sleep. She could not even lie still, let alone close her eyes. There was a tension throbbing through her that had not been there before. Her body felt restless and twitchy, her mind, milling a thousand thoughts.
The after-dinner entertainment was not to my taste. Linwood’s words seemed to have etched themselves upon her brain. It should not have mattered to her in the slightest. Even if he had climbed upon Razeby’s dining-room table and ridden Miss Vert before them all, such an act paled in comparison to what he had done. And yet Venetia found that it did matter, very much. He had not stayed to indulge a base appetite with the other men. He had come after her. And only because of Linwood was she lying here safe now within her own bed. There was a heavy irony in that. And in the fact that she was attracted to him...and he to her. She squeezed her eyes shut, knowing that it made her objective both more difficult and easier at once. The sooner she discovered something useful against him, the sooner all of this would come to an end. But she would have to be careful, careful in a way that neither she nor her brother had ever contemplated. Careful not of Linwood, but of her own response to him.
Chapter Four
Linwood stood alone in his rooms, gazing down into the dying embers of the fire. The open newspaper still lay on the table behind him, the London Messenger, the newspaper that Linwood owned, discarded where he had left it earlier that day. The last rallying flicker of the flames danced upon the crystal glass held within his hand, burnishing the brandy within a rich deep auburn. He swigged a mouthful, relishing the smooth aromatic burn against his tongue and the back of his throat, and for the first night in such a long time he had not given a thought to Rotherham.
Her image was etched upon his mind. It seemed that he could still smell the faint scent of her perfume and taste her upon his lips. And just the memory of that kiss, of her body against his, and all that had flared between them, made him hard. He wanted Venetia Fox. He had wanted her since that first night on the green-room balcony. Linwood had had his share of women, but none compared with her. She was a woman more beautiful than any other. Intriguing. Irresistible. And it seemed that the attraction that he felt for her was reciprocated. There was definitely something of a connection between them. Desire rippled through him. Maybe Razeby was right. Maybe a little distraction would be no bad thing. Maybe then he would be able to sleep at night without first drinking half a bottle of brandy.
He set the glass down on the table, and as he did so his eye went to the article uppermost on the neatly folded page; the same article he had read and reread since yesterday. Lord Dawson of Bow Street announces that the shooting of the Duke of Rotherham was murder. His arousal was gone in an instant. His mind sharpened. The problem was not going to go away. He had the horrible feeling that instead of the ending it should have been, Rotherham’s death had started something, something that, if not contained, would destroy them all. He could not afford distraction, even distraction as enticing as Venetia Fox, not when he had a murder to hide. He lifted the bottle of brandy and topped up his glass.
* * *
Venetia was still out of sorts the next afternoon. Because of what had happened the night before with Linwood. Because he had not yet called upon her, even though, had he called unannounced, she would not have received him. And because of what Alice was now saying as she sat opposite her in their drawing room.
Venetia studied her friend’s face, the pallor of her skin and shadows beneath her eyes that betrayed a night spent not in sleep, and the triumph and the excitement that radiated from her every pore.
There was an uncomfortable silence, in which Alice had the grace to blush.
‘You have accepted Razeby’s offer.’ Venetia could not keep the disappointment from her voice.
‘He’s offered me two thousand a year, and the house in Hart Street. How can I refuse?’ She paused. ‘Please understand.’
‘You are placing yourself at his mercy, Alice. What happens when he tires of you and takes a new mistress?’
She shrugged. ‘If