Her husband had been incredibly charming, always ready with an infectious smile that had encouraged everyone to laugh along with him at whatever scrape he’d managed to find himself in. And, being Bertie, there had been a great many scrapes indeed. Her heart gave a pang at the memory of his crooked, rapscallion’s grin, forever lost to her now. Regardless of how much time passed, she would never cease missing him.
No, the stranger who had made her so weak with wanting had been nothing at all like Bertie. The two men could not have been more different. He was cold and aloof, menacing and strong, all sharp angles and rugged planes, his sensual lips perpetually unsmiling. He exuded danger.
Stop thinking of him, Pamela, she warned herself inwardly.
“Are you very angry with me over…what happened yesterday?” Lady Virtue asked.
And for a moment, Pamela’s heart threatened to leap from her chest. Until she realized Virtue wasn’t speaking of what had happened with Pamela and Beast yesterday, but of what had happened between herself and Ridgely. What a hen-wit she was. Of course, no one else would know. They had been alone in the depths of the night. In her chamber.
“My dear, we shan’t speak of that again,” she told her charge sternly, giving her a meaningful look. “Particularly not in such a place as Bellingham and Co.”
Sometimes, the girl’s country naivete shone through the town bronze Pamela had been struggling to instill in her. It was a wonder the wolves of thetonhad not torn her little sheep apart. Fortunately, she had Pamela to protect her. And protect her she would, however she must. Especially by not allowing herself to engage in any conduct as scandalous as she had last night.
No, that must never, ever be repeated.
“Of course,” Lady Virtue said. “It is only that you have been rather unusually quiet today, and I wished to know the reason for it. I know you are displeased with me, and I understand. I acted foolishly, and I’m sorry for it.”
Displeased with her? Good heavens, if Pamela was displeased with anyone, it was herself, and for her own transgressions last night with Beast. And Ridgely, too, for he was one-and-thirty years old, a seasoned rakehell, and the girl’s guardian. He knew better than to dally with innocents.
“I’m not displeased with you, my dear,” she denied quietly. “I am merely pensive today.”
Pensive indeed. Plagued by thoughts of a certain rogue. And his wicked kisses. And his hands. Oh, how she had liked those hands of his on her. How she longed for them to return, only this time without the encumbrance of her night rail.
Lady Virtue was frowning at her. “If you insist, Lady Deering.”
Was she so transparent to a neophyte like Virtue? Pamela shuddered to think what would happen if Ridgely were to learn of what she had done. Beast’s taunts from the night before returned to her, scalding her cheeks and the place between her legs with equal heat.
Tell him how you responded to me. Tell him how you kissed me back. Tell him how you put your tongue in my mouth.
“This is a lovely hat, do you not think?” she choked out with forced cheer, politely gesturing to a straw bonnet ornamented with a silk ribbon and fetching sprigs of lilac and roses.
“It is quite handsome,” Lady Virtue agreed, sounding distinctly unimpressed. “Perhaps you should buy that one as well, and then we might return to Hunt House for a respite.”
Return to Hunt House? No, she could not. She didn’t dare. Far too much temptation awaited her within those familiar walls. Temptation where, just days before, there had been none.
“Not just yet, my dear,” she said merrily. “Perhaps a visit to Bond Street before we go back.”
At her side, Virtue sighed heavily, her displeasure obvious. “Must we?”
“Oh yes,” Pamela said grimly, determined to force all inconvenient longing for the man named Beast from her before she returned to Hunt House. “We must.”
* * *
“You lookas if you haven’t slept.”
The unkind observation was issued by Archer Tierney as Theo settled into a chair in the other man’s study.
He met the green-eyed stare that never failed to see too much without flinching. “That’s because I haven’t.”
He and Tierney had known each other for several years. It hadn’t been long after Theo’s arrival in London, broken and exiled and angry at the world, that he had crossed paths with the then-moneylender. Tierney’s ruthless reputation had preceded him. Theo had proven his mettle byencouragingthose who owed him money to repay their debts. One fist at a time. Their association had been informal and forged in steel ever since.
Tierney raised a brow, taking a long pull from a cheroot. “More mysterious housebreakers with broken necks at Hunt House?”
“None,” he reported.
More like one luscious goddess of a woman who had all but brought him to his knees with her kisses. But he wasn’t about to admit to his shocking lack of discipline where Lady Deering had been concerned. If there was anything he’d learned from his uncle’s torture, it was to hold his damned tongue.
“Did you see anything suspicious last night?” Tierney asked, eyes narrowing as he studied Theo.
