Malia Martin (27 page)

Prudence shrugged. As the viscount was the first halfway interesting person she had met, she found that she did want to go driving in the park with him. “I think I might enjoy that, my lord.”

“Think? Ah, you wound me.”

“Something tells me, Viscount Leighton, that your armor is probably thicker than that.”

“How very perceptive of you.” The viscount grinned wickedly and bowed once more. “Until tomorrow then.” And he turned on the high heel of one of his bejeweled shoes.

James stood at the window of his study drinking. It was three o’clock, and he was pretty sure that he would be falling down drunk by five. He watched as Viscount Leighton handed Prudence into a jaunty cabriolet.

Viscount Leighton of all people. He was just the type James really did not want to associate with. Yes, the man was quite chummy with the Regent, and his grandfather, the earl of Wimsley, was some distant relative to the king, but, really, the viscount was quite on the very edge of respectability. And, being that James was himself at the very edge of respectability, he had hoped that his wife would associate herself with people who were more firmly entrenched.

James went to pour himself a fresh drink. With another gulp of whiskey burning his throat, he could freely admit that he was also a bit jealous. Viscount Leighton was one of those people who was so assured of his place in the world, that he never even thought to question himself. The man dressed and acted as if he had not a care in the world. And, of course, everyone found that attractive.

Another long pull from his glass of spirits, and James said out loud to the quiet room, “I want it myself, desperately!”

He slurred the ‘n’ sound in the word
want
and amended his estimation of complete inebriation to four o’clock. “Acceptance, is it so much to ask for?” he said to the portrait of his maternal grandfather, which hung over the large fireplace.

The painted face stared down at him with the same benign smile James had seen his entire life. He had never known his mother’s father. From what he could figure out from the scant information he had scrounged up from a few servants of his mother, the man had died of a broken heart when James’s mother had run off with her lover.

No one seemed to know the identity of the lover, but James’s mother had returned to her father’s funeral with a large belly, no husband, and, most importantly, no marriage papers.

She had often told James that she would reveal his father’s identity sometime in the future when James was old enough to understand. But she had died suddenly of malaria when he was ten. And though James had scoured his mother’s personal papers, he had never found one hint of who he really was.

Still, he knew that whoever had made his mother pregnant had taken her to London with him, and then had not married her. James had figured out on his own that his father was probably a peer in England.

His mother had been a very wealthy woman, so it was not lack of money that made her impossible to marry. Obviously his mother’s bloodline had not been quite pure enough for the likes of the anonymous man.

And more obvious than that even was the fact that his father had not wanted a son born of that bloodline. The glass in James’s fist broke suddenly into a thousand pieces. He watched as if from outside his own body as a deep cut in his palm oozed blood.

Closing his eyes, James dropped the broken glass on the carpet. “Who am I?” he whispered.

James knew, as he had known all his life, that he must answer that question to be whole.

“’Tis a simple thing, really, Mrs. Ashley. All you must do is seduce your husband.” Viscount Leighton slapped the reins in his hands gently against the two horses pulling his cabriolet. “And I am the perfect person to teach you the tricks of such a trade.”

Prudence stared at the man beside her. “Really, my lord, do you expect me to believe that? You are going to teach me how to seduce my husband? Let me guess, you will do so by seducing me, and then I can go try out all I learn on the captain. Am I right?”

“Goodness no.” Viscount Leighton made a face. “I do not seduce, I woo.” He glanced at her and waggled his blond brows. “But I can certainly teach you how to seduce a man.”

“And you would want to do this because you are suddenly my very best friend?”

“Of course not,” the man laughed. “’Tis like everything in life, Mrs. Ashley. I need something from you, and I have decided to offer my services in this problem you face so that I might get it.”

Prudence shook her head. She could think of absolutely nothing she owned that Viscount Leighton would need. “Why don’t you just ask me for whatever it is you want from me?”

“Because this is so much nicer, don’t you think? I can think of nothing I’d rather do than have my hand in a seduction. Now”—The viscount touched his hat to a gentleman rider and smiled—“tell me whence you hail, dearest. I have heard rumors that you have hidden your beauty in some horrid little fish-smelling town north of Brighton.”

“Gravesly is not at all horrid.”

“Ah, but it does smell of fish, am I right?”

Prudence could not help but laugh. “Yes, quite right. Some days are worse than others, though.”

“Of course I am right, remember that.” Viscount Leighton waved to an older woman ensconced beneath mounds of blankets in the back of an open carriage. “Now am I also to believe that you met the dear captain when he dispensed with the notorious smuggler who has blackened our coastline these last couple years?”

“Captain Ashley dispensed with no one,” Pru said rather indignantly.

“Really? But smuggling is no longer a problem in Gravesly?”

“It never was a problem.”

“True, I hear the Wolf had no problems whatsoever turning quite a heady profit.”

Prudence frowned and pulled at a loose thread peaking out of a seam in her skirt. It bothered her to speak of heady profits. The profits were rather slim, actually, after 60 percent went to their London backer. And it was all done to keep people fed, not to adorn them in jewels.

And she had to admit that she missed it desperately. Prudence glanced at the people parading through the park in carriages and on horseback. She could not imagine living like this, with no purpose. Well no worthy purpose, at least.

Pru suddenly felt very much like crying again, because, truly, this was now her life as well.

“Now you have gone silent and morose. Did I say something wrong?”

Prudence looked back at her companion. “No, really.”

“Well, then, shall we begin with our first lesson in seduction?”

“Can you give it here? Out in the park, I mean?”

The viscount chuckled lowly. “You still think that I mean to have my way with you, don’t you?”

“I think you want
something
of me, my lord.”

“Well, of course, I have already told you I do.”

“Wouldn’t it be ever so much easier if you just told me what it was?”

“Yes, actually, but I, unlike you, have mastered the art of seduction, and one of the most important skills in such an undertaking is being mysterious.”

Pru grinned. “So you
are
trying to seduce me!”

“Mysterious, my dear, means not saying every single word that comes into that pretty little head of yours.”

“Believe me, my lord, I can be mysterious.”

“Well, try it with your husband.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And touch him.”

Just the word touch conjured in Pru’s mind a vision of her husband’s hands. Oh, how she wanted him to touch her with those hands.

“Touch him as much as possible.”

“Hmm?” Pru said, suddenly realizing where she was and looking over at the Viscount.

“And look at him like that.”

Prudence glanced away quickly. They had left the park and were very near the mammoth building Captain Ashley called his home. She felt a bit melancholy. Viscount Leighton was quite enjoyable company, but she would much rather drive in the park with James Ashley.

That thought gave her pause. She hated James Ashley, didn’t she? The man was horrible, really, forcing her to leave Gravesly and her work there.

The viscount jumped down from his seat, and Pru realized that they were home. She glanced up and saw the outline of her husband standing at the window of his study. He tipped back his head as she watched and drank from a glass in his hand.

“Lord Leighton,” Pru said, still watching her husband.

“Yes, Mrs. Ashley.”

Pru glanced down at her companion. He stood with his hand out waiting for her to alight. She placed her hand in his and allowed him to help her down from his conveyance. “Do you know anyone named Mr. Watson?” she asked then.

The viscount blinked, obviously startled. “Mr. Watson, you say?”

Prudence nodded.

“I do, actually,” he said.

“Really?” Prudence had not expected an affirmative answer. She had asked everyone she met about Mr. Watson in the last two days, and it was as if the man did not exist. Of course, Prudence was rather sure that he did not go by the name Mr. Watson, so, really, the viscount’s Mr. Watson could be the wrong person entirely.

“I would so like to meet him,” Prudence said.

“He’s rather reclusive.” Lord Leighton escorted her to the front door of Ashley House, which had already been thrown open, to reveal a maid, the butler, and two footmen awaiting her entrance.

Pru turned, laying her hand on Viscount Leighton’s arm and looking up into his green eyes. “But you know him,” she said. “Perhaps you could …”

She did not know Viscount Leighton all that well. She had been in his company only three times, but in that moment, Prudence could tell there was something wrong. The viscount was not one to become uncomfortable in any situation. That fact had been clear in the first seconds of meeting him in Brighton.

And right now Viscount Leighton was definitely uncomfortable.

He knew exactly who Mr. Watson was.

“I need to speak with him,” she said.

The viscount nodded, glanced away from her, then regained his composure. “Are you going to the Lawrences’ musicale tonight?” he asked, his mouth barely moving over the words and his face turned away from her.

Pru wished she had paid more attention to Mr. Jenkins that morning. She wracked her brain, and could swear she remembered the name Lawrence. Well, if she did not have that particular event on her itinerary, she did now. “Yes,” she said.

“Ten o’clock in the alley behind the Lawrences’ town house.” Viscount Leighton turned his beautiful face toward her and smiled hugely. “It has been a pleasure, Mrs. Ashley.” He bowed, kissed her hand, and was gone.

Prudence stood staring after the man for a moment, wondering. Could the thing Viscount Leighton needed from her have something to do with Mr. Watson and Gravesly?

Perhaps she needed to do a bit of investigating and find out exactly who Viscount Leighton was.

Holmes looked particularly put out at having to take Richard’s coat. “Thank you, my dear man,” Richard said sweetly as the butler scuttled away from him like a frightened crab.

It lightened his mood a bit to torture the servant. He had experienced a bit of a black cloud hanging over his head since he had left Mrs. Ashley that afternoon.

The woman was quite melancholy, and Richard had actually decided that he rather liked her. It was difficult to continue in his role as spy for his grandfather when his own emotions were being tugged at.

He did hate that. For once he decided he liked a person, Richard tended to become disgustingly maudlin. He felt this was not too much of a character flaw since he was aware of it completely.

Still and all it did make this situation a bit dirty, didn’t it? He sighed, pulled out his handkerchief with his thumb and forefinger, pinky delightfully extended, and wiped lightly at his brow.

“He will see you in the study,” Holmes announced, standing rather farther away than was necessary.

Richard tucked his handkerchief back in his pocket and batted his eyelashes at the butler. He could not have been in a worse mood to see his grandfather, but it had to be done.

Taking a deep, cleansing breath, Richard pushed through the door into his grandfather’s sanctuary. The man sat where he always did, his wickedly ugly leg propped up before him.

“God,” Wimsley said before Richard had even set foot inside. “That ingrate has ruined everything, hasn’t he?”

Richard smiled hugely and went straight to the brandy. “And which ingrate would that be, dearest grandfather? There are so many around these days it is hard to keep track.”

“That piece of filth that married Lady Farnsworth.” Wimsley spewed spittle, and Richard grimaced. Best to keep his back to grandfather as he drank his brandy.

“Well?” his grandfather prompted with a smack of his beefy hand against his chair arm.

Richard drained his glass before turning around. “Well what?” he asked.

His grandfather shook his head, looking rather like a bulldog stepping out of a bath, jowls flapping and droplets flying. Lovely. Richard placed his glass on the crystal tray and leaned against the sideboard. His grandfather was in quite a lather. A good day to keep his distance.