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Authors: Mia Marlowe

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“O’ course, Farnsworth still has it.” Thomas O’Malley tossed back half of his pint and then swiped his mouth with a grimy sleeve. No fancy-arsed manners for the likes of him. “I tailed him from the ship straight to Devonwood House, didn’t I? He ain’t put his nose out of doors since.”
“I don’t know why you couldn’t have relieved him of the item while you were still shipboard.”
“With him and his daughter traveling first class courtesy of the earl’s brother and me stuck in steerage? Not bloody likely,” O’Malley said. “They don’t let us salt-of-the-earth types mingle with the hoity-toity so free, ye know.”
His lordship’s aquiline nose crinkled a bit as if he wished such stringent rules applied everywhere. Between rancid wool and the unwashed bodies beneath it, even O’Malley had to admit a number of the pub’s patrons were pretty ripe.
“Beastly rotten luck that chap in Cairo made such a mistake in the first place.”
“Never ye fear, milord. He paid for it.” O’Malley had seen to that, strangling the skinny Egyptian with his beefy bare hands. How the poor bloke had confused an American for the Irishman he was expecting still had O’Malley scratching his head.
This was supposed to be such a simple job. He only had to travel to Cairo, go to a certain shop in the bazaar, and pick up the item for His Nibs. Whatever the blasted thing was, it had already been paid for, but the item wasn’t the sort of article a body put in a crate and shipped in some rat-infested ship’s hold. It required hand delivery, his lordship had said. But when O’Malley had arrived in Cairo, the bloody thing was already gone—given by mistake to that Farnsworth fellow. Now, his lordship wasn’t making so free with the ready coin till O’Malley corrected the error.
“Whist, don’t ye be frettin’ yourself, your lordship,” O’Malley said. It was unfair that he should be blamed for something which was clearly no fault of his, but them what got the chinks got to make the rules. “I’ll have the item for ye before ye know it.”
The gentleman’s fingers closed over O’Malley’s wrist in a surprisingly painful grip. “Do not presume to tell me what to do.”
“No, no, o’ course not.” O’Malley’s fingers curled inward from the pressure being exerted on his wrist. The bones ground together beneath his tough skin with a series of soft clicks. Agony made him clench his teeth. He had no idea the gentleman was so strong. “I think—”
“I’m not paying you to think,” his lordship snapped. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with. You’re not equipped for thinking. I pay you to obey me.”
He released O’Malley’s wrist and turned his attention back to his pint as if nothing had happened. O’Malley narrowly resisted the urge to cradle his injured paw.
“What d’ye want me to do, then?”
“First, hope that Farnsworth is as blithely ignorant of what he has as you are of what you’ve lost,” his lordship said. “Now that the American has come under the Earl of Devonwood’s protection, our course is more difficult, but not impossible. I want you to simply watch for now.”
“Watch?”
“Keep track of Farnsworth’s comings and goings. Find out what social events Lord Devonwood and any of his party will be attending,” the gentleman explained with an annoyed scowl. “I’d hoped not to involve myself in this, but there seems to be no help for it.”
His lordship’s eyes had gone quite as dark and hard as obsidian. For the first time, O’Malley realized that beneath the silks and jewels the gentleman usually wore, he was a man to be reckoned with.
And feared.
O’Malley gulped. “And when we see the main chance to retrieve the item—”
“Then I may allow you to earn your over-large retainer, Mr. O’Malley.” His lordship stood and looked down his noble nose at him. The chill in his eyes froze O’Malley’s soul. “If by that time you’ve proven to me you are still worth my trouble, of course. Pray for your sake that you do.”
C
HAPTER 6
E
mmaline strongly contemplated begging off on supper that night.
It wasn’t because she didn’t have an appropriate gown. Her cream and rose tulle was exceptionally fine and its bodice fitted her like a second skin. Even that crusty butler Baxter wouldn’t be able to fault it. The gown had cost the earth, but Monty claimed it was worth the investment. She might have worn it to dine with a duke and not have been out of place.
Of course, the décolletage was a bit more daring than she wished, but Monty insisted that a woman could provide an excellent distraction when needed merely by displaying that she was a woman. It would be a sin not to take advantage of the fact.
It wasn’t because she didn’t want to see Theodore after the debacle in the library. She missed his uncomplicated presence. She was beginning to need his unfailing adoration as much as an opium fiend craves her next draught of laudanum. It bolstered her confidence to have a man she could bring so neatly in line with her wishes with so little effort.
Nor was it because she had given up on Monty’s plan. The bones of the game were sound and there was no time like the present to sow the seeds. She suspected Monty might need her during the meal if the opportunity arose to drop a few well-placed hooks. It would be a shame to waste a captive audience because she . . . well, she might as well admit it.
She was afraid.
She drew a deep breath as Monty escorted her down the long hall toward the formal dining room.
Afraid.
Her belly contorted like a Chinese acrobat.
There was no doubt about it. She’d rarely experienced this gut-wrenching sensation, but she recognized it for what it was. Fear.
The clack of Monty’s heels on marble echoed against the walls as they processed to the dining room. The sound seemed to repeat “a-FRAID, a-FRAID” with a heavy soled accent on the second syllable. Emma couldn’t escape the sensation that she was marching to her doom.
How could she bear being in the same room with that scoundrel Lord Devonwood?
Or maybe she was the scoundrel. It was hard to have any moral certitude when one lived as she and Monty did. After the way her body had responded to the earl’s advances, she felt doubly false in her role as the professor’s blue-stockinged daughter. Surely like Hester Prynne, a scarlet “A” would materialize on her breast and everyone would know her body had nearly capsized the wobbly boat of her faux respectability. Not to mention the way she’d endangered the success of Monty’s plan.
And over nothing more than an ill-considered kiss.
Even though he’d agreed not to mention the unfortunate interlude in the library to his brother, she had no way of knowing whether the earl would keep their tawdry little secret.
She didn’t love Theodore. But even though she was set on making off with some of his money, she liked him immensely. If she focused solely on absconding with a good deal of cash, perhaps she wouldn’t have to see hurt on his boyishly handsome features. Some betrayals cut far deeper than being taken by a pair of confidence professionals.
“There you are, darling.” Teddy caught up with Emmaline and her father as they entered the elegant dining room.
He pressed an ardent kiss on her gloved knuckles. Judging from his clear-eyed gaze, it was safe to assume his brother had not spoken to him. He turned her hand over and kissed the center of her palm.
“Teddy, please,” she murmured. “Not in public.”
Open displays of affection made her feel naked somehow, as if her reactions might be gauged by others for depth of feeling. Since her depth with Theodore was only about an inch, it was scrutiny she didn’t welcome.
Good thing no one had been about to observe her moaning like a ten-penny whore in the earl’s arms that afternoon.
Except the earl, of course.
She swept the room with her gaze. Monty had abandoned her to lean an elbow on the sideboard and was doing his best to charm the countess and a young lady whom Emmaline didn’t recognize. Lady Devonwood’s elegant cheekbones were echoed in the girl’s face, but her luxuriant blond curls and vivid eyes were a departure from the original. Obviously this was Theodore’s younger sister.
Lord Devonwood was nowhere to be seen.
Was it possible he was afraid to see her, too?
Not likely.
But before Emma could decide to hope so, the girl left Monty and her mother’s company and scampered over to Theodore with her arms spread wide.
“Oh, Teddy,” the girl exclaimed. “You weren’t due home till next week. It’s only dumb luck I came back to town early. Oh, I can’t believe you’re finally home.”
He scooped her into his arms and twirled her around twice. “And I can’t believe it’s you, Louisa. Where’s the little girl I left six months ago?”
“I grew up,” she said, her eyes bright as bluebells in May, her golden ringlets shining. “Something I hear you’re trying to do now, too. Come now. Don’t be shy, brother. Introduce me to your bride.”
Emmaline knew she ought to explain to Louisa that she really wasn’t engaged to be married to Theodore, but she bit back the words. They were both so obviously enjoying their reunion, she didn’t want to ruin the moment.
Louisa kissed the air by both her cheeks in the French fashion. “I’ve always wanted a sister, Emmaline,” she whispered confidingly. “You have no idea the trials I’ve been through growing up with two brothers. This is going to be such fun!”
Emma’s smile was fragile. Before when she and Monty worked a mark, she’d been able to keep a professional distance. She took comfort in the fact that it was impossible to con an honest person. All their games worked only if the mark was greedy for financial gain or selfishly had to have something no one else could have.
Adding a sham engagement to the mix of subterfuge was full of potential complications beyond simply her relationship with Theodore.
When she looked into Louisa’s eyes, all she saw was yet another person who’d be hurt when their scheme was discovered. Then Monty excused himself suddenly and headed for the hallway, covering his mouth with his handkerchief to muffle his cough. Emma’s spine straightened. Pity for a mark was a weakness, a luxury only the affluent could afford.
She was willing to bet Louisa Nash had never wanted for anything in her life. Emma would have traded her left arm for even one brother and all Louisa could do was complain about having two, even if she was speaking in jest. A little hurt might do her a world of good.
“Have you any brothers, Miss Farnsworth?” Louisa asked.
“No,” she said with a shake of her head. “But I’ll be happy to help you even the odds against yours.” The first step in the long confidence game was establishing trust. She smiled at Louisa. “Please, call me Emmaline.”
 
Eight o’clock, the hallowed time to begin the evening meal, came and went without Lord Devonwood deigning to appear. Finally at half past, the countess ordered Baxter to serve the soup course and the party assembled around the long table glittering with Reed & Barton silver and Limoges china.
Louisa regaled them with tales of the ton and the slightly naughty goings-on among the Upper Ten Thousand. She’d just returned from a house party at the country home of His Grace, the Duke of Kent, where no fewer than three couples had announced their engagements by the end of the fortnight.
“Honestly,” Louisa said with an expressive roll of her eyes, “the way couples were pairing off, you’d have thought it was time to board the Ark.” She sighed dramatically.
“And what of you, my dear?” Monty asked. “Has some beau caught your fancy?”
“Not yet, professor.” Louisa dimpled prettily at him. “But I’m in no hurry. This is only my first Season. You see, until I settle on one fellow, I can flirt to my heart’s delight with all of them. An engaged lady doesn’t have nearly as much fun.”
“Louisa, please,” the countess said, her lips drawn into a prim line. “Dr. Farnsworth will think you shockingly fast.”
“Nonsense, my dear lady.” Monty leaned across the table and gave Teddy’s sister an avuncular pat on the hand. “She’s perfectly delightful.”
“But she’s likely to taint Emmaline with her unladylike ideas,” Theodore complained.
“Oh, that’s right. I keep forgetting dear Teddy is engaged,” Louisa said. “Pay no attention to me, Emmaline. I’m sure you have more excitement as a betrothed lady than you know what to do with.”
If being kissed into incoherence by Theodore’s brother qualified as excitement, Emmaline was forced to agree.
“We’re not quite engaged yet, sister,” he said with a wink to Emma. He caught her hand under the table and squeezed. “But I’m working on it.”
“Careful, Miss Farnsworth,” Lord Devonwood’s voice came from behind her. “If Teddy claims to be working, lightning strikes will no doubt commence shortly. You’d do well to move down a chair or two.”
He took his place at the head of the long table without a word of apology for his tardiness. The countess, however, apologized for starting the meal without him.
Devon waved off her words and signaled for the footman to fill his soup bowl. The servants nearly stumbled over each other in an effort to see that his wine goblet was brimming with a golden Reinish vintage and that his napkin was arranged just so over his impeccable finery.
The rest of the party had polished off their lamb and were ready for dessert. However, it was obvious they’d simply have to sit there digesting and sipping the burgundy that had accompanied the meat entrée, while Lord Devonwood ate his leisurely way through the five courses they’d just finished.
How the world adjusts itself to please an earl with no effort on his part at all,
Emma thought.
And yet his lordship had the temerity to berate his brother for not working. Emmaline’s enterprising soul rankled at the way Lord Devonwood felt himself above honest labor or even common courtesy for those who engaged in it.
“Actually, your lordship, Theodore worked very hard indeed while he was in Egypt,” she said with a surreptitious glance in Devon’s direction. The earl was definitely wearing his station, resplendent in a cloth of gold waistcoat and elegantly tied cravat starched to perfection. But even without the trappings of his title, the man himself was enough to make her insides caper about like a troop of drunken faeries in the garden, not quite balanced on the daisy stems.
“It’s true,” Teddy said with a laugh. “At the dig outside of Thebes, I developed a genuine blister.”
“A blister! Don’t be gauche, Theodore.” The countess frowned at him.
“Sorry,
Maman
. But you can’t imagine what fun it was to muck about in the dirt and hope to turn up something astonishing.”
The earl’s spoonful of white soup halted halfway to his mouth. “And did you turn up something astonishing?”
Ted caught Emma’s hand and brought it quickly to his lips for a kiss. “Not until I boarded the
British Star
and met Emmaline.”
“Well put, Teddy. You’ll win her yet.” Louisa beamed at her brother’s gallantry.
Emma’s cheeks heated as she disengaged her hand from Theodore’s grasp. She didn’t feel astonishing. She felt lower than shoe leather. Even though Theodore showered her with compliments, she’d caught herself reliving that blasted kiss with his brother in the library more times than Egypt had dynasties.
Since Egypt had poked its way into her mind, it was high time she made use of it. “Actually, I think Theodore is referring to the Tetisheri statue and the academic work he did on that piece.”
“No, I’m not.” He tossed her a hopeful grin. “I was talking about you and you know it.”
“Theodore, please,” she murmured. It was bad enough that he was determined to court her. It was unconscionable that it should all play out before his family. The public nature of his coming humiliation would be all the more painful.
“Don’t be modest, Miss Farnsworth. It doesn’t become you.” Lord Devonwood signaled for the footman to remove his soup, waved off the fish course, and accepted the meat instead. He speared a glistening bite of lamb with mint relish. “Your intended and I had a chance to become better acquainted in the library this afternoon, Ted, and I must agree with your assessment. Miss Farnsworth certainly astonished me.”
He popped the meat into his mouth with a wicked grin.
“My lord, you exaggerate.” Now the drunken faeries in her belly threatened to escape in a panicked rout. Would he actually expose her for a wanton between the lamb and the crème brûlée? “His lordship was kind enough to show me his library. I was quite taken with it.”
“Quite taken,” he repeated as he skewered her with a look. Heat sizzled beneath the words.
If she hadn’t stopped him when she did, he’d have been perfectly capable of taking her there on the venerable marble floor of the library with the ghosts of Sir Walter Scott, Dickens, and Shakespeare cheering them on.
“Yes,” Lord Devonwood continued, “I was quite impressed with her taste . . .”
Memory of the citrusy freshness of his mouth returned to taunt her. Emmaline stared at her empty plate. It seemed the only safe course, but silence hung suspended over the table like a strand of bubbles waiting to burst. She was forced to look down the long table at the earl.
BOOK: Touch of a Scoundrel (Touch of Seduction 3)
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