Page 37 of His Wicked Charm

“No, and that is exactly why he must go there.” Her aunt’s words gave her inspiration. “With Alex gone, Constantine is the manager of his twin’s affairs. That now includes Sabrina’s matters, as well.” That, too, hovered in the vicinity of the truth.

“But what does that have to do with you and Barrow House?”

“Apparently someone has broken into Carmoor. More than once.” Lilah hated lying to her aunt, but she couldn’t tell her the truth. It was too outlandish. It was typical of Con that the truth would sound more unlikely than a falsehood. Aunt Helena wouldn’t consider looking for a key as an acceptable reason to hasten off to Somerset with Con Moreland.

“Thieves? What is the world coming to? What happened? Did they take anything?”

Her aunt looked so concerned that Lilah was swept with guilt. Lies were coming to her far too easily. “I’m not sure. Lord Moreland didn’t tell me the details. He was reluctant, naturally, to frighten me.” That was the biggest untruth of them all.

“Naturally.”

“But he is worried about it. He must leave immediately to look over things. He can hardly stay at Carmoor—there are no servants, and it’s been closed up for years. The inn in the village would be entirely unsuitable for a duke’s son.”

“Yes, I can see that you would feel obliged to ask him to Barrow House, but you needn’t go with him.”

“But I must. I can’t let him meet Aunt Vesta on his own. Imagine what he’d think.”

“Oh. Yes, you’re right.” Aunt Helena appeared more alarmed by this possibility than she had by thieves. Her aunt sighed. “I suppose you must accompany him, but it’s most worrisome.” She squared her shoulders. “Perhaps I should go with you.”

Lilah almost laughed at her aunt’s martyred expression. “No, that’s very kind of you, but I would not subject you to spending all that time in Aunt Vesta’s company.” To say that the two of them did not get along well was a vast understatement. “We would all be miserable.”

Her aunt’s face brightened. “You must take Cuddington with you.”

“Your maid?” Lilah asked in horror. Cuddington was as sour a person as existed, stiff and critical.

“Yes.” Aunt Helena nodded her head, pleased with her idea. “I will rest much easier, knowing you have Cuddington along.”

“But what will you do without her?” Lilah protested. “I’ll take Poppy with me.”

“I’ll manage,” her aunt said determinedly. “Poppy is a sweet girl, but far too young and easily charmed. Cuddington is the answer.”

Lilah sighed. “Very well. I’ll take her with me.”

It did afford her some amusement to think of Con’s expression when he met Cuddington.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CON LOUNGED AGAINST a pillar, watching the flow of travelers into Paddington Station. He had arrived too early. After buying the tickets, he’d had nothing to do except wait, which he had never been good at. He wished that he’d picked Lilah up from her house rather than meeting her at the station.

But there was no need to worry. He pulled out his pocket watch, then checked it against the large clock hanging in the station. Lilah wasn’t late; the fact that she hadn’t yet arrived didn’t mean she was backing out on him. She had said she would go, and she would keep her word—even if she didn’t really want him in her home.

Her reluctance to invite him had been rather lowering. It wasn’t as if they got along well of course—in fact, she was frequently bloody irritating—but still, he hadn’t thought she disliked him that much. Women usually enjoyed his company. They might rap his knuckles and tell him he was naughty—that seemed to be a favorite word of ladies old and young—but they always smiled when they said it. They flirted with him, danced with him, hung on his arm. Indeed, some of them had even been the ones to lure him into an alcove for a stolen kiss.

But Lilah was not among those women. She was stubbornly immune to his charm. She seized every opportunity to criticize him. Con annoyed her. He angered her. Indeed, the only thing about him that pleased her was his kiss.

Con smiled to himself. That was one thing he was certain about. He suspected that she would deny it, but he had felt her response—the flare of heat in her skin, the way her body melted into him, the way her mouth moved against his.

He straightened, pulling his mind back from where it had wandered. It didn’t matter that Lilah enjoyed their kisses. Physical pleasure would not weigh enough with Lilah to balance her disapproval of him. It shouldn’t have come as a shock that she would recoil at the thought of being trapped for days in the same house with him.

Nor should it have caused that twist of hurt inside his chest.

It wasn’t as if Con wanted to be saddled with Lilah either. She was rigid and judgmental. Argumentative, obstructive, unimaginative...and seemingly lacking any sense of fun. It was entertaining to exchange barbs with her, to see her eyes flash with temper and to startle a smile or a laugh from her, but he was sure her company would become tiresome after a while.

Nor was he usually bothered by other people’s opinions. He and Alex had a number of cousins who thoroughly disliked them—admittedly with some justification—as well as scores of tutors they’d driven off, not to mention the neighboring squire, who had termed them “imps of Satan.”

Their dislike had never bothered him. Not once had he cared that any of the charlatans he’d exposed had spewed venom at him. Never had he felt that odd ache or wished that things were different.

Women had rejected him before. There was that languid Farthingham girl, for instance, who told him he was too tiring, and Genevieve Winters had been prone to pout because he didn’t pay her as much attention as other young men. And others—he knew there were others. But none of them had caused him even a twinge of pain.