His Wicked Charm

by Candace Camp

  “I was surprised to see her there,” Thisbe said.

  “She happened to be here at the time.” Con kept his gaze on the dishes of food. “It was nothing, really.”

  “What was nothing? I thought you just said she was very helpful.”

  “She was. I didn’t mean what she did was nothing.” He toyed with the roll on his plate, then added another. “I meant her being here wasn’t unusual. She came to see Olivia. Had a book for her.”

  “Did she?” Olivia’s face lit up. “How nice. She had offered to lend me a book, but it was just in passing. I’m surprised she remembered.”

  “Miss Holcutt remembers everything,” Con said darkly, bringing his plate to the table and sitting down.

  “Goodness, Con, do you mean to eat all of that?” Kyria asked.

  “What? Oh...” Con gazed at his plate in some surprise. “Well, I am hungry.”

  “I am not at all amazed that Lilah joined in,” the duchess said. “I quite like her. She’s a very nice girl, just a bit stiff. I blame her upbringing.”

  “Why?” Con asked. “What’s odd about her upbringing?”

  “Nothing,” his mother replied. “That is the point. She had the same sort of insubstantial education combined with an indoctrination into foolish rules that all young ladies do. It’s a pity that a bright girl such as Lilah was forced into such a constricted position.”

  “I believe she was raised by her aunt,” Kyria added. “Mrs. Summersley seems a nice enough woman, just a bit staid.”

  The duchess pointed at her daughter with her raised fork. “Exactly. Perpetuating a helpless, brainless vision of womanhood.”

  Con snorted. “I wouldn’t call Lilah helpless or brainless.”

  “Yes, I have hope for the girl,” Emmeline agreed. “Perhaps I should invite her to come to the next suffragists’ meeting.”

  “I don’t think our experience with the suffragists today would encourage her to accompany you,” Olivia remarked.

  “It isn’t as if there are always abductions at them,” the duchess protested.

  “One would hope not,” Reed commented drily.

  “What did you find out from the kidnappers?” Con asked, turning toward Stephen and Rafe.

  “Pah!” Kyria’s husband let out an exclamation of disgust. “Nothing of any importance. They were hired hands.”

  “Nor were they particularly bright,” Theo put in. “They had no idea why they were paid to abduct the women. They swore they didn’t even know who the ladies were.”

  “He couldn’t even give us a description of the man who hired them,” Stephen added. “Said it was all done by way of letter, brought by a messenger.”

  Con cocked an eyebrow. “Do you believe that?”

  “Strangely enough, we did.” Theo shrugged his shoulders. “He seemed sufficiently demoralized. I think Mother terrified him more than Rafe. She does wield a wicked pitcher.” Theo’s green eyes twinkled.

  “Really, Theo, you know I abhor violence. But I could hardly stand by when someone threatened my children.”

  “What did the Dearborns say?” Con asked.

  “They vehemently denied it,” Rafe said.

  “Even when Rafe threatened them with various sorts of bodily harm,” Stephen put in.

  “I’m less certain that I believe them,” Rafe put in. “They let us search their house after a big show of British affront, but that only proves they were careful enough to keep their distance from the crime.”

  “I can’t think of anyone else with a grudge against us,” Reed said. “At least, no one who isn’t already in jail.”

  “The Dearborns are obviously desperate for money.”

  “That’s the peculiar thing.” Uncle Bellard spoke up. “We never received a note asking for a ransom.”

  “It is odd,” the duke agreed.

  “Perhaps they didn’t get a chance to send it before the ladies got away.”

  “Maybe,” Megan said doubtfully. “But what sort of criminal wouldn’t have the note ready to go as soon as they grabbed their victims?”

  “An incompetent one,” her husband suggested. “Which these men certainly seemed to be.”

  “Maybe they wanted to make Father wait and worry, so he’d be ready to give them whatever they asked for,” Reed suggested.

  “But I would have done that at once,” the duke replied.

  “I don’t think they were after money.” Every head in the room turned toward Olivia at her words. “They interrogated Kyria. Twice. They were after information.”

  “Interrogated you?” Rafe stiffened, looking at his wife in alarm. “What did they do to you?”

  “Nothing, really,” Kyria said calmly. “So you needn’t get murder in your eye. They shouted a good deal, but they didn’t physically harm me. They just kept asking about the blasted key.”

  “Key? What key?” Rafe asked.

  “Exactly.” Kyria gave a sharp nod. “I asked them that very thing, but they had no response except to ask me again in a louder voice.”

  “Why didn’t they describe it or tell you what it was for?” Desmond asked, frowning in puzzlement.

  “They just said that I knew which key they meant. The one my father gave me.”

  “I gave you?” The duke’s voice rose in astonishment. “Why would I have given you a key? To what? How very odd.”

  “That was my thought,” Kyria agreed.

  “I don’t know anything about any key,” the duke went on. “Except for a Greek key, of course, but I wouldn’t think they were interested in ancient motifs.”

  “Perhaps they meant the key to your collections room,” Bellard suggested.

  “What would a gang of ruffians want with Greek and Roman pots?”

  “And why would they target Kyria?” Con added. “Why would she have the key to Father’s collections room?”

  “Maybe they didn’t specifically target Kyria. Maybe they were told to grab one of the women, and any of them would have done.”

  “Then why didn’t they ask the rest of us about it after Kyria proved recalcitrant?” Thisbe pointed out. “That would be the logical thing to do.”

  “Maybe they meant to take Emmeline,” the duke suggested. “And they grabbed the wrong redhead.”

  The duchess smiled at her husband. “Dear Henry. I think even those men would have noticed that Kyria was far too young to be me.”

  “One of them had the nerve to say I was too old!” Kyria said indignantly.

  Her brothers laughed, and Con said, “I suppose that’s the one you wanted to bash over the head.”

  “It is. I heard them arguing in the hall after the last time he questioned me. One of them said some rather uncomplimentary things about my stubbornness, and the other said he could make me talk. But then Ruffian One—the one Mother demoralized—said that no, they couldn’t hurt me. I think he had realized how much trouble they were in. That’s when Ruffian Two said I was too old. And the first one told him he was daft, and they fell into arguing over which of them was more stupid.”

  “Which would, admittedly, be hard to determine,” Theo put in.

  “They ended it with Ruffian Two stomping off downstairs. He was really a most obnoxious man. He kept complaining because Thisbe cracked him over the head with a parasol. I ask you, what did he think we were going to do?”

  “I am sorry I broke Sabrina’s parasol, though,” Thisbe said. “It was such a pretty thing.”

  “I should have taken Papa’s umbrella instead,” Kyria mused. “It’s much sturdier. Next time I’ll know better.”

  Con frowned. “Wait. Kyria was carrying Sabrina’s parasol?”

  “Yes, I picked it up as we left the house because I’d forgotten mine.”

  “It’s a very distinctive parasol, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it has
a lovely painted scene.”

  “So it’s the sort of thing one might use to identify someone. And he said you were ‘too old.’ I think they took the wrong person. Maybe they meant to kidnap Sabrina.”

  * * *

  LILAH WENT TO bed thinking about Con’s kiss and woke up with it still on her mind. It was disturbing, even more so because it had also been so exciting. Con had a way of confusing things.

  She disapproved of him. He was rash. He had the most outlandish notions. He didn’t care a whit how he appeared to others. Indeed, he seemed to delight in making a spectacle of himself. She thought of the exaggerated mustache and garish suit she had seen him wear the first time she visited Broughton House. As if that weren’t peculiar enough, he had been consorting with people who were certain the world was going to end that week.

  What did it matter that he was handsome and witty or that his smile did the most peculiar things to her insides? It didn’t make him any more normal or acceptable or dependable. He was, in short, odd. Just look at his name: Constantine. It was decidedly not British.

  Con liked her no more than she did him. He considered her annoying and her beliefs antiquated. They could not be around each other for two minutes without finding something upon which to disagree.

  Why had he kissed her? Why had he said he admired her? He had been teasing, she supposed, playing games with her. Yet he had seemed sincere. He had looked at her in a way that stole her breath.

  Lilah was not a naive girl just making her debut. She knew better than to take compliments seriously—especially not the compliments of charming men like Constantine Moreland. She had done her best to learn all there was to know about Con, and she was well aware of his reputation as an inveterate flirt. He never pursued any particular young lady, dancing with this one, flirting with that one.

  That was her answer, she supposed: Con had been flirting with her, and Lilah wasn’t adept at flirting. She had taken him too seriously. Or else he had been testing her, seeing just how far he could push her sense of propriety. That was an irritating thought. Lowering, as well.

  It would be better to just put him out of her mind. Especially since she had overslept and was in danger of being late to breakfast. It was always served promptly at eight o’clock. She rang for her maid and dressed quickly, doing her hair up in a simple knot. She stepped into the dining room at eight on the dot.

  Uncle Horace looked up at her and smiled. “Ah, Delilah. Just in time.”

  “Good morning, Uncle. Aunt Helena.” Her uncle was a good man, if somewhat rigid about his schedule. He had taken on the raising of another’s child, which could not have been an easy thing for a man who was accustomed to an orderly, childless life.

  “Not much interesting in the newspaper today,” Uncle Horace announced. It was his custom to read aloud to his wife and niece the stories he deemed suitable for the delicate ears of women, placidly unaware that after he left each morning, Lilah took the newspaper and read what she wanted. “I saw Sir Jasper at the club yesterday. I think he might drop in today.”

  Lilah maintained a polite expression, though inwardly she groaned. Her uncle proceeded to talk about this acquaintance and that. Aunt Helena related the elegance of Mrs. Baldwin’s gown at the musicale the night before.

  “Baldwin’s a capital fellow,” Uncle Horace stated. “Though I gather their youngest boy is a bit wild. Not the sort I would allow to court you of course.” Uncle Horace patted Lilah’s hand.

  “No, naturally.” Though Lilah had no desire to be courted by Terence Baldwin, finding him both a bore and a libertine, it scraped at her nerves whenever her uncle made such decisions for her. Lilah could just imagine what the duchess would say about Uncle Horace’s pronouncement. She had to bring up her handkerchief to her mouth to hide a smile.

  “Your aunt tells me you had dinner with the Duke and Duchess of Broughton last night.”

  “Lady Anna was kind enough to invite me to stay.” Lilah avoided a direct lie.

  “You really should not have, dear,” Aunt Helena said, frowning. “Of course I could hardly refuse permission when Lady Moreland asked it, especially since she said it would please the duchess. But it’s not the way things should be done.”

  Lilah felt another flash of annoyance. She was over twenty-one now; she scarcely needed her aunt’s permission to do something.

  “One would think a duchess would better understand the rules of polite behavior,” Aunt Helena went on. “But then, of course, her family was only country gentry. Everyone was surprised when Broughton married her.”

  But she knew how to drive a wagon, Lilah thought, which had been more useful last night than needlepoint. Immediately she felt a twinge of guilt at even thinking something disloyal to her aunt.

  “Odd lot, the Morelands,” Uncle Horace commented. “No finer lineage in England of course, but still...no denying they’re peculiar.” He then turned the conversation away from the Morelands, which was a relief to Lilah.

  However, later, when Lilah and her aunt had settled down in the morning room, as was their daily custom, Aunt Helena turned to her with a worried frown. “Delilah...I cannot but wonder if it was a mistake to let you spend so much time with the Morelands.”

  Lilah swallowed her irritation. “But surely you cannot object. Uncle Horace said they’re one of the best families in England.”

  “Yes, but it’s a double-edged sword to be connected with that family. It raises your status, of course, to be on familiar terms with a duchess, but you run the risk of their reputation coloring yours.”

  Lilah stiffened. “You speak as if they weren’t received.”

  “Of course they’re received. But he is a duke. One has to do a great deal to be a duke and have society snub you. It’s quite different for a young lady such as yourself.”

  “I think my reputation is undisputed. The Holcutts are an old family, too.”

  “Yes, but one must always be careful to maintain your reputation. You in particular must be especially circumspect, given the behavior of your father’s sister.”

  “That was years ago. Surely it’s been forgotten.”

  “And you must not do anything to cause people to remember.” Her aunt leaned forward and took her hand. “I understand, sweetheart, that it is hard to have that sword of Damocles hanging over you. But we have been so careful to ensure your pristine reputation. I would hate to see you abandon it on a whim.”

  “I have not abandoned it, I assure you.” Lilah’s cheeks flamed with color. “I have done nothing wrong.”

  “I know. But your actions yesterday! Going to call on them, then staying over for supper on the spur of the moment. Why, you had nothing but your walking dress to wear to dinner.”

  “The Morelands are much more casual about such things.”

  “That is my point. I fear they are a terrible influence on you. Your actions yesterday were impulsive and inappropriate. You showed a lack of respect for me, which you have never done before.” Tears glittered in her eyes before she blinked them away. “I fear that your Holcutt blood may lead you astray.”

  Lilah’s resentment was washed away in a flood of remorse. “I’m sorry. I never intended any disrespect to you. I wouldn’t hurt you for the world. I’m well aware of all you’ve done for me.”

  “Dearest girl, I do not ask your gratitude. I did it because I loved my sister, and I love you. I couldn’t allow your father to ruin your chances. All I want is for you to make a good marriage and live a pleasant life.”

  “I know. I want that, as well.” Her aunt was right; that was the sensible thing to do. That was what she wanted, too. The Morelands were exciting, but their life was too chaotic for her. Lilah wasn’t herself around them. And she wasn’t about to let the Holcutt in her come out. “I shan’t call on them again.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  CON WAS NOT going to think about Lilah Holcut
t today. Nor was he going to dwell on that kiss. It had been a foolish thing for him to do. He had gotten caught up in the moment—and, yes, Lilah had looked damned desirable charging into battle, cheeks flushed and eyes glittering, without a care for how she looked or what others might think.

  But kissing her had been a mistake. He had carefully avoided her since the wedding, and he’d reached the point where he hardly thought of her. Then, in one moment, he had dropped all his barriers and let her in again.

  However different Lilah might have seemed during the rescue of his family, however much her kisses stirred him, she would go back to being herself. Disapproving. Rigid. Cold. Just she had been yesterday when Con entered the room. As if that moment of closeness on the terrace after the wedding had never happened, Lilah had turned her usual cool, measuring gaze on him. She had refused to even sit down with him to chat. Whereas he had come running like a puppy at the sound of her voice. He hoped she had not noticed the way he had rushed into the room.

  How could the woman who had turned into flames in his arms last night manage to be all ice the rest of the time? She was a puzzle, so of course she intrigued him. But this was one conundrum that he must resist. One lock that he should not open.

  He had better things to do today. The new threat to Sabrina needed his immediate and undivided attention. After breakfast, he headed to Moreland Investigations, the agency he had taken over from Olivia a few years ago. There, as he’d hoped, he found Tom Quick, the agency’s employee of many years.

  Quick was whip smart, cool under pressure and able to follow almost anyone without being noticed. He was also a wizard at picking pockets, having spent his early years on the streets, but that was a practice he had given up since he came to work for the Morelands. Though only a few years older than Con and Alex, Tom had been their mentor in subjects that were far more interesting to them than Ancient Greek or Philosophy.

  Tom was appropriately incensed by Con’s story of the ladies’ kidnapping and rescue, though he had some reservations. “A key? You think they kidnapped your mum and sisters for a key?”

  “Yes. I know it’s odd.”