How to Entice an Earl

by Manda Collins

  “What did that man mean just now, Linton? About threats?”

  Her brother winced. “That has nothing to do with Tinker’s death. It’s just something to do with a business matter. That is all.”

  Maddie frowned. “Gambling debts?”

  His lack of response was an answer in itself.

  “Jamie,” she said, using his childhood nickname. “Why do you keep at it?”

  Her brother shook his head. “You wouldn’t understand. How could you when I barely understand it myself. I simply feel a … a compulsion to keep going. Even long after I know that luck has eluded me and there is no chance that I can possibly recoup my losses. There is just some small voice inside me that urges me to play one last hand, roll the dice one more time. And sometimes it works.”

  “And sometimes it leaves you indebted to men who think nothing of threatening you at a ton ball,” Maddie said curtly.

  He shrugged, acknowledging the point.

  “I must ask you, Mads,” he said seriously, “to please refrain from saying anything about this to Mama and Papa. And for God’s sake, stay out of that business with Tinker. Whoever is responsible for his death has already shown himself willing to kill. I hardly think he will stop from harming you because you are a lady.”

  “I can’t do that,” she said bracing herself for his displeasure. “I held that man in my arms as the lifeblood poured out of him. The least I can do is try to find out who brought about his demise.”

  “Maddie,” he said seriously, stepping closer to her, looking wearier than she’d ever seen him. “You don’t know what you’re saying. Tinker was involved in things you have no conception of. Just stay out of it and allow the authorities to handle it. Please.”

  Her brother’s expression was pleading, but Maddie could still see that he was holding something back. Perhaps because of his own less than clear conscience? Or was it something far more selfish? An idea sparked, and she said, “I will stay out of the investigation into Mr. Tinker’s death if you will promise to refrain from going to places like Mrs. Bailey’s for one month.”

  But she could see as soon as he apprehended her words that she’d hit a nerve. Whereas before he was pleading with her, now his expression was one of fury.

  “Did Mama put you up to this?” he asked, his mouth tight. “Or was it Father? I know they dislike the company I’ve been keeping, but I wouldn’t have thought them capable of ruining your reputation to curb my behavior.”

  “They did nothing of the sort.” Maddie almost stamped her foot she was so annoyed with the track their discussion had taken. “I went there of my own volition and for my own reasons. But I worry about you, Linton. We all do. If something good can come out of Mr. Tinker’s death, then I’m going to try to make it happen.”

  “Well, you can stop worrying.” His eyes were cold. Maddie could have wept at how quickly their discussion had devolved into an argument. “I am going away for a while. Somewhere that I can do what I please without the interference of overprotective parents or a busybody sister.”

  “Jamie, don’t be this way.” But it was already too late. With one last baleful glance, her brother departed the small antechamber, leaving Maddie alone with her worries.

  * * *

  His thoughts still filled with Maddie, Christian made his way through the crowded ballroom toward the parlor where the Marchfords had set up the card room. He was not usually one for games—especially after the goings-on at Mrs. Bailey’s—but he wasn’t ready to leave yet, and also wasn’t willing to dance with anyone else.

  “Don’t see you in the card room much, Monteith,” Lord Lawrence Tretham said, appearing at his side. “I admit that the current crop of young ladies is less than enthralling, but what can one expect with virgins?”

  Christian gave a mental curse. He had known Tretham since they were both in leading strings, and while they were friendly enough, he did not count the fellow as a friend. However, since he was a member of Viscount Linton and Mr. Tinker’s set, he might prove to be a useful contact.

  Monteith shrugged. “I simply did not care to dance any longer.

  “Besides,” he added, “I was barely able to play a hand before Mrs. Bailey’s erupted the other night.”

  Tretham grimaced. “Bad business, that. Poor old Tinker didn’t deserve that. From what I’ve heard the authorities still don’t know who did it.”

  “You were close to him, weren’t you?” Christian asked, accepting a brandy from a hovering footman. “You and he and Linton are in the same set.”

  “We were friends, I suppose.” Tretham shrugged. “Not quite as much as in the old days, of course. Before Fielding died, I mean.”

  Sipping his brandy, Christian didn’t respond, allowing the silence to stretch in the hopes that Tretham would fill it.

  Which he did.

  “None of us were really close to Tinker,” Tretham said. “He was a bit of a radical politically. And he had a tendency to keep his own counsel. Though I suppose of the lot of us, Linton was his closest friend.”

  Before Christian could comment, Tretham changed the subject.

  “Saw you with the little Essex chit,” the other man said, sending a chill down Christian’s spine. “The other night at Mrs. Bailey’s, I mean. Wouldn’t have expected to see her there. But it seems she’s got a bit of fire in her, that one. Too bad she was the one to find Tinker, of course.”

  “I believe it was upsetting for her,” Christian replied noncommitally.

  He was saved from further commentary by a shout from the other side of the room.

  “Damn it,” Viscount Linton exclaimed, leaping up from his chair. “You did that on purpose, Cargill.”

  So, Christian thought, the blighter was no longer missing. He crossed to the table where Linton had been playing whist and took in the scene.

  Mr. Edward Cargill, an aging dandy who had a tendency to lose heavily when he gambled, dabbed ineffectually at Linton’s claret-spattered waistcoat and cravat. “I do apologize, my lord,” the old man said with some distress. “It was an accident, I assure you. My elbows, y’know. They’re always in the way.”

  “You’re always in the way,” Linton said, his voice rising, his words slurred with too much drink. “Ish bad enough that I’ve been losing all evening, but this is the last straw. Cargill, I wish for you to—”

  Seeing that Linton had no intention of accepting the other man’s apology, and wishing to prevent further trouble, Christian stepped forward, and interrupted the younger man. “Linton, I know it is annoying to have your waistcoat ruined, but I feel sure Cargill had no intention of doing so. Let’s go out onto the terrace for a cheroot and forget about cards for a bit, shall we?”

  Annoyed by the interruption, but too drunk to formulate any real sort of argument, Linton tried but failed to pull his arm from Christian’s grip. “Ish a damned nuisance, Gresham,” he said with a shake of his head. “Ish a new weskit.”

  “No doubt, old fellow.” Christian clapped an arm over Linton’s shoulders, as the other man staggered. Exchanging a nod with a grateful-looking Cargill, Christian led his charge from the room, Tretham stepping in to hold up Linton on his other side.

  “Did you come in your own carriage, Linton, or shall you ride in mine?” he asked as, instead of heading for the terrace, he led the two men toward the entrance hall of the Marchford town house.

  “He can ride with me, Gresham,” Tretham said calmly. “I’ve had as much wholesome entertainment as I can stand for one evening, anyway.”

  Christian didn’t like the notion of leaving Maddie’s brother in the tender care of Tretham, especially since he wished to question him about the business with Tinker the other evening, but there was little he could do without causing a scene. For the time being he was simply grateful that Linton hadn’t called out a gentleman three times his age over a spilled glass of claret.

  When they reached the entryway, Lady Emily Fielding was there waiting for her own conveyance. “Oh, dear,” she said
, taking in the sight of Linton flanked by Christian and Tretham. “I hope you haven’t been too unwise, Lord Linton,” she said, her brow raised in something between censure and exasperation.

  “Heavens!” Lady Poppy Essex’s tone was one of horror. “What on earth has happened?”

  At his mother’s voice, Linton tried to stand straighter. And failed. Christian dipped his knees to keep from dropping the other man.

  “Mama, ish not wha’ it looks like,” Linton said, swaying between Christian and Tretham. “Jus’ a li’l acshiden’.”

  Stepping closer to her son, Lady Poppy looked him up and down with an expression of disgust. “An accident, yes, I see.”

  Turning to Christian and Tretham, she said, “Thank you for seeing to my son’s safety. I will leave you to it, then.”

  And to Christian’s astonishment, she turned on her heel and returned to the ballroom.

  “In for it now,” Linton said morosely.

  “Then we will have to ensure that you get a good night’s sleep before you face the dragons,” Tretham said cheerfully. “My carriage should be here by now.”

  Together, he and Christian walked Linton through the entryway and out the doors, with a bit of help from Linton himself, settling that gentleman into Tretham’s carriage.

  Turning to go back inside, Christian was surprised to see Lady Emily standing in the doorway, watching them.

  “Before Fielding died he was never inclined to drink to excess,” she said, a sad smile lighting her beautiful features. “He can be really quite lovely when he isn’t in his cups.”

  Since Christian had been in the army then, he had no firsthand knowledge of Viscount Linton’s behavior when he was younger.

  “I hope that he will find a way to limit himself, then,” he said to Lady Emily. “For his friends’ sake, as well as his family’s.”

  She nodded, then excused herself to climb into her own waiting carriage, leaving Christian to stare out into the night.

  Seven

  Despite a fitful night of dreams of Maddie in varying degrees of both undress and arousal, Christian awoke at a reasonably early hour the next morning. His years in the military had instilled in him a healthy respect for early rising, no matter what might keep him from his rest.

  His first destination after breakfast was Lady Emily Fielding’s town house. He might be wrong, but her interaction—or lack thereof—with Linton last night had hinted to him of a much more intimate friendship between them. He needed to speak to Linton today if at all possible. And he wished to avoid running the fellow to earth in his parents’ home. There was far too much likelihood that Maddie would stumble upon their discussion and he wished to protect her from the matter if at all possible.

  His brisk knock at Lady Emily’s door was greeted by a dour butler who did not seem at all pleased to see him.

  “Good day,” Christian said, offering his card. “I was wondering if I might have a word with either Lady Emily or Viscount Linton.”

  The retainer’s nose pinched in disapproval. “I don’t know to whom you are referring, my lord. This is the home of Lady Emily F—”

  He was interrupted by a voice behind him.

  “Don’t be a stiff neck, Marsden,” Lady Emily said from the landing above. “Let Gresham come in for a cup of tea and I shall see if our guest is receiving callers today.”

  With eyes that warned Christian not to get too comfortable, Marsden led him to a small but cozy sitting room that faced Half Moon Street. They exchanged meaningless pleasantries while waiting for the tea tray, which arrived soon enough. He’d just begun to sip his tea when Viscount Linton, his eyes bloodshot and his skin an unhealthy shade, entered the room as if the air were made of chain mail.

  Without ceremony, Linton, his blond hair matted on one side, collapsed into a comfortable chair before the fire and asked Marsden, who hovered close behind, to bring him coffee.

  “I hope you have good reason to raise me from bed at this hour, Gresham,” Maddie’s brother said, looking like death. “I’ve the devil’s own headache this morning and I don’t take kindly to being roused here at the home of my…”—he paused—“friend.”

  “I don’t doubt it, Linton,” Christian said, leaning forward to prop his elbows on his knees. “You were quite foxed last night as I recall.”

  “I don’t remember seeing you,” Linton said with a frown. Christian wasn’t all that surprised considering the amount of brandy he suspected the other man had consumed. “And how did you know I was here, anyway? We are discreet, damn it.”

  This last he said with the injured air of a young lad defending his honor.

  “I was there, nonetheless,” Christian said. “As for how I found you here, it was a lucky guess. There have been whispers, you know. It’s impossible to keep anything entirely secret in this town.”

  Linton rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand. “I am fully aware of it,” he said dolefully. “Doesn’t matter how quiet I try to keep things, the pater always has a way of winkling out the truth.”

  Shaking his head at the other man’s foolishness, Christian decided to get to the point. But before he could speak, Linton went on. “I suppose you’re here about that business with Tinker the other evening.”

  “Quite perceptive of you, Linton, I am here about that business. I need to ask you some questions about it in my capacity with the Home Office.”

  The words “Home Office” made the younger man straighten a bit. “What the devil has the Home Office to do with old Tinker’s getting himself killed over gambling debts?”

  “What makes you think his death had something to do with gambling?” Christian asked, ignoring the question about the Home Office. “Do you know of someone who’s been threatening him?”

  The younger man shook his head, then winced at the movement. “No, but it stands to reason, don’t it? He was killed in a gaming hell. It must have had something to do with gaming.”

  While Christian couldn’t fault the fellow’s logic, it didn’t necessarily work that way. Deciding not to dispute the matter, instead he said, “What made you run away that night?”

  He wanted to berate Maddie’s brother for abandoning her, but he didn’t wish to spook him at this point. They could discuss his bad behavior regarding her after this business was settled.

  Linton rubbed a bleary eye. “I know it was wrong of me. I knew it when I did it. But I had to get out of there. As soon as I saw that it was Tinker who’d been killed, I knew that I’d be the one who got blamed for it.”

  “Why?” Christian asked. “Because you owed Tinker money?”

  Linton’s bloodshot eyes opened wide. “How did you…?”

  “It wasn’t hard to guess,” Christian said with an inward sigh. Was this man really capable of killing his friend? He doubted it. “You were in a gaming house, after all. And you were the only one there who fled the scene.”

  “Not the only one,” Linton said, animating a bit. “Stands to reason that the one who did it also fled the scene.” It was hard to argue with the triumph in the man’s face. Especially when one considered just how hard his brain must have worked to arrive at the conclusion, no matter how false it might be.

  “You know, of course, that fleeing the scene like that will make you the number one suspected culprit.”

  If Linton were worried, he didn’t show it. “I did what I thought I had to do at the time.”

  Though he’d been prepared for Viscount Linton’s pigheadedness—he was, after all, Maddie’s brother—Christian hadn’t quite guessed just how nonchalant he’d be over the possibility that he’d be found guilty of murder.

  “I don’t think you understand the gravity of this matter, Linton,” he said firmly. “You are indeed at the top of the suspect list. And I do not wish to frighten your family, but you should perhaps ask your father for some guidance in the matter. His influence or perhaps that of your uncle Lord Shelby might be necessary to see to it that you are protected.”

  He alr
eady looked a bit ill, and now Linton’s complexion went even paler. “You’re serious?” he demanded. “How can this be happening? It was a silly gambling debt between us. That’s all. Tinker was my friend, for God’s sake.”

  Christian didn’t bother pointing out that Tinker was the second of Linton’s friends to die in a mysterious manner. Nor that his presence here in the home of that first friend’s widow, having obviously spent the night in her bed, was damned suspicious, as well.

  Probably because she’d been eavesdropping, Lady Emily herself stepped into the room and wrapped a comforting arm around Linton’s shoulders.

  “Do not despair, Linton,” she soothed, all the while glaring at Christian. “No one with a jot of sense would ever think you killed Tinker.”

  Seeing that he wouldn’t get much more sensible talk from the viscount, Christian rose.

  “Thank you for speaking with me, Lord Linton,” he said. “If you can recall anything new about that night at Mrs. Bailey’s please don’t hesitate to contact me with it.”

  Neither his hostess, nor her paramour, bid him good-bye. He was almost to the door when he paused. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you are responsible for Tinker’s death. Unfortunately, I’m not the one who makes the ultimate decision about who we hold accountable.”

  With that parting salvo, he left.

  * * *

  His meeting with Linton out of the way, Christian decided to pay a call on Tinker’s widow. While it was doubtful she knew who had killed her husband, she might know about any threats the fellow had received in the past few months.

  The Tinkers’ home was nestled on a quiet street where those with social standing but without accompanying wealth could live in comfort without the stigma of an address outside fashionable London. It was notable among its neighbors because of the black crepe that adorned the door. And the golden-haired young lady who stood on the stoop about to lift the muted door knocker.