Touch of a Scoundrel (Touch of Seduction 3)

by Mia Marlowe

  Good thing no one had been about to observe her moaning like a ten-penny whore in the earl’s arms that afternoon.

  Except the earl, of course.

  She swept the room with her gaze. Monty had abandoned her to lean an elbow on the sideboard and was doing his best to charm the countess and a young lady whom Emmaline didn’t recognize. Lady Devonwood’s elegant cheekbones were echoed in the girl’s face, but her luxuriant blond curls and vivid eyes were a departure from the original. Obviously this was Theodore’s younger sister.

  Lord Devonwood was nowhere to be seen.

  Was it possible he was afraid to see her, too?

  Not likely. But before Emma could decide to hope so, the girl left Monty and her mother’s company and scampered over to Theodore with her arms spread wide.

  “Oh, Teddy,” the girl exclaimed. “You weren’t due home till next week. It’s only dumb luck I came back to town early. Oh, I can’t believe you’re finally home.”

  He scooped her into his arms and twirled her around twice. “And I can’t believe it’s you, Louisa. Where’s the little girl I left six months ago?”

  “I grew up,” she said, her eyes bright as bluebells in May, her golden ringlets shining. “Something I hear you’re trying to do now, too. Come now. Don’t be shy, brother. Introduce me to your bride.”

  Emmaline knew she ought to explain to Louisa that she really wasn’t engaged to be married to Theodore, but she bit back the words. They were both so obviously enjoying their reunion, she didn’t want to ruin the moment.

  Louisa kissed the air by both her cheeks in the French fashion. “I’ve always wanted a sister, Emmaline,” she whispered confidingly. “You have no idea the trials I’ve been through growing up with two brothers. This is going to be such fun!”

  Emma’s smile was fragile. Before when she and Monty worked a mark, she’d been able to keep a professional distance. She took comfort in the fact that it was impossible to con an honest person. All their games worked only if the mark was greedy for financial gain or selfishly had to have something no one else could have.

  Adding a sham engagement to the mix of subterfuge was full of potential complications beyond simply her relationship with Theodore.

  When she looked into Louisa’s eyes, all she saw was yet another person who’d be hurt when their scheme was discovered. Then Monty excused himself suddenly and headed for the hallway, covering his mouth with his handkerchief to muffle his cough. Emma’s spine straightened. Pity for a mark was a weakness, a luxury only the affluent could afford.

  She was willing to bet Louisa Nash had never wanted for anything in her life. Emma would have traded her left arm for even one brother and all Louisa could do was complain about having two, even if she was speaking in jest. A little hurt might do her a world of good.

  “Have you any brothers, Miss Farnsworth?” Louisa asked.

  “No,” she said with a shake of her head. “But I’ll be happy to help you even the odds against yours.” The first step in the long confidence game was establishing trust. She smiled at Louisa. “Please, call me Emmaline.”

  Eight o’clock, the hallowed time to begin the evening meal, came and went without Lord Devonwood deigning to appear. Finally at half past, the countess ordered Baxter to serve the soup course and the party assembled around the long table glittering with Reed & Barton silver and Limoges china.

  Louisa regaled them with tales of the ton and the slightly naughty goings-on among the Upper Ten Thousand. She’d just returned from a house party at the country home of His Grace, the Duke of Kent, where no fewer than three couples had announced their engagements by the end of the fortnight.

  “Honestly,” Louisa said with an expressive roll of her eyes, “the way couples were pairing off, you’d have thought it was time to board the Ark.” She sighed dramatically.

  “And what of you, my dear?” Monty asked. “Has some beau caught your fancy?”

  “Not yet, professor.” Louisa dimpled prettily at him. “But I’m in no hurry. This is only my first Season. You see, until I settle on one fellow, I can flirt to my heart’s delight with all of them. An engaged lady doesn’t have nearly as much fun.”

  “Louisa, please,” the countess said, her lips drawn into a prim line. “Dr. Farnsworth will think you shockingly fast.”

  “Nonsense, my dear lady.” Monty leaned across the table and gave Teddy’s sister an avuncular pat on the hand. “She’s perfectly delightful.”

  “But she’s likely to taint Emmaline with her unladylike ideas,” Theodore complained.

  “Oh, that’s right. I keep forgetting dear Teddy is engaged,” Louisa said. “Pay no attention to me, Emmaline. I’m sure you have more excitement as a betrothed lady than you know what to do with.”

  If being kissed into incoherence by Theodore’s brother qualified as excitement, Emmaline was forced to agree.

  “We’re not quite engaged yet, sister,” he said with a wink to Emma. He caught her hand under the table and squeezed. “But I’m working on it.”

  “Careful, Miss Farnsworth,” Lord Devonwood’s voice came from behind her. “If Teddy claims to be working, lightning strikes will no doubt commence shortly. You’d do well to move down a chair or two.”

  He took his place at the head of the long table without a word of apology for his tardiness. The countess, however, apologized for starting the meal without him.

  Devon waved off her words and signaled for the footman to fill his soup bowl. The servants nearly stumbled over each other in an effort to see that his wine goblet was brimming with a golden Reinish vintage and that his napkin was arranged just so over his impeccable finery.

  The rest of the party had polished off their lamb and were ready for dessert. However, it was obvious they’d simply have to sit there digesting and sipping the burgundy that had accompanied the meat entrée, while Lord Devonwood ate his leisurely way through the five courses they’d just finished.

  How the world adjusts itself to please an earl with no effort on his part at all, Emma thought.

  And yet his lordship had the temerity to berate his brother for not working. Emmaline’s enterprising soul rankled at the way Lord Devonwood felt himself above honest labor or even common courtesy for those who engaged in it.

  “Actually, your lordship, Theodore worked very hard indeed while he was in Egypt,” she said with a surreptitious glance in Devon’s direction. The earl was definitely wearing his station, resplendent in a cloth of gold waistcoat and elegantly tied cravat starched to perfection. But even without the trappings of his title, the man himself was enough to make her insides caper about like a troop of drunken faeries in the garden, not quite balanced on the daisy stems.

  “It’s true,” Teddy said with a laugh. “At the dig outside of Thebes, I developed a genuine blister.”

  “A blister! Don’t be gauche, Theodore.” The countess frowned at him.

  “Sorry, Maman. But you can’t imagine what fun it was to muck about in the dirt and hope to turn up something astonishing.”

  The earl’s spoonful of white soup halted halfway to his mouth. “And did you turn up something astonishing?”

  Ted caught Emma’s hand and brought it quickly to his lips for a kiss. “Not until I boarded the British Star and met Emmaline.”

  “Well put, Teddy. You’ll win her yet.” Louisa beamed at her brother’s gallantry.

  Emma’s cheeks heated as she disengaged her hand from Theodore’s grasp. She didn’t feel astonishing. She felt lower than shoe leather. Even though Theodore showered her with compliments, she’d caught herself reliving that blasted kiss with his brother in the library more times than Egypt had dynasties.

  Since Egypt had poked its way into her mind, it was high time she made use of it. “Actually, I think Theodore is referring to the Tetisheri statue and the academic work he did on that piece.”

  “No, I’m not.” He tossed her a hopeful grin. “I was talking about you and you know it.”

  “Theodore, pl
ease,” she murmured. It was bad enough that he was determined to court her. It was unconscionable that it should all play out before his family. The public nature of his coming humiliation would be all the more painful.

  “Don’t be modest, Miss Farnsworth. It doesn’t become you.” Lord Devonwood signaled for the footman to remove his soup, waved off the fish course, and accepted the meat instead. He speared a glistening bite of lamb with mint relish. “Your intended and I had a chance to become better acquainted in the library this afternoon, Ted, and I must agree with your assessment. Miss Farnsworth certainly astonished me.”

  He popped the meat into his mouth with a wicked grin.

  “My lord, you exaggerate.” Now the drunken faeries in her belly threatened to escape in a panicked rout. Would he actually expose her for a wanton between the lamb and the crème brûlée? “His lordship was kind enough to show me his library. I was quite taken with it.”

  “Quite taken,” he repeated as he skewered her with a look. Heat sizzled beneath the words.

  If she hadn’t stopped him when she did, he’d have been perfectly capable of taking her there on the venerable marble floor of the library with the ghosts of Sir Walter Scott, Dickens, and Shakespeare cheering them on.

  “Yes,” Lord Devonwood continued, “I was quite impressed with her taste . . .”

  Memory of the citrusy freshness of his mouth returned to taunt her. Emmaline stared at her empty plate. It seemed the only safe course, but silence hung suspended over the table like a strand of bubbles waiting to burst. She was forced to look down the long table at the earl.

  “. . . in literature,” he finally finished. “Ask her how she feels about Titus Andronicus sometime.”

  He would have to remind her how Shakespeare had slipped from between them moments before her knee connected with his nether parts. She jerked her gaze from him, sure her cheeks were giving her unmaidenly thoughts away with another infernal blush.

  Monty caught her eye and cocked a questioning brow, but Emmaline gave him an almost imperceptible shake of her head. She ought to have warned Monty of this potential complication, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell him she’d kissed the earl or worse, that she’d enjoyed it like a common strumpet.

  “Yes, indeed, Teddy,” the earl said. “Your Miss Farnsworth is absolutely astonishing.”

  “You see.” Theodore turned to her with a soppy grin on his face. “I told you my family would love you, too.”

  “What’s this business about the statue Miss Farnsworth mentioned, Theodore?” the countess asked, signaling an abrupt change of topic. “I’ve never known you to be interested in art, dear.”

  “Well, it’s not exactly art,” Theodore said. “It’s an artifact. It’ll revolutionize the study of the ancients and our understanding of them if we can only convince others of the import of the piece. I wonder if you’d mind showing it to my family, Dr. Farnsworth.”

  “Certainly, my boy.” Monty stood and bowed to the countess. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, milady.”

  Emma dabbed her lips with her napkin to hide her smile. They couldn’t have planned matters more neatly. She hoped Monty restrained himself from taking the stairs two at a time in his zeal to retrieve the statue and return quickly.

  A clever trickster could maneuver the conversation in a way that benefitted him, but patience was always best. The hook went in deeper and without causing alarm if the mark asked for more of his own volition.

  “Keep your seat, Farnsworth,” Lord Devonwood said. “We haven’t had dessert yet. We’ve only just begun to recover from our astonishment over your daughter. I’m not certain we can bear much more amazement. Surely whatever wonderment this statue represents will keep till we’ve digested our crème brûlée.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Devon knew he was being churlish, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. Emmaline Farnsworth turned the color of a ripe peach with guilt every time she glanced his way. Her bare shoulders and exquisitely displayed bosom in that cream-colored gown threatened his self-control so thoroughly, the only way he could keep a handle on the situation was to exercise his control over others.

  Otherwise he might give in and announce to the world and his brother that he’d kissed her. More than that, he’d made her moan. Of course, she’d launched a serious attempt at maiming him for life after that delicious moment, but for an indecent interval before, she’d been as lost in lust as he.

  He ought to have let Emmaline’s father go retrieve whatever it was that Teddy was so excited about. Perhaps it would’ve distracted him from the sweet hollow between his brother’s almost fiancée’s breasts.

  Devon was no stranger to a woman’s charms. It was no surprise that he’d enjoyed kissing her, but it astounded him that he couldn’t stop thinking about it. The warm sanctuary of her mouth, the honeyed sweetness under her tongue, the way she’d suckled his—he couldn’t shake the dark and delectable sensations she stirred in him.

  Then there was the fact that her kiss had driven away his beastly headache. Nothing had ever touched his malady like that before.

  He drained his wineglass and upon a mere flick of his gaze, the footman refilled it without being told. Maybe getting roaring drunk would drown out the siren call of Miss Farnsworth’s dangerous allure.

  Dessert came, but the crusty sweet wasn’t nearly as luscious as the memory of her lips. Still, Devon bolted it down, sheered every last bit of the crème brûlée from the delicate china with a loud scrape. Then he licked the spoon clean. His mother shook her head at him, but said nothing.

  What could she say? He was the earl, the peer. A country that tolerated mad kings had no trouble accepting eccentricities in its gentry. If he wanted to stand on his head in the middle of the table, no one would tell him it wasn’t perfectly appropriate.

  “Well, let’s see this wonder you’re so enamored with, Ted.” Devon rose from his place without first making sure the rest of the party had finished their desserts. He strode down the length of the table and offered Emmaline his arm. “While her father collects the artifact, I’ll show Miss Farnsworth around the orangery. We’ll join you in the parlor in a bit.”

  Sometimes, it was very good to be a titled lord.

  She rose to her feet and took his arm. What else could she do?

  At least he wasn’t standing on his head.

  Without bothering to see how the rest of the party paired off to adjourn to the parlor, he whisked Miss Farnsworth out the door and down the hall toward the fragrant orangery.

  “In most civilized countries, it is customary to remain at table until everyone is finished dining,” she said once they were out of earshot of the others. “That was more than a little rude, don’t you think?”

  “No one else complained.”

  “How would they dare? Your mother feels it necessary to apologize to you even when the error is yours. Your sister would be grateful as a basset if you’d only notice her once, and Theodore worships the air you breathe. You’re either unaware or unconcerned that you’re behaving boorishly and no one has the courage to tell you.”

  Oh, that’s right. Yanks don’t put up with kings, mad or otherwise, do they?

  “No one except you, Miss Farnsworth.”

  She kept her voice pleasantly low and musical, as if she weren’t berating him. Should the rest of the party chance to overhear, they’d never suspect from her tone that she was verbally flaying him alive.

  “Why do you torment your family so?” she said, increasing the pressure of her fingertips on his arm to punctuate her words. “You’ve been an insufferable bully all evening.”

  “How kind of you to notice.” For the life of him, he couldn’t remember the last time anyone had taken him to task over anything. It felt strangely comforting, nearly as comforting as the slight weight of her fingertips on his sleeve. As an earl, he was a man without limits. Even his tutors had stopped chiding him once he came into the title. Short of doing murder, Devon could get away with anything.
“I was doing my best to irritate you mostly.”

  “You succeeded, but I’m not the only one who notices your brusqueness,” Emmaline said. “Just because no one else brings you to account, it doesn’t mean that your family doesn’t suffer from the things you do.”

  She had no idea the things he did to ensure his family’s comfort. “Believe me, my days are thoroughly occupied with making certain my family does not suffer.”

  “Do you think Theodore is blithe about the way you spirited me out of the room?”

  Devon shrugged. “Teddy is anxious for me to approve of you. I expect he’s pleased I’ve condescended to show you some attention.”

  She actually snorted. “My heart will continue to beat without your condescension. Pray, do not trouble yourself on my account, milord.”

  “It’s very little trouble. I wouldn’t do it if it were otherwise.”

  “Oh, that’s right. You abhor labor of any kind.”

  Devon had no problem with work. In truth, he worked unceasingly to keep his very leaky estate afloat, but it wouldn’t do to be seen to be laboring. While Polite Society was harsh toward its impoverished nobles, it set strict limits on how wealth might be acceptably achieved. Devon would happily tell the ton to go chase itself, but he knew the good opinion of that world mattered to his mother. Without continued success in his myriad investments and occasional winnings at the gaming tables, he might be forced to petition the House of Lords to break the estate’s entail and sell off a portion of his sprawling property.

  Only last year, his friend Lord Northrop had gone crawling to that august body begging to be allowed to part with some of his land in order to prop up his decaying estate. The marquess had tired of dealing with the incessant water damage from the faulty roof, the moldering tapestries of his country seat and his tenants’ constant complaints over lack of maintenance to their cottages.