Changing the Earl's Mind (The Lords of Whitehall Book 3)

by Kristen McLean

  “Do you think that will work?”

  “It must,” he muttered, scanning the couples around them. “I just need to send word to…” His brow furrowed and he nodded to someone over her shoulder.

  She tried to twist around to see, but she missed a step and almost collided with a nearby couple. “What is it?”

  “Trouble.” His hands tightened around her. “Come with me,” he said, leading her away from the other dancers.

  They moved swiftly through a doorway into a connecting drawing room where some poor girl was attempting to sing Rossini.

  “Where are you taking me?” she asked, attempting to tug her hand free.

  He drew her close as they stepped into a small parlor. “Something has come up, and I cannot leave you unprotected,” he murmured in her ear.

  “You are acting like a madman.”

  He ignored her, leading her through a servant’s door that was made to look like the wall paneling, and into a narrow hall. At the end of the hall, he opened a door and guided her inside.

  Chapter 11

  He was a madman, obviously. No sane man would agree to mingle with the ton, with their wicked tongues and selfish machinations. They drip with sweetness over someone they could benefit from, while ruthlessly devouring anyone in their way. Gad, he hated society.

  If only society were his only worry this evening.

  He shut the door behind him, leaving the small window on the opposite wall as the only light illuminating the small closet. Cleaning supplies littered the shelving on either side of them.

  “I need you to stay in this closet until I send someone to fetch you.” He turned to leave, but she pulled him back around.

  “Oh, no, you don’t.” She propped her hands on her hips, glaring up at him mutinously. “What is going on?”

  “I believe our murderers have invited themselves to Ainsley’s ball.”

  Her eyes widened. “What in blazes are we doing in this closet, then?” she hissed, trying to push him aside.

  He grabbed her by her shoulders to stop her. “I have no intention of allowing you to be killed, bullied, or harassed tonight. You are staying here, and I shall handle our murderers, if indeed they are our murderers.”

  “You aren’t sure?” Her brows knit in an absurdly adorable fashion. “You must be mostly sure to have whisked me away like that. What makes you think it’s them?”

  “I shall only tell you if you promise to behave, and not act on your own.” Her frown deepened, and he grunted. “I shall take that as your complete agreement. They were dressed as servants.”

  He had noticed them during the waltz. Two footmen matching the description given to him by Lady Umberton were walking about with trays of champagne to offer the guests, and doing a remarkably poor job of it. Had he not seen it himself, he would have thought such a task impossible to muck up. Ainsley would never tolerate such incompetence in his staff, which meant they must be intruders.

  Now, many a chap on Fleet Street would gladly risk his dignity, such as it was, by posing as a servant in order to publish a firsthand account of the goings-on at such a prestigious affair, but those chaps were usually smart enough to act the part, and careful enough not to act too interested in any single party.

  The fellows Drake noticed had been hovering around Lady Umberton like buzzards over a dying animal. Then, when they had caught sight of Mrs. Tindall, they all but trampled several guests in their attempt to get to her. Thankfully, they had been on the other side of the ballroom, and he had just enough time to get her safely tucked away.

  A light nudge at his arm brought him back to the moment. He looked down to find her trying desperately to move him aside.

  “What the devil are you doing now?”

  She made a noise deep in her throat. “I am going to beat them to within an inch of their lives, and then some. As they deserve. With my own two fists!”

  “But you agreed to behave, remember?” He lifted a brow. “Besides, if you kill them you will hang.”

  “I shan’t kill them,” she muttered. “Much.”

  His mouth twitched. Gad, she was wondrous.

  “As much as I regret missing the opportunity to witness such a spectacle,” he said, “I must remind you that killing them even a very little bit is illegal. Considering how difficult it is to un-kill someone, lawmakers make out the crime and the punishment to be a rather black and white affair.”

  Her lips pursed, but she stopped trying to force him aside.

  “That’s bet—Oof!” The air was knocked out of him, and he was propelled forward into the shelving, taking Mrs. Tindall along with him.

  He braced himself, just managing to keep from crushing her between his giant frame and the shelving. The wooden slats were biting into his forearms when he realized what had happened.

  Someone had kicked in the bloody door.

  “Imbecile!” came a low scold from the doorway.

  Drake turned to face the dark scowl of their host. “Ah, there you are,” he said coolly. “I barely recognized you earlier, but now you look much more like the Ainsley I know.”

  “The devil!” Ainsley burst out.

  And indeed, Ainsley looked like the devil. Pitch-black hair, angry silver-gray eyes, clenched fists, and of course, the murder Drake knew the man capable of.

  “Calm yourself, Ainsley. You are frightening Mrs. Tindall.”

  Ainsley stepped inside the small space and shut the door. No doubt he wanted to slam the poor thing right off its hinges.

  “I didn’t believe the rumors, you know. I could not fathom how anyone would believe you of all people had taken a suspected murderess to bed, then brought her into society as your mother’s protégé,” Ainsley said, finally unclenching his fists. “Then I see you waltzing with her and spiriting her away to a bleeding closet. In my house. If my wife’s soiree ends up in the scandal rags, Saint Brides, I am going to end you. Permanently.”

  Things couldn’t possibly have gone this far sideways. Uneasiness was crawling all the way up Drake’s throat and coating his mouth with bile.

  “The rumors will be taken care of.”

  “Oh, will they? The last time you said those words to me, Kate and I were forced to wed.”

  “It is only a rumor.”

  “No,” Ainsley shot back. “It was only a rumor. That was before you waltzed with her and rendezvoused in a closet. Now it is much more.”

  “I came here to rendezvous with you, and we both know it.” After noticing the murderers in the ballroom, Drake had nodded to one of his men, signaling for him to send for Ainsley.

  “Yes, but my guests do not.”

  “I know it looks bad, but I could not have left her in that ballroom. The men who killed her husband are there. If they get to her, they will kill her.” He rubbed the back of his neck where the beginnings of a headache was settling in.

  He weighed his influence, favors he could cash in on, friends to appeal to—anything to manage the situation.

  “I had no idea.” Ainsley’s gaze narrowed. “You brought her here, knowing people were after her, putting all my guests—putting my family—in danger for a case. If Kate is roped in on this, I am going to tear you apart.”

  “I didn’t expect our criminals to be so brazen as to come here,” he ground out. “Your reputation is enough to keep most people running for cover the moment you step into a room. Apparently, these gentlemen have never heard of you.”

  “You can’t exactly put that in the morning paper, Saint Brides.”

  Drake raised a brow. “If I can decipher your nonexistent reports and somehow write them to sound as though your idiotic and utterly irresponsible actions were not only necessary, but vital to national security, surely I can manage this.”

  “This isn’t a report. This is a scandal,” Ainsley grunted out, dragging a hand through his hair. “You had better arrange for the special license.”

  The throbbing in Drake’s head intensified. “I beg your pardon?”

 
; Ainsley’s expression turned wary. “You do plan to marry her, don’t you, Lord Pillar of Morality?”

  “Certainly not.” Drake’s fists clenched at his sides. “That would be a bit of an overreaction, don’t you think?”

  “She is ruined, and it was your doing. Bloody hell, Steel Breeches, whatever happened to those rules and regulations you so dutifully abide by?”

  “You are one to talk,” Drake growled, his skin becoming hot and cold at once, “you unpredictable, tantrum-throwing death machine.”

  Ainsley took a threatening step forward. “Do not dare throw my past at me,” he rumbled dangerously. “I retired ages ago.”

  “So you say, but I detect a decidedly murderous light in your eyes, Ainsley.”

  “Do not tempt me.”

  “Does it require much tempting?” Drake taunted. “Or do I simply breathe in your general direction?”

  Ainsley’s hand fisted and pulled back. Drake was ready for it. The pain would be a welcome distraction.

  “That’s enough!”

  Stunned into silence, both men turned then to the small creature who issued the ear-splitting command.

  “How dare you even attempt to dictate my life!” she fumed. “If I marry at all—and that’s a big if—it will be to whom I choose, and for my own reasons. Not because of scandal or the tyrannical meddling of some overbearing, self-important noble!”

  Ainsley dropped his fist and stepped back, while Drake nodded with a mixture of relief and admiration.

  “You see? The lady does not want me.”

  Ainsley scowled at Drake as though he was mad. Then he turned back to Mrs. Tindall. “I do not think you understand the circumstances.”

  “Circumstances be hanged,” she shot back.

  “If society turns on you, you might be the one hanged,” Ainsley said, pointing behind him. “Half of that ballroom is made up of politicians, solicitors, and judges, the very people who will decide your fate. Had this charade worked, and you had won their hearts, they would have left the investigation up to Saint Brides, cheering when the real culprits got their comeuppance. But not now that you are embroiled in this scandal. A scandal with him.”

  “It is only a waltz and a rumor,” Drake argued. “You have committed far worse, and have managed to survive. As evidenced by the fact your head is still somehow attached to your body.”

  “You are not me. You do not fall out of one scandal and trip into another,” Ainsley said, turning his scowl back to Mrs. Tindall. “This is going to expand into monumental proportions, and when that happens, they are going to put you on trial and find you guilty, and no one will be coming to save you.”

  Mrs. Tindall glared up at Ainsley. “You mean to tell me, I have to marry Saint Brides or die?”

  “Yes.”

  She folded her arms in front of her. “I choose death, then.”

  Drake blinked.

  Ainsley nodded.

  “Good heavens, am I that awful?” Drake managed after a stretch of silence.

  “Worse,” they both answered in unison.

  “I suggest you convince her to marry you, or try to, at least,” Ainsley said grimly. “Your conscience cannot bear causing her death, and your career cannot bear smuggling her out of the country. You either marry her, or retire to Yorkshire, because we both know you cannot continue as Home Secretary after aiding the escape of an alleged murderess.” With that, Ainsley turned and left, closing the door behind him.

  Hell and damnation, Ainsley was right. The chances of her coming out of this scandal with a fair trial were at best fifteen percent.

  Drake’s heart was racing, and he wasn’t completely sure it would last another minute at the rate it was going. Perhaps he would get lucky, and it would give out before he had to choose between his career and his conscience.

  As if there was a choice.

  “Is this true?” The feminine voice somehow reached past the blood roaring in his ears.

  He nodded, still staring at the closed door. “I suggest you pack light, Mrs. Tindall. We shall need to reach Portsmouth before morning.”

  “Portsmouth?” she echoed. “You’re letting me go?”

  “I have no choice, as the retired death machine so rightly pointed out.” He turned to her then, adding grimly, “Had we successfully cemented your good reputation amongst the ton, no one would have allowed you to go to trial. I take full responsibility for that failure, and so I must get you out of England myself.”

  “But your career—”

  “Will be over,” he supplied with a grim half-smile. “I shall arrange to send you the funds set aside for your dowry. Twenty thousand pounds, I believe. Plenty for you to live on into your dotage if you are careful.”

  “Twenty thousand?” she repeated faintly.

  The amount had not yet been specified, but if she must roam the continent alone, he had better give her enough coin to employ a few footmen for protection. That ancient mummy, Lord Umberton, wouldn’t give her half that, no matter how much his mother protested. Besides, she was Drake’s responsibility, considering he was the one sitting right beside her midst this dreadful scandal.

  He moved toward the door. If he was going to pull this off, he should at least warn Freddie and settle a few matters first. He would need at least an hour to prepare.

  If she just disappeared over night, mere hours before he tendered his resignation, it would be obvious he had some part in her escape. He would have to be sure he had a solid alibi and wasn’t followed or seen.

  This would all be so much easier with his army of spies, but he could not involve his men. He couldn’t protect them if their assistance in aiding the escape of a fugitive became known.

  All of this would take some doing, but they could still reach Portsmouth by morning. Perhaps he should send a decoy carriage to Yorkshire and rush to reach Barrington Park by the time it arrived.

  “Now, wait just a minute.”

  She was tugging on his arm, so he paused and, very reluctantly, turned around.

  “I am giving you what you want, Mrs. Tindall. What the devil could you possibly be displeased with?”

  “I have a conscience, too.”

  “Oh, good. Glad to hear it,” he said, reaching once again for the door. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have quite a bit to take care of before we leave.”

  “I shall not!” She slapped her hand flat against the door, as though that would be enough to keep him from opening it.

  He didn’t mind pretending it would be enough, though. He wasn’t yet ready to face the guests who would judge them both. Then again, he might be safer with the vipers than with Mrs. Tindall.

  He lifted a brow. “May I remind you we are standing in a closet?”

  “There are things we must discuss.”

  “Discuss?” he echoed. “You make it sound as though there are options. Or do you merely not understand our situation?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I understand completely. I understand I spoke rather scandalously with Lady Atley and willingly danced with you. I can accept the blame for the scandal I caused by doing so, but even if I couldn’t, and it was all your fault, you losing your career is far too great a punishment.”

  Several times a day he thought keeping his career was too great of a punishment, though he could not deny that he thrived on it. Mostly because it gave him something to concentrate on, a purpose to live for—something to keep him away from home. It kept him sane. Even so, losing his sanity was much kinder than what his conscience would do to him if he allowed Mrs. Tindall to be hanged.

  “The duties of my title are demanding, and now they will have my complete attention.” He forced a slight smile. “How lovely it will be to have time enough to read a book in my own library. I have quite forgotten what it looks like.”

  Her chin lifted a notch. “It’s perfectly cozy with more books than anyone could possibly read in one lifetime.”

  He raised a brow. “I see you have availed yourself of it since arrivin
g in London.”

  “It’s a library,” she said, as though that explained everything.

  “I can hardly wait to reacquaint myself with it.” Though he sounded confident enough, the words turned to dust in his mouth. His mother would visit daily if she knew he would be home, and where else would he be? He had no vices, no friends, no reason for going out. She would badger him constantly about grandchildren.

  She watched him, her face pinched. “I am free to make my own decisions, and nothing will stand between me and what I want.”

  “To travel,” he clarified with a raised brow.

  She nodded. “Precisely. However, I cannot freely travel knowing my freedom has cost you your career. So, you see? We must find a way to fix this scandalous situation without jeopardizing either of our consciences, my traveling, or your career.”

  “Or your life.”

  “Of course.”

  “Gad, you are the most peculiar woman I have ever met. I am finally giving you what you want, and you refuse to take it. I don’t understand you. I can’t. You are a bundle of contradictions.”

  She raised a brow. “I’m not sure whether I should be flattered or insulted.”

  He gave in to a small smile. “Me neither.”

  “Well, what are we going to do?” she asked, her hands on her hips.

  He arched his brows in a deliberately I told you so fashion. “You mean, you haven’t got a plan?”

  She frowned in what he interpreted as concentration. Then an idea must have struck her, because her eyes widened with hope.

  “I could hide.”

  “You have tried that already,” he reminded her. “Beautiful women cannot go unnoticed for long.”

  “Oh,” she muttered, her cheeks a fetching shade of rose. “Well, this time there could be guards posted around so that no one gets close enough to find me.”

  He nodded. “Oh, yes. Guards won’t look suspicious at all.”

  Her brows knit, and he had to fight back a smile. She was adorable, truly.

  “Not to mention,” he added, “I would have to explain to those men why they were guarding my vacant and sorely underused hunting cabin.”

  “To find poachers.”