Clandestine (21 page)

Jedediah joined them, taking a seat next to his mother, tugging on his pink velvet tailcoat, raking Kit with his gaze. Ruby inspected her shawl, satisfied with Kit’s efforts, waving her away with an impatient flap of her hand.

Set free, Kit wandered over to one of the floor-to-ceiling windows which had a clear view of the drawing room door. It also gave her a chance to study the room’s ceiling. Gilded moldings held panels depicting pastoral scenes of the various stages of courtship with mischievous cupids wreaking havoc amongst it all.

Kit couldn’t help darting a surreptitious glance at Linwood, wondering why the stuffy viscount tolerated naughty cupids frolicking in his drawing room. Maybe he secretly enjoyed them.

The thought put a smile on her face.

Kit ran her hands down the front of her gown. Marianne, bless her good heart, had found several evening gowns which had belonged to the former Georgiana Knight. It was not atypical for members of the aristocracy to pass along unwanted clothing to genteelly-born servants. A few items to help Kit feel less out-of-place while hovering around Lady Ruby and the other house guests. It was yet another example of Marianne’s thoughtful goodness.

Kit was taller and decidedly more curved than Georgiana, but Fanny had helped Kit refashion one of the dresses in time for this evening. A simple red silk gown with tiny puffed sleeves and low neckline. The color had never really flattered Georgiana’s fair complexion, which is why it had been left at Haldon Manor. But wine-red suited Kit to perfection, giving her skin and eyes a bright gleam. Kit had forgotten how much she loved the feel of silk against her skin.

It was amazing what an elegant dress did for self-confidence. That extra bounce in one’s step when wearing something stunning, making it just that much easier to feel poised and collected. Kit had even managed to waylay Fanny for a few minutes to help with her hair, which was now more artfully arranged on top of her head with loops and curls.

All in all, she felt a bit more like Katherine Ashton tonight. A little more like her full self.

She was so absorbed in her cupid watching and dress-musings, she nearly missed Marc’s entrance.

He walked through the door with that confident swagger of his, assured his dark green evening coat and understated green-and-gold-shot waistcoat fit him to perfection. A scoundrel dressed up in gentleman’s clothing.

Which accurately described him, she supposed.

Marc scanned the room, his eyes drifting right past her. Seeming to look for Kit, but not seeing her. With a faint frown, he strode into the room.

And then his eyes swung back her way; he instantly froze. Recognition flaring, his head rearing back in surprise.

And then that languid smile of his made an appearance, moving straight through a grin into a full-blown laugh. Head back, eyes crinkling.

Kit found it particularly gratifying.

You have absolutely no hope of a future together,
Virtuous Angel unhelpfully reminded her.

Exactly. Which is why you need to soak up every second of being in his delicious presence,
Wicked Angel said.
Maybe he will even let you touch his muscles again.

She and her shoulder angels shared a joint collective sigh at the thought.

That would be
so
lovely.

Marc stopped in front of her, surveying her clothing from head to toe. And then bowed.

“Miss Ashton, shame on you. Placing all other ladies in the shade with your radiance.”

And just like that, her knees turned to jelly.

He winked and gave her a naughty grin. He knew
exactly
what such comments did to her.

Kit returned his saucy look and willed her traitorous knees steady.

He moved to her side and pretended to study the room. Kit peeked at him out of the corner of her eye.

“You have about thirty seconds before Lady Ruby notices us talking and calls me away,” she murmured. Even now, Jedediah shot a backwards glance at them, leaning in to his mother’s ear, causing Ruby’s shawl to slip. Thirty seconds might actually be somewhat optimistic.

Marc nodded and looked upward, examining the ceiling, all nonchalance.

“So what is our boredom-busting theme going to be tonight?” he asked under his breath.

“I am not telling any more of my secrets.”

He shrugged. “Neither am I. But that doesn’t mean we can’t play.”

“But if a secret isn’t the penalty, what will the forfeit be?”

He was silent for a moment, still studying the ceiling. “A boon. If one of us laughs, we owe the other a favor of their choice.”

A favor?
Wicked Angel nearly giggled with glee.
I know
exactly
what we’re asking for.

Virtuous Angel rolled her eyes.
I don’t know how I put up with you sometimes.

Ruby had leaned forward, engrossed in a conversation with the vicar, causing her shawl to sink another six inches. Kit had maybe fifteen seconds more.

“Done,” Kit whispered, barely moving her lips. “What should our game be?”

“Are those naked babies with arrows?” Marc shifted, craning his head sideways.

“Cupids. They’re cupids.”

“And naughty ones too, it seems. Please tell me Linwood specifically requested cupids—”

“Focus, Marcus.”

“Right. Perhaps we could read each discussion as a coded conversation for something else?”

“Mmmm, like incontinence?”

He turned from the ceiling with a raised eyebrow. “My, my, Miss Ashton. Are all ladies perpetually twelve-years-old?”

Teasing, awful man.

She chose to ignore his comment.

“Theater aliases,” he continued.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Miss Ashton.” Lady Ruby’s voice carried across the room. “My shawl has slipped.”

Kit shot Marc a wry look.

Turning her head toward her employer, she said, “Coming, my lady.”

And then turned back to Marc, giving him a polite, extremely slow curtsy. Marc responded with an equally lingering bow.

“During dinner, combine a color from the clothing of whoever is speaking with the food they are eating,” he murmured. “It will become that person’s theater name.”

Kit nodded and then turned to leave.

“I dearly hope my alias will be Emerald Bacon,” he said to her retreating back.

Kit bit off her laugh just in time. Wicked wretch. He nearly won the first round without trying.

Marc tried to focus on dinner. Honestly he did.

But his brain was mush.

That
dress
. . .

Blood red silk that clung to Kit’s frame, accentuating rather than hiding.

He had grown used to her shapeless clothing. It was part of her whole shtick. Clever, witty, no-nonsense . . . all hidden behind mousy clothing.

And then she had to go and sucker-punch him with that dress. It had taken two sweeps of the room to recognize her. And when he had . . .

How was he supposed to maintain emotional distance when she looked like
that
? Even worse, he wasn’t the only man to notice her charms judging by the admiring looks sent her way.

The woman didn’t fight fair.

Though speaking of games . . .

So far, Lady Ruby had been renamed Violet Wine and Jedediah had become Pink Oyster, on account of his glaringly bright tailcoat.

But the
coup de grace
had come from Linwood in his red waistcoat, who took a bite of fowl while discussing the possibility of rain with Arthur, officially naming himself Scarlet Partridge.

Kit had choked on her wine.

Now they were all gathered back together in the drawing room, listening to Jedediah ramble on about his exploits at Gentleman Jackson’s Boxing Salon. Though tedious in the extreme for Marc, at least Linwood seemed to be suffering too, judging by how the man drummed his fingers against his thigh.

Marc deemed it a win.

“I managed to land a cross-punch to my opponent when he failed to duck—”

“Enough, dear boy.” Ruby cut off Jedediah, thankfully taking pity on them all. “I believe I have had enough excitement for one night. Miss Ashton, if you will, I should like to retire.” Ruby rose to her feet, prompting everyone to rise. A chorus of bows and curtsies ensued.

Kit shot Marc a resigned look as she followed Lady Ruby from the room, taking all of Marc’s fun with her.

Arthur and Marianne agreed to play whist with the vicar and his wife, leaving Jedediah, Linwood and Marc to gaze tensely at each other.

Yeah. He was
not
going to spend what remained of his evening with those two.

Marc bowed and excused himself, saying he wished to consult the library for a book to read. Anything to escape the drawing room.

Situated across the large domed entry hall, the library wasn’t difficult to find. A soaring space of white-washed bookshelves, dotted with tables and a large desk. Someone obviously took their learning seriously. A fire crackled in the fireplace.

Marc had only gone a few steps into the room when a voice accosted him.

“Vader, may I have a word?” Linwood’s ultra-cultured accent grated.

Or should Marc call him Scarlet Partridge?

Marc turned with a raised eyebrow. The viscount stood inside the library door, his face as inscrutable as ever.

“If you wish, Linwood.”

Marc strolled over to the fireplace and leaned a shoulder into the opulent marble mantel. Arms folded across his chest. Waiting.

He was quite sure Linwood viewed their relationship like some giant game of chess, where each conversation was a strategic ploy. To what end, Marc was unable to say. He just found perverse pleasure in watching Linwood try to make heads or tails of Marc’s presence in Marfield.

The viscount could make the first move.

Linwood studied him for a moment and then walked over and lifted a thick book from one of the tables and returned to Marc, handing him the book.

Marc reluctantly took the proffered volume. Never breaking eye contact with Linwood.

“A reading suggestion?”

“Something of the like.” Linwood shrugged. Even in the dim firelight, the viscount’s eyes were unnervingly pale.

Marc raised his eyebrows, questioning.

Linwood gestured toward the book. “I was hoping you would be able to explain to me where the Barons Vader are to be found.”

Marc tilted the book into the light and read the title:
Debrett’s Peerage of England, Scotland and Ireland.

Ah. So
that
was how Linwood intended to play.

“I have searched the book thoroughly and have yet to find any reference to a Lord Vader.”

Linwood studied Marc with haughty contempt, his face giving away nothing. Though there was a glint in his eye. Linwood looked positively gleeful. Well, for Linwood anyway.

Adrenaline surged through Marc. He needed to bluff and think fast. He hadn’t come this far to reveal himself to Linwood now.

Marc smiled, tight and mocking.

“Vader is a . . . Prussian title. Consequently, you won’t find me listed with British peers.” He handed the book back to Linwood, who took it grudgingly, setting it down on an end table.

Linwood regarded him again, eyes narrowed now.

“Why do I doubt the veracity of your answer?”

Marc shrugged. Several replies popping into his head at once.

Why are
you
such a stuffy cad?

Have you considered a theater career as Scarlet Partridge?

Marc settled for saying, “You are entitled to your opinion.”

The viscount
was
currently feeding him and providing a roof over his head. No need to be a total jerk.

Go figure. Maybe Marc actually cared about manners after all.

Linwood merely brushed a speck of lint from his coat sleeve. “As I am the one currently housing and feeding you, I feel I deserve to know exactly who you are.”

Ah, unless Linwood beat him to being a jerk.
Then
Marc supposed it was okay.

“I believe we already covered the social niceties several days ago, Linwood, but if you would like another introduction.” Marc gave a precise bow and a mocking grin. “Lord Vader, at your service.”

Linwood’s eyes narrowed. Obviously not appreciative of Marc’s wit.

“I have been anxious to arrange a meeting with her most royal highness, Princess Pepsi of Toyota Camry,” Linwood said. “Are you acquainted with her highness?” He assessed Marc through hooded eyes, obviously searching for a reaction to his words.

Marc instantly swallowed a laugh, though Linwood surely saw the smile which threatened.

Despite being colossally inconvenient, this entire debacle Emme had set in motion was
almost
worth it, just to hear Linwood say the words
Princess Pepsi of Toyota Camry
in his snooty, aristocratic drawl.

“I have never had the privilege of visiting the esteemed country of Toyota Camry. I hear it is quite lovely, being a safe and economical place for families but a little sedate for my tastes.” Marc considered himself more of a motorcycle kinda guy. “Though I understand Princess Pepsi has a bit of a temper. If you disturb her over much, she is liable to erupt. Like a shaken bottle of champagne.” Marc managed to keep his face straight.

Linwood paused, obviously sensing that he was missing something.

A beat of silence.

“You bear a strong resemblance to a woman I once met. A Miss Emry Wilde. Perhaps a relation of yours?” Linwood clasped his hands behind his back.

Damn. Marc reminded himself not to underestimate Linwood’s intelligence. Arthur was going to have a conniption over this conversation. He needed to get Linwood off the scent.

“Miss Emry Wilde? That doesn’t strike me as familiar. Though perhaps she might be an acquaintance of my sister.” Marc pretended to ponder for a moment, tapping his lips. And then snapped his fingers, as if just remembering something. “I do seem to remember my sister mentioning a friend who was once accosted by a dishonorable man. But I can’t for the life of me remember her friend’s name.”