Never Entice an Earl

by Lily Dalton

  “Well, have a good look at it,” Kate said, raising the page by its two top corners, where Daphne could not help but see the lines of its bold black print. “Because it says here ‘paid in full.’ Can you read it? Yes, I know it’s difficult to make out for the blood that has been splattered on the page.”

  Cormack had spilled more blood so that she—or rather, Kate—could be free! Was it wrong that everything inside her went happy and warm?

  She glanced at the page. “There’s just a tiny bit there at the bottom edge, from what I can see. Aren’t you happy? We ought to celebrate. Your family has been released from its obligation, and you’ll never have to go back to that place again.”

  Kate folded the paper and thrust it into her apron pocket. “It is blood, Daphne. I fear it was shed on my behalf.”

  Anxiety knotted her insides. “I wouldn’t know.”

  She didn’t know, not for sure. She didn’t know anything.

  She prayed the blood wasn’t Cormack’s.

  Kate came very close, her brown eyes earnestly pleading. “You know something about this. I know you know, because you’re the only soul I told about this debt. And you’re the only one I told about my agreement with Mr. Bynum.”

  Daphne experienced a wave of nerve-shattering alarm. Had Cormack come here looking for her? How else would Kate have come into possession of the document?

  Attempting nonchalance, she asked, “Tell me, how did you receive that document?”

  “It was delivered this morning by a fellow by the name of Jackson. He asked to see me, but being that I’d been ill, the housekeeper told him I wasn’t available to take callers.”

  Jackson hadn’t seen Kate. The real Kate. Daphne breathed out a sigh of relief. “That’s all very interesting.”

  “Daphne, who is Jackson?”

  Blessedly, just then, a figure breezed through the door: Clarissa, fresh faced and smiling, followed by Lady Margaretta.

  “Miss Fickett, what a relief to see you up and about,” declared Lady Harwick. “Though I must say you don’t look fully recovered.”

  Clarissa lifted a plate from the sideboard. “I agree, Fickett. You’re quite red in the face, which is the opposite of how you looked yesterday, when you were so pale. Are you certain you don’t have a fever now?”

  “I think I very well might.” Kate expelled the words between clenched teeth, with an all-too-obvious accusatory look to Daphne. “In my brain. It feels near ready to explode.”

  Daphne pursed her lips, and leveled a rebuking glare toward her lady’s maid. That was all she needed—Clarissa and her mother asking questions.

  Clarissa’s eyes widened. “Should we summon the doctor to return?”

  Daphne announced, “Of course not. She’s being facetious.”

  “Oh?” The viscountess smiled, spooning a golden scoop of eggs onto her plate. “Facetiousness is not a quality I normally associate with Miss Fickett.”

  “You don’t know her as well as I do,” Daphne replied drily.

  “I rather like facetiousness.” Clarissa laughed. “I wish Miss Randolph would develop such a trait. She’s always so dour, with not a bit of humor in her.”

  Daphne followed along behind them, filling her plate. She truly was ravenous, and her mood increasingly light. Kate’s debt had been resolved! Such an enormous debt, and paid, she knew, on her behalf. While she would be eternally grateful to Cormack, he could now fade into her past as a happy and treasured memory. Yes, truly and fondly treasured.

  “How was the Heseldon ball?” she asked, eager to turn the bent of the conversation away from herself and Kate. “You must tell me every detail.”

  “Wild fun.” Clarissa’s eyes shone at the memory. The youngest of the Bevington sisters was such a social creature. She never tired of activity or making new acquaintances. “So many people have only just arrived in town. Now the fun shall truly begin! And if you can believe it, Kincraig actually behaved himself. He even danced with me, though he has much to learn about footwork. Everyone wanted to know where you were, and thought you quite the dear heart to have stayed home to take care of everyone.”

  “Is that what you did?” muttered Kate beneath her breath.

  Daphne pressed her foot down on top of Kate’s toe. “Of course it is. You just don’t remember because you were insensible.”

  Kate turned toward her, so that only Daphne could see her face and hear her whispered words. “I suppose that’s true. If I were called before a court of law, or say, your mother, to vouch for your whereabouts last nights, I wouldn’t be able to do so.”

  “What are you two whispering about over there?” Lady Harwick inquired.

  “Kate’s being sweet enough to accomplish a few errands for me this morning.” Daphne lowered her plate to the table. “Kate, just one more thing—oh, why don’t I just walk you out?”

  In the corridor, they waited until the footman traveled past, this time with a silver tea pot.

  Her voice still low, Daphne touched Kate’s arm and squeezed. “Fickett, I don’t mean to be elusive, but please trust me, it’s better that you don’t know. All that’s important now is that you and your family are safe, and won’t be turned out from your home.”

  Emotion glimmered in Kate’s eyes. She inhaled, and bit her lower lip, which trembled. “Thank you, Daphne. Really. Thank you. Whatever you did. But it was so much money, and I worry that somehow you placed yourself in a harrowing situation, or…or compromised your reputation, by attempting to deal with Mr. Bynum yourself. You mustn’t ever do that for me. I’d never forgive myself.”

  Kate looked so tormented. Daphne couldn’t keep the truth from her a moment more. “I did go there…to the Blue Swan—”

  “Oh, my God, I knew it.” Kate’s eyes widened, and flooded with tears.

  “But I met the most wonderful man, and Kate, don’t despise me, but I told him my name was Kate, because I was frightened and I didn’t know what else to do, but he…he made everything right.”

  “Oh, dear. I can see your admiration for him written all over your face. You’re glowing. Look at your cheeks. Did you…did he—?” Kate demanded fervently.

  “A kiss. Well, perhaps five or six, but they were magical.” And wildly passionate, such as she’d never forget.

  “I’m going to be sick.” Kate put her hands on her waist, and bent forward.

  Daphne raised her back up. “Don’t be. He was a gentleman. A complete and utter gentleman. And I’ll never see him again. Truly, I know nothing but his first name, and he understands that he should never try to see me…or you, I suppose, again. He will forevermore be an exciting and happy memory.”

  Kate covered her eyes. “You shouldn’t have done it.”

  Daphne pulled her hand away. “You’d do the same for me.”

  “Of course I would, but, Daphne, it’s different for me—”

  “No it isn’t—at least, it shouldn’t be.”

  “But it is. You have a future. I know you say you don’t intend to marry, but what if someone found out? The scandal would be enormous—”

  She lifted a silencing hand, and smiled. “Pah, I can’t hear you. Besides, Mother will come out looking for me in a moment. Just go, sweet friend, and pay a visit to your family to share the news, and don’t worry another moment more.”

  Returned to the table, she took a bite of her fried potatoes. Her adventure the night before—and more so, her intense relief that it was all over—had made her ravenous. In a blink, she cleared her plate. She considered going for another, but her mother folded her napkin and stood.

  “It’s nearly ten. Mrs. Brightmore will be expecting us for our review of the account books.” Her mother, of late, had insisted on both girls accompanying her on her daily visits with the housekeeper, as they would both soon have households of their own to manage. Daphne humored her, and went along.

  Clarissa stood and pulled a piece of paper from her pocket. “I’ve prepared another list of questions.”

  “Very
good.” Lady Harwick nodded, pleased. “Daphne, what about you?”

  “Ah…no, I thought I’d just ask whatever questions come to mind.” Or let Clarissa ask all the questions. Even better. Nothing put her to sleep faster than an account book being opened.

  “Very well.”

  They followed Lady Margaretta into the corridor. However, a flurry of activity at the front of the house drew their attention. One of the footmen held an enormous arrangement of brilliant coral roses.

  “I knew it!” Clarissa exclaimed, clasping her hands together. Her smile transformed her face. “I think I even know who sent them. Oh, Daphne, wait until you meet him.”

  How romantic! Despite Clarissa’s fickle taste in suitors, Daphne sincerely hoped she would find someone wonderful and fall in love. Perhaps last night it had happened. In that moment she remembered Cormack as he’d stood in the alley, his face and clothing slick with rainwater, his hand extended to her. A sudden longing struck her, deep inside her chest, such as she had never experienced before.

  “Don’t assume, dear,” Lady Margaretta chided softly. “They may very well be for your sister. Mr. Ollister, could you please carry the flowers into the green sitting room?”

  They followed the footman inside the high-ceilinged room, where hand-painted green paper covered the walls, the perfect color for spring. Ollister placed the flowers on a table beside the window.

  Clarissa pulled her by the wrist. “Oh, Daphne, this is just the beginning of our wonderful season. Let’s open the card together.”

  Daphne didn’t want to look. She had a sneaking suspicion the flowers might be from Lord Rackmorton, the scoundrel she’d seen the night before at the Blue Swan. He’d been so overly attentive yesterday afternoon at Lady Buckinghamshire’s Venetian breakfast, and he had scowled so terribly when she’d had to leave, insisting on escorting her all the way to the carriage. Everyone considered him such a gentleman, and she’d have such a time explaining why she felt compelled to dump the entire arrangement out the window. She wondered what had become of him in the moments after the constables arrived, but didn’t concern herself overly much. She knew full well that men with names like Rackmorton rarely had to answer for their actions.

  “That’s all right,” she said to Clarissa. “I’m certain they’re for you. You open the card.”

  Clarissa slipped the little envelope from the center of the arrangement, and lifted the flap. “Oh.”

  Her countenance reflected surprise.

  “What does it say, dear?” Lady Harwick hovered close. “Are they for you or for Daphne?”

  “Neither of us.” She gave a little nervous laugh.

  “Oh.” Her mother blushed. “They are for me?”

  “Not you, either,” her sister declared. “Though I wouldn’t at all be surprised.”

  “What does that mean, that you wouldn’t be surprised?” Daphne inquired, dismayed and a little unsettled. Both her sister and her mother had new suitors? “What happened last night?”

  Clarissa threw her a sly look. “Mother has a friend. His name is Mr.—”

  “I do not have a friend!” Lady Margaretta exclaimed, her face even redder now.

  “—Birch! And he is smitten.”

  The viscountess raised a hand to the tendril of hair that slipped from her nape. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

  “Tell me!” wailed Daphne.

  Clarissa winked. “I’ll tell you later.”

  “There’s nothing to tell,” Lady Harwick assured, but the brightness in her eyes told another story.

  “The card, Clarissa,” Daphne urged, feeling a bit dismayed over talk of her mother and any man but her father, though she knew she ought not to be. “What does it say?”

  “It’s for Miss Fickett.”

  Kate? Kate didn’t have any suitors that she knew of—

  Oh, no. Daphne swallowed down a gasp, as anxiety flooded her stomach.

  “Miss Fickett?” Lady Margaretta repeated, her smile taking on a curious slant. “I wasn’t aware she had a suitor. Daphne, what do you know of this?”

  “Ah…no.” Daphne’s voice sounded hollow. “I wasn’t aware, either.”

  Clarissa examined the white card stock again. “There isn’t a name, just an initial, the letter C. Clearly a man’s handwriting.” She turned the card for the benefit of their mutual examination, her eyebrows raised above sparkling eyes. “So masculine.”

  Daphne’s gaze fixed on the solitary letter, emblazoned in thick black ink, and a whisper of pleasure swept through her, weakening her knees.

  Her mother turned to the footman. “Mr. Ollister, could you please summon Miss Fickett? Hopefully we’ll catch her before she leaves the premises on Miss Bevington’s errands.”

  Daphne knew for a certainty Kate hadn’t gone anywhere, because there weren’t any errands, and if her maid was going to visit her family, she’d wait until the morning rush at the shop was over. But that didn’t mean she was going to wait here for her web of well-intentioned deceit to unravel on the drawing room floor.

  Daphne reached for the vase. “You know Miss Fickett, she’s very private. I can take the roses upstairs to her.”

  She would take them into a closet, or outside and throw them over the back wall. Anywhere that Kate wouldn’t see them, and be more concerned than she already was.

  “No, no. I want to see her face,” said Clarissa, eyes sparkling with glee. “A suitor. How exciting.”

  “The flowers are indeed beautiful, and such uncommon blooms came at no small expense,” the viscountess observed, touching the luscious petals. “I’d hate for the household to lose Miss Fickett, but the idea of a romance is thrilling, is it not? As long as the gentleman’s intentions are honorable.”

  Daphne bit her lower lip. Things would only get more awkward once Kate appeared.

  At that moment, Kate entered the room and curtsied to the viscountess. “I was told I’d been summoned?”

  Daphne exhaled through her teeth. Oh, fig. What a tangle.

  “Miss Fickett,” Clarissa sang like a happy little bird. She waved the card in the air like a prize won in a party game. “Look what’s arrived for you. Forgive me, I opened the card thinking the flowers were intended for either myself or Daphne. How conceited of me. Surprise, they are for you!”

  Kate’s eyes widened. “That can’t be.”

  She blinked rapidly, and her cheeks bloomed a deep crimson.

  “See for yourself, here’s the card. Oh, dear. You appear discomposed.” Clarissa touched Kate’s arm and, moving even closer, gave a comforting rub. “Do you even know who this Mister C is?”

  “I…believe so.” She blinked, staring down at the card. “And I’m not upset, this is just…very unexpected.”

  Bless her! Kate did not so much as glance in her direction. Daphne moved to stand beside the vase, and smelled one of the blooms. Beautiful. So fragrant and lovely.

  “Does he have honorable intentions, my dear?” asked Her Ladyship.

  Clarissa placed an arm around Kate’s shoulders. “You know we consider you as dear as family, and won’t suffer any man treating you with anything less than the respect you deserve. Just say the word, and I’ll have Mr. Ollister take them to the rubbish heap.”

  “Oh, no. Don’t do that,” Kate gasped, raising a hand to her cheek. “He is someone I met only briefly, but is…very much a gentleman, in manner and deed.”

  “You intend to see him again, then?” Clarissa’s demeanor softened.

  “No, it’s not like that at all,” Kate answered. “Indeed, I believe the flowers were simply intended as a very kind gesture of farewell.” She looked at Daphne and offered a gentle smile.

  Daphne nodded. Yes, that was it. A kind farewell.

  Her chest tightened with a surge of the most exquisite tangle of emotions. Admiration. Longing. Relief. Cormack had proven himself to be nothing less than a hero, and an impeccable gentleman. He had done exactly as he promised, and asked for nothing in retu
rn.

  How utterly tragic—and somehow perfect—that she would never, ever see him again.

  Chapter Six

  That’s the last of it, then?” Cormack inquired, from his place in the tub. He dropped the newspaper he’d been reading, now folded, to the floor. Hugin and Munin dozed nearby, having already gone for an early morning run in the park that ran adjacent to the hotel.

  Bergamot-scented steam rose up around him, compliments of the doe-eyed maid with strong shoulders who’d poured the buckets of water just moments before. She’d offered to massage his shoulders, a service he’d politely declined, despite his muscles being a tangle of tension. Two days before, when he’d accepted the same offer, things had quickly gotten out of hand.

  Jackson, who over the past two years had acted as his driver, his valet, and his man of all business, replied, “We didn’t have much to begin with, my lord, but yes, everything’s been packed. So…a house, you say?”

  They waited for the girl to go, before continuing.

  “She’s a pretty girl,” Jackson observed, once she had gone.

  “I had not noticed. You ought not to, either.”

  “Hmm.” His manservant rolled his eyes.

  Jackson often called him a prude, but he’d never been one to avail himself of such a la carte services. While he could be just as randy as any other hot-blooded man, he preferred his liaisons to be of a certain quality, with women of passion, motivated by mutual attraction rather than monetary need. If such opportunities came less frequently, so be it. He found them infinitely more satisfying than those requiring an obligatory coin and the further exploitation of a girl in unfortunate circumstances. She could tidy the room, or shine his boots, and he’d compensate her just as generously and hold his conscience clear.

  Along those lines, he hoped to meet someone soon. Widows were always the obvious choice. A love affair, he feared, was the only way to blot out Kate’s memory, which against all reason lingered vividly in the back of his mind even now.

  “Not just a house. I want a palace, at least in London terms. See what you can find, somewhere in Mayfair. I liked what I saw of the area last night.”