Before The Scandal (18 page)

Phineas chuckled. “I hadn’t realized that you’d studied the tactics of outlaws so closely.”

“I’m only being logical.”

“Ah.” He looked at his older brother, who sat across from him, one hand looped through the hanging wall strap. “Are you certain you’re feeling well enough for this?”

William shrugged. “It’s important to Beth that we attend this dinner, and so we shall do so.”

“Important to Beth how?” Phineas looked from one sibling to the other, taking in Beth’s pretty ivory and green gown, the way she sat on the edge of the seat. The realization hit him like a slap in the face. “You’re only seventeen,” he stated.

“You joined the army at seventeen.”

With a scowl, he turned to his older brother. “You approve of this?”

“Richard is very fond of Beth. He’ll see her well taken care of.”

“We
will see her well taken care of.”

William lifted an eyebrow. “Forgive my skepticism, but you’ve been away for more than half her life.”

“I’m sitting right here, you know,” Beth put in, her own expression annoyed.

“What about Lord Bram Johns?” Phineas suggested, a touch desperately. “A few months ago you were mad for him.”

“You sent me more than a dozen letters warning me to stay away from him,” she said succinctly. “And he’s
your
friend. That’s hardly a sterling recommendation.”

“Perhaps not. But I swear—
I swear
—that you will never have to settle for someone to see you safe.” His voice shook a little, but her present situation was also his bloody fault. William had to consider not only Beth’s current well-being, but her future. And he’d done his equations without figuring in his errant younger brother. That was going to change. It had to, for all of their sakes.

Beth abruptly scooted across the seat and threw her arms around him. Her fingers dug into his injured shoulder, but he only clenched his jaw, otherwise refusing to flinch.

When he caught William looking at him again, he lifted an eyebrow, daring him to comment on anything. It was their opinion of him that needed to alter—or not. He wasn’t precisely showing them his best side, but he was doing as he needed in order to help, when he’d been asked—ordered—not to. Regardless of that, he was not the stupid, callous boy he’d been ten years ago.

Upon their arrival at Donnelly House, he handed Beth to the ground and then stepped back to let Andrews manage William. He had the excuse of being considered a self-absorbed cad, but it still irked him to stand aside. Worse, though, would be trying to lift William and tearing open his wounded shoulder again, and then having to explain that.

“Welcome,” Lord Donnelly said with a smile, meeting them in the doorway.

“Thank you for having us,” William returned, sitting back as a pair of footmen joined Andrews to lift him and his chair up the front steps.

“I’m just pleased you’re feeling recovered enough to attend.”

Phineas followed the group into the large foyer, where Mrs. Donnelly stood to second her son’s greeting. He nodded to her, but kept his gaze moving. She wasn’t who he wanted to see.

“We’ve all been chatting in the drawing room,” Mrs. Donnelly announced, “if you’d care to join us. Lady Claudia has been telling the most amusing tale about a dress shop in London.”

They weren’t the only guests? Willam hadn’t mentioned anything about that. From his brother’s quickly covered expression, though, he hadn’t expected it, either. “Who’s dining with us tonight?” Phineas asked.

“Lady Claudia and Lord Anthony, and of course Lord Charles. I don’t know what I shall do, with all of you handsome young people surrounding me,” Mrs. Donnelly said, tittering.

Lord Charles Smythe. Clenching his fists, Phineas forced a return smile. “Without you present, the ratio of young ladies to young men will be sadly out of balance.”

“Oh, heavens.”

As the group of them clumped down the hallway, Phineas leaned over and grasped William’s arm. “Do you wish to stay?” he murmured.

“If I didn’t, I would be perfectly capable of making my own excuses.”

He straightened again. Well, that had been a nice slap in the face. And considering that his brother had been making his own excuses for the past ten years, it was a much-deserved one.
Idiot
.

In the drawing room, the three guests were gathered on one side of the room, chatting amiably. Across from them, her gaze out the window, sat Alyse.

His breath stilled. He’d never lacked for lovers, but the warmth that trailed out from his chest to the tips of his fingers, the abrupt yearning to touch her—that was new. Her dark eyes lifted to meet his, and desire flooded through him.

“I don’t think we need to make introductions,” Richard said, motioning a footman to bring around glasses of wine.

“No, indeed,” Lady Claudia took up. “We’re all friends here.”

Phineas shook himself. Lusting after Alyse was dangerous enough, but the man who’d shot him last night stood just a few feet away, laughing at something Lord Anthony said. He hadn’t expected his clearest enemy to be present. Now that Smythe was, though, he could not afford to be distracted tonight.

He might as well have asked the moon not to rise. Everyone still milled about, chatting, and he found himself standing in front of Alyse. “Hello,” he said quietly, not trusting himself to take her hand.

“Hello. How are you?” she asked, sending a pointed glance at his shoulder.

“Quite well, thank you.” Phineas took a slow step closer. “And how are you?”

Her cheeks colored a soft rose. “Very well,” she murmured.

God, he wanted to kiss her soft mouth. This was torture, standing so close and not allowed to touch. Then Beth grabbed his shoulder, and his eyes nearly rolled back into his head.

“Isn’t that so, Phin?” his sister was saying.

Swiftly he grabbed her hand, making a show of kissing her knuckles. “Isn’t what so, Magpie?” he asked with a smile.

“That you speak four languages. Lord Anthony doesn’t believe me.”

“I never said I didn’t believe you, Miss Beth,” the duke’s grandson returned, chuckling. “I said we should count ourselves lucky that our highwayman was French. If he’d been The Turk or The Russian, no one at all would have comprehended what he was babbling.”

Smythe gazed at Phin. “Which languages do you speak, Colonel?”

Damnation
. “Ah. I speak the language of cards, of wine, of women, and of song. That’s four, isn’t it?”

Richard burst out laughing. “Well said, Colonel.”

“And French, and Spanish, and Italian,” Beth insisted, frowning at him. “Don’t jest about your own accomplishments.”

He kissed her knuckles again, his mind racing for a way out of this stickiness. He’d never counted on his sister having so much faith and pride in him. “I’ve served on the Continent for ten years, Beth. One does tend to learn the rougher parts of the language of the people one is killing or cheating at cards.”

“Is that your polite way of saying you’ve learned all of the unrepeatable words?” Alyse contributed unexpectedly.

“And how to ask for directions,” Phineas added with a nod, trying not to let his sudden gratitude show on his face.

“But you—”

“I’m sorry to have exaggerated, Beth,” he muttered, squeezing her fingers before she pulled away.
Please let me be able to explain myself later
. William had said he’d been her hero; there was likely a special place in Hades for brothers who dashed the dreams and hopes of their sisters—and right after he’d sworn she would always be looked after.

The number of people who believed in him seemed to be dwindling down to naught. He took a breath. At the moment, he would settle for blaming this all on Lord Charles Smythe, and make himself ready to expand his anger to Richard Donnelly. “Did I hear you correctly?” he continued, speaking to Lord Anthony. “Did you say the highwayman
was
French? Did someone help him on his way to the afterlife?”

“That would be me,” Lord Charles said with a grin. “Put a ball right between his shoulder blades. Or perhaps his neck. It was dark, so I’m not entirely certain. At any rate, I’d wager a hundred quid that he’s deceased by now.”

Beth clapped. “Well done, Lord Charles. Though I admit, it might have been exciting to see a highwayman.”

“I would have preferred to see one hang,” Richard put in, drawing Beth’s arm around his. “But at least we’re done with that nuisance.”

Phineas nodded. “In a way, it’s a shame. I would have liked to try some of my inappropriate French on him.”

They stayed in the drawing room while Donnelly’s servants brought their overnight bags upstairs. It didn’t look as though the other guests would be staying the night, which would make things easier on him when he went…exploring later. Everyone might think Richard Donnelly practically a saint, but he had his doubts. And until they were satisfied, he was not about to stop hunting—whatever the cost.

“I took a ride around the countryside yesterday afternoon,” he was saying, from his place between Lady Claudia and Lord Anthony, “and I was a bit surprised to find that no one seems to own wolfhounds. Have they gone out of favor lately?” He chuckled a little. “Of course, if they’ve been killing sheep, I can see why no one with any sense would want them about.”

“I think they’re more popular farther north,” Lord Charles said, his voice a little stiff. If she hadn’t known, if Phin hadn’t told her that the hounds were his, she wasn’t certain she would have noticed.

“Ah, perhaps that’s the problem. We should look into any visitors in the area who’ve come from the north to go hunting.”

“You know, I think Lady Matthews’s niece is from York,” Aunt Ernesta contributed.

“I don’t think Miss Harper is much of a hunter,” Richard countered. “And I’m afraid that just about every visitor and houseguest in East Sussex is from the north.”

“Or from Brighton,” Beth said. “More and more every year, it seems.”

“Yes, well, we can thank Prinny for that.” William picked at his dinner. “Where he goes, everyone follows.”

“I’ll admit, my acquaintance with Prinny helped convince me to take up residence here,” Richard said.

“I shouldn’t wonder that the Romans stopped at your baths on the way to Brighton, my lord,” Aunt Ernesta declared, sipping at her third glass of wine.

“I believe Brighton’s a bit more recent than that, Mother.” Richard shifted. “Tell me, Colonel Bromley, how much longer do you think Wellington intends to chase after Bonaparte?”

“Until Bonaparte’s dead or captured, I would imagine.”

“But the baths are right on the way to Brighton,” her aunt blurted again. “Something must have been there, or why bother to build here in the middle of East Sussex?”

“There was some kind of fishing pavilion, no doubt,” Lady Claudia said, smiling. “What baths are you talking about?”

Phin showed no sign that talk about the ruins made him uncomfortable, and she could rarely tell what William might be thinking. Still, though, Alyse would have preferred that they discuss something else.

“Some old ruins on Quence,” Richard said, motioning for more wine. “With five field promotions, I thought perhaps you might know the duke personally.”

“Ah. We’ve met, then. I just don’t like to brag about it.”

Oh, dear
. “I see you had your coach repaired,” she said into her plate. “I’m glad the damage wasn’t too extensive.”

Richard leaned forward. “Are you accusing me again of being a braggart, Colonel? Because I assure you, I’m nothing of the kind.”

“I merely made a comment. You’re the one who concluded I must be discussing you.”

“Phin,” William said. “That’s enough.”

Richard had begun it, but of course no one would censure him. No one ever did. It always made Alyse want to scream, or to punch him in his nose. Phin must be so frustrated, knowing he was attempting to do something to help his family, and with no assistance, no one else to believe in—

His toe kicked against her ankle. Alyse jumped, looking across the table at him. Phin lifted his scarred eyebrow and subtly angled his head toward the dining room door.

She ignored it. Very well, so being embarrassed didn’t…embarrass him. She wasn’t going to leave the room with him.

“These baths,” Lady Claudia said into the awkward silence, “are they like the ones at Bath? Those used to be terribly fashionable.”

“Used to be, indeed,” William returned. “Now you’ll find mostly old ladies playing loo and cripples like me taking the waters.”

“Don’t call yourself that,” Beth broke in, frowning.

“Have you taken the waters?” Phin asked abruptly.

His brother looked at him. “I’m not ill,” he said slowly. “I don’t see the point.”

“But—”

“We can discuss my health regimen later, if you wish,” the viscount interrupted, no trace of anger in his face.

Did he blame Phin for what had happened? Phin certainly did. Alyse shook herself. Getting tangled in Phin’s troubles was the last thing she wanted to do, no matter how much she enjoyed the man himself.

Kick
.

She glanced at Phin, subtly shaking her head.

Kick
.

He might as well be burning her with a hot poker. Every time they touched, lightning coursed down her spine, hot, and intimate, and welcome. “Stop it,” she breathed.

Phin pushed away from the table. “Excuse me for a moment,” he said, and left the room without further explanation.

The table conversation went on without pause, leaving her sitting in the middle of it while no one spoke to her. “Aunt, are you cold?” she asked abruptly.

“What? No. I’m fine.”

“I’m a bit chilled. I think I’ll fetch a shawl.”

No one seemed to care, so she stood up and walked out to the hallway, shutting the dining room door behind her.

Phin stood across the hallway, vanishing into the morning room as she appeared.

Her breath speeding, she followed him. As soon as she crossed the threshold he caught hold of her arm, pressing her back against the wall with his body and seeking her mouth with his. With his free hand he reached over and quietly closed the door.

He moaned, tilting her chin up with the force of his kisses. “Alyse,” he whispered, taking her other wrist and drawing her hands up over her head. The only way she could reach him was with her mouth. It both frustrated and thrilled her.

“Let me go,” she muttered against his lips.

“No.” He turned his attention to her jaw and throat.

Oh, heavens.
“I thought you would be spoiling for a fight with Richard after that conversation,” she managed, feeling warm and boneless.

“I wanted to kiss you,” he returned. “I don’t give a damn about your cousin, except where he affects my family.”

She knew what would come next; he would ask if she’d been able to discover something to support his hunt. When she tugged again he released her hands, and she twisted them into his lapels as his coursed around her hips.

Finally he backed away an inch, resting his forehead against hers. “That should see me through dinner,” he panted, wiping his thumb along the side of her mouth. He kissed her once more, gently. “Don’t forget your shawl.”

With that he opened the morning room door and slipped into the hallway.

Alyse took a breath. He hadn’t asked her for information. With a smile, feeling lighter than she had in a very long time, she hurried up to the attic for her wrap.