How to Entice an Earl (2 page)

“No one said you did,” Christian said with a small shrug, not contrite in the least. “I simply thought Miss Snowe might be more willing to take a dressing-down from a gentleman than from another lady. And it would appear that I was correct.”

“She did listen,” Maddie admitted grudingly, “but do not think that she will forget it. You will be on her black list forever now. I’m not sure she is someone you wish to have as an enemy, my lord.”

“I’m not afraid,” Gresham said with a grin. “Are you, Lady Madeline?”

Mentally cursing him, Maddie shook her head. “It will take more than Amelia Snowe and her sharp tongue to frighten me. I may not have spent the last decade fighting Bonaparte, but I have a certain amount of skill when it comes to fighting drawing room battles.”

The approval that shone in Gresham’s blue eyes, or rather her stomach’s flip in reaction to it, confused Maddie and she was grateful when Juliet broke in, saying, “I am tired of speaking of Amelia. We spend far too much time worrying about her and how she will affect things.”

“She is certainly not my favorite topic of conversation,” Deveril agreed, touching his wife lightly on the arm. “I think we should talk of something much more interesting.” Turning to Madeline he said, “Juliet tells me that you are writing a novel.”

Feeling the flush return to her cheeks, Maddie nodded. “I am, indeed, my lord. Though I pray you will tell no one else about it. I do not wish it to be generally known until I am finished with it and am able to sell it to a publisher.”

“What is it about?” Winterson asked, his eyes alight with mischief. “Is it a roman à clef like Caro Lamb’s
Glenarvon
? I should like very much to see certain people lampooned in novel form as she did with Byron.”

They all laughed, though Maddie shook her head. “I’m afraid not, your grace. I do not think that I would wish to spend any more time thinking about Amelia than I already must. No, this is to be in the vein of Madame d’Arblay or Miss Austen.”

“A love story, then?” Gresham teased, his green eyes alight with mischief. “I would not have taken you for a romantic, Lady Madeline.”

“There will be a love story as part of the tale, yes,” Maddie said, attempting to maintain her dignity even as his question sent an unfamiliar thrill through her belly. Perhaps she was coming down with something. Daring not meet Gresham’s eye, she continued to the others, “The story itself will deal with a young man’s inability to extricate himself from the ever more dangerous world of gambling and reckless life on the town.”

“I beg your pardon, Maddie.” Lord Deveril’s blue eyes clouded with confusion. “How will a gently bred young lady be able to write of such things? I cannot imagine that you have ever visited a gambling hell or a house of … that is to say…”

“She knows what you’re trying to say, dearest,” Juliet said to her husband with a smile. “And I must admit, Maddie, to having wondered the same thing. Though I suppose you could use your imagination. Or ask someone—your brother for instance—for a description.”

For a moment, Maddie debated whether to ask what she’d been intending to ask. After all, she did not wish to impose upon her friendship with her cousins’ husbands. And yet, she did indeed need firsthand experience of a London gaming hell. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, she decided. “I don’t suppose one of you would condescend to—” she began.

But before she could even complete the sentence, all three men nipped the idea in the bud.

“Absolutely not!”

“Never in a million years.”

“Not for the wide world.”

This last from Gresham, whose scowl reinforced his words. Looking from one to the other she saw that they meant what they said. “Very well,” she said with a shrug. “You cannot blame me for asking. I did not think any of you would consider it, but I had to try. It is not a whim, but a necessary part of researching my novel.”

“It’s not that we do not wish to help you, Madeline,” Winterson said kindly. “But it would be unconscionable for one of us to escort you to such a place. Even a gaming hell, which is the least objectionable of the establishments you named.”

“Said like a man who hasn’t spent much time in gaming hells of late,” Gresham said with a frown. “Depending on the place they can be more dangerous than a br … house of ill repute. Mrs. Bailey’s hell, for instance, is supposed to host an exclusive party tomorrow night that promises to include some very deep pockets. And you know how fraught things get when there is a great deal of money to be won and lost.”

Maddie, who had been listening with half an ear as she tried to think who else might be persuaded to take her to a hell, stood straighter at the mention of Mrs. Bailey’s. She had heard her brother speaking of a Mrs. Bailey last week, but she had assumed he meant a friend or acquaintance.

“Mrs. Bailey’s?” she asked, careful not to sound too eager. “You wouldn’t happen to know where her establishment is located, would you?”

But it was too good to hope that Gresham would not guess the reason for her question.

“No,” he said baldly. “I will not put my neck at risk from your father and your brother by telling you how to get to Bailey’s. Or any other hell for that matter.”

“Very well,” she said, lifting her head in a display of pride. “I will simply be forced to find another way to get there.” Turning to Cecily and Juliet she asked, “Would you like to accompany me to the retiring room? If I cannot persuade these gentlemen to help me get to Mrs. Bailey’s, I should at least ensure that my hair is still tidy and then see about making use of the dance card.”

As the three of them wended their way through the crowded ballroom toward the ladies’ withdrawing room, Maddie reflected that she would have to change her tactics. She would approach her brother about escorting her to Mrs. Bailey’s. He, too, would protest, but having known him a great deal longer than Winterson, Deveril, or Gresham, she knew exactly how to persuade him. Her mind settled on a plan, she vowed to enjoy the rest of the evening. Because if she was lucky, she would begin researching tomorrow night.

*   *   *

“Never a dull moment with those three around,” Gresham muttered to his comrades as they headed once again toward the card room. The glittering Wexford ballroom was filled to capacity, and it was with a sigh of relief that he stepped into the hallway leading to the parlor where tables had been set up. He’d never been one for crowds, and since the war he’d found them even less comfortable than before.

“They do add a certain spark to life,” Winterson agreed. “Though I don’t suppose you are required to take part in the festivities as we are, Gresham. I sometimes wonder if you do so out of loyalty or some other reason.”

“A
tendre
for a certain golden-haired lady, perchance?” Deveril teased, elbowing Christian in the ribs. “She might take a bit of persuading, but I can think of worse matches for a newly minted earl.”

Christian fought the impulse to turn tail and run. He knew it was inevitable for people to begin matching him and Maddie together simply because they were so often in company. But it was less about attraction than proximity.

At least, that’s what he told himself, remembering how an errant curl of golden hair had brushed against her neckline as she walked away. He could not deny that she was an attractive young lady. And he admired her spirit—among other things. But he was not quite ready to enter into the matrimonial stakes. Perhaps when he was, he would consider her, but for now, he was content to look without touching, so to speak.

To his friends, he said, deliberately misunderstanding their hints, “Do you really think Amelia might be persuaded to have me? She is such a shy thing. I wouldn’t want to frighten her with my strong feelings.”

Deveril’s snort was gratifying. It seemed that the earldom hadn’t destroyed his comic timing, at least. Winterson, on the other hand was not put off the scent. “Prevaricate all you like, man, but I saw how you jumped to her defense earlier. Not many would be willing to lay their neck on the line for Maddie. Especially since she is more than capable of fending for herself.”

Damn it.
He had known it was foolish to protect Maddie from Amelia’s taunts, but he had never been one to step aside while a bully was hurting one of his friends. And that, he supposed, was the operative word: “friends.” What he and Maddie shared was friendship and it would be foolish to jeopardize that for something as fleeting as physical attraction. Or worse, marriage.

He kept an eye out for her because she needed someone to do so. Her brother, Viscount Linton, had shown little enough interest in protecting her from herself. And if Maddie reminded Christian of a certain other young lady, whose brother had also failed to protect her from the censure of the world, then he could hardly fault himself for feeling a certain responsibility toward her. He’d done little enough to shelter his own sister. If he were able, somehow, to see to it that Linton’s sister didn’t come to harm, perhaps he’d be able to forgive himself someday.

Aloud he said, “I was simply helping a friend. Either of you might have done the same thing if I hadn’t done it.”

“Not likely,” Deveril said with a laugh. “I enjoy my bollocks right where they are, thank you very much.”

“As do I,” Winterson agreed. “Though I found it very interesting that Madeline did not protest your assistance overmuch. In fact, I’d almost say that she welcomed the assistance.”

“Could it be that our Maddie is just as sweet on Gresham as he is on her?” Deveril asked in a bright falsetto.

Monteith fought the impulse to bloody the other man’s nose. It was only for Juliet’s sake that he refrained. “You are both as full of gossip as a school for young ladies. I shouldn’t wonder if you took tea with the patronesses of Almack’s on a regular basis.”

“At least we’d be spending time with women, which is more than I can say for you,” Winterson said, raising one dark brow suggestively. “You know if you don’t use it, you’re in danger of losing it.”

“It,”
growled Gresham in a tone that would have sent lesser men fleeing, “is in perfect working order, I assure you. I’ve simply been too busy with other things, as it happens.”

Remembering just what he’d been working on that was so important, he sobered. “Unfortunately, what I’ve been doing does affect Lady Madeline, but it’s not good news, I’m afraid.”

Sensing his shift in mood, Winterson and Deveril stopped abruptly. Gesturing for the other two to follow him, Monteith led them to an open terrace door. The small balcony was empty, and Monteith dug into his breast pocket for the cheroots he’d brought along for just such an emergency.

They went through the ritual of lighting and smoking for a few moments before Winterson said, “You may as well tell. You’ve piqued my curiosity, and no doubt Dev’s, too.”

Looking out over the Wexfords’ back garden, Monteith said, “I told you that I’ve been doing a bit of work for Lord Leighton in the Home Office.”

Leighton oversaw some of the government’s investigations into threats against the crown. But only those that came from within, on English soil. Both Winterson and Monteith had worked with Leighton on the Continent during the war, and were confident that he would be quite effective in his new position. The war might be over, but they both knew that it didn’t spell the end of attempts by those who were disappointed in the outcome to right the wrongs that occurred at Waterloo.

“Well, I’ve been charged to look into claims that Mr. John Tinker, and by association, Lord Linton, are involved in some capacity with the Citizen’s Liberation Society.”

Winterson whistled. “They were responsible for the assassaination attempt on the prime minister last year, weren’t they?”

“I don’t remember that,” Deveril said, puzzled. “And what the devil is the Citizen’s Liberation Society?”

“The authorities kept it quiet,” Winterson said, the end of his cheroot glowing red in the darkness. “The only reason I know is because I keep in contact with the Home secretary.”

“The CLS is a group of English citizens who adhere to the ideals of the revolution in France. They have been working underground in covert—and sometimes not so covert as in the case of the attempt on the prime minister—ways to bring about the overthrow of the monarchy.”

Deveril blanched, “Are they unaware of the way the Revolution played out? Surely they don’t wish for England to devolve into the kind of chaos that has reigned in France for the past few decades.”

“They are convinced that their own attempts at egalitarianism will be more successful than those in France,” Monteith said with a twist of his lips. “A triumph of optimism over experience, if you ask me.”

“That’s an understatement,” Winterson said.

“So, Lady Madeline’s brother is thought to be involved in this treasonous activity?” Deveril asked. “His father is an earl. Why would he do such a thing?”

Monteith leaned back against the wall, not caring if his evening coat was smudged. “I can’t say whether Essex is involved in the society or not. I do know that Tinker is highly likely to be a member. He has always had leanings in that direction. His mother was French, and he lost a great deal of family in the war. But what I am supposed to discover is whether Linton has been persuaded by his friend to join the cause, or if he is simply maintaining a friendship that has stood him in good stead since university.”

“That whole group, including Linton, Tinker, Tretham, even Fielding’s widow,” Winterson said, exhaling a cloud of smoke, “has been involved in questionable ventures for years now. Wasn’t Linton blamed for Lord Fielding’s death in that godforsaken curricle race?”

“Yes,” Monteith said. “Though nothing has ever been proved.” He shook his head. “Now, the Home Office wonders whether Linton, who is quite often short of funds, might have been driven to join his friend Tinker in a bid for money.”

“Men have been driven to treason for less,” Winterson agreed.

“Poor Maddie,” Deveril said, tapping the ash from his cheroot. “She would be devastated to learn such a thing about her brother.”