Tempting The Rival (Scandals and Spies Book 3)

by Leighann Dobbs

  More curious than her attire and bearing was the fact that he couldn’t name her. Hadn’t his mother and sister dragged him to enough soirees by now for him to have met every gentlewoman in London? It seemed not.

  Making another careful stitch, the woman answered him. “I see no one else waiting for a ladylove around here, do you?” A smile curved her lips.

  He scowled. “I assure you, I am not awaiting a lover.”

  “Of course you aren’t.” Her thick black eyelashes veiled her eyes as she returned her focus to the handkerchief. Her delicate fingers, bare of gloves and just as tanned as her face, moved deftly in her work. That same knowing smile curved her lips.

  He turned to pace, but some undeniable urge in his chest bid him to turn back. “It’s the middle of the day. What kind of man meets a lover in the middle of the blasted day?”

  Her mouth curved up in a quick hitch before she contained her amusement. When she stopped sewing long enough to raise her gaze to his, finally, the color of her eyes startled the breath from him. They weren’t dark, as he would have assumed from her complexion, but rather a curious mix of green or gray. He couldn’t tell from this distance. A sudden, burning desire to cross the waist-high iron fence to the other side seized him. Forget his assignment and Mr. Albright—he wanted to know the exact color of her eyes without the interference of the oak’s shadow.

  It was madness, folly. He served the Crown. He was about to embark on an assignment that would steal him away from London for a long time. He couldn’t afford the distraction of a beautiful woman, and yet… something about her made him want to throw caution to the wind.

  He reminded himself that, given that she must be near to Morgan’s age, she must be married.

  Her eyes dancing, she teased, “Your lover evidently thinks ill of you for suggesting to meet at such a time. Else you feel more strongly for her perhaps than she does for you?”

  Giddy fought a frown. “I am not meeting with a lover.” What else could he say to such buffoonery? To anyone who knew him, it was a ludicrous accusation. He wasn’t as free with his affection as his brother, Tristan, had been prior to his marriage.

  She leaned forward. For a dizzying moment, his gaze dropped to her décolletage. He forced his focus higher. He was no lecherous rake, to offer disrespect to a woman, no matter how alluring.

  Her gaze twinkled with amusement. The expression seemed to make the shadowed color come to life. He wished for less space between them.

  “Why else would you have waited nigh on forty minutes, if not for a lover?”

  He glanced at his pocket watch, noting that he’d been waiting forty-five minutes by this point. No wonder his feet ached. He must have paced the length of the square twenty times over.

  “I’ll have you know I’m meeting my brother.” And another, more infuriating man. Come to think of it, where was Morgan? It wasn’t like him to be tardy. “Not every engagement has to do with courtship.”

  “No?” She made a few more stitches in the handkerchief as she adjusted her position.

  Gideon had never been curious as to the creations his mother or sister made—especially the latter, given her wild imagination—but the careful way the woman plied her needle made him wonder what warranted so much of her attention. Was he jealous of a handkerchief? That would be the day.

  “Then why would you wait so long?”

  He gritted his teeth. “Perhaps it is a very important meeting that cannot be postponed.”

  She paused just long enough to shoot him a triumphant glance. “Your lover doesn’t seem to think so.”

  “The day I make this man my lover is the day that pigs fly,” Giddy snapped.

  The moment his sharp tone left his lips, he regretted it. He colored up, and looked away for a moment to compose himself. He turned back, intending to apologize, only to be met with the woman’s wide grin. She hadn’t taken offense in the least. Had she been baiting him?

  Two could play at that game. “You’ve been sitting here for just as long. Has your lover cast you aside?”

  Blast. His tone lilted, more questioning than cutting. As if he probed to discover whether or not she had a lover.

  He most certainly did not do that. In fact, he didn’t care. In a matter of days, maybe even hours, he would be off to his ancestral home, where he would be spending the duration of his autumn and perhaps even winter. He didn’t expect a speedy resolution to the problem Strickland wanted him to deal with.

  His mission. Yes, it was safer to think of work than the bewitching woman behind the gate. Her wide lips parted to answer him, but at that moment, a man’s voice sliced through the air.

  “Giddy!”

  Morgan. Lud, thank you. His brother had arrived at last. Had he brought Mr. Albright with him?

  When Giddy turned, unfortunately he found his brother to be alone. The duke, his greatcoat hanging open to display a tawny tailcoat and breeches, strode forward with purpose. “Please forgive my tardiness. I hope you’ve made yourself well acquainted in the meantime.”

  Gideon frowned as Morgan stepped within hearing distance without having to raise his voice. “What do you mean?”

  Ignoring him, his brother stepped toward the gate. He held it open for the woman to step out. Since she was their only witness and they were about to discuss the private business of the Crown, Giddy stepped aside to allow her to leave. It was then that he noticed a curious spark of amusement in his brother’s eye.

  What in the world?

  To his astonishment, instead of the woman leaving, Morgan stepped forward and gripped her hand firmly. “Miss Albright, thank you so much for coming. Again, please do forgive my tardiness. I had a situation arise that required my attention.”

  “Think nothing of it. I occupied myself admirably.” She wore a teasing smile, her eyelashes veiling her eyes once more.

  Gideon’s gaze riveted to the woman. Standing, she wasn’t so imposing, at least a foot if not a full eighteen inches shorter than his six-and-a-half foot tall frame. The height, and her nearness, gave him the perfect opportunity to peek at the line of her bodice again.

  He might have if his ears hadn’t been ringing. Miss Albright? Had there been some mistake? She must be his rival’s sister or cousin. She couldn’t be—

  Morgan swept his hand toward Giddy, his lips twitching at the corners. “May I formally present my brother, the honorable Lord Gideon Graylocke? Giddy, this is Miss Felicia Albright, the woman you’ll be working with for the duration of your assigned project.”

  It was her. The arrogant, infuriating, argumentative F. Albright was a woman. Not just any woman, but potentially the most alluring woman Giddy had ever had the displeasure of looking upon.

  How could he be expected to produce his best work alongside…her?

  5

  Oh, dear. Lord Graylocke looked like he might faint. Perhaps Felicia had teased him a bit too much before his brother’s arrival. Or perhaps the constant pacing he’d been engaged in for the better part of an hour had induced a heat stroke. Either way, the milk-white complexion that overcame his cheeks was not a good sign. It soured the feeling of triumph at shocking him.

  In her defense, she hadn’t expected him to be so young. The Gideon Graylocke well-respected for his botanical essays had been publishing them for… years. He must have begun while still in university, because he didn’t look older than twenty-two or twenty-three at her guess.

  When Felicia had run away from home at seventeen, she had been educated enough to publish essays on her research, so it shouldn’t surprise her to find another brilliant young mind. What troubled her wasn’t so much his age, but her reaction to him.

  While sitting on the bench in the shadow of the oak, her eye had been drawn to his lanky build. His shoulders filled out his blue coat to advantage. As he’d paced, his tailcoat had shifted to give her glimpses of his muscular rear, shown in almost scandalous detail in the tight buckskin breeches he wore. His long legs led to the sort of shapely calves men padde
d themselves to obtain. Felicia had no doubt that Lord Graylocke wasn’t the sort to pad his physique. He had an air about him that was at once absent and shrewd, as though such commonplace matters as his appearance couldn’t concern him when he had more meaningful things to think about. As she’d teased him about his fictitious lover, he’d seemed to become grounded more in the moment—and focused on her. His full attention had stolen her breath.

  From afar, he looked handsome in a devil-may-care way. Close up, even more so. His black hair, in disarray from running his fingers through it, curled onto his forehead. His square jaw held the barest shadow of stubble. And his eyes… Felicia had never seen eyes that shade of green before. It was as though the lush jungle foliage he studied so much was reflected in his gaze—and his eyes far outshone mere plants. But there was also a softness to his cheeks and mouth that bespoke of youth.

  Felicia was nearly thirty and he was… young. Too young for her to be thinking of him in an attractive light. He is a stubborn, arrogant scientist. Better she focus on his undesirable qualities, the very qualities that had resulted in their bitter row by letter through the Royal Botanical Gazette. His appearance had nothing to do with the fact that he was unwilling to see reason. In fact, if she was to work with him, it was better he was off-balance.

  She turned to the Duke of Tenwick. “You mentioned we would be working at your ancestral estate, Your Grace?”

  “Indeed.” Like when she’d met with him earlier in the day, he kept a neat appearance and didn’t appear to be flustered. Neither did he treat her as most men of his station would treat a woman, even one whose services they wanted to engage. He spoke to her, not over her, and he didn’t glance toward his brother even once. “But please, I insist you call me Morgan.”

  Pigs might fly before she addressed a duke with such familiarity, but she nodded and smiled to make him think that she would comply with his edict.

  “If I’m to leave London, I’ll need to make preparations. I won’t be able to depart before Friday morning.” After all, her wagon traveled slower than a carriage so she would need to send it on ahead, along with Chubs and Rudolph. Today, if at all possible. She had some contacts at a boarding house near the outskirts of London where she sometimes wintered. With luck, one of the landlady’s sons would be willing to drive her wagon out to the Tenwick estate, for a price.

  Morgan sighed. He fingered the white streak in his hair. “If Friday is as soon as you can be persuaded to leave, then Friday it will be.”

  “I cannot possibly leave sooner,” she repeated. Something in his drawn expression made her add, “Is the situation so dire? Even once we reach your estate, I doubt we’ll be able to magic the serum out of thin air. It will take time.”

  Next to her, Lord Graylocke snorted. The sound and the shift of his position drew her attention to him once more. She darted a glance toward him, but couldn’t peek higher than his shoulder without him noticing the cant of her head. She endeavored to ignore him. After all, she knew exactly what he thought of her research. That he’d agreed to work with her was a cruel twist of fate.

  Tenwick didn’t twitch at his brother’s outburst. Instead, the duke captured her gaze and held it. His gray eyes seemed to slice through her. “It is dire. This matter requires your undivided attention.”

  Felicia drew herself up, even though doing so didn’t even bring her to the lofty height of Lord Graylocke’s shoulder. “You will have it. I’ve devised a list of materials I’ll need.” She drew the neatly folded list out of her reticule. She’d had years to dream of the rare and expensive ingredients she might need to concoct her serum. Now that the day had finally come, her hand trembled as she handed the list over.

  The duke, to his credit, pretended not to notice. “You shall have them.”

  Sandwiched between the two men, each over six feet tall though Lord Graylocke topped his brother by at least a hand, Felicia felt small and vulnerable. She shifted position, surreptitiously tugging at the line of her bodice to better reveal her cleavage. When men lusted after her form, she knew she had power over them.

  Unfortunately, her charms seemed to have no effect on the duke whatsoever. She didn’t dare glance toward his brother, the ornery man she would be working with for the foreseeable future.

  “If at all possible, I’d like for the materials to be delivered to your estate before our arrival. I’ve also included the fee for my services on that list.”

  Tenwick’s mouth twitched. He raised one haughty eyebrow. “I assured you that you would be paid.”

  “So you did, but you neglected to discuss the particulars.” She nodded to the list he now held in his hand. “I trust that you’ll find my fee satisfactory, given that I am perhaps the only person who is able to perform the task you need.” She craned her neck back, meeting the duke’s gaze unflinchingly.

  With an agonizingly slow movement, he unfolded the sheet of paper to peek at the figure she’d written within. His expression didn’t alter. He folded it again. “Your price is satisfactory. You’ll be put up in my estate for the duration of your assignment and paid upon its completion.”

  In other words, if she didn’t present the serum the government craved so badly, she wouldn’t be paid. A smart move, to ensure she didn’t abscond with her payment and leave him dry. She’d expected him to haggle her down to a lower fee. Should she have asked for more money? With a slightly more exorbitant sum, she would have been able to purchase a cozy cottage to winter in.

  She lifted her chin. Her neck was starting to ache from having to look up at him. All three of them stood closer than they might normally, so their voices didn’t carry. “What of my dog and mule? Will they be included in my accommodations?”

  “Certainly.”

  This was sounding better and better. It might take all winter before she struck upon the right concentration and ratio of ingredients for the serum. For once, she wouldn’t have to worry about food or shelter or the well-being of her pets. The only downside was the man she would be forced to work with. That, she could overlook. Given the fact that he had yet to contribute to the conversation, she must have given him quite the shock upon revealing her identity. So long as she kept him in that state for the duration of their association, he would be easily molded to her desires.

  Felicia banished the image of running her hands along him as if he was a piece of unworked clay. She kept her eyes firmly on his brother—who, although handsome, she didn’t have the same reaction to. Perhaps because she’d already met his wife.

  Was Lord Graylocke married? He was young… but then, at his age, Felicia would have been married for five years or more had she not taken her future in her own hands.

  She thrust a hand out to the duke. “It sounds as though we have an arrangement, sir.”

  He gripped her firmly, not treating her like a wilting flower. “Good. As you have no prior connection to our organization, you will be under Giddy’s command for the duration. I trust you can handle that?”

  Was he baiting her? She drew herself up, sparing only a glance for the impossibly tall man at her side. Even that short glimpse sent her off-kilter. He’d regained his composure. In fact, he looked smug at the concept of being in charge of her.

  Typical hot-blooded man.

  She turned back to his brother and said, “I’m quite able to handle it, thank you.”

  That was all the duke was waiting to hear. The moment the words left her lips, he nodded to them and took his leave. “I’m afraid I can’t linger. I need to follow up on the situation I had earlier. I’ll leave you two to get to know each other better.”

  Felicia gritted her teeth. I think I know him well enough. A stubborn, arrogant lord too consumed with his own brilliance to consider the valid opinions of others—even when he thought his correspondent to be male. For all that he had fought her constructive criticism with such vehemence as to make it public, and therefore a matter of honor that she make her case, she couldn’t deny that he was brilliant. When Tenwick offer
ed her the best botanist to work with, he wasn’t saying as much solely because Lord Graylocke was his brother.

  Left alone with him, Felicia had no choice but to turn. From the steely look in his green eyes, he was far from happy at his new assignment, even if he might enjoy acting as her superior. She shifted her weight onto one foot, thrusting out one hip. The new position drew her dress tight over her breasts, waist, and hips. Triumph surged through her as his gaze dipped along her torso. He wasn’t as immune to her as his brother was.

  Good. That would make her association with him easier.

  She held out her hand. “I trust we’ll be able to set aside our differences for the duration of our assignment.”

  He raised an eyebrow even as he slid his palm into hers. Like her, he wore no gloves. His palm was warm and rough with callouses from gripping his tools. She retrieved her hand the moment he finished squeezing it.

  “By our differences, would you be referring to the time you called me a stubborn baboon?”

  She smiled. “No, that I stand by. I was referring to when you called my research on the truth serum to be foolhardy and…how did you put it, ‘the obsession of a crackpot?’”

  He grimaced. “I suppose we’ll find out soon enough which of us is right. Where are you residing? I’ll send a carriage for you promptly at eight of the morning on Friday.”

  Leaning forward, she brushed his sleeve with her hand. The hitch of his breath as he admired the line of her dress was reward in itself. “Actually,” she said, lowering her voice to a purr. “I’ll come to you. Meet me in front of your townhouse instead.”