Sari Robins - [Andersen Hall Orphanage]

by What to Wear to a Seduction

Her brow knitted and he could tell that she was affronted but trying not to be. “Once I explain it all more fully to you, perhaps you will have a different opinion.” Her shoulder lifted in a faint shrug. “And I suppose that, as you are involved…”

  He liked how she said it as if it was settled; she had a knack for business, this one.

  “I welcome your suggestions on how to deal with this terrible man.”

  Silence descended once more, interrupted by the leaves rustling on an agitated wind.

  The breeze smelled moist as it pressed Edwina’s cheeks and she realized that she was holding her breath and forced herself to relax.

  “I’d intended to make a change.” Mr. Devane’s deep voice was rough with emotion. “Alter the course of my life in a new…more respectable direction. No longer be at another’s beck and call. No longer pretend I have a place in a Society where I have none…” He cleared his throat. “I had wanted to be someone Headmaster Dunn would be proud of. Hell, I wanted to be someone I would be proud of…A man of my own making.”

  A stab of guilt speared Edwina’s middle as she suddenly realized the source of Mr. Devane’s obstinacy. She’d heard that he had not been with a lady since Headmaster Dunn’s death, had been living here at Andersen Hall, but she’d had no idea that he was hoping to change his life. Now she was trying to force him back into the very Society that he’d come to spurn and be at a lady’s beck and call once more. Moreover, she was putting him at risk, albeit a limited one, and he really had no vested interest in her cause.

  But if Mr. Devane didn’t help her, then she couldn’t bear to consider the consequences that had kept her awake so many nights.

  Edwina forced her resolve to harden. “Perhaps a time limit might do? If we don’t have the blackmailer by then…Well, after that, we part ways. Would that make a difference?”

  His lips pursed. “How long?”

  “Ah, six weeks…” At the look on his face, she adjusted, “Or three.” His face seemed to relax. “Three weeks should do it rightly enough, I’d say. Then you are no worse off for your efforts than you are today, but better off in whatever your business undertaking.” Again, she wondered at his need for assistance at the dock but supposed she’d find out soon enough. Agreement was starting to feel so close she could almost taste it.

  “Better off in terms of my venture possibly.” Mr. Devane’s eyes were hard as jade. “But lower in terms of disrepute, my lady. You’re asking me to lie, pretend to be someone I’m not, and Lord only knows what else is involved in your scheme.”

  He was a good negotiator; she’d grant him that.

  She opened her hands. “For a good cause. Also, as far as your reputation goes, Mr. Devane, all will believe that I loved you and yet you chose to leave me. I can only imagine that your reputation might be enhanced from this little ruse. You will be known as a man who can’t be chained by the mighty coin.”

  “And what of your reputation, my lady? I know what it’s like having a soiled name. Do you?” The anguish she glimpsed in his gaze shocked her. Then his eyes hooded, hiding any trace of emotion on his handsome countenance. Yet by the working of his jaw and the tight set to his broad shoulders, she could tell that he was incensed.

  With her heartbeat clamoring, Edwina swallowed. “I’m a widow, not some young lady searching for a husband. It should not warrant. Besides, my true friends…those who love me…will know me to be the same person that I was before…”

  Mr. Devane shook his head. “You have no idea what you’re signing yourself up for. When we’re done, you will have been known as the foolish woman who lost her heart to a nobody and lost her reputation for nothing.”

  She straightened. “It’s not nothing to me, so pray don’t belittle my comprehension of the situation.”

  “This man must hold some pretty terrible secrets over your head.”

  Biting her inner cheek, her traitorous skin flamed, but she refused to look away and lifted her chin instead.

  He shrugged a broad shoulder. “I think I have a right to know—”

  She bristled, rearing up. “You have no right whatsoever! It’s indecent of you even to ask!”

  He pushed himself away from the tree. “It’s my neck on the line—”

  “And my reputation!” Anger made her voice shrill. “As you noted, I’ll be aligning myself with you, one in a long succession of ladies, I might add!” Lord how it irked her, but she didn’t know why.

  His eyes blazed with indignation as he stepped nearer. “Popularity with the ladies is not exactly a crime.”

  She moved forward, showing him she wasn’t afraid. “A little discretion would go a long way in repairing your good name, Mr. Devane.”

  “Repairing!” he ground out, the muscle in his jaw working. “I don’t have a good name, if you recall. Which is exactly why you wanted me in the first instance!”

  “I don’t want you!”

  His eyes flashing, he stepped closer, moving barely inches away. “Don’t you?” His voice was such a low rumbling caress, it unsettled her nerves. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely!” Stepping forward, she stood toe-to-toe with the man and glared up at him. “I don’t want you in the least!”

  “Liar.”

  “How dare you insinuate that I—”

  Her words were swallowed up as his lips pressed down to hers.

  Shocks rocketed through Edwina like a lighting bolt sears the earth, scorching her every thought to ash. The birds stopped chirping, the wind died, the sun eclipsed. All was black behind Edwina’s closed lids. There was only the heat of Prescott Devane’s smooth lips pressed against hers and the heady flavor of him, a hint of cinnamon, of all things, in her partially opened mouth. Never had anything tasted so shockingly divine.

  All semblance of her astonishment was almost immediately replaced by an exhilarating warmth that cascaded down her body from her hairline to her toes, making her feel so good she was light-headed.

  She did want him. Badly. The knowledge was like a moth fluttering about in her mind, there but not truly acknowledged.

  Somehow her hands crept up to rest against his broad chest, her palm feeling a hint of the bold heart beating within.

  His kiss was a powerful combination of daring offensive tempered with delicate tease as he sucked gently on her lower lip. Her lips clung unashamedly to his, seeking more of his delicious spice.

  His arms wrapped around her, pulling her even more tightly against him. The force of his chest against hers gave a heady thrill, but nothing compared to the rush of pleasure that surged through her as his knee pressed into the juncture between her thighs.

  Through her skirts, his well-muscled thigh pressed deeply, causing a wild conflagration of liquid heat inside of her. Brazenly, she leaned forward, pushing him deeper, driving him against her, yearning for something she didn’t quite understand.

  Her ears roared and the earth seemed to shake beneath her. Her body was a chorus of sensation harmonizing in a melody she hadn’t known existed before.

  Before. Sir Geoffery. Her deceased husband. Edwina blinked her eyes open, appalled to find that she was clinging to Mr. Devane more closely than moss to a rock. Her stomach clenched. She stiffened. She ripped herself away from him, horror-struck.

  Mr. Devane released her without a word.

  Edwina stepped aside and stood under the cover of a nearby tree. Her heart was pounding, her chest heaving. It took a few moments for the world to come back into focus. Only then did she realize that the sky had darkened and that the earth that had been shaking beneath her before had been a boom of thunder as a storm threatened in the gray sky overhead. But there was another kind of tempest raging within her as Edwina struggled to regain her composure.

  “I’m not like the other ladies of your acquaintance.” The quiver in her voice betrayed how shaken she truly was.

  “That’s for damned sure,” Mr. Devane muttered, looking troubled.

  Tears burned the backs of her eyes and she wished that t
he mossy ground would cleave open and swallow her whole. The only thing keeping her on her feet was the idea of embarrassing herself further before Prescott Devane.

  Pride had its uses and the Earl of Wootton-Barrett’s daughter had been infused with it from birth. Enough so to declare, “This was a mistake.” A foolhardy, idiotic mistake that Edwina knew she was going to regret for as long as she lived.

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry to have bothered you.” More sorry than he would ever know.

  “You don’t want my help?”

  “No.”

  “What about the blackmailer?”

  She looked away. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “You were trying to protect yourself and stop a villain.”

  “The plan was idiocy.”

  “And what about my business at the dock?”

  She swallowed. “Send a note to my man of affairs. Now I must go.” Lifting her skirts, she stepped through the trees, her only thought moving away from him as quickly as possible.

  “My lady!” Mr. Devane grabbed her arm.

  “Let me go!” Large drops of rain splattered down on them, blurring her gaze.

  “But you’re going the wrong way.” He motioned in the opposite direction. “Your coach is at the stables, that way.”

  “Oh.” She felt even more the fool.

  “Are you crying?”

  “Certainly not!” She brushed her hand over her face. “It’s raining.”

  She moved to go, but his hand was like an iron vise on her arm, not hurting but not releasing her either.

  “You can’t just walk away, my lady. You pulled me into your troubles; you can’t close the door on me now.”

  “This was a mistake, Mr. Devane. Can’t you see that?” Her voice had risen with a hint of panic; couldn’t he just let her go? “I’ll leave and you’ll never have to see me again.”

  “It’s too late; I’m already involved.”

  “Not really—”

  “I know about the blackmail, I know about your scheme. I can’t just forget it all—”

  “It’d be for the best.”

  “For whom? The blackmailer?”

  For me, she thought, knowing that she was lying to herself but couldn’t face the alternatives. She was still so certain he was the man to help her, but she’d mucked it up beyond repair.

  “I’ll give you four weeks,” he declared. “But that’s it. No more pressing for a better deal.”

  Edwina blinked, the rain making her lashes heavy with wet. “What…what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that you’re a tough negotiator, but four is all I’m willing to give. In exchange, I want your help in acquiring some warehousing at the docks, and obviously, a say in how we proceed.”

  Edwina shook her head, feeling woolly-headed. “You’ll do it?”

  “You get four weeks, not a day more.”

  The awful feeling in Edwina’s chest was still there, but she straightened, experiencing a hint of hope.

  “I suggest we return to the guesthouse and get out of the rain, my lady.” The broad shoulders of Mr. Devane’s coat glistened with moisture, and the scent of moss and damp filled the air. It had begun to pour in earnest and Edwina suddenly realized that the rain was beginning to soak through her coat.

  Releasing her, Mr. Devane extended his arm as if they were at a ball or soiree, and not in a deluge in the wood. “If you will allow me?”

  Edwina did not miss the symbolism that the arm he offered was not only assistance out of the copse but a means of saving face.

  She accepted his arm.

  “Very well, it’s settled then.” He nodded. His wet coppery mane was a spiky mess, making him look so dashingly adorable she had to force herself to stop gaping up at him like a puppyish fool. “For four weeks, Lady Ross, I am at your disposal and will do my best to see you through this.”

  “At my disposal,” she repeated quietly, still feeling less than sure of herself. “That’s very…good.”

  “And you’re right about those shoes, my lady. They are unique.”

  She looked up. “You know of them?”

  “They’re from Paris, designed by a famous shoemaker named François Millicent. Given the embargo and the war with Napoleon, there won’t be many in Polite Society with such shoes. It’s a distinctive mark to search for.”

  A small swell of excitement bubbled inside of her. “I’d thought so…But it’s so good to know for certain.”

  Edwina’s spirits began to rise as they trudged through the trees, the pitter-patter of the rain the only conversation. She pushed away all thoughts of that kiss and instead focused on the success of today’s encounter. She’d convinced Mr. Devane to help her! She had a soldier on her side, one with the mettle to trump the vile blackmailer! And already he was being helpful. The shoes were a distinctive clue. François Millicent. Paris. She was gaining ground on this blackmailer, she just knew it!

  For the first time in weeks Edwina felt hopeful. For the first time in ages, she felt…not so very much alone.

  Chapter 5

  Puffing from the thin cigar, Sir Lee stepped into the card room of his club and scanned the half-empty tables. His nose twitched, and he blinked his eyes from the smoke, disappointed by the lack of opportunity for play at Brooks’s that afternoon.

  As usual, Lord Wilmington and his crony Mr. Foreman engaged in a quiet game of vingt-et-un in the far left corner while Mr. Oglethorpe and Mr. Harris were in heated play of cribbage in the center of the room, egging each other on with one feigned insult or another. As if cribbage could ever be that exciting.

  A few younger gents were halfheartedly playing spades at a table near the wall. It was early yet, Sir Lee understood, sighing, wondering if the day could get any longer. Yet having passed his seventieth birthday, he supposed he ought to be thankful for the early hour; he seemed barely able to stay awake past nine o’clock these days and was usually up before the crack of dawn.

  Sir Lee was about to turn and depart, when from the doorway across the room he spied a familiar figure. With his stout belly, white hair, and shiny pink cheeks, the tall man could easily be mistaken for Father Christmas. Ironically, that fatherly exterior cloaked one of the most calculating, coldhearted men Sir Lee had ever met. And he should know, for he’d taught Tristram Wheaton everything he’d known about being a master of spies.

  Unbidden, a smile leaped to Sir Lee’s lips and his heart warmed as he remembered his glory days at the Foreign Office, the thrill of the hunt, the mental challenge of outwitting his opponents and struggling to think one step ahead of, well, everyone. Being the man in charge of intelligence on every suspicious foreigner in England had been Sir Lee’s greatest pleasure. It had, actually, been the focus of his entire existence after his daughter’s death. His work had been his only refuge from the grief, effective as much as anything could have been, because he’d been bloody good at it and had loved every Machiavellian moment.

  Wheaton’s bushy white brows lifted as he acknowledged Sir Lee across the room. As if by signal, Lord Wilmington and Mr. Foreman quietly rose from their seats and departed, leaving the corner free from any who might overhear.

  Wheaton ambled over to the corner table and claimed the now-empty chair, adjusting his coattails and sleeves as he sat.

  Hiding his smile, Sir Lee strolled between the tables and joined his former pupil.

  A servant quietly placed two snifters of port before them and departed as unobtrusively as he’d come.

  “Haven’t seen you here in a while, Wheaton.” Sir Lee leaned back in his chair, the wooden slats feeling good on his achy back.

  “Some of us actually have a useful occupation.” Wheaton sniffed, holding the port up to the flame of the candle on the table, as if appraising its quality.

  Sir Lee licked his lips, concealing how keen his interest really was. “Oh? Anything exciting?”

  “Gnats is what they are. Minor irritations.”

  “But i
n a swarm they can be bloody inconvenient.” Sir Lee had an inkling that Wheaton was fishing for help. The man never made a move without an ulterior motive, even coming to his club at an hour when he’d know he would see his former superior.

  “You’re damn right about that.” Wheaton’s lips drooped into a frown as he leaned back in his chair. “It certainly doesn’t help when one inherits someone else’s mistakes.”

  Sir Lee shook his head. “Par for the course, I’m afraid, no matter how astonishingly talented your predecessor.”

  “Astonishingly talented?” Wheaton scoffed. “Your memory is fading in your old age.”

  “My memory fades the day Hades freezes over, old friend, and you well know it.”

  Silence stretched long between them, as each man took the other’s measure.

  Wheaton broke first. As he sipped his port, his eyes skated away. “Well, if your memory is so good, perhaps you’d recall the man you placed in Gérardin Valmont’s service.”

  “I didn’t place him. Hendricks did. And his name was…” Scratching his head, Sir Lee stared up at the carved ceiling. “Quinn or Quick, no, it was Quince. Yes, Quince.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Of course, I’m certain. Alexander Quince.”

  “Have you ever met him?”

  Sir Lee frowned, irritated that Wheaton felt the need to ask questions he already knew the answer to. “You know very well that I did.”

  “But he didn’t know who you were or even that you were assessing him at that meeting?”

  “Of course not. Standard procedure. Stop all the shim shamming and tell me what this is all about.”

  Wheaton lifted a shoulder in a faint shrug. “Well, I suppose given that this mess was started under your watch, you might be able to scratch up something of use to me.”

  Sir Lee suddenly wondered how Wheaton’s callous manner was taken by his underlings. Intelligence officers were a hard-hearted lot for the most part, yet they had to be handled deftly. They lived excruciatingly complicated lives in service to King and Country and a good master spy needed to respect each and every agent’s particular sensitivities. How did Wheaton fare in that regard?