How to Entice an Earl

by Manda Collins

  What the devil is she doing here?

  Christian should have guessed Maddie’s next move would be to question Tinker’s widow, but he’d thought she would wait a few days at least before doing so.

  Tossing the reins to a young lad who appeared as if from nowhere—likely he’d been waiting for just such an opportunity for ready coin—Christian leaped down from his vehicle and hurried up the handful of steps leading to the Tinkers’ door.

  “Fancy meeting you here,” he said, coming up behind Maddie, and at once remembering just how good she’d felt pressed up against him last night. He’d better nip that line of thought in the bud if he wished to accomplish anything worthwhile today.

  If she were unnerved at seeing him again she didn’t show it, however. Turning to face him, she said, “Ah, Lord Gresham, this is a surprise. I simply came to pay my respects to Mr. Tinker’s family. I was not aware you were acquainted with the man.”

  “Since you were only slightly acquainted with him, I do not see much difference in the wisdom of our respective errands,” Christian returned.

  While they waited for some response from the Tinkers’ servants, he took the opportunity to study her appearance.

  In deference to the Tinker family she wore a violet-colored gown. Her golden hair was neatly arranged in a simple chignon beneath a pretty but subdued straw bonnet. Her eyes, thanks to her attire, seemed more violet than icy blue today, though there were slight shadows beneath them. She might have gone home from the ball earlier than he had, he guessed, but she had not slept well. Doubtless she was concerned over Tinker’s death and her brother’s possible role in the matter. Still, as ever, she was lovely, her short stature belying what he knew was a strength of will that could outlast any soldier’s.

  “I thought,” he explained, “to ask Mrs. Tinker some questions about her husband’s activities these last few months. As is my prerogative in my work for the Home Office.” He gave her a speaking look, but true to her nature, Maddie did not flinch.

  “Well, I do not have the Home Office to hide behind…” Her brow lifted in challenge. “But as Mr. Tinker was a close friend of my brother’s, I thought to offer my assistance to his widow, should she need someone to learn more about her husband’s death.”

  “Do you often offer assistance to the widows of your brother’s close friends?” Christian asked. “If so that must keep you quite busy.”

  At her glare, he relented a bit. “Maddie, you must know that as a lady, a peer’s daughter in fact, you cannot uncover the same sort of information that I can. It’s just a simple fact.”

  “Are you saying that just because I am a woman I don’t have the mental capacity to—?”

  Her question was cut off—thank God—by the opening of the door.

  Before Maddie could elbow her way in, Christian spoke up.

  “Lord Gresham and Lady Madeline Essex to see Mrs. Tinker.”

  “There’s been a death in the family,” the rawboned young footman said, attempting to shut the door on them.

  “Please, sir.” Maddie spoke up. “I was there the evening of Mr. Tinker’s death and I would so like to pay my respects to Mrs. Tinker. We will only stay for a few moments, I promise.”

  Christian watched cynically as Maddie employed her lashes and dimples to good use. The footman, poor fellow, didn’t stand a chance. He’d have to look out for that ploy himself in future, Christian warned himself.

  “I suppose paying your respects would be all right,” the young man said, ushering them inside the tiny hallway. “If you’ll wait in the parlor, I’ll get the missus.”

  He left them in a small but comfortable room, furnished with a sofa and two chairs arranged before the fire. An embroidery frame rested before one of the chairs, as if the lady of the house had been in the midst of stitching when she was called away.

  “Do not think I have forgotten what you said earlier,” Maddie said, turning a gimlet eye on Christian. Her anger lent her an air of passion that he would do well to ignore. Her cheeks were pink in her anger and her eyes sparked.

  Oh, yes, he should definitely ignore her right now, he thought, even as he felt his body respond to her. Damn it, he was here to talk to Tinker’s widow, not indulge in lascivious thoughts about Maddie.

  “What?” she demanded, her hands on her hips, when he didn’t respond. “Have I said something to amuse you? Why are you staring at me?”

  If she only knew, he thought. “I will address your concerns later,” he said, in what he hoped was an even tone. “It wouldn’t be right for us to indulge in an argument in a house of mourning,” he added piously.

  His companion’s snort revealed just how seriously she took his warning. Even so, she seemed to shelve her annoyance for later.

  “This seems to be a smart enough little house,” she said, changing the subject. “Do you suppose Mr. Tinker had family money?”

  “My husband had a small inheritance from his maternal grandmother and my dowry,” a voice said from the doorway. “Though I don’t know what business it is of yours.”

  Christian turned to see a pale young woman with mouse-brown hair, dressed in all black, standing in the doorway.

  “Mrs. Tinker,” he said, bowing to her. “We apologize for the intrusion into your grief. But Lady Madeline and I wished to pay our respects.”

  Twin flags of color appeared in the widow’s cheeks.

  “Yes, well, you’ve shown your respects,” she said stiffly. “Now I must ask you to leave.”

  “I am so sorry for your loss, ma’am,” Maddie said, stepping closer to the other woman. “I was with your husband at the end, and I wished to assure you that it was peaceful. You may take that comfort at least.”

  Mrs. Tinker took a step back from Maddie. “I cannot see why you would think that meeting the woman who accompanied him to that shameful place could possibly be of comfort to me.”

  Maddie looked genuinely perplexed. “I don’t know what you’ve been told, Mrs. Tinker,” she said, “but I did not accompany your husband to Mrs. Bailey’s. I was there with my brother, Viscount Linton. I believe he was a great friend of your husband’s.”

  If anything Mrs. Tinker seemed more appalled than before. “Yes,” she said with a bitter laugh, “Viscount Linton was a great friend to my husband. He led poor John from vice to vice like a puppy. My husband was no saint, Lady Madeline, but he was not nearly so blind to propriety before he made your brother’s acquaintance as he was after. Make no mistake, I place the blame for my husband’s death squarely upon your brother’s head. If he had never met Linton, my John would still be alive.”

  Her spleen vented, the widow seemed to crumple a bit. “Now, if you will excuse me, I would like to go lie down. I’ll have Greeley see you out.”

  With those words their hostess turned and shut the door of the parlor firmly behind her.

  “What on earth was that?” Maddie asked, looking as if she were going to burst into tears. “Could Linton really have been so detrimental to her husband’s health?”

  Though they had made no prearrangement, Maddie allowed Christian to hand her into his phaeton after instructing the maid who accompanied her to return home without her. She had been rattled by Mrs. Tinker’s accusations against her brother. It was bad enough that Tinker had been killed, but added together with the bit of conversation she’d overheard at the Marchford ball, things were looking very grim for her brother, indeed.

  “What’s going on in that brain of yours?” Gresham inquired from beside her, where he expertly steered his vehicle through the streets of Mayfair. “I did find Mrs. Tinker’s accusations troubling, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that she knew what was actually going on in her husband’s set. In fact, it sounded to me as if she knew very little about what her husband was getting up to.”

  Maddie appreciated his attempt to soothe her fears, but she saw it for what it was. She’d been concerned about the company her brother kept for a while now. But Mrs. Tinker’s accusations that Linton ha
d led her husband farther down the road to ruin had stung. Because on some level she suspected that her brother had led Tinker astray.

  “It is true that she seemed not to be overly familiar with Mr. Tinker’s activities,” she agreed, “but I cannot help but wonder whether she was not correct about Linton’s role in Mr. Tinker’s death. Not that I think he killed him, for I don’t think James capable of that. But I would not be terribly surprised to learn that he accompanied Mr. Tinker to Mrs. Bailey’s before that night.”

  “Even if that were the case, Tinker is … was a grown man. He did not seem to be impaired in any way.”

  “No,” Maddie said seriously. “But perhaps he was just as much under the spell of gaming as my brother is.”

  A chill breeze made Maddie pull her pelisse tighter around her, a shudder running through her. There was far too much hiding in all of this business, she reflected. Which prompted her to ask, “Just what is your interest in all of this, Lord Gresham? What has Whitehall to do with gambling?”

  “We have shared a kiss, Maddie,” he said glancing at her mouth. “Do you think you could call me Christian?”

  “Changing the subject will do you no good, my lord,” she said pertly. “Christian,” she added when he gave her a stern look.

  “That’s better,” he said, his gaze intense for a fraction of a second before he looked away. “As for my motives for looking into this business with Tinker, I have my reasons. Reasons which I am not presently at liberty to divulge, but suffice it to say that some very important people have been watching Mr. Tinker for some time.”

  For the first time since that night at Mrs. Bailey’s, a stab of real fear shot through her.

  “I cannot like my brother’s involvement in this,” she said hotly. “I cannot. He is profligate, true, but hardly a criminal to be investigated by the Home Office.”

  “Do not fly into a pelter,” Christian said mildly but not unkindly. “It likely has nothing to do with Linton and everything to do with Tinker and his other friends.”

  “What other friends? How am I to ensure that my brother doesn’t somehow end up in trouble for this if I don’t know who the true culprits are?”

  “Maddie, much as I wish I could, you know I can’t tell you that,” he said, taking her hand in his. It was a gesture of friendship, she knew, and it calmed her a little. “I honestly wish you would trust me to deal with all of this.”

  “Why?” she asked, suddenly wondering if he was calming her with ulterior motives. “So you don’t have to tell me anything about what you find? I think not.”

  Christian did not answer right away, turning his attention to the horses as he steered around a sluggish buggy.

  Finally turning back to her, he asked, “Have you considered letting your brother handle his own affairs?

  “Like Tinker,” he said firmly, “he is a grown man and perfectly capable of handling his own affairs.”

  “Yes, you see how successful Mr. Tinker was at handling himself,” she said bitterly.

  Realizing that perhaps he needed further explanation for her zeal, she went on. “I do not expect you to understand my relationship with Linton.”

  Christian looked away. “I understand more than you think,” he said bitterly.

  Belatedly, Maddie recalled that Christian had lost his twin sister some years ago. The gossips had hinted at suicide, but she’d never heard the full story. Perhaps he did understand her need to protect Linton after all.

  Gently, she said, “There is a certain bond between siblings. And an even greater one between siblings who are close together in age. Especially when you have grown up as Linton and I did.”

  Christian turned to look at her, his eyes searching. “I thought your upbringing was happy.”

  “Only after we reached a certain age,” Maddie admitted. She was hardly comfortable discussing the matter, but she felt somehow that Christian needed to know. “When we were younger, and this is not generally known so I wish you would not repeat it…”

  “Of course.”

  As she spoke, he had steered them into Green Park onto one of the lesser used carriage paths and drew the phaeton to a halt.

  Turning to face her, he waved her to continue.

  “When we were children, my father wasn’t on very good terms with his own parents,” she began, “because of his wildness, for want of a better word.”

  In fact Viscount Linton, as the current Earl of Essex was then known, had been all but cut off from his family. In part because of his carousing, but also because of his insistence upon marrying the penniless but beautiful Miss Poppy Featherstone. The Earl and Countess of Essex were well-known for their abstemious ways, in spite of the ribaldry of their generation, and when young Viscount Linton had defied them there had been rumors that he would be cut off altogether.

  Christian knew the tale, of course. He also knew that when the elder earl died his son had turned over a new leaf and now led a life just as retiring as his father’s had been. He’d always wondered what had caused the change, and now he suspected he was about to hear it.

  “I have heard that, yes.”

  “Well, what is not generally known is that my father could be quite nasty when he was in his cups. And when his father cut off his allowance, my parents were forced into economies that were foreign to them—well, to my father at least. Mama, as you know, grew up quite poor and knew how to make a penny last. But Papa was bitter, and became even more so when they were forced to remove from the Essex town house and into a smaller one. And when he was angry he drank. And when he drank he became, well, violent.”

  Christian felt a knot of dread form in his belly at her words. “Violent how?”

  “Well, you must understand that he was not himself when he drank. It was as if all the rage and disappointment he felt about their straitened circumstances came out when he was inebriated.” She looked down at her clasped hands, not meeting Christian’s eyes, which made him want to pull her close. “He shouted mostly. Though he never struck us, he did take out his anger on whatever inanimate objects were unlucky enough to be in his path.”

  “Thank God for that at least,” Christian said.

  “You would not say so if you were an eight-year-old little girl whose favorite dolly had just been smashed to bits,” she said wryly.

  He hated that tone in her voice, as if she had seen far more than she should. It made him want to gather her up in his arms and comfort her. Kiss away her tears.

  “In any event,” she continued, “Papa was quite volatile in those days, and as I was older than Jamie, I tried to look out for him. My grandparents made sure that we had a nurse and food and clothing. Grandpapa did not wish to punish us, after all, and I think he wanted to ensure that Jamie, as the heir, would receive a proper upbringing. I believe there was even some talk at one time that we would go to live with our grandparents but neither Mama nor Papa would allow that.”

  “Even if it meant that you two saw more than you should of your father’s temper?”

  “To be fair, we weren’t often in Papa’s company when he was in one of his moods. And I do not think either of us would have wished to leave Mama. We were a close-knit family despite our troubles. And when things were good, Papa could be quite entertaining.”

  “But…”

  “But there were many times when we heard our parents arguing downstairs. And a few times Papa came up to the nursery to prove some point to Mama—I think to show her that we were suffering as a result of his parents’ interference. And those times were quite terrifying.”

  Though he knew that Lord Essex was now the pattern card of respectability, some part of Christian wished that he could go back in time and thrash the younger version for what he’d forced his children to suffer through. Because though Maddie obviously wished to downplay the incidents, he suspected there was much more to the story than she was telling. The idea of her as a little girl, cuddling her brother close as they listened to their parents arguing, filled him with inexp
ressible rage.

  “What did he do?” he asked aloud.

  “Mostly he queried us about our well-being. Did we get enough to eat? Were our lessons enough? Did our nurse treat us well?”

  “That doesn’t sound too terrible,” Christian said carefully. Perhaps he’d misjudged Essex.

  “The questions themselves weren’t awful in and of themselves. It was…” She shook her head as if searching for the words to describe the experience. “It was as if he were asking us questions that had another meaning altogether from the surface. Because he was trying to prove some point I think we knew instinctively that if we gave the wrong answer he might react negatively.”

  “And then what would happen?”

  “He might shout at us, at Mama, at nurse.”

  “But you say that he never hit you.”

  “No, he never did,” she explained, “but, and I can only say this from my own perspective, it always felt as if he might become violent at any minute when he was drinking.”

  “So this is why you keep such close watch over Linton?” he asked, unable to resist the urge any longer, and reaching out to take her gloved hand in his. He understood her need to look after her brother far more than she could know. He, too, had tried to protect a sibling once. And failed. Would he cause Maddie to do the same?

  It was the most damnable coil.

  “Yes, though I suppose it sounds silly to you,” she said quietly. Not waiting for him to respond, she went on. “Papa stopped drinking almost as soon as his father died. I think he regretted losing the chance to mend fences with him. And Mama insisted, of course. I think she grew tired of remonstrating with him. And when he assumed the earldom, he finally realized that he needed to take his responsibilities more seriously.”

  Christian sensed that there was more to the story, but the inner workings of the Essex household were beyond him at the moment. All he cared about was seeing to it that Maddie did not come to harm, and that she never had to suffer the kind of grief and regret that he had. Surely he could do that along with his duty to the Home Office.