by Gayle Callen
He hoped his direct stare was making her nervous. “No, we don’t. We could report this.”
“Or perhaps we won’t,” Leo said, sauntering forward. “I don’t know you ladies well—”
“But we know of you,” Susanna said with the disapproval of a stern governess to her charge. Her spectacles glittered in the lamplight as if with their aid she dissected him.
Leo put a hand on his chest and bowed. “Then my reputation precedes me. Allow me to prove that I can live up to your beliefs. Gentlemen, I propose a wager.”
Julian didn’t want to be distracted by such drunken foolery, but he forced himself to be patient, an ability that had aided him well over the years. He’d spent his childhood patiently waiting to rescue his family, then his adulthood patiently guiding his investments and businesses, even while patiently seeking the proper bride. Leo’s wager might work out to Julian’s benefit.
“What is it?” Peter asked warily.
Leo smiled. “I propose that we each try to determine the real identity of the model—any way we can.”
A momentary silence grew and held, thick with possibilities and promise.
“This is preposterous,” Rebecca said coolly.
“You do not have much of a choice,” Julian said, thinking how such a wager could lead him to unravel the truth of his family’s tragedy. “You are at our mercy. If you don’t wish to participate, then you’ll have to live with the consequences of your…unveiling. There are many men who’ve seen this painting. I wonder what they would think if they knew…”
“That is blackmail,” Susanna said tightly.
“Why, Miss Leland, that is such an ugly word,” Leo said. “You have put yourself in this situation, and I think you’re getting a decent return for such a daring stunt. We’ll let you go free, and you’ll have to accept our attempts to discover the truth.”
“So you think by ganging up on us,” Rebecca said, “you’ll somehow wear down our resistance? Gentlemen, that will never happen.”
“Your voice is full of challenge,” Julian said. “I like that.”
Her focus came back to him immediately. She betrayed her nerves by licking her dry lips.
And after everything he’d gone through, his single-minded devotion to his family and businesses, his obsession with the Scandalous Lady—one flick of this woman’s tongue had him suddenly thinking dark thoughts. He glanced up at the painting, at the up-thrust breasts and the dark shadows between her thighs. Clenching his jaw, he focused his thoughts on the lost diamond and his father’s downfall.
“I think the model is you,” he said to Rebecca in a low, husky voice.
Tension crackled between them like heat lightning on a sultry summer evening.
She tossed her head. “And I’ve already told you it is. What challenge is that?”
“Two of you are lying. But I think you’re not. Leo, what say you?”
Leo rubbed his chin thoughtfully, even as he walked a circle about the women, examining them. They twitched uneasily like fillies up for auction at Tattersall’s. “I can see you are all related, at least by the shapes of your bodies. With so many garments on—and male garments at that—it is difficult to see a true difference. So we cannot go by that.”
“You are being vulgar,” Elizabeth said, her voice haughty with generations of noble blood.
“And you are being scandalous, Elizabeth,” Peter said in a low voice. “All of you. I cannot believe—”
“You cannot believe that one of these women would dare so much?” Julian said softly. “Ladies of Society have so little to do before they’re married.” He saw their looks of outrage but ignored them. He’d been doing meticulous research on ladies this past year. “A certain type of woman might become…bored.”
“Don’t pretend you understand any of us,” Rebecca snapped.
“Perhaps I don’t now, but I intend to know you very well.”
The alcohol was making him lose his vaunted control. He could see her jaw clench. Damn, but she was beginning to intrigue him almost as much as the diamond.
Leo stopped before Susanna, the spectacled Leland sister. She met his gaze, hers full of a withering disdain.
“Peter,” Leo said, “tell me you believe Elizabeth is the model, because I want this one.”
Peter frowned.
Susanna’s brave front faltered as she stiffened. “How dare you, sir! I should not think you capable of discerning the truth. Your reputation speaks of a poor intellect.”
“I haven’t seen you out and about much, have I?” Leo said slowly. His eyes lit. “You’re the bluestocking, aren’t you? You dabble in art, I believe?”
“Dabble?” she echoed in a frosty voice.
“I do believe that makes you more likely to pose for a fellow artist. What fun! Peter, what say you?” Leo didn’t take his eyes off the woman, as if she might escape if he didn’t pin her into place with his gaze.
Peter sighed. “Rebecca, Susanna, your brother is my friend. He has helped me in so many ways I cannot recount them all. I cannot believe you guilty of such a thing, regardless of what you say.” He studied Elizabeth. “Then it has to be you.”
She smiled cheerfully. “I told you it was.”
Peter leaned toward her, smiling back. “And I’ll enjoy proving it.”
Her smile faltered.
“There we have it, gentlemen,” Leo said, his voice full of good-natured ease. “This wager will be enjoyable as is, but I think a monetary reward might give us further incentive.”
“My, what big words you use,” Susanna challenged.
Julian gave a tight smile.
Leo laughed, then glanced with speculation at Julian and Peter. “Shall we say…five hundred pounds?”
Nodding, Julian knew the sum was no problem for him, but Peter was only the youngest son of a squire.
Peter gave a brusque nod. “Done.”
Julian said nothing about his knowledge of the jewel. A wager was a wager, and every man had to use his own advantages.
For a moment, he couldn’t believe his search for the truth of the lost diamond could be so close to fruition. He’d spent his adult life resurrecting the respect his title deserved, saving his property and his people. He’d never set one foot outside the bounds of propriety, approaching even the smallest investment with caution and fore-thought, including even his search for a bride.
Now here he was, dazzled by Rebecca Leland’s nudity, lured by the diamond that had contributed to his father’s downfall—challenged by the woman herself, who faced him down as if what she’d done were a grand adventure instead of the terrible risk it really was. He didn’t understand her at all. But he would learn.
“This is useless,” Rebecca said, hands on her hips.
She should not draw attention to her feminine roundness, not when it was so boldly painted behind her.
“We could settle this right now,” Leo responded. “You could each remove your clothing and let us see the truth.”
The women blushed, their gazes boring into Leo disdainfully.
But Julian didn’t really want the truth revealed so easily. He needed the cover of the wager under which to make his inquiries.
“I’m looking forward to the challenge of discovering the truth—and your motives,” Leo said. “That intrigues me most of all.”
Rebecca pulled her cap back on her head, hiding the rich sable of her hair. “Now that you’ve had your amusement, step out of our way.”
The cap shadowed her face, leaving her full lips highlighted in a slash of light. Julian found himself far too aroused. Before he could do something foolish—like claim her with a kiss before everyone—he stepped aside.
But instead of marching past him, she led her sister and cousin back to the painting.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Julian demanded in disbelief as they put their hands on the frame.
“Taking what is ours,” she answered without looking at him.
“The club purchase
d the painting from the artist quite legally,” he pointed out.
“It wasn’t meant to be here at all,” Elizabeth said, frustration evident in her frown.
“You meant it to be in a private collection,” Peter said slowly. “That makes sense, Elizabeth, with your brother being who he is. But you miscalculated.”
“You all miscalculated,” Julian amended.
“Susanna, spell that for me,” Leo called.
She ignored his drunken teasing.
“Surely you do not want every man to see this during your wager,” Rebecca said. “What if others hatch similar ideas?”
“You should have thought of that before you posed.” Julian wondered if anyone else had recognized the diamond from the portrait—or when it was around her exquisite neck one night at a ball. Or perhaps no one cared any longer about a maharajah’s gift, he thought bitterly. It gleamed above both of them now in the lamplight. Why had she been so foolish as to wear it in public?
Because she’d thought her secret well hidden in France.
With a toss of her head, Rebecca demanded, “And what do we get if none of you can determine the truth?”
“So you’re going to play an active part in our wager?” Julian asked, intrigued by the possibilities. Why was he so eager to see this young woman—and she was surely several years younger than he—openly participate in something that could ruin her?
But of course, she’d already risked all of that, posing nude for endless hours. He found himself envying the artist and wondering at their relationship. Tamping down his interest, he reminded himself to focus on the diamond.
“Why, you’ll win the painting, of course,” Leo responded before Julian could.
Julian couldn’t imagine surrendering it, but it was too late.
“Let me understand this,” Rebecca said, eyes narrowed. “The three of you are wagering with each other over who the model is. If you cannot discover the truth, then we win the painting.”
“Correct,” Julian said, his mind continuing to calculate the best way to use this ridiculous wager to his advantage.
“Surely we must include the element of time.” Rebecca glanced with speculation at her friends, and then at the men. “You have a week to name the true model, gentlemen, presenting substantial proof and not just a guess.”
“Ridiculous,” Leo scoffed. “A week is not nearly enough time. We need until the end of the Season.”
“No,” she said. “I’ll counter with one month, but nothing more.”
Julian exchanged a look with his two friends, and then bowed his agreement. It would give him enough time to follow the clues to the Scandalous Lady and clear his father’s name. But it couldn’t bring his father back from the dead, Julian thought grimly.
The three women marched past them. Sharing a glance, the three men followed, then leaned over the balustrade as the women descended to the ground floor and out the door.
Leo grinned. “Now, that was an enjoyable evening.” He glanced at Julian. “You surprise me, old friend.”
And they were friends, Julian thought, even as he shrugged. Julian had been forced to leave Eton at ten years of age, when his father could no longer pay the tuition. Though he was a future earl, his poverty had many boys—and then men—ignoring him, until he’d made himself into a man who couldn’t be ignored.
But Leo hadn’t cared about money. He’d still invited Julian home with him at holidays and had still visited him, putting up with the chaos of Julian’s too-large family. Peter’s friendship had come later, when Julian had sensed that the man needed help finding a place for himself as a younger son with little to recommend him. Peter had taken giant strides in learning to invest, and had become a partner in several of Julian’s railways.
They had felt connected, and now they were so again by the risky challenge of three women who seemed determined to skirt the boundaries of ruination.
Leo clapped them both on the back. “May the best man win.”
Julian felt as if a spring breeze had blown through his life, awakening him from a dark winter, challenging him in a way he’d thought long in his past.
Thanks to Rebecca Leland, he would solve a family mystery, clear his father’s name—and spend time seducing the secrets from a beautiful woman.
Chapter 2
The next afternoon, when the luncheon ended, Rebecca Leland was sincerely glad that Lady Fogge suggested that her guests retire to the conservatory. If Rebecca had to spend one more minute looking across the table at the knowing, amused expression on the Earl of Parkhurst’s face, she would betray her upbringing and—laugh. She would laugh and laugh at the ludicrous situation she’d gotten herself into. In her sheltered life, it was the most exciting thing she’d ever done. Her sister and her cousin had been shocked at her attitude when they’d all finally piled into the hackney after leaving the gentlemen’s club. Their faces had showed horror and fear, but Rebecca could only feel amusement and intrigue and a certain thrilling excitement—especially when she thought again of the earl, who’d haunted his way through her dreams.
As it was, her sister Susanna kept sending her veiled looks of sympathy across Lady Fogge’s table, not yet realizing that Rebecca didn’t need such sentiment. She knew that her sister did not see their dilemma the same way, that Susanna thought herself lucky, since her tormentor hadn’t made an appearance. It was probably too early for Mr. Leo Wade, ne’er-do-well scoundrel, to rise from his bed, Rebecca thought, hiding a smirk.
But not the earl. He was a man of business, or so she’d been told. As the party of twenty casually strolled down the gallery of the Fogge home, Lord Parkhurst was conversing with their hostess, and she showed her delight by impulsively touching his arm. Lady Fogge was a kind woman with a plump face, both traits she shared with her unmarried daughter. She had to be thrilled that the notoriously reclusive, unattached earl had accepted her invitation.
Rebecca had only seen him a handful of times these last few years, across a dinner table or a crowded ballroom. She’d heard talk of him, of course, and not all of it was complimentary. There seemed to be a sordid scandal attached to the family’s wealth, but she’d never heard what it was. Her mother, Lady Rosa, believed that if they didn’t want people to discuss the Leland scandals, they shouldn’t gossip about others. Lady Rosa did say that Lord Parkhurst didn’t behave as an earl should. He spent far too much time with his investments—with his businesses, her mother said in disapproval, as if Rebecca should flee at the sight of a man who dared to work for a living, as no gentleman should do.
It would have been very easy for an innocent debutante to flee at the sight of him, she thought, glancing at him again as the party descended several stairs into a small, but lush, conservatory, where paths of crushed shells wound between ferns, trees, blooming camellias, and a gurgling fountain in the shape of a fish. The Earl of Parkhurst did not look like a typical nobleman with elegant bodylines beneath his garments and a patrician handsomeness. No, Lord Parkhurst looked—as her cousin the duke once teasingly told her—like a street thug. He was…immense, towering over all the guests, even the men. With his oversized body, his finely tailored clothing looked as if it should be straining to hold all of him in.
But his form was purely muscle, not gone to fat. Once she’d seen him racing his horse, a monstrous black beast, through Hyde Park, unlike the other men who’d casually trotted by the ladies’ carriages to chat. No, Lord Parkhurst had no time for ladies. She remembered his coat flapping open, the narrowness of his waist, the power of his thighs, the way he’d effortlessly controlled every movement of the horse, using shoulders almost as broad as the animal’s. Rebecca’s mouth had gaped open as if she’d never seen a man before.
She could not call him truly handsome. Below his unruly black hair, his nose seemed as if it had been broken once, and the bones of his face were harsh and intimidating. He had a wide mouth that she’d thought incapable of smiling, but had seen otherwise last night, when she could tell he’d gotten fo
xed while playing cards with his friends. In the gentlemen’s club, she’d felt deliciously…overpowered as he’d stalked toward her like a man who’d conquered at the head of an army to win his earldom, rather than simply inheriting it.
She remembered his eyes most of all. They were pewter gray, barren as winter, but last night they’d seemed to almost glow, smoldering as he’d looked at the painting and then looked at her, judging her. She had not imagined before then what it would feel like to be in the presence of men viewing the artwork—of Lord Parkhurst, looking down her body as if he could see through her clothing. It had been exhilarating and frightening and powerful all at once.
She banished a momentary unease. It was too late to worry about the painting and who else might connect her to it. And what could an earl possibly do to the cousin of a duke? The wager was surely a drunken lark, something to amuse him and his friends.
But he was watching her now from the far side of the fountain, his dark gaze assessing what he saw. She was standing with Susanna, who tried to tug her until their backs were turned. Rebecca wouldn’t play the coward.
“Oh, I do wish he would stop looking at you,” Susanna grumbled.
“Take off your spectacles and you won’t be able to tell.”
Susanna frowned.
“I thought you weren’t going to wear those to parties,” Rebecca said. “You only need them for reading or painting.”
“After last night, I fear to miss too much if we encountered one of them.”
Rebecca smiled. “You shouldn’t worry. Lord Parkhurst, Mr. Wade, and Mr. Derby can play all the silly games they want; they can’t harm us. Perhaps they’ve even forgotten about the wager already as they deal with pounding headaches after a night of imbibing.”
“Can’t harm us?” Susanna gaped at her. “They know. Of course they can harm us. Good heavens, he’s speaking to Mama!”
Rebecca sent a sharp gaze across the conservatory. Lord Parkhurst was indeed at their mother’s side, bending over to speak to her, making the indomitable woman appear almost slight. Lady Rosa Leland, the daughter of a duke, once had high aspirations for her daughters’ marriages. For ten years, she’d been thwarted by Susanna’s disinterest in marriage and her unnatural interest in their father’s anatomy studies. Their father was a professor at Cambridge, and Susanna had used her artistic talents to sketch his dissections. Naturally, Lady Rosa was appalled, and had gradually given up on Susanna. But since their brother’s miraculous return to England, after all thought him dead, Susanna seemed to be trying to please their mother once again, gracing London Society with her presence. That took some of the pressure off Rebecca, who, since emerging from both the schoolroom and her sickroom, had become their mother’s sole focus.
