The Danger in Tempting an Earl

by Sophie Barnes

  Deciding that a brandy in good company was precisely what he needed, Lucien waited for his friend to return with the book in question, then accompanied him over to where the others were sitting. “So, what will you be betting on today?” he asked the three men as soon as the necessary pleasantries were out of the way.

  “Funny you should ask,” Barrymore said as he leafed through the pages. He set the book on the table and pushed it toward Lucien. “Take a look for yourself, old chap.”

  Glancing down, Lucien read the words on the page before him and frowned. “You can’t be serious,” he eventually said, looking up.

  Barrymore shrugged. “Since you were seen waltzing with each other at the Kingsboroughs’, you and Lady Crossby have been on everyone’s lips. I can’t tell you how many ­people hurried back to Town from that ball, determined to place their bets before it was too late. Some were sure you’d already proposed to her in secret.”

  “But that’s preposterous!”

  “Are you sure about that?” Carlyle asked him seriously, “because I’m planning to bet a thousand pounds on you and Lady Crossby tying the knot before the end of the Season.”

  “You have to admit, it does seem rather odd that you would appear so publically with her the moment she’s out of mourning,” Laughton added. “Are you telling us that there’s nothing more than friendship between the two of you?”

  “That’s precisely what I’m telling you,” Lucien said. At least that was all he was going to say on the matter at present.

  “Perhaps so, but if it’s all the same to you, I’m going to trust my instinct on this, and my instinct says otherwise,” Carlyle said as he tossed back his drink. Leaning forward, he dipped the quill that Laughton had placed on the table into the accompanying inkwell and scribbled his name in the book. He then got up and said, “It was good seeing you all again. Especially you, Roxberry—­it’s been far too long. Regrettably, I have an appointment that I must keep, so I really must be off.”

  “Is it business or pleasure that’s depriving us of your company?” Barrymore asked.

  “Well, there’s a striking young heiress who’s willing to part with a Rembrandt, so it may prove a bit of both if all goes smoothly,” Carlyle said as he thrust his hands into his pockets and leaned back on his heels with a broad smile.

  Barrymore grinned. “I don’t suppose you’d let me join you?”

  “Not a chance,” Carlyle told him. “But if you’re still interested in the other lady we were discussing earlier, then I can tell you that she usually goes for a stroll in the park with her beagle around this hour.”

  “In that case, I must be off as well,” Barrymore said, taking his leave along with Carlyle.

  Lucien watched them go. “Care for a game of cards?” he asked Laughton.

  “Certainly. But if I win, you’ll have to tell me what’s really going on between you and Lady Crossby. I could use the advantage.”

  “I’m afraid I’ll only disappoint you then, for what I said before is true. She and I have no plans of marrying.”

  “Hmpf! More’s the pity, if you ask me,” Laughton said, reaching for a deck of cards and starting to shuffle. “I’ve always thought the two of you would be perfectly suited for each other.”

  Lucien winced. If only Katherine agreed. Somehow, he’d have to change her mind. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of a man by the name of Donovan?” he asked, deciding to change the topic of conversation. He needed to concentrate on why he’d really come here—­to get answers.

  Laughton shook his head. “Doesn’t sound familiar. Why do you ask?”

  “A friend of mine’s in a bit of trouble,” he lied, offering the story he’d fabricated on the way over. “After falling into debt, he went to Donovan for help, but apparently the man’s unsatisfied with how fast my friend is able to pay him back—­started issuing threats and so on. Anyway, I thought I’d try to locate the blighter myself—­get the matter settled so my friend can relax.” Lucien trumped one of Laughton’s cards. “I wish he would have come to me first, but I believe he was too proud.”

  “Pride can certainly lead to a man’s downfall,” Laughton said. He frowned. “Surely your friend must know where to find him though?”

  “Apparently, Donovan tends to find him, not the other way around, though he did mention seeing him at Riley’s once or twice. I went over there yesterday to try and locate him, but everyone was very tight-lipped.”

  Laughton shook his head. “Sorry, I can’t help you with that, I’m afraid. No reputable gentleman would ever set foot in a place like Riley’s, no matter what.” He gave Lucien a meaningful look.

  They finished their game and Laughton took his leave with the excuse that his mother expected him to put in an appearance at her soiree later. “Best of luck with finding this Donovan fellow,” he said to Lucien as they parted ways. “I hope your friend gets out of this mess quickly and trust that you will advise him to avoid such ­people in the future.”

  “Will do,” Lucien said, rising to shake his friend’s hand. He cursed himself as soon as he was once again alone. The lie had yielded no result, and he was no better off than he’d been when he’d arrived. Instead, he’d wasted two hours on meaningless small talk.

  “I think you and I ought to have a little chat,” a voice murmured just behind Lucien’s left shoulder.

  Spinning around, Lucien almost came nose to nose with a familiar face. “Starkly! What the devil?”

  The corner of Starkly’s mouth edged upward. “It’s good to see you too, Roxberry. Now, if you will please follow me.” With no other word, the earl walked off, leaving Lucien with little choice but to do as he’d asked.

  “Is Lord Roxberry at home?” Katherine asked Mrs. Ellis when she finally managed to pull herself together and venture downstairs. After her conversation with Lucien last night, Katherine had lain awake for hours on end, contemplating Lucien’s every word. As a result, she’d slept in and had (in the hope of avoiding Lucien for a little while yet) asked to have her breakfast delivered to her room. She’d taken her time with the meal, since she’d asked for the newspaper to be sent up along with it, and she savored the distraction that considering new investment opportunities offered.

  “I’m afraid you just missed him, my lady. He’s gone out,” Mrs. Ellis informed her.

  Katherine breathed a sigh of relief, thanked the housekeeper and made her way back upstairs, determined to follow Lucien’s advice that she remain out of sight when he was not at home. Stepping onto the landing, she glanced right, toward the bedchamber where she’d spent her entire morning. The thought of returning there held little appeal, so she decided to go left instead, toward a spacious salon, perfect for entertaining informal visitors like close friends and family.

  Venturing inside, she considered again the words Lucien had spoken to her the previous evening. “All you have to do is ask, and the pleasure you seek can be yours.” At the inn, he’d accused her of trying to seduce him, and he’d been right. Well, somewhat at least. Her main goal had been to uncover his intentions. Now that she knew what they were, she could scarcely form a coherent thought whenever he was near. But was this yearning he’d stirred within her so blatantly obvious? Was she really that transparent?

  Trailing her fingers along the edge of a Hepplewhite cabinet, she let out a sigh. Of course she was, or Lucien would never have said such a thing—­nor would he have risked the security of their friendship by kissing her in the carriage or continued in his pursuit of her at the inn. It was as if he could read her mind, but if that were the case, did he also know the depth of her fears?

  Crossing to a piano that stood in one corner, Katherine seated herself on the bench and opened the cover. Should she even be afraid? This was Lucien, after all. She’d known him her whole life and trusted him more than she’d ever trusted anyone else. Her fingers skimmed across the keys, evoking a soft
and languid melody. Her fears were likely unfounded when it came to Lucien. He would never want to hurt her, not deliberately at least. But what would happen if she took that leap, discarded her inhibitions and concerns and allowed him the right to undress her? There was always the risk that he wouldn’t like what he saw, that he’d reject her just as Charles had done.

  Her finger hit a wrong note. She blinked, steadied herself on a deep breath and resumed her playing. Lucien would certainly be more tactful about it but she would know that he found her wanting, and the pain that would bring—­to be looked upon with distaste by someone so dear to her heart—­would crush her.

  “Lady Gray was just here, inquiring about you, my lady,” Parker announced from the doorway.

  Stopping in mid-tune, Katherine turned to face him.

  “But since his lordship is not at home, I thought it too suspicious to invite her in,” the butler added. “However, she did ask me to give you this.”

  Rising, Katherine went to retrieve the book that Parker was holding. “Thank you,” she said. With a nod, the butler took his leave, and Katherine lowered her gaze to the book—­Emma, by Jane Austen. She opened it and discovered a note:

  Dear Katherine, I know how difficult it must be for you to be confined in this way, but it is necessary, though I shall miss your company today. The book is a gift, one I consider appropriate under the circumstances. I hope you will find it amusing and that you haven’t yet read it. Until we meet again, your friend, Patricia.

  Katherine couldn’t help but smile at the kindness as she walked across to an armchair, book in hand. She was determined to get started on it right away so she could discover what Patricia had meant by finding it appropriate.

  Recalling the last conversation they’d had, Katherine couldn’t help but wonder if the book might have something to do with her relationship with Lucien. Most likely, considering that Miss Austen’s books were all terribly romantic. Katherine shook her head. Patricia knew of her reservations, yet she’d championed her brother, urging Katherine to offer him the same degree of honesty, insisting Lucien wouldn’t hurt her.

  But what if he did so unintentionally? Was that a risk Katherine was willing to take? Bowing her head, she stared down at Emma, now resting in her lap.

  Lucien had known her since the day she was born. He’d watched her grow—­had been her closest friend for so long. Didn’t she owe him the truth?

  Katherine frowned. Lucien had returned, and he’d done so with a clear purpose. Surely it couldn’t have been easy for him to confess his true feelings for her, to risk their friendship in pursuit of something more. He’d taken a leap, no doubt fearing rejection, yet he’d been willing to suffer it if there was but a chance. And what had she done? She’d led him on, only to pull away, frightened of what he would think of her and doing to him exactly what she was so afraid he might do to her. She took a breath, her jumbled thoughts aligning until everything became clear. She loved him, and if Lucien was brave enough to take the leap, then she must be so as well, because the very last thing she wanted to do was break his heart.

  “Are you seriously telling me that Lady Trapleigh was the one who fired the shot at the ball?” Starkly asked as he handed a brandy to Lucien.

  “You sound surprised,” Lucien said, accepting the drink.

  Starkly’s face was inscrutable. “I must confess that I am rather. I hadn’t thought her capable of committing murder.”

  “Nor had I, but then again, she does have incentive.” Lucien studied the earl for a moment, took a sip of his brandy and said, “Do I detect a degree of concern on your part?”

  “Things aren’t always what they seem, you know,” Starkly said. “I think you ought to have a seat.” He indicated a leather armchair. Lucien claimed it somewhat hesitantly, upon which Starkly sat down on a similar one, facing him. “I’m not sure if it’s wise of me to tell you this, but considering your own involvement, I do believe you ought to know the truth. A lot has happened during your absence, and while I can’t be sure of what Lady Crossby has shared with you, I do feel a strong obligation toward her.”

  “What do you mean?” Lucien asked, not liking the sound of that in the least, considering the earl’s disreputable reputation.

  “Crossby was my friend. Generally I would meet him in Town, but there was one time when I rode out to Cresthaven in regard to an issue that required my assistance. Unfortunately, he’d already had a glass of brandy too many by the time I arrived.”

  Lucien stiffened. “What are you trying to say, Starkly?”

  The earl stared into his glass for a long moment. “I thought they were happy. At least it appeared that way on the few occasions I saw them together in public, but after returning from war, Crossby was often in his cups, and that was not all. He took a liking to opium as well.”

  “Good God!”

  “Precisely.” Starkly served Lucien an even stare. “Look, I tried to talk to him about it—­convince him that he was heading down a dangerous path. Then, on the day I visited, I actually witnessed the effect his addiction was having not only on himself but on his wife as well.”

  “And you said nothing, I suppose?” Lucien glared at Starkly.

  “You are wrong about that, Roxberry. Crossby may have been my friend, and as such, I attempted to help him, but I was not about to allow him the right to degrade Lady Crossby in my presence.”

  A cold shiver ran down Lucien’s spine at the thought of what Katherine might have suffered. “What did you do?”

  “It isn’t looked kindly upon when a man interferes with another man’s domestic affairs, but there is such a thing as right and wrong, and since my conscience wouldn’t allow me to turn a blind eye, I threatened to call him out unless he mended his ways.”

  Lucien stared at him, stunned that a man he’d never liked and had always thought the worst of had acted so completely differently from what he would have expected. “Does Lady Crossby know about this?” he asked.

  Starkly shook his head. “I believe she resents me for bearing witness to her humiliation, and for being the friend of a man I’m sure she must have despised.”

  “But surely he must have heeded your warning, or the two of you would have dueled.”

  “All I know is that he never gave me a reason to make good on my threat. Whenever he and Lady Crossby were seen together, they appeared no different than any other married ­couple, but there is no telling how they fared behind closed doors.”

  Lucien’s jaw tightened. No wonder she had no interest in remarrying. Her experience with Crossby had put her off, and not without reason. Anger rose to his head in a crushing ball of heat. He had an urgent desire to hit something, or someone, for the distress that Katherine had been submitted to.

  “I’d like to help her now if you’ll allow it,” Starkly was saying. “I find it curious that Lady Trapleigh is involved when . . . did she tell you why she did it?”

  “She says a man named Donovan has taken her son and that he’ll kill him if she doesn’t kill Lady Crossby first. Funny thing is, I never would have guessed she had a child.”

  Starkly nodded. “She had him two years ago when she claimed to have gone to Scotland. He’s being raised at an estate in the Lake District.”

  “You seem to know a lot about it,” Lucien said, frowning. “Don’t tell me the boy is yours.”

  “No, it’s nothing like that.” Starkly fell quiet for a moment. He took a sip of his brandy, looked Lucien squarely in the eye and said, “I’ve heard of this Donovan fellow before, but I’ve yet to come across him myself.”

  “Lady Trapleigh says he frequents Riley’s. Whether she’s right about that or not, I don’t know, for when I went over there last night, nobody admitted to knowing a man by that name.”

  “In other words, either Lady Trapleigh is mistaken, or she’s being dishonest.”

  “Or the ­people I asked
were trying to protect their own skins.”

  “That’s certainly another possibility.” Starkly paused, took a sip of his drink and set the glass on the table. “You say you left Lady Trapleigh locked up in the butler’s pantry at Cresthaven?”

  “That’s correct,” Lucien confirmed.

  “Is there any chance that she might escape? She’s never been the trustworthy sort—­always sneaking off to entertain one paramour or another even while she was married.”

  “I asked Lady Crossby’s butler to send word if anything strange or unusual were to happen, though I do believe he would do so anyway—­he seems reliable enough.”

  “A wise decision nevertheless,” Starkly said. “On a different note, I trust you’re keeping Lady Crossby safe and . . . out of sight?”

  “I’m not a fool,” Lucien said.

  “Of course not. I didn’t mean to imply that you are.” Leaning forward in his seat, Starkly gazed at Lucien. “She’s a lovely woman who deserves to be happy . . . promise me you will protect her. Whoever we’re up against is either extremely clever or unbelievably callous—­perhaps both.”

  “I will protect her with my life if it comes to that,” Lucien said, a little stunned by how much Katherine’s well-being meant to this man and perhaps even a little affronted that Starkly would presume that he might fail in his duty toward Katherine.

  Starkly nodded as he leaned back in his chair, the leather squeaking in response to his movement. “I’m quite familiar with Riley’s by the way, in case you’d like me to accompany you on another visit to the establishment.”

  Lucien considered his offer. There was something appealing about not having to go back there again on his own, even if it did mean sharing Starkly’s company for an extended period of time. Besides, if he did happen to find the man he sought, it would probably be best if he wasn’t alone. “Thank you,” he said. “I was actually planning to go back there this evening. You’re welcome to join me.”