This Earl Is on Fire

by Vivienne Lorret

  Never complain about . . . But Liam thought they both had objected to the idea of an empty house. Thinking about it now, however, he realized that it hadn’t been Caulfield. It had been him.

  How many times had he told that harridan of a housekeeper, Mrs. Brasher, that he purchased artifacts out of a need to fill his empty houses? Likely too many to count.

  Pushing that aside, Liam collected himself. “I wish you every felicitation.”

  “She is the youngest of seven and the only girl amongst them,” Caulfield said with a nod. “I went to school with her father and know him to be a smart fellow, so I am assured to have an heir with some sense at least.”

  Liam suddenly understood the peculiar sense of surprise. Caulfield was doing precisely what Liam planned to do—to live on his own terms until the time came for an heir. That was what his Father had done, as well.

  But now that Liam saw it playing out, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for Caulfield’s heir, imagining that he would spend much of his life without a father and with nothing but a collection of things to fill the void.

  Liam felt that shifting sensation once more. This time, he recognized the weight bearing down on the loadstone as his own. He felt heavy-hearted for Caulfield’s future children, and also—strangely—for his own.

  For the first time, Liam began to question the path he’d decided upon, so many years ago.

  Outwardly, he had a smile at the ready for an old friend. “Then as a wedding gift to you, I’ll offer that Roman pottery collection you’ve had your eye on for years as a fair trade.”

  Caulfield didn’t hesitate. “Done.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The Season Standard—the Daily Chronicle of Consequence

  Our infamous Earl of W— is making quite the recovery. Dashing as ever, he escorted the Dowager Duchess of V— to a dinner party of so little importance that it is hardly worth the mention. The fascination lies in the sudden emergence of whispers, naming W— as a potential candidate for the Original!

  Of course, we must not forget our dear Lord E— who has been a favorite for many weeks . . .

  Adeline marveled at the swift alteration in the ton’s opinion of Wolford. Because of the daily accounts in the Standard, even her family had begun to receive invitations in the days that followed. Most surprisingly was one from Lady Falksworth, who’d slighted them at the opera. Apparently, Juliet had been correct. Society could now show favor to the family who had aided Wolford instead of branding them with the stamp of ruination.

  Tonight, she attended a party at Lord Tarlston’s. Adeline was pleased to be better received now that her reputation had been repaired. At least for the time. There was no telling what one unfavorable report of Wolford’s activity might do. It was still odd to her that the collective thoughts of the ton were so eager to jump to conclusions, vacillating from one extreme to the other. If they vilified Wolford, then her reputation was sullied. And if they esteemed him, then she was a veritable vestal virgin.

  Given her white satin gown, she certainly looked the part this evening.

  Little did they know how scandalous her thoughts had become since she’d met Liam.

  “Are you feeling warm, dear?” Mother asked, mistaking an errant blush for an illness. She plucked at the fingertips of her glove as if she meant to strip it off and press a hand to Adeline’s forehead.

  Adeline did not doubt that she would too. And while standing in the parlor with guests milling about.

  She took Mother’s hand in an affectionate squeeze and lowered it. “I am feeling perfectly content.”

  That motherly indigo gaze still scrutinized her. “I don’t believe our host waters down his wine as he ought.”

  “I drank only one glass.” And a half, she thought, remembering how efficiently the footman had refilled her goblet in between courses. She also had a wonderfully handsome table companion by the name of Lord Ellery. The viscount was affable as well, and there was a certain soulfulness in his eyes that spoke of a sincerity, which many of those she’d met lacked.

  Even with his wonderful qualities, however, she had not felt drawn to him. Not even a little. Her skin did not tingle at the very thought of him. The study of his mouth while he ate did not stir her. She never once imagined her lips on his.

  Her lips, so it seemed, were only eager for the press of one single gentleman. And he was not even in attendance.

  “I wonder why Wolford did not attend,” Mother said, mirroring Adeline’s thoughts. “His aunt is here, so I imagine he received an invitation.”

  The dowager duchess was across the room, conversing with Juliet and Ivy. In the hall before dinner, Ivy explained that her husband had been distracted by one of his “brilliant inventions” and, therefore, did not attend. But that did not stop Ivy from glowing at the mere mention of him.

  “Perhaps he is with his cousin, the duke,” Adeline said, hoping that was correct. Yet a dark jealousy churned in her stomach. He could very well be at another party. Perhaps even like the masquerade he’d attended the night of his attack. Which shouldn’t matter to her. She knew the type of man Liam was. He could very well be engaged in an assignation, his lips on someone else’s mouth right this instant.

  “Are you certain you are feeling well?”

  Adeline realized she’d pressed her fingertips to her lips as if she were trying to capture the fleeting essence he’d left behind. She nodded to her mother. Noticing her probing stare, however, she quickly looked for a distraction. “Oh look, Father and the other gentlemen have finished their port.”

  Mother turned her head in his direction and smiled. “I wonder if anyone will play the pianoforte this evening. After all, one would assume the reason we gathered here with the instrument in the room would be for entertainment. Perhaps you should be the first. Your father would love to hear his favorite piece of music.”

  Adeline wasn’t certain that was proper etiquette in this circumstance. Thinking of Juliet’s prior instruction, she said, “Perhaps we should inquire with our hostess.”

  But before she could, Miss Ashbury sat down at the pianoforte, arranged her skirts, cleared her throat with a slight cough, and then began to play. Adeline felt her mood darken again. From her previous encounter with Miss Ashbury and her bosom companion, Miss Leeds, Adeline knew that both young women were all affectation and little substance. Even a young woman from the country could see the difference.

  “She plays beautifully,” Mother commented. “Perhaps we could sit near our friends. I do believe the settee across from the dowager duchess is now available.”

  Mother began walking, intercepting Father along the way, but when Adeline noticed that the hem of her gown was caught on the toe of her half boot, she paused to tug it free. By the time she lifted her gaze, Miss Leeds had stepped in front of her.

  The fair-haired young woman offered a thin smile reminiscent of a snake in need of a charmer’s flute to return to its basket. “Miss Pimm, I am told you hail from a small hamlet in the countryside.”

  Adeline nodded, both in answer and by way of greeting her cordially, if not carefully. “Yes. Boswickshire has been home to my family for generations.”

  “It is such a small world we live in, for my family has a scullery maid in our employ who also claims such a birthplace. Perhaps you know her.” Miss Leeds clasped her hands before her and smugly pursed her lips. At the same time, Miss Ashbury offered a trilling of the keys. But to Adeline it was like the rattle of a snake’s tail.

  Alarm jolted through her, but she made every effort to conceal it. She fixed her own smile in place on an indrawn breath. “With fewer than two hundred villagers living there, I’m certain we have met.”

  “Are you not curious about her family name? Perhaps I could pass on a good word from you. Of course, under different circumstances I wouldn’t think to inquire. However, rumor has it that your family is rather unconventional.” Miss Leeds dropped her voice to a whisper and slithered closer. “Tell me—is it true that you
arrived in London without your servants? And that you undertook Lord Wolford’s care on your own?”

  Adeline saw a trap yawning before her. If she answered any of the questions posed to her, others would likely arise; whispers would abound no matter how careful she was. Though, quite honestly, she didn’t see that it was any business of Miss Leeds. “We are so new to town, I was not aware that you were introduced to my parents. I will be certain to pass on a good word from you. Unless you wish to tell them yourself. We could join them now.”

  “You are too kind, but I am needed at the pianoforte.” Her smile thinned as she inclined her head and slithered away without another word.

  Unfortunately, that was not the last encounter that Adeline had with Miss Leeds.

  Later that evening, both Miss Leeds and Miss Ashbury ambushed her in the retiring room.

  Adeline was adjusting the laces of her half boot, her back to the door, when they both walked into the room. Hurriedly, she tried to conceal the thick cork sole.

  “Why, Miss Pimm, I would know the back of your head anywhere. I dare say I have never seen a braid on a woman in public past the age of her debut,” Miss Leeds said with great hauteur.

  “Perhaps Miss Pimm longs to cling to her girlhood years,” Miss Ashbury said. “Is that the reason you waited so long to come to town for a Season?”

  “Or perhaps she wears her hair styled so simply because she does not wish to strain her friendship with her maid. Assuming, of course, that you have a maid, Miss Pimm. Or does your mother style your hair?”

  Adeline held her ground, though she had little experience dealing with mean-spirited people. Those who pitied her on sight usually never sought to degrade her character and for them, she employed a calm, assuring demeanor. Somehow, she doubted that would work in this circumstance.

  “I have a maid,” Adeline said, turning to face them. “She is most excellent in fashioning various hairstyles. Since we have only seen each other at two social events, I am certain you haven’t had the opportunity to witness the wide variety of her skills.”

  “Oh yes, now that you mention it, I do notice that your hair is woven with baby’s breath, whereas at Lady Strandfellow’s it was interlaced with ribbons.” She grinned with a look of oh, yes, I noticed and found you lacking! before continuing. “I also recall hearing a whisper about you only knowing one dance.”

  Miss Ashbury feigned a gasp, covering her mouth with her hand. “A country dance, no less, where the elegance of . . . footwork . . . is of little concern.”

  The pair of them glanced down to the hem of Adeline’s skirts. She knew that her half boot was concealed, but all the same, she felt as if she were standing completely nude in the retiring room. It suddenly became clear that Miss Leeds had learned a great deal from the servant who hailed from Boswickshire.

  Adeline stiffened, preparing for the worst.

  Miss Leeds’s eyes flashed in revulsion. “Once I learned of your singular skill, I did mention your name to my lady’s maid for a laugh. She mentioned your name below stairs, and sure enough, one of our sculleries knew of you. All about you, in fact, and your deformity.”

  “It is no wonder your parents kept you hidden in the country.” Miss Ashbury sneered. “I imagine they took great pains to ensure you appeared to be like all the other debutantes, but you cannot hide a deformity, can you?”

  This was the moment Adeline had been dreading all along. Her worst fear coming to fruition. And as she stood there, taking their jabs, feeling more freakish by the moment, she realized that this was her moment. The one she’d been waiting for. The chance to prove that she was just like every other debutante.

  But she wasn’t like every other debutante. She was different. And quite unexpectedly, she was grateful for that fact.

  “No, I cannot,” she answered, straightening her shoulders. “While some deformities are only on the outside, I have just now discovered that the ugliest are those that lie beneath flesh and bone.”

  She was prepared to walk out of the room with her head held high. But Miss Leeds had a little more venom in her fangs. And unfortunately, poison hit the mark.

  “Which only proves how little you understand your purpose,” Miss Leeds hissed. “A debutante’s goal is to secure a husband. The best you could hope for is to find a man who takes pity on you.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Liam sat in a wing-backed chair in Vale’s study with his legs crossed at the ankle and the toe of his boot rocking a wooden cradle. This was not the usual way he spent his evenings.

  “No. That won’t do. It is too fast.” Vale crossed his arms but with one fist propped beneath his chin as he stood over the contraption. “The persimmons are rolling over and colliding with the side walls.”

  “Yes, well, far be it from me to point out that your child will be neither as small nor as round.” Liam’s observation went unheard, as many words spoken in his cousin’s study often did.

  Whenever Vale was in the midst of a new invention, he rarely focused on anything else. Of course, being a duke, he’d learned to put on a good show of attentiveness. But Liam had seen through all of that long ago.

  This evening, Liam had merely dropped by to deliver his gift to Vale and Ivy. But with the duchess, in addition to Aunt Edith, out for the evening, somehow Liam found himself enmeshed in his cousin’s latest invention.

  At first, when he saw how distracted Vale was, he intended to leave the gift with a note and be gone. However, the thought of returning to his collection at Wolford House, or even on Brook Street, didn’t appeal to him. Neither did the notion of joining his usual crowd at Lady Reynolds’s for one of her infamously wanton parties. While he might have the appetite for indulgence, he was not recuperated enough to take part in hours of debauchery, or so he told himself. He almost believed this excuse too.

  “Perhaps a sack of barley would be more appropriate,” Vale murmured as if to himself, reaching into the cradle to collect the fruits. “After all, what child is as small as a persimmon?”

  Liam suppressed a laugh. “You have a brilliant mind, Cousin.”

  Vale glanced up with a start, proving that he’d forgotten he wasn’t alone. Then when Liam offered a small wave, Vale shrugged and scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck, nearly losing a persimmon in the process. “I’ve been somewhat distracted since the news.”

  Liam lifted his brows in mock surprise.

  “ ’Tis rather obvious, I gather.”

  “Only to the untrained eye,” Liam teased and found a persimmon launched at him. He caught it handily and with only a slight hitch in his side from the sudden movement. He thought again of his reasons for being here instead of Lady Reynolds’s, but he didn’t like the answers that floated into his brain. His life of indulgence didn’t satisfy him anymore. He wasn’t sure if it ever had. So then why was he doing it?

  He shrugged off another uncomfortable question that he did not want to answer and gestured to the box on the corner of Vale’s desk. He’d laid it on top of a stack of papers and a handful of ledgers. “I came bearing a gift, if that earns your forgiveness.”

  When Vale’s hands were empty, he picked up the box and removed the lid. His brow furrowed slightly as he glanced over at Liam.

  “An ancient Roman rattle, unearthed at Caulfield’s excavation site. I thought it would make for the perfect gift, under the circumstances. You can tell little Northcliff that his uncle Liam will teach him all about the people who made it when he is old enough to understand.” Liam shifted in his chair, suddenly uncomfortable. By the alteration of Vale’s expression, Liam realized that his little speech had revealed more than the simple amusement he’d intended. “Of course, since we are merely cousins, your offspring would be another cousin, so referring to me as ‘uncle’ would not be appropriate.”

  Vale grinned and shook the tinkling rattle. “I think Uncle Liam has a nice ring to it.”

  With that settled and behind them, Liam stood and stared pointedly down at the contraption. On t
he outer foot of the cradle, Vale had attached a series of gears that resembled the inner workings of a clock, accompanied by a heavy weight that swung like a pendulum. “Let’s try this out with a sack of grain, shall we?”

  It shouldn’t have surprised him that Vale had one at the ready, but it did. Vale withdrew a plump burlap sack from one of the many cluttered shelves that lined the walls. “Hmm . . . approximately eight pounds, I’d gather.”

  “I surely hope you are not suggesting that little Northcliff resembles his mother,” Liam said as he watched Ivy step into the room behind her husband.

  Vale hefted the grain to his shoulder and pretended to pat it fondly. “All the better for him, I should think.”

  “What are you talking about?” Ivy asked, stopping short when she saw Vale. “Are you cradling a sack of grain?”

  To his credit, Vale did not even shift his stance or demure in the slightest. “An eight-pound sack of grain.” As if that made all the difference.

  Apparently, it did. Ivy beamed instantly and moved toward her husband and their barley child, offering a kiss to the former and a pat for the latter. “Did I hear Liam call him little Northcliff?”

  “And he has asked to be called Uncle Liam,” Vale said with a taunting smirk in his direction. “Not only that but he brought the first gift.”

  Discovering the rattle, Ivy gifted Liam with one of her smiles. “Thank you, Uncle Liam. It appears the two of you have been quite busy. I wish I’d remained here instead of living through the torture of the ton.”

  Vale’s demeanor changed immediately. He lowered the burlap and lifted Ivy’s chin to his gaze. “What happened?”

  “Careful. We don’t want to drop our little Northcliff,” she said, curling her hand over Vale’s.

  Liam looked away from the intimate family scene, feeling a weight press against his chest. While he’d been privy to many forms of sexual touches and looks of hunger and satisfaction, none had been more intimate than this. Such moments kindled a longing that Liam had been ignoring for a lifetime—to be part of a family. His own. Yet if he were ever going to make a life with someone, it would have to be honest and true. Unfortunately, he’d learned years ago that deception came in many guises. And now, like always, he was nothing more than a voyeur.