London's Most Elusive Earl Page 5

  It’s not stealing when the item already belongs to you.

  The mental conclusion lacked conviction and wouldn’t take hold. Damn his father to hell for making demands from the grave. For driving him to manipulation and theft.

  Lindsey strode to his desk, unlocked the right drawer, and deposited the artwork inside. He would need to collect the other two paintings before he could restore the earldom’s financial security. The information his father had provided was unclear but whatever the details, it melted down to the same. The three paintings together were priceless. Their worth composed a large portion of fiscal investment. They were stolen and lost to the dark market, where collectors hoarded and bartered without conscience. And now he was tasked with their recovery.

  Previously, he’d assumed the earldom’s wealth was secure, but his father’s letter intimated finances were not nearly what they needed to be, and these reduced circumstances required his urgent attention. For Lindsey to continue to live without compromise, he was forced to set about the task no matter he was disgusted with the endeavor. At least once the paintings were returned to his possession, he’d have the equity and security the value of their ownership granted. The trouble was found in laying claim to them again, not to mention the amount of secrecy involved.

  It proved challenging at first, his father’s documents and failed investigations yielding little. Yet now, after years of untraceable existence where his father met with little success, the Nona had resurfaced. Lindsey hadn’t hesitated to act, unworried about consequences and pleased with the outcome. He possessed proof of ownership and authenticity in the few papers provided by his father’s solicitor in the form of preliminary sketches done by the artist. But what of the complicated process of locating the other two paintings and laying claim to them? Finding the Nona and retrieving it from Lord Jenkin’s gallery had been nothing more than an uncomfortable inconvenience. What of the two missing pieces? Who knew how long and involved the pursuit would become? Would his father’s solicitor continue to tighten the noose until Lindsey was destitute?

  Tired of mental riddles, he snatched his gloves and called Hobbs, his butler, to have a carriage brought up from the mews. A visit to White’s was in order. With any luck, a few of his comrades would be about. He needed distraction, and not the female kind.

  As was his hope, he entered the club and stepped into the throng, an eclectic mix composed of every rank of nobility, as well as a handful of young come-uppers. He approached his usual chair, a sturdy Bergère with leather cushions, situated near the left corner of the room across from the hearth. The position kept him amid the conversation and yet provided a direct line of sight to the entrance. While the location ensured he was aware of who came and went, he also desired enough detachment to have a private discussion if needed. He matched eyes with the occupant in his particular chair and without hesitation the man vacated the seat.

  Lindsey nodded as he passed. He wasn’t a bully or a tyrant. Depending on whom one asked, he was described as a silver-tongued charmer, randy womanizer, or enigmatic aristocrat. In truth, he was none of these in entirety, a combination of selected traits. Above all, he was never intentionally dishonest or deceitful. Until now.

  And perhaps that chaffed the most.

  That his father could coerce him to be someone he wasn’t and never wanted to be. And too, the second condition of the will, a demand that would go unfulfilled, as he had no desire to produce an heir. He’d almost laughed in Barlow’s face, and would have if Lindsey didn’t burn with rage at the reading of that bloody letter. While he enjoyed a tumble as much as any hotblooded male, he lacked the skills needed for parenting and took great effort to avoid the condition. Besides, what kind of father could he ever be, considering his sire’s example?

  Experience had taught him love was a lie, at the least an unreliable emotion. He’d seen too much of what love did to the afflicted. He’d seen ugly things, things a child or man should never witness, all in the name of that condition.

  Love, marriage, commitment…none of the three were in his life’s immediate plans. Perhaps someday. It didn’t matter. The women who kept his company were generous with their favors and easily pleased with a sparkling bauble for their enthusiastic attention. He preferred it that way as much as his jeweler did. The brief relationships he’d entertained were more of sexual gratification than deeper emotion. He rarely spoke during the physical act, and if he did spare a word it was curt, no more than a command of necessary movement, not an intimate request between lovers. He was far beyond the age when a gentleman sought a fresh debutante to groom for the role of obedient wife.

  This reality brought with it another, and the tempting image of Lady Caroline arose in striking detail. She’d surprised him, and he wasn’t a man who was caught unaware often. When they’d danced, it was as if their bodies communicated, mayhap their souls, on some unnamed, intangible level. He was certain she’d sensed it too. In those moments she’d offered a calming respite and he’d found a modicum of peace, an unexpected connection, although the shock caused her to examine his cravat for almost the entirety of their dance.

  Devil take him. That was rich. Better sense mocked him in a loud voice. A jaded earl beyond thirty years bewitched by a twenty-something debutante purer than the white linen of her maiden’s bed.

  He stifled a chuckle of self-deprecation. He might lie and steal as forced by his father’s plan, but his own moral compass rebelled at dalliance with an innocent ingénue.

  An unexpected connection.

  What utter tripe and nonsense.

  A strong drink was needed to purge these thoughts, and he summoned a footman at the ready with a generous brandy at the same time Lord Conrad took the seat to his right.

  “Lindsey.” The attentive viscount slanted a glance in his direction. “What has you looking grim this evening?”

  “Nothing.” He tapped the rim of the glass with his pointer finger. “I haven’t a care.”

  “Rubbish.” Conrad signaled a footman in want of a drink. “If that’s true, your good moods look exactly like your bad ones these days.”

  “What does it matter?”

  Nothing was said for a minute or two, and the ambient noise around them swelled to remind they sat in a place of amiable consort and not in a church pew.

  “Hardly a familiar face about for conversation.” Conrad surveyed the room, as if looking for better company. “No doubt they’re all crammed into the Duke of Warren’s town house clamoring for a glimpse of the recent renovations.”

  “Home decorating. That’s what titillates our crowd of late? The season must be more dismal than usual.” Lindsey’s droll reply found its mark.

  Conrad laughed before he answered. “Only the crème of society was invited, and no one wishes to be the guest who has missed the event.” He cleared his throat. “Except you.”

  “And you,” Lindsey offered, only mildly interested in the conversation for the distraction it provided. He’d ignored Warren’s invitation, too focused on retrieving paintings and reclaiming his sanity.

  “Uh, no.” Conrad shook his head vigorously. “I’m for His Grace’s door in another thirty minutes. By then the initial hubbub caused by silk-covered walls and ornate wood trim will have subsided and the refreshment table will be refilled. Warren plans to announce the newest addition to his gallery, and that’s the most interesting part of the evening as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Indeed.” Lindsey only half-listened to Conrad’s chatter, more involved with the removal of a miniscule piece of white lint from the sleeve of his coat. The news might have proven interesting if weeks ago Lindsey hadn’t hired men to obtain a detailed inventory of every piece of artwork housed in the city, from personal drawing rooms to the British Museum. It was how he’d known to engage Lady Jenkin at the Albertson’s social. Any hope of the remaining paintings showing at His Grace’s affair this evening was non
existent.

  Undeterred by Lindsey’s silence, Conrad continued. “Warren’s collection is worth a veritable fortune, and the newly acquired piece has the ton chomping at the bit to discover what His Grace purchased when he attended an exclusive auction by an Italian nobleman in Rome recently.”

  This statement, the latter one, snapped Lindsey from his distraction.

  Conrad drained his glass and stood, reconciled to a loss in the one-sided conversation. “I’ll be off then. Good to see you, Lindsey.”

  “One minute there, Conrad.”

  * * * *

  Caroline took a sip of arrack punch and listened attentively to her cousins’ vociferous discussion.

  “Tonight’s event has roused a wide assortment of gentlemen from the cardroom. What a refreshing change.” Louisa scanned the crowd from behind her fan.

  “The selection is as enticing as the dessert trays,” Dinah added.

  Beatrice stifled a laugh. “Albeit it depends on how one defines tempting.”

  Caroline found it all a bit overwhelming. She’d never made it a secret she wished to find a suitable match this season. She hoped to begin the next stage of her life. It was the natural course of things. But how her mother and aunt had enlisted Louisa, Dinah, and Beatrice in the bachelor search—bachelor siege—unsettled Caroline’s usual calm demeanor.

  She scanned the room as she’d already done twice, her eyes taking in every corner, skimming along one wall to the next until she forced herself back to the conversation. All too soon she allowed her attention to wander again. Beaus escorted ladies in a kaleidoscope of color and motion on the dance floor and to her cousins’ benefit, the ballroom was full of gentlemen of every variety. Viscounts in vivid silk waistcoats and earls in finely tailored eveningwear capered about the room in convivial conversation.

  Well, except one earl.

  She’d hadn’t seen the Earl of Lindsey and berated herself for noticing his absence. She supposed a man of his reputed existence would find most seasonal social events a boring endeavor. Still, she couldn’t decipher what held her so restless this evening or why she persisted with demure surveillance until her eyes landed on the man himself at the main entrance across the marble tiles. Then everything seemed to make sense again.

  Ridiculous, really.

  Why would a notorious scoundrel bring her the smallest measure of peace when he represented the exact opposite of what her heart desired? Security. Loyalty. Love.

  She released a long-held breath. The earl looked even more dashing than the first time she’d seen him. Granted, during their quadrille her heart beat too hard for her to do anything other than concentrate on his cravat pin and count the steps in the dance, her senses overwhelmed by the potent pleasure of his nearness.

  With a weak reprimand she reminded herself she’d need to get past this unusual interest in Lord Lindsey if she were to seek a husband in earnest.

  “There’s Lord Granger. Now he composes the perfect match. His hair is as golden as candlelight, and when he smiles…” Dinah’s voice faded away, as if she’d become lost in her own description.

  “You sound smitten, sister,” Beatrice teased. “Are you helping our cousin or considering the male population for your own intent?”

  Dinah waved a gloved hand in a dismissive gesture but refrained from answering. For the next few moments they stood in inspection of the surrounding guests and Caroline took advantage of the stall in conversation.

  Lindsey had entered with a young man nearly as tall as he but only half as well-dressed. They conversed casually, their expressions proof of their friendship.

  “Someone has caught Caroline’s eye across the room,” Beatrice offered in a sing-song clip, and all three cousins turned in unison to investigate the suggestion.

  Caroline hurried to supply an innocuous answer. “Who’s the handsome gentleman beside the Earl of Lindsey?” She rather liked saying his name aloud. It made her pulse race.

  “That’s Lord Conrad.” Louisa leaned a little closer, her fan aflutter as she spoke. “Careful. For a moment there, one might have thought you’d lost your head after a single dance. A rake will do that, you know. Enchant you with compliments. Charm you so completely you can’t remember your name. He’ll leave you breathless and unaware until it’s too late to do little more than cry over your poor decision.”

  Spoken in a hushed whisper, Caroline wondered if Louisa hadn’t learned that lesson much to her regret. She immediately glanced at her cousin, but Louisa had already returned her attention to the crowd. Did she avoid eye contact on purpose?

  “I’d like to see the Duke of Warren’s extensive collection of artwork. My father will too. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to seek him out.” Caroline turned, her cousin’s words almost lost as she stepped into the crowd.

  “We’re equally as intrigued and will meet you there shortly,” Dinah called after her.

  Caroline darted her eyes to the area where she’d seen the Earl of Lindsey, but he was gone. Her unexplainable curiosity was troublesome, and she’d be all the wiser not to pursue the misplaced distraction. Still, a pang of disappointment accompanied the conclusion.

  She filed away that emotion for later contemplation and neared her parents where they enjoyed the festivities. Her mother sat at an ornamental table amid a jovial conversation. “Father, would you like to walk through the gallery and view His Grace’s fine collection?”

  Her father’s face lit with a smile. “As soon as your mother finishes, dear. Why don’t you find your cousins?” He gestured toward the arched doorway which led to the hall and beyond. “I see they’re poised to leave.”

  One glance confirmed her father spoke truthfully, and with little more than a nod she crossed the tiles and once again joined Beatrice, Dinah, and Louisa. Maneuvering through the crowd in the corridor consumed their attention, so they spoke little, though once they reached the elongated gallery where the Duke of Warren displayed his appreciation for the arts, it proved easier to converse.

  They paused in front of a sculpture which depicted a warrior of Greek or Roman mythology. Caroline couldn’t be sure.

  “Do you suppose without clothing all men look as this one does?”

  Beatrice posed this question, and Caroline’s eyes widened with the bold query from her youngest and usually most timid cousin. City life had certainly changed certain aspects of the ladies’ personalities.

  “Hardly.” Louisa didn’t say more.

  Caroline turned her attention to the sculpture. It was large, nearly six feet if not taller. The artist had carved the marble with exacting workmanship, each groove, ripple, and smooth span of muscle realistic in detail. The figure wore a flowing wrap around his lower half and in his hand held a disc of some sort, his pose indicative he played at a sport or participated in a competition. His shoulders were wide, tapered down to a lean waist, where the repetition of carved muscles caused her fingers to twitch. She wished to reach out and coast her fingertips over the marble in order to appreciate their strength. Did the Earl of Lindsey hide an equally magnificent physique beneath his impeccable wardrobe? Did he have finely formed muscles? His shoulders were easily as straight and broad as the sculpture before her. A sudden warmth flooded her skin at the wayward thoughts and her cheeks heated for no reason beyond her overactive imagination.

  She forced her eyes away and spun, determined to focus on a more mundane offering, perhaps a still life or pastoral scene that hung on the opposite wall. Several guests crowded the gallery and she blinked hard twice, anxious to engage in a subject far from her current preoccupation.

  Instead her eyes locked with the Earl of Lindsey, not two strides behind and apparently fixed on her with the same devout study she’d given the warrior sculpture.

  He smiled, or at least half his mouth hitched up in silent greeting.

  Her knees went weak, but by only slight degree. It
was the heat of the gallery crammed with too many guests. Nothing more.

  She held his gaze longer than she should and that proved a mistake. Lord Conrad noticed and immediately stepped forward, Lindsey at his elbow.

  “How can a gentleman appreciate the arts when four beautiful women stand before him?”

  Lord Conrad’s flattery caused her cousins to preen, but Caroline glanced down to her slippers, all at once unsettled. Still, Lindsey approached and it couldn’t be ignored; she’d all but invited him with her lingering attention. Now she’d suffer her cousin’s speculation because of it.

  Chapter Six

  Lindsey had one specific purpose. Disinterested in crowded ballrooms, he’d invited himself into Conrad’s carriage only to learn more of the artwork promised to be unveiled. At least with the hour near ten, he wouldn’t have to suffer fools for overlong.

  But then he’d noticed Lady Nicholson.

  She’d most certainly noticed too.

  Her cheeks bloomed with a soft rose color that somehow caused him to feel overheated. She was far too tempting to be flittering about a social event without a gentleman on her arm. Where was her father or brother? Precious treasures need always be protected, or they could be stolen without thought.

  He followed as Conrad initiated introductions and conversation, content to remain silent instead of take the initiative. Much like the paintings adorning the walls, Lindsey enjoyed the ability to admire at the moment.

  “What do you suppose His Grace has hidden under that cloth?” Conrad slanted his head toward the platform at the top of the room, where a circle of guests gathered in wait of the reveal. “Something sensational enough to bring the ton out with anticipation.”

  “But you’re here, aren’t you, Lord Conrad?” Louisa teased. She tapped him on the arm with the tip of her fan. “Curiosity seems to have driven most every lord and lady out this evening.”

  “And a good dose of fear,” Dinah added.