An Invitation to Sin

by Suzanne Enoch

  Zachary nodded. “My pleasure.”

  Goodness, she wanted to kiss him on that warm, sensuous mouth. Molly was noisily eating across the clearing, however, so any physical contact was obviously out of the question. To do so would mean ruin, a forced marriage, and no portrait painting in Vienna. She saw in his eyes that he immediately came to the same conclusion, though the swift emotion that crossed his face wasn’t anything she could decipher.

  “Did I say something wrong?” she asked quietly, so the maid couldn’t hear.

  “Not in the least. My bird flew away.”

  Chuckling, she sipped at her lemonade. “If you can last for another hour, I can do most of the gray tones of your trousers and waistcoat this evening by candlelight. I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to wear the same clothes tomorrow, though, so I can fill in the shadow tones.”

  Zachary nodded. “My valet may suffer an apoplexy, but I’ll manage it.”

  She smiled. At his return grin, though, and the soft light in his eyes, she cleared her throat and concentrated on her lemonade. If she’d had any idea that speaking her mind to the point of insulting him would arouse both his attention and his interest, she would have kept her mouth shut. Caroline glanced sideways at Zachary as he drank. Who was she fooling? A kiss from him was as intoxicating as finding the perfect rose color to re-create the first blush of dawn.

  He finished off his lemonade, a droplet running deliciously down his chin before he swiped it away with the back of one hand. For a fleeting second she’d wanted to lick it off. Caroline took a breath. Steady. One thing at a time. First the portrait, then an intimate moment with Zachary, and then Vienna.

  The problem with that equation, though, was that Vienna seemed half the world away, and Zachary Griffin couldn’t seem to stop kissing her any more than she wanted him to desist. Two days. She could wait two days.

  Chapter 15

  Zachary felt like Troy being overwhelmed by the legions of Greece. The moment he swallowed his last bite of baked ham, the assault began.

  “Lord Zachary, will you pose for me?”

  “Zachary, I want to paint you as Adonis.”

  “Play charades with us, Lord Zachary.”

  With a smile he didn’t feel, Zachary pushed back from the dinner table. “Actually, I’d like a quick word with Mr. Witfeld, and then I’ll join you in the drawing room for our game, if that’s acceptable.”

  Susan shot to her feet. “I’ll get my sketch pad.”

  Immediately the rest of the horde scampered, with the exception of his aunt, who only shook her head and looked amused; Mrs. Witfeld, who was so engrossed in counting acceptances to her party invitations that she’d missed half the meal conversation; and Caroline, who looked happier than he’d ever seen her.

  Her dream was coming to fruition. And it pleased him immensely to have been the one to make that possible. If he’d stormed off and left, he never would have forgiven himself.

  “Join me in my office, lad,” Edmund said, gesturing for Zachary to precede him.

  Once the two of them were alone, Zachary sat forward in his chair. “I’ve been thinking,” he began.

  “About what?”

  “About Dimidius.”

  “My cow?”

  “I spoke with Caroline, and she said it’s been difficult to acquire enough animals of the correct lineage to begin a breeding program.”

  Edmund’s expression hardened. “I only told you what I did the other day to convince you to return and assist Caroline. I was not asking for charity, my lord.”

  “I’m not offering any,” Zachary returned briskly. “I’m offering a partnership.”

  If Mr. Witfeld looked less affronted, he looked doubly confused. “Please explain.”

  “Certainly. You have a cow that gives double the milk of a standard breed. I have money and resources to enable you to expand your breeding program and develop an entire herd.”

  “And what do you get out of it?”

  That was the sticky part. “Since Melbourne is the head of the family, I’ll have to write him about the details and ask for final approval, but I think a share in the profits would be fair.”

  “For the sale of the milk?”

  “For the sale of the milk, the resulting quality cream and butter, and the cattle.” Zachary sat forward. “If you’re successful at repeating what you’ve done with Dimidius, there won’t be a farmer in England who won’t be interested in beginning his own herd. We could provide cows or stud bulls and save them years in crossbreeding, since we will have already done it.”

  “This is not a short-term project you’re discussing, lad.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  Edmund looked at him for a long moment. “You’ve given up on joining the army, then?”

  Zachary grimaced. “To be honest, someone made me seriously reconsider throwing my life away for death and glory. And I’ve dabbled in horse breeding. It’s fascinating, but I think that’s every nobleman’s hobby. This, though, has much greater potential than breeding a Derby winner or two.” He took a slow breath. “And honestly, I’m tired of dabbling.”

  “What if the duke doesn’t agree?”

  He’d damned well better. “I have funds at my discretion. It would be a slower process without his resources and backing, but I do have some well-connected acquaintances. Just because Melbourne refused to see a good thing doesn’t mean everyone would.”

  “You’d go around your brother?”

  “I’d give him first chance. After that, as far as I’m concerned it’s ‘may the best cow win.’”

  Slowly Edmund nodded. “I’ve been wanting to do something like this for years. It’s why I bred Dimidius in the first place. But as you said, on the scale I’ve been working, at most I’d get half a dozen cattle and be able to sell my excess milk at the local market.” He stuck out his hand. “By God, lad, if you can manage it, you’ve got a deal. And a partner.”

  Grinning, Zachary shook Witfeld’s hand. “I’ll write my brother tonight. You won’t regret it, sir.”

  “Papa, please don’t keep Lord Zachary in there all night,” Joanna’s voice came as she rapped at the closed door. “We get a share of him, too.”

  Witfeld smiled back at him. “I won’t regret it, but you might.”

  Zachary had one more thing to do, one more thing to make right, before he could settle into the cattle breeding business. He left Edmund making some notes about their new venture and accompanied Joanna and Julia back upstairs to the drawing room.

  All the girls were there, including Caroline. That surprised him, since she’d said she needed to paint this evening, but he had no doubt that come hell or high water, she would not miss her deadline.

  Aunt Tremaine and Mrs. Witfeld were having a coze in the corner, but he didn’t expect they’d interfere overly much. At the cacophony of pleas and demands aimed in his direction, he raised one hand. “May I have your attention for a moment?”

  Everyone subsided to look at him expectantly.

  “My thanks. First of all, I apologize for any miscues I may have caused at the assembly ball.”

  “Oh, no, Lord Zachary,” Mrs. Witfeld broke in, putting a hand to her heart. “You were so gracious, dancing with all my dears.”

  He wished the family matriarch would make herself scarce or go back to counting invitation acceptances, but that wasn’t likely to happen now. “Thank you, Mrs. Witfeld. However, I gave your daughters some imperfect, or at least incomplete, advice. I would like to rectify that.”

  “Yes, you did send us all after Martin Williams,” Anne agreed.

  “I hadn’t realized—I didn’t pay enough attention to realize—that you had all decided to choose the same man.”

  “I still choose you, Lord Zachary,” Grace declared, blushing.

  “And that is something else I’d like to make clear. I’m not here to marry, or to lead any of you astray.”

  “But—”

  “Hush, Violet,” Anne chastised. “
Let him finish a blasted sentence.”

  He sent Anne an appreciative look. Caroline had yet to say a word, but he didn’t really think she would. This wasn’t her area of interest or concern. And as for being led astray, she’d done as he required, which was to invite him.

  “What I would like to do, however,” he continued, “is to give you a little insight into men, and to perhaps help you learn how to approach a man who interests you.”

  Mrs. Witfeld made another noise.

  “You know, Sally,” Aunt Tremaine said, lurching to her feet, “you promised to show me some embroidery you were working on. Perhaps we should leave the young ones to their entertainment.”

  “I—”

  “Do come,” his aunt cajoled. “I feel in need of a bit of exercise, anyway.”

  “Oh, very well. If you think they’ll be all right without us.”

  “My nephew is a perfect gentleman.” As she passed by, Aunt Tremaine swatted him across the backside with her cane. “Behave,” she whispered.

  He planted a kiss on her cheek. “Of course.”

  Once the ladies departed, Zachary resumed his instruction. “Firstly, you can’t all have the same man.”

  “But how do we decide who gets which man?” Julia demanded. “And don’t say it should be by age, because that isn’t fair.”

  “Actually, according to tradition, it is fair,” he returned. “But that’s not my decision. It’s yours.”

  “Shouldn’t the gentleman have some say in the matter?” Caroline put in unexpectedly.

  “Another good point. Perhaps a one-at-a-time approach might serve. At any rate, I will tell you the three things any gentleman would love to hear.”

  “There are three?” Caroline asked again, lifting an eyebrow.

  Despite the fact that every inch of him seemed attuned to her presence, he was beginning to wish that she would go away and work on the portrait. “There are more than three. These are the simplest, and the most likely to get a man’s attention. After that, it’s up to you.”

  “What are they?” Violet asked.

  “First, ask if he would care to join you for a refreshment. Either food or drink will do, but in my experience, gentlemen love to eat.”

  “What if we’re not at a soiree?” Grace asked. “What if we’re in a store when we meet?”

  At least one of them was still focused on Martin Williams, then. “Then use the second item. Tell him he’s wearing a thoughtful expression, and you would very much like to know what he might be thinking.” He glanced at Caroline, seeing her open her mouth to interject a question. “It implies that you believe the gentleman to be an intelligent and deep thinker, and that you value his opinion,” he went on, forestalling her commentary. “It’s very flattering. Trust me.”

  Even Anne was beginning to look impressed. Good. They all seemed to be perfectly pleasant girls, if several of them were a little feather-headed, and it wasn’t their fault each one was disadvantaged by being constantly in competition with six—five—other sisters. And given their mother’s grasp of subtle social niceties and the fact that none of them had ever been to London or to finishing school, someone needed to tell them.

  “What’s the third item?” Susan asked.

  He looked at all the eager, upturned faces for a moment. All the men of England—or at least of Wiltshire—would hopefully forgive him for what he was about to unleash upon them. “It also has to do with food.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” Caroline muttered.

  “Hush, Caro. You may not care to know this, but we do.”

  “Apologies, Joanna. Pray continue, Lord Zachary.”

  “Tell him that seeing him puts you in mind of a peach pie or a pudding or a butter biscuit you’re particularly fond of. Then ask if he might wish to partake of it the next time he goes fishing.”

  “Fishing? We’re to go fishing?”

  “No, you’re to offer to provide a treat for him the next time he goes. Then, whether he accepts or not, when he’s fishing or thinking of fishing, he’ll also be thinking of you and sweets. If your chosen gentleman has another hobby—shooting or driving or something—substitute that for fishing.”

  “That’s brilliant,” Susan breathed.

  “But I would suggest that you make a lottery of the gentlemen you find acceptable, and each take a name. You might of course trade if you find your tastes run elsewhere or that you’re more compatible with a different gentleman, but since you’re sisters, I again remind you that if you all pursue the same man, he will either refuse all of you, or one of you will end up hurting the rest.”

  “Grace, go fetch some paper. We’ll write down possibilities right now,” Anne instructed.

  Caroline stood. “Which seems to be my signal to depart. I have some work to do.”

  “And I have some correspondence,” Zachary seconded, rising after her. “Ladies? I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Good night, Zachary,” came the return chorus.

  Caroline preceded him out the drawing room door. “That was interesting,” she said over her shoulder as she headed for the stairs.

  “I’m trying to be helpful.”

  “I think it was helpful. More so than the advice you gave them to ambush poor Martin Williams at the assembly, anyway.”

  “That wasn’t my advice. I merely told them not to pin their hopes on me, and to find someone who would more appreciate their sweet dispositions.” He followed her up the stairs, staying far enough below that he could admire the sway of her hips as she ascended. Two days. He could wait two days to bury himself in her.

  “You were trying to rid yourself of them.”

  “No, I was trying to avoid setting your sisters against one another. In all honesty, though, I should have taken more care about what I said. I thought I could do a good deed without being put out.”

  She turned around, looking down at him. “Am I putting you out?”

  “If you were, it would be no more than I deserved.” He climbed a step, reaching out to take her hand in his. “But you’re not.”

  “I keep wondering,” she said quietly, “if you’ve become so thoughtful because you are, or because you’re trying to gain something.”

  He knew what she meant. It would have been easy, he supposed, to charm his way beneath her skirt and then ridicule her for it afterwards. “I admire you, Caroline,” he returned. “I envy you. I’m not angry at you.”

  “Why in the world do you envy me?”

  “Because you’ve known forever what you want in life, and you’ve taken the steps to achieve it.” He smiled. “You’re teaching me some important lessons, and in return, I have a few to teach you.”

  She ran her gaze down the length of him and back again, with a leisurely intensity that made his mouth dry. “Then I look forward to it,” she murmured.

  Sebastian, Duke of Melbourne, sat finishing his morning coffee as the butler reappeared with a salver full of letters. “Thank you, Stanton,” he said, motioning for the stack to be placed at his elbow.

  “Very good, Your Grace.”

  He sifted through them absently, most of his thoughts on his meeting with the prime minister before luncheon. The new damned tariffs were strangling his business with America. The former Colonies wouldn’t stand for much more of it, either.

  “Any letters for me, Papa?” Peep asked from her seat at his right elbow.

  “There’s an invitation from Lady Jeffers for you to join her and her daughter in Hyde Park tomorrow,” he said, handing it to her.

  “I like Alice,” his daughter commented, looking at the invitation, “but I think Lady Jeffers wants to marry you.”

  Sebastian glanced at her. He’d long since ceased to wonder at the insights of infants, but she still surprised him more than he would let on. “And that’s not a good thing?”

  Peep shook her head. “She laughs too much, when I don’t think she means it.”

  That fairly well agreed with his own assessment of Lady Jeffers.
“Do you want to attend, then?”

  “Oh, yes. There are supposed to be acrobats.”

  “I’ll accept on your behalf, then.”

  The messy scrawl of the Griffin House address across one of the missives caught his attention, and he freed it from the pile. Zachary. He broke the wax seal and unfolded it. “‘Melbourne,’” he read to himself, “‘I’ve been talking with Edmund Witfeld here in Wiltshire. He has a new breed of cow that gives rich milk in twice the quantity as a standard Guernsey. Would you be interested in investing? We need to increase breeding stock to be sure Dimidius isn’t a fluke. Zachary.’”

  Sebastian assumed Dimidius was the cow in question. For the first letter he’d received from Zachary since his brother had left London, this one was a bit surprising. A fortnight ago his youngest brother had been angry and resentful and set on joining the army and getting himself killed. Now it was cattle—which wasn’t as odd as the fact that there was no chitchat, none of the amusing commentary that usually came from Zachary, and no mention that one of the Witfeld daughters was painting his portrait for some sort of business proposition.

  He frowned a little, wishing Aunt Tremaine’s long-winded letters contained a few more useful details. Between Zachary and his aunt he was lucky to have been informed that the pair of them were residing outside of Bath.

  “That’s Uncle Zachary’s writing, isn’t it?” Penelope said, bouncing up in her chair. “When is he coming home?”

  “He doesn’t say.”

  “Is Aunt Tremaine feeling better?”

  “He doesn’t say that, either.”

  She blew out her breath. “Well, what does he say, then?”

  “He says he found a cow.”

  “A cow?”

  “Yes. Her name is…” He checked again. “Dimidius.”

  Peep thought about that for a moment. “What’s he going to do with her? I thought Aunt Tremaine said he got a dog.”