Debauchery and the Earl, page 6
“Cyril,” she drawled. “What brings you back to me so soon?”
“Soon? It has been more than a day, my love.”
“Has it? I did not notice. But my question stands, since I’m not sure I care to be sought in private without prior invitation.”
He threw himself into the chair opposite. “I encountered your old amour in the park, and he contrived to annoy me.”
She glanced up from admiring her nails. “Did he indeed? Because of me?”
“Because of arrogance and self-importance. I found him in company with the Blackwell sisters.”
“Lady Darling’s little protegees?” she asked, amused. “Eccentric nobodies. They will never take in London, whatever fuss was made of them in foreign towns.”
“That may be so, but Calton looked pretty—er…taken.”
That got her attention. Which was both gratifying and annoying. No man likes his mistress to pay quite so much attention to her previous protector.
“Did he, indeed?” she murmured. A flash of annoyance might have shown in her eyes before amusement swept it away. “My dear Cyril, Calton has no possible interest in some ingenue, passing or otherwise!”
“You call them ingenues,” Gough said irritably, “but these innocents have danced with kings and emperors in foreign capitals, traveled across Europe and, no doubt, had greater problems to solve than whether to wear the same evening gown twice in a month. There is more to sophistication than bed sport.”
A frown flickered on her brow. Something very like venom spat from her eyes before her lashes swept down. “You know, I believe you are right, Cyril? In either case, I am finding you rather less sophisticated than I had hoped. Unless you are prepared to improve your conversation, I believe I can dispense with your company.”
She did not say whether she meant for the morning or for good, but it was enough to remind Gough of his manners.
“I am thinking of ways to punish Calton for his poor choices,” he told her smoothly. “And for his arrogance.”
“And how do you propose to do that?” she asked in clear amusement.
“Did I not hear that the Blackwell sisters are heiresses?”
She shrugged. “Up to a point. They are to inherit the Darling fortune when their aunt dies. Which is not huge but not negligible either. Calton has no need to marry money.”
“Nor do I,” Gough said swiftly, “though I’ll not deny a little extra would be useful before my dear Papa croaks his last.”
“Well, Sophia Darling isn’t showing many signs of—er…croaking.”
“No, but I’m sure a reasonable advance on the occasion of her niece’s marriage might be useful. A prudent husband might make it a condition of the marriage.”
“My dear Cyril, the Blackwell girls might be a trifle gauche and already into their twenties, but they are hardly at their last prayers. I doubt either Blackwell or Lady Darling is that desperate about them. Especially if Calton is giving the impression of sniffing about them.”
“The point is to make them desperate. And put Calton in his place at the same time.”
A smile had begun to hover on her luscious lips. “You mean to ruin the girl and force a marriage to you.”
“Only if you approve,” he said, smiling. He rose and walked toward her. “It needn’t change anything between us.” He bent and drew her slowly to her feet. “In fact, it might provide us both with an extra little…fillip.”
She turned her face up to his. “It might at that,” she said huskily. “You may take me to bed, Cyril, and tell me more.”
“I thought we could plan together.” He swept his hand down her back, pulling the length of her body against him. “I may need your help in getting her alone.”
“Which one?”
“Does it matter?”
“It might to Calton.”
“True, and worth discovering.” He stroked down her throat and inside her robe toward her breasts.
“It will be difficult in London.”
“I heard some talk of a party in the country, at the Wennings’ place.”
“Harcourt. Of course. The Blackwells are bound to go since it will be full of Wenning’s boring diplomatic friends. On the other hand, perhaps it’s time I renewed my old friendship with Grace Wenning and accepted her invitation. I wasn’t going to since she has become so dull. No one would believe she was once so amusing. Perhaps you could escort me.”
“Will that not be your husband’s duty?” he inquired, unfastening the ribbons of her robe.
“Not if I don’t tell him I am going. Besides, he’ll be quite at home with his pigs up in Yorkshire by now. Are you going to take me to bed, Cyril, or am I to be taken on the floor like some doxy?”
“Floor,” he said, sweeping her up and laying her there.
She laughed, winding her naked limbs about him. “Now tell me all…”
He didn’t, of course. Not quite all. Such as that he already knew it was the younger sister they would pursue. Nor that he would have pursued her whether or not she would inherit her aunt’s money. Nor that as he made passionate love to his mistress, it was Josephine Blackwell’s piquant, provoking beauty he imagined beneath him.
Chapter Six
Harcourt, the Earl of Wenning’s chief seat, proved to be a large, gracious house, most of which was built in the previous century around a medieval great hall, now the impressive entrance foyer. It was surrounded by formal gardens, a maze, and what looked like a wildflower meadow, leading to woodland.
Since they had arrived rather late the previous evening, neither Aunt Darling nor Helena rose early, leaving Josephine to join her father in the breakfast parlor where, as well as her hosts, she encountered several other old friends, including Sir Joseph and Lady Sayle. The ladies invited her to join them in the garden where they were entertaining their children, while Wenning took her father and Sir Joe off to his library.
After half an hour or so of baby worship, Josephine wandered off to explore the grounds. It was a bright, clear day and so warm in the direct sunshine that she lay down among the wildflowers—there were still poppies among the harebells and hawkbit blooms and the general prettiness pleased her.
Here, amongst the quiet beauty, she thought back over last night’s last conversation with Helena in their shared bedchamber.
“If I went away,” Helena had said suddenly, just as Josephine was about to fall asleep, “would you come with me?”
“Away where?” Josephine had demanded.
“Abroad. Somewhere I could have the baby secretly and have it adopted.”
Josephine had propped herself up on one elbow, peering at her sister in the darkness, wishing one candle at least was still lit. “Would you be happy having the child adopted?”
“It is the best of the bad choices I have.”
“Perhaps,” Josephine had allowed. “And yes, of course, I would come. Does this mean you have decided to tell Papa?”
“Of course not! I could not bear…” Helena had gathered a shaky breath. “Lord Calton has said he would help me. He has trusted people abroad who would handle everything discreetly. Then you will be safe from scandal, and Papa will not be shamed.”
“And you will have lost your child.”
“Don’t, Josephine,” Helena had said harshly. “This is hard enough, and I don’t think I could do it alone. But if you were with me…”
“Of course, I would be with you. Whatever you do, I will be with you. I just feel bad lying to Papa and to Darling Aunt.”
“With luck, the lying will be minimal. We will just need to accept an invitation, and once we arrive find an excuse to send home the servants and chaperones they send with us. And stay a while longer, perhaps, than was initially arranged.”
“It might work,” Josephine had allowed.
Going over it in her head, she still thought it might work. And it probably was Helena’s best chance. Only a nagging feeling at the back of her mind worried at her. That it was wrong. That Helena, who must have loved the father of her child, however briefly, would regret the loss of her child.
And that they would be putting a lot of trust in Lord Calton.
Even at the thought of him, butterflies rose in her stomach. She had ridden out unsuitable physical attractions before. The Italian tenor. The embassy footman. Prince Metternich. There had never been any accounting for such crushes. In most cases, she had rarely said more than a word to any of them, and she knew from experience that such feelings faded from lack of nourishment. But they had never taken over her every thought as Calton did.
He was different. She liked him. She liked his humor, his smile, and his understated kindness. She liked him for the attention he gave to Helena, even while she wished it were focused on herself. She liked the way he looked, the way he felt, and smelled. God help her, she had loved his weight upon her, between her legs when he had kissed her.
She closed her eyes, reliving the memory so vividly that she could almost smell that distinctive male scent, clean and yet earthy. Her whole body heated and tingled. She even imagined his presence close by, perhaps admiring her, she thought wistfully.
Disconcerted by her own imaginings, she opened her eyes. And saw him gazing down at her, his fair hair falling over his handsome face, his eyes lazily amused.
She sat up, gasping. He was still there, not a dream.
“What the devil are you doing here?” she demanded.
“Admiring your choice of couch,” he said and folded himself down beside her among the flowers. “I nearly trod on you.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “You are staying here at Harcourt?”
“You needn’t sound so astonished. Wenning and I are old friends.”
“You were not at breakfast,” she accused.
“I slept in,” he said blandly. “Due to an excess of debauchery the night before.”
She smiled. “Liar.”
His eyebrows lifted. “You think me incapable of abusing my hosts’ hospitality?”
“No. But you wouldn’t tell me about it. So, I know you’re making it up to shock me.”
“Why would I do that?”
“I have no idea, but I suspect you do it a lot.”
“I was only trying to compete with whatever intense thoughts held you in such thrall.”
She flushed. “Merely happy memories of times long past.” Hastily, she changed the subject. “Helena told me of your offer to help us go abroad. You are being very kind.”
His gaze broke from hers, regarding the flowers toward the woods. “Not kind. More of a there but for the grace of God moment. I hope someone would look out for anyone I did not or could not help.”
“I suppose you must have been very debauched,” she said thoughtfully, and immediately wished the earth would swallow her up.
He gave a crack of laughter. “I thought I just pretended.”
“You pretend to be worse than you are. I’m sure you are still pretty bad.”
His eyes returned to hers, reflecting the sun and the flowers. “Do you mind?”
“It is none of my business,” she muttered.
“Perhaps you think it is if Helena accepts my offer of help.”
“I seem to trust you. So does she, more to the point.”
He regarded her, pulling idly at a harebell until the stem broke into his hand. “And yet you don’t like the plan.”
“I don’t. But I can’t think of a better one if she won’t confront the father. I don’t even know if he is a scoundrel, just that she must have loved him.”
“I don’t believe he is a scoundrel.”
She gazed at him with a hint of dread. “You know who he is. Or think you do. Did she tell you?”
“Lord, no. I have my suspicions, and I would say he loves her. What I’m not sure of, is whether or not she loves him. So, I am asking you.”
“Who?” she demanded. “Who do you believe it is?”
He sighed. “I swear you to secrecy.”
“Of course,” she said impatiently.”
“Andre de Talley.”
Her jaw dropped. “Talley? That’s ridiculous!”
“Why?”
Her mouth opened, then closed again. “I don’t know.”
“Did you think he loved you?”
“Don’t be silly,” she snapped. “I thought he was a friend, not a… Talley? Are you sure?”
“Mostly.”
“Then I must speak to him at once.” She made to rise, but his long fingers closed around her wrist, jerking her back down so that she fell against him. For an instant, he held her back against his broad chest, his arm across the front of her body, and she was flooded with pleasure and excitement.
And then he released her, and she pulled away as though indignant. Which, in one sense, she was.
“You must not tell him anything,” Calton said. “If you do, you will spoil everything.”
“I fail to see how everything could be more spoiled than it is now.”
“Consider. Why has she not told him herself? He is not married. He clearly cares for her family, and most especially for her. And yet she keeps her secret. Why would she do that?”
Josephine could see no reason at all, except pregnancy-induced insanity. “You appear to have the answers.”
“What if she does not believe he wants to marry her? She has pride. She does not wish to be married only because of what she probably regards as a mistake. Or is afraid he regards as a mistake.”
Josephine wanted to deny such idiocy, but after a moment, she nodded slowly. “She might think so. It might have happened when we were in Brighton, only he did not stay for long. And then we did not see him in London until Darling Aunt’s ball.”
“So, if you tell him now, what will he do?”
“Confront her. Ask her to marry him. Insist she marries him.”
“Which is exactly what she does not want. She will refuse him.”
Josephine scrubbed at her forehead, as though it could somehow send some sense from her brain to her sister’s. “Of all the proud, stupid, pointless…”
“In her place,” Calton interrupted, “what would you do?”
“I would never have got that close to Talley in the first place,” she muttered.
“Not to Talley, perhaps.”
But she had almost been that close to Calton. In his room at Renwick’s Hotel. Sense had already fled her mind in favor of her body’s blind lust. Another few minutes of such kisses and caresses, and would she not have been utterly seduced, bedded, and in as much trouble as Helena? She liked to think she would have found strength and sanity in time, but…
Ignoring his last words, she said abruptly, “Then what would you have us do?”
He twirled the harebell stem between his fingers. “Find out if she still loves him. If she does, then we can combine to throw them together, encourage him to offer for her before he knows about the baby.”
She thought about that. “It might work. And if she has taken Talley in dislike?”
“Then we can revert to the plan for her to go abroad.”
She frowned. “I will need to make an excuse for us to go back to London.”
“There is no need. Talley is coming here tomorrow.”
She blinked. “He is?”
He smiled faintly and reached across to thread the harebell into the hair above her ear. “The French Ambassador is a friend of mine.”
“Of course, he is,” she managed, afraid to breathe as his fingers moved gently against her scalp.
He leaned back and rose to his feet, then held down his hand to her. “Shall we go back to the house before Grace sends out a search party?”
She could not avoid taking his hand. She didn’t even want to, though she hid her pleasure in his touch, in his strength, immediately slipping free as soon as she was on her feet.
“Grace will not notice,” she assured him. “She is too busy child-worshipping.” Another thought struck her. “Oh dear, I hope all this doting on the little ones does not distress Helena. Perhaps I should warn her. I don’t think either of us realized how many children there would be.”
He offered her his arm. “She is lucky to have you to look after her.”
She took his arm—it would have been rude not to—but cast him a sardonic smile. “That isn’t what you said when we first met.”
“Isn’t it?” he asked. “It should have been.”
Something else struck her. “Wait though. Is our plan fair to Talley? Should he not know everything before he offers?”
“No,” Calton replied. “It is his responsibility, and it should make no difference to his feelings.”
“Then why did he not offer for her at once? In Brighton?”
Calton shrugged. “I gather he is expecting promotion from this posting in London. Perhaps he needs it to support a wife. We can ask him. Once everything is settled.”
*
Calton regarded his visit to Harcourt as his farewell to England for at least a year. Once he had sorted out the Blackwell-Talley problem, he could proceed to Europe with a clear conscience, waved off by his friends.
But life had a way of growing unnecessarily complicated.
He had just sat down to luncheon, noticing that Josephine Blackwell had removed the flower from her hair and being disproportionately sorry for it, when a carriage had pulled up on the terrace outside the dining room window. And from it stepped Cyril Gough, a man both nosy and unsavory, according to Calton’s discreet inquiries. And Gough turned to hand down a lady he had no desire to meet again—Selina Reddington.
Calton was a man of the world. It was hardly the first time he had met a former mistress in a social gathering. But Selina’s attitude made him uneasy. He even doubted her presence would rein in the worst impulses of her escort, who was generally not the first choice of a hostess.
Calton’s own reputation was hardly the purest, but he never molested anyone.
Beside him, Grace Wenning rose at once to welcome the new guests, causing Calton to stand as well.
“Gough?” he murmured.
“Well, I invited the husband,” Grace replied, “and appear to have the understudy.” She bustled off, and Calton sat down again.
