Celeste Bradley - [The Liar's Club 05]

by The Rogue

  Ethan sat up quickly and reached for the tray. Before he could pick it up, Jeeves appeared in the edges of his hunger-focused vision and placed the tray upon Ethan’s lap for him. The kitten reared onto hind legs, pawing at Jeeves’s cuff links as they passed over its head.

  The lifting of the silver domes was enough to do in a lesser man. Eggs, coddled to perfection and steaming from beneath their sheen of fine sweet butter. Sausages posing seductively at the edge, like plump thighs slightly parted. Caramelized pears gleamed at him from another, smaller plate, winking shyly in their sweet glaze, and wickedly black coffee appeared in a fine china cup to round out the trio of tantalization.

  Delighted, Ethan grinned up at Jeeves. “Who knew breakfast could be so provocative?”

  Jeeves raised a brow. “Everyone who stops at one brandy the night before, sir.”

  Ethan gestured with his fork at the ready. “You may have a point.” Then he hesitated. “Jeeves, who made this?”

  Jeeves folded his hands before him. “You need not worry, sir. There is a new cook in residence.” Reassured, Ethan ate.

  The food was magnificent. Ethan stopped stuffing his face long enough to inquire, “You found someone so quickly?”

  Jeeves maintained an innocent expression. “I hired one first thing yesterday morning.”

  “Appalling efficiency, Jeeves,” Ethan muttered. “I thought we talked about that.”

  “Yes, sir. I shall endeavor to improve.”

  “Have you found me another tattooed sailor then, Jeeves?”

  “No, sir. The lady has no visible tattoos, nor has she shown any propensity to swear.”

  Ethan blinked. “A woman? In this house?”

  “Yes, sir. You seem upset, sir. Do you by chance possess an allergy?”

  Ethan swallowed. “She isn’t by any chance . . . young, is she?”

  “Oh no, sir. She is quite satisfactorily middle-aged. Although I pray you do not repeat that, sir. I do so enjoy my coddled eggs in the morning.”

  A bit of sausage evaded Ethan and rolled from the plate. The kitten flew across the counterpane in a flash of ginger to snap it up.

  Ethan laughed. “Look at that! Like a bolt of lightning from the hand of Zeus himself!”

  Jeeves scooped the kitten up in one hand. The little creature sent a pink tongue across his whiskers while keeping his gaze fixed on Ethan’s plate, alert for more escaping sausage.

  “I think the young master might prefer a saucer of milk in the kitchen, sir,” Jeeves said, as if he did not have a handful of squirming fur.

  Ethan shook his head. “The young master can eat with the old master. I’ll give him some cream from my tray.” He went back to his pears. “Be sure to tell Cook—”

  Jeeves cleared his throat. “Might I suggest, sir—as she is a respectable woman of great talent—that you address her as ‘Mrs. Cook,’ at the least?”

  “Mrs. Cook, it is,” Ethan announced. “You may tell Mrs. Cook that these are the best bloody eggs I’ve eaten in my entire sodding existence.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Jeeves? That’s word for word, mind you.”

  Faint agony crossed Jeeves’s aquiline features. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir. I’ll leave you to your meal, sir.”

  Ethan snorted into his coffee as Jeeves left the room. He ought not to tease Jeeves like that. He really, truly ought not to.

  Then again, life was short.

  After he had woken at an hour decided upon by Jeeves, eaten a breakfast selected by Jeeves, and donned a suit chosen by Jeeves, Ethan was beginning to wonder who served whom in his house.

  He trotted down the stairs to stand undecided in his own front hall. “Jeeves!”

  The butler appeared like the bursting of a soap bubble, inevitable yet still startling. “Yes, sir?”

  Ethan fidgeted. “I’m never awake this early. What am I supposed to do with myself?”

  Jeeves didn’t so much as blink. “I believe most healthy young gentlemen enjoy a turn about Hyde Park in such nice weather.”

  The park? Ethan couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in the park, at least not in daylight. There was that time he and Collis had ended up naked and singing in a tree—

  “Naked” and “tree” reminded Ethan of Lady Jane Pennington. Now he was sorry about that kiss—well no, actually, he wasn’t. What a missed opportunity that would have been! Missing opportunities wasn’t Ethan’s usual style at all.

  As if Jeeves were reading his mind, the butler said, “I believe there are many ladies partaking of fresh air in the park at this hour.”

  Yes, a bit of pretty companionship would do him good, for he was beginning to obsess about a certain pair of milky white thighs. Ethan nodded decisively. “The park it is. Would you mind fetching my—”

  Jeeves brought his hands from behind his back. One held Ethan’s hat, the other held the gloves that matched his suit. “Have a nice walk, sir.”

  Ethan sighed. There were no words. One didn’t berate a servant for doing an excellent job, after all. Still, Jeeves’s attention to detail made the little hairs on the back of Ethan’s neck stand up.

  Outside, the day was something altogether new and interesting. People were much friendlier at this hour, for one thing. Ethan was greeted with polite, assessing nods from the gentlemen who passed him, and polite, admiring glances from the ladies who passed.

  Furthermore, there were children around. Hyde Park abounded with them. Wee infants in prams, chubby toddlers taking unsteady steps, laughing boys and girls chasing dogs and balls and apparently anything not tied down. Pausing to think, Ethan realized he had not seen an actual child in years. Folks usually didn’t pack their offspring along to gaming hells and brothels, or even ballrooms.

  A small, lace-covered whirlwind slammed into his legs as he stood there. Without thinking, Ethan swept her up into his arms before she ricocheted to the ground.

  “Hello, darling,” he said with a smile, automatically turning on the charm. Female was female, after all.

  Wide blue eyes stared at him from the depths of a lacy bonnet. “You ran into me,” the child accused.

  Ethan blinked, then set her on her tiny booted feet with a deep bow. “Indeed, my lady. My deepest apologies.” He plucked a clover flower from the lawn while he was down there and presented it to her. “Please take this token of my profound regret. May I hope you will ever forgive me?”

  She took the flower and sniffed it, considering him carefully. Then she answered his bow with a very pretty deep curtsy. “You are, of course, forgiven, kind sir.”

  Then she grinned at him, showing a charming lack of two front teeth. “But you’re much too familiar,” she scolded, and ran back the way she’d come, little feet kicking up a froth of lacy skirts.

  Ethan sighed. “I hear that a great deal,” he murmured.

  “She’s a bit young for you, I think,” said a teasing voice behind him. Ethan turned to see the face that still haunted some of his more domestic dreams.

  “Rose!”

  Rose Tremayne stood there, looking the picture of inborn grace in a sprigged frock with a parasol crooked over her shoulder. A trim young maid stood behind her, but Ethan wasn’t fooled by the uniform and cap. The girl was one of them. Still, Rose was a far cry from the woman he’d been very nearly kidnapped by, desperate, dirty, and clad in boy’s trousers. Yet the irreverence for all things Society still twinkled in her hazel eyes.

  Ethan was very glad to see her. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you. Are you on a mission?” He pointed warily at the parasol. “Is that thing loaded?”

  She laughed. “It isn’t a weapon, Ethan, it’s a sunshade.” Then she poised it before her, considering. “However, now that you mention it, I do see potential.”

  Ethan took her hand briefly in greeting, but refrained from holding it. It had never been serious, his infatuation for Rose, but damn if she wasn’t as magnificent as ever.

  The fact that
she was mad for Collis Tremayne and always had been had set a limit on his feelings, for even Ethan didn’t make a pass behind a friend’s back—although if Rose had shown him the slightest encouragement he might have broken that unwritten rule.

  No, it was more that she almost allowed him to believe that there was someone out there as perfect for him as she was for Collis.

  She was looking at him now with utmost concentration. He could almost see the wheels turning in her head. “I hear you turned down Lord Etheridge’s offer,” she said bluntly.

  Ethan smiled. Rose never wasted time. “I did indeed.”

  “Then why did you go back to Maywell’s last night?”

  He started. How had she known—oh, right. Feebles. He snorted. “To prove to you lot that you couldn’t force me to—Wait, that doesn’t sound right.” He frowned to himself. “Damn, it made sense when Jeeves said it.”

  Rose tilted her head. “Who is Jeeves?”

  “My new butler.”

  She looked at him oddly for a moment. “Jeeves,” she said to herself. Then, “Take a turn about the path with me?”

  Ethan offered his arm in response. They walked in silence for a while. Ethan knew she was trying to think of some way to convince him. It wouldn’t work of course, but her company was enjoyable and it was a very fine day. He could think of worse ways to waste the morning.

  The morning was half gone and Jane still had not finished her daily letter to Mother.

  So far, she’d included seeing the mysterious glimmer of candlelight and even a cheerful bit about her adventure into the locked room.

  After that—

  She hesitated. She could hardly tell Mother about the kiss! And really, what was there to tell about Mr. Damont? All he had actually done was play cards with her uncle.

  Bending back over the page, she dutifully listed all the gentlemen who had joined her uncle in the card room last night, slipping Mr. Damont’s name casually into the middle of the list so as not to call extra attention to him.

  After all, who knew what Mother would make of Mr. Damont’s attentions? Besides, if she explained about Mr. Damont, she would also be forced to go into detail about the incident in the tree—something she’d really rather not do!

  Oh, yes! Jane remembered something else she could put in the letter.

  “Uncle Harold’s man of business arrived late last night with some information for him. Uncle Harold received him in the library. He was a smallish fellow, with a round face, dressed in a brown wool suit.” Mother liked to know that sort of thing. “Simms served coffee, but Uncle Harold and the man of business did not stay in there long.”

  There. Everything she’d said was the truth. It simply wasn’t all of it.

  The fact remained, however, that Jane felt guilty as she sealed the letter. She owed Mother so very much. The only thing that had ever been asked of Jane in return was that she tell Mother every little detail of her time in London.

  Mr. Damont was the problem.

  Jane ruthlessly examined her feelings about the tall, sardonic gambler. He was very handsome and charming, in an exasperating sort of way.

  He was outrageous, shockingly forward, and generally irreverent. He was also kind. Simply look at the way he’d rescued Serena. A little thing, true, but so innately gallant that Jane counted it quite highly in her assessment of him.

  She liked him.

  He was entirely unsuitable. She ought not even speak to such a rogue.

  He was the most interesting person she had met in all her months in London.

  He was arrogant. And deeply, permanently objectionable.

  Yet, she still liked him.

  Jane let her head drop to her hands in frustration. How did one solve a problem like Mr. Damont?

  “You must learn everything about someone before becoming too drawn in with them. You cannot always trust what you see on the surface.”

  Jane sat up with a smile. Absolutely true! More excellent advice from Mother. She knew exactly what she needed to do next.

  It was time to find out more about Mr. Ethan Damont.

  The graveled walk trailed through the center of the park, taking them on a tour of English leisure as they passed people from all walks of life enjoying the day. Rough men in workingman’s clothes lounged on blankets with women in fulsome calico, while sturdy children climbed over them. Long-limbed fine-blooded horses pulled phaetons occupied by dashing young men and giggling young ladies, often with a patient lady’s maid tucked into the drop seat behind them.

  If Ethan was a marrying sort, he’d be taking notes on an excellent way to steal a kiss or three. Unfortunately, the ladies he was accustomed to kissing didn’t go out in public much, unless you counted Mrs. Blythe’s Pleasure Balls. No, courtship was for other men—men with expectations of a good living and, of course, the support of the girl’s family.

  Not a possibility either way for him. Not that he was truly interested. It was merely a passing thought.

  After a prolonged hesitation, Rose gave a sigh full of irritation and turned to him. They were pausing at the footbridge crossing the Serpentine. Ethan thought she looked very appealing framed by the narrow lake stretching out behind her.

  “Ethan, you aren’t going to listen to a thing I have to say, are you?” she said in an exasperated tone.

  Ethan turned away from her and leaned both elbows on the railing. Pretending blithe unconcern, he gazed happily around him at one of the last fine days of the year.

  “Not a bit of it,” he replied absently. “Would you care for an ice? I think the parlor may still be open.” He grinned at her over his shoulder. “If not, I shall raise my sword and force them to open for your pleasure.”

  Rose stood her parasol on the planks of the footbridge and rested both hands on the pommel. “I cannot today, I fear. There is a great deal to be done, you know.”

  Ethan knew she was speaking of much more vital things than overseeing her new household. “Tell me something, Rose—why would a nice sort like you want to be a spy?”

  She grinned at him, a sudden flashing smile that transformed her from merely attractive to stunning. “Because being a spy is the most excitement you’ll ever have in your life.”

  Excitement? He’d never quite thought of it that way before. Despite his piqued interest, Ethan laughed. “I doubt that, dear lady, but I’ll not dispute with you.” He shook his head. “Remember, I have some outrageous experiences to compare it to.”

  “Quite so,” she said, laughing. Then she focused that intimidating intensity upon him once more. “Do me one favor, Ethan?”

  He straightened, then bowed playfully, refusing to let her pull him into her fervor. “Anything for you, lovely one.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Just once, I’d like you to seriously ask yourself . . .”

  He waited for her to demand some grim and responsible thinking from him. He wouldn’t listen. They could keep their little club and their danger and their intrigue. He would remain free until he died of it.

  Rose leaned close and a wicked twinkle suddenly gleamed from her eyes. “I simply want you to ask yourself; Why the hell not?”

  Ethan blinked at the unexpected playful challenge. Rose pressed a kiss to her own gloved fingertip and transferred it to his lips. “Sleep on that, won’t you, Damont?”

  With that, she turned and sauntered back the way they’d come, her long legs swinging her fashionable skirts just a bit too wide, her movements as lethally graceful as a cat’s.

  “When I grow up, I want to wed a woman like her,” Ethan whispered to himself.

  Not that that would ever happen.

  Excitement, hmm?

  Chapter Ten

  Jane dabbed at her forehead with a handkerchief. She’d not realized that Mr. Damont’s house was quite this far from Barkley Square. She was becoming quite warm from the walk, but she was much better off than Robert, her uncle’s footman, puffing along behind her.

  Although Robert was quite used to carrying pa
rcels for Aunt Lottie and the girls, Jane would wager that he’d never been put to quite the pace she had set today.

  Jane simply didn’t see the point in dallying. Her swinging country-bred stride might not be top form among the haut ton, but it got Jane where she wished to go.

  At this moment, Jane wished to see where Mr. Ethan Damont lived. You could tell a great deal about someone by their residence.

  As she walked, she looked about her curiously. She ought to be nearing Mr. Damont’s address now—and she was a bit surprised by the elegance and refinement reflected by the neighborhood.

  Mr. Damont had claimed to be all flash. All Jane saw around her was substance. Tasteful, stately homes looked down on her, their generous windows reflecting the unusually fine September day.

  Now, according to her directions, Mr. Damont’s street was two next after an oncoming row of intriguing little shops. Jane peered down both ways, interested despite her mission. There was a tailor and a seamstress, a milliner and a teashop—how lovely! What a clever idea, to set up so handy to these wealthy residences. Jane quite envied the convenience of it all.

  She turned to look down the other direction—

  And saw Mr. Damont strolling down the street toward her.

  Oh, horse apples! Jane grabbed Robert by the arm and yanked him into the first doorway, the milliner’s. A little bell tinkled above the door as they entered. Jane dove to one side of the door to keep watch through the window.

  Mr. Damont had continued his easy pace, looking about him casually—a gentleman out walking on a fine day. Nothing unusual there. What was unusual was Mr. Damont’s faintly surprised expression. It made Jane wonder what he usually did with his afternoons.

  He did paint an attractive picture though, didn’t he? His caramel-brown coat contrasted nicely with his butter-yellow waistcoat. The cut of it didn’t do the breadth of his shoulders any harm either. No padding there.

  His long stride closed the distance between them swiftly despite his easy pace. He did have long legs, didn’t he? His dark brown trousers ended in highly shined boots, showing his muscled thighs off nicely.

  And the fit of those trousers . . .