The Problem with Seduction (23 page)

He couldn’t begin to imagine what she meant to do about it. He couldn’t let her do anything, really, because her demand was so ludicrous, she couldn’t be humored even the tiniest bit. While he’d been perfectly willing to parade Elizabeth through Hyde Park at the hour when Cyprians typically stretched their legs, bringing her here, to his house, and leaving his mother and brothers to suffer the
ton’s
shock was entirely different. In fact, he could hardly agree to it without his brothers’ permission, as it was indeed their reputations that would suffer, if and when word escaped Merritt House. “It’s nice to learn you’re so progressive, although I’m not certain you’ve thought through how such an association could change your lives. Nevertheless, I won’t bring her here without the express consent of each of my brothers.” He was certain this would quell any more talk of Elizabeth setting foot in their home. Didn’t Mother have a care for her own reputation?

“Very well,” she replied staunchly. “I will speak to Antony myself.”

Con’s stomach twisted.
That
was not reassuring. What if she immersed herself in his scandal, all for the goal of seeing a baby who wasn’t truly her flesh and blood? He’d feel like the worst son imaginable if she lost the respect of her friends, all for supporting his impetuous commitments.

Belatedly, he remembered that he was supposed to be thinking of Oliver as his legal ward. That didn’t really hold up, though, when it came to the potential devastation of his mother’s position in society.

Antony chose that moment to round the corner and prop his shoulder against the sitting room door. “Did someone call for me? Oh, look. A baby.” His blue censure found Constantine, but he said nothing else in their mother’s presence.

“Isn’t he the sweetest little thing?” She glanced from Oliver to Antony and back. “Now,
there’s
a bit of a resemblance. He couldn’t look less like Constantine with all that dark hair, but you and Bart are swarthy compared to the others.” She squinted at Tony again before nodding her head decisively.

“Constantine,” Antony drawled, “we need to talk.”

Chapter Eleven

CON SHOULD HAVE EXPECTED to encounter any of his brothers while trapped in plain sight of his mother’s doorway. He never went a day without seeing at least one of them in a surly mood. That was the rub when five men crammed themselves into one modest living space. But he didn’t
want
to talk to Antony today. Especially not now, after his mother had just uttered the most whimsical statement about Oliver resembling the two middle Alexander men.

Surely it was impossible to feel any guiltier about his ruse.

But he would prefer even less for his mother to witness whatever dressing down Antony was about to give him, and so he pushed himself off of the mantel he’d been resting against and spared a moment to address Mrs. Dalton, who’d returned from her daydreaming to look upon Antony with imprudent attentiveness.

“You will see to my son?” Con asked her. In spite of all his misgivings, calling Oliver his son out loud felt peculiarly right.

“Yes, my lord.” She didn’t take her eyes off Tony.

“Good,” Con replied. “I’ll be but a moment.” He hoped. The look in Tony’s eyes didn’t bode well for a speedy return.

He followed his brother from the room. He heard a baby cry behind him.
Oliver.
Sad because
he’d
left? He half-turned to go back. Then he came to his senses. Mrs. Dalton would comfort the baby. Or even Mother. What could he do that they couldn’t?

He went back to the sitting room door anyway. He didn’t go in, but he couldn’t imagine leaving, either.

Oliver continued to wail.

“Are you coming,” Tony asked, “or do you want to stand in the hallway?”

“Is there a third choice?” He didn’t tear his eyes from the two women worrying over the squalling babe.

“It’s not my reputation at stake,” Tony said behind him. “Actually, maybe it is. Did I hear Mother extend an invitation to your
paramour
to visit her in this house?”

“I knew you wouldn’t appreciate that,” Con muttered.

“I find nothing funny about this. Do you know what’s being said—” Tony came up and thumped Con on the shoulder. “The library. Now.”

“But…” He looked helplessly from his brother to his son.

“He won’t stop that racket while you’re standing in the doorway.”

Tony probably had a point. Maybe they all knew more about babies then they let on.

It was the second time in recent memory that Con had tried to avoid being backed into Tony’s library. When they entered the room a few minutes later, he remembered why.

Bart reclined against an arm of the couch. One booted foot was propped against the far armrest and the other stuck out over it. Always the barrister, he managed to seem intense even while reclined.

Montborne sat in a wingback chair, turning the pages of a book. He didn’t appear to be reading it, nor did he seem to be looking at prints. He’d been odd like that, morose and inward-looking, for several months now.

Even Darius was at home. He stood by the fireplace much the way Con had been standing in their mother’s drawing room a moment ago. He looked worried, and Con’s stomach twisted. He better not be in any deeper. Con could barely manage his own affairs, let alone save his brother’s neck yet again.

Tony closed the door behind them. Without preamble, he fired at Constantine, “What in God’s name are you doing now?”

“Thinking seriously about letting my own rooms,” Con grumbled. “What the devil are all of you doing here at the same time?”

Bart kicked himself around so that he sat upright on the couch. “You didn’t bring the baby in with you?”

Con’s brows together in disbelief. “To an argument?”

Bart shrugged. “We’re curious, too.”

That hadn’t even occurred to him. “He’s in Mother’s rooms, if you’re truly interested.” He felt a moment of panic when Bart looked satisfied by this answer. As if he might actually
go
.

Never mind that. Nothing was worse than lying to Mother, and he’d already accomplished that. “What’s this about? I don’t have all day.”

Tony moved to Montborne’s desk. He rested against the massive oak top, half-seated, half-standing, his hands braced behind him. Con knew better than to trust his apparent nonchalance. “They’re saying the most dreadful things about you in the clubs.”

With that ominous beginning, Con knew this audience wasn’t going to end well for him. “What things?”

Tony sighed heavily. “I wish you’d married her when this first made the rounds. Now they’re saying you’ve taken on a different sort of relationship. Are you aware our peers and neighbors believe you’ve become a rake-for-hire?”

“What?”
It was the only non-profane word he could reach for as his heart kicked into a gallop.
They knew.

Bart chuckled. “Rake-for-hire? Nice ring to it.”

Darius’ head jerked up from his pensive staring at the carpet. For the first time, he seemed to be aware he was in the room with the rest of them. “You’re a cicisbeo? How’s that going?”

He meant was it
profitable
. Con stifled a gag. “That’s absurd,” he barely managed to squeak out. He could bury himself in his shame. “Where is that rumor coming from?”

Tony shrugged. “Who knows? What matters is that people believe it. It’s the only reasoning to explain anything. You’re obviously not keeping
her
. Not on your pin money. Besides, it’s how Montborne gets along.”

“Wealthy widows are an entirely different beast,” Montborne drawled. “Please don’t confuse the two.”

He didn’t look up from the book.

“As I said before,” Con tried to explain, “she was lonely. I was in the right place at a very fortunate time. It is a bit like Montborne’s widows, actually. She’s got enough money now that the fact that I can’t afford to keep her doesn’t enter the equation. We’re—” he almost choked on the next words, “in
love
. Now, tell that to anyone who will listen.”

Tony’s blue eyes narrowed. Bart’s indistinguishable ones did the same. Dare, for his part, continued to appear fascinated.

His twin’s overt interest would have concerned Con the most, if not for Montborne’s expression. Con could almost see the pages of the book in Montborne’s lap singeing beneath his intense stare.

It was so unlike Montborne to have a strong thought, Con was taken aback. But he didn’t get a chance to ask after his brother’s state of mind, because Tony said, “And you think the rumor that she’s paying you to entertain
her
is absurd?”

“I love her,” he fired back. “She needs me. Why is that hard to believe?”

Why did it all come off his tongue more easily this time?

Darius leaned forward. “And you say she’s very wealthy?”

Blast, but his twin could be a real rotter.

“This rumormongering could have been avoided if you would have married her like we told you to,” Tony said. “But at least the wedding can move forward now. You love her, she needs you. It will set the talk to rest and close the betting books.”

While Con stared at his brother in horror at this new revelation, Darius perked up. “Betting books?”

“Don’t you even
consider
—” Con growled at the same time Tony said, “If you put down so much as a shilling on our brother’s personal affairs, Darius, I’ll have you on the street faster than you can pack a single stitch of clothing. Do you understand me?”

Judging by the gleam in his eye, Darius wasn’t the least deterred. Resentment built in Con’s chest. Resentment, and a need to regain control of his life. His friends and acquaintances were betting on him, were they? They were laughing at him.

Chapter Twelve

CONSTANTINE LEFT HIS BROTHERS to rot in the library and returned to his mother’s sitting room. He would have left Merritt House altogether, save Elizabeth. She hadn’t returned yet from her shopping sojourn. He almost wished he hadn’t sent her away.

After what seemed like hours of watching his mother amuse Oliver, broken only by Mrs. Dalton whisking him away once or twice to be freshened up and fed, a maid came to the sitting room door. Mrs. Dalton rose and exchanged a few words with her before returning to confer with his mother.

Mother’s lips turned down. She nodded and hugged Oliver closer. “Lady Elizabeth is here,” she explained to Con.

“Goo!” Oliver said with delight, and smacked a hand against her décolletage.

Con went over and set his hand on her small shoulder. “It’s been an entertaining afternoon, but all things must come to an end.” He caught Mrs. Dalton’s eye. “Please bring Oliver down to the servants’ hall once his things have been gathered up.” Never had Con seen a bag of wonders like the one Mrs. Dalton had at her feet. He could almost swear it was a bottomless compilation of baby necessities.

“The servants’ hall?” Mother turned and gave Con a searing look of reproof.

He sighed. “It’s better for everyone if she isn’t seen here.”

“You don’t want her seen here because then you must own she is a lady,” his mother shot back with a look of reproof. She gave Oliver a last hug, then turned him over to Mrs. Dalton.

Con’s face heated. “That really isn’t up for debate, Mother.” With that, he spun on his heel and went down to the servants’ hall. Immediately he realized his mistake. While inviting Elizabeth to walk through the front door would have given the impression that his family was receiving a courtesan as a proper guest, bringing Elizabeth through the service door meant Con must walk through the kitchens to get to her.

He did his best to appear nonchalant about his excursion through the underpinnings of the house, but it was a very long time before he finally arrived at the housekeeper’s sitting room, where a lesser guest would be shown.

It stood empty.

He turned to see Mr. Benjamin looming in the hallway behind him. As if Con were a questionable fellow who might be trying to steal the silver.

“Where is…” Con knew he should say it. He couldn’t. Was his mother right? Was it because if he did, he must then admit she was a lady?