London's Most Elusive Earl Read online

  “I think about you every night alone in my bed.”

  Her chest rose and fell with the confession as he continued to lavish attention to her body. He stroked his thumb across her nipple, and she shuddered with his touch.

  “And what do you imagine, darling? What naughty deeds do you pretend we commit together?” Tempering his impatience, he lifted her by the waist and placed her on the corner of Albertson’s walnut pedestal desk. A clatter of accessories fell to the floorboards. Sorry, old boy.

  “I want you stripped of all these bothersome garments, skin to skin, touching, tasting, the endless passion we’ll find together.”

  The lady would not be deterred. She tightened her grasp on his breeches and he shifted, disguising his escape in a maneuver to reposition her as he bundled her skirts in his fist. She shivered when cool air caressed her exposed thighs.

  “Would that it wasn’t just fantasy? You deserve so much more than a quick moment of gratification on a hard wooden desk in the dark. I can’t worship your magnificent body like this. I’m left to envision your beauty hidden from view.” Somehow or another all that foolish poetry foisted on him at Eton proved useful in this moment. He’d tell her anything she needed to hear if it assisted in his objective.

  His words gave her pause. Her hand stilled, abandoned of purpose, and she inhaled sharply.

  “It doesn’t have to be this way, Lindsey. I want you in my bed.”

  “What are you saying?” He pulled away, effectively distancing himself although he still held her skirts. “You’d have me take you in your bedchamber in the middle of the night with your husband’s bedroom next door?” And his collection of priceless paintings ten paces down the hall in his private gallery?

  “Yes.” She arched into him, seemingly bereft by the separation.

  “You’re as brave as you are beautiful then.” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her neck. “Unbridled passion is a quality not often found in refined ladies of the ton. Perhaps I’ve happened upon the one woman who is my equal in all things sensual and pleasurable.”

  “Tomorrow evening.” She answered eagerly, covering his hand where it still grasped her skirts. “I’ll be alone. My husband is attending some exclusive auction late into the night. You must come to me at my home. Together we’ll be as wicked as two secret lovers, as daring as Romeo and Juliet.”

  He could only assume she wasn’t aware of how that story ended. But he wouldn’t dwell on it. Not when success was in reach. “That’s a rather brave proposition, my lady. Are you certain?” One thing Lindsey knew with surety: he wouldn’t be climbing down a trellis like some green lad caught with his pants around his ankles. The prize he was after had nothing to do with bed sport. “Your courage is inspiring.”

  Lady Jenkin shimmied off the desk and straightened her clothing, tying the ribbons at her neck and rearranging her sleeves, as if dressing in a hurry was one of her practiced lessons at finishing school.

  “I’ll be counting the minutes until I have you in my bed.” She pressed a hard kiss to his mouth before she scurried from the room, her parting words a suitable exit line.

  The door clicked shut and he released a long breath of exasperation. Then he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, straightened his evening clothes and glanced at the mess of papers and spilled ink on the floor beside Albertson’s desk.

  A suitable and somewhat vile expletive curled off his tongue. Then another. He was angry and restless, but it wasn’t the broken mess on the floor which caused this reaction.

  Damn his bloody father for putting him in this predicament. Damn the man’s bloody negligence. How dare his future be dictated by a dead man. Damn him to hell!

  Mollified somewhat, he strode across the room and tipped a crystal decanter of brandy to fill his glass, savoring the smooth burn of the liquor. He replaced the empty snifter and stepped toward the door. Already exhausted by the necessary façade he would perpetuate once he returned to the ballroom, he reached for the door latch, the cool brass beneath his fingers fast to remind he’d forgotten his gloves. He pivoted and stilled.

  Across the room, in the shadows, something had moved. It was dim in the interior, the low light cast by the declining fire hardly adequate, yet he could have sworn he saw a shimmer reflected, no more than a flicker of movement. He waited and listened. Was that the rustle of fabric or the condescending hiss of a coal in the grate?

  He stalked across the Aubusson rug, his bootheels nearly silent, his pulse a steady thrum, which taunted he would discover nothing besides Albertson’s lazy housecat where it slept on a raised bookshelf.

  But with each stride he became assured of his suspicion, each step less quiet and more determined, until he stood before the most unlikely voyeur. He would have laughed if any humor remained in him. Instead he matched the lady’s wide-eyed stare.

  “Now who do we have here?”

  Chapter Two

  Caroline stared at the Earl of Lindsey, her throat incredibly tight while her heart rushed blood to every cell of her body. She had no answer for his question. Mayhap she’d forgotten her name altogether. And not because she’d been caught in an unseemly and utterly embarrassing situation. No, her pulse galloped triple time in response to the scandalous tryst she’d just witnessed.

  At the start, she’d told herself to look away. To turn her back or stare at the tips of her dancing slippers. She’d demanded her eyes to close, but her body hadn’t listened. Her brain had ceased to function, possessed by some unmanageable curiosity which overpowered better sense.

  Much like now, when she couldn’t produce her own name.

  His voice, husky and warm, reminded of the first time she’d tasted brandy. Her entire body heated from the inside out, the effect both wicked and dangerous. Now she had no explanation for her reaction other than she’d become fascinated, entranced, and simultaneously mortified. Thank heavens the room remained cloaked in shadows.

  “You can speak, can’t you?”

  His sarcastic remark shook her sensibilities loose and a lick of indignation replaced what was once embarrassment.

  “Of course I can,” she snapped, appalled at her tone, as he’d prompted her to anger. She stepped away, silently pleading for composure. A strange undercurrent had taken hold as soon as he’d approached, and she didn’t like the way his presence threw her off balance. “How dare you insult me after what I’ve already been forced to witness.”

  “Forced?” He laughed, and the deep rich sound rippled through her to cause an unwelcome prickling of goosebumps across her skin. “Forced seems an overstatement. You could have interrupted at any time,” he answered, his voice silky and assured.

  “What would you have me do?” she countered, uncertain she made sense. Nervous rambling was so unlike her usual levelheadedness. “Politely announce myself while you…” She faltered, her mind in a frantic search for the appropriate word.

  “While I what?” His eyes sparkled with merriment, no matter the room was dimly lit.

  “Never mind.” She moved toward the door, unwilling to remain in his company one minute longer. “You’re despicable.”

  “Oh, you can do better than that. I’ve been called much worse.”

  “I don’t doubt it.” She bit her lower lip at the impolite reply. What an irksome man. She should extricate herself from the situation before further damage could be done. Any whisper of gossip or disparaging word from the earl would ruin her chances at marital success. Society loved a scandal, and she had no plans to become one.

  “Although, the same could be said about you, when one takes the time to consider it.”

  “Pardon?” She stilled, knowing it was a fool’s decision and reassured only by the fact the festivities were held on the other side of the estate, far and away from where she’d sought respite. The faintest strains of the orchestra confirmed discovery remained unlikely.

 
“Despicable. The same word could be used to describe someone who takes pleasure from watching others.”

  She spun to face him again, her eyes as round as her gaping mouth. “I took no pleasure from watching your…” She sputtered, but for only the briefest instant. “Activities.”

  He cleared his throat with what might have been an aborted chuckle. That he found amusement at her objection was added insult.

  * * * *

  Lindsey assessed the outraged female before him and noted every detail of her becoming appearance. Her plump pink lips were flattened into a disapproving line, and despite her claim of finding no pleasure in the scene that had transpired, even in the shadowy interior he could see a rosy blush stained her cheeks. She was likely a debutante who’d lost her way, although that wouldn’t completely explain why she was hiding in the back corner of Albertson’s study.

  Could it be she waited for a liaison of her own? Perhaps instead of her interrupting his interlude with Lady Jenkin, he’d interloped on a prearranged private moment. Not one for puzzles, he abandoned the riddle accordingly. Besides, no one had shown on her behalf. It didn’t matter that he’d locked the door once he’d entered. Anyone hoping for a few minutes of loveplay with the mysterious lady before him would certainly rattle the latch.

  “I wasn’t watching,” she insisted, her expression more insulted than shocked.

  “You closed your eyes then?”

  “No, but…” She stopped, as if realizing the futility of her reply. “I had no choice but to see it.” She gestured with her glove, a flash of white in the darkness.

  His suggestion seemed to unsettle her. Damn if that wasn’t refreshing.

  “No choice? Life is composed of nothing but choices.” Unless one has a noose around one’s neck as a gift from their dead father. “Every time you reply I find myself further invested in this discussion.”

  For a moment she didn’t move, though she raised an elegant brow, then with a sharp intake of breath and a swirl of pale blue silk she pivoted, her heels tapping an eager rhythm to the door. He let her go. The distraction she’d lent him had reduced his fury to nothing more than annoyance. He couldn’t change the conditions of his father’s will any more than he could ignore them. He was duly trapped, and no doubt the old bastard knew it, even now where he lay six feet underground.

  Lindsey retrieved his gloves from the chair, his mind at work in a better direction. Why didn’t he recognize the dark-haired beauty who’d secretly observed his interlude with Lady Jenkin? And why hadn’t he acquired her name? That oversight could be easily remedied. For no more than curiosity’s sake he would rejoin the festivities and direct a few tactful questions to the right people. He prided himself on the most current inventory of information, especially when it involved an intriguing female.

  Now returned to the ballroom, he might have never stepped away, the usual festivities across the dance floor enough to entertain the crush as the orchestra prepared for the final musical numbers. The dinner hour was near. He nabbed a brandy from a passing servant’s tray and strode to an area aside the French doors, where several gentlemen of his acquaintance conversed about horses, wagers, and the usual variety of male pursuits. His tendency lent more to listening than participating but tonight he had a different purpose.

  One of his closest comrades Jeremy Lockhart, Viscount Dearing, was absent this evening. Dearing spent most all his time at home of late, his first son born recently. His friend’s enthusiastic embrace of domesticity remained a matter beyond Lindsey’s comprehension. In fairness, Lindsey had known little kindness in his childhood and hardly claimed to understand familial bliss. His mother died in spirit long before he’d come into the world, and his father instilled in him a skeptical view of life right to the bitter end. Beyond, actually. In that manner, a handful of friends were his family more than any blood relations, and he found the arrangement suited his lifestyle.

  “She’s a bit reckless, even for your taste, unless you’re foxed.”

  Lindsey slanted his head, pleased to see Lord Mills approach, his waggish grin in place as he continued his commentary. Gregory Barnes, Viscount Mills, was a good friend and fellow scalawag—if men of their age could be categorized as such.

  “Lady Jenkin is devouring you with her eyes. If she keeps it up, she’ll have no appetite at dinner. Meanwhile, her husband may be obliviously lost to dull conversation, but the gabs are not so easily deceived. Have a care.”

  “I am nothing if not discreet,” Lindsey replied.

  A quick glance across the tiles confirmed Mills spoke the truth. In the study, Lindsey had already learned Lady Jenkin was anything but subtle. Still, he wouldn’t allow an unwelcome scene when he was so close to achieving success. Were Lord Jenkin to suddenly pay attention to his wife or hear one whisper of conjecture, tomorrow evening’s rendezvous would be in jeopardy, and now that Lindsey had located the painting he sought, he would suffer whatever role necessary to leave with the prize.

  He silently cursed his father in an overused habit and turned toward Mills. “We should continue this conversation on the terrace. Stretch your legs?” He didn’t wait for a reply, assured Mills would accompany him, and without hesitation opened the French doors to step into the bracing night air. They strode wordlessly across the granite until they were as far from the house as the landing allowed.

  “Have you anything to share concerning the Decima?” Lindsey had confided in Mills in reference to his search for three particular paintings, including a few familial details that instigated his actions in the first place. Mills was a museum enthusiast, as well as a collaborator with the artistic lot who loitered about the alleys near the British Museum. The dichotomy of knowing the cultural elite and possessing connections to the fencers and thieves who perpetuated the black market was a priceless gift in itself.

  Lindsey’s father claimed the oil paintings had been stolen and charged his son with recovering the valuable collection of nudes known as The Fates. Nona, the spinner of time, was currently awaiting his attention in Lord Jenkin’s gallery. Decima, the weaver, was next on his list. He hadn’t given a thought to Morta, the final painting, because it seemed pointless until he could make the foremost progress.

  “I haven’t heard a word, though an associate has mentioned he may ferret out a lead before the week’s end.”

  Lindsey huffed a breath of annoyance. The bundle of documents and receipts he’d received after his father’s solicitor read that infernal letter aloud proved useless in his search. “I appreciate the effort on my behalf.”

  “Anything for a friend.” Mills eyed him with concern. “Your father would have the monies held indefinitely?”

  “Apparently. It’s his guarantee the conditions are met.”

  “But he’d dead, isn’t he?”

  “I assure you, he is, but his cruel control knows no boundaries, including an eternal dirt nap.”

  Mills didn’t reply. With a nod toward the glass doors, the two men returned to the ballroom. Lindsey had hardly stepped over the threshold when his eyes were drawn across the room, where the dark-haired beauty from earlier stood within a cluster of guests, her profile limned in gold from the chandeliers above.

  “Do you know the lady in pale blue silk beside the refreshment table?” He didn’t look away, as if by willing it she might turn in his direction.

  “That didn’t take long,” Mills answered in a droll tone.

  “Explain.” Short on patience, Lindsey refrained from further comment.

  “Lady Caroline Nicholson, the only daughter of Lord Derby and his wife, recently returned from several years in Italy. Originally, they’d resided in Lincolnshire, although they sold the property before moving abroad and have only just taken residence in London. It’s been mentioned Lady Caroline wishes to acquire a husband and that goal motivated the recent change of address, although a few murmurings suggest Derby needed to leav
e Italy under the threat of impending scandal.”

  “Excellent, Mills. You should work for the Crown.” She’s magnificent.

  “I’d rather loiter around the ballroom with you. Prinny would never approve of your debauchery in fear the antics you drag me into would bleed upon his already tarnished reputation. And too, I value our friendship.”

  “You know too much for your own good.” Lindsey couldn’t help but smile as he continued to observe Lady Nicholson. Why didn’t she glance in his direction?

  “Perhaps,” Mills continued. “Though I seem to have lost your attention.”

  “Send me a message if your associate discovers anything worth investigating.” With a slant of his eyes he watched Mills step away. “I have a pressing matter of my own to investigate at the moment,” he murmured.

  Lady Nicholson hadn’t noticed him as of yet. She laughed at something shared by the older woman in her company, and he wondered when she would feel the weight of his stare. Under the light of two hundred candles, her flawless beauty spoke to his appreciation of the female form.

  He’d noted her gown of pale silk earlier, but now with assistance from the ample overhead lighting he could admire how it hugged her body in perfection. The design was fashionable and gathered tightly around her trim waist, made all the more alluring as his eyes moved upward to the creamy swells of her breasts. She possessed an innate poise and grace that eluded young ladies by comparison. Her hair, dark as his morning coffee, was gathered in gentle ringlets, several curls left to cascade down the open neckline at her back, where a tempting expanse of silky skin was exposed. He moved his attention to her heart-shaped face. Glittering gems circled her neck and danced about her ears, and while she might have been offset earlier, she certainly looked comfortable in her surroundings now.

  At last she scanned the room with a smile upon her lips.