“It would appear I’m not the only one here this week who takes umbrage with your presence. Why not just tell me what I need to know, and then I can forget you just as easily.” Lindsey took the deck of cards up and gathered those still strewn across the tabletop. He waited in silence, the snap and clip of shuffling the only intrusive sound. Best to keep his hands busy so they didn’t find a way into Powell’s cravat again.
“It’s always about you, isn’t it?” Powell leaned back, his arms dropped casually to his sides. “I suppose a pretentious attitude is expected when one bears a lofty title.”
“Is that it? You begrudge me my heritage? Or is it every member of the aristocracy? You’ve come to the wrong house party then. Though not so much that you wouldn’t fill your pockets with our coins.”
“Only you, Lindsey.” Powell shot forward to lean across the table as his voice sank low and lethal in direct contrast to his actions. “You’re a thief in kind to the late earl.”
Had Lindsey harbored any fondness for his father he might have taken offense at Powell’s insult to the deceased, but it was more the animosity with which he’d spoken the words than the meaning to be found within them. What caused the man to hold such anger? Had his father double-crossed and trapped Powell too? Perhaps they were alike in extraordinary circumstance.
“Have you an issue with my father?”
“Your father.” Powell reclined against the seatback, his breath released in a long solemn exhale. “Your father?”
Lindsey replaced the cards on the table and waited. It would be no use seeking information concerning the Decima if he couldn’t have a civilized conversation with Powell first.
“Yes.” Lindsey didn’t bother to suppress a wry quirk of his lips. “Believe me, Powell, if you despise the man, we have more in common than might suit your pleasure.” He cut the deck in half and then stacked it again. A familiar feeling of restlessness rolled through him, his nerves on edge. Silence stretched and along with it, tension grew. “My father and I are completely different men.” He wouldn’t offer more. Instead he picked up the cards and dealt their first hand.
“I doubt that.” Powell hesitated, but then a sharpness entered his eyes and he swiped the cards aside. “Your father ruined my life.”
Lindsey forced an attitude of indifference, though his mind spun with curiosity. “My father was ruthless and unkind. I hadn’t spoken to him in years, and upon his death he has continued to complicate my life. I may be more sympathetic to your cause then you realize.”
“Unlikely, that.” Powell exhaled and collected the cards with reluctance.
“Why don’t you enlighten me.” Lindsey threw away a five of spades and chose the top card from the deck. All this conversation wasn’t getting him any closer to locating the Decima, and while learning of his father’s involvements might enrich his heritage, Lindsey preferred a more economic path to the matter at hand.
“You made it clear in the garden that you’re searching for a specific painting.”
“I am.”
“The Decima.” Powell tossed his cards to the table and leaned back in his chair, seemingly done with the pretense of amiable wagering. “I may know of its whereabouts.”
“You have it?” Lindsey tamped down a lick of temper. “You stole it. You stole it from my father.”
“Whose father? My father.” Powell chuckled, but the sound held no humor. “My father showed me the painting years ago, when I had no idea the knowledge would someday benefit me. But I remembered. Like I remembered everything. All the times I wished to see him and he wasn’t there. All the arguments he had with my mother. Or the convenient notion that I could be easily appeased with coin instead of a relationship.”
Lindsey waited, though the disturbing list of facts Powell uttered were beginning to assemble into a disappointing conclusion.
“I, too, fell out of favor with my father. Like you, I hadn’t spoken to him in many years. But when I reached adulthood, I realized I wanted more from life. I wanted what should be rightly mine, and I recently learned he wanted that too.”
“You’re talking in riddles, Powell. That painting rightfully belongs to me. I’m the heir. I’m the Earl of Lindsey now, and your father took something that rightfully belongs to my heritage.” Frustration and anger made his words come out in a harsh whisper.
Powell laughed. Loud deep guffaws that held sharp humor when they’d only discussed hardship and disappointment. It took a minute for him to recompose his staid demeanor, the angry glint of determination clearly visible in his eyes.
“Yes, you’re Lindsey now.” Powell shook his head slowly, as if disbelieving his own words. “But your father stole from me.”
Lindsey eyed him, his mind at work on a puzzle that still missed important facts.
“Your father stole my childhood. He robbed my mother of happiness as she pined away in wait for the sound of carriage wheels on the gravel drive, her prospects and future fading more each day. He showed us no kindness and neglected his bastard son in deference to his rightful heir. You. You with every advantage at your fingertips.”
“You are my brother.” Lindsey said the words slowly, allowing every last piece to click into place.
“Half brother. Bastard brother,” Powell scoffed. “I was a constant reminder of his secret and thereby best left to the darkness, but the old man is dead now and I have my own business to conduct.”
“I need that painting.”
Powell eyed him. “Why don’t you ask our father where it is?”
“I’ve no patience for games.”
“Just because he’s dead doesn’t mean he can’t give you answers.” Powell held his stare without blinking.
His comment brought with it a long pause until Lindsey pushed on. “You said yourself you’ve never received your rightful due. You want wealth. Name your price and I’ll compensate you handsomely for the Decima.”
“It’s just one piece, when our father possessed so much more. What difference does it make? I have my own interests to tend to.”
“I need that painting.” Lindsey stood, his restlessness getting the best of him. “You took what doesn’t belong to you, Powell.”
“I don’t have your precious painting. I whispered in the right ears so word would get back to you. This is what I wanted.” Powell splayed his fingers and gestured in a sweep of his arm. “For you to realize you have a bastard brother. One who isn’t very good at staying quiet or following rules. One who is now in your life.”
“My patience is wearing thin. Either you have the Decima or you don’t, and if you do, Powell, you took what’s not yours. It belongs to me.”
“Our father took what didn’t belong to him. Have a care, Lindsey. You wouldn’t want your father’s indiscretions whispered to those who enjoy sharing tawdry gossip. You’ve only just assumed the title. Pity it would become tarnished so quickly. A bastard is supposed to hide his shame and stay quietly hidden in the shadows, but you won’t find I’m apt to do that.”
“This isn’t a game.” A muscle ticked in his jaw as he clenched his teeth. “You’re behaving like a spiteful child. We have more in common than you can possibly imagine.”
“And to whom should I assign the blame?” Powell shoved from the table and stood, a malevolent glint in his eyes. “I never had a proper father figure to teach me any manners, did I?”
Refusing to dignify Powell’s display and too aware they’d drawn the attention of guests around the periphery, Lindsey strode from the room without another word.
* * * *
Caroline paced at the foot of the bed, her heart and head in argument. With a shuddered sigh, she returned her eyes to the mahogany bracket clock on the mantelpiece. Had Lindsey insinuated she should meet him in Lord Henley’s study at midnight? She wanted to believe it true even though it was unthinkable. An unchaperoned lady couldn’t go anywhere
with a bachelor or a scandalously handsome and reputed rakehell, much less to an illicit assignation in the middle of the night.
But what if he did intend for her to sneak downstairs to meet him? What if he was pacing the rug, just as she, only she would never appear because she was paralyzed with indecision? She stalled midstride. She wasn’t a rude person. No matter she scoured her brain, she couldn’t think of one instance when she’d purposely behaved in a rude manner. It would be a social sin to be labeled with the descriptor when she sought a husband this season. She needed to be noticed in the very best light.
True, no one would know she’d behaved rudely if she didn’t sneak down to the library. Well, no one but Lindsey. Her stomach plummeted with that realization. She certainly didn’t want the earl to think poorly of her. For no intelligent reason she could ascertain, she wished for Lindsey to hold her in high esteem. It didn’t matter that a future could never exist between them.
Besides, it was just a kiss—or two—that they’d shared. Not that she planned to repeat that behavior.
She blew out a breath of exasperation and grabbed her silk wrapper. She would never settle her nerves enough to find sleep if she didn’t put these unanswered questions to bed. A good book would serve her purpose. And the library was far from the study, away from the temptation that threatened to lead her astray.
Caroline slipped into the hallway, careful to check for servants or guests who might still be awake, and saw no one. Hemming her bottom lip, she moved down the corridor to the backstairs, emboldened by the thought she was safer away from the main entry. If she did encounter a maid or footman, she could easily explain her presence with a request for warm milk or tea and a reluctance to bother the staff, anything to extricate herself from idle gossip. Luckily the need never materialized and the stairs were silent. She eased the door wider and followed the shallow light supplied by the brass sconces mounted on the walls.
Halfway down the treads she heard a footfall, the echo of boots on an upward climb enough to send her pulse into a chaotic rhythm. She readied for the awkward confrontation. Surely any chambermaid or servant could still be at work during this late hour. Especially in a house full of guests. The staff had been more than gracious, so there really was nothing to worry about.
Confident she had no reason to fret, she drew up her shoulders and peered straight into Lindsey’s eyes.
“Caroline.”
She gasped, and a quivery excitement rippled through her. It was the first time he’d said her Christian name. Her heart thudded at the intimacy, no matter it was scandalous indeed. To be ensconced in a dimly lit corridor far and away from the rest of the house was provocative by itself. Still, she cherished her name spoken in his deep tenor, the single word low and velvety in the shadowy darkness.
“Did I startle you?” He canted his head in concern.
“No.” She blinked twice in an effort to regain composure and focused more closely on his expression. He remained a few stairs below her, and yet they could easily look into each other’s eyes. She leaned closer and whispered. “Are you alright?” He appeared angry, or at the least troubled for some unknown reason. The mischievous devil-may-care attitude was lost to a solemn weariness in his eyes.
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he glanced over his shoulder and beyond hers to confirm they stood alone. Then he reclined against the bannister near the adjacent wall as if settling in for a long conversation. The candle lantern on the hook above him left him partially concealed in shadow, but she could see he was in shirtsleeves, his coat caught tight in his left hand.
“Why are you sneaking about this house alone in the middle of the night?”
Apparently he was as adept at avoiding questions as she.
“I was after a book. I couldn’t sleep.”
“Uncomfortable mattress? Lumpy pillows? A chilly draft in the room?”
Her eyes flared, but she managed to swallow her objection. “Nothing of the kind, my lord.”
“And still you choose to slink down the backstairs like a curious kitten. I continue to be concerned about your safety.”
“Fancy meeting you here then.”
His mouth hitched in a half-smile that caused her heart to flutter. His amusement at her cheeky response added to the pleasure.
“As for me, I’d hoped to return to my rooms unnoticed. I’ve had enough enlightening conversation for one evening. More than enough, in fact.” His jaw tightened, a reaction he corrected belatedly.
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you misunderstand.” He pushed from the wall and climbed a stair higher. “Meeting you here in this dimly lit corridor before I find my bed is a gift, a much needed pleasant distraction.”
“Lindsey…”
“I’d prefer if you’d call me Jonathan. No one does, so thereby you must.”
“That wouldn’t be proper.”
“Because this is?” He chuckled, the sound smoothing over her skin. “Lately, I’m not sure I even know myself. This evening especially. To hell with my title and circumstance. I’d like to be Jonathan with you. Just a man without the constraint of a title and noose of responsibility.” He exhaled, and the heat of his breath skimmed her forehead. “A man who finds you extraordinarily tempting.”
“Jonathan.” Forgetting caution, she tested the feel of it on her tongue.
He approved. At least she thought he did, the sound he made somewhere between a growl and a confirmation.
The air seemed warmer than only a moment before, the quiet staircase suddenly alive with a vibrancy she had no way to explain. Her heart pounded in her ears, ensuring she didn’t dream. Still, here she stood in the dusky light of the stairwell, risking the danger of being caught and having to stop or, worse, not being caught and relishing the promised pleasure of what would occur thereafter.
Mayhap she’d fallen under a spell and become enchanted, drawn to him, like one of the characters in those hopeful gothic novels she enjoyed far too much. She reminded herself to breathe. The intensity of his obsidian eyes sent a pang of nervousness arrowing through her. Too often she became blinded by emotion and neglected more prudent considerations. Her mother admonished her, labeled her impetuous, but Caroline simply wished to enjoy life. Still, in the end, caution won out.
“I should go.” She placed her hand upon his chest to stay him from leaning forward because she knew she’d never be able to resist his kiss, and yet here they stood in secretive privacy as if in wait. The steady beat of his heart beneath her palm startled her for its strength in echo of her mutual drumming pulse. “Nothing good can come of this.”
“You have that little confidence in me?”
“You purposely misconstrue my words.” She breathed deep in search of resolute determination and was rewarded with the decadent scent of his shaving soap. “We should leave well enough alone.”
“Is that what you want?”
A long beat of silence interrupted their conversation until she finally settled on her thoughts. “I want to marry. And kissing you here in the stairwell will not accomplish that goal.”
“So you have been thinking about kissing too?”
The man was the devil himself.
He spared no time for her to recover her composure. “I wasn’t aware you were included on Lord Henley’s guest list, or that you’d accepted the invitation.”
“Lord Mills changed that circumstance dramatically.”
“Mills?” Lindsey paused, as if cataloging the bit of information. “Mills’ life is an unmade bed. You’d never be happy—”
“What?” She drew back to examine his expression more carefully.
“Never mind.” He exhaled. “How has your husband hunt progressed so far? Are there gentlemen you wish to know about?”
“Lord Byrnes shared several poems he’d written while the ladies gathered in the salon.”
“Byrnes is drowning in debt. He’s after a fat purse more than a loving wife.”
“Oh.” She blinked several times at his blunt opinion. “Lord Himple seems an amiable gentleman.”
“The man can’t hold his liquor and is as dependable as a cork afloat in the ocean.”
“Viscount Menner—”
“Has been left at the altar three times. Makes one wonder, wouldn’t you agree?”
A smile curled her mouth upward, no matter he behaved abominably. “Lord Gullet appeared pleasant.”
“Lives with his mother and likes it.”
“Jonathan.” She kept her tone even, though she truly wished to show her amusement. Her mother would be furious if she did so.
“Go ahead and laugh,” Lindsey taunted. “You know you wish to. I’d rather like to hear your laughter. Besides, I do wonder if your approach to this is all wrong. While qualities like handsomeness, wealth, and charm are admirable, surely you wish for your husband to have a flaw or two. However else would you endure the mundane?”
He stepped down and recovered his former position against the bannister, and she couldn’t keep her eyes from him. He moved with a sensual grace that belied his strong shoulders and tall frame, and yet here in the confines of the stairwell she wanted nothing more than to find her way into his embrace, though better sense warned it a grave mistake.
“In truth, there is only one gentleman who has captured my interest.” An exhale of relief chased her confession once the words left her tongue.
“Elaborate on this fellow, this rogue who has you at sixes and sevens.”
“He’s quite handsome, and I suspect he knows the same.” She paused, but only for the slightest beat. “What he doesn’t realize is that beneath his polished veneer is a considerate and caring gentleman. A sensitive man. One with a passionate soul.”
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