The Theory of Earls (The Beautiful Barringtons Book 1)

by Kathleen Ayers

  “I wish to ensure your launch is successful,” the duchess explained calmly.

  “Much like any ship or more appropriately, an over-sized barge,” Phaedra said innocently. “You aren’t properly launched until someone whacks you with a bottle of champagne.” She made the motion of cracking a bottle. “What do you think, Mama?”

  Romy ran after her sister who skirted around the perimeter of the conservatory to finally return and hide behind Welles. Phaedra stuck out her tongue.

  “Girls.” The duchess clapped her hands. “Cease. Phaedra, we are not christening your sister with spirits. Romy, dearest, it never hurts to have Lady Cambourne in your corner.”

  Welles watched his sisters’ antics with a great deal of affection. It was obvious he adored his half-siblings. He turned back to Margaret, his eyes shining in the light streaming through the room, and pierced her with a look. It was as if he could discern every curve of her body beneath the plain day dress she wore. The humming fell lower to nestle between her thighs, becoming more insistent the longer he stared at her.

  Hastily, Margaret looked away. Welles had the most alarming effect on her; she could not let him distract her. She needed to be working on a way to have a private conversation with him about Carstairs.

  The clock in the room struck the hour and Margaret looked up in alarm. Her aunt could not return and discover her gone.

  “My apologies, Your Grace.” Margaret set down her plate. “I must return home. The hour grows late, and my aunt will expect my return.” Her chance to speak to Welles would have to wait, at least for today. She couldn’t very well speak to him of Carstairs at the moment, not with the duchess and her daughters present. Perhaps she could send him a note.

  “Oh, dear, where has the day gone? We’ve so enjoyed your company,” the duchess said. “Please don’t concern yourself over your aunt. I promised I will deal with Lady Dobson, and I shall. We’ll see you on Tuesday.”

  Margaret stood, bobbing as she took her leave. “I would be delighted, Your Grace.” She snuck one more look at the immense, lustrous piano, standing proudly in the corner of the room. No lover could be more seductive.

  Her eyes slid over Welles. Almost.

  Phaedra and Olivia came forward and bid her goodbye as did Romy, who stuck her unintentionally with a pin from the cushion attached to her wrist. Margaret liked the duchess and her daughters. Today had been the happiest she’d spent since her father’s death and certainly the most fun she’d had since arriving in London.

  Welles rose from his chair. “I fear I must take my leave as well, madam. I only stopped by on my way to attend to a business matter. I’ll accompany Miss Lainscott out.”

  Margaret’s pulse leapt wildly. It appeared fate was intervening. She became more certain of her plan for Carstairs, for surely the coincidence of Welles being here was a sign of sorts.

  The duchess pouted prettily. “I expect you and your brother to dine with us this week.” The thread of steel returned to her voice. “Promptly at seven, two days hence.”

  Welles inclined his head. “We will both be here, madam. And I’ll take you all for a ride in the park tomorrow,” he said to Phaedra, Olivia and Romy. “And Theo if we can pull her away from her studio.”

  “Possibly a visit to DuPere’s?” Romy asked, shooting a glance at her mother. “I wish only to look at the silks.”

  “Say yes, Mama.” Phaedra came over and placed a hand on her mother’s shoulder and squeezed.

  “Of course.” The duchess nodded. “But take a full purse, Tony. Your father says these girls are like to bankrupt us all.”

  The way Welles’s face froze at the slight mention of the Duke of Averell was obvious, though he recovered quickly before taking the duchess’s hand. “Until then.” He pressed a kiss to her proffered cheek. “After you, Miss Lainscott.”

  5

  Margaret marched to the door, every nerve in her body aware of Welles just behind her. She planned to broach the subject of Carstairs as soon as Margaret was assured she wouldn’t be heard from the conservatory.

  Welles’s much larger form hovered dangerously close to Margaret’s as they made their way down the stairs, making her feel much smaller than usual. Her senses were so inflamed, her body humming at an alarmingly high pitch, Margaret’s attention wandered. Her heel caught on the hem of her skirts and she nearly toppled over.

  Welles reached out and deftly caught her elbow. “I saw the look in your eye, Miss Lainscott. Lust.”

  Heat rushed up her cheeks. Had he guessed the direction of her thoughts? “Lust, my lord?”

  “The piano, Miss Lainscott. I’m not certain any gentleman could compete with the Broadwood for your affection.” His lips twitched. “What else would I possibly have meant?”

  “Of course,” she replied smoothly. “Was my admiration of your instrument so obvious?”

  Welles paused for a moment, mischief swirling in the depths of blue, as he looked down at her. “Oh, Miss Lainscott, how lovely of you.”

  It took only a moment for Margaret to take his meaning. Her cheeks felt as if they’d been scorched by fire. “That isn’t what I meant,” she sputtered in mortification. “I would never—”

  “Of course not, Miss Lainscott. Although you are given to rather improper suggestions.”

  Margaret caught a hint of his scent—leather and tobacco, mixed with wind and the outdoors. “About that, my lord. I consider it fortuitous we saw each other today. I wish to speak to you about Lord Carstairs.”

  “I was wondering if you would bring up your very unusual request. I’m not in the habit of playing matchmaker, Miss Lainscott. Furthermore, I consider the institution of marriage to be a form of entrapment. Why should I assist in landing my friend in such a circumstance?”

  “Entrapment is a bit harsh, my lord. And I do apologize if I am presuming on our short acquaintance but I’ve no one else to ask.” Margaret kept her voice low, lest the duchess’s butler overhear. He stood beside the door as they passed through to the steps outside.

  “What would you call such a thing?”

  Margaret looked up to see him studying her intently. The deepening colors of sapphire in his eyes looked like the edge of the horizon, right as the sun had finally set but before the sky went completely dark. Perhaps the young lady who’d written an ode to Welles’s eyes hadn’t been as much of pea-wit as Margaret had originally assumed. Being on the receiving end of the full force of Welles’s attention was nothing short of exhilarating. Her skin buzzed deliciously, like a tuning fork.

  “Miss Lainscott?”

  “My cause is just,” she said.

  “In your estimation.”

  “My lord, most gentlemen choose their wives in such a way, do they not? Find a woman who is possessed of the qualities they seek and then set out to woo her? Possibly they enlist their friends and family to assist them. I am merely doing the same. I thought you more open-minded.”

  A lazy smile crossed his lips. “I am the very epitome of open-mindedness.”

  “Will you hear me out, my lord?” She tilted her chin, determined to keep her wits about her, and not allow Welles and his…gorgeousness to deter her from her task. It was imperative, especially with Winthrop circling her like a lion who intended to take down a wounded gazelle, that Lord Welles understand the importance of her request and agree to help her. Margaret had to get things quickly in hand which meant Carstairs.

  She hopped down the steps to the sidewalk, stopping beside a luxurious carriage pulled by four perfectly matched bays. “Winthrop is pressing his suit most forcefully, Lord Welles. I’ve endured him twice already this week.”

  “An unfortunate occurrence. Are you certain it must be Carstairs? Is there no other gentleman who has your affection?

  Just you. “No, my lord.” Margaret shook her head.

  “No one else who…stirs your emotions?” Another double meaning emphasized the word.

  “My lord, not every sentence you utter must end in some sort of…imp
roper innuendo.”

  A soft chuckle. “My apologies, Miss Lainscott, though I find it interesting you seem to pick up on all my indecent suggestions, gently bred young lady that you are. But I have my doubts about that. Do go on.”

  “I am gently bred. And no one could fail to notice your…nuances. You aren’t subtle in the least.” Margaret looked away for a moment to compose herself. Now was not the time to argue needlessly over Welles’s rakish behavior. “I truly see no other way out of my current situation. Believe me, if I could avoid marriage completely, I would. But since I am compelled to do so, I think Carstairs and I would be a good match. I wish to assure you I would be a good wife to your friend, Lord Welles. I won’t infringe on his hunting or any other recreational activities. He can have as many mistresses as he wishes.”

  “How progressive of you.” Welles regarded her seriously. “I see you’ve thought this through in a very logical fashion.”

  “Furthermore, I’m disgustingly wealthy.” Her voice took on a pleading note. “My dowry isn’t the largest this season but even so, the amount is obscene.”

  Welles nodded slowly. “All excellent points, Miss Lainscott. But I still—”

  “I need you only to reintroduce us and possibly…help things along.” She was pushing her luck and the boundaries of propriety in asking Lord Welles for such a thing, but Margaret knew her limits. She was no great beauty and older than most of the young ladies making the rounds this season. A high intellect wasn’t valued in a wife. Margaret might require more than an introduction.

  “Help things along?”

  “You know what I mean, my lord.” She waved about her hands. “Esteem me. Highly regard me. Perhaps mention your admiration for my talent on the piano.”

  “I do admire your talents.”

  “And I would ask your discretion in this matter.” Surely a gentleman who adored his stepmother and sisters in such a way could be trusted.

  “You have my promise I’ll not speak a word of what you’ve asked. But I’m not certain I am the right man to assist you. You could presume upon my stepmother, for instance.”

  “I’ve only met the Duchess of Averell today.” Margaret’s fingers curled into her skirts, tugging at the material in frustration. “Is there nothing I can do to convince you to help me? Another performance on the piano, perhaps?”

  6

  That was exactly what he’d been considering.

  “Something like that.”

  Miss Lainscott was a tiny, petite thing. Delicate. Like a fine porcelain doll he’d once bought for Romy, except the doll’s eyes hadn’t sparkled with repressed fire as Miss Lainscott’s did. There was an entire list of wicked things Tony wished to do to her, and each one involved her naked in a variety of positions.

  He’d been shocked to see the object of his erotic fantasies taking tea with Amanda and the girls, though in hearing of Miss Lainscott’s budding friendship with Mrs. Anderson, her presence in the conservatory made perfect sense. Tony wondered if Miss Lainscott would have hunted him down if they hadn’t unexpectedly met today; he thought she would have.

  Her dark eyes shone with urgency, hoping to convince him to help her. “A performance? Or something else? Does one of your mistresses require piano lessons?” A tiny smirk crossed her luscious mouth.

  “Allow me to take you home. My carriage is much more comfortable than a hack. We can speak further on the way.” Poor Miss Lainscott. She was completely oblivious to his desire for her. If she had the slightest inkling, she wouldn’t dare get in the carriage with him.

  “My lord, if my aunt —”

  “She’ll never see you. I promise. I’ll drop you in the back by the mews. You can make your way through the gardens.”

  Miss Lainscott frowned, considering his offer. “I don’t think—”

  “Carstairs has been out of town.” Tony threw out the bit of knowledge like a carrot dangled before a mule. His friend had been fishing at the estate of Mr. Turnbull but was now returning to London. “I know which events he’ll be attending in the upcoming weeks.”

  She looked between him and the carriage. “Fine. I would appreciate the ride home.”

  Miss Lainscott took his hand and climbed into the carriage, sliding gracefully across the seat, her features delicate and pale against the black leather squabs.

  Tony settled across from her. Before he’d gone up to the conservatory, he’d noticed the pile of invitations by the door. Lady Masterson was having a garden party and she was a friend of the family. Her invitation had sat atop the stack. His stepmother would likely ask Tony to escort her to the party. He hadn’t planned on attending but now he thought he would. Lady Masterson wouldn’t mind if Miss Lainscott was also brought along.

  The woman in question regarded him from beneath her lashes, pretending shyness, which he found absurd under the circumstances. Her deep chocolate eyes sparked and burned with intelligence, more enticing to him than an entire room of courtesans.

  “My lord? What would you ask of me in return?”

  “It does involve playing the piano,” he finally said.

  “Lessons?” she asked again. “Perhaps you need a refresher in technique? Or shall we play a duet?”

  Tony kept his face bland. He was quite good on the piano, though not as talented as Miss Lainscott. “Not exactly. More of a private performance.”

  Her brows knit together. “Private performance? Are you having guests and I’m to be the entertainment? In Her Grace’s conservatory? I suppose I could do such a thing but —”

  “You misunderstand. I wish you to play for me. Only me. In a private room at Elysium.”

  Her eyes widened. “Elysium? The gambling hell? Why would I do such a thing?”

  “Because you’ll be clad only in your chemise and stockings.” He sat back, waiting for her reaction. “I don’t think my stepmother’s home is appropriate for such a performance, do you?”

  “Oh,” she sputtered prettily. “I don’t think—” Her mouth was open in shock, small breasts pushing furiously against her bodice as she tried to take a deep breath.

  His cock, which had been aching since he spotted her eating a scone with his stepmother, thickened painfully at the very thought of her in his rooms at Elysium.

  A squeak escaped her before she sat back with a whoosh, slapping her small fists to the squabs. A giggle escaped her. “Lord Welles,” she said in a relieved voice. “You shouldn’t tease me about such a thing.” She wagged a finger at him. “You nearly had me with your ‘improper’ suggestion. I thought you were serious.”

  Tony sat transfixed. He’d seen her smile and look politely amused. But he’d never seen her genuinely laugh. Or giggle like a schoolgirl. Unable to look away from the pale line of her throat, he had the urge to press his lips to the spot where her pulse beat and shock them both.

  Miss Lainscott giggled again, this time pressing a gloved hand to her stomach in her amusement.

  Apparently, Tony’s request to seduce her was incredibly humorous. Well, that was something he hadn’t experienced before. He’d never made such a request to a virgin of good breeding and based on her reaction, he wasn’t sure he’d ever do so again.

  “I’m not teasing you. Or mocking you.” He shrugged. “You did ask what I wanted.”

  Her head snapped back up in shock. She opened her mouth to speak then closed it, horrified by his outlandish request. And oddly fascinated. Her gaze flashed to his mouth for a brief second before a lovely rose color infused the skin of her cheeks.

  “Dear God, you are serious. I can’t imagine why.”

  “Humanitarian reasons, Miss Lainscott. Before you tie yourself to Carstairs, or, should you fail in bringing him to heel, Winthrop, wouldn’t you wish to experience passion? I doubt you’ll find it with either of your suitors. Think of your music, if nothing else. I am.”

  The delicious blush crept back into her cheeks, but she did not look away from him. “You, my lord, are not a gentleman.”

  “Alas, I’ve
never claimed to be.”

  She shook her head and looked out the window, refusing to look at him until the carriage rolled to a stop.

  “Never mind. I rescind my request for your assistance.” Miss Lainscott placed a hand on the carriage door. “We’ve arrived at my aunt’s. I bid you good day, Lord Welles.”

  7

  Margaret paced back and forth across her bedroom floor, as she had most of last night and all of the morning. She hadn’t slept a wink thinking of her conversation with Welles. She couldn’t decide if he had been serious or not.

  He had certainly seemed serious. The very idea sent a tremor of excitement up her spine.

  Passion. He should have made a much more convincing argument. As if playing the piano for him in her underthings would inspire her musically or—

  Arouse me.

  Bollocks. The problem was, Margaret did find the thought of such a thing to be arousing, just as she did the improper innuendos he seemed determined to shock her with. The idea that Lord Welles wanted to see her in her stockings and chemise was nothing short of astonishing. And highly erotic.

  Her pulse skipped a beat as she turned to view the invitation to Lady Masterson’s garden party. It had arrived earlier that morning and Eliza had brought the note upstairs with Margaret’s breakfast tray. Walking over to the invitation, she reread the words printed upon the fine vellum. A party to be held in the gardens of Lady Masterson’s estate just outside of London. Nature-themed dress was encouraged.

  She’d no idea what a “nature-themed” costume entailed; Margaret had no intention of dressing up like a bird or something equally ridiculous. The ton was often bored and looking for new and inventive opportunities to spend their money. Lavish, themed parties seemed an appropriate way for a pampered group of overindulged people to do so.

  She looked again at the invitation knowing Welles must have had something to do with Margaret receiving the summons, because she didn’t know Lady Masterson. The only other explanation was that Welles had told his stepmother of Margaret’s interest in Carstairs and the Duchess of Averell had requested the invitation issued. Either way, she was certain Carstairs would be there; the invitation appearing at the same time as her interest in him was too coincidental.