“Shall I accompany you, Lady Sophia?”
At the softly spoken question, Sophia glanced at her maid and chaperone seated inside the carriage. “Yes, Rose. But I shall require some time alone with Lord Kirkland.”
Rose’s eyes widened. “Is that wise, my lady? We’re visiting a bachelor’s home.”
“We are discussing several of my father’s inventions. It will take some time. Of course, you may stay if you deem it necessary.”
Rose twisted her hands in her skirts, and Sophia knew she’d said the right thing. All her father’s servants knew how tedious and long a conversation could be regarding one of his inventions, let alone several.
She’d once overheard the servants use the word “torturous” when referring to her father’s discussions.
“As you wish,” Rose said, nodding obediently.
The driver hopped down to lower the step, and the women alighted the carriage. Together they headed for the front steps, and Sophia lifted the heavy brass knocker.
The door swung open and a dour-faced butler stared down at them.
“Lady Sophia Merrill to see Lord Kirkland. I believe he is expecting me.”
The butler held the door open farther. The women stepped into the vestibule and handed him their cloaks. The entrance was stunning, graced by polished marble and a glittering chandelier.
“Lord Kirkland will see you in his study.”
They followed him past an elegantly appointed drawing room, music conservatory, and dining room. The furnishings were rich mahogany, the carpets a lush Oriental, and the rooms spacious. Sophia marveled at Kirkland’s wealth.
Her own father’s town house on Curzon Street was in an affluent location, but he had never believed in luxury, and she had grown accustomed to living with a small staff. Her father had rarely entertained. Rather, he’d spent his money on his laboratory and his research.
The butler’s heels clicked on the marble floor. His spine was rigid, the image of a perfectly proper butler in an earl’s home. She couldn’t help but wonder if the servants were aware of their new master’s clandestine work for the Home Office.
A door farther down the hall opened and Kirkland emerged, carrying a sheaf of papers. His tawny hair was mussed as if he had repeatedly run his fingers through the thick locks. He wore no jacket, and the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up, revealing his forearms.
He looked studious and reserved…completely different from the mysterious, masked man of last night, the dangerous spy who had snatched her off her feet and slung her over his shoulder like a pirate would his booty.
He glanced up from his papers and spotted her. His sensual lips curved in a smile. “Welcome.”
Beneath his intense stare, a shiver of awareness tingled along her spine. “I received your note.”
Kirkland turned to the butler. “Burke, I’d like to introduce my fiancée, Lady Sophia.”
The butler stared, an expression of complete surprise on his face. Gathering his composure, he bowed. “Forgive me, my lady. I had no idea. It is a pleasure to meet you.”
She curtsied. “Thank you.”
“Perhaps Lady Sophia’s maid would like refreshment in the kitchen,” Kirkland prompted.
Burke was quick to catch on. “If you would accompany me, miss?” he said as he led Rose away.
Once they were alone, Robert ushered her into his study, closed the door, and motioned for her to sit in a chair before a pearwood desk.
Sophia sat and took in her surroundings. Several documents on the desk bore official seals, and she recognized them as letters patents granted by the Crown for new inventions. Engineering drawings and blueprints were pinned on a corkboard on the far wall. In the corner of the study stood a Pembroke table containing what could only be described as various innovations to inventions—a handlebar assembly of a velocipede, an electric battery, a miner’s lamp, and good Lord, were those iron handcuffs?
“Thank you for coming.” Kirkland sat in a leather chair behind the desk. “I see you find my collection of interest.”
“Indeed,” she said.
“I petitioned the Society for membership. I need to acclimate myself to the work of its members and offer a few of my own ideas.”
“You thought of your own inventions?”
He smiled. “Don’t look so surprised. I told you I studied engineering at Oxford.”
She understood he would have to immerse himself in the group at the house party, feign interest in other’s works, and be able to talk intelligently about his own inventive ideas. His background would surely aid him.
“I have something that belongs to you.” Opening a desk drawer, he placed a battered, leather-bound book on the surface.
“My father’s ledger! You did manage to steal it before I walked in on you in Viscount Delmont’s library.”
He merely chuckled.
“What else did you learn?” she asked.
“Wendover and I have both studied the ledger. Your father did not mention Lord Delmont or the Inventors’ Society. The ledger contains numerous chemical formulas and documents his failed attempts at producing a poisonous gas indiscernible to human smell and taste.”
She frowned. “Papa was a brilliant chemist. He wasn’t attempting to produce a poisonous gas, but a harmless one that could be used by surgeons for their patients during surgery. But like many inventions, the object of father’s initial work yielded unexpected results and an entirely different product.”
“It’s a loss he cannot finish his initial work.”
“I hope to complete the formula.”
“You are a chemist?”
“I am not as brilliant a chemist as my father, but I am not entirely ignorant either, and I hope to finish many of his mechanical inventions as well. His ledger will assist me.”
“You are full of surprises, Sophia.”
Was he complimenting her or criticizing her for dabbling in what many would deem a man’s work?
“There’s something else.” He withdrew a small gold object from his pocket and placed it on the desk. “Do you recognize this?”
She picked it up and turned it over. “It’s a gear,” she said, frowning.
“Did your father own one?”
“He owned many gears. But none like this. Is it solid gold?”
“It is.”
“Why is it significant?”
“It was found as a watch fob on the other bodies. I believe it has something to do with the murders. A sort of commemorative token upon admittance into the Society.”
“To my knowledge, Papa never owned a small gold gear. What does it mean?”
“It’s my job to find out.”
“My father was a member until he was forced out by Viscount Delmont. I found entries in one of Father’s journals where he suspected some type of corruption in the group. Soon after, he wrote that he had a heated argument with Delmont and was forced out, but he never gave specifics. I hope this information is useful to you.”
“It is.”
Kirkland leaned forward and rested his forearms on the desk. His tailored cotton shirt stretched tightly across his broad shoulders, emphasizing a sinewy strength. “The ledger is not the only reason I asked you here today. We need to think of our history.”
“Our history?” she asked, bewildered.
“A believable story of how we met. Our love story.”
Their love story? “Is that necessary?”
His voice held a distinct note of challenge. “It is if you refuse to stay home and out of trouble like Wendover had initially requested.”
“I do.”
His glance was bemused and opaque. “Then people will undoubtedly ask questions about us. I realize most unions are not love matches, but our situation must be different. Your parents are deceased, and you are of age. Wendover advised me that your father’s estate was not entailed and that you do not imminently need to marry for financial reasons. Therefore, it will be much more convincing if we act the lo
ving couple.”
“I see,” she murmured.
Glancing at his handsome visage, Sophia understood it would not be difficult for women to believe she had fallen head over heels in love with Lord Kirkland. To the contrary, it would be difficult to convince them otherwise.
“I spoke with my cousin, Jane, about our engagement,” she said.
“Was her reaction that of disbelief?”
“She is my closest friend. I told her that we’d met by chance, and you were kind enough to assist me in looking into my father’s death. I explained that over time we had fallen in love.”
“Did she believe you?”
“I don’t know. I’m not as accustomed to…” She trailed off. She wanted to say lying, but bit her tongue. “As accustomed to acting as you are.”
A sparkle of humor lit his blue eyes. “Has Jane agreed to be your chaperone during the Delmont’s house party?”
Sophia nodded.
“Good. I must thank your cousin before we depart. Until then, we’ll have to contrive our love story and practice role playing.”
A frisson of unease tingled up her spine. The last time he had wanted to “role play,” he had come dangerously close to kissing her. She had lost her nerve and stepped away, but if she was truthful to herself, it was not out of fear of his kiss, but from her anticipated response.
“What exactly do you have in mind?” she asked hesitantly.
He stood and walked around the desk. “You look like a deer about to bolt from a hunter.”
She rose and squared her shoulders at his comment. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
He came close and propped his hip against the desk. “Let’s see. We first saw each other at a church service.” He rubbed his chin between his thumb and forefinger. “No, that’s too righteous. How about at a book-club meeting? Or a walk in Hyde Park?” He shook his head. “No, both are boring and lack spontaneity.” Snapping his fingers, he caused her to blink. “I’ve got it! We met in Madame Beauxbaton’s dance class.”
“Dance class? But I know how to dance. No one will believe such nonsense,” she protested.
“Yes, they will. Since your father’s death, you’ve rarely attended balls or soirees. It’s only natural to attend Madame’s dance studio to brush up on your skills.”
Her mouth fell open. He must have spoken with Wendover about much more than her financial independence. It was true she had been selective in which functions to attend and that was probably why she had never seen the new Earl Kirkland out and about in London.
After her father had been dubbed the “Mad Marquess,” she had initially been ashamed, but then her anger had surfaced at the fickle members of the ton. She’d declined numerous invitations she’d received—no longer from embarrassment, but from fury. She understood herself enough to know that she would have defended her father and delivered scathing remarks to the hurtful gossips. Her impulsiveness and sense of righteousness would have demanded it.
At her stunned silence, he continued. “Both ladies and gentleman are seeking instruction due to the growing popularity of the waltz.”
“The waltz? You can’t be serious.” Some considered the close proximity of the dancers scandalous.
“Don’t be such a stickler. As I said, the waltz has become quite popular,” he said.
She frowned. “What of Madame Beauxbaton herself? People will undoubtedly ask her about our so-called lessons,” she pointed out.
He dismissed her concerns with a wave of his hand. “It’s not a problem. She works for Wendover.”
“Really? I would never have guessed.”
“That’s the point, my dear.”
My dear. The endearment was improper, yet her pulse quickened at the flattery nonetheless.
“It’s the perfect story,” Kirkland said. “It’s quite romantic, don’t you think, to meet during dance instruction? The women will be gushing over the tale.”
The gossips would be in their glory. The daughter of the Mad Marquess had snared the most handsome bachelor in the realm while paying to learn how to dance the waltz. His appearance, combined with his title and wealth, had probably sent the debutantes and mamas of the ton into a frenzy.
His lips curled in a lazy smile. “The Camerons are hosting a ball tomorrow night. Wendover is friendly with Lady Cameron, and she has agreed to announce our engagement. You had planned to attend, correct?”
“Yes,” she said hesitantly.
She had agreed to attend only because Lord Cameron had been an acquaintance of her father’s. But now, the notion that her engagement would be publically announced made her highly uneasy. A hundred guests would attend the ball, all of them influential members of society.
Her chest tightened uncomfortably. It was one thing to tell her cousin she was engaged in the privacy of her workshop, but another entirely to have it announced in the Cameron’s ballroom. There would be no going back; she was agreeing to a betrothal with Lord Kirkland, however long, to aid in investigating the Inventors’ Society.
“Good,” he said. “We will waltz at the ball and convince everyone of our story. Shall we practice?”
He stepped close and put a hand on her waist. Their eyes locked and her cheeks grew warm under the heat of his gaze. His shaving soap—a subtle scent of bay rum—teased her nostrils.
“We cannot,” she blurted out. “There’s no music.”
He captured her right hand in his. “No matter. We’re just practicing, remember? Put your left hand on my shoulder and follow my lead.”
Sophia slowly raised her arm, and her fingers grazed his shoulder. The heat from his body seared her fingertips through the cotton shirt. Her pulse skittered alarmingly.
He began to move, smooth and practiced. “That’s it, Sophia. One and two and turn…you have the basic steps. Excellent.”
Only it was far from excellent. She was highly conscious of his hand at her waist, his sinewy body inches from hers. A tingling began in the pit of her stomach at his nearness. She stumbled; he steadied her.
Kirkland looked down, his stare bold as he assessed her. “The ball will be a good test to see how well you can handle the deception.”
“I assure you, I can handle anything.”
“Anything?” He pulled her a fraction of an inch closer.
His touch upset her balance, and she inhaled sharply. He was purposefully trying to unnerve her. “Deception comes that easy to you?”
“It’s a requirement of my job.”
“I must keep that in mind when dealing with you, my lord.”
He stopped dancing, but his hand remained around her waist. “We are entering the enemy’s lair. I need to be certain you won’t panic.”
Her chin rose a notch. “I never panic.”
His voice was cold and exact. “Dispassionate control is required, or else dangerous mistakes can occur.”
“If you’re trying to intimidate me into backing out of Delmont’s house party, then you’re failing. I have mettle, my lord. Your seductive tactics won’t work on me.”
He arched an eyebrow. “What do you know of seduction?”
“I’m not completely ignorant. I’m twenty-four years old, and despite what you’ve heard, I’ve attended numerous balls, danced with plenty of gentlemen, and strolled through moonlit mazes. I’ve been kissed before.”
Ocean-blue eyes studied her mouth. “Where?”
She frowned. “My lips and even once on my neck.” She pointed to a spot just beneath her chin.
His gaze dropped to where her finger pointed, then slowly lowered to the skin just above her bodice. Her pulse skittered.
“Then you won’t mind if I test your mettle?”
She stood frozen.
Looking into her eyes once again, he came close, moving slowly. He mouth brushed across hers, once, twice, a featherweight touch before she stepped back. Her fingers flew up to cover her lips.
“Just as I thought,” he drawled. “You lack experience. A few stolen kisses inside a dim maze a
re not sufficient.”
She bristled with indignation. “Not sufficient? Whatever else do you have in mind?”
“This.” Pulling her close, he swooped down and kissed her.
His lips were full and warm, teasing hers. His tongue ran over her bottom lip with tantalizing persuasion, and she gasped. He took advantage of her parted lips to slide his tongue into her mouth. He tightened his hold, and her breasts pressed against his solid chest.
Sweet heaven! He was right; her prior experiences fell far short when compared to the feel and taste of him.
Despite her prior misgivings, her instinctive response to his kiss was powerful. Her skin grew hot; her heart pounded an erratic rhythm. Her fingers rose of their own volition and trailed up his forearms. She felt the sprinkling of hair, touched the soft cotton of his rolled-up shirtsleeves, then moved higher to grasp his broad shoulders. His muscles were hard slabs beneath his shirt. Arching her body into his, a low growl rumbled in his chest. Encouraged, her tongue grazed his, tentative at first, until shivers of delight raced down her spine, and she returned his kiss.
Lifting his lips from hers, he trailed kisses down her throat, past the spot she had initially pointed to below her chin. Then his lips seared a path above her bodice and the overwhelming heat spread…flooding her limbs and pooling low in her belly.
It was everything she had ever dreamed a kiss would be and more. So much more.
She moaned low in her throat, winding her fingers around his neck and trying to cajole his lips back to hers.
He stiffened and pulled back, a frown marring his brow as he gazed upon her upturned face.
She ignored the strange aching in her limbs and tried to calm her pounding heart. To her dismay, he did not appear the least affected by the kiss.
He does this all the time, she thought. Women must throw themselves at him!
Then she looked into his eyes and changed her mind. There was a wild darkness in the blue depths, a hint of tightly reined lust that was startling in its intensity.
“Did I pass your test?” she asked.
“I believe I had mentioned dispassionate control.”
She stiffened, momentarily abashed. “Despite your newly acquired title, you are not a gentleman.”
A Spy Unmasked (Entangled Scandalous) Page 5