To Sin With A Scoundrel (30 page)

“The Prince of Darkness?” Alessandra rolled her eyes.

Ciara was puzzled. “I wasn’t aware that you had ever conversed with the gentleman.”

“We exchanged a few words when he was leaving your townhouse.” Alessandra slowly peeled a grape. “Had I known he spoke Italian,
I might have phrased my sentiments a little differently.”

“Oh, dear,” murmured Ariel. “I hope you were not too rude.”

The shrug was eloquent in itself. “What was I to assume, seeing him storm out of Ciara’s door at that hour of the day? I do
not believe in standing by meek as a mouse if someone is harassing my friend.” Alessandra popped the fruit into her mouth.
“Perhaps it was not very ladylike of me to call him a goat’s penis, but there is something about the man that simply rubs
me the wrong way.” After a tiny pause she added, “By the by, he knows a number of very naughty words in Roman slang.”

“I appreciate your loyalty, Alessa,” said Ciara. “But Lord James is on our side—or at least he is a neutral observer. I have
enough enemies as it is.”

Ariel reached over to pat her hand. “Don’t worry,

my dear. Hadley and his friends will take care of everything.”

“Would that I felt the same confidence,” she murmured. However, as her own private doubts were far too hard to unravel at
the moment, she chose not to elaborate. Seeing that Alessandra was about to speak, she quickly collected her notebooks and
rose. “Well, seeing as we are settled on a course of action, I had best return home and start packing.”

A
house party.” Jack looked skeptical as he followed Lucas out of White’s and into St. James’s Street. “You really think that
wise?”

“It is not exactly meant to be all fun and games,” said Lucas defensively. “Lady Sheffield can’t stay alone in her townhouse,
not after what happened last night. Her late husband’s family is getting more brazen.”

“Or more desperate,” said Jack.

Lucas quickened his pace and turned down one of the side streets. “The same thought has occurred to me, of course. But it
doesn’t quite make sense. In many ways, time seems to favor Sheffield’s family. They can simply sit back and wait for their
lethal lies to poison Ciara.”

“Perhaps they fear that once she is remarried, and becomes reacquainted with the
ton,
it will not be so easy to slander her character.”

“But…” began Lucas.

“They don’t know the engagement is a sham,” Jack pointed out. They walked on in silence for a few strides before his friend
asked, “Is there any reason they would break into her workroom?”

“Not really,” he answered. “She is working on deciphering an ancient manuscript, which may have some value for the government.
But there is no way Sheffield’s family could know about that. Lady Ciara hasn’t told a soul, save for her scientific friends,
who are very discreet.”

“And you?”

“Hell, no.” He hesitated. “Well, I might have hinted something of the sort to Ingalls, Greeley, and Farnam, but they promised
to keep mum on the subject.”

Jack greeted the statement with a snort. “Are you daft? That trio of loose-lipped tattlemongers stay silent? By now, the news
has been trumpeted all over Town with God knows how many embellishments.”

“It may have been a tactical error,” conceded Lucas. “But that’s yet another reason I need to get her away from London.” He
consulted his list of items needed for the trip. “Why don’t you come join us for a few days? You’ve been spending too much
time in the gaming hells lately. A breath of fresh air might do you good.”

“Spare me the lecture on virtuous living.” His friend made a face. “Who else is going?”

“My uncle and Lady Ariel Gracechurch have volunteered to serve as chaperones,” replied Lucas. “Oh, and the Marchesa della
Giamatti.”

“The lady with the mouth,” muttered Jack.

Lucas grinned. “Aye, it is quite a lovely one.”

“What comes out of it could blister the paint off of a forty-gun frigate.”

“Lady Giamatti?” Lucas shook his head in disbelief. “You are exaggerating.”

His friend gave a baleful grimace. “Trust me, I am not.”

“Oh, come now, she’s the very picture of Renaissance refinement.”

“Don’t forget that the Renaissance included the likes of Machiavelli and the Borgias,” shot back Jack.

As they passed Silliman’s Sporting Emporium, Lucas was distracted from further comment by the shop window. “Wait here while
I run inside. I’ll just be a moment.”

His friend grumbled, but gave a curt wave. “Try to hurry. I’ve a date to meet De Quincy at the Wolf’s Lair.”

The purchases were concluded quickly, but when he came out, Jack was nowhere to be seen. “Damn,” swore Lucas under his breath.
He, too, was pressed for time. Looking around, he finally spotted his friend in the adjoining arcade, perusing the wares of
a print shop. He was about to call out when a lady emerged from the establishment next door.

Alessandra della Giamatti.
Following right on her heels was a gentleman. They looked to be having a heated exchange of words.

Frowning, Lucas ducked through the archway, but before he could come to the lady’s defense, Jack intervened.

“You heard the marchesa, Ghiradelli,” said Jack in a tight voice. “She asked you to leave her alone. Whatever the manners
are in Milano, here in London a gentleman is expected to honor such a request.”

“Mind your own business,
stronzo,
” snapped the other man.

Lucas hung back, hidden in the shadows, loath to interrupt. He vaguely recognized the fellow as a flashy young nobleman from
the north of Italy, lately arrived in Town. Giovanni Marco Musto della Ghiradelli already had earned quite a reputation for
his rakish ways with the ladies. However, Alessandra did not appear to be charmed by his attentions.

After darting the conte a dark look, she turned to Jack, her eyes sparking with ill-concealed ire. “Really, sir. You may save
your heroics for some silly English chit who is in need of rescuing. I can handle this on my own.”

“
Si,
si,
the lady is convinced that she can take care of herself,” drawled Ghiradelli. “If I were you, I wouldn’t get too close. She
has a dangerous temper.”

Alessandra’s aristocratic face turned red, and then white.

Jack didn’t budge. “Sorry, code of honor compels me to see that this macaroni stops harassing you in public.”

“Men.”
She clenched her teeth in exasperation. “You and your silly rules. Both of you may go to the devil.”

“The marchesa does not like rules,” snapped Ghiradelli.

“But I do,” countered Jack. “And Polite Society has strict ones about embarrassing a lady. So take your leave, before my boot
quickens your step.”

“Careful,
amico,
” said Ghiradelli. “Another word and I will shove those pearly teeth of yours down to the bottom of your bowels.”

“I would like to see you try,” retorted Jack.

“No,” said the conte softly. “You would not.”

Lucas had heard enough. He stepped out of the shadows before things could turn ugly.

“Ah, there you are, Jack.” He tipped his hat po-

litely to Alessandra. “Good afternoon, Lady Giamatti. A lovely day for a stroll, is it not?” He inclined a nod to the conte.
“Lord Ghiradelli? I believe we met at Lady Wilder’s soirée.”

“Si.”
Ghiradelli narrowed his eyes in annoyance, but he backed off with an exaggerated bow. “
Ciao, signora
. I will leave you to your English admirers. But reminiscing about our homeland brings back such sentimental memories—I look
forward to continuing our conversation very soon.”

Alessandra’s smile remained frozen in place, but Lucas saw a flush of color creep to her cheekbones. She remained silent until
the conte disappeared around the corner and then let out her breath in a huff.

“Really, sir,” she said in a low voice, fixing Jack with a glare. “Next time you wish to play the knight in shining armor,
rattle your sword for someone else.”

“You might say
grazie,
” muttered Jack.

She snapped something in Italian.

Lucas guessed it was not a word of thanks.

“Now, if you will excuse me, I have errands to finish,” added the marchesa. “As you see, my maid is waiting for me next door,
so I have no need of an escort.”

“What was that all about?” he murmured as Alessandra stalked off.

“Don’t ask me,” growled Jack. “Talk about a haughty, hellfire female. I swear, she is worse than a bear with a thorn in his—or
her—arse.”

“A lovely arse, though,” observed Lucas.

“God help any man who tries to pursue it.” His friend’s expression darkened as he watched the silky sway of her hips. “It’s
not worth the aggravation.”

“Speaking of aggravation, Jack.” Lucas was once again serious. “I’m leaving at first light to take Lady Sheffield and the
others to the country. So I need your help tracking down another clue on the ruffian who rode roughshod over me in the park…”

Ciara listened to the faint echo of the ocean washing up against the rocky cliffs. There was a certain comforting rhythm to
the sound of the sea.
Ebb and flow.
An elemental reminder that life was constantly in motion.

Her hands gripped the window latch. If only her own life were not caught in such dangerous crosscurrents.

Here, at least, there seemed to be an air of tranquility. Cracking the casement, she lifted her cheeks to the soft caress
of the salty breeze. From what she had seen so far, Sir Henry’s estate was indeed a sanctuary of splendid solitude.
A safe harbor from the threatening storm.
Dusk deepened the ridge behind the manor house to a haze of purpled shadows. Crickets chirped, and off in the distance a
lone owl hooted.

All things considered, the trip from London had gone quite smoothly. Sir Henry had a special traveling coach, designed to
accommodate his infirmity, and with the earl’s constant cosseting at every stop along the way, Ciara did not doubt that the
elderly baron had passed the hours in comfort. As for her own party, between Peregrine’s lively chatter and Ariel’s calming
company, the journey had been a pleasant one.

Once they had turned off the main road near the coast, it quickly became clear that there were few inhabitants in the area.
Indeed, over the last few miles of the journey, she hadn’t seen another dwelling, and the entrance to the manor’s winding
drive was guarded by a large stone gatehouse.

Henry had made a point of informing her that it was inhabited by a gamekeeper and his family of four sturdy sons.

It was hard to imagine that Sheffield’s family would dare to try and make trouble for her here. They would watch and wait.

But Ciara was tired of cowering, of waiting for their next move. It was time to confront their slanderous lies.
The question was how.

Despite the rigors of the road, Ciara was too restless for sleep. A simple supper had been served on their arrival, though
Henry and Ariel had chosen to take refreshment in their own rooms and retire for the night. The meal had passed pleasantly
enough, despite having only Hadley and her son for company. There was still a frisson of tension between her and the earl,
but Peregrine’s peppering of questions about country life had kept the mood light. Alessandra and Isabella were due to arrive
the day after the morrow, which would provide a welcome distraction from his company.

The more, the merrier, she thought wryly.

A shout from the lawns below drew her gaze. Streaks of pink and gold light still lingered in the sky, casting a mellow glow
over her cavorting son. A large, hairy hound was chasing after a stick, much to Peregrine’s delight. Hadley was laughing,
too, his dark hair curling in boyish disarray around his collar as he wiped his hands on his trousers.

No doubt his valet would have a fit of apoplexy, seeing the sticky streak of mud and dog saliva now marring the superfine
wool.

Looking up at that moment, he waved to her.

Ciara turned away quickly from the mullioned glass, pretending she hadn’t seen the gesture. But much as she wished to be angry
with him, she found it hard to remain resentful over the manner in which he had taken charge of her affairs.

Manhandled.
A part of her chafed at his tactics, for she had been bullied enough in her life. And yet, a part of her was weak enough
to welcome his assuming control. Ciara watched as the reflection of the setting sun cast quicksilver patterns of light and
dark across her bed. Her own emotions were equally ill-defined. The edges blurred, the shapes shifted in the blink of an eye.

“Mama!”

Sighing, Ciara returned to the window.

“Isn’t Mephisto magnificent?” Peregrine wrestled free of the dog’s slobbering tongue. “Hadley says he has sired a litter of
puppies and that I may have one—that is, if you agree.”

“We shall see,” she called. “But for now, you must come up and finish your bathing in your bedchamber.”

“But Mama! I’m not tired.”

“Your mama is right.” Lucas took hold of the animal’s collar. “It’s nearly dark, and we’ve all had a long day.”