Free The Edge of Desire by Stephanie Laurens Page B

her parlor, they’d plunged into the past—and it—every moment, every touch, every gasp—had been exactly as it had been before.
    If anything, even more intense than before.
    Even to that moment afterward when she’d gently tumbled his hair.
    Everything had been the same—yet given what had happened between then and now, how could that be?
    Mentally shaking his head, he got to his feet and righted his clothes.
    Then he headed for the door, dousing the candles as he went. The front hall was in darkness. He opened the front door, set the latch to lock behind him, and stepped out into the balmy night.
    Walking home through the darkness helped clear his head.
    By the time he reached his front door, he’d clarified at least two points.
    While he didn’t understand what had happened, he intended to find out.
    And although he’d intended the price for his services to be nothing more than, at the most, a fleeting liaison, he’d changed his mind.
    Now, he wanted a great deal more.

Chapter 4
    E xactly what he now wanted of Letitia Randall née Vaux was a point Christian hadn’t yet decided. The following morning, he put that matter—defining his prize—aside, and concentrated instead on winning it.
    He and Tristan met at the club. Over breakfast, they reviewed all they’d been able to glean over the past days concerning Justin Vaux.
    “He’s twenty-six—no longer a wet-behind-the-ears whelp.” Pushing his empty plate away, Tristan sat back. “From all I could gather, he’s viewed by his friends as a curiously sober sort. ‘A reliable man,’ to quote one.”
    “Aside from his temper, presumably,” Christian dryly replied.
    Tristan inclined his head. “Oddly, however, while everyone acknowledged it—his temper’s existence—it didn’t seem to feature in, to influence or color in any real way, their experience of him.”
    Christian snorted. “The Vaux are largely frauds.” When Tristan looked his query, he elaborated, “They do have tempers—histrionic and dramatic ones. Ones that rely on the tongue for expression.” He considered, then said, “One should perhaps remember that while the Vaux have never been warriors, they’ve always been valued by the most powerful in the land—for their tongues. They’ve been diplomats, envoys, all manner of messengers and ambassadors. Most ofthe males in the senior line have served in that capacity at one time or another.”
    “Not the sort of delicate missions normally entrusted to those who can’t control their tempers.”
    “Precisely. They can control themselves when they wish, at least to a manageable degree. However, the truth is they love—to the point of addiction—the drama and sheer energy they can let loose, and so if there is no pressure to rein their tempers in, they don’t. Won’t. Instead, they indulge themselves, to the general terror of all those around to hear.” His lips curved. “Mind you, I have it on excellent authority that the current generation are but a pale imitation of the ancestor who gained the family their nickname.”
    Tristan snorted. “Probably just as well, although that hasn’t in this case stopped the ton from attributing a murderous impulse to the infamous Vaux temper.” He met Christian’s eyes. “Which brings me to our next point. Quite aside from any temper-induced fury, nonwarrior that he is, could Justin Vaux have killed his brother-in-law, especially in such a brutal manner?”
    Christian held Tristan’s gaze for some moments before saying, “I can imagine him killing with a pistol—a single shot. Or with a sword thrust. What I find difficult to imagine is him committing the unnecessary violence. By all accounts there was very little left of Randall’s face.”
    Tristan grimaced.
    “And,” Christian went on, “while admittedly I haven’t met Justin since he was fourteen, even then he was a stickler in some respects, quite rigid in his adherence to our codes. Again, a Vaux trait. I can imagine him