What an Earl Wants (5 page)
She still didn’t know how she felt about his refusal. Relieved,
definitely. Not that she wasn’t willing to make any sacrifice in order to gain
custody of Adam; although the gesture had been rather melodramatic, hadn’t it?
My body for my brother.
She’d been offering the
man a bite of candy when he already had bought up half the stores of sweets
throughout London.
And yet, ashamed as she was now, in the clear light of day, she
felt insulted, as well. He hadn’t even seemed
interested.
If anything, he’d seemed amused.
She’d been too blatant. Even now, she felt hot color racing
into her cheeks as she thought of how she’d behaved. Misbehaved. Her body for
her brother? How stupid! The man could have any woman he wanted just by cricking
a finger in her direction.
And, according to Richard, he already did.
Two
mistresses? And a pair of
ton
ladies to boot? That seemed excessive. The man was
more his father’s son than he might wish people to think. And again—he wore the
golden rose.
“I
have
to get Adam out of there,
no matter what I must do to best the man!” she exclaimed aloud, punching her
gloved fist into her palm, refusing to consider she might be sounding very much
like some overwrought and probably hare-witted heroine in a melodrama.
Still, her determination lasted throughout the quarter-hour
journey to Portman Square through the heavy midmorning traffic. But when the
coach halted, and she was helped down to the flagway in front of the imposing
facade of the Redgrave mansion, a tiny voice in the back of her head whispered
less confidently, “How do you propose to do that, exactly?”
Shaking off the question, she reminded herself her brother was
behind that large black door with the lion’s head knocker. She put out her chin
as a mental battering ram and headed inside as if she was accustomed to being
welcomed in the finest London houses.
“Mrs. Linden, to see his lordship,” she said imperiously as she
stripped off her gloves and untied her bonnet, even as she belatedly realized
Doreen should be standing just behind her to take possession of the things.
Stupid! How could she have forgotten she was to be chaperoned at all times? This
was what living her catch-as-catch-can life for the past five years had done to
her; she kept forgetting she wasn’t supposed to be able to fend for herself. She
should have brought Seth, that’s what she should have done. Protection, indeed!
She’d never needed more than Richard and his heavy club at the gaming house.
Here in Portman Square, an entire regiment of Seths probably wouldn’t come
amiss!
She shoved both bonnet and gloves at the footman. “His
lordship, young man. See to it.”
“If you was to wait here, ma’am,” the fairly astonished-looking
footman said, indicating the open door to what had to be the ground-floor room
reserved for tradesmen and those petitioners seeking interviews.
Her fingers still at her throat, as she’d been about to untie
the closing of her pelisse, Jessica looked through a dull red haze of anger to
the curving staircase that led to the first floor, and then to the small room.
“Oh, I think not. I’ve reconsidered my visit. Kindly inform his lordship I have
been and gone.”
So saying, she retrieved her bonnet and gloves from the clearly
relieved footman, and quit the house. She stood on the top step of the portico
as she retied her bonnet and pulled on her gloves, realizing that the coach was
now slowly circling the square, so that the horses should not be forced to stand
while she was inside.
Well, that presented a problem, didn’t it? Not to mention
putting quite the crimp in her grand exit. She wasn’t about to go running after
it, crying
yoo-hoo,
waving it down. Besides, she’d
had just about enough of his lordship’s
courtesy
for
one morning. She had two feet, and she knew how to use them.
She looked to her left, and then to her right. Two feet, yes.
Now if only she knew what direction in which to point them....
“Ma’am?”
Jessica turned about slowly, to see that the footman had opened
the door behind her, probably to warn her to take herself off, as loitering on
his lordship’s doorstep was not allowed.
“I’m going,” she said tightly. “You don’t have to apply the
boot.”
“Oh, but, ma’am, you’re to come inside. Please.”
She whirled about in her anger, skewering the footman with a
look meant to set him back a step, which it did. “I am, am I? You’d be wrong
there. I don’t have to go anywhere. That might be something you could tell his
lordship. I’m not his to command.”
“No, ma’am. That is to say, ma’am, it was me what thought to
put you in the...that is to say, his lordship is awaiting your pleasure in the
drawing room. Ma’am?”
All the anger in Jessica drained away. The footman had made a
valid assumption. She wasn’t dressed in the first stare, Lord knew. She’d
arrived unaccompanied. What else was the man to think but that she’d been
summoned, perhaps to interview for some domestic position? Ha! If the earl were
to do the interviewing, a
position
would
definitely be involved!
“Very well.” She reentered the mansion, feeling slightly
abashed, which was enough to bring back her anger. She’d no idea she was so
prickly; she’d always believed herself to be a pleasant person at the heart of
the thing. “What is your name?” she asked the footman kindly as, yet again, she
handed over her belongings.
“Waters, ma’am,” the youth said, bowing as he laid her pelisse
over his arm. “I’ll be taking you upstairs now and turning you over to, that is
to say, where Mr. Thorndyke will announce you to his lordship. And thank you
again, ma’am.”
“You did as you were trained, I’m sure,” Jessica told him,
handing over a coin. “The error was mine. Was his lordship that rough on
you?”
Waters bowed again, not quite fast enough to hide his relieved
smile. “His lordship could blister paint with that tongue of his, ma’am. But not
on me, ma’am. Not this time. It was Mr. Thorndyke what explained how I was
wrong. He’s not half bad.”
Jessica shot a look up the staircase, to where she could see a
tall, gray-haired man, most probably Thorndyke, waiting for her. She was being
passed along to the Upper Reaches. How fortunate she was.
“Really? In other words, Waters, he’ll be escorting me into the
lion’s den. Lucky for me, then, I’m no lamb.”
“Ma’am?” the footman all but squeaked, looking nervous once
more.
“I’ll make my own way up the stairs,” she told him. “Just don’t
put my things too far away, as I might be needing them again quite shortly.”
So saying, she lifted her hem a fraction and her chin a
fraction more before heading up the staircase, her gaze already locked with that
of the butler, or majordomo, or whatever the man considered himself, and by the
look of him he considered himself at least two social levels above that of his
lordship’s visitor.
And all for the lack of a maid, or a maiden aunt, or some paid
companion. Really, society was a set of ridiculous rules. She was well out of
it. Were she a man, none of this would apply, and she’d already be sitting in
the drawing room with one leg draped over the other, sipping wine instead of the
tea she’d be offered, if she was offered anything at all.
And from the looks of Thorndyke, she wouldn’t be.
“Mrs. Linden to see his lordship, who already knows I’m here,
so that we’d all three of us be wasting our time pretending he doesn’t,” she
announced before Waters, who had quickly divested himself of her belongings and
was hurrying up the stairs after her, could open his mouth. “Just point me in
the right direction and you can go back to polishing the silver, or stealing it,
whichever pleases you.”
The butler opened and closed his mouth a time or two before
drawing himself up even straighter than before and motioning to the pair of
closed doors to the left of the wide hallway.
“Good. At least we’re done with foolishness,” Jessica declared,
her head positively spinning, and knowing she was being ridiculous. But as
ridiculousness seemed to be the order of the day, why should she attempt to put
a stop to it now?
Of course, that left her with either throwing open the double
doors in some dramatic gesture of defiance or knocking on one of them and
waiting to be admitted. She probably should have thought of that. She probably
should give some thought to the embarrassing realization that she hadn’t been
thinking at all since first encountering the Earl of Saltwood, devil take his
hide.
“A
LLOW
ME
,
MA
’
AM
,”
Thorndyke said, stepping ahead of Jessica. He opened a single
door and stepped inside. “My lord? I’m happy to say, sir, Waters caught her for
you.” He then stepped back out and bowed her in, his smile and rather knowing
wink nearly causing her to trip over her own feet as she entered the drawing
room, only to be stopped again, this time by a pair of sniffing, tumbling
dogs.
“Brutus! Cleo! Withdraw!”
The dogs, large puppies, really, and of some indeterminate
breed, immediately turned their backs on her, to take up positions on either
side of the Earl of Saltwood, who was standing in the very center of the
enormous room, looking for all the world as if he’d only lately crawled out of
bed.
Gone was the impeccable attire of the previous evening; this
was a gentleman at home, and making himself very much at home, indeed. Clad only
in buckskins and a white lawn shirt, and minus waistcoat, jacket and cravat, his
hair a tumble of dark curls, he held a glass of wine in one hand and something
rather limp and filthy in the other.
“I was led to believe I was expected,” Jessica said, staring at
the limp and filthy thing. “Is that dead?”
Gideon held up the object in question, which proved to be a
crude cloth replica of a rabbit, half its stuffing gone. Both dogs, still
sitting up smartly, began to whimper piteously, one of them wagging its tail so
violently its entire back end shook. “This? I’m merely training these two young
miscreants to avoid temptation.”
Jessica eyed the back-end-wriggling dog. “I see. It’s always
good to avoid temptation. And how is that going?”
“It could be better.” He tossed the rabbit in the general
direction of the windows as two canine heads whipped about to follow its arc of
flight. The whimpering increased. The dog on the left, the back-end wriggler,
began to inch across the carpet on its rump. “Brutus! Stay!”
The dog looked to its master, its brown eyes eloquent with
pleading, before scooting sideways another inch.
“St-ay,” Gideon warned again, dragging out the word.
“It’s late for a wager, I know, but a fiver the male gives in
and the bitch stays put.”
“Your blunt really just on Cleo, as that idiot Brutus probably
won’t last more than another ten seconds,” Gideon said, nodding.
“Less. Ten seconds is an eternity. And the bitch resists.
That’s the wager.”
The earl nodded. “All right. Done.”
Brutus tried, he really did. His agony was palpable, his need
immense. He actually made it for another four seconds (Jessica counted them off
aloud), before he gave in to temptation and pounced on the rabbit.
Cleo watched, yawned widely and then turned in a circle before
settling herself in front of the fireplace.
Jessica approached his lordship, her hand extended, palm up.
“That’s five pounds you owe me, my lord. Men always give in to temptation, and
for the most part, sooner rather than later.”
His smile had something clenching deep in her belly. “With
women more apt to follow orders. Obey.”
She rallied at this suggestion, clenching belly ignored.
“Hardly. She’s merely waiting for a better offer, one she doesn’t have to
share.”
“And now we’re not speaking of dogs,” Gideon said, waving her
to the nearest sofa. “Please, be seated.”
She waited for him to say something about his attire, some sort
of offhand apology for appearing without jacket or waistcoat, at the least. But
he looked so at his ease she didn’t really expect it. Rather, it was as if he
was saying,
This is my home and I do what I want, when I
want, where I want, up to and including tossing filthy cloth rabbits in this
splendidly appointed drawing room.
“Comfortable, Gideon?” she finally asked as, still holding his
wineglass, he took up a seat on the facing sofa.
Once again he smiled, and once again, that certain clenching
feeling took hold in her belly. “I was wondering how long it would take until
you had to say something. All I can answer is to quote you, I suppose. I dislike
encumbrances.”
“Loathe. I believe I said
loathe.
”
He shrugged. “A female word. In either case, let it be said we
both enjoy being comfortable. There’s a reason gentlemen stand so tall in their
finery, you know. Mostly it’s because we can’t bend, or even remove our own
jackets, and risk slicing off our earlobes with our shirt-points if we turn our
necks independently of our head and shoulders.”
He’s trying to make me like him,
Jessica thought angrily. He’s saying without words:
Look at
me, I’m a simple man. I may be Earl of Saltwood, but at the heart of things
I’m only a man, one who loves his dogs and his comforts. I’m not who you
think I am, your brother is safe with me.
Either that, or he was returning her favor of last night,
already half stripped and ready for seduction. There was also that. Was that
what Thorndyke’s wink had been all about? Did the servants think she’d been
sent
for, only surprised when she’d shown up at
the front door? The thought had already occurred to her downstairs.
Good God, yes, that was it! He was about to take her
up on her offer. Here. Right here. Probably on the floor, just to double the
insult. After all, he was a Redgrave, and above nothing. And she’d come here
today like a dog called to heel. She’d
obeyed.
She had to know. She felt horribly certain she was right, but
she had to know.
“My brother, Gideon. He’s here? He’s not, is he? You’ve sent
him away. You haven’t even so much as told him about me.”
Brutus had finished with the rabbit, that hadn’t put up much of
a fight in any case, and was now sitting beside Gideon, his head on the man’s
knee. The earl scratched him behind the ears, clearly all forgiven. “Hmm?” he
said, redirecting his gaze to her. “I’m sorry?”
“No, you aren’t,” Jessica said, getting to her feet. “I don’t
know what sort of mean game you’re about, my Lord Saltwood, but I am not playing
it. My brother, sir. Or else I’ll find my way to the door.”
The dark eyes, moments earlier open and amused, narrowed to
dark slits. The friendliness was gone, leaving only the man. The menace. The
reputation.
“Not if I don’t want you to,” he said, rising, as well. “You do
perceive the difference between now and last night, I’m sure. That is what
you’re thinking of, isn’t it? You, without a chaperone, clearly a
knowing
woman, appearing as requested at a bachelor
establishment—worse, at the domicile of one of those rascally reprobate
Redgraves. Even that lunkhead of a footman saw the way of things. But, please,
continue this belated show of astonishment if you must. I’m amenable either way,
actually, although I would prefer you don’t prolong the pretense until it
becomes tiresome. In other words, I’ll play, but I will not lower myself to
halfheartedly chasing you around the furniture. It might upset the dogs.”
Oh, God. He was big. He was so big. Handsome into the bargain,
yes, but mostly, he was so big. She couldn’t outrun him. His servants would be
of no help to her. He was right. She’d come here of her own free will. She ran a
gaming house. She was no lady, disowned by her own father. She was nothing,
nobody, not anymore. No one would care....
“You wouldn’t dare,” she said even as she backed up a step,
shot her gaze toward the doors. The closed doors.
“I wouldn’t? Very well, I did agree to play. I’ll oblige you,
if that’s how you like it. Let’s see, how shall I say this? I suppose I’ll
simply say the expected.”
He took another sanity-destroying step toward her. “Ah, Mrs.
Linden, as you very well know, there is little I wouldn’t dare. And, out of your
own mouth, little you wouldn’t offer. I’ve considered that offer rather
pleasantly overnight, deciding a month of your services to be sufficient to my
needs, six weeks at the outside, before you bore me. But in the cold light of
day I realized I would be remiss if I were to agree to such a bargain without
first tasting the wares. For all I know, you might not be very good at
pleasuring a man of my peculiar tastes.”
She grabbed at the fragile straw that he was only trying to
frighten her, pay her some of her own back for the pistol, if nothing else. The
odds weren’t in her favor, but she had no options, none. She’d have to stand her
ground.
Bluff,
knowing she held the inferior
hand.
He took another step toward her and reached out, trailing his
index finger from the base of her neck to the modest bodice of her gown, hooking
that finger inside the fabric and tugging on it. “Is that red hair a promise, or
a tease? Is your willing body lying beneath mine a proposition worth my
consideration? Tell me, Jessica.
Are
you any good?
Convince me.”
“I’ve only to scream for help.” Her voice shook with the fear
she was trying so hard to conceal.
“Be my guest. But remember, my staff is loyal to me. And, being
a Redgrave staff, they are doubtless used to all sorts of noises, including
feminine shrieks.”
Then she was nudged from the side, nearly losing her balance
before looking down to see Cleo had roused herself from her nap and somehow
insinuated her body between them. The bitch had the rabbit between her jaws and
was nudging at Jessica as if asking her to come away and play with her.
Or was the dog attempting to save her? It was a highly unlikely
yet lovely thought.
“Does she attack on command?” Jessica said, putting her hand
atop Gideon’s and pointedly removing it from her bodice. “If she were to feel I
were under some sort of duress, you understand?”
Gideon looked down at the hopeful dog and smiled, shook his
head. All the dark menace was gone, replaced by that insufferable smile. “A good
question. You’re a cool one, aren’t you, Jessica? Although Cleo here apparently
sniffs something amiss. Fear, perhaps? That would be disturbing and quite puts a
crimp in my assumptions, doesn’t it? No matter what, it would appear you’ve been
granted a reprieve. You wanted to see your brother. I’ll have Thorndyke fetch
him.”
“What?” All that talk, those threats and then...nothing?
Damn him.
She watched in astonished relief as he walked over to the bell
pull, blindly stepping back until the backs of her legs came in contact with the
edge of the sofa, at which point she sat down with a thump. Cleo deposited the
fairly damp rabbit in her lap and then lay down, her head on Jessica’s feet.
Jessica bent down to rub behind the dog’s ears. “He may have
been all bluster and having some of his own back, you know. Males are like that,
always wanting the upper hand, or at least to make sure we females think they’ve
got it,” she whispered to the animal. “He only did what I would have expected
from him. Yes, that’s it. I don’t believe he actually would have done
anything...possibly. Perhaps. But thank you.”
Thorndyke entered the room a few moments later, doing a fine
job of pretending he wasn’t looking at Jessica, and then retired with a bow
after being ordered to produce young master Collier, who had been last seen by
his lordship slopping up eggs in the breakfast room.
Jessica considered this. Did a man, even a Redgrave, seduce a
woman while that woman’s brother was in the same house? No, he did not. He’d
merely, meanly, meant to frighten her, give her some of her own back (sans
pistol, thank goodness, not that the man wasn’t a weapon unto himself). And he’d
succeeded, admirably. Again,
damn the man!
“Then you did tell him I would be here this morning?” she asked
as Gideon picked up his wineglass once more and retook his seat.
“I warned him to get his backside out of bed before two, which
is not his custom. I doubt he’ll be pleased to meet anyone less than a scantily
clad harem girl wishing to have him recline against her lap whilst she fed him
sugared figs.”
“Don’t measure others by your own yardstick, Gideon,” Jessica
warned tightly. “He’s not a Redgrave.”
Gideon chuckled softly. “Oh, yes, we Redgraves are mightily
high on sugared figs.”
Jessica glared at him. “That wasn’t the part of your
description I was alluding to, my lord. It’s a well-known fact the Redgraves are
prone to excesses of a...of a...” She was at a loss as to how to finish that
statement. “You’re prone to excesses,” she finally ended, lamely. After all, if
she had ended with “of a carnal nature,” he would most probably have laughed so
hard he would have fallen off the sofa. She believed she was beginning to get a
sort of figurative
handle
on the man now, understand
him better. In short, he was a menace!
“Really? We’re that bad? I had no idea. Although, clearly, you
seemed to have been lapping up tales of the infamous Redgravian debauchery. You
should have seen your eyes, Jessica. You believed every word I said.”
He had her there. It wasn’t as if she’d any certain knowledge
of
Redgravian debauchery.
She’d certainly heard
about his lordship’s light’s-o-love.
Four
mistresses? That seemed excessive and spoke of an unhealthy appetite, in her
opinion. She knew he was a neck-or-nothing rider who often wagered on himself in
races and had yet to lose. She knew he had knocked down Gentleman Jackson not
once, but twice, until the renowned pugilist had declared he wouldn’t step in
the ring with him again. She knew he won all the top prizes driving with the
Four-in-Hand Club. She knew he gambled deep but never wildly. She knew he had no
enemies because even the most foolish of London gentlemen perceived the wisdom
of calling him friend.
She had, in short, made a study of the man, indeed his entire
family, these past weeks. But, really, when she got right down to it, she didn’t
know anything about the current crop of Redgraves but what she’d heard.