The Most Wicked Of Sins (5 page)

But she was waiting for him. He grinned at that. Then again, he hadn’t really left her any choice but to wait if she wished him to take part in her
plan.

Nick made sure of that, even though Felix was practically writhing in agony on the floor at the very idea of the daughter of a duke being forced to wait on the street for his cousin.

“Bloody hell, Nick.” Felix gingerly inserted two fingers between the thick curtains drawn across the parlor windows and peered through. “Can’t you just go to her? You said that this offer must be kept secret. She can’t very well walk up the steps and rap on the door, now can she?”

“No, but she could send the footman on the perch to advise me that she has arrived.”

“But you know she has arrived.” Felix inched the curtains closed, slow enough that no sway of fabric could be detected from the street.

“How would she know that?”

“We could send a footman down to let Her Ladyship know that you have been advised of her arrival and that you will be joining her directly.”

“Excellent idea, Felix.” Nick tied his starched neckcloth in the reflection of the hazy mirror in the entryway. Felix darted past him and around the corner. He paid his cousin’s frenetic movement no mind. “Only there is no footman to send to her—in fact, this house hasn’t a single staff member…at my last count anyway.” Nick paused when Felix didn’t reply. “I said—”

“I heard you quite clearly, but you are mistaken, cousin.” It was Felix’s voice he heard, but it was an old man with a wild gray duster of hair who was suddenly reflected in the mirror.

Nick whirled around and stared. “Damn it all, Felix, you startled the breath right out of me!”

“Brilliant, eh?” Felix exhaled onto his knuckles, then polished them on the heavy black coat he wore. “I wore this in a play less than a sennight past. Had it in one of my costume trunks. I played a butler two seasons past. I was fabulous.” Felix spun around, flung the door open, and darted from the house before Nick realized what he was about to do.

Nick hurried into the parlor and peeked through the curtains as his cousin had done minutes before. The carriage door was open wide, and Felix was gesticulating wildly toward the house. A slim hand grasped the half-open window glass and pulled the carriage door closed.

As Felix turned to the house and started up the steps, Nick raced into the entry, stopping so abruptly that he nearly slid into Felix as he shot through the front door.

“I cannot believe you approached her dressed like that.” Nick scowled at Felix. “I only wanted to teach her a lesson. That even as a noblewoman, she is no better than anyone else and cannot expect everyone to leap simply because she has arrived.”

Felix looked back at him quizzically. “Gads, what did she do—besides kiss you—that made you decide she needed to be taught such a lesson?”

Nick straightened his shoulders and tugged on the slightly-too-short sleeves of the blue kerseymere coat Felix had lent him for the evening. Truth to tell, he didn’t know why he decided her behavior needed correction. He just…did, and now, being made to consider his possible prejudice made him damned uncomfortable. “It was the way she kissed me. Didn’t ask permission, or even give me a hint she was going to do it. She just grabbed me and kissed me.”

“What a positively hangable offense. Well, I can see why you would task yourself with educating the wild Scot. It’s a matter of public safety, isn’t it?” Felix feigned a most-serious expression, but then, unable to contain himself any longer, he doubled over and burst out laughing, clutching Nick’s arm to keep from collapsing straight to the floor. When he finally caught his breath a moment later, he pointed to the door. “I told her you would join her presently.”

“Thank you, Felix.” Annoyed, Nick brushed his cousin’s arm from his sleeve and started across the entryway floor. “No need for the…um…footman to wait up for me. I suspect I will return quite late in the evening.”

Felix was resting his hands on his knees, waiting until his breathing returned completely to normal. “Oh, I have no doubt. I saw her, up close. She’s very beautiful, Nick, and she spoke directly to me even though I had addressed her footman. And evidently, she’s an excellent kisser too.” Felix snorted a laugh, and in a tick of the second hand, couldn’t catch his breath again.

Nick peered into the mirror and gave his neckcloth one last departing tug before opening the door and striding down the steps to the carriage.

The door latch pressed down from inside, and Lady Ivy beckoned him into the carriage. “Come on now. Please hurry. I do not wish to be observed with you. Not yet, anyway.”

“Good evening, Lady Ivy.” Nick flashed a bright smile, then bent and ducked inside the carriage. The driver closed the door behind Nick, then the carriage tilted as the driver leaped to his perch.

Though he could have quickly seated himself on the bench directly opposite her, a mischievous thought broached his mind—one that might allow him to steal a kiss from her, just as she had stolen one from him the night before.

He told himself it would serve her right, but in the back of his mind he knew that wasn’t the truth of it. He simply wanted to kiss her again.

Nick took a shaky step in her direction, then pretending to lose his balance, he teetered on one foot, then the other, his arms waving. He bent at the waist, so as not to bump his head on the cab’s roof, then suddenly lurched toward her in a dead fall. “Oh dear—”

Lady Ivy’s eyes rounded. Gasping in surprise, she flattened her back against the leather squab a scant instant before Nick slapped his hands on the seat back on either side of her shoulders, catching himself.

The carriage shook and began to move, its momentum knocking him over her. His mouth hovered just above hers, so close that he could feel her warm breath on his face.

Dare he take his prize?

Perhaps he should. He lifted the edges of his mouth, smiling down at her as he tilted his head as if to kiss her. Then, something astonishing happened. As if without a thought, she closed her eyes and angled her mouth upward, nearer to his.

Waiting.

Wanting.

He could take her kiss if he wished. But he didn’t. He only wanted her to know he could. “I do beg your pardon, Lady Ivy. I should have seated myself sooner.”

Her eyelids snapped open, and even in the gray dimness of the cab, he could see the rosy flush of her cheeks.

“Well, do sit now,
please.”
Even embarrassed as she obviously was, his mouth still hovering above hers, she managed to instill an air of authority into her words. “Our journey will not be lengthy. I have arranged for a very private dining room nearby. My brother Grant will meet us before we enter, for propriety’s sake, but you needn’t worry about concealing our arrangement with him. He knows all about it. We will discuss your…role while we dine, if you do not mind.” Her throat worked hard, and she swallowed deeply.

He peered into her eyes as she spoke, not retreating, not giving her even an inch more. Just then, the carriage wheel dropped deep into a hole in the road, driving Nick’s mouth down hard upon hers.

She wedged her hands between them and pushed him back, skewering him a distinct glare.

“I beg your pardon, Your Ladyship. The road, you know.”

She was not amused. That was clear enough. But from the narrowing of her eyes and the soft crinkle of her brow, he also knew that she wasn’t certain if he was toying with her or telling the truth.

He stepped back then and collapsed onto the bench behind him, fighting back a grin. She snapped open her fan, concealing her flushed cheeks as she waved it before her face. She swayed slightly from side to side but did not say another word as the carriage barreled through the streets.

Yes, Nick decided, tonight would be most fascinating indeed.

Envy is the art of counting the other fellow’s blessings instead of your own.

Harold Coffin

Only a clutch of minutes later, they arrived at their destination. The carriage door opened, and Ivy and her Lord Counterton stepped out on the pavers before the grand St. James’s Royal Hotel, where, as promised, her dear brother Grant was waiting.
p. “I do so appreciate your support, Grant,” Ivy whispered.

Grant leaned close as if to peck her cheek, but whispered into her ear instead, “So long as I am not hauled before a magistrate, I am at your disposal, Ivy.” He straightened and smile overbrightly at her.

“Always the jester.” Ivy turned to her actor, who tipped his head to Grant.

A well-dressed couple, thankfully unknown to her, cast curious glances at the three of them as they passed by. Her actor’s eyes nervously sought out Ivy’s.

Lud, there were others milling about, and she hadn’t thought about a plausible story about how Lord Counterton had come to know the Sinclairs.

Ivy opened her mouth to speak, but Grant nodded in greeting. “Lord Counterton, how good to see you again.”

“Good evening, Lord Grant,” her pretender replied instantly. “Yes, it has been far too long.”

Oh, Siusan had been ever so brilliant in suggesting that she engage an actor. He was perfect. So natural. She exhaled, and felt her nerves begin to untangle.

Ivy looped her left arm through Grant’s, then her right through her actor’s and started them all toward the doorway, whispering as they walked. “Unfortunately,
Lord Counterton,
we shall be required to pass through the main dining room to reach the private saloon I have arranged for us.” Of course, that was the entire point of discussing her plan there. It was his first test—to be sure he could move comfortably and naturally within elevated Society. She simply could not hire him, no matter how lovely he looked, if he could not blend with his betters.

Ivy slowed her step to a crawl as it suddenly occurred to her that this outing was actually his second test, not his first. The first had been his kiss. She smiled as she rapidly increased her pace again, pulling the men along with her.
The kiss.
Well, he’d passed that challenge most admirably.

Grant shot Ivy a sidelong glance, then tugged gently on her arm, making her realize she’d nearly broken into a trot. “From what I have heard, London is usually deserted during the month of August for grouse season, if you can imagine such a thing, but the ridiculous amount of rain has chased nearly everyone back from the country. Nothing to do in the country when you can’t leave the house, I suppose.”

“With the right company, there is actually quite a variety of diversions in the country,” her Lord Counterton replied.

“Good heavens, do you truly believe that?” Ivy replied. She was sure he didn’t, or perhaps he just didn’t know better. He was not, she assumed, raised with the best of everything available to him, as she had been.

“I do. I find the country far superior to Town in every”—he broke off for a moment and peered intently at her before amending his position—“in
most
every way.”

It was queer the way he had looked at her. Unsettling, because she didn’t know what to make of it.

“Well, you may be correct,” Grant said as they approached the hotel entrance. “Perhaps our experience differs from yours. Sitting in a huge old stack of stone never compared to dining and dancing in the finest establishments in Edinburgh.”

Liveried footmen in pale blue opened the doors for them, and they went inside the St. James’s Royal Hotel.

Ivy lifted her eyes to peer up at her actor as they walked, needing to make sure that he understood the great importance of her next words. But when he turned his head, and his deep blue eyes met hers, she couldn’t for the life of her remember what those words were.

My heavens, he was so beautiful, so knee-weakeningly handsome, that her mind had emptied of every single thought.

“Yes, Lady Ivy?” He paused them both on the starburst centered on the marble floor of the reception hall, and turned her to face him, waiting.

“I…I—” No other word made it through her lips. The clink of cutlery and the murmur of voices from the public dining room beyond drifted into the hall, but Ivy couldn’t manage a sound. She simply stood there, her lips moving silently like an old woman praying as her withered fingers moved over the beads of her rosary.

“Lady Ivy!” came a female voice from the direction of the dining room. Ivy turned away from her actor and saw Lord and Lady Winthrop hastening toward them. Suddenly she remembered those all-too-important words.

Do not speak to anyone!

But it was too late to impart her warning. All she could possibly do was fill the gaps of the introduction with the very loose history she had created for her impostor.

The men bowed, reminding Ivy to curtsy. Her heart pounded against her corset. “Lady Winthrop, how wonderful to see you and Lord Winthrop.” Lady Winthrop’s aging features were as sharp and overpronounced as her temperament. Though she had managed to marry a title, Ivy was certain it had nothing to do with comeliness and everything to do with her family’s money.

Ivy offered her hand to Lord Winthrop, a short, squat earl, who cupped it in his own and raised it to his lips.

“Lady Ivy.” He paused to assess her attributes, in the same veiled manner of so many gentlemen of the
ton,
one that balanced precariously on the sharp edge of propriety. “You are positively radiant this evening.”

Her Lord Counterton saw the comment for the rude leer that it was, and stepped forward protectively.

Ivy panicked.

Grant moved smoothly into the breach. “Lord Counterman, having just arrived in town, I do not believe you have met our dear friends Lady Winthrop and Lord Winthrop.”

“Indeed I have not,” the actor replied, smiling at them both.

Lady Winthrop extended her hand. “We have not met, Lord Counterton, it is true, but you are not entirely unknown to us. Your uncle was a frequent visitor to our home.” She looked at her husband, then nodded to the younger man again. “Darling, this is Dominic Sheridan, old Lord Counterton’s heir.”

Lord Winthrop clapped him on the back as he took his hand. “The new Marquess of Counterton, is it?” Then, he added under his breath, “My, my. The misses and their mamas will be thrilled to meet you.”