course.”
“Oh. Has it passed away, then, or does it linger?”
“It lingers. It has a great deal of stamina, actually.”
Even as he spoke, he was quite aware that his nether regions were attempting to take over the conversation. He clenched his jaw. His brain made an effort to step in again, though it unhelpfully pointed out that if she was suspicious he might be pursuing her or someone she cared about, she would either attempt to keep her distance from him, or wait for a vulnerable moment and stab him in the throat. But it wouldn’t be the first time someone had attempted either of those responses, and he wanted Emily Portsman.
“Does it now?” she asked in an intimate murmur. “I happen to be off duty in twenty minutes, if you’d care to make your case.” A furrow lined her brow. “Though what are you going to do with your little brother?”
How determined was she to act on her innuendos? He would follow the steps to this waltz only as long as she played the music, after all—and whatever he privately, secretly, wanted. “I’ll send him home in the carriage.”
“Then meet me by that door,” she said, as she straightened one elegant finger to point toward one of the club’s famed privacy doors, also known as “the gates to heaven,” as he recalled. “In twenty minutes.”
As she rose, he reached for any morsel that would make this a part of his investigation. Something to prove to himself that somewhere in the last two minutes he hadn’t lost his mind. “What of Miss Hampton? We don’t wish to injure her heart.”
Her smile slid into something far more wicked and intimate. “Shall I ask her to join us, then?”
That answered one thing: The odds of Miss Portsman being the high-in-the-instep Miss Newbury were considerably diminished. And he was supposed to be absentminded and a bit dull, damn it all—though truthfully,
she
intrigued him far more than did the determined Miss Hampton. Why that should be, he wasn’t entirely certain, because on the surface both women had suggested the same thing. None of this, though, was about the surface. “I—no. I think, ah, the two of us could make do. This time, at least.”
“Good.”
Business and pleasure so rarely mixed, in his experience. And if she meant to do him harm, well, it was a risk he was willing to take. He would have an answer for his investigation in that case—though if it came to a battle for survival the odds of her making it back into Lord Ebberling’s hands would be considerably diminished. Finishing off his glass of wine, Nathaniel stood and went to find Laurie. His brother would more than likely call him names again, but as he had just experienced the rarest of things, he didn’t much care which epithets Laurence showered him with. Because he’d just been surprised.
Chapter Four
Doing everything she could not to hurry her steps, Emily returned to her post at the lectern by the main doorway. Was the Earl of Westfall the reason for that whisper of uneasiness she’d felt curl up her spine this morning?
Of course, that was likely utter nonsense. She hadn’t believed in portents or signs from above since she’d been five years old. But the younger brother had mentioned something about searching the Tantalus for thieves, and that had been enough to begin her heart pounding. If this wasn’t about her, that was well and good, but clearly it was about someone, and quite possibly someone
here.
None of the Tantalus girls, as the club’s members had taken to calling them, were unblemished angels. What they were, however, were her friends. Her odd little scandalous family. And no harm was allowed to come to any of them while she had any say in the matter.
If protecting them meant tricking a handsome, slightly dull earl into thinking she meant to let him bed her in order to discover what, precisely, he was after, well, she’d invited less attractive men to her room and actually slept with them. She sent a glance toward his table, but he’d already left the Demeter room, no doubt to dispose of his brother. Dull, handsome, and with poor vision. If he wasn’t present to make trouble, if she was overreacting—which she desperately hoped she was—he might well have been perfect for her. She sighed, attempting to ignore the warmth spreading through her. It had been a while, but this was about discovering what he knew. Suspicion and sex made poor bedfellows.
As she finished totaling up the number of luncheon guests and the amount of alcohol consumed, she caught sight of Lucille looking hopefully in the direction of the Persephone, the nearest gaming room. She’d never made a habit of poaching men from her companions—heaven knew there were more than enough to go around—and this wasn’t poaching, precisely. It would certainly appear like it to Lucille, though.
If she’d discovered one thing in the past few years, it was that men enjoyed talking about themselves, particularly when they were relaxed, well complimented, and distracted. That had been a happy coincidence, though, as mostly what she’d been after with her bed companions was—well, she wasn’t certain what it was, but she did enjoy men and their companionship. Generally, and under a very narrow set of conditions.
Taking a breath, Emily walked up to Lucille for the third time that afternoon. “I need a word with you,” she muttered, taking Miss Hampton’s arm.
“What now? I’ve barely spoken to anyone. Except for Westfall, but he invited me back to chat with him.”
“Yes, I know. I … Lord Westfall is going upstairs. With me.”
Lucille scowled, her face darkening. “That is not fair, Emily. I told you I meant to pursue him. How could you?”
“He asked,” she returned, though at best he’d intimated, and after she’d directly invited. “You said he mentioned looking into a theft. I need to know if one of our friends is in trouble.”
“Then just ask whom he’s after.”
“I can’t do that, and you know it. I need to be a little subtle, for heaven’s sake.” Even if it didn’t concern her, but especially if it did.
“I don’t like it. You’re stealing him.”
“I am not. You may have him back tomorrow, unless I discover that we need to keep him away from the club.” She paused. “Would you wish to be the one to go up to Lady H and say you’ve been intimate with a man and now you need him to be banned?”
“No, I’d rather have that be you,” Lucille returned grudgingly. “But if he ends up offering for you, I’m going to be very cross.”
“I don’t think that’ll be a worry, Lucille. I’m not going to actually be with him, anyway. He merely needs to
believe
we’ll be together.”
“That’s deceitful.”
For heaven’s sake, she wasn’t going to spend the afternoon discussing her motivations and methods with Lucille Hampton. Particularly when she was fairly certain there was a ready alternative to asking him upstairs. But getting him drunk would take too much time, she decided. And they wouldn’t be doing anything—or she wouldn’t be, anyway. A man could become quite distracted with a strategic use of compliments and hands, after all. If it came to that.
She just resisted glancing over her shoulder after him. The poor fellow might not even require more than a seductive glance and a whisper—which would be beneficial for asking questions, of course, but as for her … Well, if he turned out to be merely pretending to know something in order to make himself more interesting, she could always invite him back for an actual liaison.
Emily drew a breath. She could invite him back, that was, depending on whether she could turn Lucille’s attention elsewhere. “Look,” she said aloud, inclining her chin. “Lord Burkiston is gazing at you.”
That wasn’t strictly true, either, but it served both to mollify Miss Hampton and to send her swirling off in the opposite direction. Lucille might have been a better bed companion for Lord Westfall than Emily would turn out to be, but he could mean to murder them all in the night and the bouncy brunette would never notice as long as he told her she had pretty eyes. Emily knew herself to be more cautious than that. And more alert for trouble, certainly.
As the clock hands tipped toward the hour, she handed her ledger over to Jenny Martine and made her way to the dining room’s privacy door. For a moment she thought Westfall might have changed his mind, because the space around the entry stood empty. That could be a complication—especially if he’d actually learned something. Lucille did like to prattle on, after all. And the tingle in her fingertips was merely nerves over how easily she would be able to sway him to talk.
On the positive side, even with the sliding spectacles he wore, Lord Westfall was not at all hard on her eyesight. She lowered her gaze for a moment. Lucille could easily find another wealthy aristocrat over which to hover and dream. By necessity Emily had to be more particular. And even if easily manipulated men were dull, they did help dispel the night’s shadows. Just not tonight. Not until she was certain this rather comely gentleman was of no further use than that.
“Are we to look as though we’re meeting coincidentally, or may I acknowledge your presence?”
Emily started at the low voice directly behind her. Heaven’s sake, he was quiet, especially for a man who walked with a limp and a cane. “Just follow me,” she intoned, and pushed open the door.
She nearly ran into Pansy in the narrow hallway, but other than sending her companion a suspicious look, Miss Bridger paid them no mind. And as Pansy had a distinct dislike for the male of the species in general, no one Emily brought into the club’s private area would have earned her scowling friend’s approval.
With Westfall on her heels, she climbed the stairs, then skirted the bustling common room for her bedchamber at the end of the hallway. Her roommate, Lily Banks, was still working at one of the roulette tables, but as she slipped into the small room, she reached around to pull the scarf from the inside handle and loop it around the outside one.
“You’ve done this before,” Westfall commented, following her actions with his eyes.
“If you were expecting virginity, you’ll need to visit a bawdy house and pay extra for it,” she returned.
For just a moment his expression became surprised. Then the amused, befuddled look returned to his lean, attractive countenance as he set his cane down against the back of the room’s one, plain chair. “You’re quite cynical,” he announced unnecessarily. “Now, how do we go about this?”
She eyed him for a moment, taking him in from his longish mahogany hair to his spectacles to the pleasant curve of his mouth and the way she had to look up to see all of that. He must be two inches over six feet, at least, exceptional for one of the inbred gentry. But then he looked more like a professor than an earl, anyway—a very fit, lean professor. “
You’re
not a virgin, are you?” she queried. It would certainly make things easier if he was.
Westfall grimaced. “No, I am not. I only meant that this seems very … well ordered. Do we kiss passionately? Do I undress you, or merely myself? Do we fall onto your rather narrow bed or sink bonelessly to the floor?”
Emily laughed, then stifled the sound with a cough. There were times—admittedly brief ones—when she wished she could invite someone interesting upstairs. Handsome and fit-looking were enough to warm her bed, but a strong jaw didn’t necessarily translate to good conversation. But then, good conversation could only lead to trouble. And this encounter was about getting him to talk; her own pleasure could wait for someone who wasn’t possibly looking for trouble.
Stepping up to him, she pushed the jacket from his shoulders.
Hm.
No additional padding there; the muscle was all him. Before she could begin kneading his shoulders or something, she turned her attention to his cravat, untying the rather simple knot and drawing it from around his neck. “How did your brother react when you packed him off in your carriage?” she asked, lowering her fingers to the buttons of his dark blue waistcoat.
“With offended outrage,” he returned, his gaze on her hands. “But that’s nothing new, so I was unmoved.”
“And are you unmoved now?” she continued, pulling open the waistcoat and pushing it down his arms. In another moment or two she would have him answering any question she asked.
“What do you think?” Stirring into motion after several moments of stillness, Westfall reached out and tugged on one of her sleeves, lowering it down her shoulder and exposing her right breast. Before she could react, his long, elegant fingers brushed across her nipple, then pinched it lightly.
Unexpected arousal shivered down her spine. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Lord Westfall was supposed to be befuddled and easily manipulated. Trying to slow her breathing, Emily mentally shook herself. She could manage a pleasurable pinch or two in exchange for the information she needed. “Why don’t you remove your spectacles?” she suggested aloud. Being unable to see should—would—leave him more off balance. “We don’t want them broken, do we?”
His light green eyes narrowed for the briefest of heartbeats, and then he pulled the metal-rimmed things free and set them on Lily’s dresser by the door. As she studied his face again, she decided she preferred him with the spectacles on. Without them, he seemed less harmless. More … sharp. More predatory. She drew a breath, taking a half step back as those light eyes met her gaze. The sensation running down her spine, though, wasn’t fear or trepidation. It was far headier than that.