* * *
“Never a dull moment with those three around,” Gresham muttered to his comrades as they headed once again toward the card room. The glittering Wexford ballroom was filled to capacity, and it was with a sigh of relief that he stepped into the hallway leading to the parlor where tables had been set up. He’d never been one for crowds, and since the war he’d found them even less comfortable than before.
“They do add a certain spark to life,” Winterson agreed. “Though I don’t suppose you are required to take part in the festivities as we are, Gresham. I sometimes wonder if you do so out of loyalty or some other reason.”
“A tendre for a certain golden-haired lady, perchance?” Deveril teased, elbowing Christian in the ribs. “She might take a bit of persuading, but I can think of worse matches for a newly minted earl.”
Christian fought the impulse to turn tail and run. He knew it was inevitable for people to begin matching him and Maddie together simply because they were so often in company. But it was less about attraction than proximity.
At least, that’s what he told himself, remembering how an errant curl of golden hair had brushed against her neckline as she walked away. He could not deny that she was an attractive young lady. And he admired her spirit—among other things. But he was not quite ready to enter into the matrimonial stakes. Perhaps when he was, he would consider her, but for now, he was content to look without touching, so to speak.
To his friends, he said, deliberately misunderstanding their hints, “Do you really think Amelia might be persuaded to have me? She is such a shy thing. I wouldn’t want to frighten her with my strong feelings.”
Deveril’s snort was gratifying. It seemed that the earldom hadn’t destroyed his comic timing, at least. Winterson, on the other hand was not put off the scent. “Prevaricate all you like, man, but I saw how you jumped to her defense earlier. Not many would be willing to lay their neck on the line for Maddie. Especially since she is more than capable of fending for herself.”
Damn it. He had known it was foolish to protect Maddie from Amelia’s taunts, but he had never been one to step aside while a bully was hurting one of his friends. And that, he supposed, was the operative word: “friends.” What he and Maddie shared was friendship and it would be foolish to jeopardize that for something as fleeting as physical attraction. Or worse, marriage.
He kept an eye out for her because she needed someone to do so. Her brother, Viscount Linton, had shown little enough interest in protecting her from herself. And if Maddie reminded Christian of a certain other young lady, whose brother had also failed to protect her from the censure of the world, then he could hardly fault himself for feeling a certain responsibility toward her. He’d done little enough to shelter his own sister. If he were able, somehow, to see to it that Linton’s sister didn’t come to harm, perhaps he’d be able to forgive himself someday.
Aloud he said, “I was simply helping a friend. Either of you might have done the same thing if I hadn’t done it.”
“Not likely,” Deveril said with a laugh. “I enjoy my bollocks right where they are, thank you very much.”
“As do I,” Winterson agreed. “Though I found it very interesting that Madeline did not protest your assistance overmuch. In fact, I’d almost say that she welcomed the assistance.”
“Could it be that our Maddie is just as sweet on Gresham as he is on her?” Deveril asked in a bright falsetto.
Monteith fought the impulse to bloody the other man’s nose. It was only for Juliet’s sake that he refrained. “You are both as full of gossip as a school for young ladies. I shouldn’t wonder if you took tea with the patronesses of Almack’s on a regular basis.”
“At least we’d be spending time with women, which is more than I can say for you,” Winterson said, raising one dark brow suggestively. “You know if you don’t use it, you’re in danger of losing it.”
“It,” growled Gresham in a tone that would have sent lesser men fleeing, “is in perfect working order, I assure you. I’ve simply been too busy with other things, as it happens.”
Remembering just what he’d been working on that was so important, he sobered. “Unfortunately, what I’ve been doing does affect Lady Madeline, but it’s not good news, I’m afraid.”
Sensing his shift in mood, Winterson and Deveril stopped abruptly. Gesturing for the other two to follow him, Monteith led them to an open terrace door. The small balcony was empty, and Monteith dug into his breast pocket for the cheroots he’d brought along for just such an emergency.
They went through the ritual of lighting and smoking for a few moments before Winterson said, “You may as well tell. You’ve piqued my curiosity, and no doubt Dev’s, too.”
Looking out over the Wexfords’ back garden, Monteith said, “I told you that I’ve been doing a bit of work for Lord Leighton in the Home Office.”
Leighton oversaw some of the government’s investigations into threats against the crown. But only those that came from within, on English soil. Both Winterson and Monteith had worked with Leighton on the Continent during the war, and were confident that he would be quite effective in his new position. The war might be over, but they both knew that it didn’t spell the end of attempts by those who were disappointed in the outcome to right the wrongs that occurred at Waterloo.
“Well, I’ve been charged to look into claims that Mr. John Tinker, and by association, Lord Linton, are involved in some capacity with the Citizen’s Liberation Society.”
Winterson whistled. “They were responsible for the assassaination attempt on the prime minister last year, weren’t they?”
“I don’t remember that,” Deveril said, puzzled. “And what the devil is the Citizen’s Liberation Society?”
“The authorities kept it quiet,” Winterson said, the end of his cheroot glowing red in the darkness. “The only reason I know is because I keep in contact with the Home secretary.”
“The CLS is a group of English citizens who adhere to the ideals of the revolution in France. They have been working underground in covert—and sometimes not so covert as in the case of the attempt on the prime minister—ways to bring about the overthrow of the monarchy.”
Deveril blanched, “Are they unaware of the way the Revolution played out? Surely they don’t wish for England to devolve into the kind of chaos that has reigned in France for the past few decades.”
“They are convinced that their own attempts at egalitarianism will be more successful than those in France,” Monteith said with a twist of his lips. “A triumph of optimism over experience, if you ask me.”
“That’s an understatement,” Winterson said.
“So, Lady Madeline’s brother is thought to be involved in this treasonous activity?” Deveril asked. “His father is an earl. Why would he do such a thing?”
Monteith leaned back against the wall, not caring if his evening coat was smudged. “I can’t say whether Essex is involved in the society or not. I do know that Tinker is highly likely to be a member. He has always had leanings in that direction. His mother was French, and he lost a great deal of family in the war. But what I am supposed to discover is whether Linton has been persuaded by his friend to join the cause, or if he is simply maintaining a friendship that has stood him in good stead since university.”
“That whole group, including Linton, Tinker, Tretham, even Fielding’s widow,” Winterson said, exhaling a cloud of smoke, “has been involved in questionable ventures for years now. Wasn’t Linton blamed for Lord Fielding’s death in that godforsaken curricle race?”
“Yes,” Monteith said. “Though nothing has ever been proved.” He shook his head. “Now, the Home Office wonders whether Linton, who is quite often short of funds, might have been driven to join his friend Tinker in a bid for money.”
“Men have been driven to treason for less,” Winterson agreed.
“Poor Maddie,” Deveril said, tapping the ash from his cheroot. “She would be devastated to learn such a thing about her
brother.”
“Which is why you can say nothing to her,” Monteith said sharply. “I mean it, Dev. No hint of what I’m doing, why I’m investigating Linton, can reach her ears. Not only would it endanger the investigation, but it might put her in danger. Lady Madeline might think she is perfectly able to take care of herself, but in this circumstance, I’d prefer that she not be required to.”
“Of course,” Deveril said. “I won’t even tell Juliet, though she will make me pay handsomely should she ever learn I kept it from her.”
“You have my word as well,” Winterson said. “Though I hope you will let us know if you need help at any point in your investigation. Maddie is family and we will do what we can to help her. And Linton for that matter, though he has never struck me as a particularly admirable fellow.”
“Nor I,” Monteith agreed.
“At any rate,” he continued, “the Home Office has intercepted a communication from the leaders of the CLS and it mentions a meeting at Mrs. Bailey’s tomorrow evening between two of their operatives. I need to be there to see if Tinker or Linton do anything suspicious. If Linton shows no sign of involvement, then I can breathe a sigh of relief on that score at least.”
“Good God!” Winterson said, hastily removing the cheroot from between his lips. “No wonder you were so adamant about not taking her to Mrs. Bailey’s. I thought you were simply looking out for your own neck.”
“Well, that, too,” he admitted, remembering uneasily Maddie’s response to their denial of her request. “You don’t suppose she’ll try to go there without us, do you?”
“Surely not,” Deveril said with a shake of his head. “Even Maddie isn’t so foolish as to venture to such a place unescorted. She might resent having to maintain her reputation, but she would not carelessly put it in danger like that.”
“I hope you’re right,” Monteith said, thinking of how determined she could be when she wanted something. “I certainly hope you’re right.”
Two
“Nothing you say will convince me,” Viscount Linton snapped at his sister as he poured himself a glass of claret in the library of Essex House the next afternoon. Though the room was normally their father’s domain, he was conducting business in Parliament today. Since their row earlier in the week, her brother had seemed careful to avoid Lord Essex, but that did not mean he would avoid partaking in his sire’s best wine. “The pater would have my head, Mads.”
To her annoyance, he was not proving as helpful as she’d have wished. “Papa need never find out,” Maddie assured him. “Besides, any number of well-bred ladies visit gaming rooms. Your friend Lady Emily Fielding, for example.”
The widow of James’s good friend, Lady Emily Fielding, was one who cared very little for society’s strictures. She did as she pleased and was unconcerned with the censorious glances she received from high sticklers when she deigned to attend a ton function. She had been thus even before her husband’s death. But Charles’s death had made her even more daring. As a result, she was not considered fit company for unwed young ladies.
All of which was immaterial to Maddie, who merely used her as an example of a gently born lady who was perfectly at home at gaming hells. But Linton was not moved.
“Lady Emily is a widow,” Linton retorted, gesturing with his claret glass. “What’s more, she runs with a faster set than you’ve ever done. If Mama and Papa thought for one minute that you aspired to model your behavior on hers they’d lock you in the attics and never let you come out.
“Why do you wish to go to Mrs. Bailey’s anyway?” Linton asked. “It isn’t as if you enjoy gambling. You can’t even be bothered to pay attention through a hand of piquet.”
Weighing her options, Maddie decided to tell him the truth. “Because I wish to write a novel that will take place in part in just such an establishment. So I need to see what one is like.”
Linton rolled his eyes. “Is that all? Why don’t you just ask me what it’s like and I’ll tell you.”
“Because I need to see it for myself,” she explained, beginning to lose patience. “Just as you would rather ride in a horse race yourself than hear about it secondhand from someone else.”
As soon as she said the words, Maddie regretted them. Lord Charles Fielding had died in a curricle race that Linton had challenged him to. She hadn’t been thinking of the issue at all, but her brother’s sudden paleness alerted her to her blunder.
“Linton,” she said, “I didn’t mean to…”
“Never mind,” he said, waving off her apology. “You can’t go about refusing to mention the word ‘race’ for the rest of your life.”
He seemed less angry than sad. And tired. He had, after all, been living with the pall of Charles’s death over him for years now. Not only did Lord Fielding’s parents blame James for their son’s death, but Lord and Lady Essex had come to the painful conclusion that their son did indeed bear some responsibility for the other man’s death. Unfortunately, rather than convincing him to curb his worst excesses, the death, and the subsequent social fallout, had only encouraged James to greater extremes of behavior.
Like gaming.
It was these extremes that worried Maddie so. She stopped pacing for a moment and paused to look, really look, at the younger brother she had always adored. With golden blond hair so close to her own color, and long, lean good looks, Lord James Essex should have been the most popular man in town. But thanks to his tarnished reputation, he was quickly becoming persona non grata among the society that perversely seemed to have rewarded his bad behavior when he was first on the town.
Maddie knew she had to do something to save her brother before it was too late. And perhaps by writing about the underworld where young men like him faced every temptation imaginable, she could learn what it was about that life that so fascinated him.
“You are perhaps not as popular with them as you once were,” she said, referring to his lament about their parents, “but you must know that they only wish what’s best for you.”
“What’s best for me now is to convince you to abandon this harebrained scheme,” her brother bit out. “I will not take you to Mrs. Bailey’s, Mads. No matter how prettily you wrap up your argument.”
Maddie shook her head sadly. “I was afraid you would prove resistant,” she said. “Which is why I decided to come up with an offer you cannot refuse.”
“I doubt seriously that you have the wherewithal to come up with such a thing,” he retorted, sitting back with an arrogant smile. “You forget that I have known you since you were a child, Mads. And I know all your tricks.”
“Perhaps,” she said sweetly, hoping with every bit of her being that he would not see through her bravado. “If you won’t take me to Mrs. Bailey’s,” she said, “then I shall just have to ask someone else to do it. Someone who is more than willing to do it.”
“What man in his right mind would take such a risk?” James demanded crossly, though Maddie was sure she saw a bit of unease in his eyes.
“Ah, brother,” she said, wagging a finger at him, “there’s where you’ve got it wrong. It is not a man I’ve asked to take me at all.”
“What? What do you mean?” he asked.
“Just what I say. I will ask a lady to take me. Someone with whom I believe you are quite familiar,” she said. “Lady Emily Fielding.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Linton said, the color draining from his face. “Mama would lock you in your room for a month.”
“But,” Maddie said, warming to her cause, “what Mama doesn’t know won’t harm her. And even so, who would Mama place more blame on for my folly? Me for taking the risk, or you for introducing me to Lady Emily in the first place?”
His jaw set, her brother finally surrendered. “Fine. If you are determined to go to Bailey’s then I suppose I’ll take you. At least this way I might be able to pass it off as a lark.”
Thrilled that her gambit had paid off, Maddie clapped her hands, then threw her arms about her brother’s n
eck. “Thank you, Jamie,” she told him, using his pet name from childhood. “I promise you that Mama won’t hear a word of our outing from me.”
“It’s not your tattling I’m afraid of, Mads.”
Ignoring the little stab of fear she felt at his words, Maddie took herself off to prepare for her scandalous outing that night.
* * *
That evening, smoothing the skirt of a neckline-baring gown that would have sent her mother into a fit of apoplexy, Maddie gazed avidly about Mrs. Bailey’s town-house-cum-gambling-hell. It was both more than she’d imagined, and a bit of a disappointment.
The disappointment was that it didn’t seem quite as scandalous as it had been made out to be. Yes, there were various games of chance set up throughout the parlors of the residence. And those engaged in playing the games seemed to be engrossed in them. But with a few exceptions, the attendees were the same sorts of people she might have found at any ton entertainment.
The difference was that the card parties Maddie had attended as part of the London social scene had never commanded the degree of attention that the whist and piquet tables did here. There was some indefinable air about the gathering that gave the rooms a hectic intensity that Maddie had never encountered before. It was this that she would try to capture for her novel.
“Stay close to me,” her brother said in a low voice as he led her past a table where a passel of young lordlings vied for the attention of a lady—though that appellation might be questionable—whose scarlet gown made Maddie’s feel demure by comparison. Tearing her gaze away from the tableau, Madeline followed her brother through the crowd toward a table at the far end of the room. She made a mental note to remember the color of the woman’s gown for future reference, just in case she wished to portray a lightskirt in one of her novels.
“Lord Linton, how delightful to see you again so soon,” crooned a tall woman who presided over the table where the brother and sister stopped. She was obviously Mrs. Bailey, their hostess. Maddie wasn’t quite sure how she knew it. Probably because of the widow’s proprietary air, which, to Maddie’s annoyance, seemed to extend to her brother. “And who is your little companion?”
How to Entice an Earl Page 2
