How could he use her as a pawn in this battle against Arden, even if she continued to fall into his lap? Into his chamber, for Chrissake! How could he not?
“Forgive me.” He could not keep the mocking tone from his voice, for there was something about Lady Violet West that made him want to ruffle her feathers. “I did not realize you intended to continually invade my bedchamber as part of your quest to offer me assistance.”
Her flush deepened, and she hesitated, hands gripping her skirts so tightly, he could see the strain on her knuckles. “If you had deigned to emerge from it, I would not need to invade it.”
“There remains the small matter of my choice between Lark House and gaol,” he reminded her drily. “Your brother wishes for me to make as little a mark upon this house as possible, which involves remaining here and keeping you from my distressing, ruinous presence.”
“Lucien demanded you remain in your chamber?” Surprise underscored her voice.
Ominous portent curdled in his gut as he thought of Arden’s stern warning yesterday evening. Though he suspected it had emerged partially from Aunt Horrible’s interruption of his heated embrace with Lady Violet, the further humiliation, piled atop the ignominy of being forcibly imprisoned within Lark House, stung.
“Yes.” He paused, an idea—wicked and wrong and so very tempting—hatching. Perhaps if she suspected her brother disapproved of her association with Griffin, she would be all the more drawn to him. “I suspect he wishes me to keep my distance from you especially, my lady.”
As he fancied it would, his revelation had her drawing up her shoulders, those jade eyes sizzling with fire. “I shall associate with whomever I wish.”
He knew a moment of guilt at the ease with which he had manipulated her.
“You do realize your sainted Lord Flowerpot would be horrified to learn his betrothed was visiting the bedchamber of another man, yes?” Though he had every intention of using her to destroy her brother’s vendetta against him by whatever means possible, the gentleman within him insisted he remind her of the damage she did her reputation by remaining alone with him.
In his bedchamber.
Yes,bloody hell, there was a bed. On the opposite wall. Some fifteen paces away. And Lady Violet stood only six, if he were to estimate. Perhaps four if he wanted to reach her badly enough. And the insistent twitch of his cock against the placket of his trousers suggested that indeed, he did.
Lady Violet met his gaze without flinching. “My betrothed’s name is Lord Almsley, and Charles need not know of my visits here. I would never dare enter a gentleman’s chamber ordinarily, but you are a special case, Strathmore.”
He believed her. Though she had been responsive to his kiss, everything about her screamed untried virgin. Precisely as she ought to be. And precisely as he would leave her, he reminded himself. He could toy with Arden, bring him low, without actually taking Lady Violet’s virtue.
The devil of it was, hewantedher virtue. There was something about Lady Violet that made him long to claim her, to mark her. The notion of her wedding herself to some boring, staid suitor, who preferred to dabble in soil and plants rather than worship the beautiful woman he was betrothed to, filled him with indignation.
But still, she had referred to him as aspecial case, and he could not like it. He would be no woman’s charity. Not even a woman as luscious, lovely, and convenient to his plans as Lady Violet was. “Explain, if you please, my lady.”
“Explain what?” She frowned at him. “That I wish to help you? I do believe I have already made myself clear on the matter. You need help, Strathmore, and I do not see any other aid forthcoming.”
Her observation rankled. Of course it did. He had friends, but his most trusted friend, Sebastian, was expecting a babe. Griffin would rather muddle through his predicament on his own than involve a man about to become a father. Then there was the Duke of Carlisle, who was newly retired from the League and hopelessly in love with his wife.
Griffin had no wish to interrupt their idylls on his own account. He had managed to find himself in this wretched mess because he had insisted upon antagonizing Arden, and he knew it. If he had been able to hold his tongue, the duke would have no reason to suspect him. But as usual, he had been reckless and had said too much.
Far, far too much.
Now he must pay the price.
Still, his pride insisted he argue with the duke’s beautiful sister.
“I do not require anyone’s aid.” He raised a brow, pinning her with a stare of his own, this one meant to discomfit. “You must not forget I haveallowedyou to assist me.”
She made a dramatic show of looking over her shoulder before turning back to him. “And once again, I do not see any other aid forthcoming, Strathmore. But if you do not want my help, you need only say the words.”
He gritted his teeth. Of course he wanted her help. Just not in the manner she thought. “I have already accepted your help, my lady. What I have not accepted is your continued presence in my chamber. It is not only unseemly, but it is dangerous to your virtue.”
“Dangerous to my virtue?” Her gaze lingered for a moment on his throat, reminding him he had removed his neck cloth. “Would you like me to go then?”
For a brief wicked beat, he wondered what her lips would feel like pressed to his skin there. And then he banished the question and the thought at once, for he still needed his battle plan in place before he could take action. He could not compromise her today, here, now, no matter how much he yearned to. He needed to be certain of an audience.
OfArden, specifically. He had no wish for any other witnesses. Just that of his jailer.
“Stay,” he grumbled.
She pursed her lips. “You are the least grateful person I have ever had the misfortune to meet, Duke.”
