How to Entice an Earl (13 page)

But her cousin only laughed.

“Changing the subject,” Maddie said pointedly. “I have come up with an idea that I would like to get your opinion about.”

At Juliet’s nod, Maddie said, “It’s just this. Since my brother was so foolish as to bring suspicion on himself by fleeing the scene, I would like to ensure that the blame for Tinker’s death does not fall on him. Being foolish is certainly a bad thing, but it is not a crime.”

“You can’t think that Gresham blames your brother for Mr. Tinker’s death. From what you’ve told me of who was there that night, it could have been any one of them.”

“I don’t know what Gresham thinks since he refuses to tell me.” Maddie tried not to sound as hurt over that as she felt. “And I would not wish him to compromise his position with the Home Office, anyway.”

“It is a muddle, isn’t it?” Juliet asked, her green eyes sympathetic. “So, what will you do?”

Her cousin’s matter-of-fact acceptance of Maddie’s decision to involve herself in the investigation warmed her heart. Juliet might be cautious, but she was always supportive and Maddie was grateful for it.

“I mean to become friendly with the same set that Linton and Mr. Tinker belong to.”

“You mean the fast set?” Juliet asked, her eyes wide. “Your mama will have a conniption!”

“I know,” Maddie said with an unrepentant grin. “I won’t follow their every scandalous pursuit, of course. I will simply become friendly with them. Speak to them at
ton
parties. Perhaps secure an invitation or two to some of their more exclusive gatherings.”

“What can I do to help?” Juliet asked, grinning herself.

“I would like you to go to Madame Celeste’s with me,” Maddie said, relieved that Juliet had agreed to help her. She would have put her plan into place without her cousin’s help, but knowing she had an ally made the prospect less daunting.

“Of course,” Juliet said with a decisive nod. “I suspect Cecily is feeling better by now. Let’s stop at Winterson House on our way to Madame’s.”

Maddie gave her cousin an impulsive hug. “You are the best.”

“I should certainly hope so,” Juliet said, hugging her back.

They were on their way downstairs to call for the carriage when a footman met them with a note for Maddie. Recognizing her brother’s handwriting, she ripped it open and quickly scanned the hastily penned missive.

At her muffled curse, Juliet gasped. “What is it?”

“It’s Linton,” Maddie said, her voice sharp. “The featherwit has left town until the investigation into Mr. Tinker’s death has died down.”

“What will you do?” Juliet asked.

“I will continue with my plan,” Maddie said firmly. “He might be foolish enough to think that he can defend himself from afar, but I am not.”

Eight

“Oh, please do tell me again about the intricacies of the Waterfall,” Christian said to Deveril, his eyes gleaming with mock enthusiasm. Letting his pose drop, he continued, “Really, Dev, when will you get it into your excessively thick head that I have little to no interest in fashion?”

“So long as you keep attending social functions in monstrous waistcoats like that,” Alec gestured with a moue of disgust at Christian’s blue peacock-embroidered waistcoat, “I will continue to attempt to teach you some kind of taste. It’s the least I can do. As your friend.”

“What’s wrong with this one?” Christian asked, perplexed. He’d chosen it himself, against the judgment of his valet, because it reminded him of Madeline’s eyes. Though he’d never tell her, or Deveril, that.

“If you don’t know,” Deveril said with a long-suffering sigh, “then I can’t begin to tell you.”

They’d been discussing Lord Deveril’s favorite topic—or rather Lord Deveril was discussing while Christian affectionately mocked him, in that way that gentlemen have of ribbing one another—at the Harbaugh ball for some time when a prickle on the back of his neck alerted him to a ripple in the crowd.

“What’s amiss?” he asked, turning to where the crush of guests had begun to accumulate at the entrance to the drawing room. “Has Prinny arrived at the last minute?”

Deveril frowned. “I don’t think so. People would be falling over themselves to toady him rather than crowding round. Probably just some young lady trying to cause a scandal. There’s one at every gathering, it seems. If they can’t make their mark by behaving properly, they take it into their heads that causing a ruckus will get them noticed.”

“When in fact it merely causes their mamas to tighten the leash,” Winterson said, stepping forward. He’d been hovering over Cecily ever since they’d discovered she was with child. And this evening was no exception. “I suspect it’s a tradition that’s been around as long as there have been young ladies with mamas.”

With his extra height, Winterson craned his neck over the crowd pressing forward. His soft curse sent a frisson of dread down Christian’s spine. “What is it?” he asked.

“You’re not going to like it,” Winterson said with a scowl. “I’m pretty sure I don’t like it, either.”

“Is it Cecily?” Deveril asked, his blond brows drawing together.

“No,” Winterson said, as the crowd performed a maneuver much like Christian thought the Red Sea must have done, and parted right down the middle to reveal the figure standing boldly in the entrance to the Harbaugh ballroom. “It’s not Cecily.”

No, it certainly wasn’t. The air in the room seemed to evaporate and Christian felt the need to run a finger under his suddenly too-tight neck cloth. Standing at the head of the room, wearing a blue gown that was far more revealing than any debutante had the right to wear, her hair arranged in a fashion that seemed to evoke the bedchamber, was Lady Madeline Essex, flanked by her cousins.

“What the hell is she thinking?” he muttered, stepping forward, unsure if he was going to read her a thunderous scold or kiss her senseless in public.

A hand on his arm stayed him.

“Don’t make it worse than it is,” Winterson cautioned. “Right now, it’s just a gown that’s a bit too revealing. If you march over there with that look on your face it turns into a scene that will be talked about for weeks.”

“They’ll talk about this for weeks as it is,” argued Christian. “What the hell is the matter with her? Does she mean to ruin her reputation entirely?”

“There is very little that Maddie does without careful deliberation,” Deveril said thoughtfully. “I doubt that this entrance is any different. She probably has a reason, however misguided.”

Christian felt his jaw clench painfully—though not as painfully as the tightening of his groin—as he watched Maddie slink toward them, flanked by her cousins. It was as if she were possessed by the spirit of a courtesan. A very skilled one, at that.

What had happened to the no-nonsense young lady he’d argued with yesterday?

“Gentlemen,” Maddie said in a sultry tone that did
things
to him. “I hope you’re having a pleasant evening.”

“Interesting, certainly,” Deveril said with a wry smile. “The gown is exquisite, Mads. If a bit … bold.”

“I helped her choose it,” Juliet said with a glance at her husband from beneath her lashes. “In fact, I ordered one just like it.”

“Which you will not wear in public,” Deveril said with what might be termed a growl. Then realizing his rudeness he added, “No offense, Maddie.”

Maddie laughed, her tousled curls brushing against her bare neck in a way that made Christian wish devoutly to do the same. “None taken, my lord.” In a low voice she added, with a flash of humor, “I marvel that I managed to wear it in public myself.”

“Then why the bloody—” Christian said, his voice raised, before five voices shushed him. “All right, all right.” He waved them off. “Why,” he began in a lower voice, “did you wear it? Have you no care at all for your reputation? Every man in this room is staring at your…” He paused, searching for a polite term, and settled on, “Body.”

Laughing loudly as if he’d been relaying a risqué anecdote rather than scolding her, Maddie said, “Oh, Lord Gresham, you are so amusing.”

In an undertone, she added, “Because I needed to make a spectacle of myself in order for Lady Emily Fielding to let me into her inner circle.”

“What?” Christian bit back a curse.

At his outburst, Maddie straightened her spine. “I told you I planned to find out who killed Mr. Tinker. Have you not heard the talk tonight? They all think Linton did it.”

“I don’t see how you could have heard any talk given that since your arrival you’ve been the topic on everyone’s tongue,” Christian bit out. He had the urge to cover up Maddie’s form with his coat, toss her over his shoulder, and escape the Harbaugh house with her.

“Children,” Winterson warned, “you might wish to carry on this conversation elsewhere. You are being watched.”

Christian looked up to see that his friend was right. All eyes in the room were on them. Even the dancers seemed to watch them from the dance floor.

“Fine,” he said, “Maddie, come with me.”

“Certainly not,” she said with a frown. “I am engaged for the next set.”

“Then give me your dance card and I’ll take the next dance,” he barked. “It’s a waltz, so we’ll be able to talk.”

“I am sorry,” she said without any sort of remorse he could see. “I’m afraid I don’t have a dance open all evening. I hope you’ll excuse me.”

And with that, she turned to young Lord Kenneth Upham, whose not-so-veiled glances at Maddie’s prominently displayed attributes made Christian wish he’d brought his dueling pistols to the ball, and allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor.

“Damn it,” Christian said under his breath. As if he didn’t already have enough to worry about, what with Leighton breathing down his neck for information on Tinker’s death, and Linton’s abrupt disappearance from London, he also had to protect Maddie from her mad plan to clear her brother’s name.

“If it’s any consolation,” Winterson said with a sympathetic clap on the shoulder, “I don’t think her parents will stand for this one bit. So she might begin and end her notoriety in this one night.”

And true enough, the Countess of Essex stood on the opposite side of the ballroom looking like thunder. Lord Essex was, as was his custom, in the card room. He would doubtless be informed of his daughter’s behavior later.

“I wish I could believe that,” Christian said, ignoring the avid gazes Maddie’s cousins trained on him. Let them think whatever they wished. He had no intention of tying Maddie to him. But he’d be damned if he would allow her to ruin herself while he could do something to stop her.

The trouble, was, of course, determining just how to do that.

*   *   *

Maddie was still fuming over Christian’s response to her attire as she walked on the arm of Mr. George Fullerton to the refreshment room. She’d managed to avoid him—and her parents—by dancing every set, which was an unusual occurrence for her. And though she’d chatted a bit with Lady Emily Fielding, she’d not, as yet, gotten close enough to that lady to exchange more than a few words with her. She had to figure out how to ingratiate herself without alerting Lady Emily to her scheme to determine if somone in her set was responsible for Mr. Tinker’s murder.

“Here we are,” Mr. Fullerton said, in his bluff, pleasant way. He was handsome enough, Maddie supposed, if one were interested in that brawny sort of fellow. For her part, she preferred a bit more wit than brawn, but Mr. Fullerton was a means to an end anyway. Besides, he’d not very subtly suggested several times over the course of their dance that they retire to one of the antechambers of the Harbaughs’ town house and get to know one another a bit better. She wished to catch Lady Emily’s notice, but not at the risk of her total ruination. A bit of scandal here or there would be all right. A total scandal, neither she, nor, she surmised, her parents, were willing to risk. “Ratafia. I don’t know how you ladies stomach the stuff,” Fullerton went on, handing her a glass of amber liquid, “but I suppose it’s the thing, eh?”

“I don’t believe Lady Madeline cares for the stuff, Fullerton,” said a voice from behind them.

Drat.
Maddie cursed her bad luck as she turned to see Christian standing behind them. She’d been hoping to avoid another scene with him tonight. She’d known he would not approve of her plan, but she had underestimated the degree to which he would show that pique in public. He’d very nearly ruined the whole evening’s plan with his scold earlier in the evening. And it was none of his affair what she chose to wear. He was hardly a relative, and if Winterson and Deveril hadn’t scolded her, what right had he to do so?

“Ah, Gresham,” Fullerton said, completely oblivious to the cues of displeasure radiating from the other man. “Didn’t know you was here tonight. I say, that’s a dashed nice waistcoat.” Taking out a quizzing glass, Maddie’s companion surveyed the earl’s attire with the air of a scientist observing a new specimen.

“Indeed,” Maddie said, her brows raised in as haughty as manner as she could manage. “I believe peacocks suit you.”

Christian, his expression grim, gave a mocking bow to acknowledge the hit. “Lady Madeline,” he said, “There is an urgent matter we need to discuss in the library. I believe Lord Harbaugh has the very volume of Shakespeare’s sonnets I was telling you about.”

She was not interested in listening to a tirade from him. Nor would she leave the ballroom before she’d spoken more than a few words with Lady Emily, Maddie determined. “I’m sorry, my lord,” she said, “but I’m afraid I am unable to go with you.”

“Dashed pretty words, those sonnets,” Fullerton said companionably, still completely unaware of the undercurrent running between his companions. “I think I like the one about the ‘ever-fixed mark.’ Do you know that one?”

“No,” Maddie and Christian said in unison, neither one of them breaking eye contact with the other.

Undeterred, Fullerton went on. “You should look it up. It’s good reading when you want a bit of culture. I’d prefer a nice long gallop myself, but you have to stable the horses sometimes, eh?”

“I believe you really must come with me, Lady Madeline,” Monteith said through clenched teeth. “There is a message from your cousins that I need to convey.”