Never Conspire with a Sinful Baron

by Renee Ann Miller

  Male voices could be heard down the corridor. Huntington and a stony-faced butler stepped out of a room. The smile Huntington offered his wife disappeared when he noticed Elliot.

  “Darling.” The marquess kissed his wife’s cheek, then glared at Elliot.

  “James, dearest, Nina and I happened upon Lord Ralston, and I invited him to afternoon tea.” She patted her husband’s hand affectionately.

  Elliot surmised that Caroline would not mention Nina’s attendance at the suffragist rally. Not that Elliot thought the man against the women’s movement. To the contrary, his backing of his wife’s newspaper, and the editorials she wrote, confirmed Huntington supported it. However, the fact that Nina had nearly been arrested would not sit well with the marquess.

  “Ralston.” Huntington stepped up to him and grasped his hand in a bone-crushing clasp that might have broken a less hardy man’s fingers.

  He’d seen the man engage in several rounds at Clapton’s Boxing Club and knew him a worthy opponent, but if he thought his glower and the pressure of his grip would scare Elliot off, it wouldn’t.

  A snore that sounded more like a steam engine choking caused everyone’s gazes to shift to Zeb. He lay sprawled out on the floor, asleep as if it were as comfortable as Elliot’s mattress.

  Mirth lit up Nina’s eyes.

  Peering at the dog, Huntington frowned, then motioned to the stairs. “Shall we go to the drawing room?”

  Good Lord. Elliot glanced at the sleeping dog. He’d probably have to carry Zeb up the flight of steps.

  “Since it’s such a fine day, let’s take our tea on the terrace,” Nina suggested.

  Elliot breathed a silent sigh of relief.

  Nina smiled as if reading his thoughts.

  “What a splendid idea.” Caroline turned to the butler, who stood patiently waiting for instructions. “Menders, we’ll take our tea on the terrace.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  Georgie came barreling down the stairs. “Oh, jolly ho,” he said, spotting the sleeping bloodhound. The lad crouched next to the dog. “Who’s this fine fellow?”

  Elliot squatted next to him. “Master George, might I introduce you to Zeb. As you can see, he is rather old and doesn’t have much bounce in his step. If you wish to pet him, he’s quite tame.”

  As Georgie ran his hand over the animal’s flank, Zeb opened his droopy-lidded eyes and wagged his tail.

  “Georgie, do you want to take him outside and into the garden?” Nina asked.

  “May I?” The child peered at Elliot.

  If the lad could get the dog to go with him, Elliot would be grateful. “Of course.”

  “Come on, boy. Want to play outside?” Georgie stood and took the dog’s leash.

  For a moment, it looked like Zeb was going to just lie there like a stone statue, but he slowly got to his feet and followed Georgie down the corridor.

  “Shall we?” With a sweep of her hand, Lady Huntington gestured toward the arch.

  Outside, they sat at a cast-iron table on the terrace. Before Elliot could assist Nina with her chair, her brother was by her side. Huntington sat next to Nina, while motioning Elliot to sit in the chair opposite them.

  If the marquess had his way, Elliot didn’t doubt, he’d have been seated at another table or perhaps in the middle of Park Lane, so a carriage might run him over.

  Zeb’s bark caused him to look at the dog. Elliot almost rubbed at his eyes to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. The bloodhound was fetching a stick.

  “Georgie is marvelous with dogs,” Nina said, noticing the direction of his gaze.

  “I see that.” Elliot wondered if they’d notice the lad missing if he kidnapped him. Probably. They seemed like a close family. Unlike his own, in which children had been seen but not heard. Georgie looked to be around ten years old. By that age, Elliot had already been shipped off to boarding school. Though, in truth, he hadn’t minded—better than listening to his parents’ quarreling. A few years after Meg was born, his parents had all but given up on their marriage and taken to separate residences. Meg had gone off with Mother, Elliot with Father. Two children who were more of an inconvenience than anything else.

  The French doors opened. The butler pushed a tea cart to the table and spread a pristine white tablecloth over the surface.

  Caroline served the tea while the butler placed several tiered trays with cucumber sandwiches and biscuits on the table.

  “Will you be attending the Hathaways’ house party, Lord Ralston?” Caroline handed him his cup.

  “I will.”

  “Ah, we are attending as well.” Nina smiled and took a sip of her tea.

  Elliot noticed the way Huntington’s hand clenched at his delicate teacup. If the man didn’t loosen his grip, the porcelain would shatter.

  The French doors opened, and Nina’s brother Anthony stepped outside. Elliot had played cards with the man several times. He was the black sheep of the family. Where Huntington was serious, Anthony acted carefree. A rascal who liked to enjoy life a little bit more than one should. His current mistress was an actress or an opera singer.

  The appearance of his scapegrace brother seemed to turn Lord Huntington’s mood darker, especially when Anthony strode closer and one could see his clothes were wrinkled as if he’d slept in them. Or perhaps he’d not slept home, but in someone else’s bed and just crawled out of it. The dark stubble shadowing his jaw added to his unkempt aura. Appearing oblivious to the disapproving glower with which his brother was favoring him, Anthony grinned and clapped Elliot on the shoulder. “Ralston, how are you?”

  “Well. And you?”

  “Capital.” Anthony slumped into one of the chairs and glanced at Huntington. The smile on the younger man’s face faded. “Dash it all, James, you look like a mortician with that scowl on your face.”

  Though Anthony was only around his mid-twenties, up close Elliot could see the signs of dissipation on the man’s face.

  Anthony lifted a hand to shadow his eyes from the sun and pointed to Georgie and Zeb.

  “Goodness, when did we get a pony?”

  Nina laughed. “Anthony, are you drunk? That’s Lord Ralston’s bloodhound.”

  Leaning forward in his chair, Anthony blinked. “Well, I’ll be.... It is a dog. What does he weigh? Six stone?”

  From having had to carry the stubborn dog about on several occasions, Elliot knew Zeb weighed close to that. “Yes.”

  Nodding, Anthony picked up a sandwich and took several sizable bites.

  “Your garden is lovely, Lady Huntington.” Elliot pointed to an area to the left of the terrace. “The bark of the birches with the rhododendrons must look stunning when the latter blooms.”

  Everyone’s gazes swung to him as if he’d dropped his trousers and flashed his arse.

  Nina blinked. “You are familiar with plants, my lord?” “A bit.” He’d been working and studying the plants in his garden at his country estate. He and his gardener, Mr. McWilliams, had torn out those that were half dead and unsalvageable and divided overgrown plants. He might not have the funds to repair the country residence, but he had the physical ability to garden and plant. He’d found masses of bluebell bulbs that he’d dug up and replanted near the meandering pathways on the property. This spring, a profusion of purple, carpet-like flowers had rewarded his labor.

  “I fear I cannot take any credit for the gardens, my lord,” Caroline said. “I know little about gardening except what I find visually appealing.” She gave a small laugh. “I’m not even sure which plant is . . . what did you call it, a rhododendron?”

  “Those.” Nina pointed at the bushes. “Remember, you asked the gardener to clip some of their flowers last year?”

  “Ah, yes. I recall they were purple. As you can see, Nina knows more about them than I do. She likes to sketch them.”

  “Do you, Lady Nina?” He smiled at her.

  “I do.”

  “I’d love to see your sketches,” Elliot said.

&n
bsp; Her eldest brother made a noise that sounded like a growl.

  “Suffering from dyspepsia, James?” Anthony asked, oblivious.

  * * *

  Tired of her eldest brother’s boorish behavior, Nina set her teacup in her saucer. “Would you like a tour of the gardens, Lord Ralston?”

  Elliot glanced at James and smiled. “Yes, I would.”

  She had to give Elliot credit; he wasn’t the type of man to cower.

  As if intending to accompany them, James pushed his chair back.

  Caroline set her hand on her husband’s, halting his movements. “Georgie is there.”

  Elliot offered Nina his arm.

  They strode down the terrace steps and onto a garden path.

  “Does your brother own a set of dueling pistols?” Elliot asked. His mouth turned up, forming a lopsided grin.

  Nina couldn’t help her laugh. “I believe he has inherited my grandfather’s.”

  “Is he dashing from the terrace to retrieve them?”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “No, but if looks could kill . . .”

  “Ah, I can handle looks. Bullets are more difficult to dodge.”

  Another small laugh escaped her lips. “So, was that a lucky guess as to which plants are rhododendrons, or do you really have an interest in horticulture?”

  “I can point out a rhododendron just as easily as a forsythia or berberis.”

  “I’m impressed, my lord. Constellations and a knowledge of plants. Perhaps there is more to you than your handsome face.”

  “You are free to examine me all you want.” His voice was low, seductive.

  The tone, along with the implication, made her body heat. She swallowed hard. “You know there is no need to play this game with me when the Duke of Fernbridge is not about.”

  “But I enjoy the way you blush. And if I’m honest, I like torturing your brother.”

  Nina glanced at James. He watched them like a hawk. If her brother knew about the lessons Elliot wished her to partake in, he would be running for Grandfather’s old dueling pistols.

  Georgie and Zeb strode up to them.

  “He’s lost interest in fetching,” Georgie said, his tone reflecting his disappointment.

  Elliot took the dog’s leash and ruffled the lad’s hair. “Master George, that’s the most I’ve seen him move. He usually does little else besides sleep. You are a miracle worker.”

  Her young brother proudly puffed out his chest.

  “I best be shoving off or Zeb will fall asleep halfway home, and I’ll need to carry him the rest of the way.”

  She nodded.

  Elliot thanked Caroline and James, while not seeming the least bit put off by James’s glower.

  Nina walked him to the door. “So, I will see you at the Hathaways’.”

  “Yes, and we will begin our lessons in earnest.”

  Last night, while in bed, she’d wondered what Elliot’s lessons would involve. Lesson one—to not fawn over the Duke of Fernbridge—had been easy, but she feared some of Elliot’s lessons would be more titillating.

  Nina’s heart picked up speed. She averted her gaze and patted the dog’s head. “I do not think there is anything you could teach me that I don’t already know.”

  He leaned close and whispered in her ear, “Oh, darling, there is so much I could teach you.”

  And with that said, he strode out the door, leaving her body tingling just from his words.

  Chapter Ten

  The following day, Elliot raked his fingers through his hair as the carriage he’d hired at the train station drove between the stone pillars flanking the entrance to his country house. He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew the unsettling letter he’d received.

  What in God’s name was Meg doing in Hampshire? Why wasn’t she at Mrs. Gibbs’s School for Girls? Since receiving the note from Mrs. Newcomb, the housekeeper at Ralston House, he’d tried to make sense of it.

  The carriage slowed as it neared the residence. From the outside, the Jacobean country home looked impressive. Previous barons had added additions during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. At one time, it had been a showplace that held grand balls and house parties. Now, the dilapidated inside reflected only a shadow of its past.

  When the vehicle stopped, Zeb, sprawled on the opposite seat, lifted his head and gave Elliot a droopy-eyed glance. Without waiting for the door to be opened, Elliot disembarked, anxious to find out what was going on.

  “Lord Ralston. I hope you had a pleasant journey,” the gardener, Mr. McWilliams, said, walking toward him.

  No. Thoughts and concern over his sister had made the journey seem interminable, and Zeb’s snoring, which at times sounded like a hand bellow with a clogged nozzle, hadn’t helped.

  “McWilliams, is my sister inside?”

  The old man nodded.

  The driver opened the boot to remove Elliot’s valise.

  “I’ll get your bags, my lord,” the gardener said.

  “Thank you.” Elliot entered the house.

  Mrs. Newcomb rushed toward him and gave a quick curtsey. “Oh, thank goodness you are here, Lord Ralston. I didn’t know what to do.”

  His heart rate quickened. “To do? What do you mean? Is something wrong with Meg?”

  The woman gave several vigorous shakes of her head like a dog trying to dislodge a flea in its ear. “No. Not exactly.”

  He wanted to rail at the woman over her ambiguous reply. “Yes, go on.”

  “Well, my lord, she’s been cleaning the place since she arrived a few days ago. I cannot get her to stop. A lady of her station shouldn’t be getting callouses on her hands.”

  Cleaning? “Where is she?”

  “Upstairs in the blue drawing room. She’s taken the curtains down and is washing all the windows and sills in there.”

  Elliot took the steps three at a time. His sister shouldn’t be cleaning. Not with her bad leg.

  He flung open the double doors and stepped into the room. Meg stood over a bucket of water, wringing out a sopping rag. She wore a maid’s uniform. A white mobcap covered her long dark hair, but a few tendrils clung to the dampness on her flushed face. A long smudge of dirt ran from her nose to her cheek. If he’d seen his own sister on the street, he would not have recognized her.

  She glanced up and smiled. “Elliot, what are you doing here?”

  “What am I doing here? What are you doing here? Why aren’t you at school?”

  Meg placed the rag on the edge of the bucket and wiped her damp hands on her soiled white pinafore. She peered at him with her dark blue eyes that looked so much like his own. “I didn’t like it there.”

  “You love it there. Did someone say something to you? A new student?”

  “No, I . . .”

  “What?” He strode up to her and gently set his hands on her shoulders. “Tell me, Meg.” He tried to keep his voice calm, but if someone had hurt her, he would make them pay.

  With a sweep of her hand, she motioned to the room. “Look at this place. Pieces of plaster molding are missing, the floors are warped, the white ceiling is full of soot because the chimney in here is clogged. I know this residence and the London town house are bleeding you dry. You cannot afford to pay for Mrs. Gibbs’s School.”

  “Oh, Meg.” He pulled her close, and she rested her head against his chest. “Is that why you are here? The last thing you should be worrying about is money. Since you are away at school, and I live in London, I am making repairs to the town house first. I will repair this monstrosity in good time. I have everything under control.”

  “You do?” Her eyes grew wide.

  “Yes.” He took her hand in his and led her to a group of chairs.

  Today, her limp was more exaggerated. All this physical work surely exacerbated the pain in her left leg. “Please, sit.” He gestured to a chair upholstered in faded blue velvet.

  Though she tried to hide it, the way the skin around her mouth tightened proved her leg plagued her.
>
  The fact that Meg scrubbed this accursed house because of her concern for him made him want to hit something. “You shouldn’t be doing this. I plan to go into trade with Adam Talbot.” He wouldn’t tell her how close to insolvency he was, or he’d never get her to go back to school. And he’d definitely not tell her about his other plan, regarding Nina.

  “Talbot?” Meg crinkled her nose as if forced to smell spoiled fish. “Are you mad? He’s a rapscallion. A ne’erdo-well. An immoral rascal. A . . .”

  He held up a hand. “Yes, but he’s also smart, and he has the capital to get us started.”

  “I hope you’re not tying a noose tighter around your neck.”

  He hoped he wasn’t either, but Elliot believed he could build Langford Teas into the most well-known tea merchant in the world. And in time, the most profitable.

  “Come see what I’ve done.” Without waiting for his response, Meg slowly stood and strode to the double doors.

  Though noticeable, her limp didn’t appear as exaggerated as a few minutes ago.

  He followed Meg down the corridor to the library. The space usually smelled of musty books—the stagnant odor as potent as a freshly peeled onion, but today the scent of lemons filled the air. The polished wooden shelves, those not broken, reflected the light streaming through the clean windows. Even the dingy, threadbare rugs, were more vibrant.

  “You did this?”

  A proud smile wreathed the lower half of her face. “With Mrs. Newcomb’s help. We rolled up the carpets and beat them.” She laughed. “We both suffered coughing fits from all the dust.”

  “I’m amazed they didn’t disintegrate. I thought the dust coating them most likely held them together.”

  “We had to toss half the books away. Even putting them in the sun would not have saved them. Book bugs had destroyed so many.”

  He took his sister’s chafed hands in his. “You worked a miracle, and I’m grateful, but you need to return to school.”

  “I won’t return. No matter what you say.” She gave him that stubborn look he remembered from when she’d been knee-high. “You’ve spent hours on the gardens here, and they reflect your efforts. I can be of help as well. You see what I’ve done. I want to do more.”