The Art of Sinning (22 page)

All the more reason to get to his relations before they got to Yvette. “Blakeborough, if you don't mind . . .”

“No, of course not. I confess I'm rather eager to meet this ladder-climbing sister of yours.”

God help him. Jeremy hurried into the hall. At least he could count on Bonnaud to be discreet in front of the earl. He wasn't so sure about Amanda.

“Jeremy!” she cried as he entered the foyer.

“It's good to have you here,” he said as he bent to receive her kiss.

Despite the complications she presented, he was
genuinely glad to see his little sister. It had been far too long. Which was why he pretended not to notice that she wore a typically unfashionable gray wool dress.

“Why didn't Mother come with you?” he asked. When it dawned on him that their trip might not
have gone well, his stomach flipped over. “She's all right, isn't she?”

“She has a cold and is exhausted from the trip, which is why we left her with Lady Zoe. Not that you care.” Amanda sniffed as she removed her antiquated bonnet and handed it to the footman. “We haven't heard a word from you in months.”

He relaxed. If Mother had been seriously unwell, Amanda wouldn't be chiding him. She'd be braining him with the nearest fire poker.

“Yes, I've been such a bad boy,” he teased her. “Traveling about and seeing the world and behaving as if I were a
grown man.
Fancy that.” He turned to Bonnaud. “Good to see you, too, sir.”

They shook hands, Bonnaud gazing at him with a meaningful look. But before Jeremy could figure out how to get the man alone, Blakeborough cleared his throat.

“Ah, yes,” Jeremy said. “Lord Blakeborough, may I present my sister, Miss Amanda Keane. Amanda, this is my friend, the Earl of Blakeborough.”

“Friend?” Amanda looked the earl over skeptically. “I thought he commissioned a portrait from you. That's what Mr. Bonnaud said.”

Blakeborough blinked at her forthright words. “I . . . er . . . did indeed commission a portrait from your brother, but we've become friends in the meantime, haven't we, Keane?”

“I hope so.” Because that would make the man more likely to accept Jeremy's suit. Which he
still
hadn't done.

“In fact,” Blakeborough added, “Keane and I are starting a gentlemen's club together.”

“I thought you were returning to America any day now, Keane,” Bonnaud said warily.

“He
is
,” Amanda put in.

Assaulted from all sides, Jeremy stifled a groan.

The earl smoothly said, “I believe that my friend's plans aren't entirely settled. Eh, Keane?”

“Not entirely, no,” Jeremy said noncommittally.

“Well, regardless, I need to speak to you alone.” Bonnaud turned to the earl. “Is there a place where Keane and I can be private, my lord?”

“You may use my study,” Blakeborough said, though his eyes burned with curiosity. He smiled at Amanda. “Miss Keane, I'm sure you're famished after your journey. I was just going in to breakfast myself, so if you'd care to join me . . .”

“I'd be honored, sir.” With a thin smile, Amanda took the arm he offered.

As she left, she cast a glance back at Jeremy. He knew that glance. It said,
You're in big trouble, mister. And handing me off to a handsome earl is not going to get you out of it.

One crisis at a time.

He gestured down the hall. “Shall we, Bonnaud?”

“Certainly.”

If Yvette slept as late as she usually did, perhaps he could settle everything before she even arose. Otherwise, between his irate sister, Samuel's missing son, and an offer of marriage that
still
hadn't been made properly, this had the potential to turn into quite the Shakespearean drama.

Twenty-Two

Yvette awakened slowly, deliciously. She'd been having the most extraordinary dream. Jeremy had been lying naked between her legs, doing exquisitely shameless things to her that made her feel like a woman. His woman. Even now, thinking about it, her legs fell open—

She froze. She was sore. As if . . . as if . . .

Heavenly day! She sat bolt upright as she remembered it wasn't a dream. It wasn't a fantasy or a hope that she one day might experience the melting joys of marital bliss. She'd experienced them. Or at least some of them.

More memories surfaced, and she remembered
why
she'd fallen into Jeremy's arms with no restraint.

Flying from her bed, she hastened to the window to see if his equipage still sat out front. Not that its absence would tell her much—she wouldn't know whether that meant he'd left or if his curricle was safely stowed in the carriage house.

But looking out, she found a different carriage
entirely in the drive. It wasn't Jeremy's or Warren's or anyone's that she recognized. It had a crest, but try as she might, she couldn't make it out from here.

She rang for her maid, then began her ablutions. Within moments, the girl rushed inside as if she'd merely been awaiting the call. “Oh, milady, thank heaven you're awake! You'll never guess what's going on.”

Her heart faltered. He was leaving after all. But in a different carriage? That made no sense.

“Mr. Keane's
sister
has arrived. Did you know he had a sister?”

“Yes,” she said, with a sinking in her stomach. A sister who meant to carry him back to America. Curse it all!

Rushing to her bureau, she jerked out her corset and petticoat. “We have to hurry,” she told her maid, who was already rushing over to help her into her undergarments. “He can't leave before I talk to him.”

“Yes, milady.”

It took far too long to get her laced up, and the whole time it was being done, she was barking orders. “I need my best silk stockings. And the simplest coiffeur you can manage. And for a gown . . .” She paused to think.

“The white day dress with the pink flowers?” her maid supplied helpfully.

“No, definitely not the white. His sister is supposed to be quite the energetic sort, so something more sporting. My red redingote dress with the purple sash.”

Today of all days, she mustn't look insipid. She
had to convince Jeremy to stay in England, at least long enough for her to . . . to . . .

To what?

As her maid helped her into her clothes, Yvette tried to think. She hadn't accepted his offer last night, and honestly, she wasn't sure he'd even meant it. He might turn out to be like plenty of other men who bedded a woman and ran. If so, then keeping him here was pointless.

And if he renewed his attentions? Offered her marriage again?

Her heart pounded at the very thought. It would mean he hadn't just been spouting nonsense last night.

Still, she didn't want to marry him if he was only offering out of a sense of duty. He'd done that before and it had ended badly. But neither could she bear the idea of his leaving her here to live without him.

As a hollow feeling of panic rose in her chest, she blinked back tears. He couldn't leave. He mustn't!

You're in love with him, you fool.

“God strike me blind!” Yvette swore.

“Excuse me, milady?” her maid squeaked.

Heavens, she shouldn't have said it aloud. What was wrong with her? “Forgive me. I was just trying out one of the new oaths for my dictionary.”

Her maid said nothing, and Yvette ignored her scandalized silence. Meanwhile, ten other street oaths played a refrain through Yvette's head.

She
was
in love with him. How on earth had she done that?

By watching him struggle with his guilt over the deaths of his wife and son. By glimpsing the man
beneath the mask, and realizing he was a man she could care for deeply. A man she could love.

That was why she couldn't stand the idea of his leaving. Because deep down, she hoped that if he stayed, she could persuade him to be in love with her
,
too.

She winced. Of course that never worked. One fell in love or one did not. One was never persuaded into it by another person.

“Milady?” her maid asked, dragging her from her thoughts.

She glanced around to see the servant offering her a choice of shoes. “The ones with the purple embroidery. And I've changed my mind about my hair. Just tie a ribbon about it and leave it at that.”

“Milady, you're a grown woman!” her maid said, scandalized yet again. “Do you want to shock his family?”

“Oh, all right, but make it quick.” At the moment, his family was lucky she wasn't going down in her night rail and wrapper.

When her maid was
finally
done, Yvette forced herself to descend the stairs with some decorum. But her composure faltered when she reached the foyer to find no one was there.

Hearing sounds from the breakfast room, she went there first. As she entered, she spotted Edwin at his usual spot at the table. He wore a forced smile as he spoke to the diminutive woman seated next to him, who looked like a sprite from the forest. Or from Ireland, given her red hair.

It had to be Miss Keane. Despite the woman's entirely different coloring and size, she had Jere
my's gorgeous blue eyes. And there was something in her smile that reminded Yvette of him, even though Miss Keane's fashion choices were utterly different.

Edwin rose. “Ah, there's my sister now.”

As Yvette walked forward to greet them Edwin seemed to watch her with more intensity than usual, as if assessing her mood or something. It alarmed her exceedingly. Could he tell what she'd spent half her night doing? Did it show in her face? What if he knew? Oh,
Lord
!

Beside him, Miss Keane smiled affably. “So you're the woman my brother has been painting.”

And swiving.

She swallowed hard. She had to get hold of herself, before she gave everything away. Edwin was now wearing his polite endurance-of-strangers face, and clearly he wouldn't be wearing that if he suspected anything. He'd be wearing an I'm-going-to-kill-Keane face.

Yvette held out her hand to Jeremy's sister. “Yes, I'm the subject of your brother's latest portrait. We're delighted to have you here. Mr. Keane has told us so much about you and your family.”

The woman's smile faltered as she took Yvette's hand and released it. “Has he? I do hope it wasn't all bad.”

“No, not bad at all.” Yvette flashed the woman a reassuring look, though he really hadn't said much about his sister. She sifted through their conversations to find something complimentary. “He told me you're very capable of taking care of yourself.”

“That sounds like something he'd say. It's his way
of rationalizing the fact that he refuses to come home to Montague and help me with the mills.”

Because his wife and child died at Montague.

Yvette bit back the words, though the sudden realization settled hard in her chest. Time to change the subject. “So when was the last time you saw him?”

“The week he set sail for England, earlier this year. He met me and Mama for the day in Philadelphia, as he often does.” Miss Keane sighed. “That's when he told us he was making this trip. He said he'd be gone a few months . . . but . . .” She forced a game smile that barely masked the worry in her eyes. “A few months turned into eight. As he likes to say, he blows with the wind.”

A painful pressure squeezed Yvette's heart. “Yes, I gathered.” And men who blew with the wind didn't marry earl's daughters and settle into comfortable existences on country estates.

“Lady Yvette,” said a rumbling voice from behind her.

She whirled around to find Mr. Bonnaud standing there. Why was Jane's brother-in-law here? Oh, right. He was also cousin to the Keanes by marriage. He must have accompanied Miss Keane to Stoke Towers.

“Good morning, Mr. Bonnaud,” she said brightly. “I hope you had good weather for your journey.”

“Yes.” The word was clipped. “Actually . . . er . . . Mr. Keane is in your brother's study and sent me to fetch you. There's a matter he wishes to discuss with you privately.”

Panic gripped her. What was wrong with Jeremy?
Didn't he know that her brother would suspect something if he was setting up private meetings with her?

But oddly, Edwin didn't look upset. He wore a fond expression that was utterly unlike him. “Go on, then,” he said. “Don't keep the man waiting.”

This was strange. Since when was he pushing her toward Jeremy?

Then her stomach sank as she realized why. Jeremy wanted a moment alone to say his farewells before he left with his sister. And Edwin was so ecstatic over the man's leaving that he couldn't wait for it to be done.

Her temper rose the closer she got to the study. She refused to let Jeremy go without a fight. She had a trick or two up her sleeve.

Breezing into the study, she said, “You can't leave yet. You still owe me a portrait.”

With a startled expression, Jeremy turned to face her. Then a sly smile kicked up one corner of his mouth. “I thought I owed your
brother
a portrait. As I recall, you weren't that keen on it.”

“Well, I'm keen on it now. You have to finish it.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “And you also still owe me a chance to find my brother's son. So you see, you can't leave yet. You haven't done what you promised.”

A shadow crossed his face, and his smile vanished. “Not the first part, no. But I have done what I promised regarding your brother.”

That knocked the breath from her. “Wh-what do you mean?”

He glanced down at the desk and tapped his fin
gers restlessly on what looked like a small stack of papers. Then he came around to face her, his gaze steady. “Bonnaud has found your nephew.”

Not expecting that, she swayed a little on her feet. He darted forward to catch her around the waist. “Sorry,” he murmured. “I should have given you more warning.”

Her mind stuttered into a gallop, putting things together. The appearance of Mr. Bonnaud here. The odd way Jeremy had looked at her when he'd called her in. “But how . . . When . . .” She narrowed an accusing gaze on him. “I asked you not to involve your relations!”

“Because you feared that they would be indiscreet. But I knew otherwise.”

She pulled away from him. “Oh, you did, did you?”

“Yes. And you'll have to trust my judgment in that because I cannot tell you why. But I had good reason to believe in their discretion. So I hired them. It was better than your risking your reputation to find the lad.” He smiled faintly. “And I knew you'd never stop looking.”

The warmth in his eyes spread a soothing heat through her jangled nerves. “When did you arrange—”

“The day after the masquerade ball. They've been working on it ever since.”

Oh, Lord. All this time. And he'd engineered it for her. How very sweet. Surely it showed a level of caring beyond the ever-present desire simmering between them. “So . . . so that's why Mr. Bonnaud is here.”

“Yes. To consult with you and your brother. Bonnaud cannot continue to pursue this without the earl's consent.”

Her heart sank. “No, no, no, no . . . Edwin mustn't be involved. He will never forgive me!”

Jeremy stepped up to steady her with a hand under her elbow. “First of all, Blakeborough isn't your enemy. He is perfectly capable of listening to reason.”

“That's what
you
think. When he hears about the brothel visit and our bargain and—”

“We don't need to tell him any of that, sweetheart. We'll say that you confided your concerns to me, and I decided to find the boy on my own. I enlisted the help of the Duke's Men because I knew that, as my family, they would keep the secrets of me and my friends. Your brother need never hear the whole truth.”

When she just stood there, trembling, he added softly, “But you
must
tell him what's going on. Otherwise, the child will be sent to the Foundling Hospital.”

Her mouth fell open. “
What?
”

“The lad's mother wants to marry, and her would-be husband doesn't want her by-blow hanging about. So if Blakeborough doesn't step in to help, she means to place the boy elsewhere. And you'll lose all chance of overseeing his care.”

Her heart flipped over in her chest. “She can't do that. He deserves a home, a family.”

“Well, he's not going to get one unless you involve your brother. Only Blakeborough has the kind of connections—and the motivation to use them—to find a deserving family for the lad.”

After a moment's hesitation, she admitted, “That's probably true.”

“So you're willing to bring your brother into it?”

With a sigh, she nodded. She couldn't let the poor child go to the Foundling Hospital. He deserved to have a loving adoptive mother.

“Good.” Jeremy squeezed her elbow reassuringly. “First, I think we should send for your brother, so the two of us can explain everything. Then we can bring Bonnaud in to present the details of his report, which is on the desk. I haven't had time to read the whole thing, but he gave me the gist of it. I'm sure he will be happy to answer your questions. All right?”

She released a shaky breath. “Yes.”

As Jeremy stepped into the hall to have a servant summon Edwin, she wandered to the desk to look at the papers. A name caught her eye: Elias Samuel. Miss Moreton had named her child after his father.

Unexpectedly, tears burned Yvette's eyes. It was nearly over. All that was left was to prove, to Edwin's satisfaction, that Elias was Samuel's boy. Then Yvette could deliver the letter to Miss Moreton—or Edwin could—and could arrange for Meredith to take care of their nephew. Her obligation to Samuel would be fulfilled.