Leslie Lafoy (10 page)

He’d heard enough of the whispers about her to know that she wouldn’t be the kind of wife he needed. No, he needed a wife of impeccable pedigree and spotless reputation to compensate for the decidedly tarnished one he’d inherited. But Lady Simone Turnbridge was so perfect in so many other ways that he’d be an utter fool to pass up the temptation of her. Of course getting her to agree to be his lover …

He pulled the reins of his mount from the ring and swung up into the saddle. How to go about convincing her? he wondered, setting out for the docks. Just laying the cards on the table would be the simplest approach. She’d appreciate his honesty and directness. As for the risk of scandal involved … If she paused to consider it at all, it would likely be to appreciate the exciting edge it gave to the whole affair.

But if they were discovered …

His stomach tightened. Logically … As long as he didn’t marry Simone, as long as she didn’t end up carrying his child, Lucinda wouldn’t consider her a threat of any sort. But, and as qualifiers went, it was a big but, Simone was the daughter of a duke, the ward of one, too. Riding astride and fencing were decidedly unconventional but within the realm of social tolerance. A wicked, deliberate affair was another matter entirely. If they were caught, her guardian would give him two choices, either marry her or stand there and allow himself to be run through. The first option would put Simone squarely in Lucinda’s sights and could very well cost her her life. The second would leave her a complete social pariah. Given all of the unpleasant possibilities, banking on not being caught seemed a bit on the irresponsible and reckless side. He’d have to give his plan a bit more thought, iron out the wrinkles, as it were, before he moved ahead with the seduction of his wild lady. Where there was a will, there was always a way.

*   *   *

Tristan was still mulling the possibilities and considering the angles when he swung down from the saddle and passed his horse into the care of the watchman. His steps ringing as hollow on the stairs as his ideas did in his brain, he lifted the latch and let himself into the office. The blast of warm air brought a smile to his face. A smile that became a grin as the man behind the desk looked up to peer at him from behind rapidly fogging glasses. San Francisco or London, it didn’t make much difference. It was nice to know that some things in his life were constant and predictable.

“Hello, Gregory,” Tristan said, heading for the desk.

“Good afternoon, sir.”

“Yes, I suppose it is so far,” he allowed, settling himself on the corner of the mahogany monster. “What have you been able to find out about my lady Simone?”

Gregory removed his glasses and wiped them with a handkerchief as he answered, “Not much, I’m afraid. And what I have managed to scrounge in the way of information is more rumor and gossip than anything else.”

“There’s usually a small kernel of truth buried deep in the gossip. What are they saying?”

“She was born on the wrong side of the sheets and recognized by the Crown only after the passing of her father, the late Duke of Ryland, some six years ago. No one seems to know where she was before then. Speculation is that she was from the lower classes, though.”

“And why do they think that?”

“They say she lacks social grace.”

No, she lacked patience for the artificiality of it all. “What else do they say about her?”

Gregory softly cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “She apparently has a bit of a wild side, sir.”

“Really?” he said, chuckling. “How so?”

“She’s created several stirs by riding astride on Rotten Row.”

Noland had told him the very same thing last night. Had it only been last night? It seemed like ages ago. “Because she defied convention or because she’s a better rider than a good many of the men?”

Carefully settling his glasses back on his face, the secretary replied, “I didn’t hear anything about her riding abilities, sir. Sorry. I did hear, though, that she has a penchant for arms.”

Now there was a bit of information that didn’t quite fit. “As in being wrapped in a manly pair of them?” he asked.

“No, sir!” Gregory said, his eyes widening. “I didn’t mean to imply that at all. From all accounts Lady Simone is far more interested in slashing off buttons and ruining coat sleeves with sharp blades than she is in stepping into romantic embraces. From what I hear, she’s considered too feral to risk even the most circumspect conversation. Touching her is regarded as beyond the bounds of sanity.”

Interesting. He’d more than touched and she hadn’t been the least bit unhappy about it. “What have you learned about her family?”

“Her Crown-appointed guardian, the current Duke of Ryland, is a former artillery officer who, like yourself, unexpectedly inherited the title. He married her older sister. Apparently in a cloud of minor scandal. He and the Duchess of Ryland have two small children and are reportedly expecting a third any day. There’s a younger sister, but no one knows much about her.”

“Her name’s Fiona and she cares for injured animals,” Tristan supplied. Which reminded him … “Did you manage to acquire that birdcage I asked about?”

Gregory snorted and pointed to the closed ledger lying in front of him. “Yes, along with everything else in the warehouse, just as you instructed. And it cost you a fortune.”

Picking up the leather-bound book and flipping it open, he quipped, “What would I do without you, Gregory?”

“Your own work?”

Tristan looked up from the page, astounded and amused. “You’ve developed a mean streak.”

“I’ve always had one,” Gregory countered, cocking a brow and reaching for his pen. “You were never around long enough to notice it.”

Tristan grabbed the pen to keep him from stabbing it into the inkwell. “You need a day off.”

“To do what?”

“Go buy yourself a new suit. Tour a museum. Wander around a library or a bookstore. Dine in a fine establishment.” Gregory looked at him over the top of his glasses. Tristan sighed and elaborated, “The new suit is to look wealthy when you tour the museum or wander among the books. If you do it right, you won’t be dining alone.”

Gregory let him have the pen and sagged back in his chair. “No respectable woman will accept a dinner invitation from a perfect stranger.”

Good God. With that sort of attitude … “You’re an American,” Tristan pointed out. “A cultured, educated American. She’ll put aside strict propriety out of sheer curiosity. Trust me.”

Gregory—predictably—shook his head and reached for the ledger. “I have to go over the inventory.”

“I’ll do it,” he countered, gaining his feet and heading for the door with the ledger in hand. He stopped, turned back, and tossed the pen to Gregory, adding, “Go buy yourself a good suit, then find a pretty skirt and smile at her. It will do wonders for your disposition.”

“So says the voice of experience?” Gregory called after him.

“The voice of
considerable
experience,” he corrected with a laugh as he headed out the door. He left it open behind him, figuring that if Gregory had to leave his desk to close it, he might actually take the advice and keep right on going. The man really was far too dedicated to his work; he made him feel guilty for enjoying life.

And enjoying life was the point of having spent a fortune to acquire a warehouse full of imported goods. Well, more accurately, enjoying Simone’s delight and gratitude when he showed it to her. As for when he’d actually manage to get her there …

He let himself into the warehouse and paused to allow his eyes to adjust to the dim light of the interior. Since Simone hadn’t agreed to meet him in the garden that night, he probably had at least another full day to wait, to prepare. Which was a good thing, he allowed, gazing over the crates and bundles; careful staging was so very important in any seduction. Almost as important as the sense of anticipation that drove the parties to it.

Tonight he’d see to setting a worthy stage so that he was free tomorrow to focus all of his efforts on making Simone breathless and bothered enough to willingly frolic with him on it. Chuckling and shaking his head, he wandered off into the maze of wooden boxes, trying to remember the last time he’d been so delighted by the mere prospect of an affair.

Chapter 6

Simone let Jasper choose his own pace and smiled in appreciation as he proudly cantered down the Ladies’ Mile. As always, heads turned as they passed the carriages. And as always, Simone pretended that she didn’t notice the way the women scowled, how they quickly turned to their companions to comment on her passing. Or, as she suspected, to express their outrage at her daring to make an appearance in the park reserved for the public display of the socially anointed, circumspect female.

Yeah, well, Simone silently countered, whether the prissy misses and stuffy matrons liked it or not, whether they approved or not, she was anointed, too. By royal decree and sanctioned by the College of Heraldry even. Not a single one of them could say that. No, they’d either been born on the right side of the right sheets by sheer dumb luck or managed to marry into the peerage by hook or by crook. And still, despite their rather shallow claim to importance, they practiced disdain as a high art.

Unless they need money,
she amended as one of the women waved to her. Simone nodded in polite acknowledgment while silently scrambling to recall the woman’s name. No, it wasn’t Lady Dammit. Lady … Lady … Danlea! Three daughters, a son, and a dead husband who had gambled the family into poverty long before finally being considerate enough to take a bullet in the heart at a faro table.

Lady Danlea waved again, adding a bright smile this time. Simone worked up a smile of her own in return and silently sighed as the deportment lessons trudged dutifully through her brain. Strictly speaking, since Lady Danlea was the wife of a baron, dead though he was, she shouldn’t have initiated contact with the daughter of a duke. Waving and then calling her over was a clear and presumptive breach of the rules that were designed to keep everyone firmly in their social place. If abandoning good manners for the sake of protocol wouldn’t reflect poorly on Drayton and Caroline …

Angling Jasper toward the Danlea carriage, Simone slowed his pace and allowed that it wasn’t an entirely awful situation, that at least Lady Danlea had decided to go out and about today with only her eldest daughter in tow. God, she was going to have to stop naming people herself and make an effort to learn their real ones. Calling the daughter Neigh-Face wasn’t going to go over well at all. Hopefully, she could get away with not using names. It was a damn good thing Lady Danlea had left Little Lord Lumpy at home or the possibility of an even larger social blunder would be only seconds away.

“Good morning, Lady Simone,” the elder woman said as Simone sidled Jasper alongside the Danlea rig. “A beautiful day for a ride, isn’t it?”

“It is indeed, Lady Danlea.”

“You’ve met my eldest daughter, Diana, haven’t you?”

Diana.
Bless Lady Danlea. “Once,” Simone answered, recalling the day and how Diana had curled her lip at their introduction. “Very briefly at one of Caroline’s charity events. Earlier this year, I think.” She nodded at the younger woman and lied, saying ever so properly, “It’s lovely to see you again, Diana.”

“And you, Lady Simone,” Diana replied, looking—to Simone’s thinking, anyway—as though she were trying to swallow a huge gulp of cod-liver oil. “We were wondering if you had made plans for luncheon yet.”

They were asking her to join them for a meal? It had to be frosty in hell. But since it would have to be frozen solid before she accepted the invitation … “Unfortunately, yes,” she said with what she hoped passed for a regretful smile. “Caroline’s expecting me at the table within the next half hour. Being confined as she is until this baby arrives, she looks so forward to having company at meals. I’m sure you can understand.”

“Of course,” Diana allowed with what sounded suspiciously like a sigh of relief. “We wouldn’t dream of depriving the dear duchess of her small joys.”

Small joys? Well, there were two ways to take the comment, one an expression of kindness and compassion, the other as a velvet-wrapped backhanded slap. Given that it was Diana … Jasper shifted under Simone, pulling at the reins. She wheeled him about and brought him back along the rig, countering sweetly, “Well, Diana, I suspect that if anyone knows about small—”

“Perhaps luncheon some other time then?” Lady Danlea quickly interjected.

“I’d be delighted,” Simone lied. And then, because Lady Danlea looked as though she were consulting some great mental calendar for an official date, she added, “The doctor says that the baby should be here in another two weeks or so. After that, Carrie will be able to get out of the house. Maybe the four of us could plan for an occasion together.”

“That would be perfectly lovely,” Lady Danlea cooed. “You will speak with her about the possibility?”

“As soon as I get home.”

“We would be honored by an invitation from the duchess.”

The wrangling of which, Simone knew, had been largely the point of the entire encounter. She nodded to both of them as Jasper sidestepped away, then turned him and set him on the path back to the house.

The things some people did in the effort to climb the social ladder,
she mused as she went
. Or, in the case of Lady Danlea and her progeny, the things people were willing to do to keep from falling off the ladder altogether
. Since barons couldn’t pass their title on, Lumpy had to marry one or return to the gentry class from which the Danleas had come. No more parties. No more galas. And stripped of his courtesy title in the process, Little Lord Lumpy would have to go through the rest of his life as Little Lumpy. The ignobility of it all.

Simone smiled and slowed Jasper to a cooling walk as they turned off the street and started up the family drive. But if Lumpy could manage to marry a title … And, while he was at it, money … Well, all would be right in the world of the Danleas. Lumpy could go on being a peer, his sisters would have better odds of snagging a peer of their very own, and while money wouldn’t exactly flow like the fountains in Hyde Park, they’d have considerably more of it than they did today.