The Hero Least Likely

by Darcy Burke

  Sean kept silent a moment, deliberating. And then, “You won’t be living with Daniel Raleigh,” he said quietly.

  “I will. Is something wrong with your ears, Sean? I told you, I’m moving to Daniel’s house tomorrow. And there’s nothing you can do about it!”

  “No, you’re not. You’re moving to Lincolnshire House on Monday.”

  “Something is wrong with your ears!”

  He hesitated. He hadn’t wanted her to hear the whole truth, to know the worst of what might befall her. She’d only panic, or throw a fit, or feel guilty. He didn’t want any of that.

  But he didn’t see where he had a choice.

  As Deirdre flounced past, he caught her by the arm and made her look at him. ”Listen to me. Whether he inherits Lincolnshire’s fortune or not, Hamilton is going to be an earl. He’s going to need an heir. If he doesn’t divorce you, he’ll force you back into his house until you bear him a son.”

  She wrenched her arm out of his grasp. “He wouldn’t.”

  “He told me so himself.”

  She rolled her eyes and continued on her way. “You’re making this up to get me to do what you want.”

  “I’m not making anything up.” He blocked her path as she turned back from the clothespress, a blue dress and a brown one clutched tight to her middle. “He threatened you, Deirdre, because I wouldn’t go along with his plan. He knew I’d have to agree. And you know what the law says on the matter. He’s your husband. If he demands you back”—he nearly choked on the next words—“in his bed…”

  “I’d have no choice,” she whispered, her face stark white.

  She didn’t resist when Sean lifted the dresses from her arms. Nor when he led her to the bed and pushed her down to sit. All her usual spirit and fire had left her.

  He hated to see his big sister like this.

  If they failed, she might look like this for the rest of her life.

  He sighed and sat beside her. “You’re already packed. Come play Mrs. Hamilton at Lincolnshire House. With any luck, it will be for the last time.”

  She was staring down at her hands, folded demurely in her lap in a most un-Deirdre-like manner. “You win,” she said in a small voice.

  But he didn’t feel like a winner.

  NINETEEN

  Early Monday evening at Lincolnshire House, Corinna was cleaning her palette when she felt her hair swept aside. Felt warm lips pressed to the nape of her neck. A little thrill rippling through her, she whirled around to see Sean

  “I had a good day,” he said. “A productive day. Thank you.”

  His eyes were so green, so genuine. She was suddenly aware of how comfortable she felt looking into them—just looking. She met most people’s eyes with a challenge or a jest. It felt strange and nice to be just looking.

  He’d greeted her at the door at nine o’clock this morning, walked her into this salon, and laid a kiss on her that could have melted the Arctic.

  “Was that worth getting up for?” he’d asked.

  She’d nodded, having temporarily lost her powers of speech. And he’d laughed, then left to do whatever it was he did while she spent the whole day painting.

  She felt melty again now, just looking into his eyes. She hoped he would kiss her again—on the lips instead of her neck—but instead he shifted his gaze past her. “I’m impressed.”

  For a moment she thought he was impressed with the salon. It was a most unlikely room to use for painting, by far the most grandiose room in London’s most grandiose house.

  The salon was mostly blue, so she knew Sean could see just how gorgeous it was. Designed for lavish entertainments, it was decorated in the Italian style. Splendid blue and gold furniture matched ornate blue and gold curtaining that hung from gilt rods. The coved ceiling was painted in the palazzo manner, and the walls were broken up by alternating silk panels and mirrors in highly ornamental frames, their surfaces reflecting the room’s sparkling gold and crystal chandeliers.

  Though she’d laid down a tarpaulin, all day Corinna had feared she’d splatter paint and ruin something. But of all the rooms in the house, this one had the largest north-facing windows, so Lord Lincolnshire had insisted it was the best place to sit for his portrait.

  Then her head cleared, and she realized Sean wasn’t impressed with the salon. He was looking at her painting.

  “I’m glad you like it,” she said, turning to see it herself. She resumed wiping her palette. “But I’ve only just started, really.”

  “You started this morning, before I left. You’ve been working all day.”

  “Time flies when I’m involved in a painting. But I think I wore out poor Lord Lincolnshire. Two footmen helped him up to bed a couple of hours ago.” She set the palette on the mosaic table she’d covered for her use. “Do you think it would be all right for me to leave everything here overnight?”

  “I’m sure it will be fine. The man’s unlikely to host a party anytime soon.” He walked closer to the painting, peering at it. “You’ve laid in the basics of him already. And the background is amazing. So detailed. How did you do that so quickly?”

  “Oh, that was already done.” She began cleaning her brushes. “I’ve been working on it for days in the square. I just hadn’t decided who to put into it.”

  He paused for a significant beat before he turned to her. “So you wanted to paint Lincolnshire. You didn’t offer only to save my skin.”

  “You’ve caught me out.” Swirling three brushes in turpentine, she grinned. “I think I’m finally going to complete a good portrait. One fine enough to put on display. I’ve always wanted to, but…”

  “But what?”

  “Girls don’t usually, you know? Paint portraits, I mean. It’s not considered very ladylike. We’re supposed to paint only scenes and still lifes.” Setting the brushes aside, she sighed. “I’m tired of painting apples and bottles and trees.”

  “You paint very good trees,” he pointed out, gesturing toward her picture.

  “I’ve had lots of practice,” she said dryly.

  “You have goals,” he said. “I admire that.”

  “Everyone has goals. Of some sort.”

  “But your goals go beyond what’s expected of a lady—of any woman. You’ll have to overcome great odds to achieve them, and you’re not letting that stop you. That’s very admirable.”

  “Thank you,” Corinna said softly, feeling her face heat. She’d never had a fellow say he admired her goals, let alone act like he believed she might actually achieve them.

  Griffin was supportive, of course, but that was his job. He was her brother. And while she was sure he wished her the best—while she knew he wanted her happy—she’d never felt he truly expected her dreams to come to fruition.

  Griffin believed her art was a hobby, something to keep her occupied until she married.

  Sean, on the other hand, seemed to believe in her. And for that she felt overflowing gratitude. In fact, her heart felt he was one of the most amiable, most pleasing of men, just as Amanda’s had in Children of the Abbey. Corinna feared she was staring in a most embarrassing, moony-eyed fashion, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.

  Holy Hannah, what was she doing?

  She was letting this go too far. Sean was a nice young man—and a spectacular kisser—but he couldn’t be anything more to her. She knew he wasn’t the sort of husband Griffin wanted for her, no matter what her sisters said. And Corinna wasn’t looking for a husband, anyway. Her art came first.

  But she really wasn’t ready to give up the kissing yet. They could still do that, she decided, as long as there were no more moony eyes.

  Excellent.

  That settled, she cleared her throat. ”Thank you,” she repeated. “I’m finished here and expected home for dinner. I’ll be back tomorrow morning.”

  “At nine?”

  ”For another kiss, I’ll be here at nine.”

  He laughed. “You aren’t anything like I expected a marquess’s daughter woul
d be, do you know that?”

  “I’m an artist,” she said.

  And he laughed again. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

  Unusually for this mansion full of servants, the entrance hall was empty. Quincy wasn’t there, and there were no footmen, no maids scurrying from one side of the house to the other.

  “My sister will be here soon,” Sean said quietly. “She’s going to live here until this is all over.”

  “Will she?” Corinna asked, surprised.

  “Lincolnshire’s insisting upon meeting my wife. And she’s Hamilton’s actual wife, so…”

  “So at least that one thing won’t be a lie?”

  “Exactly.” Reaching the front door, he opened it. “But I’m afraid something will slip now that Deirdre’s getting involved.”

  “You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”

  He shrugged, making it obvious he was.

  She touched his arm. “Please don’t reveal the secret. It might be easier, but it won’t be best. I don’t like keeping secrets either, you know. I feel terribly guilty keeping my brother in the dark.”

  “Don’t tell him,” he warned under his breath. “You promised.”

  “I remember. And that’s why I haven’t told him. But my sisters think we’re doing the right thing, and I’m certain he would, too—”

  “He wouldn’t. He’d expose me posthaste; I’m sure of it.”

  “You don’t know Griffin—”

  “He’s a marquess, isn’t he? That’s all I need to know. I’m everything the ton despises.” Standing there in the open doorway, he raised a hand and began ticking off all the marks against him. “I’m Irish—”

  “I told you, we’re part Irish, too.”

  “What, a quarter?”

  “Probably a tenth,” she admitted, thinking it was probably even less than that.

  He rolled his eyes and ticked off more fingers. “I’m untitled, I’m in trade, I earn more in a month than most of them earn in a year—”

  “Really?” She’d had no idea he had that much money.

  He looked mortified. Apparently he hadn’t meant to let that slip.

  She opened her mouth to question him further, but just then the wooden gate opened outside, and a young woman entered the courtyard.

  Looking quite sure of herself, the woman crossed to the portico and mounted the steps. She was blond, green-eyed, and very pretty. Or at least, she looked like she’d be very pretty if she weren’t scowling.

  “Corinna, this is my sis—” Sean started, then stopped when the woman gave him a discreet little smack on the shoulder.

  He turned to see Quincy approaching from inside the house.

  “My wife has arrived,” he said loudly instead.

  TWENTY

  After introducing his “wife” to Corinna, who then took her leave, Sean marched Deirdre straight up to Lincolnshire’s bedroom. He couldn’t wait to get this farce over with.

  “Uncle,” he said, “this is Mrs. Hamilton. Deirdre, the Earl of Lincolnshire.”

  Deirdre curtsied. “It’s pleased I am to meet you, Lord Lincolnshire.”

  “I’m so very pleased you’ve come.” Struggling to sit taller against his mountain of pillows, Lincolnshire blinked and yawned. “Please excuse me. I sat all…day for a portrait, and I fear that…left me exhausted.”

  To Sean’s relief, Deirdre didn’t seem fazed by the man’s shortness of breath. Nor did she seem repulsed by his ever-swelling body. “I understand that you’re ill, my lord.”

  “I’m dying,” Lincolnshire said in his plainspoken way.

  “That, too. And it’s sorry I am to hear it.”

  “No fault of…yours.” The old man cocked his head. “You’re Irish.”

  She exchanged a wary glance with Sean. “Born and raised in Kilburton, sir. Your nephew married me while he was living in Ireland.”

  Lincolnshire nodded. “Kilburton is a pretty place.”

  “And how would you know that?” Deirdre raised a brow. “I don’t recall your ever visiting.”

  Sean flinched. Deirdre never had been one to mince words. But Lincolnshire only laughed—a laugh that ended in a wheeze. “Haven’t been there…since before you were born,” he told her, and then added to Sean, “I like her.”

  Releasing a breath, Sean smiled and moved closer to his sister, wrapping an arm about her shoulders. “I like her, too.”

  “You should, considering…she’s your wife. Whyever did you leave her in the countryside? She’s…lovely.” He grinned at Deirdre, the old flirt. “What a handsome couple you…two make. Give her a kiss!”

  Sister and brother exchanged another look. One of panic.

  “Go on,” Lincolnshire urged, his eyes dancing.

  Sean leaned down to Deirdre and gave her a peck on the cheek.

  “Hmmph, that will never do,” the earl said in disgust. “Word is you two…don’t get along. Rumor has it you live apart.”

  Was that why Lincolnshire had insisted on meeting Hamilton’s wife? Was he determined to see a reconciliation? “You’ve said that before,” Sean reminded him. “Wherever did you hear it?”

  “Everywhere. I’m dying, not deaf. And I won’t countenance…such a relationship in Lincolnshire House.” He paused, all but gasping for air, but when Deirdre went to open her mouth, he waved a hand to stop her. “All the Lincolnshire earls have been happily…married, and I mean to see…that tradition continue.”

  “You shouldn’t listen to rumors,” Sean protested. “I love Deirdre.”

  Which wasn’t exactly a lie. Maybe not in that way, but he did love her.

  “Then…kiss her…like a man,” the old earl wheezed.

  There was nothing for it.

  Slowly, mournfully, Sean turned to face his doom. Deirdre looked as ill as he felt. She squeezed her eyes shut. He wished he could do the same, but he feared missing the target. Even worse than kissing his sister on the lips would be accidentally kissing her on the nostril…

  He shuddered.

  All right, man, just get it done. Sucking in a breath, he leaned down, fighting the nausea rising in his throat as he drew closer…and closer…until finally, with the lightest possible impact, and for the shortest possible instant, he touched his lips to hers.

  When it was all over, Lincolnshire shook his head. “Before I expire…I want to see better than that.”

  Saints preserve us. Sean and Deirdre studiously avoided eye contact with each other. Sean felt a strong urge to gargle with whiskey.

  If there was anything on earth that could drive him to drink, this would be it.

  “And I’ve a favor…to ask of you,” the earl went on.

  “Anything, Uncle,” Sean said. “Anything at all.” So long as it didn’t involve kissing his sister.

  A weak smile twitched on the man’s lips. “Were I you…I’d wait to hear it first.” He paused for a breath, and then another. “I wish you to…keep this house—”

  “I will. You have my word.” Arrogant Hamilton wouldn’t be selling the most impressive house in all of London. “You won’t mind living here, will you, Deirdre?”

  She glanced around in patent disbelief, taking in the towering damask-hung bed, the scenes painted on the ceiling, the gold-stamped leather wallcoverings. “What sort of knothead would mind living here?”

  That prompted another smile. But Lincolnshire wasn’t finished. “And all of my staff…in perpetuity.”

  Sean was tempted to agree for the sake of the old man’s peace of mind, but he couldn’t bring himself to add another lie to the heap. He glanced at Deirdre, murmuring, ”The property has more than a hundred servants.”

  Her eyes widened. They both knew her husband didn’t keep many servants. He was a fellow who valued his privacy. Even considering the grandness of the house, he would probably dismiss well above half—without blinking an eye, of course.

  The weasel.

  “Oh, Lord Lincolnshire,” Deirdre said regretfully, “my husband doesn’t
like spending much time in London. The scenes he paints are all in the countryside—”

  “And as I’ve told you many times, Uncle,” Sean cut in, “my wife prefers the country as well.” He threw his sister a significant look.

  She caught on. “Yes, that’s right. I’m just a country girl at heart. So you see, we won’t be needing so many servants when we’re not in residence here.”

  “Won’t you keep them on anyway? For me, my dear. I cannot stand to think…these loyal people…my people…will be left out in the cold.”

  Exchanging a glance with his sister, Sean pulled a face.

  “I need to know…this house will remain in your hands. And my staff…will retain their employment.”

  “I’ll keep the house,” Sean promised, “as I’ve said, although it’s overly large for just Mrs. Hamilton and myself.” Indeed, it would have been overly large for the entire village of Kilburton. “But as to the other—”

  “Sean,” Lincolnshire cut in gently. Beseechingly. “Did you not say…you would do anything for me?”

  In the long silence that stretched between them, Sean’s mind raced. Once the earl passed on, there was simply no way to force Hamilton’s hand. And they couldn’t hope to appeal to his better nature, since he hadn’t one to speak of. Was there another option? “What if I could find new employment for them all instead? Better employment?”

  Lincolnshire gave a wee snort. “Better than working…for me?”

  “Very well, I misspoke,” Sean conceded. “I agree there’s no kinder, more thoughtful employer. But—”

  “There are humbler ones,” Deirdre chimed in, earning a chortle from the earl.

  Sean shot her a warning look. “But more prestigious positions exist. And…”

  “And I won’t…be here.”

  Sean nodded.

  “How can you find them all…employment? You’re an artist, not…a man of business.”

  “I know people. Trust me.”

  “I do,” Lincolnshire said sincerely, making Sean writhe inside with guilt. “But I want…I need to know they’re settled. That…they’ll be happy.”