by Julia London
Nevertheless, Grif bent over Miss Lucy’s hand and smiled into her amber eyes.
“May I introduce you to Mr. Effington,” she said, nodding politely in the direction of the man on the divan.
Grif and Effington exchanged a curt nod.
“And Mr. Lockhart,” she said, nodding to the man at the window.
Lockhart! His English cousin. Grif stared at the man—he was so shocked that, for a fraction of a moment, he wasn’t certain what to do.
“Ardencaple, is it?” Lockhart said, strolling across the room, his eyes narrowed slightly.
“Aye. Pleasure to make yer acquaintance, Mr. Lockhart,” Grif said, quickly recovering, and extended his hand. Lockhart took his hand, peering at Grif so intently that he might have, in another circumstance, taken offense, but he wisely stepped away from him and turned a bright smile to Miss Lucy, who had resumed her perch on the edge of the chair.
“Please, my lord, be seated,” she invited him, gesturing to the chair next to her. Grif flipped the tails of his coat and sat.
“Did you enjoy the Darlington ball?”
“I did indeed,” he said with a broad smile.
“I so enjoy dancing,” she said, and as Grif wasn’t certain what to say to that, he merely nodded. “Do you enjoy dancing?” she asked.
“I do,” he said honestly. “I hope to demonstrate how very much at first opportunity, if ye’ll allow it.”
Miss Lucy smiled at that, but Grif’s cousin sneered and strolled back to the window.
“I beg your pardon, Miss Lucy, but I must take my leave,” Mr. Effington said, coming across the room to bow over her hand. “Thank you for allowing me to call.”
“Oh, but thank you for calling, Mr. Effington. Good day.”
He smiled, glanced up at the others. “Good day to you all,” he said, and strode toward the door, which a footman quickly opened, then just as quickly shut behind him.
“Lord Ardencaple,” Miss Lucy said, drawing his attention back to her as she smoothed the lap of her gown. “How do you find the weather today?”
What was the English fascination with the weather? She’d asked after his impression of the weather last night as well. Did the lass aspire to some sort of meteorological occupation? “Rather pleasant,” he said. “The sun is shining.” As if that weren’t obvious from the way it was streaming into the room, and if he had any doubts as to how ridiculous he sounded, he caught Lockhart in a slight roll of his eyes.
“Yes,” Lucy said, clasping her hands again. “It is shining, and quite brightly on such an early spring day. I had a walkabout earlier, and it felt quite warm.”
“Did it?” Lockhart asked. “But you asked for my cape, as if you were chilled.”
“Yes, and you were quite generous with it, Mr. Lockhart,” Miss Lucy said, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. “But then you will also recall that I returned it to you after a time, as I said I was warm.”
Lockhart smiled and nodded his recall; Grif wished to high heaven the man would hurry along and take his leave so that he might have a moment with Miss Lucy.
“Does it become very warm in Scotland, my lord? It seems so frightfully… north.”
“Aye, there are days of warmth,” he said. “But I’d wager not as many days as ye enjoy in London.”
“Ah, time has escaped me,” Lockhart said, pulling a timepiece from his pocket. “I’m afraid I must be going. You will have to carry on your delightfully riveting conversation about the weather without me.”
Diah, but Grif would have liked to put a fist in the middle of that contemptible smile. It was true what he’d always heard—the English Lockharts were a sorry, despicable lot.
Grif did not bother to return Lockhart’s cold smile as Lockhart strode across the room to Miss Lucy, who stood (which she had not done for poor Effington) and extended her hand to Lockhart. He took it, bowed deep, kissing her knuckles and lingering there for a moment before finally lifting his head. “I shall wish you a lovely day.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Lockhart dropped her hand and looked at Grif, who had come to his feet. Grif was slightly taller than his cousin, his shoulders broader, and, he thought a little smugly, decidedly younger. Lockhart bobbed his head, muttered, “Ardencaple,” and moved for the door without waiting for a reply.
Miss Lucy waited until the footman had closed the door behind him before she very carefully resumed her seat and once again smoothed the lap of her gown.
Grif sat, too. “I see that ye are quite the favorite lass, what with all yer gentlemen callers,” he remarked pleasantly. “’Tis enough to make a man a wee bit jealous.”
“Are you jealous, my lord?”
“Aye,” he said, leaning forward. “I’m jealous that I wasna there when ye needed a cloak. I’m jealous that another gentleman was allowed the favor of yer company. I should very much like to have a walkabout with ye, Miss Lucy.”
“Would you indeed?” she asked, smiling coyly. “Perhaps one day I might be so inclined.”
“Ah, now ye’ve given me a ray of hope, ye have,” he said, and sat forward a little farther as he stole a glimpse at the chaperone, and with his hand, brushed Lucy’s knee. “When might I have that walkabout, do ye suppose?”
She smiled at his hand still on her knee. “Why, Lord Ardencaple,” she murmured, lifting her amber gaze to his. “I couldn’t rightly say—so much depends on the weather after all.” And with a seductive smile, she brushed her fingers across his.
“Miss Lucy, I beg your pardon, but it is time for your music lesson,” the chaperone suddenly said.
Lucy moved her hand from Grif’s and rose gracefully. “I thank you for calling, my lord.”
“But… I’ve only just arrived!” Grif protested, gaining his feet.
“Would you make me tardy for my music lesson?” she asked, and gave him a sunny smile. “Good day, my lord!” She dipped a small curtsey and walked past him, out the door.
While Grif was trying to make sense of Miss Lucy Addison, Miss Anna Addison was trying to make sense of Drake Lockhart.
She had intercepted him as he had emerged from the sitting room, having wrenched the names of Lucy’s callers from the family’s butler: Lockhart, Effington, and Ardencaple.
At the mention of Drake, Anna hid herself in the salon just before the foyer, the door cracked so she could watch who came and went from the sitting room where Lucy held court.
She had waited for what seemed an eternity before she saw Effington come out, followed by Drake several minutes later. As he strode down the corridor, she slipped out of the salon, stood with her back to the silk-covered wall just before the corridor opened into the cavernous round foyer.
Surprise washed over Drake’s face when he saw her there, but then a smile spread his lips. “Miss Addison, what a pleasure,” he said instantly, reaching for her hand.
Anna quickly gave it to him. “Mr. Lockhart, I was not aware you had called on us.”
One brow arched high across the other and his thumb caressed the bare knuckles of her hand. “Indeed? Your butler did not inform you I had come to pay my respects to the prettiest pair of sisters in all of London?”
“Why, no,” she said, twisting her hand in his so that their palms were touching. “He did not say you had called on anyone but Lucy.”
Lockhart smiled, glanced surreptitiously into the foyer, then stepped closer to Anna, so that she had to tip her head back to see his face. “I shall have a cross word with him then, for depriving me of your company,” he said, his fingers skating up her wrist, and inclined his head toward her, so that his lips were on her temple. “How lovely you smell, Anna.”
His compliment sent a delicious shiver through her, and she boldly lifted her face so that her lips were only inches from his. “Indeed?”
“Indeed,” he said softly, and she knew, she could feel, that he was just a fraction of a moment away from kissing her… but with an enigmatic smile, Lockhart stepped away from her.
/> “Regretfully, I’ve a previous engagement and must take my leave,” he said, and with a polite nod, walked on, into the foyer.
Her heart pounding, Anna heard him walk across the marble entry and darted across the corridor. Now she could hear him speak to the footman, and with her body pressed against the wall, she leaned to her left to have a peek around the corner.
“Is he gone, then?”
The sound of the Scot’s whispered voice caused her to shriek softly and clamp a hand over her heart as she whirled about. “Lord Ardencaple!” she cried. “You frightened me!”
Ardencaple laughed, his teeth snowy white. “I certainly did no’ mean to frighten ye so, Miss Addison. I rather thought ye heard me… but I suppose yer attention was elsewhere, eh?” he asked with a sly wink.
Anna’s face flamed—had he seen her with Drake? This was exactly the sort of thing that sent her mother into fits. She self-consciously smoothed her damp palms against her sides before folding her arms defensively beneath her bosom and glaring at the Scot… handsome Scot, actually, what with his dark wavy hair and lovely green eyes. And his lips… dear God, those lips had her heart pounding all over again.
Her hand drifted up to her throat. “I see that you have found your way around London’s sitting rooms well enough.”
Ardencaple lifted an amused brow. “I suppose I have.”
She was unable to take her gaze from his lips. “I should think, in fact, that likely you’ve found your way to the sitting rooms of all the debutantes.”
His eyes filled with something akin to mirth. “No’ as many as ye might think, Miss Addison. I’ve left one or two of the lassies for the good English gentlemen.”
“How very kind of you. I’m certain they shall all be indebted to your largesse.”
He chuckled as his gaze lazily drifted the length of her, leaving a peculiar trail of warmth in her. Unnerved by it, Anna blurted, “How ever shall you choose, my lord? There are so many debutantes to swoon over you.”
His smiled deepened. “All but one, apparently.”
There was something very intent about his green eyes, and Anna abruptly pushed away from the wall, saying indifferently, “Oh, my lord, you should not concern yourself with me…” She strolled into the middle of the foyer, and over her shoulder added, “I assure you I am quite content to let the young ladies brawl for your attentions.”
Ardencaple laughed at that and followed her into the foyer. “How very considerate of ye, Miss Addison. Yet I confess I’d no’ mind another fair lass in the thick of the brawl. The more the merrier, as they say, and I should think it would be quite… entertaining to see ye brawl.”
She gave him a pert toss of her head, looked up at a painting of her grandfather, sighing as if she heard that sort of thing all the time. “I am hardly affected by your attempts to charm me, my lord—there’s enough gentlemanly charm in Mayfair to suffocate us all. I confine my interests to academics.”
“Do ye now?” he asked, startling her with his nearness. He was standing at her back, so close that she could feel his body behind her. “And under which course of study would ye classify Mr. Lockhart?”
Of all the nerve! Anna shot him a frown over her shoulder. “Mr. Lockhart is a gentleman,” she said coolly.
“Of course he is,” Ardencaple amicably agreed. “And what is it ye study besides the gentleman Mr. Lockhart?”
“As a matter of fact,” she said, turning round to face him. “You might be surprised to know that I am a student of Scotland.”
“Are ye indeed?” he asked, his brows lifted in surprise.
“I am. It seems a rather charming place.”
“Oh aye, she is that.”
“And where would the seat of your earldom be, Lord Ardencaple?”
Ardencaple said nothing at first, but his wolfish smile slowly faded. “Near the foot of the Highlands.”
“The foot… would that put it somewhere near Stirling?” she asked curiously.
With a slight frown, he looked at her closely. “Are ye familiar with the geography of Scotland, Miss Addison?”
“Yes…a bit,” she said, even more curious about his sudden change in demeanor.
“Then ye know the Highlands are quite large with many small glens and rivers and lochs.”
“So I’ve surmised.”
“Then ye would have likewise surmised it’s near to impossible to describe where everything lies, aye?”
Anna blinked, confused. “Do you mean to say that you can’t describe where your seat is?”
His reaction to that question was to suddenly and inexplicably reach for her hand and bring it to his lips. “No’ at all. I would describe it just as I did—near the foot of the Highlands. To explain any further would require a map of sorts, and ye are far too pretty to worry with it,” he said, and kissed her knuckles, his lips warm and soft on her skin. “Now, then, if ye will kindly give me leave, I should best be on me way,” he said, and dropping her hand, he turned and walked to the opposite end of the foyer and the entry.
Confused and a little perturbed, Anna watched him go, wondering if he had just insulted her intelligence. Did he think her incapable of grasping the simplest tenets of geography? That she couldn’t think in the abstract?
As the footman opened the door, Ardencaple turned, gave her a strangely cool smile, and stepped outside.
Anna instantly whirled about and marched to the curving staircase leading to the floors above.
Frankly, she didn’t need some dandy Scottish earl to tell her where the seat of Ardencaple might be—she had her books and her atlas and she had managed quite well without him until now, thank you. The next time she saw Lord Ardencaple, perhaps she’d explain to him where his seat was.
In her room, Anna pulled out the heavy atlas of Britain from her vanity, flipped the thick pages until she found Scotland, and began to scour the pages for Ardencaple. She found nothing like Ardencaple at all, which really didn’t surprise her. Lots of peer names had changed over the centuries.
A trip to her father’s library, and Anna returned to her rooms with the voluminous Debrett’s Correct Peerage and began a painstaking search for Ardencaple.
After an hour or more, she found it. Her eyes widened, and she squinted at the page, read it again, using her finger to trace every word to make sure that she did not miss anything. And when she had finished, she slowly sat back and stared blindly at the wall in front of her.
There was no earldom of Ardencaple! At least, there hadn’t been since the Ardencaple title and lands had been assumed by the duke of Argyll decades ago. Which meant that Lord Ardencaple was…some sort of fraud?
Now that was an intriguing notion, Anna thought as a smile crossed her lips.
Six
F irst the remark about Liam, and now the questions about Ardencaple—Miss Addison was beginning to vex Grif.
As he strode away from Whittington House, he had the distinctly disquieting feeling that the lass knew too much. Or something, at least. Or perhaps she simply had the ability to unnerve him with too many questions.
He’d have to be more astute in avoiding her, wouldn’t he?
Grif walked on, tipping his hat and nodding at the passersby as he strolled through Mayfair and north across Oxford.
As he turned onto Cavendish Street, he noticed, much to his chagrin, that Lady Worthall was striding toward him with that insufferable little ankle-biting dog jumping alongside her. Lady Worthall was their intrusive neighbor, who had, apparently, appointed herself Grand Inquisitor. She’d been the first to arrive at their door to review the letters of introduction and was constantly walking up and down the street, peering up at their windows, and God forbid she catch one of them in the street.
“Lord Ardencaple!” she trilled loudly from half a block away.
“Good evening, Lady Worthall,” Grif said, clicking his heels and bowing curtly as she sailed, not unlike a royal barge, to a halt in front of him.
“Been abroad, have you?” sh
e asked, peering up at him as she yanked the leash of her dog, Sirius, who yelped with each yank. “How fortuitous to encounter you here! I’ve just been delivered a letter from Lady Dalkeith.”
Grif’s heart stopped beating for a moment—Lady Dalkeith was Hugh’s grandmother, from whom they had filched the house. “Did ye indeed? I trust she is well, then?”
“Oh, quite well,” Lady Worthall exclaimed. “French air agrees with her, I think. But she’s determined to come home to England, and avowed in her letter to me that she’d come straightaway this autumn. That’s months away!”
“So late in the year, is it no’?” Grif suggested.
“Indeed it is,” the woman said, peering at Grif suspiciously. “I thought it rather odd that Lady Dalkeith did not mention her houseguests in her letter. One would think she would encourage her old friend to welcome her guests in her stead and until her return, wouldn’t one?”
Ah, but he knew what the old battle-ax was about and smiled charmingly. “One would think it, aye. But then again, Lady Dalkeith would no’ yet know that we’ve arrived a wee bit early, would she, then?” he asked. “And therefore, any such encouragement would come in her next letter, would it no’?”
Lady Worthall’s pudgy face scrunched up in confusion.
“Good evening, Lady Worthall,” he said, and, tipping his hat, he walked on before she could question him further. He did not look back, walked directly to the house, jogged up the steps, and quickly stepped inside. Only then did he release his breath and have a look out the small portal window to see if she’d followed him.
Dudley joined him there, trying to peer over his shoulder. “Worthall,” Grif said gruffly. “God blind me, but that old woman is a meddlesome bother!”
“There’s bound to be some talk, sir,” a stoic Dudley said as he calmly held out his hands for Grif’s gloves and hat. “We canna avoid it.”
