The Most Wicked Of Sins (4 page)

“Lady Ivy is one of the Seven Deadly Sins?” Nick fashioned a grin. “Which sin is assigned to the chit? Do tell me it’s lust.”

Suddenly, Felix appeared quite sober. “It doesn’t matter at all. She’s one of their lot, and that is all that should concern you.”

“Oh, please, Felix. Stop this nonsense.” Nick couldn’t help but chuckle. Felix was acting completely thunderstruck.

“Please, please, do not make light of this,” Felix implored. “I do not exaggerate when I tell you that she is not a woman to trifle with.”

He hated to admit it to himself, but the more Felix warned him about Lady Ivy, the more intrigued Nick became. Just what was she about?

Felix looked increasingly alarmed. “Hear me well. Lady Ivy is not like any other women you’ve known, Nick. The Sinclairs do not think or act in the way anyone would expect.”

“Ah, but she is beautiful.” Nick closed his eyes for a moment, remembering the intensity in her eyes just before she pulled him tight and kissed him hard.

“Yes, yes, I am sure she is beautiful…all seven of them are said to be, but you must stay clear of her. If for no other reason than her brothers are huge—and bulging with muscles—and one, Lord Killian, I believe, is rumored to have killed a man who simply winked at his twin sister.”

Nick laughed. He didn’t believe any of this tara-diddle, though he was sure Felix did. His cousin had always been as gullible as he was eager to share any tasty morsel of scandal with anyone who would listen.

“Felix, I assure you, Lady Ivy is no threat and this is no Cheltenham tragedy.” He exhaled, frustrated. “Still, I swear I shall take your advice into consideration—just not yet.”

“But you must—”

Nick interrupted. “Lady Ivy and I have an engagement tomorrow evening to discuss a very
unusual
business proposition. And, this, dear cousin, is a discussion I would not miss for all the world.”

Felix crinkled his nose. “A-a business arrangement? What sort?”

Nick exhaled slowly, and in his breath rode his refusal to answer.

“So, this business arrangement you must discuss with Lady Ivy…is it of a nature that will require you to extend your stay in London?”

He knew Felix was only casting a baited line for more information. It wasn’t going to work. “No, no, Felix. My travel plans have not changed in the least. I will just ensure that my man has everything in order here in Town, then I will leave on Monday.” He reached out his long arms and clapped Felix’s shoulder. “Until then, I will reside with you, dear cousin.” He rose and stretched. “But I will take you up on your offer to borrow some clothes until my portmanteau arrives. Our forms are close enough, eh?”

With a critical eye, Felix surveyed Nick. “Close, but you are a little broader in the shoulders. And then, your hands and feet are considerably larger.” Felix wrinkled his nose. “Certainly you will agree that at the very least we will need to fill in any temporary gaps in your wardrobe. Gloves and shoes, perhaps. Tomorrow morning?” Felix waited until Nick hesitantly nodded, then rubbed his hands together gleefully. “I cannot wait to dress you…as a man of your stature should be dressed—instead of as a farmer.”

Nick cringed slightly. “I will need something appropriate for dinner tomorrow night. Do you have anything that might suit…and fit?”

“Oh, yes, yes. Certainly.” Felix bounced on his heels. “Where are we going?”

“Not
we,
Felix. Lady Ivy and I.”

“If you refuse to avoid her, then at least introduce me. I know all about the Sinclairs.” A smile curled Felix’s lips, and his attention drifted. “Imagine, Mr. Felix Dupré meeting a real Sinclair.” His eyes swerved to Nick. “My chums will be completely apple green with envy.”

It was very late, and Felix would chatter on about the Sinclairs for the rest of the night if indulged in the slightest. Nick wasn’t about to do that. He turned and lifted a candle to light a small chamber lamp. “I am afraid not, Felix,” Nick said as he started up the stairs. “Not this time.”

Felix came to stand at the bottom of the staircase and cupped the newel post. “That must have been quite a kiss.”

Nick smiled to himself as he ascended the treads. “It was quite an offer.”

Felix tossed the remaining port into the back of his throat. “Last chance. Care to share the details?”

Nick turned into the darkness of the first landing. “A gentleman never kisses and tells.”

A human being, at the sight of another’s pleasure and possessions, would feel deficiency with more bitterness.

Schopenhauer

Dawn, the next morning
Berkeley Square

Ivy peered out of the carriage door at the regal town house on the most-sought-after corner of Berkeley Square. Lavender flowers jutted through the wrought-iron fence that framed the front of the house, their faint, sweet scent wafting through the open window into the carriage.
p. Ivy wrinkled her nose. She didn’t need to utter a word to the family’s manservant to let him know she was disappointed. Aye, it was lovely, truth to tell, but…well, she had just expected more.

“Are you sure this is the one, Poplin?” She leaned her head a little farther out the window for a better look. “I daresay, ’tis only that I am paying a hundred pounds for one short month.” She turned her head and looked at Poplin, awaiting his answer.

The elderly manservant, whose dubious services were included with the rent paid by the Duke of Sinclair for his children’s temporary lodgings in Grosvenor Square, nodded his head warily. “When I inquired, the carpenter…umm…butler, Mr. Cheatlin, informed me that renovations are being undertaken both inside and out in preparation for the new marquess’s arrival just before Christmastide. As long as your pretender, should you actually acquire one,” he added in a barely audible tone, “has quit the residence within thirty days, you’ve naught to fear. After that, the house’s interior will be entirely stripped and re-dressed for the new marquess.
Thirty days.
That’s all the time you have. Not a day more.”

Ivy grimaced. Actually, with her father’s visit just shy of that, she had
less
than thirty days. Her temples throbbed at that thought. Still, she knew she could do it. In less than a month. She could.

She had to.

Ivy raised her chin, hoping that by looking more confident, she would be so. “You needn’t fash so, Poplin. I have everything in hand. In truth, I’ve already engaged my man.” Ivy smiled proudly. “Last night, outside The Theater Royal Drury Lane.”

Even Ivy had to admit that securing Counterton House was pure serendipity.

And, though she hadn’t known it at the time, it was also the linchpin of her brilliant plan.

To lure Miss Feeney from Viscount Tinsdale, Ivy needed two things: a peer unknown in London and a home in Mayfair. Counterton House had supplied both—a smart Berkeley Square address owned by a deceased marquess whose heir, the new Lord Counterton, was not to arrive in London until Christmastide. What could be more perfect?

Except the actor she’d found for the role.

“I beg your pardon, Lady Ivy. Did you say that you engaged an actor…
last eve?”
Poplin’s mouth dropped open before he remembered himself and snapped his lips closed again.

“Aye, I did.” The manservant didn’t utter another word but instead stared back at Ivy. “Oh, good heavens. I told you my plans, so you ought not appear so flabbergasted.”

“I—I was only surprised that you had managed to engage a gentlemen willing to—I beg your pardon, my lady, but I must say it—risk imprisonment for impersonating a peer.”

Imprisonment. Hmm…I probably should have thought of that.
But the worrisome thought remained in her head for only a moment before it evaporated. “Well, believe me, I plan to offer whatever coin I must to convince the actor to take on this role. I suppose the risk of arrest
might
increase the fee somewhat, but my sisters promised to help me. I have no doubt they will lend me whatever I need of their portions of Sterling’s winnings to see my plan through.” Ivy sucked the edge of her bottom lip into her mouth pensively, trying to make herself believe her sisters’ help would extend to parting with a few guineas.

Worry seemed to creep in around her suddenly. She peered across the carriage at Poplin. Since the day they had arrived in London, the old man had always spoken his mind directly to her and her brothers and sisters as well. The sage advice he regularly offered, though not always wholeheartedly welcomed, often turned out to be a blessing. Time after time, he prevented several, if not all, of the Sinclairs from stepping into the muck caused by their rash heedlessness. For this reason, the brothers and sisters tolerated his comments rather than chastised him for speaking out of place. For though Poplin’s serving skills were lacking, they all trusted his counsel. Ivy had to believe that this time was no different.

“Oh, dear Poplin, you’ve said it yourself, again and again—I only have a month before I no longer have use of the house. So why, pray, would I tarry?” Ivy raised her copper eyebrows and waited for him to reply, but he didn’t. “Still, I shouldn’t think it should take that long,” she added confidently. “I have a plan, and even Siusan agrees it is brilliant.” She gazed through the window toward the house again. “So, shall we have a look inside and meet the staff?”

Poplin suddenly appeared worried. “The staff…well, Lady Ivy, they’ll be costing you a bit extra.”

Ivy was incensed. “Their services were to be included! I was very clear on that point. I may be a Sinclair, but my purse is nearly empty.”

When the hackney wobbled to a complete halt before the house, Poplin did not wait for the driver to open the door. Instead, he shakily descended to the pavers, then stepped in front of the footman and reached his own gloved hand up to Ivy. He held his voice low. “Their…services, cooking, cleaning, gardening…yes, those are all included—God help you—but keeping their mouths closed about your pretender…allow me to rephrase…your Marquess of Counterton, and supporting your efforts when they can—well, that will cost you a clean guinea for each staff member…five total.”

Ivy was aghast at this new development. She had only just identified the perfect gentleman to lure Miss Feeney away from Tinsdale, which, as Poplin noted, would likely cost her more than she’d planned—and already she was out two hundred and five pounds and five shillings for dressings—a house and a full staff. Robbery.

Poplin led her up the walk and rapped upon the door with his knobby knuckles.

“Will you be sure the door knocker is replaced?” Ivy asked, leaning down to polish the door latch with the edge of her skirt. “All appearances must establish that the Marquess of Counterton is unexpectedly at home. He is unknown in London, so there should be no problem.”

“Lady Ivy,” Poplin asked quietly as they waited for the door to be answered, “dare I inquire as to what happens if your
Lord Counterfeit
is exposed as a fraud?”

“Oh, I am sure he will be exposed…eventually. It will be my prime task to delay that eventuality for as long as possible.” Ivy shared a conspiratorial wink with the worried little manservant. “By then, if all goes well, Miss Feeney will have jilted Tinsdale, and I will have a ring upon my finger. It will be too late for anyone to do anything about it by then, won’t it? My plan is a feat of social
tour de force.
It will succeed. I believe I have planned every last detail. How could anything possibly go wrong now?”

Poplin groaned softly.

The latch depressed, and Ivy could hear grunting noises on the other side, but a moment later the door came unstuck and swung wide. A tall, burly man in sooty breeches and shirt topped with a kidskin work vest stood before them, blocking entry. “So, is this her, the lady, Poplin?” He peered down at Ivy.

Lud,
Ivy thought,
he didn’t look the least like a butler.
She tensed, and doubt in her plan suddenly clouded her thoughts.

“’Tis.” Poplin, seeming unnerved by the man, took a step backward.

“Has she got the coin?” The man did not remove his hard gaze from Ivy.

She studied Mr. Cheatlin narrowly. Perhaps if he never spoke, he could carry off the role of a butler to a peer. She’d have to talk to Poplin about that.

“She does—” Poplin began.

Ivy broke in. “I do, so if you do not mind, the sun has nearly risen, and I must come inside so I am not spied from the street.” Ivy charged toward Cheatlin, and, when he did not move, she squeezed between him and the door, then beckoned for Poplin to follow. “You don’t look at all like a butler, you know. Have you any skills at all?”

“Plenty.” He waggled his thick eyebrows at her and chuckled nastily before truly answering her. “My da was a manservant, so I have some notion about what is required. Officially, though, in case you’re wonderin’, I’m the master carpenter, hired to oversee the renovation on the new Lord Counterton’s town house. But don’t you worry none, your ladyship, me and my crew have the
skills
you’re looking for—and then some you probably ain’t realized you’ll be needin’—we can do anything that’s needed as long as your guineas gleam.”

Ivy dug inside her reticule, counted out five guineas, then pressed them into Mister Cheatlin’s huge, outstretched hand. Next, she whisked off her bonnet and thrust it at him. “Well, then, shall we begin? I have some very specific requirements.” She flashed a mischievous smile. “But then, you did assure me that you and your staff can do
anything,
no?”

Cheatlin took her hat from her, chuckling as he set it on a hook beside the door. “You can sure tell she’s a Scot,” he said to Poplin. “But I think we’ll all get along just fine.” Pressing the door firmly closed behind them, he bade Ivy follow him on a tour of the house.

“God help us all,” Poplin muttered, as he turned to follow his mistress down the passage.

Mr. Felix Dupré’s residence
That evening

Lady Ivy didn’t step down from the carriage. From what Nick could see, she didn’t even condescend to look through the window toward the door.