Sweetest Scoundrel

  “Me?” Her eyes widened. “But—”

  He folded his arms on his chest. “You go or I don’t.”

  She opened her lips and then simply gaped at him.

  He was rather satisfied that he’d made her lose her train of thought.

  He smiled to himself, picking up the letter and peering at it. “It’s at seven of the evening three nights hence.” He frowned for a moment, thinking, then grinned at her. “We’ll take your brother’s carriage.”

  Chapter Nine

  Dove ran and ran through the wild, dark forest. Branches whipped against her face and she stumbled to her knees more than once. But she got back up every time because she could hear the king’s guard close behind her.

  She ran until her slippers were tatters; she ran until her legs burned and trembled.

  She ran until she heard a horrible roar.…

  —From The Lion and the Dove

  Late that evening Bridget Crumb moved through Hermes House checking that all the doors were locked and secured for the night. It was Bob the footman’s job to lock up at night, but Bridget liked to do the rounds as well to double-check that he’d not forgotten anything.

  She also liked to survey what she privately thought of as her domain.

  Bridget touched the lock on the grand front door of Hermes House, nodded to Bill, whose turn it was to sit guard by the front entrance, and turned to mount the curving staircase. The light of her candelabra flickered and jumped against the darkened walls as she climbed. The stairs were hung with dozens of paintings, many of them portraits, and the painted faces stared at her as she passed. All the other servants were tucked in their beds—or at least retired for the night—and the house was silent save for the tap of her heels as she walked. On the upper floor she checked each room as she passed until she came to the duke’s bedroom.

  There she went inside.

  Hermes House was an opulent mansion. Every surface was carved, gilded, lined with imported marbles, or all three. It was as if the duke had wanted to show the world how much wealth he possessed—enough to build a house a king would envy.

  But even in such lavishness, the master bedroom stood out.

  Shell-pink walls were set with carved, gilded medallions of twining vines and leaves. At one end a white marble fireplace took up half the wall. A thick red-and-blue carpet lay on the floor, while overhead painted nude gods and goddesses reveled in debauchery.

  In the center of the room was the biggest bed Bridget had ever seen—and she’d been working in aristocratic households since the age of thirteen. It was carved of some sort of golden wood, massive bowed posts holding up a pleated, gold-tasseled, sky-blue canopy. More gold tassels held back swaths of material around the posts, and the bed itself held so many pillows they nearly obscured the coverlet.

  Bridget humphed as she passed the bed. Dusting the ridiculous thing took her maids half an hour each week.

  Just past the bed was a delicate secretary inlaid with ivory and gilt. It looked a bit like a rectangular box set on legs. The top was hinged and could be folded back so that a person could sit at the secretary and write letters.

  In the center of the front of the secretary was a keyhole. The secretary was locked.

  Bridget set her candelabra down on a side table and examined the lock. It was gold—naturally—and would scratch easily if care wasn’t taken.

  She sighed and straightened.

  Over the secretary hung an enormous, life-size painting of the duke. Another portrait of the duke hung in the stairwell. It also was life-size. In that painting he stood, beautiful and arrogant, draped in ermine, velvet, and silk, and holding a book in his long fingers. In this portrait he was reclining.

  And nude.

  Well, not entirely, Bridget amended, staring critically at the painting. The duke did have a transparent wisp of fabric floating over his pelvis, but it merely served to highlight his genitals rather than conceal them.

  Bridget had long suspected that the painter had flattered the duke with the size of his endowment.

  But she had far more important matters to think about.

  With a last glance at the self-satisfied smirk on the duke’s painted lips, she turned back to the secretary. She withdrew a hairpin from her coiffure, bent it neatly, and, leaning down, inserted it gently in the keyhole.

  Five minutes of patient manipulation later, Bridget heard a distinct click.

  She smiled to herself and lifted the lid of the secretary. Inside were rows of pigeonholes. She methodically went through each one and found ink, pens—several nibbled down to nubs—paper, sand, two letters that were scandalously explicit in what the sender wanted the duke to do to her person, and not much else.

  Bridget straightened and sighed. Well, at least she’d ruled out the secretary. She spent a further few minutes testing for any hidden drawers, and, after finding none, set the secretary back in order and closed it, taking care to lock it again.

  As she did so, she heard a faint sound, like a chuckle.

  Bridget froze, then picked up her candelabra and held it high.

  No one was in the room besides herself.

  She strode to the door and yanked it open.

  The hallway was deserted as well.

  Behind her something moved.

  She jerked around, peering into the far corners of the duke’s room. A door on the wall opposite the fireplace led into a small dressing room. When the duke was in residence sometimes his valet slept there. Bridget went to that door and opened it as well.

  The room was silent and empty.

  Slowly she closed the door to the dressing room. Bridget Crumb had been raised in the country, but she considered herself a sophisticated woman.

  She did not believe in ghosts.

  Glancing once more around the duke’s bedroom, she left the room and closed the door behind her.

  And made a mental note to have the maid set mousetraps in the upper floors.

  EVE WASN’T ENTIRELY sure how she’d come to be in a carriage with Asa—she’d certainly never agreed to such a thing—but that was where she found herself three nights later.

  The carriage bumped over a rut in the street and Eve swayed with it as she examined Asa, sitting across from her. He wore a flaming red coat tonight, trimmed in gold lace. Underneath, his waistcoat was made of gold brocade, intricately over-embroidered in black, and his breeches were black as well. If his family was “religious,” as Asa had indicated, she couldn’t help but think that his attire was designed to provoke.

  She herself had worn a simple gray silk with discreet white lace at elbow and neckline. A gauzy fichu was tucked into her bodice, for both warmth and modesty. She’d been persuaded to leave Jean-Marie behind for a much-deserved evening off tonight, but that didn’t mean she was unprotected—besides Asa, she had the driver of the carriage and two of her brother’s footmen.

  More than sufficient for a drive through London.

  Eve cleared her throat. “Did you decide on a present for the baby?”

  She’d spent the last several days continuing to order the Harte’s Folly books, but though he’d worked across from her for most of those days, Asa had been rather distant.

  Now he stopped bouncing his knee and turned to her. “I’m not a savage, y’know.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “I was merely curious.”

  He grunted, moodily looking out the darkened window. “Got her a guinea.”

  “You’re giving a baby money.”

  “It’s practical,” he growled. “Concord’ll save it for her and she can use it later for… for…” He frowned, apparently unable to think what a young girl could buy with a guinea. Impatiently he waved a hand. “Anyway, I did bring a present.”

  “Of course you did,” she replied soothingly. “I myself found a darling little bonnet that I hope her mother will like.”

  She’d actually spent far more time than needed searching Bond Street for the perfect present. Shopping for baby gifts was rath
er enthralling.

  He stared. “You didn’t need to bring a present. It’s my niece.”

  She felt an unaccountable spurt of hurt at his words. “I know that, but I wanted to give her something. A baby is a precious thing.”

  Eve glanced down at her hands. She’d never have a baby of her own, she knew. Could she be blamed then for wanting to dote on this one, though it was no relation of hers?

  His face softened at her stiff words. “I’m sure Rose will like the bonnet.”

  Eve didn’t have time for a reply, for they were drawing up before some sort of shop. She waited for the footman to set the step and then descended the carriage. They were on the outskirts of St. Giles—quite a terrible area of London, though this street seemed nice enough.

  She peered up at the shop—a dressmaker’s?—in confusion.

  “My brother and his family live over the shop,” Asa said in her ear, intimately close.

  “Oh.” Eve smoothed down her skirts, feeling suddenly nervous. The fact was that she wasn’t very comfortable in company—especially with people she didn’t know. Add to that the class differences and her fear that she’d make some sort of faux pas, and she had a sudden urge to get back in the carriage.

  Asa must’ve sensed her unease. He held out his arm for her. “They’re a loud and outspoken lot, but they hardly ever bite.” His green eyes softened. “And I think you’ll like my sisters.”

  “Well, then.” She inhaled, trying to smile. “I suggest we go in so I can meet them.”

  He showed her to the little door at the side of the shop. Behind it was a steep staircase that led straight to the upper level. As they ascended, Eve could hear happy laughter and voices raised in talk.

  Asa paused a moment at the landing, threw back his shoulders, and knocked loudly on the closed door at the top of the stairs.

  The voices hushed a bit and then the door was opened.

  A woman with strawberry-blond hair in a springy nimbus around her face stood there, her cheeks pink, her eyes a lovely green-blue.

  She took one look at Mr. Makepeace and flung herself into his arms. “Asa!”

  “Hullo, Rose,” Mr. Makepeace muttered as he wrapped his arms around her slim shoulders.

  “How wonderful you’ve come! Josiah will be thrilled—he still remembers when you took him to that puppet show, oh, years ago now, and Prudence, John, and George will be so excited—I think they believe you’re a myth. Oh, and you’ve never met little Rebecca, let alone Rachel, our new baby.” She pulled back, grinning, and caught sight of Eve, standing awkwardly to the side. Eve could almost see the inquisitive light fire behind the other woman’s eyes. “But who is this?”

  Rose’s excitement had drawn interest from inside the flat. Several children crowded around her skirts, staring wide-eyed at the newcomers, while three women came to peer over Rose’s shoulders.

  One, an elegantly dressed woman with blue eyes and mahogany hair, smiled curiously at the sight of Eve. “Why, Miss Dinwoody, how lovely to meet you again.”

  Eve swallowed, for it was Isabel Makepeace—the wife of Winter Makepeace, manager of the Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children.

  She held out her hand. “Mrs. Makepeace, good evening. And… Lady Caire?”

  Eve blinked in confusion at the second lady. She had a grave face, brown hair, and quite extraordinary golden eyes. Both women were in the Ladies’ Syndicate, but why would the younger Lady Caire, who was the wife of the quite notorious Lord Caire, attend this baptism?

  But Lady Caire solved her confusion by taking her hand and saying, “My maiden name is Makepeace. I used to manage the home with our brother Winter.” She shot a wry look at Asa. “I take it Asa didn’t tell you I was his sister when he decided to bring you?”

  “Erm…” Eve hedged, not wanting to embarrass Asa. She glanced at him, but he was glowering in the general direction of his sister and not helping one bit. She took a breath. “I hope it’s not inconvenient, my coming?”

  “Oh, not at all,” Isabel drawled, linking her arm with Eve’s. “In fact, I would call it very fortuitous indeed.”

  Asa looked a trifle alarmed. “Look here—”

  “We’ll introduce you to everyone.” The last woman finally spoke. She had the Makepeace brown hair and an infectious grin. She curtsied to Eve. “I’m Silence Rivers, Asa’s youngest sister. I’m so very glad you could come, Miss Dinwoody.”

  “Thank you,” Eve said, smiling shyly. “And won’t you call me Eve?”

  “Eve, then. Come in, won’t you?” Silence slipped her arm into Eve’s and gave a gentle tug.

  Eve stepped inside and caught her breath at once. Even though Asa had told her how large his family was, she hadn’t quite been anticipating the impact of them all gathered together in what was obviously a too-small room.

  She could discern a row of windows across the back of the house, no doubt overlooking a courtyard. Underneath the windows a long table was laden with all sorts of meats and breads and puddings. As she watched, a small dark-haired girl stood on tiptoe and attempted to stick her finger in a shimmering pink confection. Before she could touch it, however, the child was scooped up by a man with long white hair clubbed back with a black ribbon. He looked rather intimidating, truth be told, but the child seemed to disagree with this assessment, laughing as he flung her into the air.

  Silence must’ve seen the look on her face. “I suppose it’s a bit daunting at first, but really, we’re all quite friendly.”

  “The females, anyway,” Asa muttered directly behind her.

  A large man with brown hair streaked with gray turned at that moment, his eyes narrowing at the sight of them. “Asa! Little brother, I’m surprised you managed to tear yourself away from whatever you do and come to your niece’s baptismal dinner.”

  Rose quietly detached herself from the ladies, walked to the man, linked her arm with his, and, while still smiling at him, firmly ground her heel into his instep.

  The man didn’t make a sound, but his eyes widened a bit.

  “We’re very happy Asa could come, aren’t we, dear husband?” Rose said.

  “Of course, darling wife.” Concord Makepeace dislodged himself from his wife’s hand and moved a prudent pace away. “Welcome, Brother.”

  “Con,” Asa replied stiffly.

  Eve fought not to roll her eyes.

  Apparently Rose had no such qualms. “Concord, this is Miss Eve Dinwoody, Asa’s friend.”

  Friend. It was an innocuous word, but Eve had to suppress a shiver at being linked to Asa even in such a little way. Were they friends? Well, they must be. He’d hardly make a mere acquaintance accompany him to his niece’s baptismal dinner.

  “Ma’am.” Concord gave her a half bow. He was obviously years older than Asa, but there was a similarity in the stubbornness of the jaw and the frank gaze. That gaze darted to Asa, standing half a pace behind her, and the older man’s eyes narrowed as he looked between them.

  “Mr. Makepeace, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Eve said quite truthfully, and she saw a softening in Asa’s brother’s gaze.

  “Call me Concord,” he said gruffly.

  Rose patted her husband’s hand. “Now, let me introduce you to the rest of the family.”

  What followed was, in Eve’s opinion, a bit like running a gauntlet. Rose introduced her to the remaining Makepeace family, including the white-haired gentleman, who turned out to be the notorious Lord Caire, and Silence’s overwhelmingly handsome husband, Mr. Rivers. Verity Brown, the eldest sibling, who had apparently raised all but Concord when their mother died, was a serene woman of middling years, her hair more silver than brown. The children were very confusing, as there were half a dozen running about, as well as several toddlers.

  Eve met the baby being honored last. Rachel Makepeace was a pretty baby with a hand-knit bonnet tied under her chin. A tiny wisp of dark hair peeked from under the bonnet just at the center of her forehead. She lay in a basket, fast asleep despite the noisy
crowd around her—not least her uncle and father. Concord had drawn Asa into a corner and their discussion was obviously heated, as their voices grew steadily louder.

  “Don’t mind them,” Rose said, noticing her glance. “They do argue quite a lot, but they are brothers, and Concord wouldn’t dare do anything too awful on Rachel’s day.”

  “That reminds me,” Eve murmured, tearing her gaze away from Asa and his brother. “I brought this for Rachel.”

  She held out the small parcel she’d tucked into her pocket.

  “Oh!” Rose beamed at her. “You didn’t have to.”

  Eve smiled shyly. “Who doesn’t like buying presents for babies?”

  Rose giggled and drew off the ribbon tying the present closed. She unfolded the light paper Eve had wrapped the present in and then gasped. “It’s lovely.”

  She held up a white linen cap, delicately embroidered in palest pink around the edge, so that the other ladies might see. Temperance and Silence exclaimed over the fine embroidery while Isabel asked the name of the shop that Eve had found it in.

  Rose looked at Eve, her eyes glinting. “Thank you. I’m so glad you came.”

  “We’re all glad,” Temperance said softly.

  Eve glanced at her, puzzled.

  “She doesn’t know,” Isabel said, a thread of amusement in her voice. She glanced at the other women as if asking permission.

  Rose nodded.

  Isabel turned back to Eve. “As long as I’ve been married to Winter, Asa hasn’t brought a friend to visit his family.”

  Verity snorted under her breath. “Oh, it’s more than that, Isabel dear. Asa’s never brought a lady around.” She smiled conspiratorially at Eve.

  Oh, dear. Eve opened her mouth to explain that it wasn’t like that between her and Asa. They were business acquaintances.

  But she never got the chance, for at that moment Concord hit his brother Asa full in the face.

  ASA STAGGERED BACK under Concord’s fist. The blow to his cheek hurt like bloody hell. He growled as he lowered his head and charged, catching Concord around the waist and running them both into a chair behind him. The chair flattened with a crash beneath their combined weight and they both sprawled to the floor, Asa on top.