Never Entice an Earl (22 page)

“I’m only glad,” he said, “that everything turned out well.”

“Everything
did
turn out well,” she answered. “Perfectly, in fact. Good night, then.”

“Good night, Miss Bevington.”

It pained her just to turn her back on him and walk away. Upstairs, a bath did indeed
await, before a small fire on the grate. When she entered the room, Kate turned from
the cabinet, one of Daphne’s sleeping gowns in hand.

“There you are. I saw your arrival from the window and had the water brought up just
then, so it should be nice and warm still.”

“I’m so glad to be home. I can’t wait to crawl into bed.”

“Lord Raikes saw you home, then?”

“He did.”

“Given the history between you,” she said quietly, “I hope you weren’t alone with
him?”

“Not for long.” A confession crowded Daphne’s lips. She wanted to tell Kate everything,
but couldn’t. The loss of her innocence must remain a secret between herself and Cormack.

“Goodness, your hair. Let’s get it combed out.” Kate helped her undress, pausing at
the loose and untied laces of Daphne’s corset, but for only a moment. Heat scalded
her cheeks, but she said nothing. When she was naked, she stepped into the bath.

A gasp sounded beside her, from Kate, who seemed to be staring wide-eyed at the water.
No, not the water, Daphne realized, looking down as well. A faint smear of blood stood
out against the pale skin of her inner thigh.

“Oh, Daphne.” Her face went as white as the gardenia soap in the dish.

“Now don’t get hysterical, Kate.”

“It is too late. I already am.”

Daphne wasn’t going to stand there naked, halfway in the bath, defending what she
and Cormack had done. She sank down into the warm, fragrant water, and closed her
eyes.

“He must marry you. You must tell your mother, so that she can go to Lord Wolverton.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You aren’t going to say anything, either. I forbid it. And please,
I beg you, don’t think badly of Lord Raikes.”

“How can I not? How can
you
not?” Kate exclaimed, her hands balling into fists. “Oh, I could murder him. He is
betrothed to another.”

“Not truly. Not yet. She is twelve years old, Kate, and there is only an understanding
in place, so that he can regain possession of family lands. He is an honorable man,
trying to put his family and his legacy back together.”

“He’s filled your head with romantic delusions.”

“I’m not deluded in the least.” She bit her thumbnail, her heart bursting with emotion.
“I love him, Kate, and though I won’t force him to say it, I believe he loves me.
It’s enough for me. I’ll remember this night forever and with no regrets.”

“You’re too foolish and inexperienced to know otherwise.”

“You’ve never been in love, Kate. Once you have, you’ll understand that none of the
rules the world tries to put in place over us will matter anymore. He will marry another,
and I, not at all. The world will go on as intended. Nothing has changed.”

“Everything has changed. He has seduced you!”

“No, Kate, quite the opposite. To be completely honest, he tried very valiantly to
resist.” Daphne sank into the water a few more inches, up to her chin. “You see, it
is I who quite intentionally enticed the earl. No one is accountable in this save
me.”

At the curb, Cormack waved off his driver. “I prefer to walk tonight, thank you. Please
return to the house, and retire for the night, the both of you.”

Jackson called from the rear, “My lord—”

“Go.”

Craving the solitude of the night shadows, he set off down the road. He wandered.
Where and for how long, he did not know, the people and carriages and houses all a
dull blur as he moved past. His conscience railed over what he had done, demanding
some fraction of logic or reasoning to make what had happened between himself and
Daphne right. Yet that reasoning eluded him, and so he kept right on walking.

His motives for agreeing to marry the Snaith girl were pure, were they not? What sort
of legacy would he leave for future generations of Northmores if it did not include
the land and, indeed, the very
pride
they had owned and defended and died for, not for mere decades, but centuries?

And yet tonight his heart had been rent completely in half, and whether she knew it
or not, a half now belonged to a young woman with moonlight-silk hair and blue eyes.
Like him she carried inside her soul an unhealed wound, and she sought to heal herself,
and perhaps others, in whatever imperfect way her conscience saw fit. By all accounts,
she would not agree to marry him even if he were free to offer for her. It had been
clear she intended from the start that their night together—and any that followed—would
be a secret love affair, the memories of which she would cherish to her dying day.

And yet…he had enjoyed his share of love affairs, both secret and not, and knew the
difference between
those
and
this
.

God help him, he was in love. Desperately. Wildly. He felt sick with the burden of
it, not knowing what to do.

At last, settling upon no clear answer, near dawn he made his way home.

Just then an enormous man—astoundingly tall and thick—approached him on the sidewalk,
dressed in the street clothes of a commoner, likely on his way to or from his place
of employment.

“Evenin’, govna’,” he said as he walked past, tipping his hat and offering a jaunty
smile. “’Ope y’ ’ad a marvelous night.”

“Thank you,” he answered. “I did indeed.”

Because he had enjoyed a marvelous night. The most marvelous and devastating night
of his life.

Zounds, but truly, now that they were closer, Cormack could honestly say the fellow
was perhaps the largest man he had ever seen.

“Mr. Kincraig sends his regards.”

“What did you say?” He pivoted on the heel of his boot, just in time to see the club
swing for his face.

D
aphne, we’ve the florist coming this afternoon to confirm the flower arrangements
for your ball.” The marchioness folded her napkin and reached for the newspaper. They
sat in the breakfast room, enjoying a late morning meal.

Daphne twirled her fork in a mound of uneaten eggs. “I won’t forget.”

“Speaking of flowers,” said Clarissa, breezing into the room. “There’s an arrangement
in the drawing room that just arrived for you, Daphne. Very beautiful, even more extravagant
than the others, so much so that it made me momentarily jealous.” She made a face.
“No, wait…wait. I am still utterly jealous.”

She laughed, amused by her own drollery.

Daphne’s pulse leapt, and she straightened in her seat. Had Cormack sent her flowers?
Certainly he wouldn’t be so reckless to do so, though knowing his sense of humor,
he would use some silly moniker. Only, she didn’t see him being silly today, not when
he planned to meet with Kincraig to confront him about his sister.

“Who are they from?” asked Lady Margaretta.

“Are you insinuating that I am nosy enough to read sentiments not intended for me?”
She closed her eyelids exaggeratedly, in an expression of mock offense. “Well, I’m
not. Not
always
.” She poured herself a cup of tea.

“Thank you for telling me, Clarissa. I’m on my way upstairs to change, so I’ll look
at them now.”

She went directly there, knowing the flowers likely weren’t from Cormack, but now
hoping they were. She could not help but worry that he’d spent the entire night regretting
what had happened between them. Wasn’t that why she loved him?

Her breath caught in her throat. Loved him. She did indeed love him. She had for a
while now, and perhaps from the beginning.

A large arrangement of wild roses in reds, blues, and yellows awaited her. Smiling,
she plucked the card from their center. For a moment, she closed her eyes, because
somehow not knowing…but the wishing and hoping…was the best part.

The envelope was sealed, which they rarely ever were. That made her smile. That was
why Clarissa hadn’t read the card, because she might tear the envelope and that would
be evidence of her nosiness. It was also evidence that whoever wrote the sentiments
intended for them to be private, between just the two of them.

She slid her thumb beneath the edge, and carefully beneath the flap, not wanting to
tear the paper herself, because if the flowers were from Cormack she intended to keep
the card, and a carefully pressed selection of the blooms…well, forever.

Only…upon removing the card, she saw that it had been embossed with a gold Medusa
head, one she now knew to represent the Invisibilis. She bit her lower lip and read
the message.

She blinked, and blinked again.
No.

A strangled cry broke from her lips. She closed the card, not wanting to see the words,
praying they were a dream. But opening it again, she saw they were real.

Written in block letters, in thick ink, were the words
MEET ME OR I TELL EVERYONE. EVERYONE. EVERYONE.
Along with a nearby address and the specified time. Below the words had been drawn
a swan, and in the curve of its breast, one word had been written:
BLUE.

“Is ’e dead?”

Grass crunched in his ear. Something nudged his shoulder. Something nudged his shoulder,
harder. The toe of a boot.

Cormack’s eyes flew open.

“Gor! ’E’s alive!” The two men who stood on either side of him stumbled back. They
looked nearly identical, only one being bent at the shoulders, and wrinkles lining
his face. A father and son, he had no doubt.

He pushed up, fighting dizziness. Hell, his head. How it pounded! How it hurt. He
touched a hand to his temple, and it came away covered in blood. He remembered the
big man. Yes, and the club that had certainly done this damage to his face. Ah, hell.
That’s what he got for being out on the street so late at night, and alone. He’d been
robbed.

“You’re not from around ’ere, are y’, sir?”

“I don’t know.” He squinted, looking all around and seeing only farmland, and two
massive horses harnessed to a large wagon. “No, I’m not.”

He reached inside his coat, to confirm the money he’d carried was gone.

Only it wasn’t. He held in his hand a leather purse filled with bills and coins. That
didn’t make sense.

If he hadn’t been robbed, then what?

“Y’ got somethin’ pinned to yer shirt, there,” said the old man.

He glanced down, but the movement made him dizzy. But it was a piece of paper, with
something written across it. “What does it say?”

“Don’t know,” he said.

“We can’t read,” added the other.

They both chuckled.

He ripped the thing off, and held it before his face.

Stay the HELL away,
the note said.

Stay the hell away from what? From Mr. Kincraig, he presumed. That was completely
out of the question now. Anger quickly turned to rage. He had to get back to London.
Why had he promised Daphne he wouldn’t kill Kincraig? It was all he wanted to do right
now.

“I’ll get the missus,” said the older one. “She’s got a salve that will fix you up
right.”

“No, sir,” he answered, struggling to his feet. Both reached out to steady him. “I’m
sorry, but I don’t have the time for that. What I do have is money.” He held the purse
aloft. “I’ll pay one or both of you well to return me to London. You must understand,
it’s very important that I return.”

“Daphne, you said we were just going for a walk, but I have a feeling that something
else is going on here.” Kate moved along beside her on the sidewalk. Carriages rattled
by, as did riders on horseback.

“I’ve agreed to meet someone,” she answered. “That’s all.”

Kate scrutinized her from beneath the brim of her bonnet. “Someone? As in Lord Raikes,
I suppose? I told you, I can’t agree to be part of that. Yes, we are friends, but
your mother and grandfather entrusted me with your reputation, and—”

“No, not Lord Raikes,” she answered. How she wished it was. “Someone else.”

“Another man?” Kate’s eyes widened.

“I’m not even sure.” She slowed her pace. “Here we are.”

They had arrived at a small parklike area, where there were several benches and numerous
fine, tall trees. She turned, looking everywhere, at everyone. She didn’t recognize
a single face.

“What do you mean you aren’t even sure? You don’t know if you are meeting a man or
a woman?”

“Kate, please, just listen to me. This afternoon I received a message from someone
who knows I was at the Blue Swan that night. They threatened that if I did not meet
them here now, they would tell everyone. Kate…my family. I can’t hurt them with such
a scandal.”

“Who is it?”

“I’m not certain.” Daphne shivered, her hand coming up to loosen the ribbon of her
hat beneath her throat. “But I’ve got to find out what they—or this person, wants.”

“What are we going to do?”

“
You
aren’t going to do anything.”

“But—this is all my fault.”

“No, it is not, and neither is it mine. We are simply two friends who would do anything
for one another, and we have found ourselves in a predicament.”

“Not me, Daphne.
You.
I fear you are in danger.”

“I doubt the situation is anything as dramatic as that. But whomever my threatener
may be, he or she will be here soon.” She looked about, and touched Kate’s arm. “Do
you see that bench over there, under the tallest tree? I need you to go sit on it,
and wait for me.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.” Kate sidled closer, holding her reticule against
her stomach. “I think I should remain with you.”

“You know I would do anything for you, Kate, and now I beg you to do this for me.”

“You’re frightening me.”

Daphne gently pushed her in the direction of the bench, and watched her until she
sat down. With a little wave to reassure her, she turned back toward the street. Several
people walked by, but no one alone. Several minutes passed, in which she reassured
herself that she must remain calm.

Then a dark carriage came down the thoroughfare, its driver staring straight ahead.
The vehicle slowed, and came to a stop.

Daphne stood rigid, staring at the door. When it opened, she peered into the shadowy
darkness.

“Oh, no,” she whispered. “You!”

A man’s voice answered. “Surprised?”

“Here it is.” Cormack pointed. “Yes, here. You can stop.”

“Gor!” the younger farmer said.
Gor!
being his favorite expression, and one he had used at least a thousand times on the
ride into London.
Gor!
he was driving Cormack mad.

“That would be your house?”

No. It was Kincraig’s house, a conservative affair on a lesser street within Mayfair.

The old man peered up at the front façade. He let out a low whistle. “Very fancy.”

Cormack did not wait for the wagon to come to a complete halt before leaping down.
He had not escaped the ministrations of the resident farmwife. He felt certain she’d
wrapped his head in twelve yards of homemade bandaging. Not that those twelve yards
prevented the smelly green salve she’d smeared on one-half of his forehead to remain
in place. Half the stuff presently slid down his jaw.

“Thank you, gentlemen.” He paid them, and without so much as a sentimental good-bye,
they were on their way.

The butler opened the door for him, and after he answered that His Lordship was indeed
at home and reading the daily papers in his study, Cormack charged inside, the man’s
voice ringing in his ears.

At seeing him, Mr. Kincraig’s eyes flared wide with interest. “Good morning, Raikes.
My goodness, don’t you look like someone’s old moldering mummy.”

“Thanks to you,” he growled, leaping over the desk and taking the man to the floor.

“Me?” said Mr. Kincraig, staring up in utter calm, his hair in disarray all around
him.

Gripping him by the shirt, Cormack gave him a hard shake. “I’m going to kill you,
but first, I want to know why.”

He wouldn’t kill the man, though, because he’d promised Daphne. He would only make
the man wish that he was dead.

Kincraig’s eyes narrowed, and he simply said, “I’d like to know why as well. Mind
the shirt. Don’t tear it please.”

“She was beautiful, and smart, and everyone loved her. Did you even care about her?
Did you even know you’d gotten her with child?” Cormack raised his fist, and slammed
it down at the center of Mr. Kincraig’s face.

But in a blur, he found himself flat on his back, their positions changed. Now his
opponent stared down at him. Cormack blinked, not certain of what had just happened,
knowing only that the man must have remarkable physical skills to have achieved the
switch.

Kincraig peered down at him, hands pinning his shoulders. “Can you please let me know
who we are talking about?”

The confirmation that Laura had been that inconsequential to the man who had dishonored
her sent emotion tearing through Cormack’s chest, more painful than any physical injury.
“My sister, the governess you seduced while staying at the Duke of Rathcrispin’s hunting
lodge, and left to bear her shame alone. Congratulations, she is dead and you have
a two-year-old son.”

Mr. Kincraig clearly had certain talents, but he was lithe and lean where Cormack
enjoyed the benefit of muscle. Cormack wrenched himself free of the man, and leapt
to his feet to circle Kincraig, who did the same.

“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” he answered, with a shake of his head.

“Don’t dare deny your crime.” He hurtled himself at the man, slamming him into the
bookcases and twisting his hand into his cravat. Several books fell, and the butler
rushed in.

“Sir, ought I summon help?”

“No, Mr. Crandall,” he said, his chin moving above Cormack’s fist. “Please leave us.”

The man backed away, leaving them alone.

Kincraig remained unruffled, and entirely passive. “I make it a practice never to
deny my crimes. I’ve been to Rathcrispin’s hunting lodge once, and that was two months
ago. I admit to a temporary dalliance with a governess while there, but if a fully
developed two-year-old son has resulted from the affair, the power of my loins is
impressive indeed.”

“Rackmorton told me…” Cormack’s growl faded. He released Mr. Kincraig, and stepped
away. “I knew better than to trust the man, but why would he lie about something like
that?”

Kincraig straightened his shirt. “Who did that to your face?”

“The man you sent.” But even as he said the words, he knew what Mr. Kincraig would
say.

“I don’t have a man, I’m afraid. There is only me. I don’t wish to cast aspersions,
but I think you ought to look toward—”

“Rackmorton,” Cormack hissed, a new fear coming to mind.

“You’re going there now? I’ll go with you.” Apparently Kincraig wasn’t a man to hold
grudges. “I’ll just get my coat.”

“No. If you wouldn’t mind, please go to Wolverton’s and ensure that Miss Bevington
is all right.”

“Which Miss Bevington?” His dark brows rose in question.

“Daphne.”

“Do you mind me asking why? Has something happened to raise your concern?”

“Did he ever show you his collection? The paintings he keeps locked in his study?”

Mr. Kincraig’s lips twisted. “Those. Yes, some weeks ago. Why?”

“He recently added a new acquisition to his collection, one inspired by her. I believe
he may have some sort of fixation with her. Given what happened to me last night,
and the fact that he purposefully led me to believe you knew Laura, I find myself
increasingly concerned for her safety.”

Mr. Kincraig crossed his arms over his chest and bit his bottom lip. “There’s something
here that doesn’t make sense.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Cormack made his way to the front door.