The Price of Temptation

by Lecia Cornwall

  “How will that help exonerate me?” Sinjon demanded.

  “Are you so sure that Lord Creighton is not involved more deeply with Lady Evelyn? Are they lovers, perhaps? Is he blackmailing her? Perhaps he has the gonfalon.”

  That was impossible. Evelyn was his lover. Still, instinct warned him to move carefully. He felt like a mouse in the sights of a hungry snake. One false move, one careless admission, and Westlake would have him for luncheon. He wondered if the earl had notches in the hilt of his sword to mark his unwary victims.

  “Creighton needs money,” Sinjon said. “He gambles and usually loses. In Spain, the men who held his vowels had an unfortunate tendency to die in battle, even when they weren’t in the front lines. Evelyn entrusted him with the delivery of a letter containing a hundred pounds. The money was missing when he delivered the letter, and he claims he replaced it with five hundred pounds from his own pocket. He now expects Evelyn—”

  “Do you have the note?”

  Sinjon shook his head.

  “Then how do you know the money was missing?”

  “Because I took it out of the envelope to see what would happen,” he admitted. “This morning Evelyn asked me to sell that book to pay a debt. I assume she needs money to pay the gentleman who delivered the letter, and it was addressed to Creighton,” he said, skating carefully around his own involvement with Evelyn. “If you want hard proof, check with the school the donation was meant for. See if they ever received Evelyn’s letter, or have heard of Creighton. I’m sure they have not.”

  Westlake looked inordinately pleased with Sinjon’s logic. “Given the fact that the major has vowels all over town, and is selling off family heirlooms to cover them, it certainly makes sense. But why should I pay the five hundred pounds?”

  “Consider it an investment.”

  “And what exactly am I investing in?” Westlake asked.

  “Capturing Creighton. Righting a wrong.”

  Saving a lady’s honor. Wasn’t that what had gotten him into trouble in the first place?

  Sinjon could have sworn he saw a forked tongue flick over Westlake’s lips. “For your sake, or for Evelyn’s?”

  “Both.”

  Westlake didn’t react. “Calling it an investment suggests I’ll see the money back. How do you intend to make that happen? I doubt a footman’s pay will cover the debt.”

  Sinjon smiled. “The first place Creighton will go with five hundred pounds is to the nearest gaming hell. We will win the money back.”

  Westlake blinked. “We? If he sees you, he’ll kill you, and there are any number of deep players at Crockford’s or White’s who might take the money off him.”

  “It’s just as easy to lose a fortune at a private party. Here at De Courcey House, for example,” Sinjon said. “I assume you gamble, my lord?”

  Westlake’s lips twisted. “Never. That’s not to say I haven’t made a study of how to win at cards.”

  “And your lady wife?” Sinjon asked. Westlake’s lips pursed.

  “She cheats,” he said. “But not for money.”

  “Then we will find someone who will cheat for money. Someone he won’t expect to win.”

  “Who?” Westlake asked.

  Sinjon grinned. “Evelyn Renshaw. I’ve made my own study of how to win at cards. We can teach her if she doesn’t play, show her how Creighton will cheat.”

  Westlake sat back. “Dishonest, but effective. It won’t prove anything, of course, but he won’t profit from taking my—her—money. Marianne could show Evelyn how to play for high stakes.”

  And he would add a few lessons of his own, Sinjon thought, knowing Creighton’s particular tricks. He was a master of distraction and charm, for one thing. “I will tell Evelyn it will take a few days to get the money. You can send the invitation to coincide with his receipt of the funds.”

  A shrewd look crept over Westlake’s face. “It’s an excellent plan, but if I agree to it, then I need something in return.” Westlake met Sinjon’s eyes across the desk. “I need you to seduce Lucy Frayne.”

  Horror raced up Sinjon’s spine.

  “Me? But I’m Evelyn’s—” He stumbled over the word. “—footman.”

  “Pay Lucy a visit on your half day. Charm her. Find a way to get into her bedroom, coax the information out of her between kisses.”

  “No.”

  He couldn’t betray Evelyn that way. He had no interest in bedding her sister. He was not Philip Renshaw.

  “May I remind you there’s a hangman waiting for you?”

  “I said no. Find someone else to do it. Surely you have other men beholden to you. Lucy likes men with money, the kind who can buy her expensive gifts. Would you rather I used the five hundred pounds for that?”

  He let the earl read the determination in his eyes. Westlake looked away first. He picked up his pen and made out a draft. “I’ll have this cashed, and hold it for a fortnight.”

  “What about the book?” Sinjon asked, and Westlake gave the pile of books a disdainful glance.

  “I hate mutton pie, despair of the morality of well-bred English ladies, and would not sully my reputation with any kind of association with the last book.”

  Sinjon’s mouth twitched. “And yet your lady wife was in Evelyn’s drawing room, playing procurer the other day.”

  Westlake frowned. “She calls it matchmaking.”

  “She suggested my brother would make a perfect lover for Lady Evelyn.”

  “And he wouldn’t?”

  Sinjon clenched his fists in his lap. “I had no idea William was even in London.”

  “I believe Viscount Mears is in Town for the Season, looking for a wife, and probably sowing a few wild oats before he weds.”

  That bit of family news surprised Sinjon. His father had been pressing William for years to wed the rich and titled daughter of a friend. Apparently the match hadn’t been made.

  Westlake crossed to a side table that held a decanter of whisky and poured two glasses of the amber liquid. He held one out to Sinjon, who shook his head.

  “Footmen aren’t allowed to drink on duty. This is an official visit, my lord.”

  Westlake set both glasses down untouched. “Of course. How are you finding life belowstairs?”

  Sinjon imagined making love to Evelyn behind the bookshelves, felt his body stir. He glanced at the clock, habit now whenever he thought of her. How long until he could touch her again?

  “The work is light enough, since there is only her ladyship to see to,” he said. Heaven help him if she was any more demanding.

  “And her companion.”

  “Yes, Miss Trask,” Sinjon agreed.

  “Did you realize that her first name is Penance? Westlake asked.

  He hadn’t known. “It suits her.”

  “Yes, and it strikes me as very amusing. The traitor’s wife, surrounded by Sin and Penance! She is bedeviled indeed.”

  Sinjon rolled his eyes at the unfortunate jest. Evelyn was indeed beset from all sides by spies, traitors, and French assassins. The only place she had peace was in bed, in his arms. Yet he was one of the spies watching her. He’d thought perhaps Miss Trask was spying for Somerson, but perhaps he was wrong. “Is Penance Trask your—”

  The door opened. “I had no idea you had a visitor,” Marianne Westlake said as she entered. “Aren’t you Lady Evelyn’s footman? I recognize the livery.”

  Sinjon bowed, and Westlake kissed his wife’s cheek. “Ah, my dear. Home at last. Are Isobel and Phineas safely away, then?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said distractedly, still looking at Sinjon. “What is the reason for this special visit? I assume there’s something wrong, since you are in my husband’s library instead of waiting at the kitchen door. Is Lady Evelyn ill?”

  “She’d have sent me for a doctor if she was, Countess,” Sinjon said.

  “He came to deliver a book, my dear. A gift for you, from Evelyn,” Westlake said, and held out the mutton cookbook. Sinjon noted the other two
books had quietly disappeared from view.

  Marianne looked baffled. “Recipes for mutton pies?” she asked. “Why would she send me this?”

  “Lady Evelyn especially recommends page thirty-six,” Sinjon said quickly, hoping that page didn’t contain instructions for disemboweling a sheep or boiling the head.

  Marianne flipped through the book. “Mutton pies with apples, chicken, and sausage,” she read, frowning. “Well, it might be palatable, I suppose, if you left out the mutton.”

  Then a slow smile spread over her face. She blinked at him. Then she laughed.

  “Is there something amusing about mutton I’ve failed to see?” Westlake asked.

  “Of course there is!” Marianne giggled. “It’s Evelyn’s way of making a joke. Yellow. Her sisters named this Season’s most fashionable colors after yellow foods. We were laughing about it over tea last week. I assume this a continuation of the jest.” She looked at Sinjon. “Is that it?”

  Sinjon wondered how much time and energy Evelyn would need to come up with such an elaborate jab at her sisters. “Exactly, my lady,” he said, grinning charmingly.

  “Who could have imagined Evelyn was so witty?” Westlake asked, and Marianne sent him a sharp glare.

  “Of course she is! She’s a lady, Adam, but she’s also a woman.”

  Sinjon agreed. In the salon, in the library, and especially in bed, Evelyn was the most incredible woman on earth. His woman.

  Marianne shut the book and clasped it to her bosom. “I must think of a suitable jest to send back in reply. Wait, if you please.”

  Westlake resumed his seat as the door closed behind her. “You have the potential to be an excellent spy, Captain Rutherford. You think quickly. It is not easy to best my wife. I feared you were in for a hard grilling, and would end the afternoon a broken man without a single secret left to you.”

  He tapped the cover of the blue book, which had miraculously reappeared. “Now if you were to find Philip Renshaw, I would know you were as good a spy as—” He stopped without saying the name of Sinjon’s predecessor. “You can wait in the hall for Marianne’s reply,” Westlake said, dismissing him. “I’ll expect to hear from you very soon with further news.”

  Sinjon sat in the hall and sighed. He had work to do, righting all the wrongs in London, it seemed. He was Westlake’s spy, Evelyn’s lover, Creighton’s nemesis, and everyone’s servant, and one mistake in any of his roles could end in disaster. Was he Sam or Sinjon?

  He hardly knew anymore. He was playing a dangerous game, and one wrong move would see him hanged. He had no choice but to play it through to whatever conclusion fate brought him. He hoped luck—and Evelyn—were the ladies he thought they were.

  Chapter 28

  Starling opened the door to announce Charlotte’s arrival, but she bowled past him before he could speak and hurried into the salon. Evelyn rose, her heart clenching when she saw her second sister’s anxious face.

  But Charlotte turned to Miss Trask first. “Penance, dear, do go down to the kitchen and have the cook make some cream buns. I am simply starved.”

  She looked around the room. “Where is your footman? Has another servant quit your employ?”

  Evelyn sank back onto the settee. “My footman is merely out running an errand for me.” She glanced at the clock. He’d be back shortly, but there would still be eight hours to wait until midnight. Her breath caught in her throat in anticipation. “To what do I owe the honor of today’s visit, Charlotte?”

  “Can’t I pay my sister a visit without facing an inquisition?” Charlotte asked.

  Evelyn raised her brows and waited.

  “Actually, I’ve come for two reasons, other than to see how you are. I am simply beset, and I need your help desperately. But first of all I must ask you what you did to upset poor Lucy so. She is considering leaving London for the country, now, in the middle of the Season! She asked me if I’d heard from Philip, as if he’d dare write to me! Lucy hasn’t been out of her house in days, and she’s positively languishing without the nourishing light of male attention.”

  “It has nothing at all to do with me,” Evelyn said calmly. “I have no idea where Philip is. Perhaps Lucy wishes to enjoy some time outdoors. The weather is lovely in the countryside now.”

  Charlotte snorted. “Lucy detests weather of any kind, fair or foul, and other than plowmen and country bumpkins, there’s no one at all in the country at this time of year. She says she must see Philip. Are you sure you don’t—”

  Evelyn raised her chin. “Very sure, Charlotte.”

  Charlotte sighed like an ill wind. “Actually, despite Lucy’s ennui, I am glad to hear it. I dread Philip’s return, if he returns at all. Somerson says the betting book at White’s has been revised again. Most gentlemen are now wagering Philip is dead, and even you must admit it would be better for all of us if he were—”

  “Was that all you needed my help with so desperately?” Evelyn interrupted. Would her sisters expect her to wear black or yellow for mourning? She touched the lace collar of the pink muslin she was wearing. Sam said he liked pink. It reminded him of her—

  She suppressed a smile as that part of her grew warm, and snuck another glance at the clock. She’d get there first tonight, be naked, waiting for him.

  “Pay attention, Evie. I have a favor to ask.” Charlotte’s tone indicated it was going to be more of a command than a plea.

  “Oh?” Evelyn said hopefully. Perhaps her sister needed Miss Trask to return to Somerson House. Penance had set herself the task of saving the soul of the traitor’s wife, but Evelyn had found her own salvation. She had Sam. If Penance had been a moment quicker this morning, she would have caught her in the corner of the library with her legs wrapped around Sam’s hips. The punishment her sisters would visit upon her for that sin would be far worse than just Penance. The longer the woman stayed, the greater the chance she’d catch them.

  “Somerson’s half sister is coming to Town,” Charlotte said, as if announcing that the plague was coming back and likely to kill everyone.

  “I had no idea he had a half sister.”

  Charlotte sniffed. “We rarely mention her. Her mother was the late earl’s second wife, and Somerson was grown by the time his father married her. He did not approve, since the lady was barely older than Somerson himself, and a mere miss without a title. As a matter of wifely devotion, I could not like her either. After his father died, Somerson banished his half sister and her mama to the most distant of his estates. It was a kindness, and we were all happier for it, to be sure, but the dowager has decided to inconvenience us by dying.”

  “Oh,” Evelyn said, unable to think of anything more appropriate under the circumstances.

  “The girl has been staying with neighbors since her mother’s death, and they have decided to bring Caroline to London to be thrust upon us. They seemed to think we were joking when Somerson suggested they could keep her. It is his responsibility to see her married off. It’s too soon to give her a full Season, since she is still in mourning, but something must be arranged.”

  Evelyn bit her lip, remembering the heartless way Eloisa’s husband had arranged her own marriage to Philip. Poor Caroline. As the half sister of a wealthy earl, there would be a bidding war for her hand, but she would have no say at all in her brother’s choice, since Somerson was a bully, and Charlotte was worse.

  “What is it you wish me to do?” Evelyn asked. Surely Charlotte didn’t expect the girl to come and live with her, did she? The only bedroom she could offer would be the one she shared with Sam. She pursed her lips on the premature refusal that threatened to burst out.

  Charlotte sighed. “As you know, I am busy with my daughter’s debut. I have no time to amuse dull little Caroline now. Somerson insists he requires a few weeks to find her a suitable husband. I can hardly let her languish in the meantime. I have obtained suitable reading material for her—books on cookery, housekeeping, proper behavior in good society, and even pattern books so she can
sew her own clothing. I understand country ladies enjoy those activities, since there is so little else for them to do.”

  Charlotte paused eagerly as the door opened and Starling entered with the tea tray, which included a heaping plate of cream buns. Charlotte licked her lips, momentarily distracted. She helped herself to a cake, and devoured it in two huge bites.

  “Anyway, I must do something to keep the girl busy. I am counting on the charity of my sisters.” She batted her eyes in entreaty. “Would you be so kind as to host a small dinner party for her? It would get Caroline out of the house for an evening, without making too much of her in public.”

  “Here?” Evelyn asked. She imagined the country-bred young lady’s shock when Caroline heard of her scandal.

  “It will just be little Caroline and her friends from the North, a viscount something-or-other and his mother. As country peers, they won’t know it isn’t a truly elegant evening. Oh, sorry,” she added when Evelyn frowned at the barb.

  She had once been the ton’s most envied hostess. Her parties had been famous, her invitations coveted. Her sister seemed to have forgotten that, along with the rest of society.

  “What I meant is that they’re not likely to have heard of your difficulties, and by the time they do, the girl will be wedded, bedded, and packed off back to the country where she belongs.” Charlotte plopped three cream buns on her plate, one each for “wedded,” “bedded,” and “packed off.” She settled back to enjoy them as if the tasks were already accomplished.

  “How efficient,” Evelyn murmured.

  “I’m glad you agree,” Charlotte said around a mouthful of cream. Yellow custard ringed her lips, making her look like a rabid fox. “She is arriving within the week. I suppose she’ll need a few days to settle in. Shall we say a fortnight from today?” She picked up another bun, and swallowed it whole in her excitement. Evelyn watched it slide down her gullet. “It needn’t be a bother for you. I shall ask Penance Trask to arrange everything.”