Never Conspire with a Sinful Baron

by Renee Ann Miller

  Two large, bloodshot eyes stared at him from under droopy lids. Without warning, a long, wet tongue lapped against his cheek.

  Good God! He jerked back.

  This was not the first time over the last year that he’d awoken to find Zeb in his bed. Besides inheriting the barony, Elliot had also inherited his uncle’s godforsaken bloodhound.

  This scenario with the animal had played out more times than he wished to recall. Each time it happened, he woke up with an even smaller sliver of the mattress, along with the dog snuggled up closer to him, but never this close.

  “Damnation, Zeb. I’m practically clinging to the edge of the mattress.”

  The dog stared at him with his solemn brown eyes.

  He sat up and pointed to the velvet-covered pallet on the floor. “That. Is. Your. Bed.”

  The bloodhound shifted closer.

  Disgusted, Elliot flopped onto his back and let out a frustrated sigh. Perhaps the animal was suffering from some sort of melancholy over Uncle Phillip’s passing. Yes, that must be it. “Sorry, boy, but as much as we both wish it, the old fellow isn’t coming back.”

  The dog whimpered.

  Elliot folded an arm behind his head and reached out with the other to pat the dog’s head. “Maybe you need a companion. How about a sexy poodle?”

  As if thinking the offer over, one of the dog’s drooping brows lifted.

  A rather disturbing vision of Zeb getting cozy with a lady friend while in Elliot’s bed flashed in his mind. On second thought, getting the dog a companion might not be a wise decision.

  “Would it cheer you up if I took you for a walk in the park today?”

  While gasping at his last breaths, Uncle Phillip had also asked Elliot to take Zeb for walks regularly. A monotonous undertaking, since the animal tended to fall asleep during them.

  Zeb placed his paw on Elliot’s chest and excitedly thumped his tail.

  “How odd you understand that, but nothing else I say. Let us make a deal. You crawl onto your bed and let me sleep a few more hours, and I’ll take you.”

  The bloodhound tipped his head sideways as if Elliot were speaking some foreign tongue.

  Hadn’t he learned this conversation never worked? Apparently not, since he continued to try to bargain with the animal to no avail.

  A few hours later, unable to fall back asleep with Zeb breathing down his neck and nudging him, as if impatient to go for a walk, Elliot stepped out of his town house with the hound.

  When he was young, Elliot had owned a black retriever. The dog had moved at a frantic speed, dragging Elliot around as if their roles were reversed. That was not the case with Zeb. The animal, like the servants his uncle had employed at his town house, moved at a turtle’s pace.

  Zeb’s steps slowed and he plopped down and rested his massive head on the flagstones as if intending to fall asleep.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Elliot warned.

  The hound peered at him from under his drooping brows.

  Good Lord, the animal was a pain in his arse. “Come on, boy. Get up.”

  The dog closed his eyes.

  A girl with two blond braids and a lad with a mop of brown hair stopped and stared.

  “Hey, guv’ner, what’s wrong with your dog?” the boy asked.

  Too many things to list. “Nothing.”

  The girl peered at Zeb with her large hazel eyes. “Mister, I think he’s dead.”

  The word dead caused several other strollers to slow their steps and stare.

  Elliot drew in an agitated breath. “No, he’s not dead. He’s resting. You should move along before he awakes. He can be vicious.”

  Instead of shrieking and dashing off with fear, the two imps glanced at each other and laughed.

  “He looks so old, I bet he don’t have any teeth.” The girl folded her arms over her chest and flashed a challenging expression.

  “He does, and they are quite sizable, and he’s particularly fond of eating children, especially cheeky, blond-haired girls.” He gave the child a hard stare.

  Uttering a disbelieving snort, she flipped one of her braids over her shoulder.

  Elliot released a long-agitated sigh. “Don’t the two of you have parents who are wondering where you are?”

  “Nah,” the boy said. “Mama told us to go outside and play and stop traipsing under her feet.”

  “So she sent you out into the world to spread your cheer to others?”

  In unison, they both smiled, oblivious to his sarcasm.

  The temptation to pick up the eighty-five-pound dog and walk away with as much dignity as he could muster nearly overwhelmed Elliot.

  Thankfully, Zeb stirred and lifted his head.

  “See. He’s waking up. Now you both better run and hide because he eats legs first.”

  The girl rolled her eyes.

  As if a heavy leaden weight were strapped to the dog’s back, Zeb slowly got up on all fours, took two steps, then sat down again as if exhausted.

  With a burst of laughter, the lad slapped his thigh.

  Chuckling, the two children strolled away.

  Elliot pulled out his pocket watch. In a few hours, he had an appointment with a plasterer about repairing the ceiling in his drawing room. At this rate, he’d be late.

  “Lord Ralston,” a woman called out.

  He glanced over his shoulder. Lady Amelia Hampton and her cousin Priscilla Grisham approached.

  Hell and fire. He stifled a moan. The woman who’d recently wed old Lord Hampton was clearly looking to start up an affair. She’d practically flashed one of her breasts at him during the last house party they’d both attended. He couldn’t escape talking with her unless he picked up Zeb and ran—which would surely prompt people to conclude he verged on madness.

  He forced a smile. “Ladies.”

  She gave Zeb a quick glance and wrinkled her nose. “My lord, how nice to see you again. I’ve been wondering if you’ll be attending Lady Randall’s house party?”

  Lady Randall’s house parties were full of revelry and dissipation. Doubtful Nina would attend. “No, I don’t believe so.”

  “No?” She pouted. “It would be so much more enjoyable if you did.”

  Good Lord, the woman was bold.

  Next to her, her timid cousin’s eyes grew round.

  Elliot glanced at Zeb, who slowly shifted onto his feet. “If you’ll forgive me, ladies. I must be rushing off. I have an appointment shortly.”

  “Of course. I hope to see you soon,” she purred.

  Elliot forced another smile and strode away.

  * * *

  That afternoon, Mr. Crumb combed his fingers through his long gray beard as he surveyed the damaged ceiling in Elliot’s drawing room. The plasterer set up his ladder, climbed it, and poked and prodded at the area near where the plaster had fallen off the ceiling.

  “Hmmm,” he mumbled and pulled on his beard.

  Elliot feared that, every time the fellow did that, the amount he intended to charge grew by astronomical proportions.

  “Well, m’lord. I fear it isn’t good news.” The plasterer climbed down from the ladder.

  It never was when it came to this property. So far, Elliot had hired a mason, several carpenters, a window glazer, a plumber, a roofer, and a chimney sweep.

  “Do you have an estimate?”

  “Yes, m’lord, let me figure it out, and I’ll give you the cost before I leave.”

  The man said m’lord as if Elliot pissed gold and had a money tree growing in his garden.

  “Sad situation. Sad situation, indeed.” Mr. Crumb withdrew a small notepad from the inside of his coat pocket and removed the pencil tucked above his ear. As he wrote, the man would sigh every few seconds, as if this quote were as painful for him as it would be for Elliot.

  Mr. Crumb tore the paper out of the notepad and handed it to him.

  Elliot stared at the inflated figure and bit back the urge to grab the man by the scruff of his coat and toss him out
the door. He forced a smile. “Thank you, Mr. Crumb. I have several other contractors who will be giving me an estimate. I have your card and will be in touch if I intend to hire you.”

  “Several other estimates?” the plasterer echoed, suddenly looking nervous. “Perhaps I can do the job for less, m’lord.” Obviously, the man had thought Elliot so plump in the pockets, he wouldn’t squabble over the price. Mr. Crumb took the paper from Elliot and jotted a new figure on it and handed it back.

  Even with the price drastically reduced, Elliot still couldn’t afford the repair. “If I wish to hire you, Mr. Crumb, I’ll be in touch,” Elliot repeated.

  With a dejected expression, the fellow nodded, picked up his ladder, and exited the room.

  Elliot’s gaze veered to the ceiling. “I wonder if I could fix it myself?”

  Zeb, sprawled on the hearth rug, lifted his head and gave him a doubtful look.

  “Don’t look so dubiously at me. I think I could do it.”

  The dog uttered a huff, which clearly conveyed the animal’s misgivings.

  “Well, I need to at least try.” His life was worse than he thought if he was trying to gain the bloodhound’s approval.

  Mrs. Lamb, the housekeeper, stepped into the room, wiping her hands on her yellowed apron. Beside inheriting his uncle’s run-down London town house, crumbling country estate, and depressed bloodhound, Elliot had also promised his uncle on his deathbed that he would continue to retain his uncle’s ancient valet, Wilson, and the housekeeper, Mrs. Lamb, who was losing her hearing.

  Elliot crumpled the paper in his hands and tossed it onto the cold grate.

  “Tried to swindle you, did he, my lord?” the housekeeper asked.

  “Yes, but afterward he gave me a decent price,” Elliot replied in an elevated voice.

  “So you intend to hire him?”

  “No. I’m going to try to do the repair myself.”

  As if she hadn’t heard him correctly, the housekeeper removed the hearing trumpet she kept in her pocket and set it to her ear. “What was that, my lord?”

  “I said, I’m going to attempt to repair the ceiling myself,” he repeated.

  Mrs. Lamb laughed as if Elliot were joking.

  “I’m serious.”

  “Really?” The woman pursed her lips. “I don’t mean to sound impertinent, my lord, but do you think that a wise move?”

  No. Not particularly. But in his financial situation, it remained the only option currently feasible to him.

  * * *

  The inside of Madame LeFleur’s shop with its colorful bolts of fabric was like the Yorkshire moors on a spring day—a rainbow of hues. Nina plucked off her gloves and ran her fingers over a bolt of green silk that shimmered under the chandeliers.

  “Oh, that shade of green would look fetching on you,” Caroline said.

  Nina lifted the end of the material and placed it next to her sister-in-law’s cheek. “I was thinking, with your green eyes, you should have a gown made from it.”

  “Goodness, I have enough dresses and . . .” Caroline’s cheeks flushed with color. She glanced around as if checking to make sure the modiste assistant who’d greeted them remained out of the room. “I believe I’m with child.”

  Uttering a squeal of pleasure, Nina embraced Caroline. “I’m to be an aunt again?”

  “I believe so. And if I am, I shall be reduced to wearing a tent in a few months.” She gave a low laugh.

  “You look lovely when enceinte.”

  “Ha! I look as if I’m going to tip over.”

  “Does my brother know?”

  “I think James suspects. I’ve been craving chocolates like I did when pregnant with Michael. But please don’t say anything to him. I want to be sure, and I’ve not seen the doctor.”

  “I won’t say a word.”

  Caroline touched a bolt of amethyst silk. “How about this shade? It’s close in color to one of your other evening gowns, but lavender suits you.”

  “That’s what Lord Ralston said.”

  Caroline tugged slightly on her earlobe. “Might I ask what is going on with you and Lord Ralston?”

  “Going on? Nothing. We are friends.” She avoided Caroline’s direct gaze and drew her finger over a bolt of blue velvet. Both Caroline and James would think her mad if she told them she’d almost agreed to Ralston’s plan to capture the Duke of Fernbridge’s attention.

  Caroline touched Nina’s arm, concern evident in her sister-in-law’s eyes. “You’re not smitten by him, are you?”

  “No. Anyway, Lord Ralston is not interested in marrying, and even if he was, I learned my lesson when Avalon broke my heart last year. I will not make the same mistake. I wish to marry a steady fellow who does not run with a fast crowd. Both you and James need not fret.”

  “Darling, there is no need to rush into marriage.”

  Obviously, Caroline hadn’t heard the latest rumor about Nina possessing some unknown character flaw. She didn’t wish to tell either her brother or sister-in-law what Grandmother had said. It would only upset them. “I know, but several of my friends have already made matches.”

  “Nina, it is not a race. You have years to find a husband. You do not need to rush and set up your own household. James and I love having you with us. As does your nephew.”

  “Grandmother says it’s my duty to marry well.”

  “Pish. It’s not a duty. It is a choice. I wish you to marry for love.”

  “Caroline, what you have with James is a rare commodity.”

  The bell over the shop door jingled, and the sound of two women chatting caused Nina to glance over her shoulder.

  Lady Amelia Hampton and her cousin Priscilla Grisham stepped into the modiste’s shop. The three of them had made their bow to the Queen together. Last month, Amelia had married the Earl of Hampton, a man nearly three times her age. Nina didn’t like the woman for three reasons. One, she thought herself everyone’s better. Two, she was a notorious gossip who didn’t give a tinker’s curse whom her cruel words hurt. And three, she was the first cousin of Lord Avalon, Nina’s former betrothed. Though the engagement had not been made public, their families had known about it.

  Amelia lifted her gloved hand, whispered something to Priscilla, and tittered.

  She could imagine what Amelia had said. The whole family probably knew she’d almost made a fool of herself over a man who’d not truly returned her affection. She’d been nothing more than a means to an end. Once she’d given him an heir, he’d probably have spent all his time in his mistress’s bed.

  That Lord Avalon would not marry the woman he truly loved said more about him. An actress was not worthy. She would taint Avalon’s precious bloodlines. What poppycock. In her opinion, Avalon did not deserve the woman. Not the other way around.

  “Pay no mind to Amelia,” Caroline said, breaking into Nina’s thoughts. “She should not be gossiping. I have half a mind to . . .”

  “To what?” Nina arched a brow.

  “Tell people what I recently learned about that harpy, but then I would be no better than her.”

  “What is it?”

  Caroline’s expression turned sly. “An employee at Harrods caught her walking out of the store with a scarf she’d not purchased. When the manager realized who she was, it was all kept hush-hush, but one of my reporters got wind of the incident.”

  Somehow, it didn’t surprise Nina. Amelia acted as if everyone owed her.

  Amelia headed their way. As always, Priscilla followed her cousin as if the other woman had her tethered to a leash.

  “Hello,” Amelia said, smiling like a cat about to pounce on a bird with an injured wing. “Nina, I haven’t seen you since my cousin and you . . .” She made a little O shape with her mouth as if catching herself before saying something indelicate. “I mean, how are you?”

  Nina forced her chin up. “Splendid.” She deliberately let her gaze settle on the paisley scarf Amelia wore. “What an eye-catching scarf. Might I ask where you bought it?”


  The other woman’s cheeks turned pink. “At Harvey Nichols.”

  “Really?” Caroline said. “I would have sworn I’d seen one identical to it at Harrods.”

  The feline grin on Amelia’s face vanished.

  The modiste’s assistant rushed through the green velvet curtain that separated the fitting rooms from the front of the shop.

  Amelia flicked the girl a look of disdain. “What took you so long? I have an appointment to be fitted! No one greeted me when I walked through the door. Customers would never be treated this way at the House of Worth in Paris.”

  “Forgive me, Lady Hampton.” The assistant motioned to the curtain. “Please come this way. Madame LeFleur is eager to help you.”

  “About time.” Amelia stormed toward the fitting room. “Come along, Priscilla.”

  After the other women stepped into the back, Caroline wrinkled her nose. “Isn’t she charming?”

  “Yes,” Nina replied, “if one has an odd disposition toward viragos.”

  Caroline chuckled.

  After they’d chosen a bolt of fabric, another of the modiste’s assistants led Nina and Caroline into one of the three fitting rooms in the back of the shop. Each room was named after a flower. They were led to the Orchid Room, which boasted cheval mirrors, a skirted dressing table, a divan, and upholstered chairs with button-topped ottomans, all in cream velvet. A pot with a white orchid sat on the round marquetry table.

  “Madame LeFleur will be with you shortly.” The assistant placed the bolt of lavender silk Nina had chosen on the round table and stepped out of the room.

  Nina opened the design book placed next to the potted orchid. It featured sketches specifically designed for her. The first page had a beautiful ball gown with sleeves as sheer as a butterfly net, a low, rounded collar, and flowing silk skirt with a sheer overlay in the palest pink.

  “It would look magnifique on you,” Madame LeFleur said in her thick French accent as she entered the fitting room and stepped beside them. The modiste pointed at the bolt of lavender silk fabric. “I could do it in this material. I have the perfect shade of violet organza to complement the fabric.”

  Caroline gave Nina a hopeful look. “What do you say, dearest?”