Hope gave him an aloof look before saying, “You are aware of the Young Ladies Garden Society?”
“The little tea party Elizabeth holds every week for all those pampered girls? What of it?”
“Well, first of all, it is not a ‘little tea party’ and second of all, it is not for ‘pampered girls’.”
Michael felt a flush start at his neck. “Ahhh, you are part of the Garden Society, I gather?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Oh…I see.”
Hope looked as if she highly doubted that he did, but she continued nonetheless. “Myself and four other young ladies—my very good friends—were recruited by Lady Lancaster to help her solve crimes, mysteries, and intrigues all throughout London. The Garden Society is just our cover.”
Michael opened his mouth to say something, anything, but nothing came out. Hope and her friends were spies for Elizabeth? How…? Why…? What was the woman thinking? Spy-work was a dangerous business. What right did the venerable Duchess of Lancaster have to put these impressionable young girls in danger? Michael could hardly believe what he was hearing.
“Aren’t you going to say something?” Hope asked.
Michael shook his head as his mind raced. Perhaps Hope was exaggerating about the types of cases the duchess was assigning to her and her friends. Girls often made mountains out of molehills, didn’t they? Oh Lord, Elizabeth would have my head over that notion.Thank goodness the woman could not actually read minds, although most people were convinced she could.
Hoping a youthful embellishment was indeed occurring here, Michael asked, “What kind of, ah, things are you and your friends doing for Lady Lancaster?”
“We-e-l-l-l,” Hope replied slowly, “Hannah foiled a smuggling plot by blowing up the old Custom House and Rose is trying to catch a killer. Oh, and you and I are trying to solve a crime involving the stock market and one million pounds of illegally gained money. Those kinds of things, I suppose.”
Damn! It was worse than he thought. Those were the types of cases that got people killed. Well, maybe not the case he and Hope were working on, but surely smuggling rings and murderers brought with them substantial danger.
“I cannot believe that Elizabeth is exposing you ladies to such danger,” Michael said through tightly clenched teeth.
“I don’t see why not. Lady Lancaster has told us on many occasions that women make the best spies, so why not us?”
Hearing Hope repeat what he, himself, had thought just a couple of days prior did not improve Michael’s mood. He didn’t care about any of the other lady-spies he had met (aside from Lady Lancaster, of course), but Hope was different. And Hope’s friends were different. As much as he hated to admit it, he cared about Hope and, by extension, her friends.
When exactly had he begun to care about Hope so much? Until yesterday, he hadn’t really even known that much about the girl. He supposed he still didn’t, but there was something about her…something about the way she made him feel. It was different with her than it was with any other woman of his acquaintance.
Shaking his head again, Michael vowed to have a talk with Elizabeth as soon as possible, but for now, it was probably wise to stop thinking about Hope and her friends and just concentrate on the subject at hand. “I will go get the reports,” Michael muttered, rising to his feet.
“Fine,” Hope replied briskly. “I will put my books away so we can work here.”
“Fine,” Michael replied as he walked out of the room, kicking himself again for putting himself in this situation in the first place.
One of these days, he would learn that where this girl was concerned, he was in big trouble.
Chapter Eight
“Dreams can become reality, if only one acts upon them.”
~The Duke of Lancaster
When Michael returned with the records given to him by the committee of the Stock Exchange, Hope was ready for him. She had cleared off the top of her desk and moved another chair around to her side of the table so that they could both review the records together more easily.
Michael appreciated her preparedness, and honestly, it was the same set-up he had in mind, but as he took a seat next to Hope and caught a whiff of her beguiling scent, he began to question the wisdom of sitting so close to her. Hope, on the other hand, seemed to have no compunctions about it whatsoever. Wanting to appear as equally unaffected, Michael tamped down his racing libido and began to organize the papers in front of him.
Hope looked over at Michael and smiled. “Are these all of the records?”
Michael swallowed hard, trying to get what was apparently a very large frog out of his throat. Funny, he thought wildly, I don’t remember trying to swallow an amphibian just before entering the room. Choking back some nervous laughter over his own sad attempt at humor, Michael rasped out, “Ah, ha, ah, yes.”
“Is something wrong?” Hope asked.
“No, no, not at all…I just, ah, have something in my throat.”
“Oh, well I ordered some tea while you were fetching the records. It should be here any minute.”
“Thank you. That was very, er, kind of you.”
“I didn’t do it to be kind,” Hope replied. “I did it because it was only polite to do so.”
Sighing inwardly, Michael replied, “I see. Well, I still thank you.”
Forcing himself to focus, Michael was just beginning to understand what he was looking at when Rivers appeared with the tea. Putting the papers aside once again, Hope reached for the pot of tea at the same time as he. When their hands brushed against each other, Michael froze and stared at Hope for a long moment.
“I, uh…that is…ah,” Hope stammered, her eyes flicking toward his, “I believe it is proper for me to, er, serve you.”
“Really?” Michael drawled, giving Hope a heated glance before removing his hand. “Then please do, by all means.” Michael motioned to the tea set with the sweep of his hand, but it was clear that he was not just talking about the pouring of the hot beverage.
Blushing warmly, Hope ignored the innuendo. “How do you, ah, take it?”
Michael simply quirked his brow and smiled wickedly.
“Your tea, Lord Lichfield! How do you take your tea?!” Hope clarified loudly, feeling once again very overheated. “My goodness,” she muttered.
“Milk, no sugar,” Michael replied, softly adding, “please.”
…
Hope looked up quickly, somewhat startled by the way Michael had said “please.” Or perhaps it was her own reaction to the word that was so surprising. It was as if she felt the request all the way down to her toes. When she locked eyes with his, there was something in his gaze that took her breath away. She didn’t know quite what the look meant, but she was rather certain it had nothing to do with the way he liked his tea.
Taking a shaky breath, Hope lowered her eyes and proceeded to prepare them both a cup of the steaming brew. There was something comforting about the process, and by the time she had served them both and taken her first fortifying sip, Hope felt much more at sorts. She just needed to avoid looking directly at Michael and, judging by the pile of work in front of them, she felt sure that would be easy enough to manage. Or so she hoped.
Getting down to work, the two began sorting through all the data given to them. Splitting the work allowed them to move fairly quickly through the reports, but it was still a time-consuming process, and Hope didn’t realize just how much time had passed during their research until four young children ran into the study and announced that the evening meal was being served.
Hope and Michael both looked up, startled by the interruption. Hope’s eyes flew immediately to the mantle clock and saw that it was well past the time she and Michael were to be at Rose’s dinner party.
Jumping to her feet, Hope turned to Michael and said in dismay, “Oh Michael, we are late for the party!”
“Wh—?” Michael replied in disbelief, also rising to his feet and looking at the clock. When he saw that Hope
was indeed correct, he muttered, “Damn,” under his breath.
“Michael,” Hope admonished, looking at her younger siblings pointedly.
Flushing slightly, Michael said sheepishly, “Sorry.”
The four children giggled at seeing a grown man being reprimanded by their sister.
The oldest of the four looked at his sister and said with a scoff, “Oh Hope…it’s not as if we have never heard the word ‘damn’ before.”
“Timothy! I don’t care what you may have heard or not heard, you are not to use such language,” Hope scolded, her hands planted firmly on her hips. “It is not gentlemanly.”
Eying Michael curiously, Timothy asked, “Does that mean you are not a gentleman?” Then, before Michael even had a chance to respond, he turned to Hope and said, “And should you be entertaining a man that is not a gentleman?”
Opening her mouth to reply, Hope realized she wasn’t quite sure how to answer the boy’s inquiry. Her mouth snapping shut in irritation, Hope gave Michael a see-what-you-have-done look. It was his fault she was in this mess, after all.
Adopting a very serious mien, Michael said, “Even a gentleman makes a mistake every now and then, but one should not make a habit of it. And one should always apologize afterward. As a young gentleman yourself, as well as the oldest of your younger siblings, it is up to you to set the example of what a good gentleman—or gentlewoman—should be, don’t you think?”
Puffing up with boyish pride, he nodded in accordance before turning to Hope and declaring grandly, “Very well, Hope, I suppose it would be all right for you to continue to entertain, er—” A look of confusion came over Timothy’s face as he demanded of Michael, “Who are you, anyway?”
“Tim—!” Hope began, again horrified by her brother’s abominable behavior.
“No, no, Miss Stuckeley,” Michael interrupted. “Timothy is absolutely correct. We haven’t been properly introduced. I, my dear young Stuckeley, am Michael Ashmore, the Viscount Lichfield.”
Michael walked around the desk to offer his hand to the young boy. Duly impressed with Michael’s title and manner, Timothy straightened his posture and took the proffered hand gallantly and the two shook hands as men. Then, with an affected sniff, Timothy said, “Shall I tell Mother you will be joining us shortly?”
Still highly amused by the change in her brother, Hope replied, “I believe I will order a tray to be delivered here for myself and Lord Lichfield, but thank you.”
Timothy glanced at his new hero for confirmation, and only when Michael nodded his assent to the plan did the boy deign to leave the room.
Hope immediately turned to Michael and asked, “How did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Turn a perfectly rotten ten-year-old boy into a polite, albeit condescending, little man?”
Michael looked over to where the boy had been, as if expecting to find an answer there. Then he turned back toward Hope and shrugged. “When I was his age, all I wanted was to be treated like an adult, so I thought I would give that a try.”
“But he’s still just a boy,” Hope pointed out.
“I know that, and you know that, but he thinks he’s a man. Trust me,” Michael said.
Hope had to admit that what Michael had done worked, so who was she to argue? But really, what was wrong with staying a child for as long as possible? Being an adult was so much more confusing. Just look at her and Michael. She had convinced herself she was in love with him before she knew him, and now that she was getting to know him in earnest…she wasn’t sure what she felt. Though she was beginning to think she rather liked him.
Walking over to the bell-pull to ring for a servant, Hope said, “I gather you agree that it is too late to go to the dinner party now?”
“Yes, plus there is still so much to do here.”
“We were just beginning to make headway, weren’t we?” Hope said with a small smile. As much as things were awkward when they’d first sat down, the truth was they worked well together. Both anticipating the other’s needs, thoughts, impressions. It was…well…nice.
…
“Quite a bit of headway, I’d say,” Michael agreed, suddenly rather relieved they didn’t have to go to the dinner party. The truth was, he was rather enjoying his time with Hope. Not that he had expected anything else, but the way they worked together—so seemingly in tune with one another—surprised him. And, as they became more comfortable together, the better Michael was able to handle the woman’s positively lethal smiles. Lethal to his equilibrium, in any case.
“Then I will go ahead and have some food brought here, if there are no objections.”
“I didn’t have any objections when you said it just a moment ago, and nothing has happened in the interim to make me change my mind…yet,” Michael teased, walking back around the desk to where they were previously seated.
Hope grinned at him as he walked by, and Michael was so distracted he banged his hip into the corner of the desk quite hard. “Ouch,” he yelped, immediately stopping to rub his injury. So much for being able to handle the girl’s smile, Michael thought wryly.
“Michael!” Hope exclaimed, moving quickly to his side. “What did you do?”
“Nothing,” Michael replied with grimace. “I just hit my leg on the desk, that’s all.”
“Oh dear, that must hurt,” Hope said, reaching out to massage the sore muscle. “Here, let me help you.”
Jumping back the minute Hope’s hands touched his hip—so very near another part of his body—Michael barked out, “Ah, no, no…that’s all right. Thank you.”
“But—”
“No, really, it’s all right,” Michael assured her. Then, unable to bear the look of hurt on her face, he added, “Just…help me to my chair…and I will be fine.”
Apparently happy to be able to do something to help, Hope tucked her arm around Michael’s waist and led him to his chair. It was only a foot or two away, so really, Michael could have made it there on his own, but once Hope had her arm around him and he was able to put his arm around her…nothing could have induced Michael to let her go.
When he finally had no choice but to sit, he did so in such a way that he could keep his arm around Hope as long as possible. She felt so incredibly good to him. Soft and feminine and…perfect. Feeling himself start to harden, Michael wondered if giving into the urge to hold Hope had been such a good idea. Then she looked into his eyes and all Michael could think was, Yes, that was a damn good idea…and kissing her is absolutely another one.
When Hope’s gaze locked with Michael’s as she was straightening up from helping him to his chair, he realized just how close she was to him. Just a fraction of an inch and their lips would touch. Michael’s hungry eyes moved down to Hope’s mouth. As he watched, Hope’s tongue flicked out to moisten her lips, and Michael couldn’t help but groan as he moved in to taste the delicacy she was so unwittingly offering.
Just a whisper away, Michael heard the sound of footsteps coming in their direction. Hope apparently noticed them, too, for she jumped away from Michael like he was on fire (which wasn’t far from the truth) and gasped, “Rivers!”
Nodding jerkily, Michael shifted in his chair. He was exceedingly uncomfortable and suddenly very glad he was already seated. Walking in his current state would have been a, ah, challenge, to say the least.
Hope ran over to the doorway to greet her butler, who was laden with a large tray of food.
“Master Timothy told us the likely reason you were ringing, Miss. I hope you don’t mind me taking the liberty…?” Rivers said calmly, seemingly unaware of Hope’s distress.
“Oh no, Rivers. This is wonderful. Thank you,” Hope rushed to say, moving over to the desk and clearing a space for the tray. “Please set it here.”
“Very good, Miss.”
Hope fluttered around nervously as Rivers set the tray down and laid out the fare. When he was done, he bowed to Hope and Michael and left the room. Once he was gone, Hope began preparing a
plate for Michael and then herself. Then she poured them both something to drink. And finally, when there was nothing else for her to do, she looked around the room, somewhat lost.
“Hope,” Michael said with a loud sigh, “come sit down. I promise I won’t bite.”
Jumping at the sound of his voice and then laughing nervously, Hope edged slowly over to her chair and then sat down. Once seated, she scooted away as far from him as she could in the chair, all the while not looking at him directly.
Bother and damnation, Michael thought irritably. Why was the chit getting so riled up by a simple kiss? A kiss that didn’t even happen, for God’s sake.
Of course, it was entirely possible that Hope had never been kissed before. Probable, in fact, as he thought about it. There were some debutantes that were more forward than others and more than willing to indulge in a little peck or two with whomever interested them, but most girls had it drilled into them that kissing a man who was not your husband (and sometimes even kissing your husband, if done in public) was scandalous and a surefire way to find yourself ruined.
Taking her innocence into consideration, Michael decided to give Hope the space she needed…for now. Because, God as his witness, he would have to kiss the girl at some point in the near future. His very well-being depended upon it. Now that he had been so close to the taste of her, there was no way he could deny himself the final prize indefinitely. No way at all.
Chapter Nine
Sometimes you just have to follow your heart.
~The Duke of Lancaster
Once they had finished eating, Hope and Michael returned, with little preamble, to their research. Already they had confirmed that unusually large amounts of Consols and Omnium—two government stocks—had been sold the day of the hoax, most of which had only been purchased the week before. Once the stocks in question had been determined, all that was left to do was look for the men who had gained the most from the sale. Those would be the most likely suspects.
So far, they had compiled a list of four names between them. Especially surprising were two of the names on the list: Lord Cochrane, a man Michael said he knew as a well-known navel hero, and the Honorable Andrew Cochrane-Johnstone, Lord Cochrane’s uncle. Michael indicated that he did not know much about the uncle, but he and Hope both found it hard to believe that a man like Lord Cochrane would play a part in such a scheme.
Tempting Her Reluctant Viscount (Entangled Scandalous) Page 6
