This Earl Is on Fire (9 page)

“I wouldn't expect anything less, Lady Granworth.” Thayne grinned and inclined his head before taking his leave.

Then Juliet faced Adeline once more. “You must forgive my rudeness. How can I speak of a wager and not explain it?”

Adeline's curiosity must have been obvious in her expression. Her cheeks heated in embarrassment. “Please. You do not have to explain anything to me.”

Juliet waved off her concerns before she continued. “From your comment earlier, I gather that you have an understanding of the Season's
Original
?”

Adeline recalled what Wolford had told her. “When the
Original
is named, heads turn in their favor?”

“Quite.” Juliet nodded succinctly. “Without too long of a story, one day, Max declared that anyone could be named an
Original
. I believed otherwise. And thus, a challenge ensued, resulting in our wager.”

“And this has earned you a place in the
Standard
?”

“Among other things.” Two nearly imperceptible spots of color tinged Juliet's cheeks before she looked down to adjust the fan chain at her wrist. When she looked up in the next instant, she was perfectly composed once more. Elegance personified. “As for you, we are going to make certain that the gossip is as gentle as goose down by procuring your invitation to the most coveted event of the Season. What do you think of that?”

Adeline's head was spinning. All of her earlier concerns were gone now. There was so much drama and excitement to feast upon, and this was only her first night in society. “I believe that this is the most exciting opera I've ever attended, and it hasn't even begun yet!”

L
iam heard the moment that the door opened below. Three pairs of footsteps followed, Lady Boswick's, Lord Boswick's, and then Adeline's. Mr. Finmore had gone off to bed some time ago, but not before checking in on Liam one last time.

Liam knew he shouldn't still be here. Earlier, however, Boswick had urged him not to overtax himself in a rush to leave, repeating his concerns over the dizzy spells. Too exhausted to argue at the time, Liam had remained here.

When he'd awoken a short while ago, however, he'd felt more refreshed. With the help of Finmore and Jones, he could have made it next door. Yet the truth was, he stayed because he wanted to hear Adeline tell him about her night at the opera.

And now, a surge of anticipation filled him as those footsteps came up the stairs and to his room.

After a quiet knock, Serge and Bunny entered, overflowing with appreciation for the use of his box. Apparently, Aunt Edith had let the matter slip. He assured his hosts that it was the least he could do in return for all they had done for him. Yet all the while, he wondered what Adeline had thought. But hers was the only face that did not greet him.

His hosts soon bid him good night. A short while later, Boswick's familiar snoring began, and the house fell into relative silence. At least, until he heard a muffled click of the door latch across the hall.

Or rather, he
thought
it was a door. His ears perked, straining to capture the faintest sound of a shuffled step, the swish of a skirt, a breath, anything. But in his eagerness all he could hear was the quick drum of his heart and the whoosh of each weighted breath. He stared hard at the door, willing it to swing open.

Then it did, and Adeline stepped inside without even knocking first.

She was radiant. Her eyes sparkled in the low lamplight, emitting a brightness of their own. The pink satin of her gown matched the glow of her cheeks. Long, curling tendrils of glorious hair snaked down, brushing her cheeks.

His breath stalled, caught beneath his solar plexus as if he'd taken a center blow. “How was your opera adventure?”

“Divine, Wolford.” She began to buzz around the room, telling him about his aunt and meeting Lady Cosgrove, Juliet, Thayne, and Mrs. Harwick. A lengthy description of the scenery, costumes and the
magnificence of a real opera
followed. Then at last, she stopped by his side. “And I just wanted to thank you.”

He had the startling urge to take her hand just now. With his resting on the mattress by her hip, only scant inches separated their fingers. Seeing her so happy made him greedy, he supposed. He wanted to feel the effervescence that bubbled through her. He wanted to be part of it. And suddenly, he wished that he had been with her this evening, watching delight gleam in her eyes.

“Would you like another cheese plate?” she asked, all eagerness.

“I am content for the moment.” Besides, he did not think he could survive another coverlet picnic. And yet, he didn't want her to leave either. “However, perhaps if my pillow were fluffed.”

She looked at him as if he were teasing her, but played along nonetheless, chafing her hands together. “I must have an innate talent for pillow fluffing.”

If one could possess a talent for such a thing, she certainly did not. Not that he would tell her. Because if he did, he already knew the result. She would leave his side, and he would lose the relief—or whatever this was—he found in her presence. And he had never been one to deny himself necessary comforts.

Then, as she had done before, she leaned over him. Her hands went to either side of his face, pressing into the pillow, the inviting plumpness of her breasts resting on his chest. Enjoying the moment, he closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath that hinted at pear blossoms.

She went still. “Why are your hands at my waist?”

Were they? He squeezed his hands and found that, yes, they most definitely were. He also discovered that the satin gown was warm from the heat of her body and fine enough that there was little barrier between his hands and the slender curve of her waist and the slight flare of her hips.

“I'm merely aiding in your efforts by offering stability,” he said, by way of an excuse. Of course, he hadn't intended to touch her—
gentleman's daughter and all that
. Given his pleasure-seeking nature, however, he wasn't entirely surprised by his wayward hands. Perhaps he should think about removing them before he found them cupped around her breasts. Inadvertently, of course.

“Afraid that I will crush you?” she said with a laugh against his lips. “Well, do not worry, because I have finished. Your pillow is sufficiently plump.”

More than. And lumpy as well, but he did not mind in the least. Especially when he felt her lips against his cheek.

“Thank you, Wolford. I had a delightful evening.”

In the next instant, he didn't know what came over him. Suddenly, he found his hand at her nape, pulling her mouth to his.

The kiss took him by surprise. It was lips and teeth, fierce and needy. Unexplainable. Apparently he was weak-willed from his injuries. At least that was what he told himself. The only proof belying that was that his grip at her nape and the hand at her waist felt strong and certain. Every drop of blood in his body told him that this was right. Essential. And so he continued to kiss her.

The innocent press of her lips told him that he should take his time, tutor her, ease her lips apart with the gentle sweep of his tongue. Instead, he schooled her quickly, thrusting, tasting, consuming her as if he'd been held captive by monks all his life, and she was the first woman he'd ever seen.

But not just any woman. This woman. Adeline Pimm, whose lips tasted like they were brushed with fine Boswickshire honey and whose flesh had the faintest scent of pear blossoms. Especially on her throat and more still here, in this tender spot just beneath her jaw.

Her inexperience made him feel all the more primitive. He wanted more of her lips. More of the tender exploration of her tongue against his. More of her low, decadent murmurs.

As she kissed him back, he knew there was something different about it. He had a hard time controlling himself. He couldn't get enough of her. They should not be in a bed, he knew. This was the most dangerous place to kiss her. He could easily seduce her. Already, she lay atop him, the delicious feminine weight of her causing no pain. Her body molded perfectly to his. The softness of her stomach cradled the turgid length of him, and all he could think about was how good it would feel inside of her. He might be too weak to resist . . .

Thankfully, she was strong.

She pulled away and stood beside the bed. He saw what his whiskers had done to her. He'd been a savage. He should feel chagrinned for marking her. Instead, he felt satisfied. He had an animalistic desire to pinken her flesh everywhere. To make her skin tender, as a reminder of where his mouth had been.

“Two adventures in one night,” she said, breathless.

He was having a difficult time breathing too. “What do you mean?”

“I've just been kissed by a man with a questionable reputation. I'd call that an adventure, wouldn't you?”

But before he could answer, she slipped away, exiting the room and leaving him to answer it alone. “No, darling, there is no question regarding my reputation.”

One touch of her lips, and he'd lost his head. Not that he'd minded. He often chose the path of pleasure. But this was different—she was unspoiled.

No matter what her professions might be against marriage, Liam could not entirely believe her. One taste of her passion had proven that much.

Someday she would want to explore that side of her nature. A keen and peculiar sense of certainty filled him with the notion that she would marry. And the bastard she chose wouldn't deserve her or her family . . .

Liam stilled. Every vein in his body seemed to boil at the thought. Not because he knew Adeline would marry. No. Because, if he didn't know better, he might believe that he was jealous.

“P
ardon me, my lord, but there is a Mr. Rendell to see you,” Jones said from the doorway.

From the bed, Liam looked over at the rosewood clock on the mantel and noted that it was well before time for business matters. In fact, it was well before his usual time for waking. “Send him up, please. Thank you, Jones.”

The truth was, Liam had not slept last night either. Not after what he'd done.

He could no longer remain under Boswick's roof. And given Liam's past experience with debutantes, he should have been wary of spending any time alone with Adeline. After all, if he possessed strength enough to kiss her the way he had, then he likely would have found strength enough to seduce her completely. Irrevocably.

Minutes later, Rendell knocked and entered the room with his head bent, spouting several
my lord
s and begging forgiveness for the disturbance. Already Liam knew that whatever news brought him thither was not good.

Soon enough, Rendell managed to calm himself.

“It appears, my lord, that your house was burgled sometime in the night.”

“On Brook Street again?” A month ago, the same thing had occurred. Yet for all the destruction of the main floor study and the strewing about of papers, the only thing that had gone missing was a pair of silver candlesticks.

Rendell shook his head. “Wolford House, my lord. Like the previous instance, the study was the primary focus, much of it in disarray. I sent word to Bow Street immediately. An investigator by the name of Hollycott is here now, my lord, waiting below.”

Liam thought instantly of his collection, of what pieces were in jeopardy.

“Lord Boswick ordered a breakfast tray for your lordship. He was also kind enough to do the same for Mr. Hollycott and for me.”

At this, Liam emerged from the list he was making in his mind. He thought of his host. Even besieged by visitors shortly after dawn, his inclination was to see to the comfort of his guests. Boswick was a purely altruistic creature. Knowing this, Liam felt ashamed that his own first thoughts, upon hearing Rendell's news, had not been on the well-being of the servants who resided in his house.

He tried to make amends with himself by asking after them now. “Was anyone in the house injured?”

Apparently, Rendell hadn't expected as much from him either because his mouth remained agape for a few moments before he collected himself. Then he cleared his throat. “No, my lord. As before, no one was aware of the burglary until this morning.”

“Very good.” Liam waved him off. “You may go and break your fast. I will be downstairs presently.”

With the help of Jones, Liam managed to dress and make his way down the stairs after a quarter of an hour had passed. He soon found Boswick, Rendell, and a stout, auburn-haired man in a brown coat and trousers. Hollycott, Liam presumed.

There were no breakfast dishes in sight, but the aroma of tea and honey lingered. Liam's stomach growled.

Boswick introduced him to the newcomer. Hollycott had the rough, square face of a man who'd had a scrape or two in his life and a keen, careful gaze, as if he suspected everyone he met were guilty of a crime. After scrutinizing Liam, he began directly.

“There were several burgled houses near yours, Lord Wolford.” Hollycott spoke with a Welsh accent, baring his upper teeth as he enunciated. “The culprit likely knew the house would be empty and the servants asleep. I understand that this happened not long ago at another of your houses.”

“You must find that circumstance quite frequent. A house in a fine neighborhood burglarized in the middle of the night cannot be a rarity.”

Hollycott's shoulders twitched in a shrug. “Usually more in the summer when these properties are empty. But what was strange is that the burglar didn't try to disguise his presence. He left clutter behind at each location. Of course, in your house, that fact was much more difficult to ascertain.”

“No doubt you are referring to my collection.” Though to Liam it was more disturbing than merely losing an object. He truly enjoyed the pieces in his collection. They were like scholars he could talk to, revealing their history in conversations whenever they met.

“Do you recall what was stolen from the previous burglary?” Hollycott asked. Since he didn't seem like a man who would have come unprepared without that information, Liam suspected he was being tested.

Rendell began to sort through a stack of ledgers that listed all of Liam's goods.

“A pair of silver candlesticks,” Liam answered, feeling a measure of satisfaction at Hollycott's eventual nod. “I'd found it odd at the time that such a mess had been left behind for something that had been in plain sight all along. I'd also heard similar reports from my neighbors—a candelabra, an ormolu clock, a gold snuff box—all inconsequential items.”

“Inconsequential to you, perhaps, but easy to sell and less likely to raise alarms than a fancy painting.” Even though Hollycott kept his tone measured, the cold snap of censure laced his wording. It was sharp enough to lift Boswick's brows.

“Still, the question remains,” Liam added, “if you were the burglar, why ransack and let it be known? Why not merely take the bauble and disappear with no one the wiser? These houses are not likely to notice immediately otherwise.”

Again, Hollycott offered a nod. “That is one of the inconsistencies I'm investigating.”

“And the other?”

“It has to do with part of your collection. There appears to have been damage to a sketch, along with a shattered glass case.”

Rendell cleared his throat. “I didn't want to alarm you, my lord. The Turkish dagger above your mantel . . . Someone used it to stab your sketch of the Elgin Marbles. And left it displayed on your desk.”

Liam reeled at the news as if
he'd
been stabbed. His hand gripped the edge of the desk. It wasn't that he was fond of that sketch or even the dagger. No, instead he was alarmed. That sketch usually hung in an upstairs parlor,
not
in his study. He said as much to Hollycott, then made up his mind to go to Wolford House and sort out this mystery.

“With your injuries, are you certain that is wise, Wolford?” Boswick asked.

“While I am still on my feet, I should like to make use of them.” Liam appreciated the concern but felt guilt over it at the same time. “Besides, it is time that I leave, regardless. Your family has been more than generous. One day, I should like the opportunity to repay you.”

“As I have said before,” Boswick began, “it is not necessary. We were glad to be of service.”

This time Liam would not concede so easily. He was determined to make amends, even if his host—at least, he dearly hoped—was ignorant of the reason. “I should like to, all the same.”

After a moment, Boswick inclined his head. “As you will.”

“Then it is settled.” And so final. Part of Liam already felt the absence of their company. “If you have no other engagements, I would be honored if you would join us at Wolford House.”

Boswick inclined his head in agreement, then stepped apart to have a word with Mr. Finmore and Rendell.

As they made their way to the foyer, Hollycott studied the left side of Liam's face more closely. “Was this the result of an attack or a pugilism exercise?”

“The former,” Liam answered, “but I don't think it has any bearing on the burglaries.”

“It might surprise you. If I may, what happened?”

“I still don't recall everything, but I believe it must have transpired around the time I was leaving a masquerade. It was likely a jealous man because all I remember is one of the men saying, ‘
If you let her go, we could end this. Your choice, guvna.'
But since I do not possess any woman, I do not know of whom they were speaking. I'm certain the matter has sorted out itself.”

“How so?”

“Let's just say that I haven't been well enough to make any man jealous since.” Just then Liam spotted Adeline on the stairs. Even though he'd never concealed his nature from her, in that moment, he regretted speaking of it with his usual cavalier air.

Their gazes connected, and a pink blush slowly crept to her cheeks. Undeservedly, he felt the warmth of it burrow beneath his skin.

Boswick stepped forward. “My dear, would you please inform your mother that I am going out?”

“Yes, Father,” she said with a nod. Then her gaze alighted on Liam, her delicately arched brows drawing together. “Are
all
of you leaving?”

If he didn't know better, he'd swear he felt a tug of pleasure at the concern in her expression, in the soft rounding of her slender brows, the subtle pout of her lips. “Your father has been kind enough to accompany me to Wolford House this morning, Miss Pimm.”

“I will return shortly,” Boswick answered, ending their discussion as they walked out the door.

Liam, however, would not return. He almost said as much to Adeline, but he found he suddenly lacked the energy to bid her farewell. So he merely tipped his hat to her and walked out the door.

“Y
ou'll wear a path on the carpet, dear,” Mother said, when the sound of a carriage drew Adeline to the window. Again. “I would not expect their return so soon.”

Adeline peered out at the street, searching for the family landau from amongst a dozen others passing by. Ever since she learned of the burglary and saw her father and Liam walk out the door, she'd had a feeling that Liam would not return.

Of course, she knew he would leave eventually, when he was fully healed. But this was different. And drat it all, she was worried about him.

She didn't want to care about him. In fact, she'd been trying to keep her distance from him.

And look how well you've managed thus far
, she mocked. She nearly laughed aloud at the thought. Had she truly been trying when her lips were pressed against his? She certainly hadn't attempted to stop his kiss.
Their
kiss, she corrected. After all, she'd been as much a participant as he.

And then all night long, she told herself that she was glad to have gotten that out of her system. She could go through the rest of her life knowing exactly what kisses were meant to feel like. She would no longer be curious.

Then why was she so eager to kiss him again? Why was the pull to him even stronger than before?

It would be best not to ponder the answer, she was sure.

“
Their return
? Oh, you must mean father and Wolford. No, I thought perhaps that Juliet would pay a call this morning. She mentioned something to that effect last evening,” Adeline said, pretending to have another purpose for rising so frequently. She also didn't want her mother to think that she knew every thought in Adeline's head.

Mother did not look up from her sewing with any sort of speculation or surprise by this announcement. The least she could do was to fake believing her. “Then perhaps you should send word to the kitchen. See if Mrs. Simmons could prepare a tray. You might suggest the spiced scones.”

Adeline wished she'd have thought of that beforehand. It would have made her excuse more plausible. Nevertheless, she took the opportunity to ring the bell and alert Mrs. Simmons of their potential guests. Though, in part, Adeline felt rather foolish for her charade, as if she were ordering a full tea for her imaginary friends.

Then, the moment she sat down to study the ladies quarterly, someone rapped on the lion's head knocker on the outer door. Startled, she looked up so sharply that she felt a crick in her neck. Mother looked surprised as well.

Adeline recovered and said, “This must be Juliet now,” and sincerely hoped she was correct.

Mr. Finmore arrived at the parlor door, announcing the Duchess of Vale and Lady Granworth. Believing that their butler had misspoken, Adeline expected to see Wolford's aunt, the dowager duchess, arrive with Juliet. Instead, she was surprised to see Juliet accompanied by a young woman near her age, with white-blonde hair, winter-blue eyes, and flawless skin that glowed with her smile. In short, they were introduced to Ivy Bromley, the Duchess of Vale and wife of Wolford's cousin.

Shortly thereafter, they sat together, chatting amiably as if they were old acquaintances instead of new. And when the tray arrived from the kitchen, Adeline could have kissed Mrs. Simmons for how well it looked. Resting upon it sat a flowered teapot and tiered tray, laden with spiced scones, mincemeat tarts, and a walnut cake. To others it might have seemed ordinary, but to Adeline, it was the most splendid tea tray ever assembled. Because this was her first London tea and there wasn't a single guest present who had been forced to attend as part of a chore.

“The dowager duchess spoke highly of you and your family upon her return from the opera,” Ivy said, kindly pouring their tea. “Had it not been for a previous engagement, I would have insisted upon meeting you last night.”

“The generosity of the dowager duchess made the opera a wondrous experience. I am grateful beyond words,” Adeline said and then passed a cup and saucer to Juliet, secretly reveling in this simple act of hospitality. “And Lady Cosgrove is elegance personified.”

“Zinnia said the same of you,” Juliet added. “I believe her description of you was of an
easy grace and warmth
that charmed her from the start.”

Adeline blushed. She had not realized she made such a positive impression, but she was glad of it. More than that, she was relieved. Apparently no one had noticed her shuffled step.

“My husband planned to join me today to meet you and to visit Wolford. However, he stayed behind when he learned his cousin was no longer here. You see, our house is not too far from Wolford's in St. James,” Ivy said and frowned. “Terrible business. The house across from ours was burgled as well.”

Juliet reached across and squeezed Ivy's hand. “Thankfully you did not have to endure this trial. Though I do feel for Wolford. I'd heard that he had been burgled before.”