The Art of Sinning (23 page)

And Jeremy's obligation to
her
would be fulfilled, as well. If he chose to leave, she had no way to compel him to stay, the paintings notwithstanding.

“Are you all right?” Jeremy asked softly as he re­­entered the room.

She blinked back her tears. She would die before she let him see how upset she'd become over his
leaving. “I'm fine. I just . . . can't believe they were able to find him.”

He came over to place his hand comfortingly on her waist. “Yes, well—”

The door opened and Edwin entered. “Don't let me interrupt,” her brother said in an unusually jovial voice. “I see that you've told her, Keane. And I assume that since you've called me in, she has accepted your offer.”

“What offer?” Yvette stared at Jeremy, whose hand was still on her waist, and the answer hit her. “You've already asked my brother for permission to marry me?”

“Yes.” His eyes locked with hers. “This morning before anyone arrived. He said that his answer is dependent upon yours.” He took her hand. “And so is my future. So I do hope you'll say yes.”

She noticed he hadn't mentioned love or any great yearning for her company, or anything else to indicate that his feelings about her had changed since last night. Before she leapt willy-nilly into his arms, she had to determine if he was still just offering for her out of duty.

“Why do you wish to marry me?” she asked.

With a furtive glance at Edwin, he murmured, “You know why.”

“Actually, I don't. Pray enlighten me.”

Would he reveal what they'd done together? Or drum up some other reason they ought to wed?

He just stared at her, looking frustrated. It
was
as she'd feared. He was marrying her because it was the right thing to do.

She drew her hand from his. “I'm sorry, Mr. Keane, but—”

“No, don't refuse me yet. At least think about it.” His eyes burned into hers, full of feeling. Why couldn't he express it?

But he was right. She should not refuse him out of hand. “Very well. I shall take some time to consider the offer.”

“Wait a minute, Yvette,” Edwin said. “If he wasn't asking you to marry him when I came in, what the devil
was
he doing?”

Oh, dear. Time to be honest with Edwin.

Forcing a smile, she turned to her brother. “It turns out that Mr. Keane has managed to locate Miss Peggy Moreton and her child.” As she saw the shock spreading over Edwin's face, she gulped down apprehension. “You'll be pleased to hear that Samuel's son has been found at last.”

Twenty-Three

Jeremy tensed. Blakeborough didn't
look
pleased. He wore an expression of betrayal, as if he'd just been kicked in the ballocks.

An unfamiliar sort of guilt settled in Jeremy's chest. He'd had few close friends in his life, and he'd certainly never betrayed one.

Then Blakeborough turned his anger on Yvette. “You told Keane about Samuel's supposed by-blow. And about that . . . that
woman
.”

Jeremy's guilt vanished, replaced by an instinctual need to protect Yvette. “Yes, she told me.” He moved in front of her. “She needed to confide in someone who could help her decide how to act. And as I explained this morning, she and I grew quite close during our time together doing her portrait.”

“Really?” the earl snapped. “I was there, too, and I don't recall talking about my damned brother and the damned request he made of my sister.”

“Edwin—” Yvette began.

“You forget that she and I didn't work all the
time.” Jeremy fumbled for an explanation of how they'd grown so intimate. “We danced together at the masquerade ball. Occasionally, you left us alone with Damber so you could attend to estate work.”

“So now your insolent apprentice knows my family's business as well?” Blakeborough roared.

“Stop it, Edwin!” Yvette cried. “I told Mr. Keane about Samuel the first night I met him, when we danced. I said the only way I would agree to sit for a portrait was if he found my nephew for me.”

That halted the earl's fury right well.

Jeremy wished he'd thought of that explanation himself. It made perfect sense, and was nearly the truth, too.

Blakeborough scowled at her. “You were that desperate—”

“Yes!” She pushed past Jeremy, headed for her brother. “I told you how upset I was.” When she reached Blakeborough, she softened her voice into the same understanding murmur that had made Jeremy spill his own secrets to her last night. “But it's all right. The Duke's Men are very discreet. And Mr. Keane made it clear to them that he regarded the investigation as a personal favor. They will not betray
his
secrets, even if they're not too fond of Samuel.”

Jeremy watched as the anger in the earl's face slowly subsided. And she thought she had no influence over him? Her brother might have a bit of a temper and a rigid code of behavior and a pride stiff enough to hoist a mountain, but clearly he cared about his sister.

The earl drew into himself. “So I suppose that's why Bonnaud is here.”

“Yes,” she said. “He brought his report. Shall I call him in so he can give it? We need to decide what to do.”

Though Blakeborough set his shoulders like a man preparing for battle, he grumbled, “Might as well. The cat's out of the bag now, isn't it?”

“Out and apparently on a rampage,” Yvette muttered as she went into the hall.

The earl rounded on Jeremy. “You knew about Samuel all this time. And you agreed to go behind my back to find out—”

“Forgive me. The friendlier you and I became, the worse I felt about it. But honestly, your sister would have done something foolish if no one had helped her with the matter. I figured it was better that Manton's Investigations, with their vast experience, do the looking than that she do it on her own, which is what she proposed.”

All right, so he was heaping lies upon lies. But Yvette deserved to be shielded. Because while the earl clearly wasn't as critical of her as she thought, he still wouldn't look kindly upon her activities the night of the masquerade ball.

“Now you understand why I thought you should tell her about Samuel,” Jeremy went on. “I hoped it might keep her from behaving rashly.”

Blakeborough drew himself up as if to retort, but before he could, Bonnaud and Yvette returned.

“So,” the earl told Bonnaud, “I understand that Mr. Keane engaged you for an assignment involving my feckless brother's trail of mistresses. I'm surprised you even agreed to take it on, given how he injured your family.”

Bonnaud shrugged. “My family—my brother—injured you by stealing your fiancée. So I figure we're even.”

For a long moment, Blakeborough just stared at the man. Then he gave a grudging smile. “Stole her
back
, one might say. But I suppose you're right. And I do appreciate your help in the matter.” He cast a glance at Jeremy. “Even if I don't appreciate that it was requested without my knowledge.”

“To be fair,” Bonnaud said, “Mr. Keane didn't feel we should bother you with it until we could be sure there was something to your brother's claim.”

“Ah,” the earl said, as if that settled everything, which they all knew it did not. “I take it that you've decided there
was
something to Samuel's claim.”

“Yes.” And with that, Bonnaud launched into a dispassionate recital of everything he'd found.

Jeremy had heard most of it already. How Bonnaud had tracked Miss Moreton down. Where he'd learned she was staying. What had been done to determine if the boy Elias was truly Samuel's son.

Though Jeremy tried to pay attention to the conversation, he couldn't help being distracted by Yvette. She'd been on the verge of refusing his offer, and the fact that she wouldn't even look at him worried him. What if she
did
refuse him? How would he live with himself, knowing that he'd ruined her for any other man?

Not that he wanted to see her with another man. The very idea made him surprisingly hot under the collar.

“What do you think I should do, Keane?”

“Hmm?” Jeremy jerked his gaze from Yvette.
“Sorry, Blakeborough. I'm afraid I was woolgathering.”

The earl glanced from him to Yvette. “Bonnaud says that Miss Moreton is eager to give up all claim to the boy. But I don't want to be tricked into supporting a child that isn't my brother's, all because a soiled dove wants to marry some gentleman.”

Jeremy could understand why. From what Bonnaud had said, Blakeborough was already supporting Samuel's last mistress and babe. “Then meet with Miss Moreton yourself. Ask her your questions, and see how she responds.”

The earl's lips thinned. “That's all well and good for you to say, but I'm not adept at assessing people's reactions and figuring out whether they're lying.”

“Mr. Keane is,” Yvette put in. “So take him with you. The two of you ought to be able to figure it out together. Or I could go—”

“No,” Blakeborough said firmly. “You are not going. That would be entirely unwise.”

“I agree with your brother,” Jeremy told her. “Involving you is unacceptable.” When she blinked at him, clearly startled by his vehemence, Jeremy softened his tone. “But I promise to act as your representative in this matter. It would be my honor.”

The sudden softness in her gaze started an unfamiliar fluttering in his belly. “Very well,” she said. “But if I am not to go, I want to know one thing.” She turned an anxious gaze on Bonnaud. “When you met with Miss Moreton, was the boy there?”

“Elias? Yes.”

She folded her hands together at her waist as if to hold her emotions in. “How did he seem?”

“He wasn't suffering, if that's what you're worried about. But he was also very quiet. Too quiet for a four-year-old, if you ask me.” When worry crossed her face, Bonnaud added hastily, “But then, I don't know much about children.”

She nodded, but her concerned expression didn't abate.

Jeremy hated seeing it. “We'll set things right, sweetheart. I promise you.”

The endearment made Yvette glance nervously at Bonnaud, but the investigator took a sudden interest in straightening the papers of his report.

Meanwhile, her brother was watching her with a wary expression. “I assume you still think we should have Meredith raise the boy with her own son.”

“I think it would be best, yes.”

“At my expense, I suppose,” Blakeborough grumbled.

“Well, not entirely,” she said. “I . . . um . . . probably should have mentioned this before, but I never posted that letter Samuel gave me. I held on to it in case we found her. What's more, he implied that the contents would secure the future of Miss Moreton and her child.”

“What?” the earl said. “Why didn't you reveal this before?”

She steadied her shoulders. “You were determined to believe the worst of Samuel. I hardly thought hearing about any financial help for her would change anything. And we couldn't know what it was anyway until we found Miss Moreton and gave her the letter.”

“The devil we couldn't.” Blakeborough held out his hand. “Give me the damned envelope.”

“Not if you intend to open it.”

“You haven't even looked inside?” the earl said incredulously, echoing Jeremy's own surprise.

“I have not. He made me swear not to.”

“
I
didn't make any such promise,” Blakeborough said, “so give it to me, and I'll open it.”

“No.” She clutched the missive to her breast. “Samuel did me a great service once, and I shan't betray his trust.”

Realizing what she meant, Jeremy scowled at the earl. “Tell her. She deserves to know.”

“Tell me what?” she asked.

With a furtive glance at Bonnaud, who was listening intently, Blakeborough muttered, “Nothing. But I'll need the letter, if only to bring it to Miss Moreton.”

Yvette tipped up her chin. “I shall give it to Mr. Keane once we reach London. I know I can trust
him
to follow my wishes.”

Jeremy stared hard at the earl, willing him to finally tell her the entire truth about Samuel
.

But Blakeborough merely grimaced. “Fine. Do as you please. Keane and Bonnaud and I will go today to meet the damned woman.”

“We'll go tomorrow,” Jeremy cut in without stopping to consider. When all eyes turned to him, he said, “I'm nearly finished with the portrait. I can be done today if I can have a few more hours with Lady Yvette.”

“There's no need to finish the portrait, now that you and my sister—” The earl halted, quelled by another hard glance from Jeremy. Understanding finally dawned. “Oh. Right.”

Jeremy continued. “Meanwhile, Bonnaud can re­­turn to the city with Amanda. Then his lordship and I can leave for London first thing tomorrow. If that's all right with everyone.”

He still needed to convince Yvette to marry him. If he left for London today he'd be caught up in the snare of dealing with his family, and Yvette would remain here, firming her objections to his suit with every passing moment.

That wasn't to be borne. He had to make another try.

“I did ask Miss Moreton to wait a few days before packing her son off,” Bonnaud mused aloud. “So if his lordship wishes to delay a night, it won't hurt anything.”

Yet again, Jeremy was grateful that Zoe had married Bonnaud. The man had an uncanny ability to sense when his interference was welcome.

“All right.” Blakeborough glanced anxiously at his sister. “Yvette? Do you mind if we delay our visit to Miss Moreton for a day?”

Jeremy held his breath when she hesitated. Then she said softly, “No, it's fine.”

But he noticed the convulsive movement of her throat, the furtive glance she shot him. Had she guessed why he wished to remain?

All the better if she had. Because he wasn't going to let her throw away her future out of some misplaced idea of what a marriage should be.

“So this is where you've all gone off to,” came a voice from the doorway.

Jeremy groaned. His sister wasn't going to like any of this. “Yes, but we're done now.” He walked over to
her. “Bonnaud had some personal news to convey to his lordship, which is one of the reasons he chose to accompany you here.”

“So now that he's conveyed it, he and you and I can go to London.” Her expression challenged him to gainsay her.

Thunderation. He glanced over at his companions. “Would you mind giving me a moment alone with my sister?”

Mumbling their acquiescence, they all left the room.

He shut the door. When he faced Amanda, she wore her most mulish expression. “How long will it take you to be ready?” she asked.

“I'm not going with you today.”

“Then when?”

“Tomorrow.” When she bristled, he added, “I have a commissioned portrait to complete, so I'm staying here until then to make sure it's done. You can go back with Bonnaud and tell Mother that I will be there in the morning. I'll squire the two of you about as much as you like for the duration of your stay, but I need to finish here first.”

“And then you'll return to America with us?”

He dragged in a shaky breath. “No.”

“The hell you won't.”

He forced a smile to his lips. “When did you start cussing, sis?”

His teasing didn't pacify her one bit. “A long time ago. Not that you would realize it, since you've barely paid us any heed for the past twelve years.”

Thunderation. “You know why.”

Her stance softened. “Yes. I suppose I do. But now
that Papa's dead, you need not stay away just to punish him.”

“I wasn't . . . That's not why . . .” But he supposed that
had
been part of it. Punishing Father for his lies, for what he'd brought about at the end. Except that even after Father's death, Jeremy had still found it impossible to breathe every time he thought about returning to Montague.

Amanda didn't understand that. Montague was everything to her. She couldn't grasp why he just wanted to forget. And now she was here, insisting on his dwelling on the past.

“If it wasn't Papa keeping you away,” she asked, “then why not come home?”

The plaintive note in her voice was almost too much to bear. He leaned back against the door. “You don't need me to. You run everything quite well without me, you and Mother.”