Touch of a Scoundrel (Touch of Seduction 3)

by Mia Marlowe

  He’d purposely chosen to ride in the carriage with Louisa, her friend Lady Cressida, who’d been persuaded to come early to the house party with the family, and Dr. Farnsworth. His mother was riding herd on Theodore and Emmaline in the equipage immediately behind them, along with Kingsley.

  Griffin’s friend had said he wanted to come early and try his hand at trout fishing in the shimmering lake on the north side of the manor. Northrop would be joining them in the morning for a few days before the rest of the guests arrived for the fortnight of foolishness. Griffin was tired of it already.

  He closed his eyes. All he could see against the back of his lids was Emmaline. He forced his eyes open again. As much as he longed to be with Emma, he didn’t want to be subjected to watching his brother’s continued courtship of her.

  Part of him wished she’d break it off with Ted, but he understood why she didn’t. He hadn’t given her any alternative and couldn’t bring himself to.

  Coward, he named himself. But no amount of internal shame would turn him. He remembered the impotent despair that followed the Sending that warned of his father’s demise. He couldn’t risk an attachment to Emma because eventually in an unguarded moment, he’d touch a teacup she’d drunk from or a bit of lace draped over her bosom and See her death approaching.

  And he wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing about it.

  Better not to care. Not to love a woman like a normal man. He’d always thought eventually he’d marry for the express purpose of siring children, but he realized now that having a family was fraught with potential loss as well.

  Ted would be his heir.

  Lady Cressida’s giggle interrupted his dark thoughts. He dragged his gaze from the passing countryside and looked at his sister and her friend.

  They burst into peals of laughter, which woke Dr. Farnsworth, who’d slipped into the light slumber of advancing years. He woke with a snort and a sputter. Griffin scowled at them for waking the old man.

  “I told you,” Louisa said. “He didn’t hear a thing. We could be plotting the Queen’s overthrow and the earl of Devonwood wouldn’t hear us when he’s like this. My brother frequently leaves this mundane sphere for fantastical realms in his own mind.”

  He deepened his frown at her. Her comment was far too on the nose for his comfort. His visions did indeed send him to worlds of his own. “If you’re truly scheming against our Sovereign, I’ll stop the coach now and let you walk the rest of the way.”

  Louisa flicked her fan at him. “Beast!”

  “Patriot,” he corrected.

  “If you must know,” Louisa said with a sigh, “we’re trying to decide whether to gather the party together to play Sardines or just let everyone settle in at Devonwood Park once we arrive.”

  “I’ve no doubt the countess has already planned all the organized fun you could wish for,” Griffin said.

  “What if we want disorganized fun?” Lady Cressida asked, batting her lashes in alarmingly quick succession.

  Was she trying to flirt with him?

  Griffin made a mental note to absent himself if they did decide to play Sardines. More than one titled lord had found himself leg-shackled for life after hiding in a broom closet with a marriage-minded miss.

  The carriages rumbled across a stone bridge, leading into the bailey of the ancient castle.

  “In medieval times that would’ve been a drawbridge,” Griffin said.

  “In less civilized times, you mean,” Louisa said.

  “Or more enlightened,” Griffin countered. “I understand women were regarded as chattel then and disposed of correspondingly by their male relatives without so much as a by-your-leave.”

  His sister stuck out her pointed little tongue at him as the carriage rumbled to a stop. Griffin handed the ladies down and then helped Dr. Farnsworth descend. The old man’s skin was the color of three-day-old suet, but he coughed less the farther they traveled from the sooty London air.

  Emmaline’s carriage halted behind his and Theodore helped her alight. Griffin noted that the countess seemed to move a little stiffly once Kingsley handed her down. He’d always thought of his energetic mother as forever youthful. Now he was reminded that she bore more than fifty years.

  “Welcome to the old wreck, Emmaline,” Theodore said expansively, spreading his arms wide and turning a slow circle. “The place is a total mongrel. Every earl of Devonwood felt the need to build and leave his own stamp on it. Norman foundations, medieval Gloriette, Tudor maiden’s tower.” He laid a confiding hand alongside his mouth and continued in a stage whisper. “Family legend says it once housed a whole gaggle of nuns and they were reportedly more than hospitable to the warrior class when King’s men passed through. And of course, there’s last century’s manor house all rolled into one giant monstrosity.”

  “I think it’s charming, all higgledy-piggledy.” She cast her gaze over the mismatched turrets and towers, the gargoyles and arrow loops and then met Griffin’s gaze. “What have you added to the family seat, milord?”

  He’d had no spare funds for grandiose projects, but he had managed to make a practical addition to the grounds. “I ordered the orangery built.”

  “Ah! The larger version of the one in town,” she said, sending him a secret smile.

  Was she remembering the evening when he’d all but forced her to join him in a tour of the town house orangery? Did it give her the same uptick in heart rate the memory gave him? She was a weakness in his blood, a sickness. If he’d had his way then, he’d have taken her on the cool paving stones that very night.

  “My brother is nothing if not thrifty,” Theodore said. “He was able to use the same plan, just changing the scale himself.”

  “Thrifty he may be, but he’s also generous,” Lady Devonwood said. “Thank you for hosting this party for us, dear.”

  When Louisa broached the subject of Sardines, the countess refused to consider starting parlor games as early as Louisa and her friend wished.

  “Nonsense, girls,” she said. “I have entirely too much to do. There are seating plans to draw up, rooms to assign, and then I’ll need to huddle with Cook to inspect the larder, order menus for the fortnight, and prepare shopping lists. My head spins at the thought!”

  “I think it will all keep till you’ve had a chance to rest from your travels, Maman,” Griffin said. “I sent word we were coming. I’m sure the staff has matters well in hand for the moment.”

  “A rest does sound lovely,” she admitted. “I suppose I could do with a bit of a lie down. Why don’t we all take our leisure this afternoon and then this evening, we’ll have a few games after supper? The dressing bell will ring at seven. Dinner at eight.”

  Louisa and Lady Cressida agreed to this proposal without much grace.

  The servants streamed into the main bailey and lined up to greet the family’s return in a rolling wave of bows and curtseys. Baxter stood at the head of the line. Griffin had sent him on ahead a few days early to take charge of the country staff, leaving the town house under the watchful eye of Atkins, the young under-butler.

  Griffin greeted the help, pausing to inquire after their families and calling each by name. Many of them had known him since he was a boy and several heads were more gray than he remembered from last summer. He made a mental note that something would have to be done to provide for pensioners before long.

  Yet another financial quagmire his unproductive estate would have to wade through. He sent another silent prayer for the Rebecca Goodspeed to make safe berth in London before the end of the season. If that risky investment paid off, he’d finally turn the corner.

  Lady Devonwood shepherded the women into the newest portion of the manor, the part that was a mere seventy-five years or so old, promising baths and a cold luncheon in their chambers. Footmen unloaded the carriage boots and hauled the ladies’ trunks and parcels after them.

  “Careful with that, Bascombe,” Theodore said to the one who carried the small crate that housed the Tetisheri st
atue. “Come, Dr. Farnsworth.” He draped an arm around the old man’s shoulders. “I’ll show you the library. Devon doesn’t have much on Egypt, but he’s assembled a fairly decent Greek and Roman collection.”

  The pair of them ambled off toward the Tudor portion of the castle, which housed the books and maps.

  Griffin had vowed to himself that if his financial state reached the point where he had to start selling personal items to make ends meet, he’d part with the silver first and save the library till last.

  Kingsley sidled next to him. “It’s still impressive, never mind about the mix of architecture, Devon. Each time I see it, this place takes me back. Look at that tower there. Bet it saw the viking hordes cresting the hill.”

  “If it did, it was looking down at my ancestors,” Griffin said with a laugh. “My family swept in with the Norman invaders, you know. If the tower was here then, and I wager it was, they found a way to breech and take it.”

  “The essence of nobility. Orbi non sufficit. ‘The world is not enough,’” Kingsley said wryly. His was an old and venerated barony, but the much smaller manor house on it was a fairly recent construction, only since George IV sat on the throne. “Must cost the earth to maintain a place like this though.”

  “You don’t want to know the half of it.”

  Drafty and with a roof that perpetually leaked, the Devonwood family seat was more a millstone around his neck than a showpiece. The interior hadn’t been refurbished since before his father’s time and was undoubtedly a bit shabby. Fortunately, he’d given Baxter instructions to see to it that the main public rooms had a thorough scrubbing. Devonwood Park had never been converted to gas. The dim glow of candlelight and whale oil lamps covered a multitude of sins.

  “Well, then.” Kingsley rubbed his hands together. “Shall we try our luck at the lake?”

  “Maybe tomorrow,” Devon said. “Go ahead if you like and take one of the grooms with you to handle the tackle. I think I’ll see how the orangery fared over the winter.”

  “I’ll go with you.” Kingsley fell into step beside him on the pea gravel path that led around the newer part of the manor. “Theodore said someone tried to steal Dr. Farnsworth’s statue back in town. Have you a safe place to keep it here?”

  “I do, but just between us two, I don’t think it’s necessary. The statue may well be a fake.”

  Kingsley frowned. “That’s not the word at White’s.”

  “And when do the layabouts there have anything right?” He pushed open the door of the classically inspired outbuilding and breathed deeply. Several orange trees were already bearing. The sharp tang of citrus bit the moist air of the artificially warm space. “I’m surprised you have time to attend to such drivel, Kingsley. All they do at that coffeehouse is drink, gossip, and gamble.”

  “As to that, the wagers there are running against Teddy’s betrothal now. Thought you should know.”

  “Do the wags at Whites say why?”

  Kingsley shrugged. “The ones who’re betting against the liaison say the fact that the lady hasn’t said yes means she’s got her eye on someone else.”

  “Ridiculous.” Griffin snorted. “Ted’s as fine a man as they come.”

  “And yet the lady dithers,” Kingsley said slyly. “Makes one think they might be right. Still, she is a lovely creature. One can see why Ted is smitten.”

  Griffin gave a noncommittal “humph!”

  Kingsley shot him a shrewd glance. “You fancy her yourself, don’t you?”

  Griffin glared at his friend.

  “Don’t forget, I know you, Devon. Still waters run deep and all, but your face fairly shouts it.” Kingsley cocked his head as he studied him. “Has this affair progressed beyond the furtive longing stage? Have you swived the lady yet?”

  Griffin snatched Kingsley up by the lapels and slammed him against the stone wall, holding him so the tips of his shoes barely touched the smooth floor. “You will not speak of her so again or our friendship is at an end.”

  “All right, all right. It was intemperate of me to bring it up, but you’re well warned. I can see your attachment to Miss Farnsworth clearly, even though you’ve tried to hide it. No doubt others will, too, if they haven’t already. I’d be no friend to you if I didn’t bring it to your attention.” When Griffin released him, Kingsley brushed imagined dust off his lapels, not meeting his gaze. “Honestly, how you do so well at the gaming tables with such an open face is beyond me.”

  “Let me worry about that.”

  “Right-o. Back to the statue, then,” Kingsley said. “What makes you think it’s not genuine?”

  Griffin hadn’t intended to tell anyone, but Kingsley was his oldest friend, except for Northrop. He ought not to have lost his temper. Kingsley might have been crude, but he was only trying to help. So he found himself explaining how he and Emmaline and Baxter had discovered the way the base of the statue came off and the fact that it was filled with a mysterious substance.

  “Did Baxter take all of it to his nephew?” Kingsley’s voice sounded a bit tight, as if he were coming down with a cold. A few days of country air would no doubt fix matters.

  “No, only a small sample.”

  “May I see the rest of it?”

  Griffin noted that Kingsley clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles went dead white. He was probably angry at the way he’d been manhandled and was trying to hide it. A wry smile stretched Griffin’s face. He wasn’t the only one who had telling mannerisms.

  “Ted doesn’t want anyone to see the statue until the ‘unveiling’ when he and Dr. Farnsworth present their paper to everyone,” Griffin said. “A word to the wise. Do not invest in an expedition, no matter what you may hear.”

  “Hadn’t considered it.” Kingsley unclenched his fists and strode over to the corner where the climbing fig was running riot over the palladium window. “I was thinking about making Dr. Farnsworth an offer for the statue though. It seems an intriguing novelty at the very least.”

  “Only if you like hollow, formerly bearded ladies,” Griffin said. “Truly, my friend, I’m trying to spare you.”

  “I was never one for caution,” Kingsley said. “You know that. Better to attempt something and fail than never to try at something you want.”

  Griffin had been studying the slate pavers underfoot, but his head jerked up at that. He wanted Emmaline, but didn’t want to risk the pain of losing her. His chest constricted.

  Would the heavy lump where his heart should be ever dissolve? He’d made such a habit of letting life wash over him, for fear of aiding Fate in an unintended way if he acted, he was almost ready to let the woman he loved get away.

  Simply because he was afraid.

  Every couple on earth knows there’ll come a time when one of them must stand at the graveside of the other, unless by some mercy they are taken together.

  But they don’t know when.

  That was his hell. He feared seeing it coming. Feared the pain of unavoidable loss.

  “I say, what is this green stuff twining around everything?” Kingsley pointed at the renegade vine.

  “It’s a vining fig.”

  “I don’t see any produce on it. I’d have the whole lot ripped out myself. I mean, it does seem a waste, doesn’t it? If your orange trees are bearing, why isn’t this?”

  Griffin’s mouth turned up in a half smile. He and Emmaline had had an almost identical conversation. He’d explained that a specific type of wasp needed to be introduced to the orangery in order to pollinate the figs. He’d resisted doing it since no one wanted a stinging insect in the fragrant bower.

  His life was just like the vine, meandering and pointless. Without the risk of pain, he’d know no joy, no growth. To love was to risk ultimate loss. There was no avoiding it.

  But the joy now would be worth the pain later. New resolve solidified in his chest.

  Griffin turned and headed for the door.

  “Where are you going, Devon?”

  “I’m goin
g to risk getting stung.”

  CHAPTER 28

  Emmaline opened the shutters in her new chamber and let in the late afternoon light. She and Monty were housed in different parts of the manor instead of in a suite of adjoining rooms as they had been in town. She was uneasy about being so far from him.

  Suppose he woke in the night with a coughing fit? Lady Devonwood had promised to assign a valet who’d sleep in an antechamber adjacent to her father’s room, so she needn’t worry on that score. That wasn’t the real cause of her unhappiness in any case.

  All the way to Devonwood Park, she’d caught Teddy eyeing her contemplatively when he thought she wasn’t aware of it, almost as if he were trying to peek into her soul. Emma didn’t care if he realized that she and Monty were trying to trick him. What really worried her was the possibility that Theodore should know she’d fallen hopelessly in love with his brother.

  She leaned on the windowsill. Her chamber was high enough in the manor to offer a view of a hill towering above the curtain wall. Spring grass draped over it like a velvet shawl. The country air was tinged with the green breath of growing things and a whiff of wood fires from crofter’s cottages that dotted the estate in all directions. The land around the sprawling collection of buildings rejoiced in the promise of warm summer to come.

  In her heart, it was February, cold and hard. She loved Griffin, but it was a terrible love. A selfish love. A hurtful love. If Theodore should ever learn of it, she shuddered at the pain it might cause him.

  Monty had shown her an old map in one of the rare books in his shop once. The edges of the continents were grossly distorted in some parts, faded and indistinct in others. A cryptic inscription near the questionable areas warned “Here there be monsters.”

  She was what waited for Theodore beyond the edge of the map. He deserved better.

  Emmaline swallowed hard. She’d tell him so tonight. After supper, she’d find an excuse to speak with him alone and lay bare her heart. He didn’t need to know she loved his brother. She couldn’t bring herself to even tell Griffin since he’d scrupulously avoided her for days. The ache of that abandonment was like a fresh bruise that refused to heal, but it didn’t matter. That terrible love for him kept growing inside her, filling every space.