Beguiling the Earl (4 page)

“I hope not,” Catherine said. “That would be such a shame.”

She gave the trees one last look before turning back to the others. She was reluctant to leave and made a vow that she would return one day to see more of the gardens.

“What is the matter,” she asked when she saw the odd expression on Kerrick’s face.

“You have something right here,” he said, brushing a finger across his nose.

She reached up and rubbed her own nose and heard Charlotte’s laugh. She turned to look at the duchess, but the woman only gave her a quick wink before dragging her husband and Mr. Clifton away.

“You’re just making it worse,” he said.

She glanced at her hands and grimaced when she saw the dirt on her gloves.

“Here,” he said, removing a handkerchief from his pocket. He was about to hand it to her but hesitated. “If you don’t mind?” He held up the square of crisp white cloth.

Catherine shook her head and it was everything she could do to keep her breathing even as he stepped closer and raised the handkerchief to wipe away what she hoped was only a small smudge of dirt. He was impossibly close—closer than he’d been when they’d danced. His brow furrowed in concentration as he rubbed the dirt away from her nose.

When he was done, he didn’t step back. Instead, he continued to gaze down at her.

“You’re tired,” he said.

The look in his eyes, together with the heat inside the orangery, brought a flush to her cheeks.

“And hot,” she managed when she remembered to breathe again.

His eyes darkened, and for a moment she found herself thinking that he was going to kiss her. But then he looked away and took a step back, and the moment was shattered.

“We should join the others. They’re probably halfway to the carriage by now.”

Catherine could only nod in reply as she took his arm and they exited the building.

He dreamt of Catherine that night. Heated dreams in which he had separated her from the rest of their party and taken her into a maze that existed only in his dream. He awoke feeling frustrated and more than a little guilty. As he lay in bed, his body still hard and his mind clouded with erotic images, his thoughts went to Nicholas’s warning to stay away from Catherine. If his friend learned that he was dreaming about divesting his sister-in-law of her clothing and making her take note of something other than the infernal plant life that so interested her, he’d have Kerrick’s hide.

But it wasn’t just her body that attracted him. If he were merely suffering from sexual frustration, he knew several women who would be more than happy to ease his discomfort. He realized, though, that Catherine Evans was more than just a young woman making her debut in society. She was a contradiction. She seemed so young and innocent at times, and along with that youth came an exuberance that charmed him. But she was also intelligent. She liked gardening, yes, but her interest went beyond merely liking pretty flowers. He’d noticed when he was at Overlea Manor the previous fall that she’d studied with the dedication of a scholar the exotic plants Nicholas’s grandmother had collected over the years. She’d spent hours looking through books and making notes of her own. He couldn’t fathom why plants held such fascination for her or why she’d devote so much time to their study. He did know from what Overlea had told him that Catherine’s quick thinking had saved her sister’s life.

Catherine had hidden depths that weren’t immediately obvious when one first met her, and he couldn’t deny that he longed to explore those hidden layers. Longed to learn just what it was she desired most in life. He realized that he hoped it was him, but he attributed that desire to his vanity. Women made no secret that they found him attractive, and Catherine wasn’t immune to his charms. And she had said she was bored before his return to town. If the far-too-young Viscount Thornton was any indication of the company she’d been keeping, it was no wonder she needed more stimulating companionship.

He shook his head when he realized the direction in which his thoughts were headed. Overlea had been correct in his assumptions the day before. He
did
want to court Catherine. She was younger than him, yes, but only by eleven years. It wasn’t unusual for men much older than he to marry someone her age. Normally he preferred the company of more experienced women who only expected a short-term dalliance. There was only one type of relationship he could pursue with Catherine Evans—a more permanent one. And, for the first time in his life, he found that the prospect of marriage no longer seemed so disagreeable to him.

But he had one very important matter to attend to before he could even consider the possibility of courting Catherine. He had to clear up the matter of the Worthingtons’ expectation that he would one day marry their daughter. He suspected his mother had encouraged them in that belief.

He was considering whether to break the news first to his mother or to Lord Worthington when a knock at his bedroom door brought him out of his musings. When no one entered right after, he knew it wasn’t his valet come to dress him for the day. He rose, donned his banyan, and opened the door to find his butler on the other side, a silver tray balanced on one hand. His guilt immediately made him think that Overlea was downstairs at that very moment, ready to pummel him for his wayward thoughts. Hoping he wasn’t about to be called out simply for glancing in Catherine’s direction, he reached for the calling card placed neatly in the center of the tray.

When he read the name of his visitor, he managed to keep his expression impassive. He offered a curt nod by way of reply, closed the door a little too carefully, and moved to the bellpull to summon his valet. What he really wanted to do, however, was to hit something. His gaze shot to the window, a fleeting thought of escape flickering through his mind, but he repressed the urge with ruthless practicality. Given the failure of his recent line of inquiry, he shouldn’t have been surprised to learn that the unofficial representative of the Home Office had seen fit to contact him directly. Escaping now would only delay the inevitable.

The Earl of Brantford waited for him in the library, seated in one of the high-backed wing chairs before the unlit fireplace. As always, the fair-haired man was the picture of lazy indolence. But Kerrick knew he was far from the carefree noble he pretended to be. What had him on high alert, however, was the file Brantford had placed on the small table next to his elbow. Kerrick’s day had just taken a marked turn for the worse.

“Brantford,” he said by way of greeting as he settled in the chair across from him. “I must say, I’d rather hoped not to see you again so soon.”

“Alas, life is filled with disappointment. I’d hoped to be much closer to ending this matter as well, but I recently learned that is not to be.”

Annoyance flared, but Kerrick wouldn’t allow it to show. It never served to allow one’s emotions free rein in this business. “I thought I’d been clear that my last round of queries would be the end of our arrangement.”

“How odd. I’d heard that you hadn’t turned up any leads.” As always, Brantford’s tone was even.

“You heard correctly. The trail was already cold when I arrived and I couldn’t find anyone who knew anything of import.”

Brantford eyed him steadily. “So you haven’t, in fact, fulfilled your final duty to the Home Office.”

It was with great effort that Kerrick kept his temper in check. “I went on the mission, which was all that was required of me. This meeting is at an end.”

He started to stand, but the gleam in Brantford’s eye stilled his movement.

“Officially, yes, your term of service has run its course. However, I believe there was a personal favor you asked of me last fall. I would ask for a favor in return. You are, as you say, not required to oblige me…”

He didn’t have to complete the sentence. Kerrick had put himself in the other man’s debt when he’d called on him to help Nicholas discover who had been trying to harm his family. Only someone with no honor would ignore a debt.

“This is the last of it,” he said.

“Of course.”

Kerrick settled back in his chair, resigned to yet another trip. Brantford was doing his best to appear bored, which he knew meant that he wasn’t going to like what was coming.

“Where are you sending me?”

“Actually, we’re not sending you anywhere. Your services are required right here in town.”

Unease settled within him. “Doing what?”

Brantford brushed an imaginary piece of lint from his sleeve, the movement slow and precise, before meeting his gaze. “Worthington has become a person of interest in our attempt to discover who has been leaking sensitive information to the French. It has not escaped our notice that the man has certain expectations of you with respect to his daughter. That places you in the perfect position to observe him more closely.”

The words settled over him like a death sentence. He couldn’t keep his thoughts from going to the young woman he’d hoped to court a scant few minutes before. If he was obliged to pay court to Rose Hardwick for the rest of the season, that would leave Catherine free to form an attachment elsewhere. Somehow he hid his bitter disappointment.

“And if I don’t wish the entire world to believe I’m courting Miss Hardwick?”

Surely he only imagined the flicker of annoyance that crossed Brantford’s face, the slight tightening of his jaw before he continued.

“I doubt anyone would consider it a hardship to pay court to a beautiful young woman. You won’t be the only man dancing attendance on her. As long as you are careful not to find yourself in a compromising position with her, she will survive the season with her reputation intact. You will then be free to turn your attention back to Miss Evans.”

Yes, Brantford was most definitely annoyed if he was baiting him. Kerrick let the comment slide, however. Nothing would be gained by arguing with the man.

“Tell me everything,” Kerrick said.

Brantford reached for the file and leaned forward to hand it to him. Kerrick took it but didn’t look at its contents.

“What little information we have is in there,” Brantford said. “I am afraid it isn’t much, which is why we are in need of your assistance.”

Kerrick didn’t know much about Worthington, but he found it impossible to believe the man was a spy for the French. He didn’t have the necessary subtlety for the role.

“Why on earth would anyone believe Worthington is leaking information? Unless I’m mistaken, he doesn’t have access to the kind of secrets the French are seeking.”

“No, of course not,” Brantford said. “We suspect he is but a small player, and in all likelihood doesn’t even know what he’s entangled himself in. We’ve noticed, however, that his finances have recently improved. Not by a very large amount, but enough to have us wondering how he could possibly afford to purchase a much larger house in Mayfair. Until recently, his finances were on the verge of collapse.”

“Perhaps,” Kerrick said with a bitter twist of his lips, “he is just borrowing against the possibility of his daughter marrying well.”

Brantford shook his head. “We’ve already made a few discreet inquires and have confirmed that his finances have improved. Not so much that he doesn’t wish to align his family with yours, of course, but enough that he no longer needs to worry about creditors taking everything that isn’t entailed. The same could not be said six months ago.”

“You believe there’s someone else.”

“Yes. Worthington is now comfortable, but his cash flow has not increased so much that we believe he’s selling secrets directly to the French. But he does have friends placed highly in the navy. We believe he is telling someone else what he knows about the movements of our naval fleet. When we learn with whom he’s been speaking, we expect to discover who has been keeping Napoleon well informed of Britain’s plans in a number of areas. Have a look at the file and you’ll see why we’re convinced we finally have a lead on discovering the traitor.”

Kerrick rose to his feet and Brantford did the same. “I’ll keep you advised of my findings.”

Was that sympathy on the other man’s face?

“We wouldn’t ask this of you if we weren’t convinced of Worthington’s involvement.”

“Of course,” Kerrick said, his heart already beginning to turn cold in anticipation of the ruse he was about to enact.

Catherine was on top of the world. The outing to the gardens at Kew the day before could not have been more perfect. The beauty of the gardens had surpassed her imaginings—she had never thought to see such an array of exotic plants in her life. But she had to admit even they had not been the highlight of her day. No, yesterday had been perfect because she had spent most of it in Lord Kerrick’s company.

Unlike the other men who merely tolerated her interest in gardening, Kerrick seemed to have been engaged. Oh, he’d been feigning at first, that much was obvious to everyone present. She didn’t know what had changed, but after a while it seemed as though her enthusiasm had been contagious. And when he’d mentioned improving the gardens at his own estate, she couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to have control over that endeavor as the lady of the house.

Something else had changed during their visit. She’d begun to believe that he no longer saw her as just his friend’s young sister-in-law, but a woman worthy of notice in her own right.

It came as a shock, therefore, to learn only an hour before dinner that he had sent her sister a note to say he would not be able to attend the small dinner party Louisa and Nicholas had planned for that evening. She cornered Louisa in her bedroom as her sister prepared for the evening. Her maid was just adding the final touches to Louisa’s simple yet elegant hairstyle.

Catherine didn’t wait for her to finish before stating, “Nicholas told me Kerrick isn’t coming.” She couldn’t keep the disappointment from her voice.

“It’s to be expected,” Louisa said in a tone that was clearly meant to soothe her. “Lord Kerrick has outside concerns that often lead him to change his plans at a moment’s notice.”