To Sin With A Scoundrel Read online

  “We are not angels, sir, only scholars,” piped up Ariel. “I trust that does not mean you wish us to Hades.”

  His chuckle turned into a laugh. “Even better.”

  “Allow me to introduce my friend and colleague, Lady Ariel Gracechurch,” murmured Ciara.

  “The author of ‘Variations in the Poppies of Punjab’?” asked Henry.

  Ariel blushed like a schoolgirl. “Why, yes. But in comparison to your work, it’s hardly worth mentioning.”

  “Not at all, not at all. I was fascinated to read about your comparisons to the tropical species of India…” He stopped short and made a rueful face. “Lud, here I am forgetting any semblance of civilized manners. Please sit down and let me ring for tea before we plunge into scholarly talk.”

  Ciara liked the baronet immediately. And so, by all appearances, did Ariel. The quieter of the two Gracechurch sisters—which of course was not saying much—she usually allowed others to carry the conversation. However, as the scientific talk resumed, her manner seemed different. And oddly enough, so did her appearance. Her cheeks were pink as rose petals.

  The touch of color was quite becoming, decided Ciara.

  “Ah, that must be our refreshments,” said Henry in answer to the knock. “Come in, Jenkins,” he called. “I do hope you have brought some of Cook’s excellent walnut tarts.”

  Still engrossed in reading over a passage of the scientific journal he had just purchased, Lucas entered the room without looking up. “Sorry, no tarts. But I could order a few delectable trollops from Madame D’s bordello if you like.” Turning the page in midstride, he went on without a pause. “Henry, don’t laugh, but I have a question on—”

  “Slow down, my boy,” cautioned his uncle. “Our guests already have reason to question my manners. I would rather they didn’t think I have raised a household of heathens.”

  Guests?

  Lucas stopped short, surprised at how the sight of Ciara sent a frisson of heat through his limbs.

  “Forgive me.” Masking his reaction with a droll twitch of his brows, he quickly added, “Had I known you were entertaining a ménage à trois, I should never have been so indiscreet as to interrupt.”

  Henry grinned. “We are having a very stimulating discussion on poppies.”

  “Poppies,” repeated Lucas. “Well, I shall leave you and the ladies to your pleasure.” He bowed a polite greeting to Ciara and Ariel, taking care to obscure the printed pages of the journal in a tight roll. “I just stopped to see if you needed anything picked up at the apothecary.”

  “There is no need to act as an errand boy, Lucas,” replied his uncle softly.

  “I pass right by the door on my way home from Manton’s.” He gave Henry’s shoulder a squeeze and then reached down to smooth the lap robe.

  “No need to act as nursemaid, either,” said Henry wryly.

  “Ah, no doubt you would prefer the ladies to take liberties with your person,” replied Lucas. “I can’t say I blame you.”

  “Won’t you join us for tea, Lord Hadley?” asked Ariel. “We promise not to bore you with talk of leaf structure and cross-pollination.”

  “Yes, do, my boy,” said Henry.

  Lucas noted that Ciara said nothing.

  “Speaking of which, you’ve yet to ask your question,” added his uncle.

  “Never mind. It’s not important.” He perched a hip on a corner of the desk. “I’m afraid I can’t stay. I am meeting friends at Jackson’s boxing saloon and then going on to test a new pistol at Manton’s shooting range.” Flicking a speck from his cuff, he drawled, “As you see, the life of an indolent idler keeps me busy.”

  “What is that you are reading, Lord Hadley?” asked Ciara abruptly.

  Damn. Lucas casually tucked the rolled journal into his coat pocket. Hopefully she had not spotted the cover. He didn’t wish for her to know he was reading the Ornithology Review.

  “Why, the latest racing forms for Newcastle,” he drawled. “Would you care to place a wager on the horses?”

  “Not really,” she replied coolly. “I am not a great fan of trusting my fortune to luck or chance.”

  “How very wise,” he replied.

  “Perhaps you ought to take a page out of Lady Sheffield’s book,” said Henry with a smile.

  “Perhaps.” Lucas rose. “However, at present I must be off to trade punches with a sweaty, half-naked pugilist.”

  Ciara continued to regard him with an inscrutable stare.

  As he turned, he couldn’t help looking at Henry with a touch of concern. “I asked Cook to send up an egg custard along with the tarts. You are looking a little too thin these days.”

  Henry gave a low snort. “Don’t waste your time gazing at my body. I daresay you have far prettier sights to feast your eyes on.”

  Ignoring his uncle’s warning glance, Lucas came around to brush a kiss to the top of his silvery head. “Behave yourself. I shall stop by this evening with your medicines.”

  “Bah.” Henry made a face. “For some reason, the boy seems to think I’m an invalid.”

  “Don’t worry, Lord Hadley,” said Ariel. “We shall see that Sir Henry finishes every bite of his custard.”

  “If he balks, you could consider tying him to his chair and using a whip. Some people find that very stimulating to the appetite.” Dodging the book that Henry tossed at his head, Lucas flashed a parting grin and took his leave.

  “I hope my nephew did not shock you,” apologized the baron. “He has a rather wicked sense of humor, but he means well.”

  “Oh, that is quite clear,” assured Ariel.

  “Given Lord Hadley’s other exploits, I imagine we got off quite lightly,” murmured Ciara. In all honesty, she had been more intrigued than shocked by the earl’s behavior. His superficial teasing could not disguise the depth of his feelings for his uncle. Love? She would not have thought him capable of such emotional attachment. But the truth was impossible to deny.

  Though he took great pains to hide it, Hadley had a serious side to his character. She wondered why he was so loath to let it show. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that the earl was far more complex than she had first thought. He wasn’t just a selfish simpleton but… a conundrum. One that was proving as difficult as the ancient code to decipher.

  However, the arrival of the tea tray forced her to set aside such musings for another time.

  The baronet seemed to have come more alive since their arrival. A sparkle lit his eyes, and his frail form seemed to gain a little strength as he broached the subject of the manuscript.

  “Yes, your nephew passed on your questions,” she replied. “You raise a number of very interesting points, so rather than write reams of pages in reply, I thought it best to come discuss them in person…”

  The next half hour passed in a detailed discussion of her research so far. “I confess, the complexities of the code are slowing down my progress,” she finished. “The next section seems to be written in a new system, which is proving difficult to decipher. I plan to show a sample to my friend Lady Giamatti, who is more conversant with cryptology than I am.”

  “I’ve little experience in that sort of thing,” mused Henry. “However, I do have a number of rare books on the subject here in my library, if you think that might help.”

  “It couldn’t hurt to take a look,” said Ciara. “In the meantime, let me write down the names of the other reference books I mentioned.” She set aside her teacup. “Several of them must be ordered from Edinburgh.”

  While she wrote, Henry and Ariel resumed their discussion on the medicinal properties of opium poppies.

  Indeed, the baronet was growing more and more animated. “I have a very interesting folio edition from India on the subject. If Lady Sheffield would be so kind as to look on the shelf above the bust of Pliny the Elder…”

  “Perhaps we ought to leave that for a later visit.”

  Ciara rose. Despite his enthusiasm, the baronet looked to be tiring.
Hadley would not thank them for overtaxing his uncle’s strength. “It is getting late, and we really should not overstay our welcome.”

  Henry looked a trifle crestfallen. “On the contrary, I haven’t enjoyed myself so much in a long while. Please do not feel obliged to follow social conventions and run off so soon.”

  “Unfortunately, I must return home and dress for an evening engagement.” She paused. “With your nephew.”

  “Lucky fellow.” He pursed his lips. “I trust the rascal is behaving himself.”

  “No scandals so far.” Try as she might, Ciara could not quite keep the sardonic edge from her voice. “Though the tattlemongers are likely placing wagers on which one of us will be the first to stir up trouble. Indeed, I’m not sure who has the worse reputation in Society—Lord Hadley or me.”

  “Hmmph.” Henry blew out an expressive snort. “The tattlemongers are all jackanapes! No person who has read your thoughtful essays could ever think you capable of murder.”

  “I daresay we are all capable of extreme acts if pushed hard enough.” Seeing the look of concern on Ariel’s face, Ciara quickly added, “At least, in theory, that is. But of course, most of us will never be put to such a test.”

  Ariel cleared her throat. “I look forward to viewing the engravings some other day, Sir Henry.”

  “Anytime,” replied Henry. He gave a self-deprecating chuckle as he rolled his Bath chair back from the worktable. “You know where to find me.”

  Ciara felt a little awkward about how to take her leave. “Please don’t let us take you from your studies, Sir Henry. We shall see ourselves out.”

  “I should like to enjoy the company of two learned—and lovely—ladies for as long as possible, so I will escort you to the head of the stairs.” Henry’s eyes twinkled, but then lost a little of their sparkle. “Unfortunately, to descend beyond that point, I must suffer the indignity of being carried, a spectacle that I do not wish for others to see.”

  As the small front wheel of the chair snagged on the carpet, she hesitated, and then quickly moved a step closer. “May I assist you, sir?”

  “Oh, I’m not quite the invalid I appear,” he replied firmly. “Does me good to do a little exercise. Lucas won’t let me lift a finger when he is here. And he insists on mollycoddling me—the dear boy wraps me in so many lap robes, I sometimes feel as though I were an Egyptian mummy, or some priceless artifact being shipped off to a museum.”

  Ciara smiled. “I have the distinct impression that he wishes to keep you around a little longer.”

  “Indeed,” murmured Ariel.

  “I should like to oblige my nephew.” The creak of the spokes echoed off the bookcases. “I have a great deal of work I would like to finish yet. And I should also like to see him settled in life before I shuffle off this mortal coil.”

  “Lord Hadley a reformed man?” she said dryly. “I hope your work includes concocting an elixir for eternal life.”

  A chuckle. “Hope springs eternal.”

  “Thank you for your time, Sir Henry,” murmured Ariel. “It has been a most enjoyable afternoon.”

  “That it has,” he said with a wistful sigh. “I hope you will come again.”

  Ciara offered her hand. “I think you may safely wager on it, sir.”

  Chapter Twelve

  I have been thinking…” Lucas slid smoothly through the first few figures of the waltz. Lady Ashton’s ball was in full swing, and the room was packed with a host of prominent people. “It seems to me that now is as good a time as any for our betrothal announcement. Do you agree?”

  Ciara nearly tripped over his foot. “Don’t you think it’s a little fast?”

  “I thought you were anxious to get it over with. You said earlier that you were tired of the speculative stares.”

  “Yes, so I did. B-but…”

  He spun her apart from the other dancing couples. “Did you see the morning paper?” Yet another nasty headline about the Wicked Widow had been featured on the front page of the gossip section.

  Her hand clenched against his. Beneath the soft kidskin, he could feel her palm was cold as ice. “Yes.”

  Lucas waited for her to go on.

  “By all means then, do it,” she said after a twirling spin. “You are quite right. What difference does it make?”

  “Some men might take offense at that,” he said lightly.

  “But not you, Lord Hadley. You are far too sure of your appeal to the opposite sex to need any compliments from me.”

  “Lud, you make me sound like a pompous peacock.”

  “Your plumage is far too subdued for a peacock.” She hesitated a fraction. “I would have expected a notorious rake to favor bright colors like cerulean or chartreuse, rather than such staid shades of navy and charcoal.”

  Lucas exaggerated a leer. “We raptors have no need of gaudy feathers. We simply sharpen our talons and grasp what we want.”

  “I am glad to see you have started your study of ornithology,” she replied. “Raptors are indeed hunters, well known for their soaring grace and lethal speed. Pretty to look at, but dangerous.”

  “Yes, if you are their prey. But hawks can also be helpful. They have been used for centuries to rid the land of harmful rats and vermin.”

  She didn’t answer for a long moment, and when she did, it was to obliquely change the subject. “Speaking of feathers, I trust your coat was not ruined beyond repair.”

  “Weston assures my valet that the stained sleeve can be replaced,” he replied. “As for its plunge into the pool, I can personally attest to the fact that water leaves no lasting damage.”

  Ciara’s mouth quirked. But as the music faded, so did her smile. “Oh Lud, what do you wish me to do now?”

  Lucas gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Relax, sweetheart, and just follow my lead.”

  Moving through the milling crowd, Lucas congratulated himself on having had the foresight to discuss his plan with their hostess ahead of time. Lady Ashton was shrewd enough to realize that a surprise betrothal at her party would only add to her celebrated reputation as a hostess. And so, she was only waiting for his signal to quiet the crowd for an announcement.

  Catching her eye, he gave a quick nod.

  She gave him a last dubious look, as if questioning his sanity, then shrugged and made her way onto the raised stage, where the musicians sat tuning their instruments for the next dance.

  A whispered word to the flute player resulted in a sudden trilling adagio.

  Conversation ceased as an air of anticipation descended over the ballroom.

  The guests gathered around the stage amid the soft rustle of silks and the clinking of crystal.

  “As you all know, we’ve gathered tonight in celebration of Ashton’s birthday,” began the viscountess.

  Someone proposed a toast, but she silenced him with a quelling stare. “We shall all raise our glasses in a moment, but I’ve made the delightful discovery that we have yet another special milestone to mark.”

  An expectant murmur rose.

  Clearly enjoying the drama, Lady Ashton was in no hurry to relinquish her role. “I am sure you will all be as surprised as I was. I daresay you will never guess the news.”

  Lucas felt Ciara stiffen. “Must we make such a sordid spectacle of this?” she said softly. “I would rather be put on display in the Tower menagerie than endure this.”

  “Actually, we are trying to avoid cages with iron bars,” he reminded her. It was cruel, perhaps, but necessary. For this to work, she must play her part.

  Ciara paled but refrained from further complaint.

  “I will try to make it as quick as possible,” he added. “Try not to look as though you were facing the executioner. You are supposed to be a lady in love, remember?”

  “And how is that supposed to feel?” she asked in a small voice.

  “I wouldn’t know, my dear. So we will both simply have to fake it.” On impulse, he lifted her hand and slowly kissed the tip of each finger.
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  “Hadley!” she whispered. “People are starting to stare.”

  “That’s rather the point, sweetheart.” He winked. “I could have chosen a more intimate spot to embrace, but I wouldn’t want you to fall into a swoon.”

  With that, Lucas broke away and leapt lightly onto the stage. “Come, Lady Ashton, let us not keep your guests in suspense.”

  “What is Mad, Bad Had-ley up to now?” asked someone in the first row.

  “Something outrageous—you can count on it!” came the answer.

  “Actually, I have come to announce quite the opposite,” said Lucas with a jaunty bow. “From now on, I am a reformed man.”

  A rude sound rose from the back.

  “No, no, I am quite serious. I mean to give up my former way of life and embrace the pleasures of matrimony.”

  “Ha! I’ll lay two-to-one odds at White’s that any engagement doesn’t last a week,” called one of his fellow club members.

  Lucas ignored the jibe. “Indeed, I consider myself the most fortunate man in the world that Lady Sheffield has consented to be my bride.”

  There was a moment of dead silence, then a burst of excited voices. Several ladies shrieked. Lucas wasn’t positive, but one of them appeared to faint on the spot.

  “I’m sure I speak for everyone when I offer you and your intended all the best wishes for future happiness.” Lady Ashton handed him a glass. “Have a drink, Hadley,” she murmured. “It may be the last one you enjoy without wondering what has been added to it.”

  “To my future bride.” Lucas quaffed the champagne in one long swallow.

  There was a smattering of polite applause.

  Knowing that Ciara would rather die than be displayed on the stage, he quickly thought of a compromise. “And now, let the musicians strike up another waltz. My elation is such that I find I can’t stand still.”

  As the violins struck up the first chords of a lilting Viennese tune, Lucas hurried to claim Ciara’s hand. “Just smile,” he murmured, leading her out to the middle of the dance floor. “And look at me with adoring eyes.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “You handled that extremely well, sir.”