Society's Most Scandalous Viscount (14 page)

“The master of the house is in London. You haven't caused a bit of trouble, besides Reynard likes you.”

As if on cue the cat jumped from his arms and with two leaps it landed at her feet to wrap around her legs affectionately. He brushed his length from nose to tail along her skirts.

“He's usually standoffish with strangers and quite the ill-behaved fellow but not today. I believe he's made you his friend.”

“I think you're right.” She leaned down and offered the cat a gentle rub behind the ears. “I should allow you to continue your work.”

“Oh, there's little for me to do aside from repair the broken lock on the cottage door. It might have been a thief who kicked in the panel, although I doubt it. What could anyone wish to steal inside?”

She shook her head in the negative. “I wouldn't know.” Her voice fell away as she recalled Benedict's powerful kick, his hand shooting through the doorframe to capture hers and haul her inside…and then their wicked kiss.
Stolen, indeed.

The groundskeeper stepped closer, his arm extended as sunlight glinted off a silver piece of jewelry in his hand. As he came closer she could see it was a bracelet, the linked strand spiraled tight like a snail shell in his palm.

“Whoever lost this bracelet will surely miss it. A delicate and lovely piece, it is.” He raised his hand slightly. “See for yourself. You may as well keep it.”

“It's not mine.” She smiled at his kind suggestion, but from what she could see, anyone would be at a terrible loss to discover such a remarkable bracelet had gone missing.

“It belongs to no one.” He nodded his head in encouragement. “Take it. I have no daughter or wife to whom to offer it and I don't fancy Reynard with a charmed silver collar.” He winked to accompany his quip.

“I couldn't, but I thank you for the thought.” She took a small step away and Reynard objected, repositioning his body so his tail end rested on her left foot.

“You must have a sister or a grandmother who'd like to wear it if you'd rather not. It's a lovely design. Have a look at least.”

At his insistence she obliged, wondering if by way of scrutinizing the jewelry and agreeing the groundskeeper might accept her refusal. His hand still extended, she submitted to his request and accepted the bracelet, as the queer little question of why he'd mentioned a sister and grandmother, but not a mother, warned her something strange was afoot.

Truly, the groundskeeper hadn't exaggerated. Pooled in her palm, the bracelet was lovely by design with five different charms dangling from delicate silver links engraved with ornate scrollwork. She extended the bracelet flat to admire it more carefully. There was a filigree heart with a ruby at its center, a teardrop pearl, and a silver dove caught in mid-flight. Another charm portrayed a darling crown, but the one that caught her attention thoroughly was the miniature key with its faceted sapphire at the center. The gemstone gleamed bluer than the depths of the ocean.

Reynard chose that moment to sink his front claws into her hems and she knelt to extricate the cat without doing damage to her gown, the bracelet clasped in her fist. The cat, perhaps sensing he was up to no good, meowed loudly and offered his head for another gratuitous rub.

“Reynard is very agreeable for a pet labeled as mischievous.” She massaged the cat's belly another minute and then smiled upward to see if the groundskeeper agreed but he was nowhere to be seen.

She shot up, startling Reynard who skittered away with a yowl. Clenching the bracelet in her palm, she strode to the cottage so she might return the jewelry, but the door stood closed tight, the knob locked when she twisted it. All the way home with the bracelet secured in her pocket, she tried to recall if the strange little man had said he'd fixed the broken door or had still to complete the task.

Kellaway passed Nyx's reins to the hostler at the stable down the street from Elaine's town house. Never one to trust his Arabian with the lad at the curb in need of coin, he'd rather walk the city block than worry about Nyx during the time he spent with his mistress. Yet the prolonged wait to reach Elaine's home antagonized him. He sought total abandon. Meaningless release. Memories of his experiences on the beach the evening before left him frustrated and on edge.

No matter how hard he pushed the image of Angel from his mind, there seemed to be a constant remembrance, some tiny reminder that wheedled its way to the surface. When he'd dressed and caught the reflection of his tattoo in the swing glass, he'd remembered her awestruck wonder at the marking, followed by her genuine interest in the story of its creation. When he'd tied the queue in his hair, he'd recalled her fingers tangled tight in the lengths, her insistent tug an erotic entreaty.

He shook his head and cleared the thoughts, accomplishing the stone steps of the stoop in one stride. He needed diversion. Elaine best be home. He dropped the brass knocker and waited a beat, but impatient to be off the landing and in her bed, he patted his pocket to check for his key while cursing a string of expletives. He kept his mistress in elegant style. Never let it be said he withheld funds. It was other more valuable things he kept secured and inaccessible. Emotions and his heart topped the list.

He straightened his waistcoat, loathing the dictates of society that determined his wardrobe, and fetched the key from his breast pocket, only to discover when he tried the lock the key didn't fit. What the devil? Repeating the oath he'd muttered a breath before, he glanced left and right, noting the water cart fellow oddly out of place in his elaborate fashion. Then he raised his boot and kicked the door in. The action resurrected his first midnight kiss with Angel, and an unexpected rush of emotion brought his cock to attention. He slammed the door closed against the frame, entered the hall, and forged up the stairs. His arrival would prove the pinnacle of Elaine's day.

He found her much as he usually did, pampering herself in front of a full-length cheval glass, dressed in slinky silk and glittery jewels, perfumed and ready for whatever she did when he wasn't available.

Perfect.

“I've returned.” He let out a long exhalation. At last, he'd get what he needed.

“I heard the door, Kellaway.” She whirled so quickly the ruffles along the bottom of her negligee wrapped around her slender calves in protest, then she arched a stare that communicated she was less than pleased he'd arrived. “I hope you haven't ruined the lock. I just had it installed.”

“Were you frightened while I was away? Was there trouble?” It was the only logical explanation.

“No. Don't mistake my intention. I sought to bar you from this house, not anyone else.” All hopes that she would be pleased about his visit vanished as she completed her tart declaration.

Accustomed to her histrionics, for it often made for fun bed play, he ignored the jibe and reached to unknot his cravat. Loosening the linen, he walked across the room to the tall armoire where he kept his belongings and snapped the cabinet open to pull out the top drawer, but it was empty.

“Where are my clothes?” He made no attempt to hide his irritability. Things weren't going as planned. All he desired was to lose himself in meaningless sex and instead, a sense of impending doom crowded the room with suffocating tension.

“I threw them out the window.” Her smirk proclaimed pride and an extra portion of satisfaction.

“You did what?” He pivoted in anger, all thought of sex dismissed in place of rage. “My wardrobe is expensive.”

“I know. The fishmonger on the corner looks dashing in your cravats.” Aah, but she was proud of herself.

“Bloody hell, Elaine, we've been together a long time. I deserve better.”

“So do I.” Her voice returned to the dulcet tone he'd once found alluring, except now it was edged with insult.

“Bloody hell.” He inhaled deeply to sort his thoughts.

“You left without a word.” A hint of accusation mingled with undisguised hurt.

“So, you're angry?” He shook his head in disbelief.

“What am I supposed to be? Of course I'm angry.” She came a little closer, her mouth poised in a pout of discontent.

“Is this show of emotion because you have your eye on another bauble? Is someone's coach-and-four finer than yours? Don't I provide for your extravagant tastes?” He ground his teeth in impatience.

“No.” She straightened her shoulders as if reordering her emotions. “I need you. I need your attention. Your respect.”

Put off by her admission, he wondered how his anticipated meeting had unraveled so quickly. There was no salvaging the situation. “Pity, you've let your heart ruin this arrangement.” He scowled.

“At least I have one. You keep yours secreted away as if it's untouchable.”

Unbreakable.

“But you can still make it right.” She untied the lace at her bodice, the fabric falling open. A peculiar twinge of conscience sparked another wave of fury. A vivid image of Angel flashed through his mind's eye, her night rail parted to reveal smooth milky skin.

“Don't.” He raised his palm, closing his eyes as if he couldn't bear to see her, unwilling to sacrifice the image in his head in exchange for the reality before him. What had he been thinking? Elaine wasn't who he wanted. The realization jarred, then he cleared his throat and waited. She remained silent far too long. “You're lovely, Elaine. You'll find another protector with ease.”

“I'll have my pick.” Her voice dropped to a sultry whisper. “But I want you.”

A chuckle dared to escape. “Enough of me is already owned.” He crossed the room, careful to avoid her reach were she to suddenly strike out or worse, believe there was still hope for resolution.

“You don't understand.” She came closer, her features softening along with her voice. “I still want you, Kellaway.”

It was always about his title and prestige. She never called him Benedict. Their arrangement had served him well, a release of sexual tension, nothing more. “Cease.” The finality in that one syllable stalled her in her tracks. “There's nothing more to say.”

“I'll cause a scandal.”

“Is that voiced to alarm me?” Scandal was a close friend. Elaine craved attention—if not his, then society's.

“I'll tell every woman who might choose your bed that you're emotionally unavailable and only capable of rutting like the beast you are.”

Hysteria laced her words with a quiver he knew she'd despise later and it was his turn to straighten his shoulders, unaccustomed to being insulted, but not altogether uncomfortable with the description.

“You'll save me the trouble then.” He left without looking back and walked the damned block, more tense than before he'd arrived.

He claimed Nyx and headed for Jasper's apartment. Despite his friend being recently married, between his extensive wedding trip and overseeing Inventive Investments, his financial business, Jasper and Emily hadn't moved to a new home. With any providence, his friend would be in house. Perhaps something would go well today. The Hazard game later this evening sullied his mood like a harbinger of disaster.

Of course there was the whole issue of Emily being his half sister and how badly he'd handled that situation, but he pushed it from his mind. First things first. Besides, his father had bastards strung across London from east to west. Emily posed an exception only because she'd married Jasper and because she'd proven delightful in the time he'd spent in her presence.

He dropped the knocker and again waited. The last time he'd darkened Jasper's doorstep, he was a sottish mess. Liquor paled as of late. Perhaps Bitters' habitual harping was working on some nameless level.

The door whipped open, distracting him from his idle contemplations. Jasper was on the other side.

“Now this is an unexpected delight. You're not top-heavy, are you? Last time I found you on my stoop you were worse off than a broken wheelbarrow.” Jasper stepped aside so Kell could enter before he shook his hand vigorously, then pulled his friend into an awkward embrace of sorts.

“Aren't you the jolly fellow?”

“Marriage can do that, although I never considered myself an ace of spades.” Jasper took the stairs leading to the second floor and Kellaway followed.

“Is Emily here?” Kell asked with a mixture of interest and trepidation. No doubt he'd need to rectify their relationship, but at the moment he had other tasks to attend to.

“No, my lovely wife is visiting Kirby Park for a few days. Since we've returned from our wedding trip, she's exhausted herself reorganizing her league. She's very dedicated to the ladies there, so it was a welcome respite when Dash invited us. Emily became fast friends with Wilhelmina and her sister. Livie is nearly recovered from her injury and Wilhelmina is all about planning some kind of extravagant come-out. Should be all the crack. That is, if the ladies can convince Livie to possess a little more confidence instead of hiding away in her chambers writing letters and such. I'm certain Emily will achieve the goal. I just hope London is ready. Listening to the ladies plan leaves me in a mingle-mangle and I often make myself scarce, which is why you're finding me returned home.” Jasper stopped short at the sitting room, the interior as cluttered with crates, models, and inventions, as usual.

“I don't remember you being so long-tongued.”

“Just trying to bring you up to date. A lot has transpired in the few months you've been gone and I assumed you considered London as inviting as the French pox.” He motioned to the brandy service, but Kell shook his head in the negative. “So what has you so Friday-faced? Did you intend to speak to Emily concerning your abrupt departure or has your father instigated another problem?”

“Close, but not the bull's-eye. It's my mother this time.” Kell folded into a wingback chair and allowed his posture to ease. He could depend on Jasper like the brother he never had. Ha, what irony. A plethora of anonymous by-blow siblings existed strewn across London and the countryside. “And how is Emily's mother faring?” He tried to smother the dubious note of his inquiry.