His Heart's Delight (13 page)

She clapped her hands together and her grin
grew twofold. “Oh, that is, perfect, absolutely perfect. He is the
one we want to impress, is he not?”

When had the gods of mischief been let loose?
With sudden vehemence doubts assailed him. It was too soon to put
their charade to this test.

C
hristiana looked
toward James without making the slightest effort to disguise her
curiosity. Morgan took her hand and hoped that her mother was not
watching. “We will not overplay this, Sprite. Your mother and my
brother need only see our interest in each other. No
dramatics.”

She nodded politely, but her beautiful eyes
were sparking with the challenge. “Yes, I do understand, really I
do. We must stand here a moment longer and chat.” She paused. “Then
you will introduce me?”

“I suppose I must.” Morgan tried to imbue his
voice with some enthusiasm.

“Thank you.” Christiana spoke with finality
and then turned briefly to look at the group. When she turned back,
she was composed and amiable. She was everything a young lady
should be. Her eyes had quieted, even her gown appeared more
demure. Had she left her excitement with the blue shawl now draped
across the nearest chair?

“Have you ever noticed, my lord, how lovely
my sister is when she speaks with real animation?”

She spoke with such primness that he was the
one who grinned. “How do you do that?” he whispered, breaking his
own rule.

“I think of what is at stake,” she hissed at
him. He nodded, properly chastised, and subdued his smile. Glancing
toward the group, he realized that she was right. At this moment
Joanna Lambert was more than lovely. Her dress was as simple as
Christiana’s, muslin also but washed through with blue and of far
more conservative cut than her sister’s. It suited her slimmer
figure and more serious mien and the color of her dress made her
eyes more blue than gray. Was it the conversation that added the
color to her cheeks and eyes? She was talking seriously to Lord
Monksford and James. And both men were listening.

Christiana shook her head, her eyes brimming
with disappointment. “I do not understand why she is so taken with
Lord Monksford.”

“You do not think my brother is the one
responsible for that glow?” Morgan had been among the
ton
long enough to have witnessed more than one unusual alliance.

“Decidedly not. Your brother is too
intimidating by far. It is Lord Monksford who has captured her
fancy.”

Oh, how he would love to use that in the
betting book at White’s, but if Monksford disliked him now, he
would surely give him the cut direct if he became the butt of the
kind of gossip that was routine for a Braedon.

“You think James is intimidating? Your sister
does not look the least bit impressed.”

“It is precisely because Monksford is there
as a buffer.” Christiana waved her hand. “Joanna says she likes
Monksford best of all the men she has danced with, but I think he
just makes her feel comfortable. He must be nearly as old as Papa.
And I know Joanna misses Papa’s kindnesses right now.”

Morgan felt for the man. Monksford was not
even five-and-thirty and at least one Lambert saw him as nothing
more than a father figure. “He looks older because he favors all
the wrong colors. That brown jacket ages his skin as surely as it
would a woman with his coloring.”

“Yes.” She spoke in a considering tone. “That
could be it, but we can hardly walk up to him and suggest a
different tailor, can we?” She giggled, and then stifled it.

“I generally respect what he has to say,” he
said, wondering why he was defending the man twice in one day.
“Apparently your sister does too.”

Joanna was nodding at something James was
saying and then turned to Monksford, following his words with an
enthusiastic speech of her own.

Christiana’s face grew more serious. “But she
could have so much more than a suitor who can talk knowledgeably
about...”

Her voice trailed off and Morgan supplied the
subject. “Farming. He can discuss the latest farming methods with
knowledge and is not embarrassed to admit that he cares about his
tenants almost as much as he cares about his land.”

Christiana looked at him with a teasing
smile. “Just as Papa can.”

Despite the smile, Morgan could tell that
this was a debate he would not win. If he was going to defend
Monksford, it would profit him more to do it within the hearing of
Miss Joanna Lambert.

“Before they solve all the problems for this
growing season, come and meet James.” Morgan took her arm and
nodded at the trio. Morgan congratulated himself on his timing. The
twenty-minute call was at an end. There would be only a minute or
two for conversation.

As they moved toward the group, Christiana
paused and clapped her free hand to her mouth. “Oh, how selfish of
me! Does your brother’s visit to Town mean that your father is
better?”

“James says he improves, but he is still
abed.”

“That must be good news for all of you.” The
statement sounded like a question. “It must be so difficult.”

“It is, Sprite. It truly is.” Difficult was
only one of the words he would use and certainly the most
polite.

As the introductions were made, Joanna and
Monksford took advantage of the interruption to step aside for a
few moments of more private conversation.

James bowed to Christiana with appealing
deference. She summoned a smile that managed to be both serious and
sympathetic. “Your brother tells me that your father is improving
daily. I am so happy to hear that and hope he will be truly
recovered before long.”

James responded with the expected and Morgan
watched as Christiana’s grave smile turned impish. “Does that mean
you will be in Town long enough for me to learn whether you dance
with as much skill as your brother?”

Minx,
Morgan thought.
Flirting is
as natural to her as seduction is to James.
That could be an
incendiary combination.

“Not on this occasion, Miss Lambert. But I
will be happy to prove my dancing ability when next I come to
Town.” James’s smile actually reached his eyes. “Surely I will be
back to London before the Season ends.”

“I will consider it a promise, my lord. You
now owe me a dance. Though you do face formidable competition in
your brother.”

Morgan wondered if she might be overdoing it.
It was singularly difficult to view this exchange with any
objectivity. But it did seem that her flirtation was conveying just
the right element of interest in him.

Then Morgan realized that she was genuinely
enjoying his brother. That was much of her charm. Her flirting was
only a thin cover for the sincere pleasure she found in almost
everyone and everything.

James gave her a slight bow. “I look forward
to it, Miss Lambert. Have you ever known brothers who did not enjoy
the chance to best each other?”

Christiana laughed, not some ingénue’s
giggle, but one of true amusement. She reached out and touched
James’s arm as if she wanted to be sure she had his attention.

She did. James was smiling at her with open
admiration.

Jealousy welled up in Morgan and froze his
smile into something less than benevolent. He did his best to tamp
it down. His heart was not involved here, he reminded himself. Only
a little pride.

Before Christiana could speak again, her
mother noticed the cozy tableau. Mrs. Lambert moved across the room
with all the purpose of a soldier who did not want to miss any of
the action. Stepping between them, she smiled at James. “What a
pleasure to have you visit, my lord. Will you be at the Ponsonbys’?
Joanna and I will be there as will Lord Morgan I understand.”

It was a heavy-handed attempt to divert his
attention from the younger daughter to the older. And James could
interpret that any number of ways, Morgan decided.

They were away within moments. Morgan gave
the coachman the direction to Miss Perry’s while noting James’s
silence. His brother sat very still, flicking open his snuffbox and
then closing it again with a snap. He repeated the motion a few
more times without taking any snuff. “It would be just like you to
pretend attention to the younger sister when it is really Miss
Lambert who has caught your fancy.”

True,
Morgan thought.

“But then again,” James continued with the
air of one thinking aloud, “the older sister has a brain so she
could not be the one you are interested in.”

Morgan ignored the insult. It was hardly
worthy of James. Besides, he had seen James in conversation with
both sisters. He would be willing to wager the enamel box in his
pocket against the one James was worrying, that it was Miss
Christiana whom he would seek out again.

Still opening and closing his snuffbox, James
turned to Morgan. “It is the younger one, is it not? The cut of her
dress alone would have insured my attention. And what is her
shortcoming? You gave me a rather daunting list at breakfast. I saw
none in her, beyond a charming inclination to flirt
outrageously.”

Morgan relaxed his expression, struggling for
an answer. Then it occurred to him that he did not have to disavow
her appeal. He merely had to buy himself time. He shrugged. “She is
young.”

James closed the lid with a final decisive
snap and slipped it into his pocket. “Hardly a failing when you are
not yet thirty.”

“No, but her parents are anxious for her to
have an enjoyable Season and make the most of her opportunities.”
There were at least three or four ways James could interpret
that.

“Meaning that her avaricious mother hopes she
will find someone with a more promising income than that of a
gamester.”

And trust him to choose the most cynical.
That might work, Morgan thought. But if James believed her parents
looked on him with disfavor, he would question Morgan’s continued
courtship. “The Braedon name will excuse any number of
indiscretions. You know that as well as I do.”

“Yes, I do,” James drawled. He looked out the
window of the coach as it moved slowly past Hyde Park toward the
Perrys’. “The Lamberts could not do better than the match. And do
not doubt Mama knows it.”

What would it take to ease James’s
bitterness, Morgan wondered. “Why not stay on for the Ponsonbys’?”
No sooner were the words out of his mouth than Morgan cursed his
fraternal concern. The last thing he wanted was James’s continued
presence. Besides, he suspected it would take more than a few days
in Town to cure what ailed his brother.

James dismissed his brother’s suggestion. “I
return to Braemoor as soon as possible. Even these few days away
allows for too much mischief.”

“Then perhaps you could return for the
Hawthorne Masquerade at the end of the Season.” He felt safe
mentioning it for he could see James was taking his new
responsibilities very seriously. Once he was back at Braemoor he
would not come back to London without an urgent need. A masquerade
was about as urgent as James’s need for a new snuffbox. “James,
exactly why
are
you come to Town?”

James looked for a moment as though he might
actually tell him when the carriage lurched to a stop. “Here we are
at Miss Perry’s. Tell me, Morgan, does she flirt with as much grace
as Miss Lambert?”

James came no closer to answering Morgan’s
question until they returned from the last of their calls.

“Do you have plans for the evening,
Morgan?”

“I am going to find a game of faro and win
myself enough for a new pair from Tattersall’s. White’s for dinner
first, I think.” Morgan realized as soon as the words were spoken
that his plans should have sounded more definite. “I want the
evening to myself. My plans do not include dinner with you.”

“I want you and Rhys to have dinner with me
and then I want to visit several of the haunts you so favor.” James
named four, completely ignoring Morgan’s objection.

“Not one of those hells is in my usual style.
If you want to gamble let me take you to—”

James cut him off with, “I have a specific
purpose for visiting those four and a reason for wanting both of
you with me.”

Anger flashed through him. James was treating
him like a flunky who he could order at will. He was not a puppet,
damn it. “It would be easier to garner my cooperation, and Rhys’s,
too, I imagine, if you shared the supposed reason.”

“You only need to be there and you will
understand.”

He almost refused, damn the consequences, but
the gods knew there were a bare handful of times when James had
sought his company, much less implied he needed help. He was not
flattered, Morgan decided, but he was curious. He resigned himself
to a tedious evening, trying to determine the answer to one of
James’s infernal intrigues.

~ ~ ~

The Braedon brothers encountered Peter Wilton
at the second club they visited. Morgan decided that Wilton was as
close as he would be to Christiana all evening.

He still had no idea why James had insisted
on his company, but he had won enough at the first hell to appease
his irritation at being led around like a tame dog.

Rhys had come along willingly. He was still
young enough to be flattered by the invitation to join his elders.
As the carriage clattered from home to the clubs beyond Mayfair,
Rhys chattered on about applying some of the scientific principles
he’d learned to gambling.

For a moment, Morgan regretted his
unwillingness to fleece his own brother. James looked at him and
smiled and Morgan responded with a shrug. Between the two of them
they should be able to prevent anyone else from doing so as well.
It had not proved too much of a challenge so far.

“I actually won at Barton’s.” Rhys patted his
pocket, and the jingle of coins attested to his success.