Never Entice an Earl

by Lily Dalton

  Besides, he couldn’t stay away if he wanted to. The man he still pursued socialized in these circles. Was it Mr. Kincraig? Whatever the case, he was more determined than ever to find out, and knowing the man would be here tonight, as well as Rackmorton and countless other members of the Invisibilis, filled him with the compulsion to end this thing once and for all, tonight if possible.

  Moments later, Jackson let them out from the carriage, amidst a sea of other carriages and arriving guests.

  “Be on your guard,” the young man warned, securing the door, and scanning the crowd. “While all of the ton may well be here tonight, there is always a dangerous element lurking about, eager to lighten your purse or steal your boots, sometime at the expense of one’s life. We’ll wait over there, in the field for you, with the other conveyances. Just whistle, and we’ll come.” He climbed onto the rear perch, and the new driver snapped the reins. Jackson saluted as they rolled into the shadows to join what appeared from this distance to be scores of other carriages.

  Cormack joined Havering on the pavement, and together they entered the gate, showing tokens to the private gala at the Pavilion. “Your man is right. The gardens can be dangerous.”

  Cormack listened, but felt no qualms about delving into the darkness and jostling elbow to elbow with strangers. When had he ever not been on guard? Having lived six years in the wilds of Bengal, under no one’s protection but his own, he’d learned to exist in a constant state of vigilance, one he’d been unable to put to rest even upon returning to England.

  “Who brought Lady Harwick and the young ladies tonight?” he inquired.

  Fox responded with a wink. “Mr. Kincraig, who is still a bit rough around the edges, but at least he is making more efforts to be part of the family than before. He actually insisted on bringing them tonight, without having to be summoned by Wolverton.”

  Good. He would make every effort to befriend the man, as he had done with Rackmorton, and extract whatever answers he could.

  They moved in and out of the light, along the colonnade. Everywhere, people laughed and danced and played. The music grew louder, and at last he saw the orchestra stand, constructed of several ornately colored floors, and housing the musicians whose skilled efforts set the tone for the night. Here, beneath enormous hanging flower bouquets and Turkish chandeliers, danced the ton, markedly different in appearance from the common people crowding the rest of the park. The ladies wore silk dresses and sparkling jewels, and the gentlemen dark evening clothes.

  He searched the colorful tumult for Mr. Kincraig, but when his gaze instead found Daphne, it felt like a sudden and forceful kick to his gut. She danced with a handsome dark-haired fellow who smiled down at her in obvious enchantment. She smiled back at him, too, but in keeping with the steps of the dance, she twirled free and joined with the next partner, who appeared as equally besotted as the first. Clarissa danced in the same grouping, along with a number of other stylish young people.

  Lady Harwick warmly smiled at them on their approach. She reached for and squeezed his hand. “Welcome, Lord Raikes. Havering tells me you were the most devoted chaperone to Daphne this afternoon. Thank you for giving your time. We are all most appreciative.”

  “I was happy to do it.” He ought to feel guilty, accepting such praise. After all, he’d been wholeheartedly in favor of seducing her daughter just hours before. But his and Daphne’s flirtation or dalliance or whatever they’d shared was now ended. It felt very nice to stand here beside Lady Harwick and to be considered to be one of her friends.

  A taller, mature fellow stood beside her, his expression attentive, and his gaze clearly adoring on Her Ladyship.

  “Hello,” Cormack said.

  “Forgive me,” said Lady Harwick. “This is Mr. Birch.”

  They all three chatted for a moment, before Mr. Birch went in search of lemonade for the marchioness.

  Together they watched the dance, Cormack finding it harder to watch Daphne in the arms of other men, dancing and laughing so gaily, than he had expected. He had bared his soul to her that afternoon and felt she had done the same. Despite their having made peace, he felt completely adrift.

  Her Ladyship sighed. “Thank heavens she is spending time tonight with other gentlemen and not Sir Tarte, or Captain Sheridan or Lord Bamble.” She laughed anxiously. “Each of whom I find an admirable fellow in his own right but do not perceive as a suitable match for my daughter.”

  “I do believe she came to the same understanding this afternoon.”

  Lady Harwick’s expression brightened and she rested her hand on his arm. “You don’t know how relieved I am to hear you say that. You are the most delightful man. My husband used to do the same thing, sense my fears and know just how to soothe them. That’s how I know you will one day make a very good husband for your betrothed. I only wish my Daphne could find someone like you.”

  Cormack pressed his lips together, wondering if it would be better to remain silent. But he could not. “Miss Bevington told me this afternoon that it has long been her intention never to marry.”

  “Indeed, what she says is true.” Her Ladyship sighed. “And I hope I do not press her too much in my hopes that she will reconsider. I truly do respect her choice. However I fear that same choice is grounded in the misguided belief that she bears the blame for her father’s death. You see, she was riding the horse that reared up and struck him. But there was a lightning strike, and the animal startled. There was nothing anyone could have done.” Her voice softened to nothing, and her eyes misted over.

  “How terrible. I’m very sorry you suffered such a tragedy.”

  “Thank you.” She touched a hand to his arm. “But I fear Daphne has always believed she must pay some sort of penance, by selflessly devoting her life to me and her grandfather and her sisters at the expense of denying her own dreams.”

  It hadn’t made sense to him that such a lovely young woman as Daphne wouldn’t want to find love, or marry. Now he understood completely. The danger she’d faced to help Miss Fickett. Her devotion to her family. She placed everyone’s cares above her own.

  Mr. Birch reappeared from the shadows. “I have returned with lemonade for all.” He balanced three cups of the stuff, which they all quickly dispatched.

  The song ended and the dancers moved across the wooden floor, some remaining for the next set, while others abandoned their places to find friends in the adjacent supper boxes or to make merry under the canopy of the trees.

  Her Ladyship still stood between them, silent and pensive, watching Daphne, worrying about her daughter’s future happiness, he knew—and, he suspected, wanting to join in the fun.

  It seemed the perfect moment for Mr. Birch to ask Her Ladyship to dance, but the fellow remained silent.

  At that very moment, he saw Mr. Kincraig on the far side of the dance floor, speaking to several men. His curiosity piqued, he glanced down to Lady Harwick.

  “Would you…like to dance, my lady?” he asked her.

  Her eyes widened with surprise. “Why…yes, I would love to.”

  Cormack did not miss Mr. Birch’s momentary expression, one of abject failure, with his eyes closed and his mouth a tight line. Maybe the fellow was shy or simply did not know how to dance. Well, perhaps he could help Mr. Birch get over his fears. He knew better than anyone that there was nothing like seeing the woman one adored in the company of another man, to compel one to action. Every time he saw Daphne whirl past in the arms of another man, he had to prohibit himself from doing the same.

  Whatever the case, he led her to the floor. As they took their places, he happened to see Daphne staring at him from across the clearing. She was lovely, every moment of every day, but there was something about the light from the lanterns, playing with the shadows on her skin and the high flush on her cheeks, that made her even more bewitching—especially when she smiled at him, as she did now.

  In a night painted in shadows, she stood out like a brilliant jewel. She wore an azure gown, trimme
d with gold, and crystals shimmered in her upswept hair. His gut twisted with desire, and for a moment, he savored the sensation, but he closed his eyes and after a moment, the music started, a lively country dance.

  The next moments passed in a blur of music and movement. He guided Lady Harwick to the right, to the left, and they parted to circle round the next person in line, to join hands again. Faces flashed by, smiling and laughing. Kincraig, he observed, spoke with Rackmorton and that fellow from the night of the musicale…Dump Dump Dinglemore. Ah, yes, and there was Charlie Churlish as well, with several others. He would endeavor to join them as soon as the dance was done. It wasn’t, after all, as if he’d come here to dance.

  Even so, Lady Harwick shouted above the din, “You are such a good dancer!”

  Of course he was. Laura had needed a practice partner all those years ago, when she was learning her steps, and dreaming of growing up into a young lady to experience nights like this. Strange that in this moment, when he was surrounded by a heaving mass of people, he should miss her so much. Knowing that the man who had ruined her might be here tonight, laughing and carrying on as if she had never existed, only renewed his hatred.

  They repeated the same steps, traveling down the line, crowded on all sides by other dancers, who at times broke through. Rather than break the rhythm of the dance, it only added to the Bacchanalian revelry of the night

  Then, when it was time to change partners, Lady Harwick twirled off into the arms of another man, a tall fellow with a mustache…and Daphne was suddenly in his.

  *

  “I think you went in the wrong direction,” he said. Shadows revealed the hollows beneath his cheekbones, and lips that did not precisely smile. His heart beat strong and sure beneath her palm, which rested at the center of his chest. “I’m supposed to be paired with that dear lady over there.”

  He indicated a gray-haired matron who wandered unpartnered, her gloved arms held aloft, only to be swept away into the dance by Havering.

  “Perhaps I did go the wrong direction, but quite on purpose and for good reason.” She half-turned within the circle of his arms to find two dancers—her mother and Mr. Birch. “That dear man wanted so badly to dance with Mama, but did you know he has a war wound? I didn’t either. He conceals the limp very well.”

  Despite everything, she liked Mr. Birch very much, though she hadn’t wanted to. He wasn’t her father; no one ever could be. But she realized things couldn’t stay the same. She wanted her mother to find happiness, and, yes—Clarissa as well. Still, she felt as though everything she knew was slipping from her grasp, and she needed something to hold on to. In this moment that thing was Cormack.

  “And you encouraged him?” He spun her around, and around again, with such skill she could only close her eyes and savor the pleasure of being in his arms. There was something about the night, and the sparkling lanterns and the music, that made her feel reckless and daring.

  “Of course I did. Why wouldn’t I? He’s just a bit self-conscious on the dance floor, and doesn’t believe himself to be very nimble.”

  Another couple collided into Cormack’s back. With a faint look of irritation, he sheltered her from the blow.

  “Apologies!” the man shouted, and they spiraled away.

  The corner of Cormack’s lips hitched upward into a smile. “I don’t believe ‘nimble’ even signifies on a night like this.”

  “Just look at my mother’s smile. She likes him, I think. I’m sorry, Cormack, you are left to dance with me.”

  She smiled up into his face, wanting the night to never end. She wanted to flirt. She wanted to played with fire. It was easy to do here in the gardens, where magic danced among the trees and worry and regret seemed so far away.

  Her heart soared when he pulled her close, into an embrace, and murmured against her temple, “You won’t ever hear me complain.”

  *

  He could do this. He could dance with her. Touch her even, and then walk away. He would prove it to himself, and to her.

  The music trilled and dipped, and they circled one another, hands sliding, however briefly, over one another’s skin and clothing, her gaze never leaving his. But then, as all country dances required, they spun in opposite directions to claim the next partner. He watched her go, and saw her smile fall when she met the arms of the next man—Rackmorton, who peered back at him, grinning like a hyena, with bared teeth, and in a whirl, he lost sight of them.

  The woman in his arms gazed up. A beauty, she had blonde hair and bosoms that strained at the silk of her gown. “Lord Raikes, I am told?”

  “That would be me, and you are?” he inquired politely.

  “Lady Bunhill,” she replied, suggestively trailing her fingertip across his chest as the crowd converged about them. Despite the lanterns in the trees, and the blaze of light cast out from the Pavilion, shadows settled everywhere, and there were many in the crowd behaving in ways that they might not in the more mannered walls of a Mayfair ballroom. “I’m so glad to meet you. Rackmorton says you’re great fun.”

  “Rackmorton?”

  “Yes, he’s a friend. I am a widow, always looking for new friends.”

  He did not misunderstand the invitation she extended. But while he had no intention of accepting what she offered, he did not immediately rebuff her. She was flirtatious and lovely, and he needed distraction, however temporary, so that he might forget the beauty on the other end of the floor. When they had danced, Daphne had looked at him with far too much warmth, a contradiction to her earlier edict that they remain apart. Now it was time for him to be strong. Perhaps if she observed him in the company of another, she would know it was all right for her to do the same. For her to forget him, as she should. She was right. He had to let her go.

  So he allowed it when Lady Bunhill wrapped her arms around him and led him toward the refreshment table, where she poured them both glasses of burned wine, insisting on lifting her cup to his lips, and then her own.

  “Mmmm, intoxicating. Rather like I imagine your kiss would be,” she flirted. “Walk with me?”

  She led him toward one of the many walkways that broke off from the clearing. He hesitated, but told himself it was only a walk.

  “You seem to know your way around.”

  “That I do,” she responded, with a teasing lilt to her voice.

  She led him down a narrow path, into an alcove, where…strangely, he made out the vague outlines of some ten to twelve men, whose faces remained concealed by shadow. His pulse increased, and every cell of his being became alert. Someone else approached from behind; he heard their footsteps. Glancing back, he saw another blonde woman, cajoling a man along the path, drawing his arm over her shoulders. The woman, from this distance, looked to be a near mirror image of Lady Bunhill.

  “There you are.” Another figure emerged from the shadows, straightening the eye holes of his hood. “That didn’t take much effort to get you here, but Bunhill is quite the temptress.”

  It was Rackmorton. The voice left Cormack with not a smidgeon of doubt.

  Lady Bunhill pulled away from him, and walked toward Rackmorton—as did the second woman, who had escorted the gentleman behind him.

  “Thank you for the compliment, my lord,” Lady Bunhill purred, draping herself against him.

  “You can reward me later,” murmured the second, planting a kiss on his silken cheek.

  He shrugged them both off, and urged them away. “Now, go along. The both of you. Leave the men to their talk.”

  Cormack’s first concern was where Daphne had gone, but he could only assume she now danced with another partner, or had returned to the protection of her family. His next thought was that he was most certainly standing in the company of the Invisibilis. “Raikes, I believe you already know Mr. Kincraig.”

  He glanced back at Kincraig, whose longish hair brushed his bearded jawline, which made him look like a swashbuckler with the glaze of drink in his eyes. Had this man seduced his sister? He was certainly h
andsome and always quick with a word of dry, sardonic humor, but there was something in his manner that to Cormack spoke of self-loathing. Which usually meant a person suffered some sort of regret.

  “Indeed I do,” said Cormack.

  “Hello there, Raikes,” Mr. Kincraig answered. “Are you as confused as I am? Are they both Lady Bunhills?” Glancing to the men in the shadows, his eyes narrowed, but his smile conveyed a keen interest in the present situation. “Is that a real name, or something they’ve made up?”

  So…Kincraig wasn’t a member of the Invisibilis. Or was he?

  Rackmorton circled in front of them, pausing dramatically. “We’ve been watching you gentlemen for some time, and we like what we see. You’re rich, you love beautiful women, and you like to have a damned good time—as do we.”

  Cormack hadn’t expected this. He’d rather thought they were going to try to beat him up or something juvenile like that. Now he sensed what was coming, and he didn’t like it. He only wanted to kill one of them—one who very likely stood, at this moment, just feet away. Kincraig, perhaps? Or someone else who stood in the shadows, his identity hidden from view. But he didn’t want to have to become one of them in order to do it.

  “We are members of a rather ancient society.” Rackmorton’s voice grew hushed and reverent. “The name of which I can’t speak to anyone who isn’t a member—which we are now inviting you to become.” He lifted and spread his arms magnanimously. “I don’t have to tell you, it’s quite the honor. Only the most select are welcomed into our midst as brothers.”

  “How inclusive of you,” declared Kincraig, moving more in line with Cormack’s position. “To invite this fellow and I into your very special club. I like clubs. I go to them all the time, but usually we all aren’t standing in the dark where I can’t see anyone’s faces. I like faces, too, for the record.”