Before the Scandal

by Suzanne Enoch

  Alyse shook herself. Words like “ever” and “forever” simply weren’t compatible with the Phin Bromley she knew. “Stop,” she muttered, pushing at his shoulders and very aware of his lean body pressed hard against hers. “Stop it, Phin.”

  She shoved harder, and he backed away all of an inch or two. “Why?”

  “Because you shouldn’t be kissing me.”

  His scarred eyebrow arched. “You’d rather be kissing someone else, then?” he asked, his voice low and rumbling. “Who would you rather be kissing, Alyse? Tell me. I’ll fetch him for you.”

  Jealousy? The idea thrilled her over and above the mortifying thought of what would happen to her if anyone discovered that The Frenchman had kissed her. No one would care that it had been done in exchange for her pearls. “No one,” she said truthfully. “I just don’t wish to be seen.”

  His expression eased. “We won’t be seen.”

  “How—”

  “And besides,” he continued, moving in again, “I like kissing you.” He ran a finger along her left collarbone. “You taste like—I don’t know, but it’s very compelling.” He nibbled at her lower lip. “You’re very compelling, Alyse.”

  The sensation made her knees weak. “Compelling, or convenient?” she made herself ask.

  He gazed at her from inches away. “Definitely not convenient,” he murmured. “And I wouldn’t recommend teasing me.”

  “Me? Teasing you? I don’t—”

  “You came out here to find me. And when I see you, I want…” With a scowl he blew out his breath and backed away. “Let’s get you back to the house before we begin arguing again. Or kissing.”

  He wasn’t convenient, either. Goodness knew her life would be simpler without him back in it. Even with that in mind, though, she couldn’t wish him gone again. Phin was like…fire—warm, bright, compelling, and without proper precautions, extremely destructive.

  This time he offered his arm, but she pretended not to notice. Touching him right then would be unwise, considering that her heart still beat so fast and hard he could probably hear it. Instead she folded her hands behind her and started back to the main part of the house. A moment later he fell in beside her.

  “So Smythe and Ellerby were held up for the second night in a row? That must have been embarrassing.”

  “The Frenchman wasn’t successful,” she returned, grateful for the change of subject. “Apparently they were expecting trouble. Lord Charles shot at him. He swears the ball struck home, but I have my doubts.”

  “Do you? Why is that?”

  “The Frenchman seems to know what he’s doing. I would think that he would have anticipated trouble, stopping the same coach twice.”

  She felt his gaze on her. “You don’t fancy this Frenchman, do you?”

  Alyse blushed. “Of course not. He stole my pearls. It’s just that he seemed…dashing.”

  “Hm.”

  “‘Hm’ what?”

  “I just gave you what I consider to be a fairly proficient kiss, and you’re consumed with thoughts of a highwayman.”

  She snorted, beginning to wonder whether he could read minds. “I am not consumed with anything. I said his manner was dashing.” And Phin’s kiss had been much more than fairly proficient. She wasn’t entirely certain she was walking straight.

  They reached the servants’ entrance, and he pushed open the door for her. Without looking, even when he stood behind her, she knew how close he was to her. Unsettling, indeed. And arousing in ways she’d never anticipated.

  “There you are,” Aunt Ernesta said, sending her a glare as she walked back into the morning room.

  “It’s my fault,” Phin said easily. “I asked Alyse to help me convince Cook to make a cinnamon cake. I’ve always had a weakness for them.”

  Goodness. He lied so easily, and with such convincing charm. Yes, it had probably saved her from being yelled at later, but if he lied so well, how could she know if he was lying when he said he found her compelling or attractive or interesting or inconvenient?

  “Beth was telling me that you had some trouble with dogs the day before yesterday,” Richard said, standing as they entered the room. Alyse didn’t think the gesture was out of deference to her; Phin seemed to make her cousin nervous. She counted that as a point in Phin’s favor.

  Phineas didn’t seem to have the same difficulty as Richard, since he gestured her to a seat and then took one himself. “Yes, we did,” he answered. “A dozen or so wolfhounds got into the west pasture. Killed forty-seven sheep.”

  Alyse gasped. “That’s awful!”

  “It is indeed,” Richard agreed. “Shall I send some men to help dispose of the carcasses?”

  “I took care of it,” Phineas returned. “Thank you for the offer.”

  Forty-seven sheep. With everything else that had befallen Quence Park of late, the loss of so many animals could be devastating. No wonder William had come down with a fever.

  “What did you do with them?” her aunt asked, shuddering delicately.

  “The dogs? We shot two of them. We’ve been trying to track down the rest of the pack, but no luck so far.”

  “Heavens! Richard, what about our flocks?”

  “I’ll put some additional men out to keep watch.” Richard sat again, taking Beth’s hand in his. “I’m so sorry, my dear. If you require anything, please let me know.”

  “How is it,” Phin said slowly, flicking a piece of dust off his dark sleeve, “that you’re just hearing about this now?”

  Richard frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “It would be irresponsible of us to keep the news of a roving pack of dogs to ourselves, don’t you think?”

  “I wouldn’t have phrased it that way, but—”

  “I informed the constable myself, the day before yesterday,” Phineas went on. “The news of that damned Frenchman seems to have circulated, but you hadn’t heard anything about our losses until now?”

  Richard’s color deepened. As she watched him, Alyse remembered her uneasiness the other day when she’d overheard a conversation between William and Charles Smythe about…forty-seven something. Forty-seven sheep, she realized, her blood going cold. Good heavens. He had known. Why had he pretended ignorance, and why had he happily informed his mother and cousin about the exploits of the highwayman, but said nothing about sheep-killing dogs?

  Gulping a breath, Alyse glanced at Phineas. He was looking directly at her, his expression unreadable. A heartbeat later he chuckled, turning his gaze to Richard. “Obviously the local wags are far too taken with that bloody Frog, if they can’t be bothered to mention anything else,” he said, grinning. “It’s a sorry state of things.”

  “Indeed it is,” Richard agreed, smiling as well. “And I hate to mention something so frivolous at such a time, but if William is feeling up to it, I do hope you’ll attend our house party evening after next. If you wish to stay the night and allow William to rest before and after, or even to make certain he’s well during the party if he doesn’t wish to attend, I think we all could use a distraction.”

  “I don’t know,” Beth said slowly, looking at her older brother. “William is our first concern, and I’m not—”

  “You’re certain you wouldn’t mind the lot of us staying overnight?” Phineas interrupted, sitting forward. “Because from what I’ve heard, your new cook is the finest in Lewes. I would hate to miss it.”

  Alyse caught Beth’s frown, quickly covered. Privately, she agreed with Beth’s concern. The viscount’s health had been bordering on delicate since the accident ten years ago, and with a fever now, transporting him even just a mile down the road so that his siblings—his brother—could eat pheasant seemed the height of selfishness.

  Of course, knowing this new Phin as she was coming to, he likely had a reason for wanting to be at Donnelly House. She took a quick breath. Could she be the reason? If so, she needed to do some thinking. Being discovered dallying with him could ruin the plans she’d been putting togethe
r. Would it be worth it?

  “…hope they shot him dead,” Beth was saying. “I keep worrying that Phin will put on his uniform and go after the man simply because he’s French.”

  “He needs to be shot simply for being a highwayman,” Richard returned. “Being a Frog only makes him more offensive.”

  Alyse glanced at Phin, but thankfully he didn’t seem inclined to announce to everyone that she thought The Frenchman dashing. Richard had been increasingly venomous at the mention of the highwayman, and she didn’t relish the thought of being locked in the attic to polish silver because she felt more charitable than the rest of the family did toward the thief.

  She continued feeling more charitable toward Phin, as well. And that could be much more problematic than fancying a thief she would likely never set eyes on again. The Frenchman had only wanted a kiss. Judging by their last embrace, Phineas wanted her.

  Warmth swept down her spine. Being the focus of Phin Bromley’s attention, even when they were children, had been an exhilarating experience. Now, though—

  “Penny for your thoughts,” Phin said, sitting on the couch beside her.

  “What do you want from me?” she murmured, pretending to take a sip of tea to cover her words.

  “Ah. You were thinking of me. I should pay double the price, then—once for the information, and once for the flattery.”

  “It’s not flattery when you worry me. What do you want?”

  “From you? I don’t know yet,” he returned in the same tone, more serious now.

  “I’m not comforted.”

  “I like being close to you.” He offered her a plate of biscuits, brushing her fingers as she selected one, and nearly making her drop it. “I like touching you, Alyse.”

  She closed her eyes for a moment to concentrate on breathing. “You will ruin me all over again if you don’t stop this.”

  He shook his head. “Do you think me that much of a blackguard?”

  “I don’t want to, but the last time I saw you, you were that much of a blackguard. Should I ignore that because you protest now that you’re…benevolent?”

  His lips twitched. “I never said that.”

  “Phin.”

  For a moment he sat still beside her. “I know you said you couldn’t help me, but answer this: Richard already knew about the dog attack, didn’t he?” he murmured even more quietly.

  “My cousin is not the one hurting Quence. Look at him. He’s courting your sister.”

  “That’s not what I asked. He knew, didn’t he?”

  Alyse started to her feet. Before she could rise, Phin put a hand on her arm, keeping her seated. “Let me go,” she hissed.

  “Very well. I won’t make you choose, yet. Eventually, though, you’ll have to take a side.” Making the touch on her arm another caress, he stood again. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said at normal volume, “I have some things to see to.”

  Mostly Phineas needed a moment to himself so he could catch his breath and his scattering wits. He started out the door, but Donnelly stood before he could escape. “Would you inquire if your brother will see me?” the viscount asked. “I need to discuss a few things with him.”

  Phineas kept his expression pleasant and mild. So Lord Donnelly was still trying to make himself indispensable to Quence Park. He nodded. “I will.” If that was what William wished, then so be it. For now. Until he had some proof.

  Climbing the stairs to the first floor, he stopped outside the master bedchamber and knocked quietly. “Enter,” came William’s voice.

  He pushed open the door. His brother was seated in his wheeled chair just beneath an open window, a blanket across his lap and a ledger book atop that. “You’re out of bed.”

  “Your skills at observation continue to amaze.”

  “And your sense of humor continues to surprise,” Phineas returned dryly. “How are you feeling?”

  “I only slept in, for God’s sake.”

  “Mm-hm. Donnelly asked for an audience, if you’re up to it.”

  “I’ll see him.”

  Phineas stifled his frown. “I’ll go tell him.” He headed back out.

  “Phin?”

  “What is it?” He stopped to face his brother again.

  “You did well with the sheep. Thank you again.”

  “You lost nearly fifty head. Don’t thank me for cleaning up the carnage after the slaughter.”

  “You still handled it well.”

  With every fiber of his being Phineas wanted to tell William not to trust Richard Donnelly, that he suspected the viscount of at least some of the ill things that had befallen Quence. And just as strongly he knew that William wouldn’t believe him, and that he would be accused of looking for trouble or excitement or some other daft thing. In addition, he would lose whatever incremental amount of his brother’s trust he’d been able to gain.

  “Thank you, then.”

  “And Phin?”

  “Yes?”

  “My window here has a very nice view. Over the back of the stables and the archway, in case you wished me to clarify.”

  Damnation. Bloody hell. “I—”

  “I warned you not to make things worse for Alyse. She’s paid enough for one moment of foolishness.”

  “I’m not trying to make things worse. I…” It didn’t seem like the time for honesty. What would he say, anyway? That he’d charged out to the stables to keep her from seeing Ajax and that Alyse—her presence, her taste, her voice—filled a chasm in him that had been open and dark and empty for a great deal longer than ten years?

  “Leave her be, Phin.”

  “I won’t ask for your trust, but I will say that I’m not playing.” He turned around again. “I’ll send Donnelly up.”

  When he returned downstairs he leaned into the morning room and informed the viscount that William would see him. The three women remained behind, Beth attempting to chat with both Alyse and Mrs. Donnelly, and the older woman doing all of the responding.

  For a moment he contemplated returning to the conversation, but he needed to make some plans for the next few days to be certain no further ill luck befell Quence Park. So instead he went to track down Gordon. His so-called valet was in the stables, feeding Gallant an apple. “You’re supposed to be starching my cravats and polishing my boots,” he commented, selecting an apple for himself.

  “I already starched yer cravats, and yer wearin’ yer bloody boots, Colonel.”

  Phineas bit into the apple, then pulled the knife from his boot and sliced the remainder in half, giving one section to Saffron and the other to Ajax. “Donnelly claimed not to know about the dogs,” he said offhandedly. “What would you do if you owned several valuable flocks of sheep and suddenly heard that a pack of dogs had just killed half a hundred of your neighbor’s animals?”

  “I’d get home, collect me weapons and me men, and go huntin’,” Gordon returned promptly. “No question.”

  “As would I.”

  “Ye think the hounds are his, then?”

  “His or Smythe’s, would be my guess.”

  The sergeant strolled over to lean against the stall door beside him. “I heard some rumors of me own this mornin’.”

  Phineas scratched Ajax behind the ears. “What rumors?”

  “That The Frenchman got ’imself shot last night, stoppin’ a second coach.”

  “Rumors are nasty things, Gordon. You simply can’t trust them.”

  “Don’t ye go enjoyin’ this too much, Colonel. Yer family wouldnae come out well, were ye found t’be a highwayman.”

  “I know that.” Phineas gave Ajax a last pat and walked away from the stall. “The problem is, they’re not doing well under the present circumstances.” Another bad fever or two for William, or another overturned carriage, and he might never have a chance to make amends.

  “What’s next then, sir?”

  “We go to Uckfield and see whether we can purchase fifty or so Southdown sheep. And we order lumber and hire workers to
repair the burned cottages. And we hire some…gamekeepers, we’ll call them, to travel the property and keep an eye on things. And tonight we go out and try to discover who owns a pack of wolfhounds.”

  It would just about wipe out his ready funds, but it would also put Quence back close to where it had been before its disintegration had begun, and at no additional expense to William. In the grand scheme of things it was little enough, but it was a start.

  “That takes care o’ today,” Gordon commented. “What about tomorrow?”

  Phineas smiled grimly. “Tomorrow depends on what we find out tonight.”

  Chapter 14

  “Where are you going?”

  Covering his flinch, Phineas turned away from the front door and faced the landing above. “It may be late for you, Magpie,” he drawled with a grin he didn’t feel, “but for me the night’s barely begun.”

  “If you’re not ready for bed, come and play whist with me. Or billiards, even.”

  He shook his head. Thank the devil she’d never encountered The Frenchman, or she might have recognized the army greatcoat he carried draped over one arm. “Not the kind of amusement I’m looking for, Beth.”

  “But you—we—”

  “Come along, Beth,” William said from the stop of the stairs above her. “My billiards game is a bit rusty, but I think I can manage whist.”

  “Phin,” she murmured, her tone making the single word into a plea.

  “Don’t wait up,” he said, opening the door and slipping outside.

  As soon as he was out of earshot, he began cursing. English, French, Italian, Spanish—the language didn’t matter, as long as it was black enough to suit his mood. What if he was wrong? What if he had invented some sort of conspiracy to avoid facing the fact that his family didn’t need him after all?

  “Saddle Saffron,” he snapped as he entered the stables.

  Gordon, already mounted on Gallant and holding Ajax’s reins, looked at him. “Beg pardon?”