Touch of a Scoundrel (Touch of Seduction 3)

by Mia Marlowe

  If Theodore and that professor were in the library, no doubt the statue wouldn’t be far away.

  He balled his fingers into fists in frustration. How had Devon discovered the statue’s secret? Kingsley’s contact in Egypt had assured him it was so cleverly designed, none but the initiated would guess it hid a secret void that contained the mystical grains. Instead, at any moment now, that university student nephew of Baxter’s might stumble on the true nature of the substance.

  Fat lot of a chance he’d have of finagling it away from Devon then. What man wouldn’t jump at the advantages the ancient grain offered?

  No, Kingsley told himself, trying to control his exasperated breath and make his heart stop hammering in his ears. Some squinty-eyed scholar would never uncover the proper mix of other ingredients necessary to produce the empowering brew. The statue and its contents were meant for him and he intended to keep it that way.

  But the sooner he spirited the statue out of Devonwood Park, the better.

  As Kingsley approached a rounded corner he was certain he’d passed at least once before, he heard whispered voices in the next room. He stopped and cocked his head to turn his ear toward the sibilance.

  “The earl? No, I’ll not believe it. Himself is the finest o’ gentlemen,” came a furious whisper. “Never say he did such a thing, Marta.”

  Kingsley held his breath. Servants” gossip was the juiciest sort to be had and it was almost always spot on.

  “As God is my judge, Harriet, I saw him slip into the lady’s chamber with my own eyes, not a quarter hour after all the Quality Folk arrived this afternoon,” another woman, presumably Marta, said. “And what’s more he ain’t come out yet.”

  The other speaker gave a low whistle. “Gorblimey! And it bein” the middle of the afternoon to boot.”

  “My thinkin’ exactly. Weren’t bad enough the lady’s meant for Master Theodore,” Marta said. “But carryin’ on so in broad daylight before God and everybody . . . why, it’s shameless, is what it is.”

  “This Miss Farnsworth must be a proper highflyer, if you ask me. Temptin’ ’is lordship beyond what a man might be expected to bear, so to speak. Don’t y’think that’s the way o’ things?”

  “I do, and that’s a fact,” Marta said. “Mark my words, we’re in for a rollickin’ fortnight and no mistake. But mum’s the word. If Mr. Baxter catches either of us carrying tales about the Family outside the House, he’ll give us the sack quick as a blink.”

  “I know. I know. Don’t I always tell ye gossip don’t do no good. A prayer to the Devil, me ol’ mum used to say. Whispered words have a way of returning to bite a body in the arse,” Harriet said primly. “But still . . . in the middle of the afternoon and still at it. My Oliver can blow out the candle, hop into bed, give me a poke, and be snoring before the light fades.” The servants’ voices receded along with their heavy-soled foot steps. “What do ye suppose they’re doing to make it take so long?”

  “Maybe they’re just doing it so many times.” The pair dissolved into giggles and then Kingsley heard a door close in the distance and the sound was snipped off completely.

  He needed a diversion to capture everyone’s attention while he absconded with the statue. A little domestic scandal would do nicely. He could tell Theodore that one of the maids—Marta, he believed—was looking for him to tell him that Miss Farnsworth wished to see him immediately in her chamber. That ought to stir the pot with elegant sufficiency.

  Kingsley turned and headed back through the serpentine collection of chambers the way he’d come.

  Now if he could only find the damned library.

  CHAPTER 30

  Theodore bounded up the staircase, taking them two at a time. Emmaline wished to see him and he wasn’t about to keep her waiting.

  He’d neglected her pretty badly of late, what with all the time he and Dr. Farnsworth were spending together on their translation of the Tetisheri hieroglyphs. They were almost finished with the third side of the statue base. If they worked hard, they ought to arrive at a consensus about the rest before the other guests descended on Devonwood Park.

  Deciphering the odd swirls or stylized animal forms and rendering them into coherent text was fascinating stuff, as much art as science. It was bound to cause a man to lose track of other aspects of his life momentarily. Surely Emmaline could understand that.

  She’d seemed pretty distant on the trip to Devonwood Park, but a bit of time to themselves should help him smooth things over. And now that she’d summoned Theodore to her chamber, maybe the improper invitation signaled that she was ready to give his suit a positive answer.

  If that was the case, he was certain they wouldn’t be the first couple to “anticipate” their wedding night a bit.

  I won’t neglect her again, he thought guiltily. As he walked briskly along the corridor on the third floor of the newer wing, he admitted to himself that he had other things to feel guilty about as well.

  Like wondering what it would be like to be wedged into a closet with Lady Cressida during a game of Sardines.

  He shoved the unworthy thought aside. It was disloyal, not just to Emmaline, but to her father as well. Dr. Farnsworth had opened his eyes to a new intellectual world, one he’d never expected he’d understand, let alone excel in. His rapidly growing comprehension of hieroglyphs was a testament to his mentor’s abilities. The professor deserved better from one who hoped to be his son-in-law. Perhaps Ted would feign a headache when Sardines was brought up again to avoid the possibility of an indiscretion.

  Still, the thought of being tangled up with Cressie in a tight space left him slightly light-headed. Whatever perfume it was that she wore, all violets and sweetness, he couldn’t seem to get the scent out of his nostrils.

  And part of him wasn’t sure he wanted to.

  He gave himself a blistering mental tongue-lashing all the way down the corridor till he reached Emma’s chamber and rapped on the door.

  He heard the bed creak and then there was a rustle of bedclothes. She must have been lying down. “I say, Emmaline. Are you ill?”

  “Theodore?” She sounded surprised. “No, I’m fine. What do you want?”

  There was more rustling about on the other side of the door. Ted decided the best way to banish thoughts of Cressida in a linen closet would be to snatch a peek at Emmaline en dishabille.

  “I want you, you silly girl,” Ted said with a laugh. “You ought to know that by now.”

  Not waiting for her to open the door, he turned the knob and went in. Ted’s eyes flared at the sight that greeted them.

  Emmaline stood frozen beside her rumpled bed. She wasn’t just en dishabille. She was nude. Oh, she’d snatched up a sheet to wrap about herself, but she was undoubtedly in the altogether under the thin linen.

  And her bed was not empty. His brother was in it. Not bothering to cover his nakedness, Lord Devonwood swung his long legs over the edge and rose from the bed.

  “Theodore, please. I never meant to—” she began but fell silent under his glare.

  Cold fury swept over him. He wanted to howl, to rage, to beat someone, preferably Devon, to a bloody pulp, but his feet were rooted to the spot. “Well, brother, haven’t you anything to say?”

  “Nothing I say will change what has happened,” Devon replied, his tone even and calm, as if he hadn’t just been caught playing hide-the-sausage with Ted’s girl. “This isn’t Emmaline’s fault.”

  Like hell, it’s not. Very well. If that’s the way you want it.

  “Then it must be yours,” Ted said, between clenched teeth. He straightened himself to his full height. “I demand satisfaction.”

  “You don’t want to do that, Ted.” Devon’s voice sank to a low rumble.

  “Yes, I do, by God. Tomorrow at dawn. The clearing north of the mill. Bring Father’s pistols.”

  He understood now why the first recorded murder in the world involved brothers. Unlike Cain, he restrained himself from giving in to the urge to bash Devon�
�s head in with the nearest blunt object and forced himself to be content with the only option left to a gentleman.

  “You’re not thinking clearly,” Devon said in that maddeningly calm way of his. “Imagine what that would do to Maman, to Louisa.”

  “Evidently, you weren’t doing much thinking this afternoon either.” Trust Devon to try to tell him what to do. Always the bloody lord of the manor. And now he expected to reinstitute droit du seigneur, the practice of the titled gentleman deflowering the bride of his vassal, without a word of complaint from his loyal retainer.

  Ted was done being loyal.

  “Trying to hide behind Maman and our sister, eh? You sodding bastard.” Ted turned on his heel and snarled his parting words over his shoulder. “If you want changes made to your will, I suggest you make them today.”

  After the door slammed with vehemence, Griffin sank back onto the side of the bed and clutched his head in his hands. “Oh, God, I shouldn’t have stopped. I should have let it keep going.”

  Emmaline had no idea what he meant. She skittered around the bed and settled beside him, close but not touching. She stopped herself from wrapping her arms around him in an effort to console him. She couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t push her away and she couldn’t bear that. “I’m so sorry, Griffin. I never dreamed we’d be found out like this.”

  “It’s not your fault. It’s mine,” he said wearily. “I should have known. I saw it coming, but I ignored the warning, damn it. I should have held on to see how it ended.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “That vision I so carefully avoided when your button began Sending it. For a blink, I saw Ted and me in the clearing. I thought we might be out early for a bit of grouse hunting, but I should have realized there was more to it than that.”

  “This whole business with pistols and everything . . . surely Teddy isn’t serious about a duel.”

  “I’m sure he is.” Griffin punctuated his words with a curt nod. “Once he takes a notion, there’s no turning him.”

  “But you’re not going through with it?” she said, aghast.

  “The devil I’m not.” He rose and retrieved her dressing gown from the chair back she’d draped it over. His eyes glazed over for a few blinks; then he gave himself a slight shake and handed it to her curtly. He began yanking on his clothes without another glance in her direction. “Aside from the fact that a gentleman cannot in honor refuse a challenge, this duel was fixed the moment you and I tumbled into bed together. Probably even before that.”

  She stomped after him. “No, I refuse to believe it. You have a choice. You don’t have to do this.”

  “I don’t want to, trust me,” Griffin said, tucking his shirttail into his trousers. “But everything in my experience tells me no matter what I do, I can’t avoid it.”

  Emma threw her arms around him and hugged him tight, daring him to reject her. “You and Ted can’t fight over me like this. I won’t have it.”

  Surprisingly enough, his belly shook with a grim chuckle and he slipped a finger under her chin to tip her face toward his. “My dear, we aren’t fighting over you. While I’m sure he hates the knowledge that he has lost you, that’s not the reason he challenged me. What I did today offended my brother’s honor. He has every right to demand it back.”

  He bent and covered her mouth with his, but the kiss smacked too much of farewell for her to derive the slightest pleasure from it.

  “Please don’t do this thing,” she begged.

  “We are who we are, Emma. I am a man of obligations and I always meet them. You may as well ask me to stop breathing.” He disentangled himself from her arms and stepped back.

  Fear threatened to close off her throat, but she managed a whisper. “Stay with me, Griffin.”

  He smiled sadly. “I can’t. Ted gave me some good advice. I have to send for my solicitor. I want to make provisions for you and your father.” He turned and headed for the door. “Then I have a pair of pistols to clean.”

  Emmaline spent the next half hour floundering on her bed, railing silently at Griffin’s devotion to both Honor and Fate, and thoroughly soaking her pillows with tears. When the dressing bell rang, signaling that supper would be served in an hour, she sat up, decided she despised herself for being such a watering pot, and resolved to take action instead.

  But she didn’t ring for an abigail to help her dress for dinner. There was no chance she’d join the party for the evening meal. Her belly roiled at the thought of food. She didn’t think she’d ever be hungry again. Instead she donned her nightshift and wrapper. She settled at the Louis XIV escritoire in the corner and laid out a pen and a sheet of creamy foolscap. Theodore probably wouldn’t listen to her if she tried to reason with him in person, but perhaps he’d read a letter.

  Explaining herself and her indiscretion in a way that might soften Teddy’s heart was more difficult than she’d expected. Crumpled sheets of paper littered the floor around her. She was on the sixth draft when someone knocked at her door.

  “Come,” she said, leaning a cheek on her palm.

  Monty blustered into the room with the pent-up energy of a summer storm. “Emma, my love, you’ll never guess—why, what’s this?” He stopped midstride. “You aren’t dressed for dinner.”

  She’d have to tell him eventually, but he looked so much better than he had of late, she hated to do anything to dampen his mood. “I’m not feeling up to eating.”

  At least it was the truth.

  “You’ll feel better when you’ve heard my news, I’ll warrant.” He stroked his mustache like a cat slicking back cream-soaked whiskers.

  He looked so pleased with himself, she had to ask about his news.

  Monty pulled a chair close to hers and slapped a hand on his thigh. “We have a new investor for the expedition, my dear.”

  “Excuse me?” The search for Tetisheri’s tomb had always been a fictitious endeavor, but the glint in Monty’s eyes said he half believed it was real. “There will be no expedition and you know it.”

  “I know, I know. Sometimes, it’s easy to get caught up in our own tale though, isn’t it? The hieroglyphs are so compelling. I mean, just imagine if it were true—”

  “Monty, you know better.”

  “Well, yes. But isn’t this cracking good news, my love? You’ve been fretting over taking Ted’s family for a ring around the rosy, but I’m trying to tell you, we don’t have to anymore. Lord Kingsley has just offered me a princely sum to buy the statue.” Monty laughed. “As if I’d part with it for a single payment!”

  “What have you done then?”

  “Of course, I hemmed and hawed, but hinted that he could have the thing after we’ve located the rest of Tetisheri’s funerary treasure. After he stakes us to a sizeable amount of blunt up front, all he has to do is set up an irrevocable line of credit that we can draw on. It’s a reasonable request from a man who expects to see an exponentially larger return. Once the deal is done, why, we’ve got an income for years!”

  Monty rattled on excitedly about how he’d have to fabricate some progress reports, of course. They might need to travel back to Egypt in order to make it appear that the missives came from the right place, but they wouldn’t have to remain there.

  “I can gin up a dozen or so reports and leave them with a man of letters in Cairo to be sent at intervals. Then we can betake ourselves anywhere in the world we like!”

  “That sounds too good to be true,” Emmaline said with a skeptical grimace. Lord Kingsley seemed such a sensible sort, but her years with Monty had proven there was no accounting for who might be secretly greedy enough to be the perfect mark. “Did he actually agree to this arrangement?”

  “Not in so many words, no,” Monty said. “But the hook is in, deep and secure. Now I only have to reel him in. Don’t look so glum, child.”

  He fixed her with a squinting gaze.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Oh, I know. You’re thinking that if we’re traveling all the
time, you can’t accept Teddy’s offer. I understand and sympathize. He’s a fine young chap and you must be getting tired of slogging about with nothing but an old man for company.”

  “It’s not that—”

  “I know you don’t believe it possible, Emma, but I remember what it was like to be young.” A grin stretched his mustache across his wizened face. “Don’t you fret a moment. After you and Teddy tie the knot, we’ll take him with us.”

  Emmaline’s mouth opened once or twice, but she was unable to make a sound.

  “Of course, we’ll have to keep the truth from him for a while, but he’ll get the hang of things after a bit. Especially once there are little ones on the way and he has more to lose. Ted’s a surprisingly quick fellow. He’ll probably take well to the confidence game.” Monty’s eyes grew strangely wistful. “I hope I live long enough to see your children, Emma.”

  A single tear trembled on her lashes and then coursed down her cheek. “Monty, I doubt very much that will happen, and now I must tell you why.”

  Not because she feared Monty’s illness would flare up again and carry him away too soon, but because by this time tomorrow, the only man whose children she wanted to bear might well be dead.

  By Theodore’s hand.

  And if Griffin survived and Teddy fell, she knew he’d be burdened with such crushing guilt, there’d be no room in his heart for anything else. He might deny it, but he’d never forgive her.

  She’d never forgive herself.

  CHAPTER 31

  Theodore’s mount picked its way over the uneven ground in the pearl gray of pre-dawn. Since the horse seemed to know its business as they made their way through the woods, Ted was free to let his dark thoughts wander.

  Behind him on a milk-mild gelding, Dr. Farnsworth clung to the pommel of the saddle, making unhappy little grunts each time his horse broke into a short trot to keep up with Ted’s. The professor may have been an indifferent horseman, but he’d agreed to be Theodore’s second. Since it would’ve taken too long to send for one of his friends from London, Ted couldn’t afford to be choosy.