Entrancing the Earl

by Patricia Rice

  “When I have the settlement, I can buy them back myself,” she said stiffly, although her heart melted just a teeny tiny little at his offer. She glanced out as the horse pulled them across an enormous bridge, taking them from the fancy establishments on one side of the train tracks to towering ancient tenements and shadowy, narrow streets on the other. “Where is this George Square?”

  “Near the university. Don’t worry, the area isn’t as old as these slums. Have you ever been to Edinburgh?” He took the paper-wrapped packages she was holding and squeezed them on the seat between them, providing a buffer.

  A few packages didn’t erase his presence, but Iona appreciated that he might be having the same difficulty as she. They should never have exchanged kisses. Apparently, they were addictive.

  “When my mother was still alive, we’d come here occasionally. We stayed in a small hotel accessible to the shops and didn’t explore much. She’d do her banking and buy us school gowns and new clothes. Nothing fancy, mind you, because that would look like we were lording it over our neighbors. And we needed boots and beekeeping equipment more than gowns.” She watched the narrow street until it turned onto a broader thoroughfare.

  “It’s an interesting city. Phoebe’s husband is replacing some of the medieval tenements down by Holyrood Palace. I’d like to explore the grounds once he’s removed the debris. Can you imagine the generations of people who have lived here over the centuries?” the earl said unexpectedly.

  She cast him a sideways look. “You are interested in archaeology? Is that why you wished to find a Roman fort in Wystan?” She feared if she knew too much about this man, she’d learned to like him too well, but he fascinated her.

  “It’s a hobby.” He shrugged his indifference.

  “You’re lying,” she decided. “Or being less than honest. Your scent changed.”

  He crossed his arms and stoically faced ahead. “Archaeology requires study. I haven’t the time for it.”

  She bobbed her head. “Now you’re being honest. If you only spend a few days a year in Wystan, what on earth else do you do with your time?”

  “I’m my father’s legs and eyes. He’s getting on in years, and I need to know what he knows so I’m prepared to take the reins when needed. Even though I cannot perform my father’s duties, being an heir is a full time chore just the same as an understudy in the theater. I should be running for office. I’ve put that off for too long and will have to consider it in the next election.”

  She pondered this for all of half a second. “You might make a very good bureaucrat, pushing papers about and shutting the door on annoying people. But politician? I don’t think so.”

  He cast her a narrowed eye look. “I would be perfectly capable.”

  “I didn’t say you wouldn’t be capable.” She gestured impatiently. “But unless your father bought the office, you would never win an election.”

  Surprisingly, he barked in laughter. “Which is why I haven’t attempted it. To lose would be humiliating.”

  “We can’t all successfully sell ourselves to a broad range of people. With your pretty face, you’d do better if they’d let women vote. Until then, push papers.”

  “You think I have a pretty face?” He raised an eyebrow at her.

  “You know perfectly well that ladies swoon over you. You don’t need me to feed your monstrous pride. Is this the house we’ll be staying at?” Resisting his disturbing presence, she glanced out at the impressive Georgian townhouse across from a very nice park.

  He was still chuckling as he climbed down. She scowled at him when he offered his hand and indicated her gentleman’s attire. He immediately scowled back and grabbed the parcels.

  Another hansom cab pulled up directly behind them, and Lowell hurried down to add the stack of parcels to the ones he already carried.

  Verifying that no one seemed to be watching, Iona clambered down. She’d never practiced wearing men’s attire but tried to stomp up the stairs as a portly man might do.

  The earl snickered behind her.

  * * *

  Gerard knew how to dangle his aperitif glass and listen with an air of boredom as his host and hostess prosed on about their latest charity or favorite opera. He knew how to slouch and hold himself aloof when forced to accompany an uninteresting lady into the dinner table. He had polite, stiff conversation polished to perfection and could swivel from one companion to the other without ever really listening.

  He could not take his eyes off Lady Iona Ross in her secondhand gown.

  He didn’t care if the petticoat was last decade’s fullness or the sleeves were the wrong degree of tightness for evening. He supposed the rose-and-white stripe was inappropriate for dinner as well. All he could see were her creamy shoulders and firm breasts rising above the frills and furbelows—and imagine unfastening the cunning loops holding it all together.

  He even engaged his host in a discussion of the artifacts found in the medieval tenement demolition and still couldn’t reduce his awareness of Iona. She talked excitedly with the viscount’s wife about a collection of photographs they studied—not giving him a second glance.

  He should be miffed that she ignored him, but he suspected she was doing the same as he—attempting to pretend that kiss never happened.

  His loins told him otherwise.

  Viscount Dare led Lady Iona into dinner, and Gerard held out his elbow for Azmin, Lady Dare. A laughing minx with huge dark eyes, she always appeared to know things he didn’t. Women were a damned annoyance.

  “We should let Lady Iona wear her male costume when we have some of Zane’s students over to dinner, let her learn to blend in,” Azmin said in amusement. “We cannot expect her to hide all alone with only us for company.”

  “I should like to attend the gambling hell where my stepfather and his cronies lurk,” Iona asserted as they took their seats at the dinner table. “The sooner I can end his tyranny, the sooner I can go home. I can’t be useful sitting here, twiddling my thumbs.”

  Instead of leaning back in his chair, casually dangling a wine glass, Gerard leaned forward and all but broke the glass stem. “You in no way, manner, or form resemble a man,” he argued. “You’d be mocked, knocked down, and thrown out of any gambling establishment. Forget that notion.”

  “Then I’ll wear rouge and kohl and naughty dresses and go as your courtesan,” she countered, daring him with those big, liquid-gold eyes.

  “I’m not planning on attending gambling hells. I’ll be entertaining lawyers. You may go with me, if you wish—not dressed as a man or a courtesan.” He stabbed his butter and tore a hole in his bread.

  “Certainly. I expect to dictate my wishes for my future. But those meetings cannot last all day. Perhaps I could visit a library and see if there are any newer books on beekeeping.” She demurely sipped her soup.

  Gerard wasn’t fooled. “You will not go dressed as a student!”

  “I am not yours to command,” she reminded him. “And if they admit females, then I shall happily go as myself. I doubt Mortimer will be looking in the library for me.”

  Treasure! Use your brain, boy.

  He couldn’t very well respond to a voice in his head, but he’d dearly like to ask how an obnoxious, penniless Malcolm could be a treasure. Gerard had pretty much determined the old soldier didn’t mean real coin, to his disappointment.

  “You could wear your student costume and go with Zane and Gerard to the demolition site,” Azmin said helpfully. “No one will notice one more student wandering about. I’m not sure what the fascination is with old tools and broken pottery, but there might be hidden coins or jewels, I suppose.”

  Gerard couldn’t help himself. He waited to see Iona’s reaction to that insane proposal.

  She nibbled her bread and thought about it. “It sounds quite filthy and not the kind of place I would drag my new petticoat, but it should be interesting to see. In fact, I’d love to explore the whole area. It’s only a mile from the palace to the castle, c
orrect? I can walk that easily. A guide would be lovely, so I understand the history I’m seeing.”

  “You’re interested in history?” Gerard heard himself saying, much to his dismay. He knew better than to express interest in any topic a woman brought up.

  “I enjoyed it in school. I can’t say that I’ve ever been given any other opportunity. So, yes, I’d like to learn more. I simply must be careful not to be noticed by my stepfather or his spies, so the student guise will have to suffice.”

  His cousin Zane chuckled. “I’d say give her over to Phoebe, but she’s up to her ears in animals and students at her new veterinary school.”

  “And I’m working with the newspaper on an article about the lack of resources for women whose husbands mistreat them. The editor is not wholly sympathetic, so I have to monitor every aspect of the story. It should be done in a few days, but I will be busy until then,” Azmin said apologetically.

  “I do not expect anyone to entertain me,” the intrepid countess protested. “I was hoping perhaps a student of history might be interested in accompanying me.”

  “If you wore that gown, they’d be most interested,” Gerard said dryly. “I don’t suppose you can acquire widow’s weeds? A nice thick veil should do the trick.”

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “That’s a rather obvious disguise if I’m seen leaving any Malcolm establishment. Mortimer’s spies might be watching.”

  “I cannot believe the sot has the wherewithal to hire—”

  The front doorbell resounded through the house.

  “We’re not expecting anyone.” Dare lay down his utensils.

  With a sigh, the countess removed her plate and vanished behind the baize servants’ door.

  A young lad dressed in a uniform arrived with a silver platter. “A message from the Earl of Craigmore, my lord.”

  Seventeen

  “Mortimer knows I’m staying here, and that I brought the baron with me!” Lord Ives rested an elbow on the mantel in the front room after dinner. “How can he possibly have followed us?”

  To their hosts, he probably appeared as a model of aristocratic irritation and no more. Iona, however, needed roses to mitigate the scent of his fury so she could pretend he didn’t affect her.

  She tested the keys of an old pianoforte. “He pays street urchins, probably with the American’s money. At home, he’d simply tell everyone he’d not let them hunt on our land if they didn’t report our every move. Poor people are very cooperative if it means food in their stomachs.”

  She regretted bringing this down on her nice hosts and the earl. “I’ll go to the flat I’ve rented in the morning. He’s less likely to find me on my own.”

  “You will do no such thing,” Azmin, Lady Dare, protested. “It could be surrounded by thieves and infested with bedbugs. It’s not as if your stepfather can break into our house and abduct you.”

  Iona held her tongue.

  The all-too-perceptive Lord Ives noticed. He stopped his prowling to glare at her. With their hosts, he was the very model of decorum and bored aristocracy. She seemed to be the only recipient of his scowls. His attention warmed her all over, especially when he hovered by the piano to select music.

  “Abduction is illegal,” he said in a practiced, offhand tone. “He wouldn’t do that, would he?”

  Iona picked out a few notes of the song on the sheet music he opened. It had been a long time since she’d practiced—since school, at least. “When Mortimer emptied her savings, Isobel ran away to a friend’s house in hopes of having him reported to the sheriff. Mortimer sent one of our tenants to stop her and bring her home.”

  The shock had rendered her twin insensible so she could not fight. Iona could fight, but she wasn’t much good at it when Isobel was used as a shield.

  The viscount whistled in surprise. Lord Ives crumpled the music sheet he held.

  “We sent the messenger away with a flea in his ear,” Azmin said, with an implacable tone that said she’d use a knife on the next one. “This is not the rural Highlands. Our guests are private. But if the urchins recognize your baron’s disguise, it’s probably not wise to use it again.”

  “I suppose not,” Iona said regretfully. “It was foolish of me to test it on Mortimer in the first place. I should have just taken Lowell’s pistol and shot the rat when we ran into him like that. I am not good at thinking on my feet.”

  “Never give her a pistol,” the earl said without inflection to no one in particular.

  “The two of you should visit my investment agents tomorrow in your baron guise.” Zane poured himself another whisky, then offered the decanter to the earl. “Hugh is on his honeymoon, but I’ll send a note to his partners about the baron. Once there, Lady Iona can change into different attire and the secretaries can take her elsewhere. That should discourage any urchins following.”

  “I’ll take my plain gown, and look like one of the servants leaving the building. I really want to explore Edinburgh a bit. And then I should take the train to my flat. I hate that Mortimer forces me to spend my life hiding.” Iona crashed her fingers on the keys, creating a discordant clamor in the pleasant withdrawing room.

  “Then quit hiding.” The earl rejected his host’s offer of whisky, sat down beside her, and began playing the song he’d chosen, usurping all the air and space around her with his masculine presence. “You are not even his daughter. You are of age. You are an independent woman. Kidnapping you in Edinburgh is not as easy as it is where he controls the countryside.”

  Iona pondered the lovely dream of walking the streets as herself, stopping to visit shops and friends, without a care in the world. Someday. . .

  “I don’t believe I could actually shed blood,” she said regretfully. “I’d love to carry a pistol and a sgian dhu, but a hatpin is more my style. Or maybe a walking stick. I was brought up in an English boarding school. I never learned how to protect myself against kidnappers. But I don’t share your confidence that anyone would care a fig if they saw me being thrown into a carriage.”

  “You are more comfortable hiding,” Lord Ives said in disgust. “I dare you to walk out with me tomorrow as a lady to attend my meeting with the solicitor. I can and will see that you are safe.”

  She found where he was on the music sheet and attempted to catch up with him but failed. She was too out of practice—in many things, apparently. “I hate ruining my few good clothes. Let me dress in my servants’ garb. Then I can more comfortably accompany you to the demolition site. I’ll attract suspicion but maybe the urchins will hesitate to report me unless they hear me addressed.”

  “Shall I call you Sally?” the earl asked, reeking of distaste.

  For a gentleman who presented an indifferent attitude, he roiled with strong emotions. It was like smelling a spicy pudding cooking.

  “I can provide the walking stick,” Zane suggested, grinning. “Do servants carry them?”

  “I’ll provide ample hat pins,” Azmin offered. “I occasionally wear a stiletto in my hair, but yours is too short. Phoebe wears a sgian dhu in her boot, but she’s skilled, and you’re not. We should have her teach you a few street tricks.”

  Iona hated to disappoint the earl, but she knew her comfort level. Servant, it had to be. “Thank you. Someday, I would be delighted to take lessons from Lady Phoebe, should I survive this. I appreciate everything everyone has done for me. That includes you, Lord Ives,” she added demurely.

  She rather enjoyed the complex scent of reactions he emitted. She thought they might just be similar to her own, which meant he was as confused as she was. It was comforting to know an experienced gentleman like the earl could have his moments of uncertainty.

  * * *

  Gerard told himself ten thousand pounds was worth losing a night’s sleep. Maybe the medallion was right and Lady Iona represented a treasure of wealth, if he could lay his hands on that reward. Even half the amount would work wonders on the castle roof.

  He stayed up most of the night making lists of de
mands for her settlement and keeping an eye on the stairs so she didn’t sneak out.

  He was probably better off returning to London, but he simply couldn’t let this go. The beekeeper deserved to return to her hives and the life she wished without an ogre breathing down her neck. He couldn’t live with himself if he did nothing.

  So he scribbled off notes to his father and his London man of business and various others to let them know he hadn’t been buried at Wystan, then after a brief nap, dressed for a visit to his father’s Edinburgh solicitor. The marquess had his fingers in a lot of pots and had family all over the north country, so a law firm looking after his interests here proved useful.

  Lowell made discreet hints about an excellent tailor with good prices nearby. Gerard ignored him.

  Lady Iona emerged in the promised servant’s drab. She still took his breath away. Her big eyes sparkled gold from beneath a flat black cap—sporting several decorative hat pins. She’d not bothered with the false hair and had apparently attempted to wash out some of the brown dye. Her pixie curls framed her heart-shaped face, and when she smiled, the sun rose inside the house.

  The damned medallion chuckled.

  “I’d need to put a bucket over your head to make you unrecognizable,” he grumbled. “I still can’t believe Mortimer didn’t—”

  She donned a pair of spectacles that reflected light from the windows, veiling her distinctive eyes. She slumped, curving her shoulders forward and dragging her big straw carryall to her feet. She shuffled toward the door.

  “I take it you did well in drama in your boarding school.” With a sigh, he opened the door before Dare’s servants could reach it.

  “Highest grade in the class,” she cackled in a raspy voice. “And I’ll have to go out the back and meet the carriage at the end of the alley, like any good servant.”

  “If you don’t want to be a countess, you can always be an actress,” he grumbled, but she was already half way down the hall. He slapped his hat on, dashed out to Dare’s waiting carriage, and ordered it around to the alley before she could disappear again.