And Then Comes Marriage (5 page)

With his family mostly accounted for and no impending explosions apparent—because they’d already done that today—Cas allowed his thoughts to drift back to his surprising afternoon.

Miranda
.

Mrs. Gideon Talbot, of Breton Square.

And then, the astonishing interview at St. James’s Palace. Cas felt inward to find that satisfying ember of accomplishment. In one month, he—and Poll, of course—would be more than just gossip fodder, more than the Double Devils, more than cocksmen-about-town—

The front hall was quiet. Too quiet. “Come on out, Rattie.”

His youngest sister, Attie—as usual, a right mess from her scabbed knees to her tangled amber curls—crawled out from behind the coat stand. “You’re clean.”

He smirked. “I’m always clean.”

She narrowed her eyes. “No, sometimes you come home clean like you’ve just had a bath and you sing that stupid song about the dancing maids. This time you’re all clean and you’re not singing.” She scowled at him. “Poll came in filthy and smudged and wouldn’t tell me a thing. What went wrong?”

“Later, Rattie.”

She screwed up her face at the nickname given her by their brand-new brother-in-law. The entire family had begun to use it, particularly when Attie’s behavior waxed most foul. Which was more often now, left as she was without Callie’s commonsense guidance and attempted instruction in the ladylike arts.

“Where’s Poll?”

“He’s had a bath.” Attie rolled her eyes. “Now he’s primping in his room. I think he has a new girl.”

I don’t have a new girl. I don’t.
“He’s likely using that newfangled invention of ours.”

Attie brightened, which meant that her permanent scowl became slightly less frightening. “You’ve made something new?”

Cas grinned. “Yes. It’s called a ‘hairbrush.’ You should try it.”

Attie’s scowl became truly fearsome and she stalked away down the hall, all pointy elbows and stormy mutterings.

Cas snorted. He’d best remember to check his sheets tonight before he climbed into them. Attie was a vicious prankster. After all, he’d taught her everything she knew. He climbed the stairs, whistling although he did not much feel like it.
Ye merry maids come dancing.…

Dancing with Mrs. Talbot would be intriguing. She had a languid grace that soothed his own restlessness.

Not that he would be seeing her again. There was no need to allow her to think his stolen peck had been anything more than healthy male opportunism. All imagined sweetness aside, a kiss was just a kiss, wasn’t it? Just one of hundreds, after all.

One month without scandal. No problem.

He entered his brother’s bedchamber still whistling, then flung himself down on the worn chair before the fire.

“I see you escaped the alley unscathed,” he commented without much rancor. He could hardly blame Poll for fleeing the scene, and he was glad his brother had not been apprehended by anyone interested in the prosecution of a little harmless inventing.

He tossed the brown paper parcel onto the dressing table. “I found that book you were going on about. Coleridge.” Cas stifled a yawn. More poetry.

“What put you into such a good mood?” Poll frowned at him in the mirror, where he stood impatiently ripping out the knot in his cravat, probably in order to start over. “I’d have thought you’d be ready to toss me into the boiler after today’s mess.”

Cas smirked as he watched Poll struggle with his cravat. Poll was always becoming obsessed with some pretty creature and getting himself into a dither. Once in a while, he even waxed eloquent upon the alleged joys of matrimony. That simply wouldn’t do.

However, Cas wasn’t too worried. Passions swept Poll from time to time. He never managed to keep his heart entirely uninvolved, despite Cas’s tutelage. Fortunately, those sweeping passions eventually swept right past, leaving Poll completely well and slightly mystified by his former craving.

Women had one purpose in the lives of the Double Devils, as they were known in Society. Women were for kissing if they could be convinced of it, and for more if they could be seduced to it. Oh, they expended no energy toward the despoiling of virgins. They were too aware of the evil of that, what with three beloved if irritating sisters.

However, bored wives, wicked widows, and lusty barmaids were readily available and easily charmed. Why bother with anything more complicated than that?

I don’t have a new girl. Truly.

Catching Cas’s grin in the mirror, Poll cocked a brow. “Seriously, what are you so happy about?”

Cas hesitated. He wasn’t ready to reveal the bargain with the Prince Regent. He knew Poll wouldn’t like it. Poll found their impudent existence to be highly agreeable. Bringing his twin around to a new, more serious status might take some time, and some thought.

However, he truly ought to share his afternoon escapade with the pretty widow. He and Poll always did. Women were wonders to cherish and pleasure—but they were also adventures to relate over a brandy. Debates would ensue, discussions of blonde versus brunette, of curvaceous versus slender. Neither of them had a true preference, it seemed. They were both equal-prospect lovers. Poll would enjoy the story of the pleasantly rounded widow rolling beneath Cas in the alley. And that kiss.

Except that it was just a kiss. Of course. Really, there was nothing to tell.

Cas just grinned and shook his head. “I’m looking forward to tonight, that’s all.”

Poll looked confused, then dismayed. “Oh hell. I forgot about tonight.”

“‘Oh hell’?” Cas frowned at his twin, firmly putting his mixed afternoon behind him. “Our invitation to Mrs. Blythe’s House of Pleasure rates an ‘oh hell’? A posh and dissolute orgy—er,
ball
—is a subject of consternation?” For the first time the danger occurred to him. Need he worry about scandal? No. What happened at Mrs. Blythe’s never made it past the doorman. Which was a relief, since the bargain had been struck barely an hour ago. He’d feel a fool if he could not even make it though one day!

Poll turned away from the mirror, his expression a bit mulish. “I had another plan for this evening.”

No, Poll, you don’t. You are going to stay where I can keep an eye on you at all times.
“You had a plan more exciting than an evening of decadent entertainments provided by the most notorious brothel in London? What will you be doing, hunting tigers in Hyde Park?”

Poll narrowed his eyes. “No, it was nothing so fascinating. Just an interesting prospect.”

Cas took his brother by both shoulders and gazed pityingly into his eyes. “Tonight is not a prospect. Tonight is not a gamble. Tonight is a houseful of beautiful, willing, and eager!”

Pol grinned. “But I like hunting tigers.”

Cas grinned back. “I, as well.” He released Pol with a little shake. “But since we are neither moneyed nor likely to ever be, we are fortunate just to be invited into this evening’s bacchanalia.”

Pol smirked. “Mrs. Blythe loves us. We keep things interesting.”

Cas untied his own hastily knotted cravat as he graced the room with an angelic smile. “Well, we are lovable—”

“—and so imaginative—”

“—and twice as handsome as any other bloke!” They recited the old joke in unison.

“And the ladies are so grateful for a respite—”

“—from boring old statesmen and corpulent dukes!”

Cas tugged free his cravat and swept it into a deep bow like a flowing lace handkerchief from another era. “We aim to please.”

“And please—”

“—and please—”

Their laughter was interrupted by an unholy screech from the floor above.

“Attie!”

Chapter Five

The Worthington brothers cringed.

“Ellie,” Cas commented wryly, “has a lovely singing voice.”

“Mm.” Poll rubbed at his ears. “Truly a gift from the gods. Its splendor brings tears to my eyes. Look at me now. I’m already about to weep.”

At that moment, a small skinny whirlwind blew into the room, slamming the door behind her. Attie pressed her back to the oak panel and assessed them thoughtfully. “If you hide me, I’ll cry pax on you two.”

Poll narrowed his eyes. “For how long?”

Laughing, Cas opened his hands. “I don’t care how long. Take the deal. Even one day of safety from her would be worth it!”

Poll shook his head, his attention never leaving the glinting eyes of his youngest and deadliest sibling. “I’d do just about anything for a day free of pranks—except that if we do this, we’ll have to suffer Ellie’s wrath instead.”

Attie huffed dismissal of her elder sister’s fury. “Ellie’s a featherweight.”

Cas nodded. “Exactly. Take the deal.”

“You must think she’s in a truly bloodthirsty mood, or you wouldn’t be here.” Poll pursed his lips. “One month.”

Attie scowled. “Two weeks.”

Poll lifted his chin. “One month. We could hear her from here.”

Thudding noises sounded overhead, as if heavy items were being tossed about the upper bedchambers. Attie tilted her head. “A short month. Twenty-eight days.”

Poll looked upward. An animal shriek of pure rage penetrated the ceiling. Attie flinched.

Poll smiled at that flinch. “Long month. Thirty-one days. Beginning tomorrow.”

Attie snarled.

Poll held up a hand. “You know the rules. Pax means no vengeance later. Clean slate.”

“Never mind.” Skinny arms folded and pointy chin lifted. “I’d rather face Ellie down.”

It wasn’t true and both brothers knew it. Ellie could definitely be considered a featherweight in the vengeance department—unless one were caught in the first, most intense explosion. No one wanted that.

Attie, on the other hand, might take months to develop the most perfect and devious retribution. For a child, she had a deep and true understanding of “Revenge should have no bounds.”

Immediately through Poll’s mind rang his mother’s voice.
Hamlet, Act Four, Scene Seven.
He shook off the twitch-inducing pronouncement with a sigh.

“Attie, she’ll be down here in approximately forty-five seconds. It’s going to take at least thirty seconds to hide you properly. Agree or run for it.”

Attie tried blinking back tears, throwing in a little lip tremble for good measure. Poll snorted. “Nice try.”

Cas smirked. “Don’t bother, Rattie.”

Poll started counting down with fingers held up. “Thirty-five seconds.”

They heard the swift patter of sure-footed Ellie racing full-speed down the stairs.

“Thirty seconds. Twenty-nine.”

“Fine!” Attie growled. “Hurry!”

Poll smiled. “Cas?”

With a snort of laughter, Cas reached beneath Poll’s bed to withdraw a medium-sized carpetbag. He stripped the buckle open and held it wide. “Get in.”

Attie drew back. “I won’t fit.”

Poll grinned. “Yes, you will. We bought it for just such an occasion.”

Cas put the bag on the floor and Attie stepped in. It took a moment to kneel and fit all her gangly limbs within, but Cas was able to fasten it closed over her folded form. He then stood and lifted it easily, holding it as casually as a man about to board a coach.

Just in time. The door flew open and Elektra stormed in, lightning flashing from her blue eyes and an unseen wind blowing her golden hair about her face. Well, not really, but very nearly.

“She’s in here,” Elektra stated with a snarl. “I know it.”

Cas and Poll glanced at each other innocently, then turned back to Ellie. “Who is in here?”

Again, Ellie sneered. “The Queen, you arse. Attie, are you in here?”

Cas blinked. “Well, she’d hardly be likely to answer—”

“—having no history of suicidal behavior—”

“—nor lack of survival instinct—”

“—but we cannot help you—”

“—because we’ve been out all day—”

“—buying new luggage—”

“—although we’re not sure this one is quite the thing—”

“—for it’s a tad small. What do you think, Ellie?”

Cas held out the bag to his sister, who rolled her eyes and pushed past him. “I don’t give a fig about your luggage! Where is the little monster? She’s taken my new evening gloves—the ones from Lementeur meant specially for me to wear to the Marquis of Wyndham’s Midsummer Ball!”

This was serious. Elektra, having grown weary of her parents’ lack of interest in matchmaking, had arranged her own coming out. With grim determination, she had begged, borrowed, and stolen a Season for herself. Poll applauded how his resourceful sister had finagled her presentation to the Prince Regent on the basis of at least seventeen flat-out falsehoods, had responded to her growing list of invitations in Iris’s name, and had even struck some kind of devil’s bargain with Lementeur to keep her in gowns—heaven knows what she promised the man.

Fortunately, it wasn’t likely to be her virtue. Elektra had plans for that virtue, plans that included snagging a title at the very least.

The twins waited while Ellie searched the room, checking all the obvious places and then a few that made the brothers exchange glances of alarm. Apparently, they didn’t have as many secrets from their family as they’d thought.