It had been many minutes since Verena had thought that Brandon St. John quite possibly the handsomest man she’d ever seen. He was tall, powerfully built, with blue eyes that contrasted devastatingly with his black hair.

Fortunately for her, that first positive impression had been far overshadowed by her realization that he was also, in addition to being incredibly handsome, a pompous jackass badly in need of a set down.

And she was just the woman to deliver it. She smiled as she watched him dust bits of paper from his shoulder. Several stubborn pieces remained lodged in his hair, giving him a much deserved horned appearance. Verena decided she couldn’t be bothered to point that out. Let him go about in public with tattered bits of paper in his hair. It was just a pity she wouldn’t be there when people pointed and laughed.

“What are you looking at?” he snapped, his brow lowered.

“Oh, nothing. Mr. St. John, thank you for visiting. I’ll ring for Herberts to bring your coat. I daresay he’s wearing it even now.” She watched with satisfaction as Brandon St. John’s expression went from irritation to blazing anger.

She turned toward the bell pull when St. John, still in his chair, caught her by the wrist. She glanced down at him, too amused to be vexed. “Yes?”

St. John’s mouth thinned, his eyes burning even more brightly. “I am well aware of the usual machinations of your type of woman.”

“Type? Just what is my type of woman?”

His gaze raked her up and down, insolently lingering on her breasts. It was almost as if he could see through her clothing. A faint tingle of heat sliced to her stomach, surprising her.

Finally, his gaze traveled back to her face. “Shall I speak plainly?”

“I’m not sure I can take much more plain speaking. Not without retaliating in some fashion. If you proceed much further, you might want to gather a pillow from the settee for protection.”

His lips twitched, surprise softening his blue gaze for a moment. “I don’t wish to insult you, but we both know what has occurred.”

Her tongue curled around a hot rejoinder and it took every bit of the masterful control she’d learned over the last four years to keep from uttering the comment aloud. “Yes, you offered me money to stay away from your brother. I have never been more insulted.”

His hold loosened the tiniest fraction and she became aware of the warmth of his hand against her skin, of the way his long fingers completely encircled her wrist.

“What will it take to get you to leave my brother be? Two thousand pounds?”

Verena wished he’d release her so she’d at least have the satisfaction of slapping him soundly.

His gaze narrowed. “Three thousand pounds.”

Three. Thousand. Pounds. She didn’t know what amount James would need, but three thousand pounds would certainly be useful. Verena wet her lips. It would be nice to have the money for her brother. Wonderful, in fact. Especially since she wouldn’t have to actually do anything to earn it.

The truth was that she’d sent Chase St. John on his way two entire days ago. What would Brandon St. John do if she told him the truth—that she’d already refused his brother’s offer of marriage?

She’d hated refusing Chase, for she could see that although he was sadly tipsy at the time, he’d meant every word. In reality, he’d taken it in good part and she thought that perhaps his feelings were not as deeply engaged as he thought.

Verena looked at Brandon from beneath her lashes and hid a smile. Apparently Chase had not confided in his brothers about what had occurred. They obviously thought he was still under her influence.

She smiled sweetly at her captor. “Please release my hand. You have a very heavy grasp.”

His grip loosened a bit more, though not enough for her to win her freedom.

Her smile slipped. “You are being rude.”

“I don’t want you to toss anything else over my head. The next item might hurt.”

If Verena had any say in the matter, it would hurt a lot. “You’re bruising my wrist.”

She was finally released, though she could tell he did not believe her for a moment. She tried to match St. John’s mocking smile with one of her own, though the way her cheeks pulled, she feared it was more a baring of the teeth than a smile. “Tell me, Mr. St. John; do you believe in witchery? You make it sound as if I held your brother under a spell of some sort.”

“You used your physical attractions to gain my brother’s interest. We will not stand for it.”

“We?”

“My brothers and I.”

Good God, the entire family thought she was some sort of marry-by-morning type of woman, desperately searching for a wealthy husband. It would be a remarkably irritating idea if it were not so humorous.

And poor Chase! She’d had no idea the extent of his suffering, but now she wondered if perhaps his brothers weren’t suffocating him. Had she any sense, she would tell Brandon St. John the truth and send him on his way, her foot firmly planted on his muscular rump.

Unfortunately, he had engaged her sense of the ridiculous with his pompous attitude. It was so much more amusing to taunt the man than just to blurt the colorless truth. She returned to her chair and folded her hands in her lap in a demure fashion. “Mr. St. John, I must confess to something.”

He didn’t look in the least impressed. In fact, he appeared to be a little annoyed. “What’s that?”

“I am very fond of your brother.” She looked at Brandon through her lashes. “Very, very fond.”

His jaw tightened, his glance ice blue and as cold as the Thames in the dead of winter. “I do not take it lightly when someone tries to take advantage of a member of my family.”

“Advantage? How do you know he hasn’t been trying to take advantage of me?”

“Chase is not the type of man to take advantage of anyone. Besides,” Brandon’s gaze flickered over her with dismissive intent, “how could anyone take advantage of a woman like you?”

Verena’s humor fizzled into a flash of fire. She never lost her temper, never uttered a less-than-ladylike word, and never, ever spat. But at this moment, she found that she had to fight the urge to do all three.

What Brandon St. John really needed was a good firm slap across the face followed by a sound foot stomping. And perhaps, for good measure, she might throw in a quick punch to the ribs, too.

Just one, of course. She wasn’t a mean woman. Not yet, anyway.

Still, his arrogance cried out for retaliation of some sort. And in teaching Brandon St. John a lesson, Verena would be doing a favor to all of womanhood.

Heavens! If she considered it much longer, she’d feel positively noble. Perhaps she should take his money. Oh, not to spend—she had her own means of raising funds—but just to prove to him that she was not to be toyed with. She’d take his bank draft, yank it right from his fingers, and then wait for him to find out from Chase that he’d been duped. It was a delightful notion. And when the high and lordly Brand St. John came crawling back to retrieve his funds, she’d have him right where she wanted him. Her humor returned and she grinned.

Brandon did not seem to enjoy her display of humor. His scowl grew in matched proportion. “Lady Westforth, you will tell my brother you are not interested in him. That you wish him to leave you be. And in return, I shall pay you a goodly amount. It’s a simple arrangement, one made every day.”

“Oh, I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m insulted.”

His brows rose. “And?”

She leaned forward and said in a gentle tone, “When I feel insulted, it makes me somewhat cantankerous. And thus it is impossible for me to agree to anything. You do want me to agree to take your offer, don’t you?”

He managed a brief nod, though it was apparent his temper was wearing thin.

She smiled beatifically. “Excellent! It might benefit us both if you would explain your meaning when you said ‘a woman like you.’ Perhaps I’m being a bit severe in my interpretation.”

He leaned back in his chair, watching her through half-closed eyes. “A glutton for punishment, aren’t you?”

“I want to know where I stand.”

“Very well. You asked. How old are you?”

“How old—I don’t see that that is any of your business.”

“Then let me guess.” He pursed his lips. “I’ll say…thirty-t—”

“Twenty-six,” she snapped. Really, there was no reason for the man to be so…personal.

He grinned—a real grin this time, one that crinkled his eyes and drew a faint dimple at one side of his mouth in the most attractive way. In the space of a second, he went from stern and un-yielding to something far more palatable.

Despite her irritation, Verena caught herself wanting to respond to that smile. Her own lips quivered and a quiet laugh bubbled deep inside, though she tried to repress it. “I hope you’re satisfied now, though I don’t know what you expect to prove.”

“Merely that you are older than Chase by almost two years.”

“What’s two years? I daresay there are dozens of successful couples who’ve got more years than that between them.”

“You are also far more experienced than he.”

She gave an inelegant snort, then caught herself. That’s what came of being with her brother for hours on end the past two days—she’d forgotten all of her manners. She pressed her fingers to her lips and coughed politely. “Ah, I mean, that’s not true.”

He raised his brows, his blue eyes truly alight with laughter. “Lady Westforth, you are a woman of contradictions.”

“Is that another of your objections?”

“No,” he said slowly, as if the information surprised him, as well. “It was merely an observation.”

Verena didn’t like the rather intimate way he was now regarding her. “We aren’t through cataloguing your objections to my person.”

“I thought I’d said enough.”

“One would think. But then I’m not your average dainty miss, who wants to hear nothing but soft words and false compliments. I’d rather know up front what problems are ahead so that I may deal with them.”

“You are stubborn.”

“I prefer the term ‘forthright.’”

His lips twitched, but he didn’t smile. “Then I shall continue. In addition to your age, there is also the matter of your reputation.”

“Reputations can be misleading. For example, you are reputed to be a man of fashion and sophistication. A gentleman, so to speak. Yet here you are, as rude and boorish as a country squire.”

Brand almost winced at that. He supposed he was being rude, though he was at a loss as to how he could accomplish his goal without offering insult of some sort. Of course, had this been an un-educated orange seller from Vauxhall Gardens, she wouldn’t have realized she was being insulted.

Marcus had been right; Lady Westforth was different from Chase’s usual inamoratas. She was far more intelligent and she possessed a devastating sense of humor. Brandon noted the exotic tilt of Lady Westforth’s eyebrows and the way they lifted when she smiled. She was a lovely woman. What was really strange, though, was that the longer he remained with her, the more he became aware of that fact.

“Come, Lady Westforth. Enough of this. What will it take for you to leave my brother alone?”

She smiled, shaking her head. “I can’t help but think you are overstepping your brotherly boundaries. What will Chase say about all this?”

“He’ll be furious. He always is.”

“Always? You’ve done this before?”

“The St. Johns take care of their own. I’ve already told you that.”

“Yes, but—” She stopped, then waved a hand. “I daresay he will let you know his feelings on the subject when he returns.”

Her cheeks were faintly flushed, her eyes sparkling as if she were trying not to burst out laughing. Brand found himself wondering what she looked like in the throes of passion. If her eyes shone the same way, if her skin would flush when she became aroused. He’d bet his last pence that her hair was a sensual experience by itself, as long and thick as it appeared.

She was well rounded, her breasts large enough to fill his hands, her hips nicely curved. He pictured her lying naked in bed, her hair unbound and falling over her bare shoulders.

The image heated him quickly and he had to rein in his untoward imagination. Intelligence, beauty, and wit. It was a heady combination. Bloody hell, poor Chase never had a chance. Not with a woman like this. Had someone told Brandon twenty minutes ago that the notorious Lady Westforth would be tossing insults at his head and that instead of being furious, he actually felt like laughing, he’d think they were crazed. But he found that he rather liked the fact that the cat had claws.

Of course, there was no surprise in that; except for Chase, the St. Johns were never drawn to milquetoast females. They needed fire to match their fire. And unless he was greatly mistaken, Lady Westforth had more than her fair share of sparks.

He leaned forward, suddenly anxious to get this over with. “I will raise my offer to five thousand pounds. And that is all I can offer.”

All traces of humor fled from her face. “Surely you jest.”

“I will send a draft within the hour.”

Her gaze dropped to the pieces of bank draft that littered the floor. He could tell from the stiffness of her shoulders that she was at war with her decision. He supposed he understood—it must be galling to have your hand called in such a brutal fashion. But she obviously needed the money. Her expression hardened his heart once again. She was indeed the type of woman to be avoided at all costs. “Take the draft,” he said softly.

At first, he thought she’d refuse. Instead, she reached over and touched his hair. Brandon could feel the heat from the palm of her hand brushing his ear. He closed his eyes, fighting a flash of lust.

She leaned back, withdrawing her hand. Between her fingers was a piece of the original draft. She offered a smooth smile. “Five thousand pounds is a fortune. You must fear my influence a great deal.”

“You must leave town long enough for Chase to forget you. I don’t know what he’s said, but he’s not prone to serious emotions. I daresay he’ll mourn for a few weeks and then be back to normal in a trice.” Brandon looked her over slowly and wondered if that was entirely true. He’d known her for only fifteen minutes and already he was regretting that he wouldn’t have the chance to know her more.

Damn, but Chase had all the luck.

“I shouldn’t take the money…” She pursed her lips, her gaze measuring his.

A strange sense of hope flickered through him. He thought of the women he knew—from Celeste to the score of others he’d dallied with. Not one of them would have turned from the opportunity to gain five thousand pounds. In their own way, women were more avaricious than men. But this woman—for some reason, he wanted her to be different.

“I shouldn’t take the money,” she said once more. “But I will.”

Brandon blinked, wondering if he’d heard aright. “I beg your pardon?”

She lifted her chin, her eyes lit as if in triumph. “I’ll take the five thousand pounds. Since you are so determined that I take it, I will. Send the draft to me within the hour and I will tell Chase I think it best if we never see one another again.”

He’d been wrong. She was like all the others. Disappointment weighed his chest. “We are decided then,” he said grimly. And then he stood. Not because he wanted to go, but because there was no other reason to stay.

She smiled, a mysterious, faint curve of her lush lips that reignited his desire. “Mr. St. John, you may trust me in this—your brother is safe from my influence.”

That was what he wanted to hear. But somehow, he felt…cheated. He’d really begun to believe that she would refuse the money and prove herself above such tawdry proceedings. That had been his error. “I’ll send the draft this afternoon. But be forewarned, if I find you contacting Chase or allowing him entrance into your house, I will demand the return of the funds. And I shall be relentless.”

“I cannot imagine you being anything else.” She stood and held out her hand as if to offer him a friendly shake.

It was infuriating that this woman would take such dreadful advantage of his family and then stand there with a smile as if she’d done nothing wrong. Brand took her hand, but he did not shake it. Instead he held it tightly in his, noting again how small her fingers seemed and how delicate her wrist.

The desire to shake her composure was overwhelming, though not as overwhelming as the desire to prove to himself that the attraction he felt for her was physical and nothing more.

Brand tightened his grip, his fingers firm. Her eyes widened, but she made no move to free herself. A faint color stole into her cheeks and he wondered if she felt the same draw he did.

The thought tantalized. He tugged her closer. She took a half step, bringing herself within reach. That was all it took. Brand hauled her hard against him, her breasts pressed against his chest.

She gasped. “I—”

He kissed her, devoured her, took possession of her mouth as if he’d never before tasted a woman. All the heat of his anger, all the frustration of seeing the woman who would destroy his brother’s peace, all the built-up passion that had simmered through him from the moment she’d first smiled, burned through him and sank through the kiss, scorching and searing.

She did nothing to discourage him. Indeed, she melted against him, her mouth opening beneath his, her hands clutching at his coat. He forgot his purpose, forgot who she was, forgot his responsibilities, and just kissed her. Kissed the woman who so brazenly defied him. She moaned softly and the throaty sound brought Brandon to his senses.

He broke the kiss, though he did not release her. Bloody hell, what was he doing? She stayed where she was, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she clung to him, one hand tight about his lapel, the other clutching something else. He looked down and realized that she’d unwittingly grasped the talisman ring.

The thought chilled his emotions. He pulled her hands from his chest, his body so rigid with desire that it was all he could do not to stagger. After a deep breath, he found his voice. “It was just a kiss, Lady Westforth. In your case, I’m certain it was but one of thousands.”

Her face flushed and she fell back a step, her chest heaving in outrage. “You—”

“Come. We both know you are not naive. You welcomed the kiss, as did I. But now…” He shrugged.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her eyes flashing. “I thought you detested my ‘type’ of woman.”

“I do. Consider the kiss a bonus of sorts. A reward for your cooperation. Now, if you will excuse me, I must go. Good day, Lady Westforth. I’ll see myself to the door.” He bowed and left.

Moments later, Brand climbed into the seat of his phaeton and urged the horses to a brisk trot. He felt disoriented, as if he’d been traveling too far, too fast and he wondered what had possessed him to kiss the woman.

All he knew for certain was that five thousand pounds was a bargain.

 

Twenty minutes later, Verena held a crisply drawn bank draft in her fingers. She eyed the scrawled signature thoughtfully. Brandon St. John. Before today, she’d known precious little of him except that he was reputed to be cutting a swath through the female population of the ton—the married female population. He was said to be a master of seduction.

Verena now knew how he’d gotten such a reputation—he was a master at making you feel unique, special. Sexuality dripped from his lips, shone in his eyes, emanated from his heated skin. One moment, they were talking and the next…She closed her eyes, reliving the feeling of his mouth on hers. It hadn’t been a real kiss. It had been a branding.

She took a deep breath and released it, rubbing at the palm of her hand. She glanced down to where the famed talisman ring had made an imprint in her skin. The mark was gone now, but the place was still warm, tingly even. Verena curled her fingers over the spot.

James walked into the room, his brown eyes bright with curiosity. “Herberts said you had a visitor this morning.”

She nodded. “Brandon St. John.”

“What did he want?”

“To purchase my cooperation.”

He raised his brows. “For what?”

“His brother, Mr. Chase St. John, has developed an inappropriate interest in me. Mr. St. John did not know it, but I already sent his brother on his way two days ago.”

“Well!” James crossed to the window and lifted a corner of the curtain aside. “Herberts said the man possessed some fine horses and a very nice coat.”

“He’s wealthy beyond comprehension. Which is why he attempted to purchase my cooperation.”

James’s eyes brightened. “How much did he offer you?”

She held up the check. “Five thousand pounds.”

James dropped the curtain, his gaze wide. “Five—good God! It’s a fortune and I—” He caught sight of her face and groaned. “You aren’t going to accept it. Don’t say another word! I couldn’t stand it. Why, oh why couldn’t his brother have become enamored of me, instead of you? I would have gladly taken the money and—”

“I wouldn’t touch that money with a pole. Don’t you see, James? If I accept the draft, I am admitting that I can be bought. And I’m worth far more than five thousand pounds.”

He moaned and dropped his face into his hands.

She had to smile. “You think I’m mad.”

He removed his hands, his smile twisted. “No. Just far too pure to be a Lansdowne.”

“That’s not true. I want to keep the money. Really, I do. It’s just that—” She waved her hands hopelessly, the draft fluttering. “I can’t.”

“Pride,” he said, shaking his head sadly. “That’s a sin, you know. One of the big seven.”

“If you want to know about pride, ask the St. Johns. My teensy amount is negligible in comparison.”

“I find that hard to believe,” he said. She slashed a glance his way and he grinned. “Don’t eat me! I’m just teasing and you know it. If you hadn’t promised to win funds for me at the gaming table, I would be furious now.” He came to her and linked an arm about her neck. He kissed her forehead before dropping into a chair and grinning up at her. “So stop cutting me with those vicious looks of yours and tell me about the great Brandon St. John. Is he as impressive as they say?”

Impressive? Brandon St. John was far too handsome for Verena’s peace of mind. She cleared her throat. “He’s quite tall, has thick black hair and very blue eyes.” He could also kiss in a way that left her beyond breathless.

James’s gaze narrowed. “And?”

“And what?” she asked, her cheeks suddenly hot. “That’s all.”

“Hm.” James regarded her shrewdly. “I see. What are you going to do with that bank draft if you don’t mean to make good on it?”

She tilted her head to one side and considered all the possibilities. “Perhaps I should frame it and put it on display.” She walked across the room and held the draft against the corner of the glass mirror that hung over the mantel. “Right here. That way no one who comes into this room can fail to see it.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“Or perhaps…” She went to the front window. “I could have it hung here, so that the light will illuminate his signature, not to mention that it can be seen from the street below.”

“You are going to cause a scandal.”

She shrugged. “So? I’m not a part of polite society; what would I care?”

“But Brandon St. John is. You think to humiliate him.”

“I think to teach him a lesson. A very badly needed one.”

James laughed reluctantly. “Lud, Ver! I’m beginning to feel sorry for the man.”

“You should. I intend to bring him to his knees.” That was a pretty picture, indeed—Brandon St. John, crawling on his knees, begging her to…to what? To kiss him again? “Hm. Maybe I should hold a dinner party in honor of the great St. John’s munificence. It would be rather humorous if one or two people knew of his visit today. It is an amusing tale.”

He grinned. “You should be careful about teasing St. John. You will draw the ire of the entire family if you aren’t careful.”

“I already have. But this…” She pulled the check through her fingers and smiled, thinking of Brandon St. John’s face when he discovered that he was being ridiculed.

There were always those among the demimonde who were marginally accepted by the ton. If she could invite the right people, the story would spread quickly indeed. “My next dinner party is next Tuesday. I shall invite just ten or twelve people. But ten or twelve very talkative people.”

“Agossip fest.” James sent her a shrewd glance. “Are you certain St. John didn’t do something else to heat your temper? Something more than just offering you this money? You seem vindictive; a woman scorned.”

“I’ve never been scorned in my life.” Scoffed at, perhaps, and thought to be “that kind” of woman. But never scorned.

James raised his brows. “Remember when you were ten and you thought I was the one who’d stolen your new shoes? You snuck into my room and glued all of my shoes to the floor.”

“That was years ago,” Verena said loftily. She’d progressed far beyond that. Now when she wanted revenge, she made sure it poked the person in the right places.

James quirked a brow. “Do you want a more recent example? What about the day before you married Westforth? You accused me of stealing the two rather expensive bottles of wine you were saving for—”

“It wasn’t wine, it was port. And you did steal them. I found the empty bottles in your room.”

“You enacted the most horrible revenge.”

She grinned. “Ants.” That had been one of her better days.

He didn’t smile. “They bite, you know.”

“They do not! Not that kind, anyway. It was all your imagination.” She chuckled. “You should have seen yourself! Running across the churchyard, tearing off your breeches right in front of poor Lady Birlington. She screamed loud enough to wake the dead, though I noticed she didn’t bother to look away.”

James gave a reluctant grin. “She still writes to me, you know.”

“I’m not surprised. I thought she was going to jump into that pond after you.”

“I could have drowned.”

“Only if you sat down. It was so shallow it was more a puddle than anything else.”

James sighed. “Father hoped that Andrew would tame that sense of humor of yours.”

“Well he didn’t. He merely added to it.” She placed the check on the mantel and smiled. “I wonder if St. John will call on me once the story of his infamous visit gets back to him? I do hope so.”

James looked at her quizzically. “Now you sound as if you rather liked him.”

Liked? She didn’t like Brandon St. John at all. Especially not after he had kissed her in such a…thorough manner.

Well, perhaps that one part was enjoyable. But she hadn’t liked the way he’d treated her beforehand. “He’s arrogant and overbearing. However, his concern for his brother is beyond reproach.” There. That sounded fair. She was rather proud of herself.

“Perhaps. I’m not one to imagine all sorts of ill happenings, but it would still behoove you to tread carefully. Of all the St. Johns, Brandon is considered a force indeed. He goes through women the way most men go through cravats.”

“I shall make sure he doesn’t attempt to tie me about his throat.”

“Ver, I’m not joking. He’s far more dangerous than you believe.”

“I’m quite capable of handling him.” Verena tilted her chin to a very impertinent angle. “Besides, Brandon St. John had better hold himself at a respectable distance in this little battle.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

She picked up the bank draft and waved it in the air, smiling sweetly. “Then I will indeed cash this draft and the unfortunate man will find himself five thousand pounds poorer. At which point I win not just the battle, but the entire war.”