Tempting Her Reluctant Viscount (8 page)

Taking a shaky breath, Hope lowered her eyes and proceeded to prepare them both a cup of the steaming brew. There was something comforting about the process, and by the time she had served them both and taken her first fortifying sip, Hope felt much more at sorts. She just needed to avoid looking directly at Michael and, judging by the pile of work in front of them, she felt sure that would be easy enough to manage. Or so she hoped.

Getting down to work, the two began sorting through all the data given to them. Splitting the work allowed them to move fairly quickly through the reports, but it was still a time-consuming process, and Hope didn’t realize just how much time had passed during their research until four young children ran into the study and announced that the evening meal was being served.

Hope and Michael both looked up, startled by the interruption. Hope’s eyes flew immediately to the mantle clock and saw that it was well past the time she and Michael were to be at Rose’s dinner party.

Jumping to her feet, Hope turned to Michael and said in dismay, “Oh Michael, we are late for the party!”

“Wh—?” Michael replied in disbelief, also rising to his feet and looking at the clock. When he saw that Hope was indeed correct, he muttered, “Damn,” under his breath.

“Michael,” Hope admonished, looking at her younger siblings pointedly.

Flushing slightly, Michael said sheepishly, “Sorry.”

The four children giggled at seeing a grown man being reprimanded by their sister.

The oldest of the four looked at his sister and said with a scoff, “Oh Hope…it’s not as if we have never heard the word ‘damn’ before.”

“Timothy! I don’t care what you may have heard or not heard, you are not to use such language,” Hope scolded, her hands planted firmly on her hips. “It is not gentlemanly.”

Eying Michael curiously, Timothy asked, “Does that mean you are
not
a gentleman?” Then, before Michael even had a chance to respond, he turned to Hope and said, “And should you be
entertaining
a man that is not a gentleman?”

Opening her mouth to reply, Hope realized she wasn’t quite sure how to answer the boy’s inquiry. Her mouth snapping shut in irritation, Hope gave Michael a see-what-you-have-done look. It was his fault she was in this mess, after all.

Adopting a very serious mien, Michael said, “Even a gentleman makes a mistake every now and then, but one should not make a habit of it. And one should always apologize afterward. As a young gentleman yourself, as well as the oldest of your younger siblings, it is up to you to set the example of what a good gentleman—or gentlewoman—should be, don’t you think?”

Puffing up with boyish pride, he nodded in accordance before turning to Hope and declaring grandly, “Very well, Hope, I suppose it would be all right for you to continue to entertain, er—” A look of confusion came over Timothy’s face as he demanded of Michael, “Who are you, anyway?”

“Tim—!” Hope began, again horrified by her brother’s abominable behavior.

“No, no, Miss Stuckeley,” Michael interrupted. “Timothy is absolutely correct. We haven’t been properly introduced. I, my dear young Stuckeley, am Michael Ashmore, the Viscount Lichfield.”

Michael walked around the desk to offer his hand to the young boy. Duly impressed with Michael’s title and manner, Timothy straightened his posture and took the proffered hand gallantly and the two shook hands as men. Then, with an affected sniff, Timothy said, “Shall I tell Mother you will be joining us shortly?”

Still highly amused by the change in her brother, Hope replied, “I believe I will order a tray to be delivered here for myself and Lord Lichfield, but thank you.”

Timothy glanced at his new hero for confirmation, and only when Michael nodded his assent to the plan did the boy deign to leave the room.

Hope immediately turned to Michael and asked, “How
did
you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Turn a perfectly rotten ten-year-old boy into a polite, albeit condescending, little man?”

Michael looked over to where the boy had been, as if expecting to find an answer there. Then he turned back toward Hope and shrugged. “When I was his age, all I wanted was to be treated like an adult, so I thought I would give that a try.”

“But he’s still just a boy,” Hope pointed out.

“
I
know that, and
you
know that, but
he
thinks he’s a man. Trust me,” Michael said.

Hope had to admit that what Michael had done worked, so who was she to argue? But really, what was wrong with staying a child for as long as possible? Being an adult was so much more confusing. Just look at her and Michael. She had convinced herself she was in love with him before she knew him, and now that she was getting to know him in earnest…she wasn’t sure what she felt. Though she was beginning to think she rather
liked
him.

Walking over to the bell-pull to ring for a servant, Hope said, “I gather you agree that it is too late to go to the dinner party now?”

“Yes, plus there is still so much to do here.”

“We were just beginning to make headway, weren’t we?” Hope said with a small smile. As much as things were awkward when they’d first sat down, the truth was they worked well together. Both anticipating the other’s needs, thoughts, impressions. It was…well…nice.

…

“Quite a bit of headway, I’d say,” Michael agreed, suddenly rather relieved they didn’t have to go to the dinner party. The truth was, he was rather enjoying his time with Hope. Not that he had expected anything else, but the way they worked together—so seemingly in tune with one another—surprised him. And, as they became more comfortable together, the better Michael was able to handle the woman’s positively lethal smiles. Lethal to his equilibrium, in any case.

“Then I will go ahead and have some food brought here, if there are no objections.”

“I didn’t have any objections when you said it just a moment ago, and nothing has happened in the interim to make me change my mind…yet,” Michael teased, walking back around the desk to where they were previously seated.

Hope grinned at him as he walked by, and Michael was so distracted he banged his hip into the corner of the desk quite hard. “Ouch,” he yelped, immediately stopping to rub his injury.
So much for being able to handle the girl’s smile
, Michael thought wryly.

“Michael!” Hope exclaimed, moving quickly to his side. “What did you do?”

“Nothing,” Michael replied with grimace. “I just hit my leg on the desk, that’s all.”

“Oh dear, that must hurt,” Hope said, reaching out to massage the sore muscle. “Here, let me help you.”

Jumping back the minute Hope’s hands touched his hip—so very near another part of his body—Michael barked out, “Ah, no, no…that’s all right. Thank you.”

“But—”

“No, really, it’s all right,” Michael assured her. Then, unable to bear the look of hurt on her face, he added, “Just…help me to my chair…and I will be fine.”

Apparently happy to be able to do something to help, Hope tucked her arm around Michael’s waist and led him to his chair. It was only a foot or two away, so really, Michael could have made it there on his own, but once Hope had her arm around him and he was able to put his arm around her…nothing could have induced Michael to let her go.

When he finally had no choice but to sit, he did so in such a way that he could keep his arm around Hope as long as possible. She felt so incredibly good to him. Soft and feminine and…perfect. Feeling himself start to harden, Michael wondered if giving into the urge to hold Hope had been such a good idea. Then she looked into his eyes and all Michael could think was,
Yes, that was a damn good idea…and kissing her is absolutely another one
.

When Hope’s gaze locked with Michael’s as she was straightening up from helping him to his chair, he realized just how close she was to him. Just a fraction of an inch and their lips would touch. Michael’s hungry eyes moved down to Hope’s mouth. As he watched, Hope’s tongue flicked out to moisten her lips, and Michael couldn’t help but groan as he moved in to taste the delicacy she was so unwittingly offering.

Just a whisper away, Michael heard the sound of footsteps coming in their direction. Hope apparently noticed them, too, for she jumped away from Michael like he was on fire (which wasn’t far from the truth) and gasped, “Rivers!”

Nodding jerkily, Michael shifted in his chair. He was exceedingly uncomfortable and suddenly very glad he was already seated. Walking in his current state would have been a, ah, challenge, to say the least.

Hope ran over to the doorway to greet her butler, who was laden with a large tray of food.

“Master Timothy told us the likely reason you were ringing, Miss. I hope you don’t mind me taking the liberty…?” Rivers said calmly, seemingly unaware of Hope’s distress.

“Oh no, Rivers. This is wonderful. Thank you,” Hope rushed to say, moving over to the desk and clearing a space for the tray. “Please set it here.”

“Very good, Miss.”

Hope fluttered around nervously as Rivers set the tray down and laid out the fare. When he was done, he bowed to Hope and Michael and left the room. Once he was gone, Hope began preparing a plate for Michael and then herself. Then she poured them both something to drink. And finally, when there was nothing else for her to do, she looked around the room, somewhat lost.

“Hope,” Michael said with a loud sigh, “come sit down. I promise I won’t bite.”

Jumping at the sound of his voice and then laughing nervously, Hope edged slowly over to her chair and then sat down. Once seated, she scooted away as far from him as she could in the chair, all the while not looking at him directly.

Bother and damnation
, Michael thought irritably. Why was the chit getting so riled up by a simple kiss? A kiss that didn’t even happen, for God’s sake.

Of course, it was entirely possible that Hope had never been kissed before. Probable, in fact, as he thought about it. There were some debutantes that were more forward than others and more than willing to indulge in a little peck or two with whomever interested them, but most girls had it drilled into them that kissing a man who was not your husband (and sometimes even kissing your husband, if done in public) was scandalous and a surefire way to find yourself ruined.

Taking her innocence into consideration, Michael decided to give Hope the space she needed…for now. Because, God as his witness, he would
have
to kiss the girl at some point in the near future. His very well-being depended upon it. Now that he had been so close to the taste of her, there was no way he could deny himself the final prize indefinitely. No way at all.

Chapter Nine

Sometimes you just have to follow your heart.

~The Duke of Lancaster

Once they had finished eating, Hope and Michael returned, with little preamble, to their research. Already they had confirmed that unusually large amounts of Consols and Omnium—two government stocks—had been sold the day of the hoax, most of which had only been purchased the week before. Once the stocks in question had been determined, all that was left to do was look for the men who had gained the most from the sale. Those would be the most likely suspects.

So far, they had compiled a list of four names between them. Especially surprising were two of the names on the list: Lord Cochrane, a man Michael said he knew as a well-known navel hero, and the Honorable Andrew Cochrane-Johnstone, Lord Cochrane’s uncle. Michael indicated that he did not know much about the uncle, but he and Hope both found it hard to believe that a man like Lord Cochrane would play a part in such a scheme.

In addition to Michael’s findings, Hope was experiencing her own distress by the names on the list. One of them was extremely familiar to her…Mr. Richard Butt. He was a financial advisor—her
father’s
financial advisor, in fact. The very one she watched carrying out her father’s monetary affairs when visiting the Exchange. His name on the list could very possibly mean…

Not sharing her fears with Michael just yet, Hope quickly scanned the records in front of her for any indication of her father’s involvement.

Feeling a strange tendril of dread crawling up her spine, Hope slowly looked up from her own frantic perusal to find Michael staring at her like he had just seen his best friend killed.

With her heart in her throat, Hope forced herself to ask, “What is it, Michael?”

“I found, ah, another name for the list. It is…it is…”

Tears welling up in her eyes, Hope whispered, “It is my father, isn’t it?”

A bleakness appeared in Michael’s eyes as he nodded. “You knew?”

Shaking her head, she replied, “No, but…” The tears in her eyes began streaming down her cheeks as she said, “This man, Richard Butt.” Hope paused to show Michael the name. “He is my father’s financial advisor. When I saw his name…well, I had hoped…but I guess… Oh Michael—” Too choked up to speak any further, Hope simply looked at him in anguish and despair.

“Oh, Hope,” Michael sighed, pulling Hope into his arms, “I am so sorry.”

Giving into the warmth and comfort of Michael’s arms, Hope finally allowed herself to cry in earnest. How could this be happening? Yes, her father had been acting suspiciously as of late and he
was
hoarding money, but did that make him a criminal of this magnitude? Hope would not…could not…believe it.

Sitting up, Hope wiped her eyes with the handkerchief Michael had thoughtfully handed her and she looked at him with determination. “There is no way my father could have done this. I refuse to even consider the idea.”

Reaching up to cup Hope’s still damp cheek, Michael replied softly, “Then it will be up to us to prove his innocence.”

“You don’t believe he did it, either?” Hope asked, astonished that Michael would so willingly discard what was some pretty damning evidence, even by her own estimation.

“I don’t know,” Michael said honestly, “but I believe in you. And if you say he didn’t do it, then that is good enough for me.”