“Compromise us? Well, we’ll see about that,” said her husband in a deadly, cool voice. “Thinks he can simply arrange my life to suit himself, does he? Well, it may please you to know, Finkbottle, that absolutely no one knows that we were in the plunge-bath. It takes more than two to be compromised. You need an audience. There’s nothing—absolutely nothing—to stop Her Grace from marrying that pestilent Bonnington tomorrow. And you can tell Mr. Rounton that from me!”
“Cam,” Gina said.
Finkbottle nodded his head. “I will, my lord. I will tell him immediately.” He edged to the side, obviously about to make a dash for it.
“On second thought, I’ll tell him myself,” Cam said. His voice grated with rage. “I don’t believe I wish to have a solicitor who takes it upon himself to organize my sexual encounters. Rounton has gone beyond the pale.”
Mr. Finkbottle turned even whiter, if that was possible. “If I might beg your indulgence, my lord,” he begged. “It was entirely my misinterpretation of Mr. Rounton’s directions that—”
But a clear voice interrupted them both. “Cam.”
“Yes, darling,” he said, turning to her.
Her eyes were dancing, and her long hair lay damp and tangled over her shoulders. She put her hands on his shoulders and smiled at him, and it was almost enough to make Cam’s irritation fall away.
“I disagree with you.”
“About what?” Cam asked, trying not to think about the fact that her lips were swollen and crimson from his kisses.
“I believe I am compromised. I am quite, quite certain that we were known to be in the plunge-bath. In fact, I believe my reputation is indisputably compromised.”
She watched as his eyes cleared. “Do you, love?” He lifted her hand to his lips.
“I fear so.” She sighed. “I should hate to think that you are trifling with me.”
He leaned forward and spoke just for her ear. “I fully intend to trifle further, this very night.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Would you feel the same had we been in an earth closet?”
“You could have sat on my lap,” he said with a twinkle. She colored, and he turned back to Finkbottle. “All right. Rounton’s won. We’re compromised. You can tell him yourself.”
Finkbottle gave a shaky bow. “Please accept my humble apologies for my impertinent action in locking you in the plunge-bath.”
“I am grateful to have been spared the earth closet,” Gina said.
“Oh! I almost forgot,” Finkbottle said. “I have these papers for you, Your Grace.” He withdrew a thick folded bundle of parchment from inside his coat.
Cam took them. “Papers for the annulment?” he asked, thinking about ripping them in half.
“Oh no, that is your annulment,” Finkbottle said, rather more cheerfully. “Mr. Rounton had no trouble at all obtaining the annulment. Under the circumstances, the Regent waived the requirement for Parliament’s approval. There was no question but that—” He ground to a halt.
“—that we never consummated the marriage,” Cam filled in. “And, given that the papers were signed two days ago, we never did consummate our marriage.”
Gina felt a little chill. She could have been a marquess already. She moved a little closer to her former husband and tucked her hand in his arm.
Finkbottle hesitated for a moment. “I hope you understand that while I would be most honored to be your brother, my lady, I could not overlook the fact that my parents were fast married.”
Gina almost laughed and caught herself. “Of course I understand, Mr. Finkbottle. Your kind wishes quite assuage my disappointment.”
He bowed and left.
Cam looked at his wife. “If Finkbottle is not your brother, then who is?”
Gina began walking down the corridor. “Don’t you think it’s odd that there has been no follow-up letter requesting money? After all, the annulment is in hand. I could marry Sebastian by special license and the writer would have gained nothing.”
“Special license!” Cam snorted. “Entirely too romantic for the wiggy marquess.”
“As it happens, he has been carrying a special license in his pocket for the last month, ever since you announced your return.”
“Well, he shan’t have you.” He opened the door to his chamber, and Gina found herself in the room without conscious thought.
“Damned if I can think of anyone who looks like you,” Cam said, staring at his wife. “Red hair is surprisingly rare these days.”
“There’s no reason to suspect that my brother is at the house party,” Gina pointed out. “Or that he has red hair, for that matter.”
“If your brother isn’t here, who ransacked your room looking for the Aphrodite?”
Gina wrinkled her nose. “There’s no one suitable at the house party,” she said with finality. “Why, the only red-haired man I can even think of is Lord Scotborough, and he’s forty-five if he’s a day.”
But Cam was staring at the wall, obviously not listening. “When did your mother die, Gina?”
“Countess Ligny? She died in March, almost two years ago now. Although I didn’t know that she had passed away for quite some time.”
“Damn,” Cam said in a low, vicious tone. “Damnation!” He sprang from his chair.
“What is it?” Gina asked, startled.
“I sent him over here myself. Careless bastard that I am.” He ran a hand through his hair.
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s Wapping,” Cam said. “I encountered Wapping just a month after your mother died. He must have thought we were living together. And I sent him over to you without thinking twice about it. Stupid, careless—”
“Be reasonable, Cam. Wapping can’t possibly be my brother.”
“Why not? He appeared in Greece at the right time.”
“For one thing, he has brown hair, and for another, he has no idea that the Aphrodite—” She broke off.
“You told him,” Cam guessed.
“No! But I did ask him about Aphrodite—the goddess.”
Cam was at the door. “Come along, then. Do you know where he might be?”
“Upstairs. He works in the old schoolroom, if he’s not asleep,” Gina said, joining him. “But Cam, he can’t be my brother! I’m certain that I would know if I met my brother. I mean, he would be my own flesh and blood, wouldn’t he? Wapping is a scholar, not a thief…” She kept the argument up all the way to the fourth floor, stopping only when Cam rapped on the door.
“Please forgive us, Mr. Wapping,” she said, as they entered the schoolroom. He was bent over a stack of books.
“Are you my wife’s brother?” Cam demanded.
Wapping looked up, with his abstracted look. “If you’ll excuse me a moment,” he said, and returned to scratching a line of prose.
Gina sighed. She knew as well as any that Mr. Wapping, once absorbed in the intricacies of scholarship, was remarkably single-minded.
But Cam had no respect for her tutor’s idiosyncrases. He strode over to the table and snatched the quill. Ink splattered. Wapping looked up and his mouth fell open.
“What are you doing?” he cried. “I’m working on something important! I’m just reaching the end of the fourth chapter of my Machiavelli treatise. I was at a particularly delicate moment, refuting Pindlepuss’s erroneous charges, and you—”
“Are you the duchess’s illegitimate brother?” Cam said. He leaned over and put his hands squarely on the blotched treatise and its delicate refutation of Pindlepuss’s work. His words were evenly spaced, and his voice was full of danger.
“As it happens, I am,” Wapping said with no apparent emotion. He rapped sharply on Cam’s wrists with a ruler. Blinking, Cam straightened and took his hands off the table. Wapping began fussily blotting the inkstains, mumbling under his breath. He did not look at his sister, standing stock-still in the middle of the room.
There was a moment of silence, broken only by Wapping’s mutterings as he mop
ped up the spilled ink.
Gina, on the other hand, had just discovered what many an elder sister could have told her about siblings: younger brothers are not necessarily a blissful addition to the family. “Why didn’t you disclose yourself to me?” she said, advancing on him like a menacing angel. “Why did you go through my room? Why did you toss my belongings on the floor!”
Wapping glanced up. Something about her eyes seemed to alarm him more than anything had in Cam’s menacing glance. He jumped to his feet and backed up. “I was looking for my mother’s bequest,” he said. “There’s no need to be so agitated. I merely ascertained that you did not have the statue—”
“The Aphrodite?” Cam asked.
Wapping swiveled his head and looked at him. “Do you have it?”
“No. Gina had it all along. It was under a chair when you ransacked her room.”
“Why didn’t you just ask me for it?” she cried. “Why didn’t you introduce yourself instead of sneaking around and pretending to teach me about Italian history?”
Wapping looked truly indignant. “I did not pretend to teach you! For your information, you have just received a truly first class education in Machiavellian politics. In fact, if you were more diligent in your reading, you would know almost as much as I!”
Cam backed up and leaned against the wall, stifling a chuckle. Brother and sister stared at each other across the table. He was small; she was tall. Her hair was the color of a sunset, and his was the color of a brown squirrel. She was beautifully odd; he was simply odd. But the family resemblance was unmistakable. Pride and excellent workmanship must run in the family, Cam thought.
Gina chewed her lip. “Why do you want the Aphrodite?” she asked. “Cam says that it’s not worth a great deal of money.”
“The statue itself probably isn’t worth a tremendous amount,” Wapping agreed. “Although Franz Fabergé, the man who made it, is making quite a reputation in Paris with his hinged objets d’art.”
“Hinged!” Cam breathed. “Of course she is hinged. That’s a join down her side.”
“So you wanted what was inside the statue? Jewels?” Gina snapped.
Wapping seemed unmoved by her sharpness. “I am not altogether certain what is in the statue,” he admitted. “I met my—our—mother only once, on her deathbed. She informed me that her most precious possession in the world was inside the Aphrodite, and that she was sending it to you.”
Gina bit her lip. “That was not very kind of her.”
He shrugged. “I wasn’t looking for kindness. However, I desperately needed a prolonged period of research in order to complete my book. Luckily, I have made remarkable progress over the last year while tutoring you.”
“So you were hoping that she would leave you a bequest,” Cam said.
“Would that be unusual? She was my mother, after all, and she seems to have spared herself any exertion in raising me.”
“And you—you are my half brother?” Gina asked.
“We already agreed to that salient fact,” Wapping remarked.
“You can have the Aphrodite. I don’t want it.”
“I don’t want the statue,” he said with a touch of impatience.
“You can have what’s inside.”
“Good,” he said. “Well, in that case, would you mind if I returned to my work? I have at least an hour of writing left before I can finish this chapter. I suggest that we meet tomorrow afternoon and open the Aphrodite at that time.”
Cam strode forward and grasped his wife’s arm. He could see that she was struck dumb and would probably turn to stone gazing at her admittedly peculiar brother. “We will see you tomorrow, then, Wapping,” he said over his shoulder.
The man didn’t even grunt in reply. His head was already bent over the desk, busy retracing the splotched text onto a fresh piece of paper.
When Cam pushed Gina back into his chamber again, she didn’t protest. “I can’t believe he’s my brother,” she whispered, leaning against the door.
“He looks just like you. You’re very similar, in fact.”
“I look nothing like him!” Gina said, stung.
“It’s your expressions,” Cam said smugly. “You’re two of a kind.”
“Just what do you mean by that?”
“Managerial, both of you.” He chuckled. “Certain that you’re doing exactly the right thing, in exactly the right way.”
Her lips set in a mulish line. “We have nothing in common. I shall hand over the jewels inside that wretched statue, and that will be an end to it.”
Cam looked at her sympathetically. “I know it was a shock, Gina. But that’s not the end to it, more’s the pity. The man’s your brother. And I doubt there are many jewels inside the Aphrodite,” he said. “I have no difficulty believing the statue was hollowed out, but I don’t believe it is stuffed with emeralds.”
“What else could it be? Countess Ligny said the Aphrodite contained her most precious possession, after all.”
“I wonder why she gave it to you, and not to him?”
“He probably looked at her with that condescending glance of his,” Gina said. “I wouldn’t leave him anything either. His father must have been a pompous bore. I’ll have to think of something to do with him,” Gina said, wrinkling her brow. “I wonder if—”
“We have to think of something,” Cam corrected her.
“Of course,” Gina agreed unthinkingly. “Perhaps if I asked—”
“Gina.”
“What?” She was deep in thought.
He sighed. “Nothing.”
“I have an idea!” she cried. “I opened a hospital at Oxford a few years ago. And I remember meeting the kindest man. I believe he was the head of Christ Church.”
“Thomas Bradfellow,” Cam put in.
“Yes, that was he! I shall write him a letter and beg him to take care of my brother. I only hope he remembers me,” she added doubtfully.
“He’ll remember me,” Cam put in.
“Why?”
“Because I replaced the Winged Mercury in the central courtyard with a statue of Bradfellow. Lamentably, my statue was wearing only a wig,” Cam said.
“Oh,” Gina said. She started to giggle. “Was Mr. Bradford—was he as substantial then as he is now?”
“I can only imagine. He made a lovely statue. Bradfellow was a surprising good sort. He sent me down, but I heard that he put the statue in his private garden. And when I came up again the following fall, he acted as if nothing had happened.”
“So I’ll write—”
“I will write, Gina.”
She looked startled. “Well, it would be wonderful if you would do so.”
“As soon as we marry again, Wapping will be my brother-in-law. I am not incapable of administration, you know.”
A small smile curled the edge of her mouth. “In that case, Your Grace, may I beg your help with finishing Bicksfiddle’s papers tomorrow?”
He walked over to her. “I suppose,” he said, standing so close to her that her nerves crackled, “I could be persuaded.”
She licked her lips. “Persuaded? How so, my lord?”
“Damn it, Gina,” he groaned. “I’m going to have to evict you from my chamber, or I’ll have you again, right here.”
Her eyes grew wide.
“Against the door,” he said hoarsely. His mouth descended on hers.
He took her silence as agreement.
29
Informal Dancing
Followed by Private Intoxication
She had just left the ballroom when a hand caught her elbow.
“Lady Rawlings,” said a harsh voice in her ear.
Esme’s heart sunk. He was so tall and so—so disapproving.
“Much though I hate to interrupt you, I believe we agreed to rehearse Much Ado.”
She opened her mouth to refuse, but he preempted her. “I realize you may have plans”—he gave Bernie Burdett a ferocious look—“but our performance is tomorrow evening.
Lady Troubridge has hung a curtain in the long drawing room.”
Bernie was a sportsman and a hunter. He never hesitated to put himself at risk when need be. However, he dropped his escort’s arm as if it scalded. “I shall return to the ballroom,” he said. “Your servant.” He brushed her hand with his lips and sped to the opposite side of the room.
“I will have to fetch my copy of Much Ado, Lord Bonnington,” Esme said.
He bowed. “I shall escort you, if I may.”
They walked up the stairs without exchanging another word. She left him in the corridor and snatched her book off the dressing table. Then they walked back down the stairs. Esme was starting to wonder just how long he could walk in silence. He paced at her side like a moving portrait.
“Did you behave this way when you were young?” she asked.
“I beg your pardon,” he replied with glacial emphasis.
She was unable to resist the impulse to be truly rude. “Like a walking poker. It must have been quite disconcerting for your mother. Oh, there’s my darling boy—how unfortunate that he never smiles!” Esme smirked at him.
He declined to answer.
Annoyance spread through her whole body. What right did Sebastian have to be judgmental of her friendship with Bernie? He couldn’t make it more clear that he considered her a strumpet. Of course, she told herself, I am a strumpet. She had never seen the reason to fool herself about the consequences of her actions.
“On the other hand,” she said thoughtfully, “just imagine how my mama used to complain about me. Look at that little daughter of mine! Only five years old and she’s flirting with the gardener’s boy again.”
She glanced sideways at him. There was just a suspicion of a smile around his lips. It truly was a pity that he had such a lovely mouth.
“It’s quite an interesting subject,” she continued. “I have no doubt but that Gina knew how to curtsy before she could walk.” They walked into a small room off the billiards room. “Oh, shall we practice here?”
By way of answer Sebastian strode over and turned up the lamps.
“And I expect that Gina’s husband was always carving bits of wood in the messy way that boys have,” she said. “My little brother’s pockets were stuffed with fragments of wood he thought looked like ducks or boats.”