An Earl to Enchant: The Rogues' Dynasty

by Amelia Grey

  “So what’s the problem?” Morgan asked absently as he watched the groom take the saddle off Master Brute. His mind suddenly drifted back to Arianna. How had she quieted the stallion?

  Thoughts of her triggered his memory of how desirable she had been yesterday afternoon dressed in that Indian sari. He had vivid memories of her exotic scent, the sweet taste of her mouth, and how smooth, beautiful, and soft her skin was. Just thinking about her small waist and gently flared hips had him almost to the point of arousal.

  Morgan cleared his throat and shifted his stance. Somehow, he had to keep his mind off his house guest.

  Realizing he had no idea what Blake had said, Morgan said, “Sorry, what was that?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Actually, I didn’t, so could you humor me and repeat it?”

  “What’s wrong with you?” Race asked. “You’ve seemed distracted ever since we arrived.”

  With good reason, but Morgan was going to have to keep his thoughts away from Arianna.

  “Cousins, I’m fine. I’m glad you have come, but could you just get to the point and tell me, why are you here?”

  “We think you need to come back to London so you will be near Gibby if he needs you for anything.”

  Concern flashed through Morgan. “Is he ill?”

  “No, nothing as serious as that.”

  “What kind of double-talk is that, Race? Did he do something or didn’t he? And if he did, what the devil did he do?”

  “Gibby may have fathered twins,” Blake said.

  Nine

  My Dearest Grandson Lucas,

  Here are more wise words from my dear friend, Lord Chesterfield. Study on these great words from him and remember them: “One must often yield, in order to prevail; one must humble one’s self, to be exalted; one must, like St. Paul, become all things to all men.”

  Your loving Grandmother,

  Lady Elder

  Morgan swallowed his initial shock at Blake’s words, thinking his cousins were having a little fun at his expense, and he wasn’t going to fall for it. “So what else is new?”

  “We’re serious,” Blake said.

  A nervous laugh started low in Morgan’s throat. His gaze darted from Blake to Race. Neither of them was laughing. They weren’t even smiling, and suddenly neither was Morgan.

  “You’d best have a good foundation for what you are saying,” he growled.

  “We do,” they said in unison.

  Morgan watched the humid breeze blow through their hair and the ends of their neckcloths flutter. He knew Race and Blake well. They had played plenty of tricks on him in their time, but this wasn’t one.

  They were serious.

  Morgan was worried.

  Doing his best to remain skeptical of their claim, Morgan said, “Please don’t tell me that Miss Prattle was with child when she accused Gibby of dishonoring her and has now had twins?”

  “Bloody hell, we hope not,” Blake said on a whispery breath.

  Race’s eyes narrowed and he rubbed the back of his neck. “I haven’t heard from Miss Prattle’s brother since his boxing match with Gibby. Last I heard, Miss Prattle and her brother had left London, and as far as I know, no one has heard from them since.”

  “And hopefully we’ll never hear from either of them again,” Blake added. “I’m glad Gibby made it out of that uncomfortable situation without losing any money or any of his teeth in his boxing match with Miss Prattle’s brother.”

  Morgan’s ire quickened again. “So if Miss Prattle was not with child, what the hell are you two jackanapes talking about? What do you mean he may have fathered twins? He may have fathered an elephant, too, but I can assure you, he didn’t.”

  “We’ll tell you what we know so far,” Blake said. “A week or so ago, three gentlemen came to Town. The oldest is Viscount Brentwood. Do you know of him?”

  “Seems we’ve met a few times,” Morgan answered, struggling to bring the man’s face to mind. “He came for some of the parties during the Season a year or two ago, and maybe even this year. He doesn’t usually spend too much time in London. I have no idea why.”

  “Now that man is in a hell of a bind, isn’t he?” Race said to Blake.

  “For sure,” Race agreed. “I wouldn’t want to be in his boots.”

  “Me either,” Blake offered. “I guess there’s something to Lord Chesterfield’s words about ‘not letting your shoes get caught under the wrong woman’s bed.’”

  “Did Chesterfield say that?” Race asked.

  “According to our grandmother, he said everything, and he said it first. I guess if there is anything good about Viscount Brentwood’s situation it’s that Lady Gabrielle is a beautiful young lady.”

  “There’s no doubting that,” Race agreed.

  “Hold it right there, you two,” Morgan grumbled, breaking into their conversation. “I don’t know what the devil you blasted ninnies are talking about. What do Viscount Brentwood and Lady Gabrielle have to do with Gibby?”

  “Them?” Blake said innocently. “Nothing.”

  Morgan threw up his hands in frustration.

  “Morgan, the viscount figures into this,” Race countered.

  “How? Get to the point quickly about all this, including Brentwood.”

  “Don’t be so fidgety. We have to fill you in on some of the details, so you’ll know what we’re talking about,” Blake said.

  “All I want to know is who is accusing Gibby of being the father of her twins?”

  “No one,” Blake said.

  A frustrated chuckle blew past Morgan’s lips, as much from his cousins’ stalling as to hide the pain in his hip. “Why do I suddenly feel like I am at a poorly acted farce at the Lyceum? Did you or did you not tell me Gibby may have fathered twins?”

  “We did,” Race said.

  Morgan inhaled slowly, trying his best to hang on to his patience and keep control of his rising temper. The gray afternoon grew darker, and the tepid breeze was feeling damp. He wondered if his cousins had always been this exasperating, or was his irritation on a short tether because they had barged in, apparently for no good reason, and upset his plans to ask Arianna to dine with him.

  Yes, that’s the reason.

  “Obviously there is still more for you to tell me, but let’s go down to the house. Night is falling, and I feel in need of a glass of wine.”

  “It’s about time you asked us,” Blake said. “I was beginning to think we were going to have to stand out here by the stables the rest of the evening.”

  “Would you two please get this conversation back to Gibby and not on gossip about people I really don’t care to hear about?”

  “Oh, yes, right. Anyway, back to the twins,” Blake said as they started down the slope toward the house, flanking Morgan as they went.

  “Yes, please back to the twins, and tell me who had the babes.”

  “They aren’t babes.”

  “Not by a long shot,” Race added.

  Morgan held up his hands with his palms flat. “I’m going to strangle both of you and leave your carcasses out here for the vultures if one of you doesn’t get to the heart of the matter right now.”

  “It seems Viscount Brentwood has younger, twin brothers, and they came to London with him last week,” Race said.

  Morgan frowned. “I still have no idea what the viscount and his brothers have to do with Gibby.”

  “You will,” Race offered and looked at Blake.

  Blake nodded and took in a deep breath. On his exhale, he said, “The twins are the spitting image of a much younger Sir Randolph Gibson.”

  “Bloody hell,” Morgan whispered and stumbled to a halt.

  The cousins stopped, too. Morgan swallowed hard, not wanting to believe what Blake had said. The implications were damaging to too many people for this to be some kind of trick his cousins were playing.

  Cautiously, he asked, “What do you mean spitting image?”

  “You know what we mean, Morgan,
don’t be a masher,” Blake said, looking him directly in the eyes. “They are tall like him, built like him, their eyes are like his, and they have his thick hair, his nose, and his smile.”

  “It appears one has his charm and the other his strict sense of honor,” Race added.

  Blake said, “From what we can tell, they have everything about him but his name.”

  “That privilege, of course, belongs to Viscount Brentwood’s deceased father,” Race finished.

  “Have either of you seen these gentlemen? Have you met them?”

  “Both of us,” Blake said.

  Morgan’s eyes narrowed with tension. “And what did you think?”

  “That they look just like Gibby,” Race said.

  “Why have we never seen them before?” Morgan asked.

  “Well, of course we think it’s clear now what the real reason was that they never came to London, but of course the on dit is because they each spent time in the military,” he answered.

  Blake started walking again, and the other two fell into step beside him. “Rumor also has it that more recently, they’ve been abroad, touring the far reaches of the world. As you know, some young men enjoy doing that sort of thing before they settle down for a look around the marriage mart—which we can only assume is the reason they have now taken up residence in Town.”

  Race frowned and said, “And then, of course, the whisper is that they never came to London because they knew they looked like Gibby and not their father.”

  “Which could very well be true, but, back to the story,” Blake continued. “So it seems to us and everyone else in London that Gibby may have had an affair with the viscount’s mother, somewhere around thirty years ago, and fathered her twins.”

  “Do you realize what you are accusing?” Morgan growled, doing his best to keep from limping. “You are telling me that Gibby cuckolded the former viscount and had a rendezvous with his wife.”

  “Yes, but not just us, Morgan.” Blake rubbed his palm across his hair. “That is exactly what all of London is saying as well.”

  That was enough to chill Morgan.

  “Things had just started to settle down for Gibby from the boxing match,” Race added.

  Still searching his mind to understand, Morgan said, “I’ve seen Brentwood. He doesn’t look anything like Gibby.”

  “True,” Blake agreed. “He doesn’t, but that’s not the case concerning the twins.”

  “What does Gibby have to say about this?” Morgan asked.

  Race threw Morgan a sideways glance and said, “What do you think?”

  “I would think the crafty old codger is saying nothing about this.”

  “And you would be right,” Blake added as the three ambled down the grassy slope.

  “What about these twins? What are they saying?” Morgan asked.

  “Nothing that we know of,” Race offered and fell in step beside Morgan once again. “One of them wears such a scowl all the time that I don’t think anyone would dare speak to him about the matter.”

  “But someone did,” Blake added. “I heard that at his brother’s urging, Lord Waldo Rockcliffe said something to the man about how much he looked like Sir Randolph Gibson, and Lord Waldo has been walking around with a mysterious black eye and cut lip ever since.”

  Morgan grunted as much from what Blake had said as from the nagging pain in his hip.

  Race leaned forward and said, “I’m sure that is the reason no one else has had the courage to say anything else to either of them.”

  Blake added, “And I hear the other one is as closemouthed as Gibby. They are both, of course, welcomed by the ton.”

  “Welcomed?” Race exclaimed. “They are encouraged, even eagerly sought out by everyone who hasn’t fled London for their summer homes.”

  Blake huffed and said, “You know there’s nothing Londoners love better than scandal.”

  “That is if it’s not about them,” Race injected, “and if it’s not, they love to get close to it. In just the past week, we’ve received a flurry of invitations to late summer parties.”

  Race picked up the conversation by adding, “I’ve never seen anything like it. The goings on at Parliament have taken a back seat with this rash of invitations. It seems all the pushy mamas who are left in London are holding parties just so they can invite the viscount and the twins, and get acquainted with them. They figure it will give them a jump on the Season next year.”

  “Yes,” Blake said. “Everyone wants to be able to say that they’ve had the twins in their homes, so they can gossip about them. You know how polite Polite Society can be.”

  “Right, which means they can make a circus out of anything.”

  The three cousins laughed.

  “And then there is the viscount, who has his own troubles to deal with, but we won’t go into that.”

  Morgan deliberately slowed the pace, not wanting to limp in front of his cousins. “What a nightmare. I can’t even imagine what it must be like to arrive in London and find that you look just like another man, a man who is not your father.”

  “Needless to say, that is the reason why you need to come back to London while we are away,” Blake said.

  “And on this, we won’t take no for an answer,” Race added with a grin. “Just handle the gossips the best you can, and be there should Gib need you for anything.”

  “Wait? Me?” Morgan stopped again, glad for the respite. “What’s this? Just a bloody minute, you two, it won’t be possible for me to go to London. You both know I’ve made my plans to winter at Valleydale.”

  “You have to,” Blake said. “We just told you we are going away with our wives.”

  Ah, the wives.

  “And while they are understanding ladies most of the time, they will be disappointed if they don’t get to take this holiday we promised them.”

  “Your wives?” Morgan said disgruntled.

  “Yes,” Race said. “And I might add that it is your turn to handle Gibby.”

  “My turn? No, you’re mistaken. It was not more than a few weeks ago that I handled that time machine debacle. Remember?”

  “Sorry, Morgan, that was several months ago, not weeks,” Blake said. “And after that, I took care of his association with Mrs. Simpleton and her bloody balloon venture.”

  Race held up his hand. “And I’m still not over trying to talk him out of that travesty of a boxing match with Mr. Prattle a couple of months ago. So you see, my dear cousin, it is your turn.”

  “You both have known for almost three months now that I’ve had no intentions of going back to London in the foreseeable future.”

  But as Morgan said that, another thought flashed through his mind. Arianna would be going to London soon.

  Perhaps he should think about going to London and keeping an eye on Gibby—just until his cousins returned. It would give him an opportunity to check in with Arianna, too, to make sure she found a place to lease and settled into London properly.

  “What are you thinking?” Blake asked. “Suddenly, it was as if you were miles away from us again.”

  “Nothing,” Morgan said and started walking again.

  “Yes, you were thinking about something. I could see that faraway look in your eyes for the third time since we’ve been here.”

  “‘Fess up, you blackguard, and tell us why you are so pensive.”

  “Damnation, Blake, don’t be ridiculous. I can see that marriage hasn’t changed a thing about either of you. I was just wondering what I would do if I found out I looked like someone other than my father. That is one hell of a situation to be in.”

  “You are lying through your teeth,” Blake said good-naturedly.

  Morgan grinned, hoping to throw them off guard. “If you are going to force a man to answer a question he doesn’t want to answer, you can’t be upset if he lies to you.”

  “Did you just quote Lord Chesterfield?” Race asked, grinning.

  “Bloody hell, I hope not,” Morgan mumbled. “
And I hate to admit it, but you two might be right for a change. If it is my turn to take care of the old dandy, I will. I hadn’t planned to return to London, but as you said, perhaps I should go and do what I can to stop the flow of the gossip, and to be there for Gib should he need anything.”

  “Something’s definitely wrong. That was too easy,” Race said.

  “Yes, I agree,” Blake said, nodding. “There is a reason he wants to come back to London, and he’s not telling us.”

  Morgan laughed. “I’m going to hate myself for admitting this, but I’ve missed you two jackanapes.”

  Blake and Race laughed, too.

  “But, we are not going to let you change the subject that easily,” Blake added. “You are suddenly too eager to return to London.”

  “I’m not eager to do anything but enjoy the carefree life I have here.”

  All of a sudden, Blake stopped dead in his tracks, a stunned look on his face.

  “What is it?” Morgan asked and threw a glance toward Race as they stopped walking, too.

  “I’m seeing the most amazing apparition,” Blake said in a husky voice.

  “That is no vision,” Race said, looking in the same direction as Blake.

  “Who is she?” Blake asked.

  Morgan froze.

  “And what is she wearing?” Race asked.

  “How does she move her hips, her body like that?” Blake added on a whispery breath.

  “And what is she doing in your house?” Race whispered hoarsely.

  Morgan felt as if he were moving in slow motion as he turned and looked toward the side of his house where Blake and Race stood staring. From where the three of them were on the slope, they were at a perfect angle to stare straight into Arianna’s bedroom window on the first floor of the house.

  Morgan’s heart jumped into his throat, and the air swooshed from his lungs. Arianna was dancing. She looked like an exotic goddess, dressed in a scandalously small, buttercup-colored tunic similar to the one she had worn to the stables, only this one glittered invitingly from the soft lamplight in her room. The skirt of the same color looked as if it had been sprinkled with gold. It swung low on her hips and appeared to be made of a sheer, gossamer-thin material that looked as if he could see right through it.