by Cara Elliott
“An earl,” exclaimed Lady Trumbull. “And a very rich earl at that. Oh, you sly puss—”
“Anna is joking, Mama,” said Olivia quickly. “Lord Wrexham has no real interest in me. He simply wished to borrow a book.”
“Borrow a book? How very odd.”
“Yes, very odd,” she echoed. Just like me.
Lady Trumbull narrowed her gaze, unsure if she was being teased, but after a blink she let the comment pass.
Turning back to Anna, she said, “Be sure to take a nap this afternoon, my dear. It wouldn’t do for you to have puffy eyes. Oh, and do be sure to wear your seafoam green gown. I have heard that Chittenden is an avid sailor.”
“Perhaps,” murmured Olivia, after the door had fallen shut, “if we put a bridle on you, we could take you to Tattersall’s and sell you to the highest bidder at the next auction of brood mares.”
Caro gave a snort.
“And much as I appreciate your support, you need not bother trying to temper Mama’s cutting comments. To her I’m a hopeless hellion, who will only end up being a burden to her old age.”
“If you would but try to—” began Anna.
Olivia was quick to cut her off. “You know very well that I have not your skill at appearing amiable.”
“To hone a skill, one must be willing to practice.”
“True.” Caro propped her elbows on the work table. “It’s rather like writing, I suppose. One really must work at it to be any good.”
“Thank you for the lecture.” Olivia tried not to sound too shrill. “However, I simply cannot round off the edges of my rough-cut opinions. It is a weakness, I know, but so be it.”
“We all have our strengths and weaknesses,” said Anna softly. “Some are more hidden than others. Perhaps you will surprise yourself.”
A cryptic statement, but Olivia was in no frame of mind to puzzle out its meaning. “I’ve had enough surprises for one morning,” she muttered. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I shall retire to my bedchamber and finish reading Hingham’s essays so that Wrexham may take the dratted book.
The Beacon. John pursed his lips as he turned the corner onto Piccadilly Street. The Beacon was a lady. The idea was still a little dizzying…
And so was the faint trace of Olivia’s sweetness on his mouth.
Lord Almighty, did I really behave like a randy, ravenous wild beast? Closing his eyes for an instant, he recalled possessing her in a hard, hungry kiss. It was utterly unforgivable.
And utterly unforgettable.
A frisson of uncontrollable lust speared through his belly as he recalled the lush, liquid taste of her, the soft, sensuous curves—
“Wrexham!”
His eyes flew open.
“How f’rtuitous to run into you here.”
John would have chosen a different adjective. Viscount Lumley looked as though he had already been drinking heavily, despite the fact that it was barely past noon. “Indeed?” he replied coolly. “Why is that?”
“Because I know a m’litary man will listen to reason.” The viscount fell in step beside him. “You un’erstand the notions of duty and loyalty, and the importance of rigid dis’pline. Can’t let the common ranks get out of control, right?”
John felt his jaw tighten.
“The vote on this damned bill f’r veterans looks like it will be closer than it should be. You, as a r’spected war hero, will have a great deal of influence on the undecided peers. Sommers and I wish to, shall we say, encourage you to say the right thing.”
“I assure you, that is my wish, too.” It took all of his considerable discipline to keep his temper in check. “Be assured that I am reading all I can about the issues and will make a thorough study of their complexities before I draft my speech.”
Lumley made a rude sound. “To hell with reading and thi’nking about the issue, man. We intend to make it easy f’r you. Come out in favor of our side and we shall see you are generously rewarded. Sommers and I have friends among the East India Company governors who are willing to give you stock in the new diamond trading venture.”
“You are offering me a bribe?” asked John softly.
Lumley winked. “Call it an exc’hange of favors between g’ntlemen. It’s done all the time.”
“Save your breath,” he snapped. “My principles are not for sale.”
“Principles?” Lumley’s eyes widened for an instance in surprise, and then narrowed to a slitted stare. “What about the principle of siding with your own kind against the rabble, eh?”
“My own kind?” said John, anger causing him to quicken his stride. “You are mistaken—I’ve nothing in common with parasites who feed with self-satisfied smugness off the sweat and suffering of others.”
“You’re a God-benighted fool, Wrexham,” snarled the viscount as he struggled to keep pace. “The stock we are offering is worth a very large sum of money.”
“I don’t need money.”
“A very large sum of money,” repeated Lumley.
“No amount of blunt is worth my self-respect.”
“You are not only a fool but also a traitor to your class. Mark my words, if you don’t rec’nsider your position, you will be sorry.”
John curled a contemptuous smile. “That’s the second time you’ve threatened me, Lumley. Do it again and it is you who will be sorry.”
Chapter Fourteen
After a few early spitting showers, the next morning turned clear and cloudless, giving reason to believe that the planned meeting with Wrexham’s son should go as planned.
Olivia insisted on accompanying Caro to the rendezvous in Grosvenor Square, and Anna decided to join in, too.
“Seeing as I am the expert at choreographing clandestine meetings,” she announced, “I had better come along to ensure that nothing goes amiss.”
They arrived at the large, leafy gardens of Berkeley Square well before the appointed rendezvous and took up a position within the thick ornamental bushes clustered near the central fountain.
“You are sure that you remember exactly what you are to tell Prescott?” asked Olivia, feeling a twinge of nerves.
Caro nodded. “You’ve had me repeat it enough times.”
“And you won’t forget that you mustn’t on any account mention that I am Lady Loose Screw?”
Caro made a face. “That’s the fourth time you have reminded me. I’m not a complete ninnyhammer, you know.”
“Don’t fret, Livvie,” counseled Anna calmly. “Everything will go smoothly.”
“What if he didn’t find the note in the book?” Olivia suddenly had an even worse thought. “Or, God forbid, what if his father found it and appears instead?”
“Don’t fret,” echoed Caro. “We went over all this. Even if the earl does appear, he won’t recognize me. I shall simply walk right past him and he’ll have no idea that I am the one who set up the meeting.”
Her sisters were right, admitted Olivia. There was little chance of anything going amiss. Still, she felt slightly seedy for having orchestrated this assignation behind Wrexham’s back.
Especially now.
No good deed goes unpunished, she thought wryly. She had agreed to this plan because she couldn’t in good conscience leave the boy to think had had been abandoned by Lady Loose Screw. However, her new arrangement with the earl had added another twist to an already tangled situation.
Drat Anna for letting her diabolically clever imagination at concocting convoluted romance plots get out of hand…
Caro ventured a peek through the leaves at the townhouses across the cobbled carriageway. “It must be nearly time.”
“Another three minutes,” said Anna after consulting their late father’s pocketwatch. “You ought to start making your way out to the perimeter pathway. Slowly—remember, you are simply out for a stroll.”
After a bit of fussing with her bonnet strings and skirts, Caro edged through the opening in the bushes and was momentarily lost from view.
“I do
n’t like that dangerous glitter in her eyes,” muttered Olivia. “I regret letting her get involved in this. Her poetic nature is already excitable enough without any extra encouragement.”
“There is no use crying over spilled milk,” said Anna with her usual pragmatism. “Besides, for all her swishing and swooning, Caro has a modicum of good sense. I don’t think she’ll get herself into any real trouble.”
Olivia expelled a silent sigh. Would that I could say the same about myself. Given the events of yesterday, there was ample reason to question her own judgment.
“Is that the earl’s son?” Anna’s whisper interrupted her brooding.
“Yes, that’s Prescott,” she answered. As requested by the note, he was carrying the book on carriages, so Caro could identify him.
“So far, so good,” said Anna after watching their sister casually approach the boy and strike up a conversation.
Caro, was, admitted Olivia, an excellent actress, with skill honed by the countless late-night theatrical readings the sisters had staged to keep themselves amused. She had done an excellent job of quietly shepherding Prescott to one of the benches and at the moment was engaged in turning the pages of his book and making a show of admiring the pictures.
The boy appeared to be listening in rapt attention.
Another twinge of guilt squeezed a bit of breath from her lungs. Was I wrong to counsel him to accept Fate in the form of the Steel Corset? She, of all people, knew what it was to live with a cold, critical mother. The earl clearly cared very deeply for his son—continued rebellion might make him reconsider his choice of a bride.
Choices, choices.
Olivia frowned. She didn’t usually dither over decisions.
“I think she’s finished,” observed Anna.
Caro was indeed rising and taking her leave of Prescott. The boy appeared to be taking her words with good grace. If he was disappointed at the loss of Lady Loose Screw, he was hiding it well.
Perhaps I overestimated the effect of my words of wisdom. Which was a rather depressing thought, considering the effect she hoped to have the readers of the Mayfair Gazette in the coming weeks.
“Come along,” murmured Anna. “We should circle around to the opposite side of the square, and wait for Caro at Gunther’s tea shop. She deserves one of their famous ices for her performance.”
Their sister was quick to join them in the main salon. Her face flushed with excitement, she slipped into her seat with a barely concealed grin. “Perhaps I should offer my services to Whitehall as a clandestine agent,” she whispered. “I thought that I did a rather good job of it, didn’t I?”
“Better than good,” agreed Anna. “Allow me to treat you to some ice cream.”
“Bergamot,” said Caro, after considering the choices. “It sounds so intriguing. Perhaps the taste will inspire a sonnet.”
“If I were you, I would choose strawberry, which is one of Gunther’s specialties,” counseled Anna. “Or if you wish for something exotic, perhaps the pineapple sherbet would be more to your taste…”
Still feeling a little unsettled over her interference in the earl’s life, Olivia found herself listening to the discussion of the shop’s confectionary treats with only half an ear. Shifting her gaze to the large, leaded windows at the shop’s entrance, she watched the procession of fancy carriages and stylish, high-perch phaetons pass by, hoping the swirl of colors and face might help distract her from her brooding thoughts.
From now on, I shall be more careful about controlling my creative impulses, she vowed. A careless jest had gone awry, and the consequences had involved her in the personal life of a stranger…
Oh, damnation. She bit her lip. Of all the bloody luck.
An elegant barouche had come to halt just beyond the outdoor tables and a couple was descending. The gentleman was the Earl of Wrexham—his chiseled profile and broad-shouldered silhouette was all too familiar.
And the laughing lady whose hand was resting lightly on his arm?
Olivia felt as if an iron band were tightening around her chest. Surely that couldn’t be the Steel Corset.
Could it?
After watching the young lady’s lively face warm with spontaneous laughter, her embarrassment ratcheted up another notch. Prescott was naught but a boy of ten. That he had taken an unreasonable dislike to a lovely lady was something that no doubt would soon be rectified.
As for herself, she felt even more like an idiot. Angling the brim of her bonnet to a lower tilt, she clasped her hands together in her lap and offered up a silent prayer that the earl and his soon-to-be-bride were not in the mood for sweets.
“Well, well, speak of the devil,” murmured Anna.
Olivia resigned herself to an unspeakably awkward encounter. After all, just yesterday she had been locked in a passionate kiss with the young lady’s future husband. Her only consolation was that John would likely feel just as uncomfortable.
But then, men were used to such peccadilloes. He would probably take it in stride.
As the click of boot heels on the polished tiles grew louder, she made herself look up, unwilling to appear a coward.
“Miss Sloane,” drawled a deep voice. “Miss Anna.”
Thank God for small favors.
The tall, dark-haired gentleman approaching their table wasn’t the earl, but rather the debauched, devil-may-care Lord Davenport.
Olivia felt a rush of relief—a quick glance out the window showed the earl and his companion had turned away from the shop and were entering the square’s gardens.
“Alas, I am not acquainted with the third member of your party,” went on the marquess.
Anna stiffened slightly at the sound of his low laugh.
“And here I thought that I knew every beautiful lady in London.”
“Our sister Carolina is not yet out in Society,” replied Olivia as he sauntered up to her chair and inclined a casual bow. She decided to make the formal introductions, though her mother would likely swoon in shock if she even heard about it.
Davenport smiled at her youngest sister. “Charmed, Miss Carolina,” he murmured, flashing a seductive wink.
No gentleman ought to have such long, luxurious lashes or such glittering sapphire eyes, thought Olivia. Especially when he was reputed to be Lucifer in Hessians.
Caro was staring in mute fascination.
As for Anna, she, too, was eyeing the marquess with a silent, strangely speculative look.
Perhaps she was considering him as a character in her current novel-in-progress, reflected Olivia. Her hero, Count Alessandro was in need of a new adversary, and The Devil Davenport certainly presented the perfect model for a dangerous, dastardly villain.
“I would not have thought you enjoyed such innocent pleasures as eating ice cream, milord,” she said, when it became apparent that neither of her sisters was going to speak.
“You are correct, Miss Sloane.” His wicked smile stretched a touch wider. “Innocence is not at all to my taste. However, I happened to spot the three of you through the shop window as I was passing and decided to stop and pay my respects.”
“I was under the impression that you don’t ‘respect’ anything, much less conventional manners,” murmured Anna.
“Correct again,” replied Davenport. “However, in this case I do have an ulterior motive.”
Anna ignored the bait and went back to eating her lemon ice.
Curiosity got the better of Caro. “Which is?” she asked in a conspiratorial whisper.
Olivia was surprised when in answer, Davenport looked at her. “You might wish to warn Lord Wrexham that he would do well to stay on guard, Miss Sloane. I happened to overhear a snatch of conversation last night that leads me to believe he has made some very unpleasant enemies.”
“W-what makes you think that I have any contact with the earl?” she stammered.
“You were dancing with him the other evening. That seems to signify some sort of connection.”
“You are mistaken,
” she said quickly. “The earl’s sister insisted on bringing us together. As a gentleman, he had no choice but to ask me for a turn around the ballroom. It won’t happen again.”
“Ah.” Davenport flicked a mote of dust from his sleeve. “Then I suppose that Wrexham will have to fend for himself.”
“You could tell him yourself,” pointed out Olivia.
“Unlike the earl, I don’t consider myself bound by the strictures of gentlemanly honor. So I don’t feel compelled to go out of my way to pass on the warning. I simply happened to see you here.” Touching a hand to the brim of his hat, he turned away. “Good day, ladies.”
“Oooo, what a thoroughly intriguing man,” said Caro, sneaking a last peek as Davenport left the shop. “I have always wondered what a ruthless rake was like.”
“He is not intriguing, he is insufferable,” snapped Anna.
“What has he done to earn your dislike?” asked Olivia.
“Nothing.” Anna set down her spoon and sighed. “Oh, if you must know, it’s the fact that he seems to take great delight in irritating me. Every time I turn around at a rout or a ball, he is watching me with that supercilious smile of his. It is as if he means to tell me that he knows…”
“Knows what?” pressed Olivia when her sister did not go on.
The question hung for a long moment in the sugar-scented air—so long, in fact, that she was sure that her younger sister did not intend to answer.
The silence, however, gave way to a rustle of muslin as Anna shifted in her chair. “Knows that I am no different than he is. For you see, I, too, am a predator of sorts, who is on the hunt to marry for money.
“That’s not true,” began Caro.
Anna cut her off with a curt laugh. “Yes it is. Mama is desperate to match me with a rich husband. And in many ways, I can’t blame her. Despite all her faults, she wishes to secure the family’s future. Our finances are, as you both know, precarious.”
“Still, I should hope that you would marry for love, not money,” said Olivia softly.
“Be assured I won’t accept the hand of someone I cannot respect. However, a fat purse will allow me to take care of us all. So—”