The Daughter of an Earl (2 page)

“Mr. Drummond,
please
.” Horrified, she sought to derail him, while Brett's snort conveyed his opinion of Drummond's
honorable
intentions. She nearly snapped at Brett to shut his mouth, but knew her warning would be futile.

The man did as he pleased. Always had.

“I will address your father in order that I may state my case before word reaches him, and your reputation suffers—”

“Please, that is not necessary,” she said evenly, desperate to stop Drummond from declaring himself, and Brett from strangling the blackguard, despite her wishing he would. “I appreciate the sentiment, truly I do. But like yourself, Mr. Curtis is a family friend. He is godfather to the twins and was in partnership with my brother-in-law before Daniel inherited the dukedom. As such, I am confident of his discretion. Thus, the only word to reach my father would be yours, so for the sake of our friendship, please do not compound this misunderstanding by carrying it further. Forgive me, but there can be nothing more between us. Let our friendship be enough.”

Aware of Brett seeking to move around her, no doubt to expedite Drummond's departure, she shot her arm out, thwarting his advance. If he was the gentleman he claimed to be, he couldn't very well plow through her arm—or so she hoped.

A play of conflicted emotions crossed Drummond's features. Her heart thundered in fear of his pressing his advantage. After all, his earlier behavior had proven he had no compunction in doing so.

She cast a quick glance back at Brett. He had straightened to his full height and was opening and closing his hands at his sides. At the implicit threat, she prayed Drummond's vanity came to his rescue, because his wits appeared to have deserted him. If the dandy valued his face, she doubted he wanted to risk Brett inflicting his fist on it.

After a tense moment, Drummond nodded curtly. “I understand. Perhaps I read too much into your letter. Forgive me. While I wish it otherwise, I have to be appeased with what you deign to give me. Friendship it is.” He gave her a rueful smile and dipped into a bow.

“Thank you,” she said, relieved.

“I trust your Mr. Curtis, who, as you say, is a family . . .
friend,
along with your abigail, will escort you home. Lady Emily, until we meet again.” He tipped his hat and then spun on his heel, leaving them alone.

She closed her eyes and exhaled. The silence was still and loud until Brett's scoffing disdain shattered it.

“What a tuft-up coxcomb. With his cravat tied so tight, I am surprised he doesn't choke over his words. Wherever did you find him? More important, what in the world possessed you to meet him here
alone
?”

The words cut like a knife through her tightly strung nerves. She wanted to rail at him, venting her frustration over the failure of her meeting, but she could not.

Contrary to what she had assured Drummond, she had no idea if Brett would keep her confidence. If he did not and spoke to her father, he could ruin everything. She had to stop him, and if that meant feigning sympathy for Drummond, she would do so. Tears made most men retreat, and she had no qualms in employing them now.

She drew herself up and whirled on Brett, letting her voice hitch as she spoke. “That is enough. He was . . . a . . . a dear friend of my late fiancé, and I have hurt him badly. I think that is punishment enough, so please refrain from airing your callous opinions of a poor man whom you know nothing about.” She turned her back on him and walked away, curling an arm around her waist and lifting the other to her temple.

Let him retreat. Please retreat.

Silence met her. The distant sound of the workers carried to them, and still he did not speak. It never failed to amaze her that the bravest of men were flummoxed at the sight of a distraught woman. She bit her lip to curb her triumphant
smile, but could not resist tipping her head to the side to surreptitiously study him from beneath her lashes.

She straightened like a poker upon discovering he had crept up beside her. Too damn close. Worse, his arms were folded across his chest and a smile tugged at his lips. The dratted man was laughing at her!

“Well done. You are almost as good as my sisters.” He leaned so close that the teasing gleam in his eyes held her mesmerized. “But you forget, I am not as easily maneuvered as your family. I also am familiar with your talents with penning a clever note. I am sure your
friend
read exactly what you intended for him to read, which was your bait to lure him here.”

She silently cursed him to perdition and back.

His humor vanished, and his eyes narrowed. “I repeat, what is so important that you risked your reputation and your safety to meet this man alone?”

His heated gaze burned through her carefully composed veneer and saw all she fought to hide.

It was just as she feared.

He was going to ruin everything.

B
RETT
kept his voice level, but rage vibrated through every muscle in his body, simmering since he'd stumbled across Lady Emily in another man's arms. Heard the distress in her voice.

What the devil was she doing with the bastard?

He flexed his fingers, which still itched to snatch the gilded pin that had pierced the fop's lace cravat and stab him with it.
Then
he would have strung the man up as he had threatened. His temper had eased somewhat at her decisive setdown of the whoreson. She had some sense left after all. And he could not fault the pathetic Mr. Drummond for his taste.

Lady Emily Chandler was a prize worth winning.

Tall, slim as a willow weed, fair of feature, and dressed in a sky blue gown that highlighted those long-lashed, luminous Chandler eyes. Eyes of such a deep, fathomless blue that Brett feared if a man stared too long, he would drown in them.

Another reason to keep his distance from Lady Emily Chandler.

Like the Sirens in Greek mythology, whose beauty and voice lured sailors to shipwreck their boats on the rocky shores of their island, Lady Emily was just as dangerous. Fortunately for him, having been splintered by another Siren, he had fortified his defenses and his heart—or the battered remnants of it.

Annoyed at his line of thought, he yanked his attention to the present. To Emily, who stood so still, but was clearly seething. She did not like his foiling her plans. But a man could not grow up with three sisters and not identify—and respect—feminine guile in all its forms.

She recovered her voice and drew herself up, her blue eyes snapping. “How dare you lecture me on deception. Was it not you who broke your
right
arm and cajoled me into drafting your business letters, choosing to omit the pertinent detail that you write with your
left
?”

She was never going to let him forget that. It had been a weak moment. After being tossed out of a speeding curricle, he had coveted a pretty face by his side to cheer his bruised spirits during his recovery.

“And I am paying the price for that. I am still clarifying your little addendums. Do you think it is easy explaining to clients that I do not suffer from gout, have no need of a loan of a cane, nor have I gained eight stones, thank you very much?” Drummond was not the only man that Emily's cleverly penned words had gotten into trouble.

She smiled. “Serves you right. Women do not like to be deceived.”

He caught the gleam in her eyes, and arched a brow. “Spare me your apologies, and no, it did not threaten my relations with clients, but thank you for inquiring. I am touched by your concern, but you need not lose any more sleep over the matter.”

She dismissed his sarcasm with an airy wave of her gloved hand. “Had I any doubts of your ability to smooth things over, I never would have written what I did. In drafting your business letters, I witnessed your ability to iron out complex problems without blinking an eye. It is why Curtis Shipping is a
success. I am sure your explanations were charming and deftly handled, and the clients liked you all the better for adding a personal touch into your correspondence. No thanks are needed. Really, it was my pleasure.”

“Oh, there is little doubt the pleasure was all yours,” he said dryly, surprised and oddly moved at her compliment to his business acumen. “I do work very hard at—” He froze and shook his head, wagging his finger at her. “Very good. Distracting me with praise. Well done. However, let us return to the matter at hand. Why did you need to meet this man, Drummond, is it? And alone?”

She clamped her mouth shut, her expression mutinous.

“If you want me to keep my discretion and not speak to your father—”

“You wouldn't dare!”

“Oh, I dare many things, as do you. You wrote a letter to a man, inviting him to meet you alone in a private location.” He amended his words when she opened her mouth to protest. “My mistake, you were not without a chaperone. You brought your absentminded abigail with you. You chose this location, scattered with workmen, knowing her penchant for—”

“You go too far!” she cried, then cast a glance behind him and tightened her jaw. “We will discuss this later. It appears my maid has disappeared. I must locate her before . . . ah . . . before those
penchants
lead her into deeper trouble.” The last was muttered beneath her breath. She turned her back on him and without waiting to see if he followed, started up the bank.

Incredulous, he shook his head. Maid and mistress were a dangerous combination. It was time someone kept an eye on the two of them. For the moment, that appeared to fall to him. He stormed after her. “
I
go too far?
Your
actions show foresight, strategy, and determination, while exhibiting a total lack of regard for consequence. Do you have any idea what could have happened had I not come along as I did? Had he—”

“But you did and he did not!”

Her stride slowed and he heard the distress in her voice. Relenting, he gentled his tone. “Lady Emily, if you do not have a care for your own welfare, you must understand there are others that do. As they are ignorant of your activities, I insist on speaking on their behalf. What business could you possibly have that you clearly do not want your father knowing about, and that was worth risking your own safety for?”

She stopped a few yards from the construction site, a cornered look in her eyes.

A guttural cough shattered the stretch of taut silence, rescuing her, and she cleverly seized upon the distraction.

“Excuse me, but I am looking for my maid,” she said to a burly workman, clutching her bonnet to her head as a gust of wind threatened to upend it.

“She went that way.” The man pointed a beefy finger down the hill toward a dirt path. Its trail cut through a line of trees edging the banks of the lake.

“Thank you.” Emily nodded curtly, and again leaving Brett behind, she started off in the direction indicated. Her strides were long, and her skirts flapped about her legs, accentuating her lithe figure.

He gritted his teeth and hastened to fall in step beside her. He wanted answers—not that she would willingly give them.

Over the past year, his encounters with Lady Emily had been akin to a fencing match, a delicate balance of parry and riposte, skirmishes but no blood drawn. It was inevitable. When two strong-minded individuals collided, one had to bend. If neither did—like a hammer connecting with an anvil—sparks flew. Yet he couldn't stay away from her, because beneath her calm façade, he had glimpsed something simmering just beneath her surface.

Buried secrets.

She was hiding something, but damned if he knew what. Now that it involved clandestine meetings with men in secluded areas, he vowed to find out. He frowned, because he carried scars from another encounter with a bold beauty. Needed no more. He would keep Emily safe, but that was all.

As if on cue, Emily broke her silence, saving him from memories more palatable with a stiff whiskey in hand.

“If you must know, I arranged to meet Mr. Drummond because I have questions in regard to my late fiancé's work. I did not confide in my father or Julia because I knew they would worry over my looking into matters that transpired years ago. They do not like to see me upset and can be overly protective.”

He drew his brows together. Bedford had confided to him that Emily had taken her fiancé's death very hard. Despite over three years passing, he also knew that her family still worried over her. He was hesitant to tread onto sensitive ground, but as Emily had introduced the topic, he followed her lead. “What makes you think that Drummond could be of help to you?”

“Mr. Drummond and my fiancé were friends, and they were posted together in India. For those reasons, I sought his assistance, but as you witnessed, he had another agenda. I made a mistake, but rest assured, I will not make it again. That much, I can promise you.”

“Drummond and your fiancé, Viscount Weston, worked for the East India Company?” Brett asked, furrowing his brow.

His own company, Curtis Shipping, dealt in importing goods to England, and his business interests and those of the Honourable Company had conflicted in the past. Years ago, when he had sought to expand into new territories beyond England, the East India's monopoly of the eastern trade routes thwarted his aspirations. More so, he could not compete against the company's flagrant bribery of government customs officials, who in turn renewed the firm's charter. They did so despite the malfeasance and the bankruptcies that had beset the firm for decades.

“Yes. They were posted in Calcutta together,” Emily said.

“Ah, carrying out the Honourable Company's work of looting and scooting.”

“Excuse me?” She stopped to stare at him.

He cursed his glib tongue. Her fiancé was dead, and
therefore unable to defend himself. It was bad form to force his bereaved fiancée to do so. “Forgive me. Being unfamiliar with the viscount's position, I spoke out of turn. If your questions are in regard to your fiancé's work, being in the trading business myself, I do have some contacts in the firm. Perhaps I can inquire—?”

“That is not necessary. Really.” A flicker of panic crossed her features before she schooled them into a portrait of calm. “Considering your opinion of the firm, I do not think that wise.” She hastened to clarify her response. “Not that I disagree with your views. The company's reputation is quite tarnished. It is for that reason that Jason was posted over there. He was part of a select group appointed with Parliament's backing to ferret out the corruption riddling the offices and clean it up.”

“A Herculean task indeed,” he said. The man would have had better prospects redeeming Lucifer himself. It was no surprise Emily had a difficult time recovering from his death. No other men, all mere mortals, could compete with a man of such mythical stature. It was a disturbing thought.

“Yes, Jason did like a challenge, which is why he undertook the project,” she said. Shadows clouded those vibrant blue eyes. “Perhaps you are right, and it was a futile undertaking. Thus, there is little sense in either of us pursuing this matter further. However, I appreciate your offer of help. It is a far more honorable one than I received from Mr. Drummond,” she ruefully added and then turned away.

He blinked, and nearly shook his head. Damn, she was good. As clever as a weighted die and just as deceptive.

Her explanations were smooth and plausible. A few questions needing to be answered. Her desire to not worry her family. The coup de grâce was lamenting the futility of her pursuit.

She had spoken the truth—just not the whole of it. Not once did she confide what answers she pursued. Answers she wanted so desperately that she had risked her reputation to get them—and so much more had he not arrived when
he did. Whatever she sought, he would bet his whole company that she had no intention of abandoning her quest.

Only a fool risked everything for nothing.

Lady Emily Chandler was many things—bold, beautiful, and bright as the sun—but a fool she was not.

“Now then, I understand you have arrived for the christening of the twins,” she continued brightly. “As the designated godparents, we will be busy with other responsibilities, and I do not wish to burden you further with this ill-fated affair. I appreciate your timely arrival and assistance, but let us start anew.”

She stopped, and facing him, she sank into a curtsy. “Mr. Curtis, welcome back to Bedfordshire. It is good to see you again. Allow me to offer my deepest condolences over the loss of your uncle and your cousin last year. Despite your family's tragedy, I know how much it means to Bedford and my sister that you managed to attend the christening.”

He stared at her and then he couldn't help it, he laughed. She had so cleverly set him up. He had no choice but to agree to her proposal or appear a boorish cad should he press the matter further. Fine. He would concede.
For now.

She might have secured her secrets tighter than Drummond's ridiculously knotted cravat, but he would unravel them.

“Lady Emily.” He bowed. “It is a pleasure to see you again. You are as beautiful and clever as I remember and still leading the gentlemen on a merry chase. I shall have to remember to tread carefully lest I be trampled in their pursuit.” He flashed her a grin, pausing to admire the flush staining her cheeks. “As for your condolences, keep them. I have no need of them.”

“I beg your pardon?” She frowned.

“My uncle was a despicable blackguard, and my cousin no better. Neither will be missed. My sympathy is for my younger cousins, but I do not mourn either man.”

“Was he not the Duke of Prescott?” Emily asked, wide-
eyed.

“He was. He was also my mother's brother, but neither affiliation could redeem him. As much as you English revere your lofty titles, and I concede their power to accomplish more than they should, they cannot eradicate a deficiency of character.”