“Wilber!” Lady Winthrop cast a scathing glare at her husband, then edged between Ivy and her actor. “Lord Counterton, we had not expected you in London so soon. I believe the rumor about Town settled you in Berkeley Square at the end of the year.”
“My plans changed somewhat recently.” The new Lord Counterton graced the gray-haired woman with a beguiling smile. “Had I known the Town was home to so many beautiful and charming women, I would not have delayed my arrival by a single minute.”
Grant turned slightly and covertly rolled his eyes in Ivy’s direction.
Lady Winthrop giggled girlishly, quieting only when Ivy circled back around the woman’s wide hips and reminded Lady Winthrop of her presence. Then, with a suspicious glance at Ivy, the countess returned her attention to Lord Counterton. “My lord, if you do not mind my asking, how did you come to make the acquaintance of Lady Ivy and Lord Grant so soon? The Sinclairs only arrived this spring.”
Ivy opened her mouth, but her impostor spoke first. “Our fathers were acquainted.”
“Your fathers?” Lord Winthrop glanced at Ivy.
“Yes, indeed. Sadly, my father passed away when I was a child.” Lord Counterton raised his arm, offering it to Ivy as if they were about to depart. She looped it through the crook of his arm again. “I knew no one else in Town, even remotely, so begged the honor of the Sinclair family to properly introduce me into Society.”
At this response, Grant nodded approvingly. Aye, her actor was brilliant, wasn’t he?
An excited wiggle shot through Lady Winthrop. “Oh, please do allow me to assist you with introductions as well, my lord. Ours is one of the oldest families in Town. Our connections are numerous. You shan’t ever spend an evening at home unless by choice, I promise you.” She glanced at her husband beside her. “I would consider it an honor to host a rout to allow you to know the finest families in London. Will you allow it?”
Even through his coat sleeve, Ivy felt his arm tense. She leaped into the verbal gap. “How very kind of you, Lady Winthrop, but you see, my family has already requested that particular honor—and Lord Counterton has agreed.”
The older woman grimaced, then looked back to the new Lord Counterton. “Then…a musicale perhaps, my lord?”
“Go on, give it up, Counterton,” Lord Winthrop insisted, a laugh riding astride his words. “You must, for she never will stop until you have agreed to something.”
The actor’s arm relaxed then, and Ivy knew he would accept. “Very well, Lady Winthrop. I would most enjoy another opportunity to converse with
you
…and your friends, certainly.”
Ivy knew this was it. The moment of their escape.
“Well, then, it is settled,” Ivy said, enthusiastically. “But, please, do excuse us this night. We are expected for dinner, and I fear we are already late.”
She turned her gaze to Lady Winthrop and smiled as pleasantly as she could manage. “I look forward to your invitation.”
“As well do I, Lady Ivy.” The corners of the older woman’s lips suddenly drooped, and for a moment, Ivy could not tell if Lady Winthrop was scowling at her or, like her family’s cook, simply smiled upside down.
It didn’t really matter anyway, for the Winthrops graciously allowed them to depart and Ivy, her brother, and her actor strode across the main dining room, where they were promptly ushered into one of the hotel’s three private saloons.
Grant produced a flask from each pocket and quickly filled their glasses with fine whisky from Scotland. “The room is private, so do enjoy the whisky, Ivy. Can’t have my sister sipping the lemon swill served to ladies.” Once Ivy approved the listing of courses, the serving staff quit the room to allow their party the privacy they had paid for this night.
Grant rose, taking his glass of whisky along with him, thoughtfully leaving the flasks on the table. “Do excuse me. I saw a few friends in the dining room, and I would be remiss if I did not notice them.”
The actor came to his feet.
“Ivy, send for me when your discussion has concluded.” Grant grinned. “Before the second remove, preferably.” He cuffed her actor’s biceps, then quickly excused himself from the saloon.
The moment Grant departed, Ivy lifted her diminutive glass and, searching for her courage, swallowed nearly half in one draught. The actor’s eyebrows arched in his surprise.
“You take your whisky well…for a woman,” he said with no hesitation. He smiled then, tilted back his somewhat larger glass and matched her measure.
Ivy’s lips twitched. “And might I say that you take your whisky well…for a Sassenach?” With no footmen in the saloon, as was her request, Ivy rose and fetched one of Grant’s flasks of whisky from the table and, as if she were taking the role of mother at tea, topped off both their glasses with the amber spirit.
“You were entirely convincing,” Ivy told her actor as she returned to her chair. “And incredibly charming.”
“I take my role as Lord Counterton very seriously.”
She tilted her head and smiled beguilingly across the table at him until she felt the coquettish flutter of her eyelashes and remembered the purpose of his company. A quick frown found her lips and she straightened in her chair. “My only concern is that you mentioned the passing of your father. We do not know the details of Lord Counterton’s inheritance, and since the Winthrops are acquainted with the family—”
He lowered his chin toward his chest, then gazed up at her from beneath his brow. “His father died when he was a child, and his uncle only met with him occasionally. Lord and Lady Winthrop have no cause to doubt my identity.”
Ivy leaned back a bit in her chair and folded her arms over her chest. “And how are you so sure of this?”
He raised his head and lifted his glass of whisky from the table and took a long sip. Instead of answering her directly, he ran his tongue lightly over his perfectly chiseled lips, as if savoring the taste of the whisky upon them.
Ivy realized she was sucking her own lips into her mouth, and for the second time in as many moments, she reminded herself that this man was merely a means to winning back Viscount Tinsdale, the one she sought to marry, nothing more.
“If I am to be Lord Counterton, should I not know everything about him?” He peered at her across the linen-draped table. “His father died when Dominic was a boy in school. Of this, I am certain. His older brother, last year at Waterloo. His uncle, the Marquess of Counterton never married, making Dominic Sheridan the Counterton heir presumptive. When the marquess passed on, Dominic became the Marquess of Counterton.”
As he spoke, Ivy removed her gloves and absently ran her fingertip around the lip of her glass. When he paused, she reached out and patted his hand. “You are a professional. You clearly have researched the role of Lord Counterton quite well. And so quickly. Did you consult Debrett?”
“That is, Lady Ivy, what you are going to pay me for, to
be
Lord Counterton, is it not? Or is it something more?” His tone was low and somehow sounded to her the smallest bit mocking; she wondered for an instant whether his reason for considering accepting her position was truly only for the coin this work would bring.
He raised a single eyebrow, and the expression on his handsome face changed, as if he’d somehow detected her sudden doubt.
Heat rushed through Ivy, and she felt a blush rising from her chest toward her cheeks. She swallowed deeply, resting her hand upon her throat, hoping, foolishly, that she might conceal the rising color.
Lud, how nonsensical it was to react to him this way! Aye, he was arguably one of the most—very well, he was
the
most beautiful man she’d ever seen—but that was no reason for her to suddenly lose all hold on her mind and body.
She had brought him here for an important reason. To detail his role in her plan to win back Lord Tinsdale’s affections.
He’d obviously passed his suitability test, so it was best to start now.
As she drew a deep breath in preparation of delivering her daring, but quite logical, plan, her gaze fell to the table, and at once her eyes focused on the whisky. She slid her hand forward and wrapped her fingers around the glass, holding it tightly in her grip.
He reached for her wrist and curled his fingers around it. “Lady Ivy, what is wrong? We are here to discuss the role you offered me in the carriage outside the theater, nothing more. Your conviction was so strong then, but now, you hesitate. Have you reconsidered your plan?” He pinned her with his gaze then. “Have you suddenly realized that conspiracy to impersonate a peer is quite illegal?”
Lifting her chin, she met his gaze. “Nay, I have not reconsidered my plan. Do you not understand—I have no other choice?”
He released his hold on her wrist, and she immediately brought the glass to her lips and drank it down. The whisky stung her throat, and, embarrassedly, being a Scot, she coughed until her eyes welled with tears. “I beg your pardon.” She schooled her features, set the empty glass on the table, and folded her hands primly in her lap. “There is nothing in this world that could change my mind. I mean to marry Viscount Tinsdale, and I will do whatever it takes to win him back.”
“Including the use of an impostor.” A small laugh rode his exhalation.
“Exactly…
Dominic.
You don’t mind if I address you as such when we are alone?” Ivy lifted the corners of her mouth. Her head was spinning a little. If she did not have the confidence she needed, she could at least pretend she did.
“Why, certainly…
Ivy.”
He flashed a perfect smile. “Dominic is my Christian name, after all, is it not?”
She laughed softly. “Why, yes, Lord Counterton, it is. Besides, if I learn your true name. I might accidentally use it when we are together in public.”
“Well, we can’t have you exposing my true identity, now can we?”
Ivy raised her hands from her lap, rested them on the edge of the table, and leaned forward. “Neither of us can, which is why it is imperative that you always remain in character. You must always be Lord Counterton.”
He shook his head almost resignedly. “You and I both know that engaging me to pose as the marquess will be not nearly enough to convince Society that I am he.”
“You are correct. Which is precisely the reason why you will move into Counterton’s home on Berkeley Square.” Ivy felt her nose wrinkle as she grinned.
How clever Poplin was to have managed that feat for her. How could anyone in Society possibly doubt her man’s identity when he was living in the true Marquess of Counterton’s own house?
“I beg your pardon?” Dominic—how that name suited him so nicely—stared wide-eyed back at her.
She waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Oh, dinna fash. I have arranged everything. Cost me good coin, too. You will have a full staff…though I wouldn’t expect too much from them when you do not have callers. Their…um…skills, shall we agree, lie more fully in other areas.”
“W-what folly is this?” The flickering light from the chandelier above made Dominic’s blue eyes glow as hot and vibrant as the heart of a flame. “You have appropriated not only the Marquess of Counterton’s identity—but his home as well?”
He was very nearly sputtering.
Good heavens.
“Dear sir, you need not worry in the least. My
temporary
claim on Lord Counterton and his home in Town will be relinquished within thirty days. I promise you, you will not be arrested. I assure you. I have
rented
the house for you.”
Och, it is not as if she were asking him to break his way into the house. He would have a key. Why, she had
paid
for everything. It was all quite legal—as far as she was concerned, anyway. Mr. Cheatlin, on the other hand, well…there was no need to concern Dominic with such trivial things. He had an important job to do. “Within a month, if you perform well, and I know you shall, Tinsdale will have already asked me to marry him. Who knows, I might even have a ring upon my finger. It all depends on you. But I have no doubt you will succeed. Then you may take your money and, oh I don’t know, invest it in a play or something grand.”
Dominic still appeared wholly bowled over. He stared at her, mouth agape.
Blast!
Was it possible he was going to refuse the role after all?
“Please, allow me to explain my plan more fully. Then you will understand that there is no need for concern. None at all.”
Dominic raised his index finger in the air, signaling her to wait, and in that moment he drained the whisky from his glass completely.
Startled, for he was an Englishman, Ivy peered down at his empty glass. A bit more whisky might help lift his thoughts from the risks of the plan and allow him to concentrate on details more fully. “Please allow me to refresh your crystal, Lord Counterton.”
“Dominic.”
“Dominic.”
The way she spoke his name sounded queerly low and husky to her ears, seductive.
’Tis the whisky. Nothing more.
Lifting the second flask again, Ivy circled around behind his back and bent, inadvertently brushing against him as she allowed the whisky to trickle leisurely into his glass.
Again, she hadn’t meant to touch him at all. Truly. She’d just slipped a bit.
‘Tis the whisky. That’s all.
Nick rubbed his temple with his thumb and ring finger. It was beyond all imagination. Even for a Sinclair, if Felix’s stories of the family’s audacity were to be believed.
Not only had she stolen the identity of Lord Counterton (borrowed, was that how she put it?), but she had taken over his house on Berkeley Square as well. And she didn’t seem the least concerned about either of them getting caught.
Nick was foundering in a shifting current between outrage…and amusement. He couldn’t decide whether he should do exactly as Felix bade him—get as far away from the lady as he possibly could—or at least hear the details of her plan.
He had just set his hand on the arm of his chair to stand, and he thought his decision had been made to put an end to the charade, when the door opened and a flurry of footmen swept in with several steaming dishes and serving bowls.