Ten Kisses to Scandal (Misadventures in Matchmaking)

by Vivienne Lorret

  “Well, I’m far stronger than you think.” She sniffed, a faint line of moisture gathering along the lower rim of her eyes.

  He felt like a complete heel. Without conscious thought his hand reached out, closing around hers. The quick press of glove against glove, the turn of palm against palm, did little to assuage the sudden need he had to pull her into his arms. But this small act was all he could risk.

  “I know that, love. You”—he took a step without minding the path and felt his foot sink—“ah, horse shite.”

  And it was still fresh, too. Steaming and a bit loose, likely from one of his own horses. He’d have to talk to the stablemaster about their diet.

  Beside him, Briar hiccupped. Then she covered her mouth with her hands and started to giggle, her eyes wet but smiling. And he realized he would have stepped in a hundred piles just to hear that sound.

  What an utter nodcock he was.

  Stalking to the side of the path, he ripped a branch from the nearest shrub and made the best of it.

  “I hope those aren’t your lucky boots,” she teased.

  “I believe they are. Therefore, you owe me recompense.” From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a smirk toying with her lips.

  “Because it was clearly my fault that you weren’t paying attention to the path. Oh, very well, what shall it be?”

  His mind turned quickly. Too quickly, perhaps, because he said the one thing that came to mind as the memory of their first encounter flashed before him. “Come with me to the coffee house one evening.”

  She gasped, hands splayed over her heart. “I could finally discover what gentlemen yearn for in potential brides. Oh, Nicholas! You’d be willing to do that? For me?”

  Instinctively, he knew the offer would make her happy, but he hadn’t bothered to think about how impossible it would be to take her there. “I spoke too soon. It would never work. You’d either have to dress the part of a trollop—”

  “That had better not be another slight against the shade of my lips.”

  “—or a man. And no, I’m rather fond of your lips.” Very fond indeed, he thought, his gaze brushing over them.

  She blushed a pretty carnation pink and glanced down to his mouth, returning the sentiment without words. And suddenly he couldn’t resist temptation. With a hasty glance around to see that they were shielded by foliage, he dipped his head to steal a kiss.

  But Briar took a step back, thwarting him with a hand between them. “That would be quite ruinous for both of our reputations. Besides, you owe me a lesson first. Perhaps after the coffee house?”

  A pang of deprivation rolled through him, leaving him hungry, wanting. He didn’t like it. “No one with half an eye would take you for a man. As I said, I spoke out of turn. It was a ludicrous idea. You could never conceal all those delightful parts of you.”

  She set her hands on her hips, showcasing a pair of them. “Nicholas, I truly do not like to be underestimated. As it happens, I already have a costume of gentleman’s clothes. When I was younger, I had the part of a dandy in one of the plays my sisters and I used to put on for the Duchess of Holliford. And if I say that I can dress like a man . . .”

  “Then I’ll expect you to prove it to me,” he challenged, earning another bright smile. Honestly, he was willing to do anything to keep her happy at this point.

  “I wouldn’t want anyone else to know, not even Temperance. So, I don’t know how I’ll arrange to be out alone.”

  The rakish side of him didn’t have any trouble coming up with a plan. “If my aunt were to invite you to dinner one evening, would it be possible to come without your uncle, provided that I send a carriage?”

  “I believe so. Uncle Ernest is much more trusting than my sisters. And he likes you, so that is in your favor.”

  “Then, after dinner, I could arrange to drive you home, giving the excuse to my aunt that I would drop you at your lodgings before I enjoy an evening at Sterling’s. Since she is not so strict with these matters as your family, I’m certain she will make no fuss.”

  “Hmm . . . even so, we couldn’t stay long without inciting some suspicion. Oh, but I would love to see what it’s like inside a coffee house, hear all the things that men talk about, learn what they’re really looking for in a wife . . .”

  “I wouldn’t get my hopes up in that regard if I were you.”

  She beamed at him. “Silly man. If you were me, then you would always find something for which to hope. And my sights are still set on finding the perfect bride for you. We’ve gained dozens of new applicants. So many that I haven’t had time to pour over them all, but I’m sure there will be someone to tempt you.”

  He decided not to remind her how pointless her efforts were in that regard. “Any additional prospects for Daniel?”

  “I do have two more names. The only problem I find is that they match his shy temperament. I fear, if left on their own after an introduction, not a single word will be spoken by either party. I wonder how he ever became betrothed in the first place, unless Miss Smithson had a rather exuberant nature and drew him out of his shell.”

  “Some might refer to her as bold,” he said, fist clenching. “Keep to the shy girls if you can. I’ll arrange for an introduction.”

  Beneath the brim of her bonnet, she eyed him with careful curiosity. “You ask after Daniel’s matches far more than you do about Temperance’s. Was his melancholy after his betrothed abandoned him severe enough to cause this . . . anxiousness I sense from you whenever we speak of him?”

  Shame flooded Nicholas so swiftly that he almost couldn’t swallow it down. He thought he’d been concealing his worry better. But lately, his need to help Daniel, to make amends for the suffering he’d caused, had started eating away at him more and more.

  “It was,” he said simply, without confessing his part. She nodded in thoughtful understanding, their gazes holding for a moment. He looked away first, to where Temperance stood near the stream, casting petals to the water one by one. “Do you plan to discourage her from Mr. Cartwright?”

  “I could not do that to her. Never before has she expressed such an interest in a gentleman.” Briar sighed, worry behind her eyes and in the tiny furrows on her brow. “Even so, I do not think they are likely to meet again, for illegitimate sons rarely travel in the same circles. I do, however, have other prospects for her. In fact, I have every hope of arranging an introduction to a handful of gentlemen on Friday at the agency, and ladies for Daniel as well.”

  He turned to her again. “If there is anything I can do, please let me know.”

  “Well . . .” she began, her eyes brightening, “if you could arrange for Cupid’s arrow to strike, that would be lovely.”

  Then her lips tilted in a grin so beguiling, so dazzling that he felt struck by it. For a short-winded instant, the steady beating of his heart went out of kilter, stumbling awkwardly. And dimly, Nicholas wondered if the invisible archer had accidentally released a shot in his direction.

  Chapter 19

  “Ambition, as well as love, had probably been mortified.”

  Jane Austen, Emma

  Later that evening, Ainsley found Briar in the small library, bringing with her a weighted stillness that seemed to make the room too confining. Even before her sister spoke, Briar knew what the topic of conversation would be—John Cartwright.

  After her initial mention of her half brother, Uncle Ernest had been quiet throughout the jaunt with Nicholas and his cousins, but also watchful. It did not take any leap of imagination to guess that he would speak to Ainsley first.

  “I understand that you met Mr. Cartwright this afternoon,” Ainsley said with a resigned exhale, not bothering to pretend she was here for reading.

  Since Briar was still angry about being kept in the dark, she did not respond at first but continued to peruse her uncle’s shelves, dragging her finger along the spines. She’d come here to find a book on cravats in order to complete her disguise for her outing with Nicholas next week,
and she wasn’t going to be distracted.

  And yet, as she started to fume, she no longer saw the titles and could not keep silent. “He’s much older than I would have thought. Is that the reason you never wanted to talk about Father’s other children—because you didn’t think I was ready to deal with the full scope of his betrayal?”

  “Partly,” Ainsley said after a minute. “But to tell you the truth, I don’t think I wanted to confront it either. I still have anger left over from all that has happened and it wouldn’t have been fair to talk to you about it.”

  Why not? Intuition warned her not to ask that question, advising her that she already knew the answer.

  Even so, Briar couldn’t subdue the impulse. She turned to face her sister. “Why not?”

  She went still, waiting. Even the candle flames held steady, the candelabra on the chiffonier between them glowing in a harsh white-gold light.

  Ainsley blinked, then averted her face toward a potted fern on a nearby pedestal. She moved toward it, beginning to pluck out the dead leaves as she spoke. “Because I prefer to deal with matters in my own way, without burdening anyone else.”

  “Hmm . . .” Briar murmured, believing that was only part of it. But she did not push further. It didn’t seem now was the time to suggest sending an invitation to their half brother to get better acquainted either.

  Instead, she decided to change the subject. “I’ve planned to host a gathering of potential matches for Temperance and her brother, here next week.”

  Ainsley did not look surprised by the news, but her mouth was set in a line of discontent. In Briar’s opinion, her sister went far too many days with that same expression. If memory served, Ainsley had a stunning smile. It was a pity she was so miserly with it.

  “Where did you find these potential matches, among our client list?”

  “I put an advert in the Post,” Briar answered, but suspected that Ainsley already knew this, too. Nothing got past her.

  She plucked at the poor fern more aggressively. “And did you bother to vet any of them?”

  “No, I was hoping to fill the agency with cutpurses and murderers and introduce them all to my dearest friends.” Briar rolled her eyes. Of course she had taken the proper precautions. “During the week, I took the liberty of filling out an application for each of them and set those papers on Jacinda’s desk for investigation. When she did not find anything criminal, I decided to write invitations.”

  Actually, she hadn’t yet sent the letters. She was still narrowing the lists down to the best prospects. However, she would mail them first thing in the morning and have everything settled.

  “I wish you would have said something to me. I could have helped you find some other gentlemen from our client list for Miss Prescott to meet.”

  It was on the tip of Briar’s tongue to say that she did not want Ainsley’s help, but when she saw the hurt look in her sister’s eyes, she swallowed it down. Her actions had already made that fact apparent. “I went through our list early this Season, and none of our clients appealed to Temperance.”

  Ainsley nodded stiffly, then took the mess of brown fronds—and a few green—to toss into the hearth. But Briar felt guilty for going behind her sister’s back. She hadn’t wanted to risk her sister taking over. And more than that, she admitted, she wanted to prove herself, and make her own contribution to the agency.

  Still, it wasn’t in her nature to leave matters in a state of discord between them. So she quickly thought up a solution. “I do have one problem, however. You see, Daniel is rather shy and wouldn’t attend if he thought there was going to be a group of women here to meet him. So, after he escorts Temperance, I thought perhaps you might take him on a tour of the house, along with a handful of potential female applicants, arriving by invitation.”

  Her sister tilted her head, scrutinizing Briar. “And he will have no idea why he’s really here?”

  “No. But he is of a romantic nature and would likely prefer to meet his bride by happenstance,” she said, parroting what Nicholas had told her in the beginning.

  “Very well. But I cannot guarantee the results under such circumstances.”

  Briar knew Ainsley wouldn’t embrace an idea that wasn’t her own, but at least she was willing to help. That was good enough for now.

  * * *

  When the day arrived, Temperance cajoled her brother into lingering for the event, bidding him to stay in the house in case she would prefer a quick escape. Ever the dutiful brother, Daniel agreed to accompany Ainsley on a tour of the house and their small garden, where—coincidentally—four young women were having tea.

  In the parlor, Uncle Ernest was busy making the introductions, and Temperance looked positively lovely in her yellow-striped frock. The four gentlemen milling about the room were each a bit on the odd side. Then again, what could one expect from a gentleman who answered an advert for a bride? Though perhaps one of them would turn out to be a diamond in the rough.

  Briar still had every hope that the day would be a smashing success.

  Regrettably, those hopes were destined to meet a terrible end. Her first clue came when she sidled up to Temperance, who was valiantly attempting to chat with Lord Fortescue.

  He had a tall wiry build and something of a restless nature, with the tendency to shift from one foot to the other while glancing around the room at all the other occupants. It was as if he expected a formulated attack at any given moment.

  And when Temperance asked if his journey here was uneventful, Lord Shifty’s response was rather odd. “Are you always overly curious? I find that people with curious natures are those with the most to hide. Is there something you aren’t telling us, Miss Prescott?”

  “Since we have not been acquainted above thirty seconds, I suspect there are a great many things, my lord,” Temperance said. She tried to feign a laugh but it came out in more of a whinny.

  Briar used the moment as an excuse to extricate her friend. She patted her gently on the shoulder. “Dear me, it sounds as if Miss Prescott needs a spot of tea for her throat. Please excuse us, Lord Shif—Fortescue.”

  Stepping away from him, Temperance clenched her teeth together in a semblance of a polite smile and uttered, “Do not leave my side. At all.”

  Briar stifled a laugh, pressing her lips together. “Not for a single instant.”

  They encountered Sweet William next. Of course, that wasn’t his real name but, after their encounter, Briar would never think of him any other way.

  Mr. Dougherty was a round-faced, quiet man, nearly bald but with a forelock of wispy butter-colored hair. And only a few minutes into the conversation, he gazed adoringly up at Temperance—she was a good five or six inches taller—and said, “You remind me of my mother.”

  Temperance shot an alarmed glance to Briar, eyes wide as poached eggs. “Um . . . thank you, Mr. Dougherty?”

  “She used to call me William,” he said with a shy smile. “It would be fine if you did that as well.”

  “I don’t think that would be appropriate, Mr.—Oh, very well, William.”

  And then poor, Sweet William burst out crying. Briar was quick to hand him a handkerchief as she linked arms with Temperance and they moved on to the next disaster.

  Uncle Ernest was sitting with the robust Captain Cantrell in the chairs flanking the tray of lemonade and biscuits on the low table. The latter was speaking on the importance of keeping a sportsman on staff in order to stay in optimal health. Her uncle, who enjoyed meandering walks in the park and rarely lifted anything heavier than a lady’s hand to kiss it, merely nodded.

  Undeterred, the captain continued, clearly enjoying sporting and the sound of his own voice. He did, however, pause his conversation briefly to engage with Temperance, a neatly manicured blond brow arched in disdain. “That’s your second biscuit, Miss Prescott.”

  Temperance turned a gimlet-eyed glare on Captain Control and popped the rest of the biscuit in her mouth. “Actually, it is my third.”

&nb
sp; Briar nearly applauded. Temperance even articulated every syllable and didn’t lose a single crumb. Brava!

  Uncle Ernest cleared his throat, his expression turning to stone. “Gentlemen in this house are always expected to act and speak with decorum.”

  Captain Control fixed a smile on his face that made him look as if he were in the midst of a stomach ailment. “Though, for such a large girl, you move with surprising grace.”

  Briar, who was seated nearest to him, stood up suddenly and accidentally spilled her lemonade on his lap.

  Uncle Ernest pointed him toward the kitchens. With any luck, Mrs. Darden would throw the captain in the rubbish bin.

  Their fourth gentleman was a bit of a rube, with dust on his boots and the not-so-faint aroma of pigs wafting from his clothes. He stood with thumbs tucked into the slitted pockets of his waistcoat. “You’re not one of them bluestockin’s, are you?”

  Briar swallowed down a bubble of laughter at the enormous tragedy this entire afternoon had turned into, then offered him a sad shake of her head. “I’m afraid Miss Prescott is highly educated.”

  Apparently, that was enough information for Lord Porcine, for he offered a disdainful sniff and strode out of the parlor. Sweet William gave a tearful goodbye, promising to write Temperance. Lord Shifty skirted out of the room, pausing only to double-check the corridor before making his way to the foyer. Then, just as Uncle Ernest was about to close the door, another man entered.

  With his five young children in tow.

  Mr. Tittelwurst—sadly that was his actual name—quickly introduced himself, took one look at Temperance, and said, “You’ll do.”

  Briar could not hold it in any longer. Her eyes began to water. She glanced at Temperance, who wore the same expression, and hiccupped.