“I will help you avenge yourself with your brother. In return, I want you to send me to America.”
“Done.” The word echoed in Alex’s mind, sounding more like a death toll than an agreement.
…
For the rest of their ride through the park, Inis was careful to keep the topic of conversation centered on Goldie’s training. She felt as though she was chattering like a magpie, going on about how quickly the filly caught on to signals and what she planned next in the training schedule. She then proceeded to detail the progress of each colt and filly she was working with, explaining which one seemed to take to the halter easily, and which ones she thought might be able to tolerate a light saddle. Alex had not commented on their ride back, but then she’d hardly stopped talking long enough for him to interject anything.
Anything to keep from returning to their previous conversation.
Finally, Dansworth House came into view. Inis resisted the urge to let Goldie gallop to the stable. Horses needed to be walked the last bit to cool down, but she was undeniably grateful when Jameson informed Alex his solicitor had left some papers that needed his immediate attention. At least he would not be lingering around the stalls.
Inis made quick work of Goldie’s rubdown, apologizing to the filly and promising her an apple later. Then she made her way up the servants’ stairs to her chamber and shut the door behind her, wishing it had a lock. Since she didn’t usually come into the house this early in the day, she didn’t think Elsie or any of the footmen would be arriving with buckets of hot water. She needed the time to think.
She moved the chair to the window and sat down. Her room was at the back of the house and overlooked the stables. She could see three of the younger fillies in the paddock. She would miss them—and Goldie—when she left.
A business relationship, Alex had said. That’s how he thought of her. Whether he wanted to use the term or not, she was a pawn in his game of emotional chess with his brother. He might rationalize that she was receiving an education and a means to better herself. He might soothe any prickle of guilt by offering her a house and funds after this was over, but that didn’t eliminate the fact he was using her to avenge himself.
Inis closed her eyes against the sting of tears that threatened to seep out. She should have known better than to allow herself to be attracted to the man. Well, maybe that couldn’t be helped since he had devilishly handsome looks and a body that reminded her of the warriors of ancient legends, but she should not have let herself be taken in by his charm. Should not have let the warmth of his embrace at the modiste shop affect her…or the feel of his thumb sliding along the bare skin of her neckline or the sensual tickle of his breath on her ear. Nor should she be recalling how soft and silky his hair felt when she ran her fingers through it in Goldie’s stall or how his eyes had darkened to forest’s shadows when he’d stepped back.
In that moment, she had known desire and she had felt a bond with him. Stupid, stupid, stupid. The man was a practiced flirt. A rake. Not only a rake, but a very roguish one with his own damn female club who received silk negligees from him. She had been a fool, a complete fool, for not remembering that. She was only a means to an end for him. Inis had no one to blame but herself for permitting any kind of feelings for Alex at all.
She opened her eyes and swiped the moisture away with the backs of her hands. At least, now she could understand how someone became such a fool. And that was what was at the core of this whole scheme of his. Alex had been a fool, too.
Apart from seeking revenge on his brother, whom Inis instinctively disliked, she wondered how much Alex had really cared for Amelia. The woman had used him, deceived him, but he hadn’t denied loving her when Inis had posed the question. Did he still?
She sighed. She shouldn’t care if Alex still harbored love for his once intended. When he’d first approached her with what sounded like an asinine idea, Inis had agreed to go along with it because she thought she’d have some fun pretending to be in need of educating. She couldn’t deny she had enjoyed herself with the tea service yesterday. Since Alex had also told her he wouldn’t force her into Society, she’d never planned on actually “improving” to the point of being presented anywhere. But, as Alex had reminded her, theirs was a business relationship, and she had agreed to help him avenge himself.
Had she really expected to stay at Dansworth House forever? It wasn’t a practical solution. Her uncle, no doubt, had already hired runners to search for her. She’d nearly panicked when an Irish horse-trader had shown up at John’s stables a few days after she’d arrived. Luckily, she’d heard him and made herself scarce. It would only be a matter of time—perhaps a few months at most—before he’d realize she was no longer in Ireland and turn his attention to England. The amount of time might be even shorter than that if she were recognized by any of her uncle’s English friends.
She didn’t want to take Alex’s money. At least, not money she hadn’t earned through working with the horses. She would not even entertain the thought of accepting a house and funds anywhere in England. She knew where that would lead. Alex may say now it was simply a repayment for her help, but knowing how such arrangements transpired among Dublin’s nobility, it would only be a matter of months, maybe only weeks, before Alex would decide he needed return on his investment. And Inis would never tolerate becoming someone’s mistress…or, more likely, one of many.
Ireland was completely out of the question as well. She certainly wouldn’t need Alex’s money there since her uncle would never allow her to live independently. She’d be married off to Silas Desmond or some other buffoon as soon as it could be arranged. And Lord, she’d almost given herself away when Alex had asked about her O’Brien relatives. Having descended from Brian Boru, perhaps the greatest of Ireland’s High Kings, her O’Brien relatives were as rich as her Uncle William. If he didn’t secure a match for her, they certainly would. Lady Inis Fitzgerald would be expected to marry and produce an heir and spare, because that is what aristocrats did, whether in England or Ireland.
But not in America. In the States, titles didn’t matter. She would not be forced to marry someone she did not want. More and more, the idea of getting there appealed to her. She could start over, make of herelf what she wanted to be. She’d heard in America anything was possible. Inis set her mouth. Once this charade was over, she’d be on her way, hopefully before her true identity was revealed and Alex realized she’d deceived him, too.
Chapter Ten
Miranda looked around Melanie Linford’s drawing room Tuesday evening at the well-dressed men and women in attendance, including the Duke of Dansworth and Duchess. Caroline Nash would no doubt be in a dither, like she always was when her ex was present, but too bad. She resented the fact that Caroline was friends with Alex. And that she seemed to befriend that Irish woman who had somehow wormed her way into his home. She was fairly sure Inis O’Brien would never fit in with this crowd, especially not with the duke and his cronies, no matter what Alex thought.
“I do wish Lord Ashley had come,” she said after the gentlemen had vanished down the hall to escape the horrible warbling by some debutante playing the pianoforte. “Charles is still a bit miffed at him, and I was hoping differences could be smoothed over this evening.”
Jeannette Compton snorted. “That is quite humorous considering you are the cause of those differences, Miranda.”
“Oh, piddle. My husband does not even know for sure I had a man in my room,” Miranda replied. “By the time I opened the door, Lord Ashley had already slipped out the window.”
“I am surprised Alexander would be so bold,” Amelia said, “but then, he has always been brazen.”
You should talk, Caroline thought but bit back the words. Amelia certainly hadn’t hesitated about digging her claws into George and keeping her talons clenched tightly around him until the marriage vows had been said. “Perhaps we should not gossip about someone who is not here to defend himself.”
Jeannette w
as not about to be deterred by such an idea and looked at Miranda. “What did your husband say when the silk negligee arrived?”
Miranda waved a hand indifferently. “I simply said I had ordered it.”
“That is what I told my husband, too.” Melanie nodded.
Caroline stifled a smile. Trust Melanie not to let the opportunity pass to get her own reminder in.
“I told my husband the same thing,” Vanessa Caldwell, the Earl of Lockwood’s wife, said and then giggled. “So thoughtful of Lord Ashley to send such a nice, and naughty, parting present.”
“Parting present?” Miranda gave a trilling laugh. “I fully intend to wear mine when Lord Ashley pays his next call to me.”
“But you know he does not come back,” Vanessa said. “He pretty much tells us that.”
“He might tell you that,” Miranda replied smugly. “I know he will come back to me.”
Amelia raised one delicate eyebrow. “Am I to understand that Alexander has put each of you in a precarious situation?”
Jeannette snorted again. “Precarious, my foot. Accommodating is a better word.”
Vanessa giggled again. “I should say.”
“He does accommodate quite well, does he not?” Melanie asked.
Miranda gave them all daggered looks, but Amelia seemed amused. “And…afterward, Alexander sends each of you a negligee?”
“Yes,” Jeannette answered before anyone else could. “Ivory silk. It is their admission into the R Club.”
Amelia’s eyebrow lifted again. “The R Club?”
“The Ravaged Revelers. There are other members, too,” Jeannette said drily. “Of course, I would refuse to join such a club.”
Caroline managed to contain another grin. Jeannette was like a horse chomping at the bit to get home, or in this case, into Alex’s bed, which probably would never happen.
“I see,” Amelia said. “I wonder if George has any inkling this is going on.”
Chattering abruptly ceased amongst their group. Four ashen faces turned toward Amelia while Jeannette’s was crimson red. She had committed an unacceptable gaffe by bringing up the conversation in front of Amelia in the first place. Caroline suspected the ladies in question had all just realized their husbands were friends of George. The implications of the husbands all finding out they’d been cuckolded would have dire effects on their wives’ pin money, not to mention accounts at all the prestigious shops.
Amelia smiled. “But perhaps I could be persuaded not to say anything.”
The women looked relieved and started talking at once, assuring Amelia how they would forever be in her debt. Caroline wondered if they had any idea what they were committing to. She would have to let Alex know what had transpired tonight. He’d have to stop pursuing the wives of George’s friends, at least for a while. Meanwhile, the conversation had planted a seed of another sort in Caroline’s mind.
…
“Good God Almighty.” He stared at Caroline, seated in his library the next morning, and wished he hadn’t consumed so much whiskey last night at the gaming hell. “How could Jeannette Compton be such an idiot?”
“Miranda started it by saying she was hoping you could smooth Charles’s ruffled feathers, but I suspect Jeanette was jealous.”
Alex took a good swallow of strong, black coffee. He preferred coffee to tea, especially in the morning. This morning, it had a particularly restorative benefit, given he hadn’t gotten in until quite late. “Apart from the fact that the woman brays like a donkey and has about the same amount of appeal, her husband is not one of George’s close friends.”
Caroline tilted her head to study Alex. “Maybe you should send Jeannette a negligee, then she will feel as though she fits in. I doubt she would admit to not being in your bed.”
“Actually, the baron is a decent sort.” Alex took another sip of coffee. “I would rather leave the man his dignity.”
Caroline nodded. “Joshua Compton would prefer traipsing about his country estate discussing crop yields with his steward than to be in Town.”
“One of the few men who has any sense,” Alex said.
“What about Charles Locke? He is a different matter.”
Alex shrugged. “He has no proof that I was the man in his wife’s room. I’m sure I’m not the first she’s invited to her chamber.”
Caroline picked up the cup of hot chocolate Evans had left for her. “If Charles gets wind of the negligees being gifts, he could trace Miranda’s back to you.”
“That would be hard to do. I pick them up from Madame Dubois myself and have my own runner deliver them. They are both paid extremely well to know nothing.”
“Still, it might be wise for you to lay low for a while,” Caroline said. “If Amelia decides to tell George—”
“She will not. At least, not right now. She acquired ammunition last night, which means she can control those four ladies.” Alex felt a muscle in his jaw twitch. “And Amelia likes to control.”
“So does Miranda. She is dead set on luring you back to her bed.”
Alex shook his head and then wished he hadn’t. The gaming hells didn’t serve a high class of whiskey. He poured more coffee. “Miranda is wrong. One visit is all she gets. I do not need entanglements.”
“You might need to tell her that, then. I just stopped by at this ungodly hour to warn you that Amelia is aware of what you have been doing.” Caroline set her cup down and rose to leave. “We both know how manipulative she can be.”
The thought remained in Alex’s semi-revived brain as he escorted Caroline to the door and made sure her carriage was waiting. He returned to the library and sank down in a wing chair by the unlit hearth.
The room might be cold, but his capers had certainly ignited the wrong fires. Alex was sure Amelia would hold on to the information she’d gleaned to use to her benefit if the case arose, and he didn’t want to be called out. He was an excellent shot—and had quick reflexes when his brain wasn’t afloat in liquor—but there was no sense in wounding a man physically.
He finished his coffee, wishing his head didn’t feel as though a hammer were banging on it from the inside. He shouldn’t have gotten so sotted, but he wanted to forget about the deal he’d made with Inis to send her to America once his charade was over.
He didn’t want her to leave. He lusted for her more than any of the willing women he took to bed. He wanted to run his hands across every inch of her naked skin and then let his mouth do the same. At the same time, he felt oddly protective of her, and not as an employer. For the first time that he could remember, the idea of having a permanent mistress was appealing. He’d told Caroline he wanted no entanglements. As far as his trysts were concerned, one episode was definitely enough.
But Inis was different. He wanted to provide for her. To set her up in a small house with her own allowance and visiting privileges. Ninety-nine percent of women in her circumstances—poor, uneducated, with no connections—would leap at the chance to be settled in style.
Instinctively, he knew Inis was the one percent who wouldn’t.
Damnation.
He was feeling better when he met Brice at John Adler’s stables in Covent Garden later that afternoon. He wasn’t especially interested in purchasing additional horses, but it had dawned on him that perhaps he could get some additional information from the man who’d lost Inis to him in the card game.
John recognized him immediately, and a wary look crossed his face. “Is the lad not working out for you?”
“Ah…yes.” Alex managed at the last second to remember John thought Inis was a boy. “I mean, he is doing quite well. He did not happen to mention if he had any brothers? I could use a few more like him.”
John shook his head. “Not that I recall.”
“We actually came to look at the horses you have out in the paddock,” Brice said. “The sign by the door says you are a horse trader as well.”
“Aye, that I am.” The guarded look left John’s eyes, and he gestured towa
rd the back end of the stable. “Right through those doors, if you please.”
Alex was surprised to see that two of the mares appeared to be thoroughbreds with slim-barreled bodies and long legs built for speed, broad chests for greater lung power, and slightly dished faces that spoke of Arabian ancestry.
Brice pointed to them. “Where did you get those two?”
John appeared affronted. “Are you asking if I got them legal?”
Brice gave him the affable smile he used to gain a buyer’s trust when he was about to sell questionable property. In this case, it almost looked conspiratorial. “Of course not. What I meant was, are the mares registered?”
“Aye. I won them from an Irishman in a card game, fair and square.” John looked at Alex. “I don’t always lose.”
If compulsive gamblers always lost, they’d eventually quit. It was the winning—even occasionally—that kept them going, but Alex was more interested in the fact that an Irishman had been mentioned.
“Did you win the horses while Inis—the lad—was still here?”
“The lad had been here a few days, I think,” John said. “Why do you ask?”
Alex shrugged nonchalantly. “Just wondering. The boy’s brogue is so strong, I thought he might have enjoyed meeting another Irishman.”
John frowned and then shook his head. “The lad offered to take one of the other horses to the smith for me the day they arrived.”
Alex felt the hair at his nape prickle. Had Inis avoided the Irishman deliberately? He’d never completely lost the feeling that she was hiding something from him. “You would think the boy would want to see one of his countrymen, given that he was orphaned here.”
John gave him a quizzical look. “I don’t know about that. The lad kept to himself, but when I found him in my carriage, he was wearing sailor’s garb and a brig from Dublin had just docked not far from the brothel.”
Only the years spent keeping his face impassive in the gaming halls saved Alex from showing his surprise. Inis had told him her parents had come over looking for work and been killed in a carriage accident. It seemed too coincidental that she’d stowed away in John’s carriage the same day the ship from Dublin had docked nearby.
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