Page 60 of Secrets of the Heart

When a maid appeared at her door, she said, “Have the carriage brought round. I am going out.”

She went first to The Red Boar, the inn where she and James Hobson had twice eaten lunch. With ingratiating courtesy, the landlord showed her the nicest bedchambers in the inn, and she saw that the place was even better for her purposes than she had hoped, having a suite of two rooms with a door between them in the connecting wall, and both of them having outer doors into the hall, as well.

She quickly rented both rooms, then sat down and penned a note to James Hobson. She paid a lad to deliver it to Lilith Neeley’s house, hoping that Michael would in the course of his day drop by there to assume one of his disguises, or that Lilith would let him know he had a message there. It was the only part of the plan over which she had no control. She considered putting it off for a day to give him adequate time to receive the message, but she realized she could not bear to do that. Her bitter pain and anger thirsted for immediate revenge. She could not wait, could not allow herself to pause or think, or the hurt that clamored inside her would swallow her up.

Afterward, she went home and started setting up the rest of her scheme. Searching through her wardrobe, she finally settled on an emerald-green gown that deepened the green of her eyes. It was a dress she rarely wore, for its neckline was a trifle lower than she liked. It would be perfect for tonight, however.

She pulled it out and sat down to carefully remove the stitches that held in place the lace ruffle that decorated the neckline, making it even lower. Then she took in the seams a little on both sides, rendering it quite a bit tighter. When she tried it on after her alterations, her eyes widened at the way the tops of her breasts swelled above the neckline, and for a moment she considered not wearing it, but then she squared her shoulders, reminding herself not to be an idiot. This was precisely the effect she was looking for.

Next in order were a bath and shampoo and the long, tedious process of brushing her long, thick hair dry in front of the fire. That was followed by a beauty treatment for her face that left it soft and glowing. Finally she did her hair up in a simple arrangement. She did not want to have her maid do it, for then she would have expected to help her into her dress, as well, and Rachel had no intention of anyone in this house seeing that dress.

When she had struggled into her dress—tight as its bodice was, she had a good deal of difficulty in fastening the buttons in the back—she inspected herself in her mirror. What she saw shocked her a little. She looked as lovely as she had ever seen herself—the prospect of battle had put a light in her eyes and a glow in her cheeks that were quite attractive—and the dress had actually turned out to exceed her expectations. It was so tight across the bosom that she could see the small buttons of her nipples, and the neckline was cut almost down to that level, as well, with the creamy white tops of her breasts looking as if they might spill out at any moment.

It was what she had wanted, of course, but she felt a certain trepidation at facing Michael like this. For a moment she wondered whether she would be able to carry it off. But then she thought once more of how he had callously tricked her and a saving anger swept through her. She would have her revenge. She would not allow herself to act the coward.

Wrapping her black velvet mantle about her, she left the house.

Michael found it difficult to keep his mind on his work. It was all beginning to seem pointless, anyway. He was working his way back through his various contacts, asking for information that no one seemed to be able—or willing—to supply, no matter how he tried to bribe, threaten or reason with them. It did not help that his mind kept returning to his encounter with Rachel that morning.

He had been hoping that he would spend the evening with her, that they might go to a play or party together, that he might manage to work his way around to talking to her with less constraint. His heart had leaped in hope when she entered his room. But then he had acted like an embarrassed schoolboy, and their conversation had taken its usual stilted course. Thank heaven he had at least been turned away from her so that she had not seen his bare left arm. The scars would have been a dead giveaway that he was James Hobson.

It had been obvious that she had not wanted him to accompany her to Sylvia’s party. She had even seemed a trifle nervous about it, as if she were afraid he might insist on going. He told himself that he was just being suspicious, but when he dropped by his sister’s house to see if any of his informers had come by, he discovered that he had good reason to be suspicious.

There was a note from Rachel waiting for him, addressed to James Hobson. He opened it and read it, his heart sinking as he did so. She was asking James to meet her tonight at The Red Boar. That, of course, was why she had refused his offer to accompany her to Sylvia’s party. He did not think she wanted to discuss Birkshaw’s case. She was planning to be unfaithful to him tonight.

He did not miss the irony that if he went to her, he would be cuckolding himself. He also knew that even though the knowledge cut him to the core, he would be at The Red Boar as she requested. Hurt and disappointment tangled with desire inside him.

He thought of kissing Rachel, touching her, losing himself within her, and he knew that he could not stay away, no matter how much it hurt to know that she was—in her mind, anyway—breaking her marriage vows. He could not miss this opportunity to taste her love—even if she intended it for another man.

15

Rachel sat on the edge of the small couch, waiting. Her stomach was a mass of nerves, and it was so difficult to breathe in the tight dress that she felt a trifle faint. A dozen times since she had arrived at the inn, she had thought of throwing her mantle around her and running, but she had forced herself to stay. She was determined to do this.

The room was lit with a dozen candles, giving the room a warm, golden glow. The landlord had brought a feast of food, as well, though she did not intend to let the evening get that far. He had also brought a bottle of wine, and she had drunk a glass of it for courage, with the result that she was slightly unsteady.

It was almost the time she had designated for their rendezvous. What if he did not appear? Rachel had not really considered that possibility, and it was a curiously lowering thought.

Then there was the sound of feet in the hallway outside, and Rachel rose to her feet, facing the door. The door opened, and Michael came in, dressed as James Hobson. His hair was brown again, and she felt a little flicker of doubt. But then she saw that it was the same length as Michael’s new haircut, though he had tried to comb it differently.

He stopped dead still, his face stunned. His eyes ran down her body, then back up to her face. Rachel, watching him, smiled. The dress had brought out exactly the reaction she had hoped for. She strolled across the room toward him, her hips swaying lazily.

“Hello, James,” she said, her voice low and provocative.

He cleared his throat. “Rachel.”

“I was beginning to think you were not going to come,” she said, coming to stand only inches away from him and gazing up into his face.

“How do you think I could stay away?” he asked. His eyes were dark with hunger, the heavy gray of storm clouds.

Rachel smiled teasingly and walked her fingers up his chest. “I was hoping you could not.”

“Although, I must admit, I was a little surprised. I thought you had decided to remain faithful to your husband.” His accent slipped a little on the last few words, and the slip strengthened Rachel’s resolve.

“Like you,” she said, “I found that I could not stay away. Lord Westhampton may be my husband, but you are the man I want. It is you who takes my breath away, who makes me feel as if—”

Her last words were cut off as he clamped his hands around her arms and jerked her to him, his mouth swooping down to claim hers. His kiss shook her, turning her loins to molten wax and making her legs tremble so that she was not sure she could have stood without his support. Rachel pressed up into his hard body, giving in to the pleasure for a moment, letting herself feel what she never would again.

His hands roamed her body, caressing her through her clothes, and she clenched her fingers in his hair, moaning softly at the sensations his fingers aroused in her. In that instant, she was lost in her passion, her body alive and tingling with desire. She wanted to let go, to give in to the yearning in her loins, to experience the pleasure she had never known.