Love and Larceny (13 page)

Daphne shook her head. Silly. Lord Brentfield
and Hannah had set up headquarters in the library, which lay in the
opposite direction down the corridor behind her. Her feet had
carried her toward the stables by habit.

Or wish.

But much as she would have loved a gallop
across the fields, she truly should stay inside and help. Everyone
else was doing so. She could hear voices overhead and down the
corridor now—Priscilla and Ariadne in the Blue Salon, Sir James and
Sinclair in the sculpture hall, Emily and her aunt in the dining
room. Somewhere beyond her hearing, Wynn and Nathan Kent were
likely playing with swords and crossbows.

Who partnered Brooks?

Her mother had dragged her off so quickly,
she hadn’t had a chance to find out. Perhaps he was helping Mr.
Harrop do something manly, like check the casks of wine in the
cellar or the foils in the fencing salon.

As if conjured by her thoughts, the
Corinthian flitted past the doors to the terrace. Where was he
going? Surely there were no priceless works of art on the outside
of the house. He couldn’t think to find the eggs there. Why wasn’t
he helping the others?

Only one way to find out.

She left the list on a table near the door
and followed him.

*

“May I say,” Nathan Kent told Wynn as they
heaved a breastplate back into place on a suit of amour, “that you
have my admiration for your pursuit of Miss Courdebas. Now that’s a
dashing young lady.”

For once, Wynn could not muster any jealousy.
It was clear the Nathan Kent, personal secretary to the Duke of
Rottenford, was bellows to mend for the beautiful Priscilla.

“Yes, she is,” he said, dusting off his
hands. “I am the most fortunate of men.”

And he did feel fortunate at the moment.
Though there were plenty of uninteresting bedchambers and
withdrawing rooms sprinkled about the manor, Lord Brentfield had
set him and Kent to inventory a far-more-fascinating room. Suits of
armor stood guard along either side, with battle axes crossed above
them and swords shining from glass cases. A bronze vase on either
end held a cluster of pikes and lances, all ready to defend king
and Country. He didn’t need a golden egg to encourage him. He
couldn’t wait to see what lay in the various wooden chests and
cabinets.

“Did she really beat Chas Prestwick in a race
down Rotten Row?” Kent asked as they moved on to a glass-front
cabinet that held jeweled daggers.

“She did indeed,” Wynn told him. “By a horse
length. I saw it.”

“What pluck.” Kent shook his head. “Priscilla
isn’t the sporting type. Not that I mind, you understand. Still, it
must be nice to have a betrothed who can join you in all your
pursuits.”

“Eight daggers, all as described,” Wynn
reported, and Kent checked them off before turning toward a rack of
evil-looking maces. He seemed a level-headed fellow, thoughtful,
with brown hair and eyes and a slender build. He was, by all
accounts, the brains behind the duke’s efforts. And, against all
odds, he’d won the hand of the fair Priscilla. Would he be willing
to offer advice?

“Daphne is a good friend,” Wynn allowed,
running a hand down the shaft of one of the maces. “But there are
times I fear she sees me as nothing more.”

“Ah.” Kent checked off the maces and ventured
toward another cabinet comprising doors of identical sizes. “I had
a similar problem when I first realized my feelings for Priscilla.
She had hopes for my cousin, the duke. Naturally, I felt reluctant
to declare how I felt in such circumstances.”

“Naturally,” Wynn agreed, opening a drawer to
display a pair of pistols with silver etching on the barrels. Kent
checked them off the list.

“So, what did you do?” Wynn asked, closing
the drawer and opening another.

“I let her think I cared nothing for her,”
Kent said, checking off that set of pistols as well. “It caused us
both a great deal of heartache.”

Wynn knew the feeling. “And yet here you are,
betrothed.” He shut the drawer.

“Because I learned she cared for me. Knowing
she returned my love, I could not be silent. We told my cousin
together. And, as you said, here we are.”

Could it be so simple? If he told Daphne how
he felt, would he discover she felt the same way? Wasn’t the
possibility worth the risk of embarrassment should she truly see
him only as a friend?

He threw open the bottom drawer, then frowned
at the empty space. “Was there supposed to something in this
one?”

Kent consulted the list. “A pair of
pearl-handled dueling pistols along with a velvet pouch containing
powder and shot.” He glanced up. “According to this, they were
cleaned by the under footman a week before we arrived.”

“So who felt the need for arms?” Wynn asked.
“And why?”

Daphne slipped out the terrace doors and
peered about. In the warm sunlight of the summer’s day, the stairs
down to the lawn were empty, and she sighted no tall, strapping
Corinthian making his way toward the stables. Instead, she spotted
Mr. Harrop prowling about at the bottom of the steps, head down. He
was so intent she would not have been surprised to see his nostrils
twitch like a hound’s seeking the scent. What was he doing?

“Looking for someone?” Brooks asked.

Daphne turned in time to see him melting away
from the house. “Yes, you,” she told him with a smile. “How did you
manage to escape inventory duty?”

His shrug rippled the fabric of his tan coat.
“No one to partner me.” He took a step closer. “Would you be
willing to partner me, my dear Daphne?”

Perhaps?

Oh, it wasn’t like her to be so missish. “I’m
certain we could find a task to our liking,” she told him with a
nod.

He moved closer yet, until she could see
golden lashes brushing his cheeks as he lowered his gaze to hers.
“I can think of a task very much to my liking,” he murmured. Then
he bent his head and kissed her.

She closed her eyes, waited for the
fireworks, the thundering heartbeat, the surge of emotion.

None came.

As he drew back, she opened her eyes and
frowned at him. “Is that the best you can do?”

His brows shot up, then he gave a low
chuckle. “Particular, are you? Well, let’s see if we can suit your
fancy.” He wrapped his arms about her, tilted her back, and crushed
his lips against hers.

It was quite like being strangled by the boa
constrictor Ariadne had described from one of the scientific
publications she read. A big, broad, smothering snake, only this
one had wet lips.

Daphne pushed him back with a shudder and
straightened. “That’s enough.”

He smiled and smoothed his cravat, which he
seemed to have wrinkled in his ardor. “I trust that sufficient
demonstration of my abilities.”

“Yes,” Daphne said. “Thank you.” It seemed
the best she could muster when all she wanted to do was jump on
horseback and ride so far and fast the rush of air would wipe her
clean.

He slipped an arm about her waist. “When we
are married, I promise I will kiss you like that every morning and
every evening.”

That wrung a shiver from her. He must have
felt her response, for he released her and stepped back.

“Daphne?” he asked, eying her. “Is something
wrong? I assure you I would never have taken such liberties if you
had not asked it of me.”

Daphne managed a smile. “It was very kind of
you to give it a second try.”

“Kind?” His face was darkening. “You describe
that kiss as kind?”

“No,” she assured him. “I’d describe it as
wet and sloppy and rather unpleasant. But I appreciate the
effort.”

He stared at her, then reached out his arms.
“Perhaps we should try again.”

Daphne evaded him. “No need.”

He dropped his hands. “Have I so disgusted
you?”

“There, now,” Daphne said, reaching out to
pat his shoulder. “Think of all the things you excel at—riding and
dancing and witty conversation. Not everyone can be good at
everything. I’m terrible at watercolors. Ask Emily.”

His eyes glittered. “Indeed. I find one’s
ability has a great deal has to do with the company one keeps.”

Was he saying she made him a bad kisser? Wynn
had never complained. And she certainly wasn’t about to try it with
anyone else, not after that horrid experience.

“Then I wish you better company in future,”
Daphne said, turning for the door.

He caught her shoulder and spun her around.
“Oh, no you don’t. Not until you declare my kiss superior.” He
lowered his mouth toward hers.

Daphne poked him in the eyes.

With a howl, he leaped back from her.
“Catamount! How dare you lay hands on me!”

“You did it first,” Daphne reminded him. “I
may have inspired the first kiss and invited the second, but there
will be no more, sir, or you may find yourself in need of a
physician’s services.” She turned once more for the door.

“Daphne, Miss Courdebas, wait.”

His tone was sufficiently humbled that she
paused to look back at him, hand on the door and ready to run if he
looked the least bit predatory.

“Forgive me,” he said, eyes brimming with
moisture she was certain had more to do with the impression of her
fingers than any show of contrition. “All my life I have been told
I wasn’t good enough, not in family, not in wealth, not in
scholastic abilities. Hearing it from you overset me.”

Said that way, how could she not pity
him?

“All my life I was told to sit still and
behave like a lady,” she told him, “a feat I find impossible. My
friends showed me I could be appreciated for myself. I do not know
who could help you in that way, but I suggest you start by looking
in the mirror. You have much to offer the world, Mr. Sheridan.
Perhaps you should focus on that rather than on what you imagine
you lack.”

He inclined his head. “And is there no hope
for us?”

“Beyond friendship, no,” Daphne told him. “I
fear my heart may have settled on another. Only time will
tell.”

“Mr. Fairfax is a fortunate fellow,” he
said.

Daphne blushed. “As I said, time will tell.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I feel the need to bathe.”

*

Wynn did his duty the rest of the day,
finishing in the armory and moving on to the fencing salon, where
Lord Brentfield actually used jeweled rapiers, and the orangery,
where even the stakes for the trees were plated with gold or
silver. He caught no sign of Daphne but assumed she was still
accompanying her mother. He could only hope Lady Rollings wasn’t
taking inventory of his faults along with the art.

Before dinner, they all rejoined in the
library to give their reports. Daphne was one of the last to come
in, and he couldn’t help noticing that she now wore her green
sprigged muslin. What had happened to the blue dress she’d had on
earlier? She had been working with her mother in the portrait
gallery, last he heard. The worst she might have encountered was
dust, and, by the efficiency of the Brentfield staff, he doubted
that. It wasn’t like her to change clothes on a whim like his
sisters were wont to do.

Then too, she kept worrying her lower lip, as
if something was concerning her. And she had avoided Sheridan’s
look at all costs. Had she taken his measure at last? Wynn had no
time to ask, for he and Kent had to give their report, with the
others following. Of the dozen rooms checked by the guests and
staff, only the armory had had anything additional missing. Some of
the remaining rooms had nothing of value to take, and Lord
Brentfield could vouch for the contents of most of the others. Lady
Minerva had found both golden eggs and sat fondling them with a
satisfied smirk.

“So everything is accounted for since our
last inventory,” Lady Brentfield surmised, looking a bit
disappointed.

“At least, within these walls,” Lady Emily
added darkly.

Lord Brentfield started. Wynn could see his
effort to brighten as he rubbed his hands together. “I must thank
you all for your efforts. Now, I think we’ve been inside too long
today. Who’s for an evening picnic on the grounds?”

Now his wife looked dismayed, and Wynn could
only guess her menu for the evening was not conducive to a picnic.
Certainly his mother fussed when anyone interrupted her plans. The
young countess excused herself shortly thereafter to go confer with
the staff.

Lord Brentfield, Sinclair, Sir James, and
Sheridan went with Nathan to the armory to see if they would
uncover any other clues as to where the missing pistols might have
gone. They invited Wynn to join them, but he demurred. He was more
concerned about Daphne.

Though her mother had gone upstairs to
change, her sister and friends were clustered around Daphne, while
Lady Minerva sat watching from the hearth, eggs clutched to her
chest as if she suspected the others of coveting them.

“His lordship is determined to make this no
more than a house party,” Priscilla was saying as Wynn slipped into
their group. “It’s clear he doesn’t want anyone else hurt.”

Wynn glanced at Daphne, but she was focused
on her friends.

“I’m certain there’s more afoot,” Ariadne
insisted. “We were here this spring when the first art treasures
were stolen. Hannah was certain more were taken while she was on
her honeymoon. Someone is to blame.” She narrowed her eyes. “I
wager it was the butler. He has that look of cunning about
him.”

Lady Emily looked thoughtful. “He is new to
the house, and he was here while Hannah was on her honeymoon.” She
gave a sharp nod as if she’d reached a decision. “Priscilla, keep
an eye on him. Ariadne, stick close to Hannah’s side at the picnic.
See if you can learn what Lord Brentfield plans.”

Ariadne nodded. “I shall winkle out his
secrets. Count on it.”

Wynn was more interested in Daphne’s secrets.
As she and her friends started for the stairs, he stepped in beside
her. “Penny for your thoughts.”