Entrancing the Earl

by Patricia Rice

  Lord Ives impatiently stalked the foyer while his man ordered his bags carried out to the cart. The earl was wearing a tailored, shoulder-hugging, collarless coat of a dark blue that matched his eyes. He slapped on his top hat and glared at her as if it were all her fault that he wasn’t on the train yet.

  Since he was always diplomatically polite to everyone else, she was apparently the only one gifted with his glares and impatience. She smiled pertly up at him, then adjusted her straw hat, using the mirror for that purpose. “You can pretend not to know me, you know. No one will notice one more stray Malcolm leaving her family’s journals at the library.”

  “And I’m to have you riding in the cattle car with the servants, right.” He strode out, not offering his arm, as if she were, indeed, a servant.

  She had fully expected to ride in the cheap seats, as she had on the way up. “I can buy my own ticket,” she reminded him, following him out to the cart the castle provided for transportation until a better road was built.

  “With what, your honey? And I wouldn’t put it past you to vanish again.” He assisted her into the cart seat, then climbed in beside her. “Keep in mind that I’m only in this for the reward. If you want to do this, then you had best work with me.”

  Iona pondered that ultimatum until they’d reached the village and disembarked where the driver couldn’t hear them. “I think you may have turned that around a little. If you wish to claim your reward, you must work for me.”

  As his valet arranged their tickets and baggage, the earl lifted a rather pointed eyebrow with incredulity. “And precisely how were you planning on arranging negotiations without me?”

  She shrugged. “Apply to the School of Malcolm ladies and ask for a solicitor who might be trusted. And I can tell if he’s trustworthy, you realize.”

  She could tell he wasn’t pleased, but he couldn’t argue with her ability. That was a new experience—a man who didn’t think she was helpless or crazy. And he was a good kisser. A pity he would run away as soon as he had the money to repair Wystan.

  He assisted her into the first-class train car. “Fine,” he grumbled once they were settled in a private compartment. “Let us compare plans. Yours seems to still involve marrying the purple-vested mushroom, correct?”

  “Purple-vested mushroom?” she asked in amusement, basking in this private, luxurious environment, bouncing a little on the cushioned seat. “I see you have met Arthur.”

  “I have avoided meeting him. I had to be assured I could find you before proceeding. You are avoiding my question.” He sat across from her and set his tall hat on the seat.

  “I told you, I am an honest person. If I negotiate a marriage settlement, of course I will marry him,” she said primly, although everything in her soul rebelled at the notion. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Verifying he actually has the funds. Testing his integrity in carrying out any settlement. Writing a contract that includes a forfeiture leaving you a generous sum if he defaults on any morals clause I include. Then seeing that he defaults.”

  Seeing that Winter defaulted on a morals clause? She’d never heard of such a thing. “I’m impressed,” she admitted. “You think Mr. Winter is that desperate for a title?”

  “I have no idea if he beats women or drinks like a fish. I’ve not had time to learn, have I? My first duty, of course, will be to impress on him that Mortimer has utterly no power over you, that you are entirely independent, and the choice is all yours.”

  “Good luck with that,” she said scornfully. “In what world do men accept that women are not chattel?”

  “Scotland is a little more forward-thinking than most places. Mortimer is simply a feudal throwback. I’ve arranged for you to stay with some of my family, Viscount Dare and his wife. They’re both Malcolms, so you’ll like them.” He slumped in the seat, crossed his arms, and closed his eyes as if to sleep.

  “Mortimer is slime with spies over half the country. They will report my presence the instant I move in. So quit looking smug. You don’t know my stepfather the way I do. You’ll need my help.”

  He scowled but didn’t open his eyes. “I’ll shove you in a trunk and ship you.”

  She grinned. “You want to kiss me again and don’t dare.”

  “Perfectly correct. Now shut up and let me plot.”

  That thrilled her more than she’d admit. She settled back and continued building the barrier she needed to continue dealing with this man. “You can’t plot without me. I shall get off the train where I got on. I will check for mail at my rooming house, although I don’t expect any yet. I will pack a valise. If your servant stops off with me, he may carry the valise to whatever destination pleases you. I will then make my way there on my own, when I am ready.”

  “This is not the north country,” he protested, sitting up and glaring. “A young lady does not traipse about the city alone.”

  “Then I shall arrange to be a man.”

  * * *

  Gritting his teeth, Gerard watched as Lowell and the countess climbed off the train in a particularly non-descript area outside Edinburgh. He didn’t know the city well enough to hope she’d found a decent residence in these dismal environs.

  Arrange to be a man, indeed! Remembering last night’s kisses, the way she’d felt like heaven in his arms, and her wayward response when he’d pressed his attentions—

  Made him hard all over again. Dammit it all to hell and back—she was a virgin. He didn’t touch virgins, though he might risk it for one who was wealthy. He should find a wealthy, non-Malcolm virgin and see if she kissed like the countess.

  She wouldn’t, of course. He’d had far more experienced women at his beck and call and none had tasted like Iona. He could almost understand why animals would risk the wrath of a thousand bees to sip honey like that.

  He wasn’t in any humor for pacifying his cousins when he arrived at the station without their guest.

  “Did you lose her, Ives?” Lady Phoebe demanded. Tall, with masses of unruly chestnut hair, she’d actually dressed like a lady instead of a hooligan for the occasion.

  “I’m sure there’s a good explanation.” Azmin, Lady Dare, reassuringly patted Phoebe’s arm. Half Hindu, she preferred the loose, colorful silks of her home, but today, she too had dressed as an English lady to meet their unknown cousin.

  “The explanation is that the lady trusts no one and has chosen to arrive on her own.” Gerard picked up his own bags since Lowell wasn’t there. “I have left my valet to guide her but cannot tell you more.”

  He stomped down the platform with the women trailing after him.

  “Zane says you are welcome to stay with us as well as the countess,” Azmin said cheerfully. “Phoebe’s house is smaller and filled with animals and guests. Our enormous house is positively empty with everyone scattered. It should be more private than a hotel.”

  His prey could be found at the hotel. Privacy with a countess who kissed like a courtesan probably wasn’t the wisest idea. But a private residence would save him coins.

  What were the chances he’d win the reward and have enough to pay a hotel bill?

  About equal to the chances that he could resist temptation.

  “I’ll be along later,” he agreed, against his better judgment. “I’m grateful for the hospitality but have a few people I need to see first.”

  “We’re not interested in you anyway,” Phoebe said cheerfully. “We’re here to meet our new cousin.”

  The women walked off, laughing. Thankfully, their driver was willing to take Gerard’s bags so he needn’t lug them to the hotel.

  Lowell had spoiled him already.

  At the Royal, Gerard sent a message to Rainford, then settled in a chair behind a newspaper to watch the lobby. One could tell a great deal about who was in town watching a place like this.

  The Marquess of Rainford was dubbed the Ice King for good reason. With his pale hair, lack of bushy facial hair, and appearing sharper than a knife blade in one of his im
maculate gray suits, Rainford entered the tavern.

  Acting appropriately noble, they repeated their earlier performance, strolling into the tavern as if they were kings and taking a private table. White and his companions weren’t there yet to notice this performance, but Gerard relied on gossip.

  A barmaid hurried over to take their order and to whisper, “They talked of visiting the Old Rooster tonight. The earl won a few pounds on the horses today, and he’s promised to introduce your lordship to Mr. White.”

  Rainford slipped her folding money. “Excellent job, Ruby. Warn us if they head our way.”

  “You play this game too well,” Gerard noted. “I expect you now know who owes what to whom by now.”

  “Pretty much,” Rainford admitted. “The American is almost as bad at gambling as Craigmore, but White pays his debts. Craigmore doesn’t—because he makes promises like introducing me to an encroaching mushroom I have no intention of meeting.”

  Gerard snickered at his friend’s word choice but stayed on topic. “Is there some danger White will frivol away his fortune? The lady should be made aware of that.”

  The marquess eyed him skeptically. “You found her? She agrees to this charade?”

  “Of course I found her. Keeping her in sight is the difficulty. She went haring off the instant she hit town. But yes, this is her idea,” Gerard admitted irritably. “Never tell her anything is impossible, or she’ll do her best to prove you wrong.”

  Rainford sat back, stretching his lanky frame and grinning. “The imperturbable earl has been perturbed—by a woman. I must meet this formidable lass.”

  “She imagines herself a master of disguise and is likely to turn up in trousers,” Gerard warned, irritated at his irritation. He’d worked hard to earn his implacable reputation.

  The idiot medallion in his pocket chortled.

  “You haven’t answered my question about the American.” Gerard shut out the chortles.

  Rainford sipped the whisky the maid delivered. “It’s hard to answer. He’s not precisely a wastrel. And my sources say his income is enormous. But he’s not paying attention to his investments. Any downturn—”

  Gerard grimaced. “Not what I want to hear. I’ll start dictating the settlement terms to my father’s solicitor, but we need to look for all possible alternatives. She’s counting on a monthly allowance to repair what Craigmore has damaged. If White’s fortune slips—”

  “—she can’t marry another and she loses. Understood. What about the other sister?”

  “She’s a Malcolm who wishes to hide in the country. There is almost certainly something wrong with her, but I’ve not gained their confidence. She said almost nothing over dinner, and Lady Iona was protective of her.”

  “I’d like to meet them once this is over.”

  Since the marquess came from a long line of Malcolm healers, Gerard assumed his interest was medical—not useful for Malcolm maladies. But if it served to distract his friend from the ducal duties looming, Gerard wouldn’t quibble.

  “I’ve asked my cousin Phoebe if her country, card-sharp cousin might help us if we arrange a respectable soiree. That may be our last resort though. Do we head over to the Rooster this evening?”

  “I’ll send over a couple of the men still intrigued by the reward. One is a viscount. That should raise White’s hopes that he’s being noticed. Let’s learn how good he is at cards first.” The marquess finished off his whisky just as White entered the tavern.

  The American was still wearing a purple waistcoat over his paunch, although this one appeared to be heavily embroidered in gold, presumably to match his golden-brown tweed coat, which he wore unbuttoned. He scanned the room and found Gerard and Rainford immediately.

  “Time to go.” Gerard returned his hat to his head. “I’ll be at Dare’s. Let me know if you need me.”

  “Playing hard to get is losing its interest.” Rainford left coins on the table. “I want to settle this soon.”

  “A few more days,” Gerard promised as they brushed past White and his entourage without acknowledging them. “They’ll be chomping at the bit.”

  As they entered the lobby, the street doors opened to admit a slouching, slender man with receding dark hair. In a hazardous degree of impairment but dressed as a gentleman, he handed his hat and gloves to the doorman, who evidently recognized him.

  “Uh oh,” Rainford murmured. “That’s Craigmore.”

  The faux earl saw them before they could retreat to the stairs. “Rainford, well met! I may have a witness who knows where my daughters are, if your men are still interested in that reward.”

  Behind him stood a short, robust lad wearing spectacles, a loose wool jacket several years out of date, and a trilby—over familiar dark curls.

  Sixteen

  “Baron Twaddle von Kitsch,” her stepfather drunkenly shouted, obliviously introducing Iona to the earl and his companion. “Student at the university. The baron says he has met the naughty pair.”

  Hiding behind her spectacles, Iona bit back laughter and insouciantly swung her cane as she watched the reaction of the men in the lobby. Lord Ives looked as if he’d like to bite her head off. He’d recognized her instantly.

  She assumed the icy-blond gentleman with him was the marquess. He just appeared bemused, as he should be if he knew German.

  “Good of you, Craigmore,” the marquess said noncommittally. “Should you not follow up the lad’s suggestion and save yourself the reward money?”

  “They’re on their way to Newcastle!” Mortimer cried. “I’m too old to catch up with them. Your lot are better equipped to follow.”

  In other words, the reward money wasn’t his to save, and he lacked the coin to buy a ticket to Newcastle. Iona had anticipated that.

  “I’ll handle this, Rainford,” Lord Ives said, shoving his way past Mortimer to get at Iona, a furious gleam in his eye. “I’ll take the baron to the tavern so he can explain what he knows to our friends.”

  He had his hand around her elbow and was practically dragging Iona toward the door. Since she was eager to escape, she allowed it.

  “Excellent, thanks, Ives. Tell Drummond I’ll finance his journey if he leaves tonight.” Rainford tipped his hat and escaped up the stairs.

  “Wait a minute—” Mortimer cried as earl and marquess parted ways in different directions. “I want you to meet—”

  Before her stepfather could say what he wanted, Gerard all but carried Iona out the door to the street, avoiding being introduced to the American, she assumed.

  “I swear, I should leave you to the purple-vested pig,” he grumbled, dragging her down the busy thoroughfare. “Your mother didn’t spank you often enough.”

  “She never spanked us. Our talents often came in useful. You’re the only one who sees through me. How could you know it was me behind these wretched pillows?”

  “Only a blind man would be deceived!” he shouted. “Baron Twaddle, indeed. Mortimer is a complete and utter fool.”

  “Well, yes, on this we can agree. That’s why I did it. I couldn’t resist when we ran into him on the street. By the way, whatever you’re paying your valet, it’s not enough. This really is a better disguise than I could have created. And we found it all at the second-hand market.”

  “I’ll sack Lowell for this,” the earl muttered, signaling for a hansom. “Then I’ll kill him. Even university students have whiskers.”

  “Not necessarily.” She rubbed her smooth cheeks. “And if you sack Lowell, I will hire him. Where are we going?”

  “You don’t have tuppence to hire him. We’re going to Dare’s. Where did you stash Lowell and your baggage?”

  “He’s right behind us, acting as a proper guardian. I do believe he carries a pistol.” Iona refused to climb into the carriage until the servant caught up.

  “You are not redeemed,” the earl said coldly to his valet. “Guarding her should mean keeping her out of trouble.” He swung into the hansom and took the seat beside her.

>   The gray-haired valet implacably handed up Iona’s parcels. “If you will give me direction, my lord, I will meet you there.”

  “Nonsense, Lowell. If the earl will quit sprawling in the seat, we can squeeze you in. I’m sure it’s just a short distance, and I cannot hold all these packages myself.” Iona elbowed his lordship.

  The earl scowled and handed his servant coins. “You carry the rest of her loot. We’re heading for Viscount Dare’s on George Square.”

  It was Iona’s turn to scowl. “You should not be so mean. Lowell showed me the most marvelous market where I could buy pretty gowns so cheaply I needn’t sell more pearls! He’s a gem among men.”

  “Pearls? You have pearls to sell?” His lordship looked as if his head might blow off. “Are you receiving anywhere near a fair price for them?”

  “Of course. I asked around first. The pearls are precious to me, and I do not part with them easily.” Iona settled back on the cushions, adjusting the uncomfortable trousers over the pillow padding as the horse trotted down the street.

  The earl rubbed a tic in his jaw. “I suppose you are selling family heirlooms everywhere you go. And you don’t think Mortimer will recognize them?”

  “If he knew we had them, he would have sold them himself. Besides, he doesn’t even recognize me. Didn’t I just prove that? He’s a blind drunkard who spends so much time thinking of himself that he has no time for anyone else. If I walked in wearing a gown and in accompaniment with you or another Malcolm, he might look twice, if only to see what advantage he could take. Therein lies the danger of being seen with any of you.” She sat back against the cushion and fiddled with the string on her package.

  She could scarcely breathe with his lordship filling up all the space with his sprawling, masculine presence. She had not realized hansoms were so very small. Or perhaps she had thought herself small when she’d last been in one and had learned a better sense of herself since.

  “Give me a list of places where you sold your pearls,” he said wearily. “When I have the reward, I’ll buy them back for you.”