Wicked With the Scoundrel

by Elizabeth Bright

  “How much of an investment would the expedition require?” the marquess asked.

  It was a question for which Colin had a ready answer, thanks to Riya’s obsessive accounting. “Five thousand pounds, to start. More, as we continue. Much depends on what we find and how quickly we find it, and whether it leads to other finds.”

  Five thousand pounds was a good deal of blunt, but the expedition would only cost less in the event of stunningly perfect luck. Colin never had perfect luck, stunning or otherwise. His luck was often quite bad, actually. No doubt Riya had accounted for that.

  Chatwell did not flinch at the large number, and Colin wondered if he should have requested more. But no, five thousand pounds was Riya’s number, and he doubted she was mistaken in even a shilling of that. Perhaps the marquess was willing to pay more—Colin’s conversation with Lady Claire certainly pointed in that direction—but if there was one thing he would never do, it was cheat a patron. Not for any misguided notions of loyalty to the peerage, but because it would inevitably bite him on the arse. Cheating always did.

  “Hmm.” Chatwell contemplated his brandy. The amber liquid caught the sunlight as he swirled the glass in slow circles. “I will agree to the five thousand pounds, on the condition that you assist my daughter in finding her treasure. But, as you say, expeditions have a way of collecting costs quite quickly. Perhaps we will leave that discussion for after my daughter’s happiness is secured.”

  Colin paused. It was a strange request. How the devil was he to secure Lady Claire’s happiness? Was it just Scipio’s treasure and the Cleopatra Emerald that would do it? Or was more required?

  Did it matter?

  She already seemed fairly happy to him. Certainly, she did not strike him as unhappy. Really, the marquess was not asking much in exchange for such a large sum.

  “My lord, we have a bargain.” Colin stretched out his hand.

  “Excellent.” Chatwell beamed, and they shook hands firmly.

  Colin grinned. It would be the easiest five thousand pounds he had ever earned.

  Chapter Eight

  Claire arrived that night at the assembly rooms for the fourteenth time. But it was the first time she had arrived with a belly full of quivering butterflies, which made it a brand-new experience. Anything new was good, but this was particularly delicious because it was Colin who brought the butterflies.

  They had all arrived together—Adelaide and Mr. Eastwood, Riya and Mr. Mukherjee, and Colin and herself. They were, if she did say so herself, a quite lovely party. The master of ceremonies did not appear to agree, however. She gave her name and title, and yet he hesitated as he looked them over, his nose pointed in the air.

  Then Riya straightened to her full height—at least two inches more than the master—and arched her dark brows. “I am Lady Riya, the daughter of the Prime Duke of Rainma.”

  “Prime Duke?” the master squeaked. He cleared his throat. “By all means, of course, of course. We are honored.”

  Claire was fairly certain the soft snort of disbelief came from Colin, but it might well have been Mr. Eastwood.

  They swept past the bowing man and into the room. Claire, Adelaide, and Riya promptly dissolved into giggles.

  “Oh, Riya, you were wonderful! So haughty,” Adelaide gasped through her laughter. “I must practice that lofty eyebrow for the next time a matron questions me about Nick.”

  Behind them, Mr. Eastwood growled. That only made Adelaide giggle again.

  “She is quite good at making a man feel small,” Mr. Mukherjee said. “Life is never entirely comfortable with such a sister.”

  “How else am I to keep you and Colin from trouble?” Riya demanded. “Half your schemes would end with being eaten by a crocodile, I am sure.”

  Colin grinned and bowed deeply with a grand sweep of his arm. “We thank you for your service, dear lady.”

  Riya sniffed. “I should think so.”

  Claire bit back a sigh. They were all so comfortable with each other, so at ease! Whereas she stood not quite alone, but not quite one of them, either. So it had been for her entire life. She had friendships, of course. But it struck her that the friendships between other women went deeper, somehow. She was no lady’s particular friend, the friend that received secrets and confidences and was invited to share hers in return.

  No one wanted her confidences. They were so very dull.

  She tried to think of something witty to say but was fortunately distracted by the arrival of Lord Mowbray.

  “Lady Claire, I am so happy to find you in Bath! May I claim your first set?” He turned quickly to Adelaide. “With your permission, of course, ma’am.”

  Adelaide’s eyes widened. “Goodness me.”

  But before Claire could give her assent, Colin stepped forward. “I’m afraid she has already promised her first set to me.”

  Claire nearly fell down in shock. She had most certainly not promised Colin her first dance. She remembered everything, but even if she did not, that particular event would be lit up with fireworks in her brain.

  “The second set, then,” Mowbray said.

  Claire mutely handed him her card. His lips flattened as he noted the empty space, but he dutifully scrawled his name on the second line.

  “Goodness me,” Adelaide said again as Mowbray went in search of other dance partners.

  Claire looked questioningly at her.

  “It seems I am your chaperone tonight.” Adelaide gave a laugh and a little shake of her head. “How odd.”

  Claire patted her arm reassuringly. “Never fear. I am a very easy charge.”

  Colin laughed. “Let us not go too easy on Mrs. Eastwood. Shall we test her mettle, just a bit? I see a dark corner made for stealing kisses.” He waggled his eyebrows.

  Warmth spread over Claire’s cheeks. Was he…flirting with her?

  Adelaide rapped him on the arm with her fan. “You will do no such thing!”

  But it was Riya’s serious frown that made Colin flinch. It was clear to Claire that Colin cared for the woman’s opinion. It was also clear that Riya was very much against the idea of dark corners and stolen kisses. Claire bit her lip. Did she disapprove of kisses in general, or just Colin kissing Claire?

  A violin hummed, indicating that the first dance was about to begin.

  “Shall we, then?” Colin asked, offering his arm.

  She took it. A thrill shot through her as her gloved hand made contact with his jacket sleeve. There were three layers of fabric separating them, but it was still the closest they had ever been to touching.

  “You will undoubtedly no longer wish to speak to me after our dance, so I’ll go ahead and apologize now,” Colin said as they took their places.

  “Pardon?” she asked blankly. But his attention was focused on the first couple as they made their way down the line. His forehead wrinkled in concentration. Suddenly, she understood.

  Dear heavens, the man did not know how to dance.

  “Shall I twist my ankle, then?” she asked in all seriousness.

  He gave her a startled look, then laughed. “No, but I thank you for the noble offer. If any ankle is to be injured, it should be my own.” His grin was abashed. “I ought not to have stolen your first dance from Lord Mowbray.”

  “Why did you?” she could not help but ask. She held her breath as she awaited his answer.

  “I have a business matter I should like to discuss.” He leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “And I think it best to do so without an audience.”

  Her pulse beat faster. “Yes?” she said eagerly.

  He didn’t answer. His lips quirked. His gaze locked with hers, and in the depths of his smoky blue-gray eyes a challenge glimmered. “Brace yourself, my lady. This is going to be dreadful.”

  She found herself caught in his arms and whirled with dizzying speed. His movements were all wrong. The dance called for mincing steps and no physical contact other than the barest touch of fingertips to fingertips.

 
He was not supposed to have a hand on her waist.

  She was not supposed to grasp his arms and hold on for dear life.

  She should be humiliated.

  But all she felt was joy.

  Chapter Nine

  Lady Claire’s laugh was rather remarkable, Colin thought distractedly as he tried to avoid crushing her toes. It was not in any way reminiscent of tinkling bells, nor was it the throaty, erotic chuckle of a lover. It was…

  Well. Once he had blundered quite stupidly and found himself locked in a prison in Calcutta. It had been small and windowless, and even in midday it was so dark he could not see a hand in front of his face. Which was terrible, really, because there often was a hand in front of his face, and it smacked him a good deal. After five days—which had felt like five years—he had been released.

  He rarely thought of those days in the dark dungeon, except in occasional nightmares, and he never thought of that moment when he stepped outside and was nearly blinded by the sun. But he thought of it now. There ought to be a word for that feeling, a word to describe the soul-shattering moment when a person who never expected to see the sun again stepped from darkness into light.

  Whatever the word was, he heard it now in Lady Claire’s laugh.

  Surprised by joy.

  And so he twirled her again, to hear more of it.

  He would have done it yet again, had they not reached the end of the queue. Slowly he brought her to a standstill. He kept his arms lightly about her waist for support, in case she was dizzy. When he was sure she was steady, he released her and stepped back.

  “Well,” she said, rather breathlessly. She ran a hand over her hair as though to determine whether her curls were still in their proper place. They were not.

  The lady next to her gave her a sympathetic, slightly horrified look before beginning the proper steps with her partner, but Lady Claire seemed not to mind. Now that she was no longer spinning madly, she was entirely composed, except for the lovely pink flush on her cheeks.

  He waited impatiently for the dance to end. Finally, the last couple pranced down the line, and the music ended. Lady Claire curtseyed. He bowed.

  And then he grasped her elbow and propelled her behind the velvet drape—the sole purpose of which, he was fairly certain, was to conceal courting couples. For there was no window, nor door. It was simply a small space cordoned off from the room by a curtain.

  “What are you doing? This is wholly inappropriate!” Lady Claire said with a gasp.

  She did not, however, remove her elbow from his hand. It remained snug against his palm, warm, slightly knobby, and altogether wonderful for reasons it was best not to ponder.

  “Hush,” he said softly. “The first rule of treasure hunting is secrecy.”

  Her eyes widened. “Treasure hunting?” she whispered. “Do you mean— Have you changed your mind?”

  There was a sweet, hopeful note in her voice that momentarily choked the words on his tongue. He pushed the guilt aside. It was a good thing he was doing. He would benefit from the trick, but so would Lady Claire. And when it was over and done, she would be happier and none the wiser.

  “I was too hasty in my earlier decision. Your scheme has merit. The possibility of reward, slight as it is, outweighs what little risk there is in the endeavor. And…” His words trailed off with a frown.

  Good God. She was staring at him as though he had promised her the Garden of Eden. He must manage her expectations, or she would be sorely disappointed with whatever “treasure” her father pieced together.

  “We might find Scipio’s hoard, but I do not believe we will find the Cleopatra Emerald,” Colin said sternly. “You understand that, don’t you? Very likely it never existed, and if it does exist, it’s buried deep in some monarch’s jewel box.”

  “Oh, yes,” she agreed quickly, but confound the woman, she still had stars in her eyes.

  He didn’t want her to look like that. He didn’t want her to hand him her dreams for safekeeping. Really, she ought not to trust him. He had just spirited her behind a curtain, for God’s sake. Other than one flimsy protest, she seemed quite content to stay hidden there with him. It did not bode well for her common sense.

  “How can you be so certain we will find it?” he asked.

  “How can you be so certain we won’t?” she countered.

  “That is not an answer.”

  “Oh, but it is.” She fiddled with the jeweled handle of her fan. “Do you remember the first time you saw a bird?”

  “No, of course not. I was a baby.”

  “My mother was of the opinion that fresh air was deadly for children. I had reached my second birthday before I saw a bird. Before that, it had never occurred to me that flight was a possibility. Imagine my astonishment when I discovered it was not only possible, but positively commonplace. Birds always existed for you, so you don’t see the miracle. But I do. I remember so many first times, Mr. Smith, which means I also remember the times before they existed. I haven’t seen a mermaid yet, but I might see one tomorrow. If a bird can fly, anything is possible.”

  Anything is possible.

  She’d said it with such conviction that for a moment he believed her.

  “We will begin at once,” she said.

  “We will begin in the morning,” he corrected. “I have no wish to be shot by a marquess at dawn.”

  She gave him a puzzled look, as though it had not occurred to her that her father might protest a midnight romp with a strange man.

  But before she could speak, the curtain moved. He stepped back quickly just as Riya entered the space.

  Her eyes took swift inventory, then she smiled at Lady Claire. “Here you are at last. Adelaide is looking for you, dear. She is quite beside herself at the thought of losing her only charge.”

  “She hasn’t lost you,” Colin pointed out.

  “I am a different matter,” Riya said sharply. But her voice gentled as she again turned to the lady. “She won’t dance until she finds you, and Mr. Eastwood grows impatient.”

  Lady Claire nodded, her gaze moving swiftly between them. “All right.”

  Riya continued to smile pleasantly until Lady Claire was safely beyond the curtain. Then she turned to Colin with a scowl. “What are you thinking? You can’t be alone with her, especially not hidden behind a curtain during a ball! She is a lady, not a maid or a serving girl. You will ruin her with your carelessness and force her into a marriage she does not want.”

  “Really,” Colin drawled. “They would force her, the daughter of a marquess and granddaughter of a duke, to marry me, the bastard son of no one in particular, with no wealth or fame to sweeten my humble beginnings. Pardon me, but I don’t think her family would allow their blue blood to be sullied with my plebeian red, no matter what they think I’ve done with their daughter.”

  “I said she would be forced to marry, not that she would be forced to marry you.” Riya glared. “You, they will hang for theft, or whatever charge they concoct against you. She will be married off to some second son of a poor baron who needs her money more than he needs her virginity. Likely, he will be cruel and call her ugly names, and there will be countless parties and dinners where she’s no longer welcome.”

  He winced. That was a much more likely scenario, actually. He was aware that Riya had faced a situation not unlike what she had described, and he ought to have known better. Why had that not occurred to him? Ah, yes, because he had been entranced with Lady Claire’s laugh.

  “It won’t happen again, will it?” Riya pressed.

  “Of course not,” he assured.

  Probably not, anyway. At least, not in a ballroom. It would be damned difficult to lead her on this ridiculous treasure hunt without ever being alone with her. But English society was a silly thing, and truth was only half as important as appearances. Lady Claire would at least appear always to have a chaperone, he had no doubt.

  But Riya was more right than she knew. Lady Claire must be protected, and not just
from cruel gossips. She needed protection from herself. That had been at the heart of Colin’s promise to her father.

  “Don’t worry, Riya.” He patted her arm. “She is safe with me.”

  Riya looked at him with knowing, dark eyes. “But are you safe with her?”

  He hooted with laughter. “Safe with Lady Claire? She’s harmless.”

  But then he remembered her how she felt in his arms as they danced.

  And thought perhaps he was not.

  Chapter Ten

  Claire supposed she ought to have spent the morning in deep contemplation of where Scipio’s hoard actually was, but instead, she was engrossed with more practical matters, such as whether she should wear her blue dress or the pink with embroidered daisies.

  Why hadn’t she thought to ask Colin his favorite color? Although, it mattered less what he preferred than what she looked best in, and she looked best in pink. It suited her coloring. Perhaps pink was not the most practical choice for wandering the dusty streets of Bath, but really, all of her dresses were unsuited to dirty work, so why quibble over color? She just wanted to look her best.

  She went down to breakfast in high spirits, which only dimmed slightly when greeted by her mother’s dour expression. Her mother hated Bath. The city, which had been so fashionable scarcely a decade ago, was no longer favored by the ton. The marchioness would have preferred to spend the late summer months at their estate in Somerset. She came to Bath only to keep her husband happy, and she never let him forget it.

  “May I have the carriage today, Mother?” Claire asked as she heaped spoonfuls of fluffy scrambled eggs onto her plate. “I have several visits to make.”

  Her mother sniffed. “I can’t imagine who is here to receive your visits. All our friends are touring the lake counties. We would be there, too, if not for your father’s health.”

  Claire paused in the act of lifting the teapot. She was very glad they were not visiting the lakes. There was no Colin there. That was not the same as wishing her father ill health, was it? No. She loved her father.