The Handbook to Handling His Lordship

by Suzanne Enoch

  Stifling her irritation, Emily faced the seated man to her left. “I apologize, Lord Westfall. Might I offer you and your guest a complementary bottle of wine?”

  Behind a pair of metal-rimmed spectacles, light green eyes met hers. The eyes, set nicely beneath a disheveled head of tawny brown hair and above a straight nose and a mouth that briefly quirked in a quick, dismissive smile, blinked. “Hm? Miss Hampton has declared that watch fobs are a hobby of hers. I collect tomes, myself, but fobs do take less space, I assume.”

  “I would imagine so,” Emily returned, maintaining her own polite smile. He couldn’t possibly be thick enough not to realize that Lucille had literally been throwing herself at him. If he was, though, then good. The Tantalus thrived in part because of its policy of hands off toward the female employees. The Tantalus girls, as they were known, were allowed to have callers upstairs, as long as it was firstly the lady’s idea and secondly it didn’t interfere with her duties. Flinging herself bodily across a man who simply wished to eat a meal was unacceptable.

  “Don’t mind him,” Westfall’s companion commented, standing. He held out his hand. “Laurence Stokes,” he announced. “Westfall’s charming younger brother.”

  Emily shook the offered hand. “Emily Portsman, Tantalus girl.”

  The two men did look a great deal alike now that she considered it, though clearly Laurence hadn’t yet filled into the lean, hard frame his brother quite handsomely occupied. He did seem to have more wit and charm than his older brother, however. Mix the two of them together, the one’s appearance and maturity with the other’s easy smile, and the resulting creation would have been very enticing, indeed.

  “This place is bl—”

  “Laurie,” the earl broke in, scowling.

  “I mean to say it’s … blistering marvelous,” the younger Stokes said, his cheeks flushing a little. “They talk about it all the way in Oxford, you know.”

  With a smile, Emily retrieved her hand. “Only as far as Oxford? We shall have to work harder.” She faced the earl again. “Would you prefer white or red wine?”

  “Red, if you please,” he returned, pushing his sliding spectacles up the bridge of his nose. “Though it isn’t necessary.”

  “Which makes it all the more appreciated, I hope,” she replied. Emily took Lucille by the hand. “Marianne will see to you for a moment, my lord. I need to borrow Miss Hampton.”

  Without waiting for a reply, she led the resisting Lucille to the dining room’s privacy door and pulled her through. Once the door was safely shut, Lucille jerked her arm free. “What the devil was that for?” she protested. “I was near to asking him upstairs!”

  “Yes, and everyone in the Demeter—if not all of Mayfair—knew it.”

  “You have men up to your rooms, Emily. I have as much right to do it as you do.”

  “Yes, you do. What you don’t have is the right to throw yourself all over someone so that if he declines, you’ll both look like fools. Don’t be so obvious. And remember where you are. This is not a bawdy house. If you don’t wish to be prodded and groped simply for walking by, pray extend the same courtesy to the men who pay for a membership here.”

  Lucille screwed her face into a grimace. “Sophia and Camille both netted husbands from among the membership. Why can’t I do the same?”

  Inwardly Emily sighed. She couldn’t even imagine setting all her hopes on something so unlikely—or even assuming that someone else could possibly do better for her than she could in looking after her own interests. But that was her, and Lucille was definitely … Lucille.

  “Perhaps the trick was that neither of them was actually looking to make a match,” she said aloud. “Don’t embarrass the Tantalus, Lucille. For all our sakes.” To herself she could make the argument that no woman came to the Tantalus because she was looking for a husband; she came here because there was nowhere else to go but the alleyways. Lucille didn’t want to hear that, though, so she didn’t bother saying it.

  “I’m using honey to catch flies,” Lucille said stubbornly.

  “A little less honey, and in more moderation. And less desperation.”

  From Miss Hampton’s offended look, Emily decided she likely shouldn’t have said that last bit. But it might have been worse; she might have said that the odds of Lucille finding a husband here were as poor as her own. Now that would have been cruel.

  “And Marianne will be seeing to Westfall’s table for the duration of luncheon,” she finished.

  “Oh, you can’t do that! Marianne will faint or spill something. She can’t even set down a plate without blushing.”

  Lucille did make a valid point. “Then I will see to the earl’s table,” Emily countered, sighing. Little as she liked the idea, it was better than allowing either bosoms or someone else’s luncheon to end up in the earl’s lap. “Let’s get back to work now, shall we?”

  * * *

  “Close your mouth, Laurie. You look like a drowning trout.”

  Nathaniel’s brother leaned forward across the small table. “But that chit was throwing herself at you,” he whispered. “Nearly fell into your lap. I’ve dreamed about that sort of thing, you know.”

  Yes, she had, and no, he hadn’t entirely appreciated it. It wasn’t that he didn’t think her attractive—all the ladies of The Tantalus Club were more than passing pretty—but in his life he’d become accustomed to a bit more subtlety than that. The fewer people who knew what he was about, the better, and having a woman drape herself across him left little to anyone’s imagination including, clearly, his brother’s. “That’s generally frowned upon here,” he said aloud, returning to his mutton pie. “As you saw by the way the other lady swooped down upon us.”

  “But Marty Gayle said the ladies could ask you upstairs!”

  Laurence sounded so disappointed it was almost amusing. And this little tête-à-tête with Lucille Hampton would have been more interesting if Miss Portsman hadn’t swooped in to put an end to what was becoming a very telling line of questions about the club’s female employees. “They can, Laurie. But as I’m not going anywhere during luncheon and while I’m accompanied by my younger brother, it’s just as well, don’t you think?”

  “That’s because you treat everything like it’s some sort of strategy in a chess game,” his brother returned. “Sometimes it’s only about wanting something and taking it.”

  To give himself a moment, Nathaniel lifted his glass of wine and examined the deep red color. “You’re a bit young to be so mercenary, aren’t you?” he finally asked, nodding as Miss Portsman returned with his complementary bottle.

  “I’m mercenary?” Laurie shot back, giving an exasperated scowl. “You’re the one who only brought me here to figure out which of these chits stole some bauble or other, aren’t you?”

  Bloody hell. He could have done without any of the chits knowing he was here for anything other than luncheon with his idiot brother. Nathaniel glanced up at Miss Portsman, to find her oval-shaped brown eyes a touch wider than they had been a moment earlier. Her lips closed, then curved in a soft smile. “Shall I pour for you, Lord Westfall, or do you wish me to keep the bottle here for your next visit?”

  She was exceptionally pretty, he decided. More worth a trip upstairs than that obvious Lucille chit. Belatedly Nate remembered to push his spectacles up his nose. “Hm? Oh. My next visit, I think. We’re nearly finished here, aren’t we, Laurie?”

  “But—”

  “I do wonder if you would ask Miss Hampton back again, though,” he continued over Laurence’s protest. “There was truly no offense taken.”

  Her smile stiffened just a touch. “Certainly, my lord.”

  The moment she turned away, he reached across the table to tap his brother on the knuckles. “As Miss Hampton approaches, say that again,” he murmured.

  “Say what again?”

  “The bit about me bringing you here to figure out who stole something,” he said quickly, spotting Lucille Hampton’s bouncing brunette ha
ir as she practically skipped in his direction. “Be certain she hears you.”

  His brother frowned, but turned his gaze to his glass until Lucille was only a table away. “We’re here so you can figure out which of these lovely ladies made off with a treasure, aren’t you?” he uttered in a stiff, too-loud voice.

  Oh, brilliant, that. If Nathaniel had had any illusions about his brother’s talent for acting, say, that would have slaughtered them. “Hush,” he said aloud, offering Lucille a smile. “Hello, my dear.”

  Her mobile brow furrowed into a deep scowl. “You aren’t with Bow Street, are you?” she asked. “Because we aren’t thieves, here. We’re independent ladies of good education who simply had nowhere else to go.”

  Swiftly Nate removed his glasses and made a show of cleaning the lenses with his napkin before he replaced them again. “Nothing of the sort, Miss Hampton. People do occasionally task me with finding things, but I am here for your delightful luncheon and to give my brother here a chance at gaining a bit of Town bronze.”

  “Bloody snake,” Laurie muttered under his breath, but Nathaniel ignored him. As he continued to chat with the mollified Lucille, his attention was on the lady halfway across the room.

  Unlike the chatty Miss Hampton, Miss Portsman hadn’t asked what the devil he was about, why he would be here of all places looking for thieves. There was, of course, the slight chance that she hadn’t heard Laurie’s comment, but he didn’t think that was the case. In his experience, people didn’t ask questions for two reasons: either they didn’t want to attract attention to themselves, or they already knew the answers.

  “How long have you worked here, Lucille?” he continued conversationally, while he urged Laurence to request one of the cook’s rather famous peach tarts.

  “Nearly two years now,” she responded promptly. “Not since the beginning of the Tantalus, but near enough.”

  “Are there still any ladies here who’ve been employed by Lady Haybury since the very first?” he pursued, recalling that the club had opened just over three years ago—at nearly the same time Miss Newbury had fled Shropshire.

  “Certainly. Emily, for one. And Madeline over there seating Lord Benwick. Half a dozen more, but the ones who’ve been here longer like to work in the evenings or the gaming rooms, mostly.”

  “Why is that?”

  She favored him with a charming smile. “Because the gentlemen have had more to drink, and they’re more generous with their tips. And because if a fellow were to strike their fancy, it’s easier to become better acquainted.”

  “I think I may faint,” Laurie whispered hoarsely, tugging at his cravat.

  “Well, then,” Nathaniel continued, “perhaps my brother and I will return here for dinner.”

  “And perhaps I’ll trade a shift with someone so I can serve you dinner.” With a very unsubtle wink, Lucille pranced away again to offer Lord Benwick a look at the luncheon menu and her own barely covered charms.

  “Please tell me you weren’t jesting just then,” his brother hissed, leaning across the table. “Because I may have to bludgeon you if you were.”

  “And you think I’d have you accompany me upstairs if I went? Don’t be ridiculous, Laurie. You wagged your tongue about my business, and I attempted to use your blunder to my advantage.”

  “Bastard.”

  “Mm-hm. If you want to assist me, you’re going to have to be more subtle. Now shut up and eat your tart. I’m observing.”

  His brother might have muttered something else, but at least he was quiet about it. Miss Portsman summoned Lucille to her side and said something that had her brunette-haired companion glancing back in his direction and grinning. It was about him, then, or more likely, his conversation.

  Once Emily Portsman returned to her task of overseeing the room, he settled in to watch her. With her pretty, straight-looking brown hair with its whisper of red in the chandelier light, she didn’t quite match Ebberling’s description of his blonde-headed former governess. Her brown eyes were a match, but as for the rest, he wasn’t certain. Not yet. In the sketch he’d done according to the marquis’s direction, Rachel Newbury was taller and thinner, her chin longer and her eyes narrower and more cold. But while it was too early to wager that Miss Portsman was his quarry, or even that she knew someone who might in fact be the chit he pursued, he had a hunch that she knew something about something. Or at the very least, that she possessed a secret. He loved uncovering secrets.

  His gaze lowered to her hips. Secrets weren’t the only thing he would be inclined to enjoy where Emily Portsman was concerned. Nate stirred, sitting forward just a little before he caught himself lusting. He blinked. Generally, uncovering secrets meant a different kind of enjoyment. A more cerebral satisfaction.

  Hm. Perhaps it had been too long since he’d been truly challenged, and he was overly anticipating the chase. Or it could be that two years of celibacy had just made themselves felt. Whatever it was, at this moment it centered around her. Just how interesting this line of questions could be—well, that was up to her.

  When she circled past his table, he lifted his hand. “Miss Portsman. I changed my mind. Would you fetch me that bottle, after all?”

  She nodded. “Of course.”

  “Are we working again?” Laurence asked, wolfing down the last few bites of his peach tart. “Am I supposed to do anything?”

  “Yes. Go wander the gaming rooms.” Nate pulled five quid from his pocket. “Lose some blunt.”

  Laurie shot to his feet. “I apologize for the bastard comment.”

  “That’s premature. You have thirty minutes.”

  As his brother strode off looking precisely like the green boy he was, Miss Portsman approached again. “Here you are, my lord.”

  “Would you uncork it, please?”

  “Cert—”

  “And sit with me while it breathes. My brother’s gone to try his hand at faro or something, and I’ll look foolish if I sit here talking to myself.”

  For a moment he held his breath, wondering whether she would state that she was on duty and had other things to see to, or whether she would sit and ask him his business. Everything meant something; deciphering the whats and hows and whens was the interesting—and more difficult—bit.

  She sent a glance about the room. “I can sit for a moment,” she said, pulling out his brother’s vacated chair and sinking into it. “Most of the rush has finished with.”

  So at the least she was curious. He refused to read more into the equation than yet existed; that folly had cost men their lives. Information was just that, until it became more. And it was only the need for information that made him note that she smelled of lemons. “Lucille says you’ve been employed at the Tantalus from the beginning.”

  Would she retreat, or attack, or deflect? Miss Portsman glanced down for a moment, then smiled up at him. “I have, my lord. Nearly three years now. But if you’ve been encouraging Lucille merely for the purpose of asking about me, well, you’ll injure the poor girl’s heart.” She rested both elbows on the table and sank her chin onto her downturned hands. “She thinks every man who looks at her will offer marriage and sweep her away to his castle.”

  “And what do you think?”

  “I think I’m happy to avoid sweeping of any kind.” Her smile deepened. “So why were you asking about me? Did you hope for an invitation upstairs?”

  Logic and intelligence and a fair portion of good instincts mixed with luck had always served Nate Stokes quite well. At this moment, however, he knew it wasn’t any of those things that make his cock jump and come to life.

  She wanted to distract him. Whether it was on her own behalf or that of one of her fellow Tantalus girls, he was more interested in discovering if this was a bluff or not, and in how far she would go to protect whatever secret this was. She was likely to find that he had no difficulty with using his own skills to get answers. Especially when the package in which they were wrapped was as delicious as she was.

&nb
sp; Circles in circles in circles. If his life had ever been as simple as seeing someone he wanted and taking her, he couldn’t remember it. And it shouldn’t happen today, either, however gullible she was meant to think him. Or however attractive he found her. Unless he could make his mind stop spinning its wheels for a moment and simply do what his body wanted.

  “‘Upstairs’? The thought might have crossed my mind,” he returned. “In passing, of course.”

  “Oh. Has it passed away, then, or does it linger?”

  “It lingers. It has a great deal of stamina, actually.”

  Even as he spoke, he was quite aware that his nether regions were attempting to take over the conversation. He clenched his jaw. His brain made an effort to step in again, though it unhelpfully pointed out that if she was suspicious he might be pursuing her or someone she cared about, she would either attempt to keep her distance from him, or wait for a vulnerable moment and stab him in the throat. But it wouldn’t be the first time someone had attempted either of those responses, and he wanted Emily Portsman.

  “Does it now?” she asked in an intimate murmur. “I happen to be off duty in twenty minutes, if you’d care to make your case.” A furrow lined her brow. “Though what are you going to do with your little brother?”

  How determined was she to act on her innuendos? He would follow the steps to this waltz only as long as she played the music, after all—and whatever he privately, secretly, wanted. “I’ll send him home in the carriage.”

  “Then meet me by that door,” she said, as she straightened one elegant finger to point toward one of the club’s famed privacy doors, also known as “the gates to heaven,” as he recalled. “In twenty minutes.”

  As she rose, he reached for any morsel that would make this a part of his investigation. Something to prove to himself that somewhere in the last two minutes he hadn’t lost his mind. “What of Miss Hampton? We don’t wish to injure her heart.”

  Her smile slid into something far more wicked and intimate. “Shall I ask her to join us, then?”

  That answered one thing: The odds of Miss Portsman being the high-in-the-instep Miss Newbury were considerably diminished. And he was supposed to be absentminded and a bit dull, damn it all—though truthfully, she intrigued him far more than did the determined Miss Hampton. Why that should be, he wasn’t entirely certain, because on the surface both women had suggested the same thing. None of this, though, was about the surface. “I—no. I think, ah, the two of us could make do. This time, at least.”