Tempting The Rival (Scandals and Spies Book 3)

by Leighann Dobbs

  “What do you mean?”

  He stared at her blankly. “It’s Sunday.”

  That would make sense, following Saturday.

  “Church?” His voice lilted at the end of the word, making it a question. “My mother will insist we attend.”

  Felicia’s cheeks heated as she realized that she hadn’t even thought of attending church. She’d been on her own, traveling from town to town for so long that she rarely attended a service anymore. It would be one more reason why her father would condemn her lifestyle.

  Although she was out of the habit, she didn’t go out of her way to avoid the institution, nor did she see reason to draw attention to her lapse. If the Graylocke family attended church every Sunday morning, she would as well, at least for the duration of her stay.

  She nodded and slipped the container she held back onto her work bench. “Of course. Let’s go to breakfast.”

  As she stepped past him, he dropped his hand to the small of her back to steer her through the orangery and out the door. The light, possessive contact burned her. It left an imprint long after he dropped his hand.

  She gritted her teeth and tried not to show it.

  The clergyman, a perfectly affable fellow outside of the church, droned on in a monotone best suited to lull a man to sleep. Giddy pinched the inside of his wrist as he fought back a yawn.

  Sunlight glinted off the frost-crusted windows, slowly thawing them as the morning blossomed. A small, portable brazier with glowing coals gave off heat in the corner of the second floor box where Gideon and his family sat. The congregation, including Catt, Rocky, the Locksley villagers and the Tenwick servants, crammed into the pews below. The very front of the pews was reserved for a local squire, a baronet, and the clergyman’s family.

  Given the way Felicia squirmed beside him on the hard wooden bench, he suspected she would have been more at ease if she had been squashed next to the rest of the congregation. From time to time, a matron or gentleman glanced at the balcony where the Graylockes resided with their guest. Giddy maintained a stony expression, pretending not to notice. As the local landowners of the majority of the area—barring the smaller patches of land that belonged to the baronet, the squire, and the rare gentleman farmer—the Graylocke family was under constant scrutiny. If he reacted to the frequent stares of the villagers, the local gabble grinders would hone in on his weakness and bandy about the lewdest rumors, true or unfounded.

  Unfortunately, Felicia didn’t seem to realize this. With every less-than-surreptitious glance, she shifted in place. Flashes of alarm and unease, quickly hidden, crossed her face.

  Giddy leaned closer, angling his face so her bonnet wouldn’t poke him in the eye. She smelled like the orangery, divine. “You might want to shield your discomfort better. I suspect they’ve noticed.”

  He didn’t have to elaborate as to whom he referred. By now, almost every member of the congregation had turned to peek at them at least once. The only people who didn’t care to gape were the Tenwick servants. Given that Felicia now resided at the abbey, they would have plenty of opportunity to espy his intentions over the next couple of weeks.

  On his other side, Lucy shifted her position again, widening her skirts and forcing him to slide closer to his rival. Since she, Charlie, and Mother had claimed the rest of the bench, that left only the corner for him and Felicia. The press of her thigh and arm against his was agonizing, all the more so every time she moved.

  Frowning, she turned enough for him to glimpse her profile. The bonnet shadowed her eyes, but a frown played at the corner of her mouth. If she fought against showing the expression, she failed.

  “I thought they were looking at you.”

  “They are,” he assured. By this point in his life, he was used to it. “But, as you are sitting next to me, it is inevitable that some of their scrutiny is turned towards you.”

  She stiffened. If anything, the knowledge that they were, in fact, measuring her seemed to make her even more uncomfortable. Giddy clenched his jaw, afraid to say something else and make matters worse.

  A stir turned away the stares of those beneath them as the clergyman faltered in his sermon. A woman dressed in a mint green dress with matching trim on her bonnet ducked her head as she claimed a seat in the back row. When she turned to look behind her—to look at the Graylocke family—he recognized her instantly.

  Miss Merewether. Why was she late to the sermon? She was the most prompt, pious, proper young woman in Locksley. The only time she’d ever acted out of turn in his memory was when she’d purchased that horrid perfume from Felicia yesterday. Surely that perfume hadn’t led to the kind of untoward behavior that would cause her to be late to church.

  Who was he trying to fool? After only a moment’s interaction with the serving maid at the inn, he’d found her half-dressed and in his bed! He imagined that the perfume Felicia had sold to Miss Merewether was every bit potent enough to lead her down the path to perdition. But who was the gentleman? No one entered behind the forgettable young woman and from his vantage, Giddy couldn’t adequately judge who was missing from the congregation. He gritted his teeth, hoping that Miss Merewether hadn’t thrown her good name away for a moment’s temptation. It wasn’t any of his business what she chose to do with her body, but he knew firsthand how the perfume befuddled common sense. Even his, as the wearer. He had kissed Felicia while under the influence, after all.

  Not that she had made any indication that she hadn’t enjoyed it.

  Although he tilted his head to glare at the peddler in question, she didn’t seem to notice. For the first time since they’d arrived, she held her hands clasped on her lap and her shoulders straight in a serene expression. She must have mastered her emotions for the moment.

  If only he felt the same. With the perfume fresh on his thoughts, he couldn’t help but recall the feel of Felicia’s mouth against his, her curves pressed against his body. It was insanity.

  And certainly not the sort of thoughts he should be having while in church. He slid closer to his sister despite her attempts to force him in the other direction.

  The moment the sermon ended and the congregation rustled with movement, Gideon jumped to his feet. He strode to the opposite end of the bench to help his mother to stand. He then offered his assistance to the other two women in his family. When he reached Felicia, she had already stood on her own. Mother linked arms with her and drew her toward the staircase, casting an inscrutable gaze over her shoulder at Giddy.

  His heart jumped into his throat. Surely she wasn’t thinking of matchmaking? Ignoring the sly looks cast his way by Lucy and Charlie, he quickened his step and followed in his mother’s wake.

  “How did you sleep last night?” Mother asked.

  “Splendidly, thank you for asking.” If Felicia hadn’t glanced over her shoulder at him briefly, he might have believed her. Despite the smile curving her lips, her eyes told a different tale. The slight crinkle in the corners was one of worry or fatigue.

  “I’m glad. I was disappointed to learn that you were feeling unwell.”

  More likely, Mother had been disappointed to learn that she couldn’t foist Felicia and Giddy together like Lucy seemed determined to do.

  “I’m feeling much better today,” Felicia answered.

  As they reached the bottom of the steps, the flood of people forced a stop to the conversation. Giddy insinuated himself between Felicia and his mother. Mother moved to the side of the stairwell as she waited for people to pass. She always did, despite the fact that they stopped whenever they saw her and made room for her. She claimed that remaining behind gave her the opportunity to greet her tenants and neighbors.

  So she did, as did Giddy. He shook hands with the local farmers while his mother exchanged a few words with their wives. Miss Merewether lingered near the stairwell, likely trying to remain above the thoughts of those in the congregation by means of letting the Graylocke family take the spotlight away from her. Given that he noticed her dawdling,
he doubted she achieved her goal. More than one man tipped his hat toward her.

  As the last family drifted through the door, Miss Merewether saw fit to emerge from hiding. Mother greeted her with a warm smile and laid a hand on her arm. “Come, Miss Merewether, walk with us for a moment.”

  The young woman obliged with a nod. “Thank you, Evelyn.”

  Had Mother given her leave to address her by her given name? She must have, because she offered no rebuke at the familiarity, despite the fact that she hadn’t returned it. Together, the family strolled toward the entrance.

  “Have you met Miss Albright?” Mother asked.

  Miss Merewether’s mouth thinned as she looked toward Felicia, whose smile didn’t dim despite the reception. Gideon realized that he’d neglected to offer anyone his arm, but now that they were almost at the threshold of the church, the notion seemed silly. He clasped his hands behind his back instead.

  “Indeed I have,” the young woman answered. “We met in front of the Golden Goose yesterday.”

  Mother said, “Miss Albright is working on a project with Gideon. She’s staying with us at Tenwick Abbey.”

  “Oh?” Miss Merewether made a polite sound, but nothing in her manner indicated she was interested. “Are you a botanist as well, Miss Albright?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Felicia answered with a warm smile. “If I was, I wouldn’t need Lord Gideon’s help.” She didn’t look in his direction, for which he was grateful.

  They entered the brisk autumn air. A chill raised goose bumps over his neck. He turned up the collar of his coat to keep the cold air at bay. Mother didn’t appear to notice the bite in the air, nor Miss Merewether’s frosty demeanor. Did she disapprove of Felicia staying at Tenwick Abbey because she sold perfumes and was reaching above her class? Or because she was a woman in a field of study typically dominated by a man? The Miss Merewether with whom Giddy was familiar disapproved of many things she didn’t deem quite proper. Until yesterday, he would have added “love perfumes” to that list.

  “Why don’t you have some tea at the abbey with us?” Mother asked. It wasn’t uncommon for her to ask a young lady or two to sit with her and Lucy on a Sunday afternoon.

  Miss Merewether accepted with a smile. When she smiled, her prim attitude dissipated and she was actually quite pretty. Not as alluring as Felicia in her low-cut bodices that drew the eye to her figure, her black hair always managing to escape her coif and frame her cheeks. Whereas Felicia dominated a man’s thoughts and filled his dreams, Miss Merewether was pretty in an understated, demure sort of way. The sort of pretty many a man looked for in a wife. Not Gideon, but other men of the ton who wanted sedate wives. Giddy had never given much sort to the kind of qualities he wanted in a wife, and he suspected if he thought of it now, the only image to spring to mind would be Felicia’s.

  Better he didn’t think of it.

  Since Miss Merewether was already on Mother’s arm, he couldn’t offer to escort her to the house. Gideon knew without asking what his sister or Charlie’s answer would be to such a polite gesture. Surrendering to the inevitable, he offered Felicia his arm. “May I escort you to the abbey, Miss Albright?”

  Her eyebrows twitched. In combination with the way she pursed her lips, they spoke volumes. You don’t think I’m capable of walking on my own?

  With his gaze, he willed her to understand that his offer was meant to be polite, not demeaning or diminishing. To his surprise, she opted not to start a row with him—at least, not while in polite company. She slid her hand onto his arm.

  “Thank you.”

  The group turned toward the path that meandered through the trees and onto the lawn of the Tenwick estate. Mother asked, “Gideon, will you and Miss Albright be joining us for tea?”

  He tried to catch Felicia’s gaze, but she stubbornly averted her gaze. He answered for them both, hoping he didn’t overstep. “I’m afraid we’ll have to decline, Mother. As you know, Miss Albright and I have business to which we must attend. We’ll join you for supper, of course.”

  Although he expected his mother to object to their working on a Sunday, she turned back to Miss Merewether and struck up a conversation about the weather of late. Mother was congenial and friendly, showing the same amount of interest in Miss Merewether’s opinions as she had in Felicia’s.

  Had he been mistaken? Didn’t she want to encourage a romance between him and Felicia, after all? He should be grateful that his mother wasn’t trying to play the matchmaker, but he couldn’t suppress a twinge of disappointment.

  What could Mother possibly hold against Felicia that would make her an unsuitable match for Giddy? It wasn’t every day that beauty and brains were married in the same woman, especially not one with an interest and aptitude in science. Felicia was special. If one didn’t peer too closely at the way their personalities clashed, she might even be considered an ideal match for him—in theory. The reality was far different.

  It doesn’t matter if Mother doesn’t think her suitable. After all, Giddy wasn’t going to marry Felicia. They were business partners, nothing more.

  If Mother had discovered the truth of that statement sooner rather than later, all the better.

  13

  The warmth of the orangery was a welcome change from the frigid air outside. The chill still hadn’t abated, despite the sun teasing in and out from behind the clouds. When Felicia retrieved the second brugmansia specimen from her wagon, she invited Chubs to join them in the hothouse. Once she assured Gideon that her pet wouldn’t wander, he allowed the mastiff’s presence. Drawn to the heat, the mastiff lay sprawled beneath the vent, along the warm brick wall.

  As Felicia set the plant on Gideon’s work bench, he tsked under his breath. She gritted her teeth, but didn’t call him on his reaction. Instead, she waited as he devoted the same treatment to this specimen as he had to the first. He didn’t say a word. Once she’d collected all the buds and other plant matter he pruned away, she called Chubs to her and returned to the wagon to distill oil from the plant. Her portable distiller used coal to heat water into steam, so she left Chubs inside the wagon with the heat while she returned to the orangery.

  By the time she stepped inside, Gideon had finished with the second plant. He raised his gaze and she paused inside the threshold of the glass door. His green eyes were penetrating, but unreadable. The tension between them grew palpable. Felicia resisted the urge to cock her hip or bat her eyelashes at him. If he truly saw her as an equal she must treat him that way as well.

  Gently, she pulled the door shut and returned to Gideon’s side. She hesitated.

  “Shall we get to work?” He gestured to his work bench, clear for the moment of any projects. Without gloves to hide them, the muscles in his hands rippled with the movement, drawing her attention to his long fingers.

  She forced a smile as she met his gaze once more. “How much of my research on the subject have you read?” She knew, from arguing with him, that he had at least a cursory idea of what she hoped to create from the brugmansia plant. Before she went into detail, she wanted to know how much he recalled of her theory.

  Running a hand through his hair, he admitted, “All of it. I refreshed my memory last night.”

  He’d kept the journal containing her hypothesis? That had been published years ago!

  Trying to hide her surprise behind a smile, she quipped, “Well, that will make this simpler, then. The distilled oils themselves won’t create the exact effect your brother wants.”

  A tick started in his jaw. Rolling his neck, he muttered, “At last, something we can agree on.”

  She balled her fists, resisting the urge to smack the smug expression off his face. In a cold tone, she added, “I believe if we combine the oils with ingredients that have the properties we need—much the way laudanum with a strong liquor base lowers inhibitions and increases the effect of sedation—we can essentially create a serum that, when ingested, will yield the desired results.”

  His expression twis
ted in distaste. “Surely you aren’t suggesting that we combine the oils with laudanum? That could be deadly!”

  “No, that isn’t what I was saying at all. It was an example.”

  Her chest warmed with anger. Rather than spouting the words she wanted to say, she turned her back and stomped to her side of the work tables. Retrieving an empty beaker and a vial of the distilled oils, she returned to Gideon’s side and laid both on the work bench. He made a grab for the oil and uncorked it.

  “Be careful with that—” She recoiled at his glare.

  “I’m not a child.” He sniffed the oil. Did the fumes have some effect? It wasn’t heated and therefore wasn’t giving off steam, so she hoped not. “From which part of the plant did you distill the oils?”

  “That vial is from the seeds. Given the potency of the seeds of most plants, I deduced that it would yield the highest concentration of the chemical we need.”

  After jamming the stopper into the vial once more, he thrust it onto the work bench. “And potentially prove toxic!”

  She scowled. “It isn’t intended to be consumed in its concentrated form. We’ll dilute it.”

  “Very well.” He snatched the beaker from the table and stormed to the pond on the far side of the orangery.

  As he returned with a cup full of water, Felicia crossed her arms. “With clean water. I don’t know what compounds your plants have secreted into that water. It might have undesired effects.”

  A muscle in his jaw ticked as he lowered the beaker to the table with an audible click. “We’ll boil it.”

  “I have a small brazier in my wagon for just such a purpose. Allow me to fetch it.”

  She didn’t wait but vacated the orangery in pursuit of her task. Despite the fact that she should return quickly, she lingered to give Chubs some attention and check on the distilling process. Using tongs, she liberated a hot coal from the distillery to start the brazier. By the time she reached the orangery with it, the others had started to glow. Hopefully it wouldn’t take too long for the water to boil. Usually, she refused to rush the process out of the fear of creating an error, but with the hostility infusing the air between her and Gideon, the quicker they worked, the sooner they could part ways.