Calliope chose a strawberry tart for her plate. “He earned the name Brutus when my aunt visited. Her two Pekingese are now surrounded by four of his offspring.”
Frances looked over at the beast. He didn’t appear the least bit contrite. In fact, he almost looked proud. Hiding a smile, she wagged her finger at him and silently reprimanded the naughty boy.
“And Reginald James?” The dog’s ears perked at Frances’s question.
Lucan answered this and bent down to give his canine companion a solid pat. “I’ve always believed that a dog of any distinction deserves more than one name. Wouldn’t you agree, Miss Thorne?”
Through her lenses, their gazes held for a moment. Since their kiss, she’d been pretending that it had had no effect on her, that her exterior was as practiced and controlled as his. Yet just now she felt a small ripple disturb the surface. Ignoring it, she turned to address the group. “And which name does he prefer?”
“That is the veritable puzzle of our friend. His preference alters from one person to the next,” Everhart said with a shrug from the chair opposite his wife. “You may call him whatever you like.”
Actually, Frances liked the name Reginald James, and he’d responded to it as well. However, there seemed to be the weight of expectation in the room, as each of them, no doubt, were wondering why she was here with Lucan. And if Reginald James was what he called the dog, using it might give rise to unwarranted speculation.
She held out her hand. “Here is your cheese, Duke.”
The dog did not move.
She tried again. “Here is your cheese, Boris?”
Still, the same result.
“Surely, you don’t prefer Brutus.”
Apparently not, because he remained fixed to his spot. He did look up, however, toward Lucan.
Reginald James was on the tip of her tongue. Yet she refused to be coerced into using it. She wasn’t going to be manipulated any longer by Lucan or even the dog that hadn’t left his side. “Here is your cheese, RJ.”
She must have said it with enough authority that the dog knew it was his last chance, because in the same instant he stood, loped over, gave her hand a lick, and gobbled up the cheese. Then, he crossed the room and found a cozy spot to rest near the hearth.
“Well, that settles matters, doesn’t it?” Calliope asked. Although, when Frances turned, she saw that the question was directed to Hedley.
Hedley smiled in response. “It appears so.”
Frances felt as if she’d missed something.
“Forgive them, Miss Thorne,” Lucan said, his warning tone lacking amusement. “You have wandered into a den of newlyweds who would like nothing more than to pair off every man and woman of their acquaintance.”
Frances straightened, her spine going rigid as she looked at her new friends. They grinned back at her without a word of denial. She decided a change of subject was in order. “And do all of you live here together?”
Everhart filled his plate with a scone and two tarts. “My wife and I will live at Briar Heath once the repairs are in order. Though with that estate in Northumberland, we’ve considered keeping a share of Fallow Hall as well, so that we may never be too far from our friends.”
“My wife owns Greyson Park, not two miles down the lane,” Danvers said, while Hedley was busy adding sugar to two cups of tea. “It too will need extensive repairs, however. Until a time comes when it is safe to inhabit, we will remain here, amongst friends.”
Friends. It did not escape her notice that Lucan was part of this close-knit circle. Yet when she looked at him, expecting him to offer his reason for why he lived here as well, he said nothing. He merely lifted his brows as if challenging her to ask. She did. “And you?”
“I live here, as well,” he said, without elaborating.
Danvers chuckled. “No doubt he is here to ensure that we hold true to our wager.”
“A wager that I have already won, mind you,” Lucan said, this time with an easy laugh. Then, for Frances’s sake, he added, “My friends made a foolish declaration one night, vowing never to marry. Unable to resist, I proposed a wager. As you see, they have both married, leaving me the sole winner.”
They wagered over marriage? Frances was confused. If they were manipulated, then why did they all seem so pleased? She hadn’t suspected pretense in any of their welcomes or in their fond regard for each other. Yet how could it be otherwise? Frances decided to study them more carefully.
“Only if you last the year,” Danvers taunted with a lift of a teacup in salute.
Lucan offered a smug grin. “It is only a matter of waiting a few months.”
“More than six months,” Everhart pointed out, absently brushing a few crumbs from his cravat.
Lucan’s grin altered. The change was almost imperceptible, yet it appeared harder around the edges, as if fixed in place like a mask. “The time limit matters not, for I will never marry.”
“Woof!” Apparently, RJ wanted part of the conversation as he stood up from his spot on the floor.
“The matchmaker has spoken.” Calliope laughed as she poured tea and shook her head in mock distress in Lucan’s direction. “I’m sorry, Montwood, but you’re next.”
“Matchmaker?” Frances asked, too curious by half not to learn everything she could about this group of friends who enjoyed teasing each other and gambling over marriage—of all things.
“Duke brought Everhart and me together,” Calliope explained, handing Frances a cup and saucer. In turn, Frances passed the cup to Lucan before taking the next one Calliope offered.
“And Boris led me directly to Rafe. Actually, he caused me to crash into him.” Hedley gazed up at her husband fondly. Then to Frances, she lifted her hands in a helpless gesture. “And . . . both you and Montwood call him RJ.”
Frances’s gaze snapped to Lucan’s with such force that she nearly spilled her tea. He’d shortened the name to RJ too? She’d assumed he called him Reginald James.
Lucan offered an unconcerned shrug as he sipped his tea.
“I’m not looking for a match of any sort,” she said to the group, making herself perfectly clear. “Even if I were, I wouldn’t choose a man who abducted me.”
Hedley gasped. “Abducted you? Montwood, is it true?”
Frances winced inwardly. She hadn’t meant to blurt that out. All eyes went to Lucan.
“In a manner of speaking,” he said without an ounce of contrition. “But it was not for selfish purposes. It was for Miss Thorne’s own good.”
Pfft, Frances thought just as Calliope said, “I’m certain that Frances can decide what is for her own good.”
“Montwood, you should have asked her permission and then respected her choice,” Hedley added.
Both women instantly became Frances’s friends. Now, it was her turn to stare back at Lucan with challenge.
“Ah, yes. Blackguard that I am,” Lucan said with a sly glance down to her mouth, “you could very well have found Miss Thorne in hysterics.”
She adjusted her spectacles, trying hard not to think about that kiss. “I am not prone to fits. It would not have served me at my former employment if I were. After all, one cannot teach Artful Defense to young women unless one can respond appropriately in a situation of distress.”
“Artful Defense?” Calliope asked. Surprisingly, in learning that Frances was a member of society’s workers, Calliope’s expression showed no disappointment, only curiosity.
“At Mrs. Hunter’s Agency and Servant Registry, I occasionally trained young maids how to ward off unwanted advances—” Frances stopped suddenly and looked to her companions. “Oh, forgive me for mentioning such a topic.”
“My brother taught my sisters and me boxing maneuvers.” Calliope flipped her fingers in the air as if this were a common enough topic to discuss and not to worry.
Hedley leaned forward and took a biscuit from the platter. “What do you instruct them to do?” she asked Frances.
“Mainly, we advise them
to work in pairs so that they are never caught alone. Housekeepers usually agree when the circumstance is warranted.” Frances set down her tea so that she didn’t spill it while explaining. “From there, we teach them to pay close attention to their opponents. Notice if he’s wearing shoes or boots. Lord Lucan, for example, wears Hessians. A maid’s slipper or half boot would likely be an ineffective deterrent.”
Calliope and Hedley nodded, and then proceeded to scrutinize the gentlemen carefully. “And if they are wearing boots?” the former asked.
“Notice your surroundings,” Frances answered, feeling more in her element. She’d learned similar instructions from her mother before her illness. “The Artful Defense is a method that often uses clumsiness as a tactical advantage. Perhaps a young woman suddenly becomes ungainly with, say . . . a hot pot of tea. If tipped properly, the scalding liquid can arc out at a good distance.”
The gentlemen cringed.
“I’ve done that accidentally,” Hedley admitted on a breath. “When we were in town, I poured for my new mother-in-law and completely missed the cups and soaked the carpet. I was mortified. Yet if I’d have known what you just told me, I could have pretended that I’d done it for the purpose of demonstration.”
“I quite agree,” Calliope said and picked up the scalloped-shaped sugar tongs, pinching them closed until they clacked together. “I’ll never look at a tea tray the same way. What else do you teach?”
Seeing the fire poker near the hearth, Frances stood and crossed the room. She gave RJ a quick scratch behind the ears before lifting the iron from the stand. “Now, this could be a fire poker, a duster, a beater, or whatever is close at hand. Pretend that a man comes near in a threatening manner. This is when you suddenly become quite clumsy and pretend to drop it. But wait—you catch it in the last moment before it strikes the floor. Dear me.” She pantomimed losing control of the poker, only to catch it. “And then lift up sharply, catching the gentleman . . . off guard.”
A collective groan tore through the gentlemen in the room.
“It reminds me of a trick Mother taught us girls to do with our fans,” Calliope said. “If used correctly, it could break a gentleman’s finger.”
“I should like to learn that,” Frances and Hedley said in unison. Then together, they laughed.
“Bloodthirsty lot.” Danvers chuckled.
Frances took her seat and picked up her tea. This was such a pleasant break in her journey that she was nearly ready to thank Lucan for abducting her. Well, not quite. She had far too much sense to ever say those words.
Beside her, Calliope adjusted a small pillow and sat further into the curved corner of the sofa. “I see no injuries on Montwood, and he doesn’t appear to be walking with a limp. Did you resort to any of your methods to subdue him?”
Leaning in, Lucan placed his empty teacup on the low table in front of her. His dimple flashed. “What did you do to subdue me?”
I kissed you into submission, she thought as she answered the challenging lift of his brows with a lift of her own. He was, after all, the one who’d ended it.
If she hadn’t noticed how he’d been affected just as much as she, then his actions might have wounded her ego. She was sensible enough, however, to realize that if he hadn’t broken away, then they likely would have been engaged in kissing when his friends arrived. Which could have turned into quite the conundrum.
“My person was never in any real danger.” Let him stew on that. Besides, she knew how to defend herself. If he’d have done anything that displeased her, she would have stopped his advances. The only problem was, she imagined that Lucan knew precisely how to please her, even if she didn’t know herself.
Calliope sighed. “While I am glad Montwood has behaved as a gentleman—aside from the abduction, of course—I’m also somewhat disappointed. This might be the first time that Duke was wrong.”
As if summoned, the dog appeared again, loping across the room to sit between where Frances sat and Lucan stood.
“What does Boris have in his mouth?” Hedley asked, pointing to the cream-colored wad of parchment in his teeth.
Frances went still and watched in embarrassment as RJ dropped it directly into her lap. The page was unfolded slightly, revealing the last few words Lucan had written. “I’m going to kiss you.”
Now, this was one situation for which she never could have prepared.
“What is it, Frances?” Calliope asked, leaning in.
“It . . . uh . . . appears to be paper,” she answered, lifting it. “Something that RJ must have retrieved from the fireplace.”
Hedley squinted. “That’s strange. We haven’t had need of a fire in here for weeks. It’s been uncommonly warm. Not to mention, paper isn’t the best source of kindling.”
Helpless, Frances looked to Lucan. After her speech about being abducted and not needing to defend herself, revealing the words on this page would be quite damning. For both of them. And it was his fault. He’d written the note and then it tossed onto the grate.
Lucan looked at the wadded-up paper as if he’d never seen it before. “How curious. I do believe there is something written on the page. I wonder if it is something scandalous . . . ”
“Is it an unsigned love letter?” Calliope asked, smiling fondly at Everhart.
“I’m certain it’s nothing of the sort,” Frances said. Lucan, the scoundrel, was only increasing their interest.
Lucan tsked. “How can you be certain without reading it?”
“It could be a ransom note for your recent abduction, Frances,” Hedley offered with a trilling laugh, as if this were part of a parlor game. Everhart and Danvers exchanged a look without saying a word.
“Hedley may have a point,” Lucan said before he plucked it out of Frances’s grasp. Then he crossed the room to the desk and proceeded to smooth out the page. “There is a bit of dog drool to contend with, but I believe I can read the words. Hmm . . . It appears to be quite scandalous, I’m afraid.”
“Those are usually the best sort of letters,” Calliope mused. “What does it say?”
Lucan shook his head and proceeded to fold the page into a palm-sized square. “It’s better that I not read it aloud. In fact, it would be best for all parties concerned if I made it disappear.”
Frances shifted on her cushion, refusing to breathe a sigh of relief just yet.
“I remember this trick from our school days,” Danvers accused. “You used to borrow one of my shillings.”
“And one of my crowns,” Everhart added, grumbling.
Lucan offered an unrepentant grin. “You were both repaid with entertainment, just as you will be once again.”
Facing the group, Lucan displayed the folded square, nimbly moving it from one hand to the other with a roll of his fingers. He was putting on quite the show. And while Frances wished he would be done with it sooner rather than later, she could not help but admire the dexterity of those long fingers.
“And now, I will make this scandalous paper vanish,” he said with a wink. “Do you believe it, Calliope?”
“Of course,” she said with a laugh, humoring him.
When he asked Hedley, she gave the same response. And then he asked Frances. “What about you, Miss Thorne? Do you believe I can make this disappear?”
She fixed a grin to her lips. “Not for an instant.”
“Ah, a skeptic in the room.” Lucan didn’t appear bothered in the least.
Everhart coughed. “There’s more than one.”
“Aye.” Danvers crossed his arms over his chest.
“Then without further ado . . . ” Lucan placed the paper in the center of his palm and closed his fingers over it, one by one. Then, turning his wrist so that the back of his hand faced the group, he swiped his free hand through the air as if casting a spell over it. “One . . . two . . . ” And on the word three, he opened his hand with a flourish.
It was empty, of course.
“It’s in your other hand, Montwood,” Danvers said.
Lucan opened his other hand, revealing it too was empty.
After a pause, Everhart offered, “Then it’s up your sleeve.”
As if anticipating this, Lucan was already shaking his arms toward the floor. Then he shrugged and flashed his charmer’s smile. “Everhart, your austere tone was so certain that I thought it was up my sleeve as well, but apparently it truly has disappeared.”
“What a marvelous trick!” Calliope clapped and then gazed at her husband. “Forgive me, my love, but I’m glad you were wrong.”
Hedley agreed. “Montwood, wherever did you learn it?”
“I spent my life in a traveling carnival, juggling and breathing fire . . . ”
“Don’t let him fool you, sweeting,” Danvers said to his wife. “He knew those tricks even before our school days, but he would never tell us where he learned them.”
Lucan sketched a bow, effectively concealing the dark shadow that crossed his expression. Frances noticed it, however. She wouldn’t say anything, of course. Just like she wouldn’t reveal that the folded paper was in his left pocket.
All the same, it felt as if part of his shadow had somehow swept over her as well. It was a shame that Lucan was a trickster and gambler, because for a small amount of time, she’d started to like him. But with his trick just now and the mention of the wager over marriage earlier, she was reminded how painful and soul-crushing it was to be deceived by his kind.
She’d promised herself years ago that she would only give her heart to a noble man, and if not, then to no man at all.
CHAPTER NINE
“As I mentioned before, it is my duty to check in on you. If anything is amiss, I will know. I will come for you.” Lucan leaned back against the squabs, facing Frances. Less than a half hour ago, they were sitting in the study at Fallow Hall. Now, the carriage was inside the tall wrought iron gates of Whitelock Manor, yet still a distance from the house. The circular courtyard lay ahead.
While he felt marginally better in knowing that she could take care of herself with her Artful Defense, he would have preferred that she decline Whitelock’s offer. There was something disconcerting in this entire ordeal. He still wasn’t certain of Whitelock’s reason for pursuing Frances. What secrets did the man keep? Whatever they were, no one else had an inkling of them. No one aside from Thorne and possibly Clivedale.
The Maddening Lord Montwood: The Rakes of Fallow Hall Series Page 10