A Lord's Kiss

by Mary Lancaster et al.

  She straightened. “I am not a gossipmonger, sir. Ye may depend that not one word of this will pass from my lips.”

  He nodded. “I knew we could count on you, Mrs. Cummings. Pray, tell me, would you be willing to travel with Lady Alison to the country? I remind you, that I will pay twice your current wages.”

  She grinned. “I feel certain my husband can do without me for a while.”

  Lord Weston laughed. “Well done.”

  “Just a moment,” Alison said. “I have agreed to none of this.”

  “You would be a fool to refuse,” he said.

  She knew he was right, but the thought galled her.

  “There will be no announcements of our engagement,” she said.

  He shook his head. “I am sorry, but that is not possible. You know as well as I that without a formal announcement, everyone will believe you are my mistress.”

  “He is right about that, ma’am,” Mrs. Cummings said. “It seems to me that is the very thing you are trying to avoid.”

  Alison released a frustrated breath. “I will go along with this scheme on one condition.” The viscount lifted a brow and she wanted to box his ears. “You will not visit me even once in this country home.”

  He flashed white teeth. “Done.”

  She gave him a disgruntled look. “Just as I thought. You are glad to be rid of me.”

  His eyes darkened and she started at the somersault her stomach turned when he said, “Make no mistake, my lady, nothing would please me more than to take you this very moment to the parson’s, then home to begin our lives as man and wife.”

  “With a long wedding night, no doubt,” she said.

  “My father instructed me well on a husband’s duty, and I wouldn’t think of shirking that duty.”

  “Duty—” Alison stopped short at the memory of the night she’d been in his home. “I was wrong. I cannot marry you.”

  He frowned. “We aren’t getting married.”

  She shook her head. “I will not betroth myself to a man who kidnaps women and sells them as prostitutes.”

  Mrs. Cummings gasped. The viscount stared and a deadly silence reigned. Alison’s heart began to beat fast. Had she made a mistake in speaking so freely in front of Mrs. Cummings? Now he might kill them both.

  “I do not kidnap anyone,” the viscount said.

  “You kidnapped me,” Alison said.

  He angled his head in ascent. “Touché, madam. However, I offered to marry you. That is no’ quite the same thing as kidnapping a woman with the intent to prostitute her out.”

  “I heard you—”

  “You heard part of a conversation. That is all.”

  She clenched her fists. “I am not stupid, sir. You were talking about kidnapping women, girls between the ages of thirteen and sixteen.”

  Something flickered in his eye.

  “Ah ha!” she cried. “It is true.”

  “What you heard, Alison, was me discussing the fact that there is a man who wants those women.”

  “What is your part in this?” she demanded.

  He glanced at Mrs. Cummings then drew a breath. “I can only tell you that I am not a kidnapper. I need one week. Then I can explain everything.”

  “One week?”

  “My lady, in this I must ask for your trust. Go to the country with Mrs. Cummings and leave me to my business. Consider, if I am lying, I would have simply left you with your cousin and not have bothered to help you.”

  “Perhaps you brought me to your home with other intentions.”

  “I would not take you from your home, along with Mrs. Cummings as a witness. I simply would have someone kill you.”

  Alison drew a sharp breath.

  He looked at Mrs. Cummings.

  The housekeeper gave him an assessing look, then nodded. “I will come.”

  He returned his attention to Alison, and said, “I can say no more until this business is finished.”

  Chapter Seven

  Erin pressed her ear against the door and winced when her bruised shoulder touched the wood. One day, she would learn to duck her father’s fist. It wasn’t her fault that Alison had locked her in her closet, then met with Lord Weston. Erin would never forgive her. If not for Alison’s treachery, Erin would be the one betrothed to Lord Weston, not Alison.

  “What is the status of the shipment?” an unfamiliar male voice demanded.

  Erin’s mind snapped to attention.

  “Remember who you are speaking to,” her father growled.

  Erin’s stomach tensed, despite the knowledge that her father’s ire wasn’t directed at her.

  “You guaranteed results,” the man replied. “Said you had the situation under control. That does not seem to be the case, Lennox.”

  “Circumstances are beyond my control,” her father replied. “But I assure you, there is no issue with the shipment.”

  “I want no further delays.”

  ”Do not threaten me.” Her father’s slow, measured words caused fear to claw at her nerves.

  “If I go down, I will take you with me,” the man said.

  Clearly, the man didn’t fear her father as she did.

  “Do you understand, Lennox?”

  The unfamiliar voice sounded closer. The doorknob to the study began to turn. Erin jerked back as the door fully opened and a man she’d never seen before stepped into the hallway.

  His dark eyes widened, then narrowed as his gazed skimmed along her body. “Hello, and who might you be?” He took two steps toward her. “Lennox, wasn’t mistaken. Young and beautiful, even if not blonde.” He reached for her hair, but she stepped back out of his reach. “And timid. How sweet you are.”

  Her father appeared behind the man. “Erin. What are you doing here?”

  “Erin,” the man spoke as if savoring her name. “Lovely name for a lovely girl.”

  “My daughter.”

  The man snatched his hand back. “Daughter? My apologies.” He bowed. “I should not have been so forward.”

  She smiled. He was handsome, his snow-white cravat expertly tied, his dark coat tailored for his frame. She extended a hand. He gently held her fingertips, bent and breathed a kiss to her knuckles.

  “Lennox, you never mentioned you had such a charming and beautiful daughter. Where have you kept her hidden?”

  A blush warmed her cheeks. How she ached for a gentleman’s compliment that hadn’t been orchestrated.

  “Erin, go to your room,” her father ordered.

  She turned and hurried around the turn in the hallway, then halted and listened.

  “Do not forget, you and I are neck deep in this,” her father said. “If we are discovered, we will be hanged.”

  Erin sucked in a sharp breath. Hanged?

  “Get Hunter in line,” the man snapped.

  Her heart pounded. Hunter?

  She held no illusions that her father’s drive to marry her to Lord Weston was to see her safely wed. He’d always coveted a place within the more elite of Society, and she’d assumed that was his motive. So, what did the other man have to do with her and Lord Weston? Did Get Hunter in line mean force him to marry her?

  If so, how far would her father go to trap the viscount into marrying her?

  ***

  Alison jerked awake. She winced at a sharp pain in her neck, then reached back and massaged the kink. Lord, she’d fallen asleep in the bay window. A noise outside caught her attention. She sat up and started at sight of the unfamiliar carriage on the street below—Lord Weston’s street, she realized—and the night’s events returned in a rush.

  She wasn’t home. She wasn’t in her room.

  After they’d arrived at the viscount’s home—nae, his father’s home, though she had not seen his father—Alison had gone directly to the chambers assigned to her and hadn’t ventured out. Dinner had been sent up, which she shared with Mrs. Cummings, then she sat in the bay window and eventually fell asleep.

  Tears pricked the corners of her
eyes. What was she going to do? What was Robert going to think when he returned home to find her betrothed to another man? She had stood firm that she would marry Robert because he trusted her and would believe that there was no basis to the scandal. But she had been in the viscount’s bedchambers in the middle of the night.

  What man would believe his fiancée hadn’t been having an affair with a known rake—and a future earl? Everyone would believe that she chose Lord Weston, the future 8th Earl of Weston, over a lowly solicitor. She hadn’t seen Robert since his last visit a year ago. Six months from now—after the viscount proposed marriage—the scandal would be even more believable.

  What would she do if Robert broke off their engagement? Viscount Weston was right, no other reputable man would want her after such scandal. Perhaps the proposal would give her some respectability, and if Robert didn’t want to marry her, the scandal would be forgotten. Nae, she thought bitterly. The mere mention of Viscount Weston’s name would remind those gossipmongers who lived for a juicy ruination. Alison drew her knees up to her chest. She’d never considered marriage to anyone except Robert. What would she do if he wouldn’t marry her?

  She thought of Erin, who had not responded to any of the three messages Alison had sent. Surely, Erin understood that Alison had only intended to help when she’d gone to the viscount’s home. Her heart squeezed. Erin was a good person, kind at heart. But she was more child than woman and would likely take some time to accept that Lord Weston wasn’t the sort of man she truly wanted to marry. Perhaps a visit to see Erin was in order before she left for the country. She simply couldn’t leave knowing this rift existed between them.

  Two men came into view, headed down the walk from the house. Alison’s attention snapped onto them. They stopped on the front walk several feet from the curb and began talking. Enough moonlight shone to reveal the viscount. Who was the other man? Might he be the same man the viscount met with the other night? Cameron asked her to trust him. Yet, he was conducting another clandestine meeting. She’d recently discovered that no good came from meetings held under the cloak of darkness.

  The two men continued to talk and didn’t seem in a hurry to separate. If she could get close enough without being seen, she might be able to hear their conversation. Alison scanned the grounds. Bushes outlined the front lawn. She might be able to eavesdrop if she remained within the shadows of the bushes.

  Alison leapt to her feet, grabbed her cloak from the wardrobe, then hurried from the room. She descended the stairs. She couldn’t leave through the front door, for they would see her. The home likely had a side entrance, but she had no idea where it might be located. There had to be a rear entrance, perhaps from a pantry.

  Alison reached the rear of the house and found a pantry with a rear door and stairs leading down to what had to be the kitchen. She opened the door into a large garden. On which side of the house might a side gate be located? Left, she decided. Clouds hid the moon and she was forced to inch along the side of the house. She reached the wall separating the garden from the front lawn and breathed a sigh of relief upon discerning a gate close to the house. Slowly, she lifted the latch, then slipped out of the garden and hurried to the edge of the house.

  She halted and peered around the corner into the front yard. The men still stood talking in tones too low to hear. A carriage pulled up in front of the house and halted. The driver sat facing away from her.

  Pulling her cloak tight about her shoulders, Alison scurried the short distance from the house to the bushes. She squeezed through the branches. Her cloak snagged on a limb and she yanked it free. She hurried along to the front walk, then peered at the carriage. The driver still sat in his seat, his back to her.

  Her heart pounded as she eased around the corner, then hugged the shadows and crept forward. A few feet from the carriage, she still could discern no more than the murmur of the men’s voices. She dared not advance any closer, for she would be discovered once the visitor stepped onto the curb where the carriage waited. Alison yanked her gaze onto carriage. Dare she? Could she live with herself if she didn’t do everything possible to learn the truth? Could she risk even a fake engagement with a man who might be selling young women? Her stomach turned. She had to know if he was lying about his involvement in the kidnapping of women.

  Alison darted from the bushes to the rear of the carriage. For several seconds, all she could hear was the thunder of her heart in her ears. Once her heartbeat slowed, she discerned the other man’s voice and realized he was the same gentleman she’d heard speaking with the viscount four nights ago.

  “I need to go. Napier expects me in twenty minutes,” the man said. “The four girls have been delivered. All is progressing as planned.”

  “You are certain he is going to make the first payment?” Lord Weston said. “You know this is the best opportunity we’ve had.”

  Fury caused Alison’s insides to tremble. The viscount said he wasn’t kidnapping women. This conversation certainly sounded as if he was.

  “I do not like it,” the other man said.

  “We have no choice, James,” the viscount said. “If he wants the merchandise, this time he will have to get his hands a little dirty. You had better get going if you are to arrive at his home on time. I will await your return.”

  Bootfalls approached. Alison backed up three paces to the opposite edge of the carriage. She had learned very little, but it was clear that whatever Lord Weston was caught up in was very bad.

  Perhaps she should call a constable. But what would she tell him? I overheard two gentlemen speaking—one of them my fiancé, the future 8th Earl of Weston, and the other a strange man named James. I believe they are kidnapping women. Without proof, the accusations would only reveal that she had not accepted Lord Weston at his word. How was she to prove anything? He’d asked her to give him a week. Could she do that?

  Gravel crunched as the man reached the carriage. The carriage shifted as the man stepped inside. Alison grasped the handle on the right edge of the carriage and lightly stepped onto the foothold as the door clicked shut. She flattened herself against the back of the carriage and hung on with all her might as the carriage lurched into motion. She said a silent prayer the viscount wasn’t watching as the carriage rolled past his home.

  The carriage left the viscount’s neighborhood and the main part of town, and soon passed through estates situated on bigger tracts of land. As she clung to the carriage, Alison realized the foolishness of her plan. For all that was holy, lately she had been making a string of poor decisions. One would think she would learn, but no. She’d likely destroyed her chance at happiness with Robert, found herself engaged to one of the most notorious rakes in Inverness and now clung to the back of a carriage. Once they reached their destination, she would hardly go unnoticed.

  The carriage slowed, then turned up the drive of a large estate. Wind had whipped her hair from its pins. Strands clung to her lips as she peered around the edge of carriage and squinted. Her heart raced. A manicured lawn stretched out before the mansion and small boxwoods lined the drive near the house. No trees or bushes large enough to provide cover broke that open expanse.

  Alison caught sight of the front entrance. Good Lord, she had nowhere to hide once the carriage stopped—if, that is, she wasn’t spotted first. Could she jump off the carriage before they reached the mansion? Her fingers were so numb from gripping the handle that she wondered that she could maintain her grip at all. The carriage wasn’t traveling that fast. How much could it hurt when she hit the ground?

  The carriage slowed as it approached the front circle drive. Now was her chance. The gravel beneath the carriage passed in a blur. Maybe it was going faster than she’d originally thought. Did she have a choice?

  The carriage neared the front door and came to a slow stop. Alison leaned her weight against the back of the vehicle and held her breath until the door opened. When the man inside stepped down, she dropped to the ground. Her knees buckled and she fell. She bit bac
k a cry as she struck the ground, pushed up onto her knees, then crawled close to the carriage.

  She peered past the wheel and watched the carriage’s passenger—James, Lord Weston had called him—walk toward the mansion. Her legs ached from standing in the same position for so long and she could scarcely breathe. The driver jumped from the seat. Alison jerked her gaze to the left and watched his legs as he approached the horses. James hurried the few steps to the door and knocked. The door opened and he entered.

  Alison stared at the closed door. She should slink away and find a way back home. But, once again, her need to know held her immobile. Slowly, she stood, then peered around the corner of the carriage toward the horses. She glimpsed the edge of the driver’s arm. He might be giving the horses some water or a treat.

  With a whisper-quiet step, she headed toward the boxwoods. Another step and her dress tugged, then ripped. The tear of the fabric sounded loud to her. She froze. A murmur emanated from the front of the carriage. Alison tugged her dress free, then hurried to the side of the drive. She pressed through the low hedge and crouched, heart pounding.

  After a long moment, her pulse slowed and she released the breath she’d held. Lord, she was too old for this sort of foolishness. The thought didn’t stop her from scurrying in a crouch behind the bushes toward the right side of the house.

  Hair fell across her eyes. She shoved the loose tendrils behind an ear and, with a quick glance at the carriage, darted from the hedges to the side of the house and stopped beside a window. Carefully, she pushed onto tiptoes and peered through the glass into a parlor.

  A lovely room, but empty. Her slippers sank into the moist ground as she crept around the side of the house to the rear. She reached the back and found another wing extended from the center of the house. She inched toward the other wing.

  “How did you get out here?” a male voice demanded behind her.