Sin With a Scoundrel: The Husband Hunters Club (15 page)

Chapter 19

A
fter his third glance toward the door, Richard told himself not to be so stupid. He’d warned himself about getting emotionally involved; obviously, he thought wryly, he hadn’t been listening. All the same, his reaction was surprising. What was it about this girl that made him feel so unlike himself? He thought about her more every day, and the taste he’d had, far from satisfying his desires, only made him want her more.

He chatted with Sir Henry and Will Jackson and Sir Henry’s neighbor, Mr. Branson, waiting for her to appear, knowing that until she did, he couldn’t think clearly. The glimpse he’d had of her earlier in the salon, the tantalizing smile she’d given him, had made him useless for work.

And then she was there. She wore a yellow dress that set off her dark hair and pale skin, and her beauty took his breath away. For an all-too-brief moment her eyes had met his, her expression startled, and then she’d turned away.

It had occurred to him that this frisson between them might be as unnerving to her as it was to him, and now he was certain. And it was damned inconvenient! She was planning to marry Gilfoyle. Planning to kiss Gilfoyle, touch him, let him touch her. Let him have her in the most intimate of ways . . .

Richard grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing tray and swallowed it almost savagely. His hand was shaking, and he gripped the stem so hard he nearly broke it. This was utterly ridiculous. He must calm himself, he
must
put Tina out of his mind.

But if he was distracted, then so was Sir Henry, who kept glancing toward his wife. Lady Isabelle’s voice rose above the chatter of their guests, and she flittered about, as if unable to keep still for even a moment. Once he beckoned a servant and murmured in his ear, and the servant scurried to her side to convey the message. Isabelle lifted her head, her smile mechanical, and waved her hand at her husband.

“I think we are ready to go in to dinner,” he said to Richard. “Come along. And if my wife has put you next to my cousin Edith, then you have my sincere sympathy.”

But thankfully Cousin Edith had been reserved for Will Jackson, and Richard was seated beside Tina’s red-haired friend Margaret, a serious young woman, although he did his best to make her smile, and on her other side was Mr. Branson, a rather surly fellow. Tina was farther down the table, near Lady Isabelle, who appeared to have taken a great liking to the younger woman. Gilfoyle was there, too, and Richard struggled not to glare at the man as he chatted and laughed his way through the meal. As if, Richard thought darkly, he expected everyone to love him as much as he loved himself.

And yet he had to wonder if that was the real Lord Horace. It could just be an act. Perhaps the jolly lord was a role he played, to disguise the sinister truth.

That was one of the things Richard had come to Arlington Hall to find out.

“Enjoying your stay?” It was Branson, finally doing the polite with Margaret Allsop. “Nice spot this. My family owned it once—it was a working farm then—but prices dropped after the war, and we had to sell it off. Arlington got a bargain.”

Margaret murmured something.

Branson responded a little less gloomily, and the conversation shifted to the weather, always a safe topic, thought Richard, his attention elsewhere.

Tina was laughing at something Gilfoyle had said, and now she put her hand on his arm. The minx! She was using the tricks he’d taught her. Well, of course she was. That was the whole point of his expert training, was it not?

It wasn’t Tina’s fault the idea no longer appealed to him—if it ever had.

His restless gaze slid over Will Jackson, the poor fellow desperately attempting to extract himself from Cousin Edith’s endless discourse on birds. She told anyone who would listen, and even those who wouldn’t, that she was a keen ornithologist. It was her only topic of conversation. Richard remembered thinking before about Will as a possible partner for Tina. He was a good man, honest and true, and he had some money of his own. Not the fortune that Gilfoyle had, of course, but adequate. Tina would be much better off with Will than Horace, and although Richard had previously found fault with his friend, he knew whom he’d prefer to marry Tina if it came to it.

Should he point her in that direction?

He shifted restlessly in his chair.

It would be the gentlemanly thing to do, and yet Richard wasn’t feeling particularly gentlemanly tonight. He didn’t want Tina to marry Gilfoyle or Will. He didn’t want her to marry anyone. He wanted her unmarried and free, available to him whenever he wanted her. He missed her mouth, the warm sighs she gave when he held her in his arms, he missed the wonderful softness of her body beneath his hands.

The stark truth was he wanted her all for himself.

L
ady Isabelle had arranged some entertainment for the evening, but before it could begin all the men must finish their cigars and brandy and join the women in the drawing room. Sir Henry was lingering over his after-dinner tipple with several of his cronies. Tina had found herself a seat near an open window, away from the chatter—and Horace, who seemed particularly irritating tonight—when Lady Isabelle found her.

“Lord Horace seems rather taken with you, Tina,” she said at once, arranging the folds of her pale blue silk as she sat down.

“Do you think so?” Tina was genuinely surprised. She’d been thinking Horace an annoyance, but now, thinking back, she realized that at dinner there had been a difference in the way he looked at her, the way he spoke to her. Was he more attentive? She knew she ought to be thrilled that her plan was finally working, not so full of her own concerns that she had hardly noticed.

“I have known Horace since I was a little girl,” she explained, aware of Lady Isabelle’s curious gaze. “He is almost like a-a brother to me.”

“He didn’t seem to be looking at you in a very brotherly sort of way.” Her hostess laughed.

“Oh.” The ironic notion came to Tina that perhaps Horace suddenly found her attractive because she had lost interest in him—that her being unattainable had changed him.

A servant came scurrying over and murmured something to Lady Isabelle. Her face lit up. “Yes, yes, bring him in,” she said breathlessly. Her eyes slid to Tina, and their pupils seemed enormous. “I have arranged for Signor Veruda to sing for us. He is a famous baritone. From Rome. We are very privileged to have him here at Arlington Hall.”

Just then a dark-haired man came sauntering into the room, and not long afterward, he was followed by Sir Henry and the other dawdling gentlemen. Tina’s eyes went straight to Richard, and she admitted with an awareness of regret that she was hunting the wrong man.

Signor Veruda came over to take Lady Isabelle’s hand, his black eyes delving so shockingly into the shadows of her décolletage that Tina had to turn away. “My dearest lady, I have missed you unbearably. But I am here now, and I will sing to you.”

“Yes, please do sing to me.” Lady Isabelle placed her fingers in his and allowed him to lead her to the pianoforte. The pianist was Cousin Edith, who did have another talent besides watching birds.

With the chairs arranged and everyone seated, the music began. Vincenzo Veruda was not a tall man, and his middle was a little more rounded than it should be, but he would never go unnoticed among all these Englishmen. His dark eyes sought out the women in the room, and he smiled often, causing hearts to flutter and cheeks to flush.

“Damn poser.” Horace had come to sit beside her while they listened.

“Who?”

“Him. Veruda.”

“You’re just jealous.”

Horace snorted. “You don’t find men like that attractive, do you?”

“Why not? He’s charming and handsome, and obviously talented. I’m sure he would have a great deal to teach me.”

Lord, why had she said that? To annoy him, she supposed. Only now, he would think the worst of her character.

His eyes narrowed, and she couldn’t help but be nervously aware of his sideways glances in her direction. And Lady Isabelle had grown more and more shrill, with Sir Henry more and more anxious and protective of her. He hovered, which seemed to drive her to distraction.

“Go and talk to our guests, my dear,” she told him testily.

“I am perfectly happy here,” he rumbled.

“Then go and smoke a cigar in the garden.”

“I am thinking of giving them up.”

Angry tears sparkled in her eyes as she turned away.

There was definitely something not right at Arlington Hall, thought Tina, as Signor Veruda launched into yet another song.

Eventually supper was served, and Tina was able to escape Horace, but she had to prowl about the room because every time she thought of settling she could see him, making his way toward her. It would have been amusing if it wasn’t so awful.

“Are you enjoying the music, Miss Smythe?”

Richard had come up beside her, and his deep voice with its intimate tone played with her senses; if she’d been a harp, she would have quivered. With the smile she couldn’t stop curving her lips, she turned to him, knowing she should be trying not to show how much his presence affected her and yet completely unable to help herself.

“I am. And you, Mr. Eversham? Are you musical?”

“Musical in the sense I enjoy listening to it, but I’m afraid I have no talent for playing any instrument.”

It took her a moment to realize he had finished speaking and another to process what he had said. She floundered to think of something else to say, her normally easy conversation drying up. What on earth was wrong with her? She must pull herself together or he . . . everyone . . .
he
would notice.

He leaned closer, pretending to inspect a tray of meringues on the table in front of them. “Lord Horace seems to have changed his mind about you.” His voice was grave, as though he was delivering bad news.

“Has he?” She glanced in Horace’s direction and saw to her dismay that he was watching her. He didn’t look pleased.

“He isn’t looking at you like an old friend, Tina.”

Suddenly she felt as if she were the one being hunted. She stood up, her shawl sliding from her shoulders before she could stop it. He bent and retrieved it for her. She reached out to take it, but instead he slid it about her shoulders, his fingers brushing bare skin.

Tina gave a gasp; she couldn’t prevent it.

He was very close, and she wanted him even closer.

“Tina . . .” he half groaned.

“I beg your pardon, Eversham. Sir Henry wants a word.” It was Horace, eyes narrowed, clearly suspicious that something was going on. Richard gave him a look as if he’d like to strangle him, then with a bow to Tina, turned and walked away. Horace took her arm in a proprietary grip.

“Don’t like that fellow,” he said in a voice that was far too loud. “Don’t know why Sir Henry keeps inviting him.”

Tina opened her mouth to argue and then changed her mind. What was the use of increasing Horace’s suspicions? Instead she said, “I am rather tired, Horace, and Signor Veruda is giving me a headache. I think I will retire. Good night.”

He looked put out, as if he’d expected a gushing thank-you for rescuing her from the awful Mr. Eversham, but suddenly she didn’t care what he thought. She just wanted to be alone, to sleep away her fears and anxieties.

And to dream of a totally impractical future that was all about Richard Eversham.

Chapter 20

L
ady Carol was pretending to be asleep. Her head was badly cushioned by the worn squabs, and every time there was a bump it jolted her, so that now she had the beginnings of a headache. Still it was better to pretend to be asleep than watch Sir Thomas scowling to himself on the opposite seat of the hired coach.

The visit to his brother Harold had not gone well.

There had been the usual recriminations and mutterings about Sir Thomas’s shortcomings as a responsible adult, but they’d been prepared for that. And to give him credit, Harold had agreed to pay some of their more pressing bills. It was the manner in which he’d done it that rankled with his brother.

Harold hadn’t handed Thomas the money—he’d refused point-blank, saying his brother could not be trusted. Instead, he’d directed his steward to pay the bills, humiliating enough in itself but even more so when he gave the man his instructions right there in front of them, using it as another chance to belittle Thomas’s money-management skills.

No wonder he was scowling.

Lady Carol wriggled to try to get more comfortable, wishing she were home in her bed. At least now they would be spared losing the house for a little longer, but they would still lose it. Harold had made it clear he would not be coming to their assistance again, no matter how dire things became or how much they groveled. This was it.

She’d tried hard not to blame her husband for their mess, but she couldn’t help it. It was his fault they’d lost everything, and it gave her a dark, achy feeling in her heart. She might never be able to forgive him. Worse, she might never be able to love him again. Theirs had been a happy marriage—oh, they’d had their good and bad times, the same as anyone else, but compared to some other unions she’d witnessed, theirs was a truly happy one.

Or it had been until now.

She glanced out of the window at the passing forest. Ironically, they were only a few miles away from Arlington Hall, where Tina and Charles were staying. Lady Carol sighed, wondering how they were managing and whether either of them had secured a proposal of marriage yet. She hated herself for thinking of it, but she couldn’t help it—she’d never intended to be the sort of mother who pushed her children in the path of rich partners and marriages of convenience, and here she was, doing exactly that.

And she blamed Sir Thomas for that, too.

The sudden jerking stop of the coach brought her out of her dark thoughts. Sir Thomas reared up like an angry serpent. “What is happening?” he roared, reaching to open the door.

Before he could touch it, however, it was opened for him from the outside, and Lady Carol gave a muffled scream.

A man stood there wearing a black hat and a mask hiding all of his face apart from his cold, pale blue eyes. He wore black gloves and in one of his hands he held a long-barreled pistol, which he pointed at her husband.

For a heart stopping moment Lady Carol thought he was going to discharge the weapon, and that Sir Thomas was going to die right in front of her shocked gaze. The whole world seemed to slow and solidify, and in that instant she knew that if he were to die, then life for her would also cease.

The highwayman laughed, a dry, dead sound, and said, “What’s happening? Why, a spot of highway robbery, that’s what!”

Lady Carol heard another laugh and looked up from the awful sight in front of her. There were two other men, sitting astride their horses. They both wore the same black masks covering most of their faces, and they both held pistols, and their coachman lay on the ground, unconscious or dead.

The highwayman laughed again as he noticed the expression on her face. “Sorry, lovely, I wish I had time to play.” He looked her up and down and she cringed. “Very nice for an old ’un,” he said softly.

“Leave my wife alone!” Sir Thomas shouted. “Just take our belongings and go.”

“Shut up, old man,” the robber said quietly.

Lady Carol shivered and reached for her husband, clinging to him. She had never been so terrified and never felt so helpless in her life. She needed Sir Thomas, she knew now how much she needed him, just as this man was threatening to take him away from her.

“Hand over all your valuables. Now!”

Lady Carol whimpered as Sir Thomas handed his fob watch to the masked man. “That’s all I have,” he said angrily although he had stopped shouting and was trying to remain calm. The highwayman frightened him, too, but mainly because of the way in which he was looking at his wife. “You’ve held up the wrong coach. We’re bankrupt.”

“So they all say. Out of the coach!”

Sir Thomas assisted his frightened wife down from the coach.

“Jewelry,” demanded the highwayman.

With shaking hands Lady Carol fumbled with her pearl necklace and when she couldn’t open it burst into tears. Just as it seemed the highwayman was about to rip it from her throat, Sir Thomas gently undid the clasp and handed the pearls over.

“Blunt?” asked the man.

Sir Thomas handed over some coins. “I told you, we’re bankrupt. We have no more.”

One of the other men got down from his horse and began to search Sir Thomas. He checked his pockets and patted him down, then he climbed into the coach and searched there but found nothing. Finally, he’d turned to Lady Carol and seeing she was next to be searched she began to scream.

“Be quiet, woman!” the highwayman growled, but Lady Carol was beyond reasoning now. She screamed louder and louder and even Sir Thomas could do nothing to stop her. With a nervous glance over his shoulder, the highwayman muttered, “We’d better be off before her screeching brings the law down on us.”

“Yeah, they ain’t got nuffink anyways,” said one of the other men. “Not worf swingin’ for.”

The next moment they were gone.

It took Sir Thomas some time to calm his hysterical wife, and then he checked on the coachman, who was unconscious and thankfully not dead. The road they were on seemed very quiet, and despite the noise Lady Carol had been making, no one had come to their rescue.

“Looks like we’re going to have to rescue ourselves, my dear,” Sir Thomas said with a wry smile. “Can you help me with this fellow? We’ll get him into the coach.”

Lady Carol tottered over, and the two of them began to drag the coachman toward the coach. He was heavy but thankfully not a large man, and with much huffing and puffing, they got him up and into the coach and made him as comfortable as possible. When they were done, Sir Thomas found his silver brandy flask still in its spot in a pocket of the seat and drew it out triumphantly. He was about to take a swig when he saw his wife, white-faced, slumped on the ground, and sank down beside her.

“Here, my dear, have a sip of brandy.”

For once she did not protest, and took a sip and then another. By the time Sir Thomas had taken his gulp of the fiery stuff, she was looking a little better, and her cheeks had some color in them.

“What are we going to do, Thomas?” she said, her green eyes wide.

He slipped an arm about her and gave her a comforting squeeze. “Looks like we’ll have to drive ourselves, my dear. It’s been a good while since I drove my phaeton. Do you remember it? Marvelous vehicle. I used to bowl along with you at my side.”

Lady Carol smiled reminiscently. “I remember. We were very dashing, weren’t we?”

“We’ll just have to pretend this lumbering coach is a phaeton. Come on, my dear”—and he helped her up—“the sooner we get on, the sooner we will find an inn. Do you know,” he added, as his wife took his arm, “I never thought I’d be glad of Harold’s miserly ways, but I am today. If he’d given me the blunt to pay my own bills, we’d have lost the lot.”

Lady Carol stretched up to kiss his cheek. “I’m sorry I’ve been horrid, my love. It takes something like highway robbery to make one realize what is important to one. Things are just things, but if I’d lost you . . . it doesn’t bear thinking.”

Sir Thomas smiled. “We have each other, and whatever becomes of us, we must remember that.”

“We must.”

There was a sparkle in Lady Carol’s eyes he hadn’t seen for some time, and Sir Thomas felt an enormous weight lifted from his shoulders. The world had turned topsy-turvy, but he had his beloved wife back again.