The Viscount's Wicked Ways

by Anne Mallory

As they approached the sideboard, Patience narrowed her eyes at Thomas. What was going on? Sure, they had declared a truce, but—

  “Buttery, warm, fragrant.” His voice dropped. “You hold them in your hand and marvel at how soft they feel. Once you savor the delights, you yearn to make the experience last longer. They slide right across your tongue.”

  He held a scone to his mouth. Patience stared openmouthed and checked behind them, thankful for the large room, as no one at the table seemed to have heard or witnessed his dramatics.

  “Lord Blackfield, please keep your food fetishes to yourself.”

  He breathed into her ear. “As long as I can keep my Patience fetish…”

  She blushed, quickly piled a few items on her plate, and managed to move to the table and seat herself without dropping anything.

  There was companionable silence while everyone ate and read the papers, but Thomas spoke up soon afterward.

  “How many men is your father sending today?”

  All heads turned toward him. He had not shown one ounce of curiosity about their activities the entire time they had been there. Suddenly he was asking a question delivered in a fairly good-natured manner. Patience looked at the reactions around the table. John’s brows were knit, Caroline’s were raised in surprise, Mrs. Tecking’s were suspicious, and Samuel seemed amused. Mr. Tecking, well, he seemed oblivious. Probably didn’t even hear the statement, too busy thinking about the collection.

  “With the size of the collection, probably five or six men.”

  “How did you know the number of pieces in the collection?”

  “Caroline provided the approximate information before we arrived. I also posted a note to my father the day after we began.”

  Thomas glanced at Caroline. “I didn’t know you had gone through George’s collections.”

  Caroline looked at her plate. “How could I not know its contents? It was all George talked about.”

  A cloud passed momentarily over Thomas’s face before the scowl smoothed into his prior pleasant facade. “Of course.”

  A servant entered the dining hall and paused next to Patience. “Miss Harrington, the carts have arrived.”

  Patience thanked him and rose. Surprisingly, everyone else at the table rose to leave as well, including Thomas.

  They trooped out to the drive to see two carts and six men. Patience was delighted to see Jeremy White unlatching the back of one cart.

  “Jeremy!”

  He turned and grinned. “Miss Harrington. Good to see you.”

  She walked to him, barely refraining from skipping. She had known Jeremy a long time. He was like a member of the family.

  “Ready to work?” she teased. “We arranged the pieces to give you the maximum amount of weight and size.”

  He grinned. “I’m sure you did.”

  Patience turned to introduce the men and noticed that Thomas’s eyes were narrowed on Jeremy. Jeremy seemed to be sizing up Thomas as well, and when they shook hands, both hands turned white. She shook her head.

  Patience directed the men to the boxes, and one by one they began carefully hauling artifacts to the carts. The painstaking task of carting the heavy crates took a few hours, and by the time everything was loaded and secured, they were all tired.

  Patience was happy to hear from Jeremy that her father was doing well and progress was being made with Parliament. The men finally bid farewell, thanking Thomas’s staff for the lunches that had been packed after the men had announced they would not be staying.

  Patience gave Jeremy a message for her father and waved as the carts lumbered down the drive. The men would return in a week to gather the second load, and a week after that, if all things went well, to take the last. Two weeks more, and the job should be finished.

  Throwing off a sudden strange burst of melancholy, Patience turned to see Thomas leaning against the door, a basket clasped in his hands. She sent him an inquiring gaze, and he lifted the basket.

  “Picnic lunch. The kitchen staff made an extra one, and I thought you might wish to join me down by the lake. I have a few questions about the collection.”

  She brushed the hair from her eyes. “Fine. Would you like me to invite the others?”

  He smirked. “No.”

  She quirked an eyebrow.

  “You are the head of the venture, I only wish to ask you. Besides, I have some questions about your team that I would rather not discuss in their presence.”

  She nodded and stepped past him and into the entrance hall. “When shall we meet?”

  “An hour? I know you have things to finish. I will fetch you from your cataloging room.”

  She checked the stately clock in the entrance hall and nodded.

  Fifty-five minutes later she was chewing the nails on her right hand and checking the small mantel clock for the twentieth time.

  “Patience! I’ve asked you three times now how you want these blunderbusses labeled.”

  She spun around and sent John, who was looking exasperated, an apologetic glance.

  “Let’s just do them the same way as the bayonets, yes?”

  “Fine. But you could have told me that when I asked ten minutes ago.”

  “My apologies, John. My mind was elsewhere.”

  He cocked a brow. “Or on someone else?”

  “Lord Blackfield wants to discuss our plans for the next two weeks. We are having lunch together.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Do you wish me to join you?”

  “No, I will be fine.”

  “Patience—”

  “John, it’s fine. Really.”

  A voice interrupted their conversation. “Glad to hear it.”

  Patience spun to see Thomas lounging in the doorway. She wondered if he practiced the gesture.

  “Lord Blackfield.”

  “Miss Harrington. Mr. Fenton.”

  She wrung her hands, a bit flustered. “Right. I will see you later, John. Cataloging the blunderbusses the same way as the bayonets sounds like the best plan.”

  John nodded, not taking his eyes off Thomas.

  Patience slipped between Thomas and the door, forcing him to follow as she strode down the hall. He caught up to her.

  “Eager to be alone with me?”

  She snorted. “Of course I am, my lord.”

  “I thought you were going to call me ‘Thomas’?”

  “Yes, well I thought you would like ‘my lord’ better than the alternative that just came to mind.”

  “My dear Patience, what vulgar thoughts circulate in that head of yours?”

  He chuckled at her scowl as they descended the stairs. A servant was waiting for them with a basket. The day was sunny and warm, and Patience could see a blanket spread beneath a willow near the edge of the lake. Two other baskets were open beside the blanket, and place settings were already laid out.

  Patience looked pointedly at the basket in Thomas’s hands. He gave her a cheeky grin. “Appearances. Can’t let you go thinking I didn’t do this myself.”

  She couldn’t restrain an answering smile, and the mood was sufficiently light as they arranged themselves on the blanket and loaded their plates. Cold chicken, fruit, bread, and cheese were the main fare, and what looked like apple tortes were hiding in the bottom of one of the baskets.

  Thomas uncorked the wine and poured it into two goblets. “I heard you say something about rifles to Mr. Fenton. Is he your firearms expert?”

  “Weapons expert.”

  “Ah, so he handles other weapons as well.”

  She nodded. “His specialty is firearms, but he also has an interest in blades, especially medieval daggers. They comprise the most extensive part of your uncle’s weaponry collection; John deals mostly with those, although he has waxed poetic over a number of your uncle’s firearms as well.”

  “Does Mr. Fenton have interest in modern and experimental firearms also? I know many collectors have both.”

  Patience thought for a second. “I don’t know. Perhap
s. Weaponry is not on my list of interests, so John and I don’t discuss them much.”

  Thomas appeared to consider her response. “What about the other two?”

  “Mrs. Tecking is our scribe. Mr. Tecking is obsessed by anything Roman.”

  “Ah yes, obsession, the mainstay of a collector.”

  Patience took a bite of her chicken, determined to ignore his taunts. It was too nice a day.

  “And Mr. White? What part does he play in your father’s business?”

  “Jeremy is in charge of shipping.”

  Thomas’s eyes gleamed. “Busy with shipping lately?”

  She sent him a withering glance, not wanting to repeat the French discussion. “I would hope so.”

  “What does the museum plan to do with Uncle George’s collection?”

  She looked at Thomas as if he had asked why the grass was green. “Put it on display.”

  He shrugged. “Are there people other than collectors who would care to view his collections?”

  “Of course! This is history. We want to make the items available for everyone to see.”

  “Most people would be concerned with making money.”

  She frowned. “Yes, well, there is nothing wrong with making money, but educating the public will, I hope, make our society better.”

  He cast her a disparaging look. His eyebrows looked ready to disappear into his hairline. “You think that displaying a collection of dusty artifacts will make our society better?”

  Her back straightened. “I know it will. You have to give people access to resources, or else society will always be about those who already have the power.”

  “Good for the people in power,” he pointed out.

  “Yes, but society becomes stagnant and dull in that case. Revolution is inevitable.”

  Thomas smiled, a real smile. “You are a veritable bluestocking, Patience.”

  She bristled. “I know that my position is not welcome in most drawing rooms, although it may have taken me a few conversations to realize that.”

  His eyes sparkled, and he leaned forward to refill her glass. “Well, don’t stop on behalf of mine. My drawing room hasn’t seen such spirited discourse in a long time.”

  She swirled her glass and looked across the water. “Why do you hate antiquarians?”

  His smile slipped, but the abrasive shield he had been erecting was not present. “My uncle was obsessed, and so were his friends. His obsession led to unforgivable actions.”

  Before she could ask more, he switched the focus back to her. “How did you get into antiquities?”

  Let him keep his secrets for now. “My father. My mother died when I was very young, and my father cared for me. We lived a pretty solitary existence in the country, and I devoured books, manuscripts, and anything else I could get my hands on.” She shrugged. “I was enchanted by the tales of ages past. It was both a blessing and a curse when I went to London. I thought everyone had similar interests.”

  She couldn’t keep away the chill of loneliness, and had a bad feeling it showed on her face. She quickly replaced it with determination.

  “Society wasn’t what I expected. And neither was I what they expected. I quickly discovered the men and women in society look in disfavor on those who are different.”

  Thomas laid his hand over hers and rubbed it in a soothing motion.

  She smiled at him, warmed by the gesture. “It’s all right. I love my dusty tomes more than I care what they think. And my father’s opinion means more to me than any hundred of theirs.”

  His gesture appeared unfeigned, and although she was surprised by its gift, she appreciated his silent support. Something made her look back toward the castle, and she saw a drape pulled back. It was dropped as soon as she looked.

  Patience tried counting windows to determine the room, but there were too many. It could have been anyone from John or one of the Teckings to a random servant cleaning a room. Still, a shiver passed over her.

  Thomas pulled her hand into his lap and rubbed it with both hands, lightly pulling each finger from root to tip. She nearly sighed in pleasure, it felt so heavenly. A light breeze rippled through the tree, making the contentment complete.

  And then he yanked his hands away, leaving her bereft of contact and wondering what she had done wrong. She wasn’t left wondering long when he sneezed. Loudly.

  A string of curses emerged from his mouth, and her chin dropped when he started looking around the tree. The man had gone mad. Maybe he really did keep monsters.

  He started muttering and she heard the words “damn” and “weedy flowers.”

  “Are you bothered by the flowers?”

  He pointed at an offending stalk that was innocently resting against the far side of the tree. Some of its fluffy heads had been blown onto their blanket with the breeze.

  She smiled at his offended expression. “Would you like me to remove it?”

  He sneezed again. “No.” Sneeze. “Too late.”

  She hid a smile and started placing the food into the baskets. He stopped her, a mutinous glance on his face. His eyes were a bit puffy.

  She took sympathy on him. “Is there anything I can do?”

  A shout in the distance shifted their attention to the buildings along the tree line. A man was frantically motioning to Thomas.

  Thomas’s mouth pulled tight, but he stood. “Forgive me. Can you—”

  “I’ll be fine, go ahead.”

  He nodded and started walking toward the man. She stopped him.

  “Thank you for lunch.”

  He held her gaze for a long second, and a small smile graced his features. “See you tonight.”

  And with that he was off. Two servants popped out of nowhere to clean up, and Patience had to wonder where they had been hidden.

  She took a final glance toward the outbuildings as she trekked back toward the castle. Both Thomas and the man were staring at her while they talked. A shiver similar to the one she had felt when looking at the castle window traversed her spine.

  She didn’t relax until she was safely inside the castle.

  Chapter 12

  Thomas watched Patience disappear into the castle, and turned back to his worker. “What is wrong, Kenneth?”

  Kenneth pulled a shaky hand through his thinning hair. “We had another attempt.”

  Thomas fought to stay calm. “Where?”

  “The Hastings Building again.”

  “New traps were set, I assume? And no one but those needing entrance today were told what they were?”

  He nodded. “Yes, and the attempt was thwarted again.”

  “Good. Walk with me.” Thomas headed toward the brown buildings. “The spy will gain entrance eventually. Are the other precautions in place?”

  “Yes, my lord. Escape routes have been set up, as well as decoy materials.”

  “I’m sure that has made experimenting more difficult.”

  “A bit, but we all agree it is well worth it.”

  “The Monster Project will be ready on schedule?”

  “Yes, even with the delays we built in enough time.”

  Thomas grimaced. “If the other governments catch wind, it may be more than just the French we have to deal with.”

  “We had word from our contact in the Foreign Office. He is setting it up so that when we are ready to loose the monster our government will be first in line. He even mentioned funding.”

  Thomas frowned and picked up his pace. “We don’t need blasted funding. We need reassurances as to what they will do with it. I’ve had my reservations about this project since its inception.”

  “I know.” Kenneth tried for a soothing tone, but it just wasn’t a trait that sat well on the heavy and gruff man. “But it’s as well that you let the mad surgeon have his pet project. He will continue to be an asset afterward. If you hadn’t let him…”

  Kenneth let the sentence drag, and Thomas gave an answering nod. Joseph, the man whom the other workers dubbed the mad
surgeon, likely would have gone elsewhere to see his dream completed. And the monster in the wrong hands…

  Secretly, Thomas didn’t think there was such a thing as the right hands for this project; but as a scientist himself, he understood the desire for innovation. As a leader he had a responsibility to make sure that the innovation did no harm. The latter was what kept him awake at night.

  “Your handling of this problem continues to impress me, Kenneth. Be sure to set up something for the men soon. Talk to Meg or Caroline if you need anything.”

  He had full faith in his housekeeper and his aunt’s ability to take care of anything.

  “I will. We’ve all been under a lot of pressure. It will be good for the men to relax and celebrate.”

  They entered the Hastings Building, and a number of men stepped forward to make their reports. Thomas motioned them to the meeting room and turned to Kenneth and Keith, who had just joined them.

  “I only have time for a brief meeting. Can we complete it in half an hour?”

  Both men nodded.

  “Keith, any news on the intruder?”

  “No, but we did find a piece of fabric in one of the closets. Looks like a piece of silk from a dress.”

  Thomas sighed. He thought of how the conversation would go. “Patience, what were you doing in the closet?” “Looking for antique dresses, Lord Blackfield.”

  He sighed again. “Anything else?”

  “Just some footprints outside. The men are working on them. How about you? How is the investigation going?”

  Thomas restrained another sigh. “I hope to have something by the end of the week. Keep working on the servants.”

  Keith and Kenneth both nodded. They were courting maids in the castle who kept them informed of the latest news.

  Thomas tapped his foot. If only the lady he was “courting” would do the same. He might even be able to forgive her spying if she would.

  Patience put down her tools and sighed. It had taken her twice as long as usual to complete her work. Her mind kept straying to Thomas, the strange men wandering the estate, the buildings, the explosion, and the picnic. Thomas had taken her on a picnic. A picnic. It just didn’t fit.

  Of course, he had said it was to discuss the future of the Ashe collection, but Thomas had seemed more interested in other things. If she harbored the secret fantasies of the silly young debutantes, she would almost think he was courting her.