Never Entice an Earl

by Lily Dalton

  Cormack remained silent and watchful. It would serve him no purpose to anger or offend.

  Rackmorton’s chin snapped up. “You’ll see our faces once you agree to join us. When we are brothers, in truth.”

  “I never had a brother.” Kincraig looked at Cormack. “What about you?”

  “No. I had a sister.” No one else could know how speaking those words hurt him, to his core.

  Mr. Kincraig nodded, unfazed, and returned his attention to Rackmorton. “What will joining your club get us? Are there meetings, and are we obligated to attend them?”

  “Of course there are meetings. All clubs have them.”

  “You should know now, then, that I don’t like meetings that last any longer than five minutes. What benefits are there to joining your group, and suffering through these meetings?”

  “For one, there are opportunities to make more money.” Rackmorton laughed. “We know all the right people. Hell, we are all the right people.”

  Chuckles came from the darkness.

  Kincraig shrugged, and shook his head. “But you see, I make plenty of money on my own. People are always wanting me to invest, and promising me, sometimes even in writing, beneficial returns. Will you do that?”

  “In writing, you say?” His Lordship snapped. “Of course not. Did you not hear the word ‘secret’?”

  Cormack laughed at the ridiculousness of the conversation. He simply couldn’t help himself.

  “Ah.” Kincraig nodded. “Then I remain unimpressed. What about you, Raikes?”

  Cormack offered a noncommittal response. “I am still on the fence.”

  Looking to Rackmorton’s blank face, he inquired, “What else do you have to offer?”

  “There are also women.” Rackmorton strode toward them. “Lots of beautiful women like the ladies Bunhill, and wild private parties. Sometimes we all get together and—”

  “What? Make love like a bunch of wild monkeys?” Kincraig crossed his arms, rubbing his chin, and rocked back on his heels. “An interesting endeavor, to be sure, but not particularly to my taste. Besides, I get plenty of women on my own. Raikes, you’re dreadfully handsome, I’m certain you do as well.”

  Cormack shrugged. “Could it be that they believe their women are better? If so, perhaps they could please explain how.”

  Rackmorton sneered. “We’re inviting you to join a most exclusive club. Hardly anyone is ever invited to join. Are you interested or not?”

  “Do we have to join together, or not at all?” said Kincraig.

  The marquess clasped his hands to either side of his head and groaned.

  “Oh, good God,” he shouted, turning to stride toward the trees. “I have never suffered so many damn questions in my life.”

  “It’s entirely an individual choice,” said one of the other masked figures.

  “May we give you our decision, say, next week? I’d like to think about it before committing.” He turned to Cormack, eyebrows raised. “Raikes, why don’t you and I pick a day—say, Tuesday—and submit our answers together, with no pressure whatsoever that they should be the same. Perhaps written in blood? Not mine of course, because I don’t like to bleed, but we could prick your finger. What do you say?”

  Cormack stared at Kincraig, torn. If he threw his lot in with Kincraig, so as to investigate his possible connection to Laura further, he would sacrifice this opportunity to infiltrate the Invisibilis. Was he certain enough?

  “Wait a minute here.” Rackmorton wedged between them, arms raised. Glaring at Kincraig, he said, “Consider yourself, Mr. Kincraig, disinvited. Obviously we were wrong about you. Rathcrispin was right. You could never be one of us.”

  Recognition of the name shot through Cormack like a blast from a blunderbuss. There could be no mistaking: he referred to the Duke of Rathcrispin, who had allowed the Invisibilis the use of his hunting lodge that neighbored the Deavall estate.

  “What a fickle bunch you are,” Kincraig drawled. “Why me, but not him? Do you have a secret signal that I missed, where you all just agreed to blackball me? I am wounded.” He clasped a hand to his heart, a portrait of mock Shakespearean tragedy. “I think I might even cry. After that unforgettable week we all spent together in the country. After all the fun we’ve had together.”

  A loud blast sounded from the direction of the dance.

  “What was that?” said Cormack, half-turning.

  *

  Daphne searched for Cormack in the crowd. She knew she shouldn’t. That she was just courting trouble by wanting another dance with him, as an excuse to be in his arms, but he had looked so handsome under the lantern light and the night seemed nothing less than a fantasy.

  The dance floor was so crowded, she skimmed along its edge—

  And that’s when she saw him, with a voluptuous blonde attached to his side. The woman smiled up at him and laughingly drew him into the shadows. Cormack didn’t hesitate, but followed her down the narrow footpath.

  Daphne’s heart stopped beating. Where was he going with her? She took several steps in that direction, only to retreat and turn back toward the tangle of dancers crowding the floor. Tears filled her eyes. How it hurt. Her heart. But she had no right to complain, when she’d insisted that afternoon that he let her go.

  Suddenly, she didn’t feel like dancing anymore. She wanted her mother. She continued on the circular path, weaving in and out of revelers. Clarissa danced by in the arms of another handsome partner. At last she spied Lady Margaretta in the deeper shadows along the edge of the trees with Mr. Birch.

  “Hello!” she called, raising her hand and walking toward them.

  But they didn’t hear her above the din. As she grew closer she could only watch, stunned, as the two embraced and Mr. Birch bent…to kiss her mother.

  It was as if the earth moved beneath her feet, and she stumbled. Her future shattered before her eyes, and rearranged like a puzzle with its pieces in all the wrong places. Her mother and Mr. Birch. Of course she’d known they’d quickly come to be friends, and that they enjoyed one another’s company, but this? So quickly?

  She’d been so worried that her mother would be left alone, that she would be the one to provide the widowed viscountess with companionship so she would never be lonely.

  But what if Lady Harwick married again? No doubt Clarissa would as well. Soon, none of them would need her.

  What if she would be the one left all alone?

  Wouldn’t that be a suitable punishment for what she had done?

  “Daphne?” Her mother had seen her and now walked toward her, Mr. Birch following behind. Lady Margaretta looked so concerned, and he…apologetic.

  “Don’t mind me!” Daphne called, forcing gaiety into her voice, as if she hadn’t seen their embrace. “I’m looking for Clarissa. I’ll find you later.”

  She rushed away, the lanterns and faces around her now blurred by tears.

  Only it wasn’t Clarissa for whom she searched, but Cormack. And she wouldn’t find him because he was with someone else.

  *

  “There, I heard it again,” said Cormack, infinitely more concerned now than before.

  “Likely just the fireworks,” another of the Invisibilis said from the shadows.

  “You all agree, don’t you, that we don’t want Kincraig anymore?” Rackmorton glanced around. The silent figures in the shadows shrugged and grunted.

  A tangle of screams and shouts sounded from behind them.

  “Those aren’t fireworks,” Cormack insisted darkly. “Those are people screaming.”

  Peering down the shadowed walk, Cormack could just barely make out a portion of the clearing, where the crowd pushed like a school of fish from one side toward the other.

  “You’re right. Something’s going on back there,” said Kincraig.

  “We’re almost finished here,” Rackmorton hissed. “You, Raikes. Don’t let that fool sway you with his ridiculous talk. Join us.”

  A blast sounded—clearly a gunshot. There wer
e hundreds of people attending the festivities at the orchestra stand, but all he could think of was Daphne, and whether she had been shot. The blood drained from his face, and from his limbs, and his heart seized in his chest.

  Forgetting all else, he ran toward the crowd.

  A wall of people met him, all running and trying, it appeared, to escape. Women screamed and fell, only to be lifted up by those trying not to trample them. He searched the faces, searching for her, or any member of her family. He had to ensure they were all safe. Another shot sounded, and the crowd’s panic intensified.

  Havering hurtled out of the shadows. Cormack caught him by the arm.

  “What has happened?”

  “Raikes. Oh, thank God.” The crowd jostled them from all sides, shoving them together. Fox looked at him only briefly, before his eyes returned to search the crowd. “From what I observed, a large mob broke through the boundaries and someone shot a gun in the air. They are just ruffians, I think, intent on petty thievery and wreaking havoc, but everyone panicked and scattered. I can’t find the ladies. They aren’t with Kincraig. He was off in the shadows with some strumpet when all this took place.”

  “I know,” Cormack shouted above the din. “I was with him.”

  “What?” Fox’s eyes darkened.

  “I’ll explain later. Do you think the ladies were together?”

  “I fear not. They were all at different corners of the dance floor when the melee broke out.”

  “If you find Her Ladyship or the girls, take them to the base of the large tree near the Pavilion entrance. I’ll do the same. We’ll meet there and escort them out.”

  Not waiting a moment more, they both returned to the fray.

  Just knowing Daphne was lost in the churning tumult struck panic into Cormack’s heart. She could already have been trampled, assaulted, or worse. Far worse. He couldn’t think about it. He just had to find her. He plowed into the crowd, pushing and shoving through, searching every face and shadow. He scooped up an older woman from where she’d fallen, and a moment later planted his fist in the face of a brute who ripped an old soldier’s medals from his chest. Then, amidst all the shouts and pleas for calm, he heard a shrill scream. His blood went cold, because without a doubt he recognized her voice. He dove toward the trees, praying his ears and sense of direction did not betray him.

  He found her there, surrounded by four toughs, three men and a woman. She wielded a small tree branch in her hand, and swung it fiercely each time one of them lunged close. He rushed toward them.

  “Stay away!” she warned. Her hair had fallen free of its pins, and her silk gown sagged off one shoulder, in tatters. Rage blurred his vision. What had they done to her, to put her in such a state? Her hair and neck still sparkled with jewels—likely only paste, but no doubt that was what her attackers were after.

  “We can take y’ down hard or easy, my lady,” threatened one of the men. “Yer choice.”

  “Come near me, and you’ll be the one going down.” She tightened her grip on the branch. “And you won’t be coming up again!”

  “I want ’er dress,” the woman shouted. “Don’t tear it any more than it already is.”

  Just as Cormack grew near enough to attack, one of the men lunged, shoving her from behind. With a cry, she spun round, swinging the branch and clocking the fellow on the side of his head. Yet in a flash, the harpy attacked her from behind. The two others followed.

  The same blackness he’d experienced in the alleyway the first night he’d met her threatened to overtake him again. He leapt onto the attackers, who were so intent on tearing the jewels from her hair and neck they didn’t see him. With a shout, he wrenched them off her. Fists flew and met flesh, and when it was all done, he triumphantly carried her out from the trees.

  “I’m so glad you are here.” She clung to him, pressing her face to his neck. “Did you see me hit that big one with the stick?”

  “I did,” he murmured, his lips against her temple, letting the scent of her fill his nostrils. “I am so very proud of you.”

  She stiffened in his arms. “My mother, and my sister—where are they, do you know?”

  “Havering’s looking for them. I’m certain they’re safe.”

  “You’re bleeding, but I can’t tell from where.” Her hand touched his face. “Does anything hurt?”

  He carried her to the base of the tree, where he and Fox had agreed to meet. Scores rushed past them toward the gate, certainly intent on escaping the garden for the night. Several park wardens rushed in, blowing their whistles and bellowing for order.

  Cormack exhaled roughly. “You’re bruised, on your cheek.”

  “I’m safe, because of you.” Her hand curled inside his. “It’s all that matters.”

  “Are you hurt? Anywhere that I can’t see? Did they touch you?” His gaze and his hands moved over her, searching for any other injury or sign of trespass.

  She allowed his inspection. “They only dragged me into the trees, and that awful woman pulled my hair, I suppose trying to get at these worthless crystals.”

  Damn him to hell, he couldn’t stop looking at Daphne with her torn silk dress and a bruise on her cheek, safe and in his arms. He’d never been more enraged or relieved, and couldn’t imagine ever releasing her from his arms again, so intense was his desire to protect her.

  After a moment, Havering appeared, gasping for breath. “You found her! Is she harmed?”

  “Stop talking about me like I’m unconscious,” Daphne insisted. “Do you see my eyes open?”

  Despite everything, Havering flashed a grin. “And for that I am relieved. Take her, Raikes, and get her far from here.”

  “Do you think the river would be faster?” Cormack asked.

  “I fear any departing boat will be so overcrowded it might overturn. No, take the carriage. We’ll all meet at Wolverton’s.”

  “But my mother, and Clarissa,” cried Daphne, her hands fisting in Cormack’s shirt. He soothed her with a whisper, and a gentle stroke to her hair.

  Fox replied, “Kincraig found them, just moments ago. He’s taken them to his carriage and will see them home.”

  “What about you?” asked Daphne.

  Gunfire sounded again, and they all ducked.

  “Bloody hell!” Cormack swore, doing his best to shelter her with his body.

  Havering backed away. “I’m going in with the wardens to show them where that idiot with the gun has holed himself away. He thinks he’s hidden, but I saw the muzzle flash. Don’t worry about me. I’ll find a ride and rejoin you later. Go, now, get her to safety.”

  As soon as they emerged from the gate, a familiar whistle rent the air, the one that only he and Jackson used. Carriages cluttered the road, with the ladies and gentlemen of the ton crowded inside them, some even hanging off the sides. Again, he swept Daphne into his arms and carried her to the steps where Jackson waited at the door, slamming it behind them, and scrambling back on top.

  Inside, he exhaled in relief, with Daphne still held fast in his arms, her arms wrapped just as tightly around his neck and shoulders. The carriage veered and tilted. Apparently his new driver had exceedingly good driving skills, because a glance out the window showed them plowing half onto the pedestrian pavement to pass the outer row of waiting carriages, which greatly advanced their position on the crowded road. He only hoped the man didn’t get them killed.

  Still, they would be going nowhere fast, which put him in a torturous predicament, being that Daphne Bevington, his greatest mortal weakness, presently plastered herself against him so tightly he could feel the delicious swell of her breasts through his shirt. He closed his eyes, and did his best to calm his rapidly beating heart, and the agitated arousal that coursed through his blood, certainly a result of the fear and excitement they’d just experienced.

  “You are safe now.” He released his hold on her and made a gentle attempt to pry her free.

  She allowed the separation, but made no move to increase it. Half dra
ped across him, she peered up at him like a sleepy-eyed mermaid and said nothing. Light from the carriage lamps shone through the window, revealing the curve of her bare shoulder, and the pale upper half moons of her breasts.

  “You should go and sit over there. On the other bench.” Thank goodness the carriage shop had returned the bench completely refurbished and in proper working order so they could each have their own comfortable seat.

  “I don’t want to,” she answered in a hushed voice.

  “Daphne, this afternoon at the Monument you made a very smart decision, and I’m trying my damnedest to do the right thing by you—”

  Her hands came up beneath his jaw, and she silenced him with a kiss, her eyes open and staring straight into his.

  He held himself rigid, fighting the urge to touch her, to twist his hands into her hair and to push her down onto the cushion where he could spread his body atop hers.

  She blinked, and breathed against his mouth, slowly sliding the tip of her tongue across his lower lip, before sucking it into her mouth and giving it a little bite.

  He groaned. She sighed, tilting her head and kissing him more deeply, her hands moving up into his hair. His cock stirred. Then, more than stirred.

  When was the last time he got hard just from a kiss? Oh, hell.

  Chapter Twelve

  Daphne. I’m serious now. Go sit on the other bench.”

  “It’s just a kiss,” Daphne whispered.

  He smelled so good. She had never smelled anything so divine. She wanted to inhale him, and taste him. Yet she’d known he would protest. Indeed, she would have been disappointed if he hadn’t.

  “I thought we had decided not to do any more of this kissing.” He peered at her intently. “Remember?”

  “I do remember,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “Oh, but Cormack. You just saved my life for the second time. I can’t help it. I want to kiss you. Won’t you just please stop throwing my own words at me and…kiss me back?”

  She heard the sound of his breath catch in his throat, as instantly, he pressed his mouth to hers. Pleasure coursed through her in warm, joyful waves of bliss.