The Earl's Enticement (Castle Bride Series)

by Collette Cameron

  They wouldn’t make it in time.

  And neither, by God, will I.

  How could she move so fast in that gown? Its ruffled hem didn’t allow long strides. Light blue stockings, embroidered ivory clocks at the heels, peeped out each time she took a hurried step.

  She raised her closed parasol over her shoulder like a knight with a sword.

  Oh hell. He didn’t like the looks of this.

  Her first public jaunt, and she was going to make a bloody scene, devil seize it. He picked up his pace, covering the ground with long strides just short of a trot. He hoped to avert a disaster before it occurred.

  All he needed was for her to thwack Freidrick, and there’d be an international bumblebroth to put aright. His gut told him Count von Schnitzer was of a vindictive, vengeful bend.

  Roark descended on Helene’s carriage, already rehearsing his apology, as well as his verbal reprimand to Adaira. He stopped mid-step flabbergasted. She graced Helene, the count, and his son with a beatific smile, then popped the parasol open.

  He took the half-dozen remaining steps to the group, eyeing Adaira dubiously.

  “Please do forgive me.” She twirled the parasol against her shoulder flirtatiously. “I know we’ve not been introduced. It’s terribly gauche of me, although I’m sure Lord Clarendon will do the honors momentarily.”

  Casting Roark a saucy glance, she flashed a brilliant smile.

  His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Not a single sensible thought made itself known. Confound it, when she smiled at him like that—

  His member jumped like a dog eager for a pet. Damnable tight pantaloons.

  Adaira approached the puppy. “But I simply had to make this little darling’s acquaintance. May I?”

  Without waiting for permission, she bent and scooped the pup into her arms. It crawled up her shoulder, then buried its nose behind her ear.

  “There’s a dear.” She cuddled the frightened dog, clucking indiscernible reassurances. Stepping to Roark, she smiled once more.

  “My lord, please, won’t you introduce us?” She tilted her head in the direction of the barouche. Mischief shimmered in her black-lashed eyes.

  He stared at her stupidly.

  The count handed Helene out. Her gaze shifted between Adaira and Roark, the merest hint of a pucker on her otherwise smooth forehead.

  Roark found his tongue and made short work of the introductions. The other guests, realizing they weren’t going to be graced with a spectacle, began to seek other activities.

  Taking a moment to survey his staff, he smiled in appreciation. Some of the manservants were setting up the tables and chairs while others busily set out food, blankets, and other assorted picnic goods.

  “Es ist mir ein Vergnügen, Sie kennen zu lernen.” Adaira greeted the count in flawless German, telling him prettily what a pleasure it was to meet him.

  A look of surprise crept across his craggy features, quickly replaced by a lecherous gleam in his eyes. “Delighted I pleazoor you, meine Liebe,” he murmured suggestively.

  Freidrick snickered.

  Helene sliced her cousin a look of disapproval. “Really, Otto.”

  Von Schnizter offered an oily smile. He lifted a shoulder. “Meine Englisch needz vork.”

  His English had been just fine at the house.

  Roark’s gaze skimmed Adaira. Her face paled. Her pupils dilated to the size of olives. She remained poised, except for tightening her grip on the pup. She angled her head gracefully before giving the count a tight smile.

  Everything within Roark told him she was afraid. He pressed his lips together.

  What exactly did the count say to her?

  From the smug look on von Schnitzer’s face, and the randy glint in his eyes, Roark would bet the bastard said something lecherous. Hadn’t Helene mentioned the bugger had business or diplomatic duties to attend to in London? Catching Roark’s assessment, the count raised a cocky brow. Just how long was the pissant visiting?

  Roark’s good manners were wearing thin, and he’d been introduced to the boor but an hour ago.

  “Mrs. Winthrop,” Adaira said, “may I compliment you on your stunning shawl? It has the most intricate needlework I believe I’ve ever seen. Did you embroider it yourself?”

  Roark shifted his attention to Adaira. She appeared enthralled by Helene’s wrap.

  Helene’s gaze raked Adaira from her stylish bonnet to her shoes. She murmured, “Yes, it was quite laborious, but when one has talent . . .”

  Roark nearly choked. One-eyed Guinevere’s embroidery skills exceeded Helene’s.

  Adaira leaned in further, studying the stitches. “My, such astounding aptitude. Oh, I do hope you will take an afternoon and teach me your technique.”

  Little fraud. She loathed needlework. She’d told him so herself. What was she about? Catching his eye, she sent him a wicked little smirk. What was she up to?

  “Thank you,” Helene grudgingly acknowledged, running her fingers across the silk threads. She raised her nose the merest bit, as if Adaira was beneath her touch. “But I’m afraid I simply won’t have time this weekend to teach needlework.”

  Adaira snuggled the pup sleeping soundly in her arms. “Oh, I didn’t mean to imply you had to do so this weekend. I’d be grateful for an opportunity any time over the course of the next month.”

  Helene stiffened, her fingers clenching the shawl.

  “Month?”

  She hurled Roark a look of hurt disbelief. “This is a month-long event? I do believe you quite forgot to mention it, my lord.”

  Her eyes sparked with accusation.

  He’d not forgotten.

  Completely unruffled, he nodded. “Yes, the Fergusons, as well as several others, have graciously agreed to be my guests for the next month. Do have your secretary speak to Chambers about the scheduled events.”

  Roark leveled von Schnitzer an impassive stare. “I’d be honored if you’d attend as well.”

  Like hell he would.

  He’d sooner invite the devil, and he’d made it a point to cleanse his household of evil long ago.

  Adjusting the dog in her arms, Adaira asked, “What’s her name?”

  She directed her question to Freidrick sulking in the barouche. He glared at her. For a moment, Roark thought he’d refuse to answer.

  A sullen pout shadowed Freidrick’s features. “Irmgard.”

  Adaira’s spectacular eyes widened. Her lips twitched. Her throat convulsed three times before she could utter a composed response. “A most, er, robust name.”

  Holy Jesus . . . robust?

  Roark swallowed the guffaws jolting his throat, although one strangled noise escaped him. She cast him a knowing glance. The humor glinting in her eyes challenged him not to laugh.

  Guinevere snuffled around Adaira’s ankles, obviously smelling another dog, but having no idea where it had got to.

  Adaira laughed softly, earning her a sharp look from Helene.

  Squatting, Adaira presented the pup. “Here she is, dear.”

  Guinevere greeted the sleepy newcomer with a friendly sniff before wandering to plop down in the cool grass beneath a tree. She promptly resumed her nap.

  The other Fergusons joined them, and introductions were made once more. Freidrick roused himself from the carriage, brushing furiously at his pant leg. A damp spot on the young man’s thigh explained his urgency to see the pup leave the carriage and his reluctance to do so.

  Dugall turned away, his broad shoulders shaking. Drawn to Irmgard, Miss Seonaid stepped next to Adaira. She petted and cooed to the puppy who opened a drowsy eye, then went back to sleep.

  Freidrick stood gawking, seemingly unable to tear his gaze from Miss Isobel.

  She returned his bold
appraisal with calm aloofness before shifting her beautiful turquoise gaze to the lake, effectively dismissing him. Roark didn’t miss the flush stealing across the boy’s face accenting the already unattractive blemishes marring his countenance. Freidrick fisted his hands and stomped off, leaving the pup in Adaira’s care. She didn’t seem perturbed in the least.

  Helene laid her hand on Roark’s arm. “My lord, surely you can spare a few moments for a dear friend. Why, I’m confident the Fergusons are anxious to make the acquaintance of the others in attendance. And I did promise Otto.”

  By Hades, leave it to Helene to throw a rub in the way. Roark intended to ask Adaira to eat with him, perhaps even row about the lake in one of the skiffs along the shore. He suppressed a sigh.

  Perhaps in the interest of pacifying Helene and the count, he’d better play along. He didn’t trust this previously hidden and altogether unpleasant side of her character. What else had she deceived him about? She wasn’t so very different than Delia in the end. Was he cursed to always have deceptive Jezebels in his bed?

  He cast the count a sideways look. Roark didn’t want von Schnitzer anywhere near Adaira. The scoundrel undressed her with his eyes, a lewd grin on his thin lips. When he adjusted his pantaloons in full view of the ladies Roark itched to throttle the knave.

  Sir Hugh scowled. In an overt move of protection, he casually stepped between the count and the Ferguson women. Compared to the burly Scot, the Austrian was rather scraggy.

  Roark extended his arm. “Of course, Mrs. Winthrop. Let’s do see about getting some of the delicious food Mrs. Bardy prepared for us.”

  He met the count’s gaze. “Do you like English food? We’re having traditional picnic fare today. Cold roast, boiled eggs, fruit sandwiches, and I’m sure there’s seedcake and shortbread. I told Cook to be sure to send some sweet Madeira too. Oh, and tongue, of course. Do you like tongue, von Schnitzer?”

  The count paled beneath his swarthy complexion. Evidently the Austrian didn’t favor the organ. Roark didn’t blame him. He refused to touch the stuff himself.

  Turning his lascivious attention to Adaira, von Schnitzer asked, “Fräulein Ferguson, can I persuade you to join us as vell?”

  Roark almost laughed at the man’s audacity. Clearly not taken with the count, Luxmoore and the Ferguson men stood like sentries on either side of their women. Sir Hugh’s gaze met Roark’s. An unspoken message passed between them.

  Adaira’s father knew exactly what was going on in the count’s depraved mind. The Scot was having none of it. Even Luxmoore’s face was devoid of his usual smile. His jade green eyes regarded the count with casual contempt.

  “I’m sorry to disappoint ye, von Schnitzer, but me daughters will be dining with me wife and me. It’s a Scots tradition.”

  Nuzzling the pup, Adaira eyed the count warily. She cast Roark a sidelong glance with her big eyes.

  He cursed to himself. Propriety’s rules required her to acknowledge the count’s invitation, and Roark had insisted she adhere to propriety.

  “Thank you for the invitation, my lord,” she said softly, her focus on Irmgard. Except for a soft whimper and a jerk of her foot, the exhausted puppy didn’t stir.

  The count smoothed his mustache, but not before Roark saw an angry sneer curl his lips. A vengeful glint lit his black eyes.

  Roark yearned to say, “Decorum be damned. Plant the bounder a facer, Miss Ferguson, and do make it a sound one.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Less than an hour later, Adaira, her stomach overly full of buttery shortbread, took her cousin, Flynn’s, elbow. They made their way along a wide, well-trodden path. He’d asked the group eating with her family if anyone cared to venture onto the lake.

  Suppressing the urge to shout, “Dear God, yes!” she’d jumped at the chance. She was yawning behind her fan, bored with the fustian discussions about the spices in the deviled eggs, the latest on dit from London, and Prinny’s questionable taste in clothing.

  Did the Prince Regent truly have a pink cutaway coat and breeches edged in diamonds and rubies? She grinned. At a rumored five and twenty stone, he would resemble a giant, pink pudding.

  Hearing laughter, she glanced over her shoulder. Her sisters and Dugall followed. Wonderful. They must have been done up with the dull conversations and had made their excuses as well.

  A feeble breeze ruffled the tall grass bordering the trail and brought a modicum of relief to the day’s warmth. A fat bee slowly buzzed about the flowers on Adaira’s bonnet.

  “Silly thing, they aren’t real.” Waving her fan, she shooed the insect away.

  “A row about the lake should cool us nicely,” Flynn said. He squinted into the cloudless sky, then turned to wait for the others. “Especially if we stay to the east side where the trees shade the water.”

  “I do hope so.”

  She’d done away with her spencer. For once, she welcomed a parasol’s shade. Gads, but she was perspiring. Fanning herself she cast a covert glance at her sisters. In their white embroidered muslin gowns, each looked as fresh as newly opened peach roses.

  How did they manage it?

  “I’m as wilted as the cabbage in Sorcha’s rumbledethump,” Adaira declared, waving her fan vigorously.

  Catching up, Seonaid giggled. “Oh, Addy, rumbledethump? That’s one of your favorite dishes.”

  Adaira raised her brow. “Yes, I enjoy eating the onions and cabbage, but I don’t enjoy feeling droopy and baked.”

  Flynn wiggled his eyebrows. He began walking again. “As bad as all that, eh?”

  “I’m feeling a wee bit like wilted cabbage myself.” Dugall tugged at his neckcloth. “Last year we’d no summer at all, and this year, we be toasting like bugs on a log.”

  Flynn nodded, daring to unbutton his coat. “You have the right of it. It’s beastly warm.”

  “Do you suppose Mother would be scandalized if we were to remove our shoes and dip our toes in the water?” Adaira yearned to jump in the lake and swim like she did in the loch at home.

  Isobel looked longingly at the tempting water. “That does sound lovely, Addy, but I’m sure it’s most improper.”

  Of course, it was. Everything fun was improper.

  Flynn winked. “I shan’t tell, dear cousin.”

  Father hadn’t hesitated to allow his lordship to accompany the Ferguson sisters. Flynn was a relative, though Adaira had never quite understood the connection. Somewhere in the family tree, his father’s cousin was related to her grandmother. Second cousins twice removed or third cousins once removed? It was of no importance. Besides, Ewan was related to him on the McTavish side too.

  Flynn was a delight to be around. He was fun and irresistibly charming. He and Adaira had always had a special bond.

  “Look at the ducklings!” Seonaid pointed to shallow area near some tall thrushes and cattails. “Oh, there’s a whole family of the little darlings.”

  Flynn tossed a lazy grin at them and flung a look over his shoulder. “What say you. . .?”

  He stopped, his nostrils flaring.

  Following his gaze, Adaira smothered a groan. Hounds teeth, Count von Schnitzer and his son strode their way, the poor pup snared in his arms. Freidrick had retrieved Irmgard, all but snatching her from Adaira, shortly after dining. She was sorely tempted to refuse him the dog, but she hadn’t the right.

  She had no doubt the von Schnitzers intended to intrude upon their excursion. Not that it was private, by any means. But, by George, she was certain as the day was hot, the count’s lewd attention would be directed at her. She picked up her pace. She wasn’t about to get into a vessel with either Austrian if she could help it. There was something off about them, something that went beyond her usual leeriness of men.

  Reaching the lake, she quickly assessed the trio of sturdy skiffs tied to the
small dock. Each was capable of holding three people comfortably. Two manservants hurried from the shady oaks to assist them into the boats.

  Sending another furtive peek along the path, her stomach sank. Mrs. Winthrop and the earl had joined the count and Freidrick. The woman chatted animatedly, pressed so snug against Lord Clarendon’s side, her bosom brushed his arm and bounced with every step. Why, one would almost think she did it on purpose.