to me that my desire for you is feigned . . . for any reason. It is no more feigned than yours is for me.”
They stared at each other a long moment, both caught up in the snare of their waning carnal urges. Then, to her horror, she heard the voice of her brother.
“Beatrice! Damn it, where are you?”
Chapter Seventeen
Grey hadn’t intended to make matters more difficult for Beatrice. Yet obviously he had, judging from how hastily she dropped her foot from the bench, then rushed to smooth her skirts and hunt for her bonnet and scarf.
“Beatrice—” he began while hastily shoving the handkerchief in his pocket and buttoning up his greatcoat.
“Hush now, Grey. I can’t let my brother find us here together. Not like this.”
As if to punctuate her fears, Grey heard Wolfe calling, “Where are you?” from not far beyond their secluded space.
“A pox on him,” Beatrice hissed as she frantically tied on her bonnet and wrapped her scarf about her lovely throat. “He didn’t give us enough time.”
Damn it to hell—this was what came of wanting a woman beyond endurance.
“Stay here,” she murmured as she headed for the entrance.
“Wait,” Grey said in a voice low enough not to be heard by anyone on the path. Having already lost control of his body, he didn’t intend to lose control of his mind, too. He still hadn’t learned what he’d come out here to discover, after all.
When she paused to stare at him, he said, “Tell the truth—Did your brother kill your uncle Armie?”
She sighed. “I honestly don’t know.” Then she hurried out onto the path.
Biting back a curse, Grey heard her meet with her brother and Gwyn, heard the major demand to know where she had gone and where Grey was.
Damn. She was a terrible liar. God only knew what she might blurt out if her brother pressed her too hard. Grey schooled his features into nonchalance and strode out onto the path.
“Miss Wolfe, this is quite an amazing—” Grey pretended to be shocked to see her brother standing there. “Oh, there you are, Major Wolfe. I assume you know about this wonderful enclosure built by your uncle. Your sister was just showing it to me. It’s quite a feat of landscaping.”
Wolfe’s dark eyes narrowed on him. “What the devil are you talking about?”
Grey gestured to the hidden pathway. “The arbor back there. I thought you were aware of it.”
“I damned well was not.” Wolfe glanced at his sister. “What is he babbling about?”
Shooting Grey a grateful glance, Beatrice said, “Uncle Armie had a sweet little enclosure built in the woods. I was showing it to His Grace, since he’d already expressed an interest in the ruins and other landscape features.”
“Oh, I want to see!” Gwyn cried. “Where is it?”
“This way.” Beatrice led them all into the clearing. “It was my uncle’s first experiment in creating secret spots for . . . um . . . contemplation.”
The major gazed about the clearing with obvious suspicion. “How did you know about this place, Beatrice?”
“As I explained to His Grace, I saw all the bills for its creation. So I used to come here to get away from everyone. After Uncle Armie died, that is.”
Gwyn cast Grey a veiled glance. “How kind of you to give my brother a look at it. He so enjoys secluded places.”
Grey glared at his sister.
“I daresay he does,” Wolfe gritted out as he swept the area with an eagle eye.
Beatrice said quickly, “If you enter the arbor there and go to the end, you’ll find a well with whimsical creatures carved into its sides.”
Brightening, Gwyn grabbed Beatrice’s hand. “You must show it to me, my dear!” She tugged Beatrice through the arbor.
As soon as the ladies were out of earshot, Wolfe faced Grey with a hardened stance. “Don’t think I’m blind to what you’re about, sir.”
“Oh?” Grey asked, feigning ignorance. “What is it that I’m ‘about,’ exactly?”
“Enticing my sister into your snare.” Wolfe’s face darkened with rage. “Seducing her with your compliments and suave city manners.”
“I was unaware I even had suave city manners.” Indeed, Grey was perilously close to using his not-so-suave fist to bash the major’s face in.
How dared Wolfe accuse him of anything? None of this situation would even exist if not for the man’s possible criminal acts and Sheridan’s subsequent suspicions.
“This may be a joke to you,” Wolfe snarled, “but I’m warning you, Greycourt: Stay away from my sister!”