Gambling on a Scoundrel (28 page)

Those simple words struck deep into Tempy's heart. She'd faced so many people in the past who wanted to dissuade her from following her passion that she'd come to expect a negative reaction whenever she mentioned her writing. Lucien's casual support of it meant more to her than all the forced praise she'd received over the years.

She felt tears welling and glanced down at her notebook as she closed it so that he wouldn't see them. "Thank you," she murmured as she busied herself with putting away her pen and ink. She tucked everything safely away in her reticule.

Had Ernest ever accepted her writing so freely and easily? She'd always thought there'd been a vague assumption on his part that her interest would fade over time. When she'd tried to discuss her love of writing with him, he'd never truly comprehended it.

But somehow Lucien already knew. She'd never needed to explain it to him. He simply knew.

24 - Would You Like Some Chocolate Tart?

The following evening, as the carriage bumped down the country lane toward Judge Conner's house, Tempy's stomach quivered with nervous tension. She slid her hand down the front of her cloak just below the two satin frog fasteners. Mary was with them, serving as chaperone in Millicent's absence.

Tempy had kept her plan for tonight a secret from Lucien. She needed to do this as a sort of test, away from London and Mme Le Clair's guardianship. Lucien had already helped a great deal, and she was afraid that she'd come to rely on him. She needed to do this on her own. Lucien certainly wouldn't be there when she finally used her newly developed womanly wiles on Ernest. She needed to test the extent of her new abilities now, before she confronted Ernest.

BLISS SHINES BRIGHTLY

If she could manage to live up to
that
headline, she could hold her head high with the knowledge that she was ready to overthrow Clarisse and win back Ernest's love. She just hoped the headline shouldn't instead read

BLISS BOMBS

or something else equally dismal.

Her stomach knotted.

"We're nearly there," Lucien said. "You've hardly spoken a word all the way here. Are you well?"

"I'm fine," Tempy said, flashing him a bright smile while clutching at the front of her cloak. This was the first time she'd worn the gown hidden beneath its dark folds, and she wanted the unveiling to be a surprise. "It's just that I feel a bit guilty about Millicent. If I hadn't asked her to accompany me on this trip and exposed her to that rainstorm, she wouldn't be sick and miserable right now." She glanced at her lady's maid. Mary hadn't said so, but Tempy could tell that she was excited to be brought along on the outing. Once Lucien and Tempy were inside, Mary would join the other servants and have the opportunity to socialize.

"You can hardly blame yourself for her illness. And my housekeeper seems to enjoy coddling her. Didn't Millicent mention having a sore throat while we were on the train from London?" At her nod, Lucien continued. "Then the rainstorm didn't cause her illness. She already had it." He paused. "Is something else troubling you?"

She noticed him looking at her hand and noting the way she gripped her cloak. She relaxed her fist. "I'm a bit nervous about meeting all of these people." The carriage stopped in front of what she assumed was the judge's home.

"My intrepid journalist? Nervous?" Lucien reached out and lifted her hand that wasn't currently engaged in mangling the front of her cloak and gave it a comforting squeeze. "Simply don the armor that Mme Le Clair helped you craft. I'm certain you'll be fine."

Tempy nearly jumped at his words. It was as though he'd read her mind. But at least he was encouraging her on her chosen path. Even if he didn't know it. "That's an excellent idea," she murmured.

He helped her down from the carriage and escorted her to the front door.

As they swept inside, Tempy saw a number of guests in a large room to the left of the foyer. Butterflies of panic began slamming against the inside of her stomach, so she took a deep breath to calm them.

She glanced at Lucien. Perhaps she should have let him see her dress before now so she'd know how he'd react. What if he thought it was inappropriate? If she saw a look of disapproval on his face right now, she knew she wouldn't be able to let anyone else see her.

She needed to stick to her plan. It was a good one, and she couldn't let this sudden bout of nerves ruin it.

She turned her back to Lucien so she couldn't see his reaction once her dress was revealed. The butler helped her with her cloak, revealing the low-cut pale aqua lace gown. The layer of fabric beneath the lace was flesh colored, giving the impression of bare skin. Tempy's shoulders were bare, and the simply cut gown revealed much more skin than she'd ever been comfortable with showing in the past. Mme Le Clair had been quite insistent, telling her that she made a devastating impression in it, so despite her reservations, she'd decided to trust the demimondaine's opinion.

But she still kept her back to Lucien and entered the salon ahead of him.

The first reaction to her gown and her artfully applied makeup came from the guests who would be dining with them that evening.

One elderly gentleman's monocle popped from his eye and fell to dangle from a string around his neck. Another man stopped mid-sentence and stared openly for a moment before resuming his conversation with the woman with whom he had been speaking. A third gaped openmouthed at her before snapping his mouth shut with an audible click.

Tempy's stomach tightened. This was a much stronger reaction than she'd anticipated. Was this an enormous mistake? She took a step back, wondering if she could still flee, and stumbled into Lucien.

He steadied her by taking her elbow and moving to stand next to her. Then he glanced down at her, taking in the low-cut bodice of her dress for the first time.

She blushed, but watched him to gauge his reaction. His eyes widened ever so slightly, and then he smiled. "
Brava
, Miss Bliss. I see my advice wasn't needed. Your armor is quite disarming."

She smiled up at him as her confidence began to swell. She hadn't even modeled the dress for Millicent for fear that she'd try to talk Tempy out of wearing it. But wasn't it creating precisely the reaction she'd hoped it would?

Judge Conner moved to greet them, his wife following with alacrity. Although Tempy couldn't be certain, she believed Mrs. Conner shot her an irritated look. The expression disappeared from her face so quickly that Tempy couldn't be sure she'd even seen it. But a moment later, Henry Conner winced and moved his foot out from under his wife's skirts. If Tempy wasn't mistaken, the woman had just stomped on his toes.

This wasn't the reaction she'd intended to elicit from her hostess, and Tempy felt a renewed twinge of doubt at her choice of attire. Perhaps her gown would have been more appropriate for London than for a dinner party in the country.

But Lucien had liked it. That bit of knowledge allowed her to keep her chin held high rather than ducking it in embarrassment.

She met Mrs. Conner's gaze and offered her a sincere smile. "Thank you so very much for inviting us to your home. It's quite lovely."

The woman's face looked as though it might crack as she forced it to smile. It was amazing to see how unwelcoming the woman could look while still going through the motions of inviting them into her home. "It is a pleasure to offer our hospitality to an old friend. And just imagine our delight that he's the new Earl of Cavendish."

Tempy didn't fail to notice that Mrs. Conner's "pleasure" only extended to Lucien, but before she could decide how to respond, they were interrupted.

"Henry, you rapscallion," an older man said, clapping Judge Conner on the shoulder. When Tempy noticed the monocle dangling from a piece of ribbon, she recalled his reaction when she'd entered the room. "Who are your friends?" he asked, turning his gaze on her. "You
must
introduce me to this delightful young woman."

Judge Conner made the introductions, informing them that the older man was his father, Squire Conner.

Squire Conner kept his attention fixed upon Tempy, his eyes seeming to miss no detail in her attire. She wondered for a moment if he could see all the way through her corset. It certainly felt like it.

She smiled politely at him. The older man's eyes seemed to dance with delight as he smiled back.

"It isn't often that I get the opportunity to talk with such an attractive young woman," Squire Conner said. "Most of the people I see every day are closer to my own age." He glanced at Lucien and a confused look crossed his face. "Do I know you? You seem familiar to me."

"We met when I was a boy," Lucien replied. "My father was the youngest of Lord Cavendish's three sons."

"Ah, yes. You helped with the swaling. I remember you now." His gaze flicked to Tempy before returning to Lucien. "And is this lovely young lady your fiancée?"

"No. This is Miss Temperance Bliss," Lucien said, without elaborating further.

Squire Conner smiled broadly and opened his mouth to speak, but he never had a chance to say anything. Instead, a younger man who had been standing on the fringe of the group, holding a glass of whiskey, spoke up.

"Lucien. It's been years. I doubt you'll remember me. I'm Charles Conner, Henry's brother."

Squire Conner shot his younger son a stony glare, and the Judge and his wife used the opportunity to excuse themselves to speak with some other guests.

Lucien arched his eyebrows in surprise. "Charles. I wouldn't have recognized you. The last time I saw you, you had blond hair and were about four feet tall."

Charles ran his hand through his wavy light brown hair. "That was years ago. But you look much the same." He glanced at his father, and then back at Lucien again.

Lucien shrugged. "I'll always remember how conscientious and hardworking you were as you hauled all of those pails of water."

Charles grimaced. "I always hated that job. By the end of the day, my clothes were soaked and my shoes squirted water with every step."

Squire Conner snorted as he slid his monocle in place over his eye.

Tempy sensed an odd undercurrent between father and son that she couldn't quite identify.

Squire Conner turned his attention back to Tempy and Lucien with a delighted expression. "It's nice to see some fresh new faces here tonight," he said. He smiled up at Lucien. "You look familiar, young man. Have we met before?"

Charles tensed.

Lucien looked confused for a moment and glanced at Charles, apparently looking for some sort of cue before replying. "Yes. We met many years ago when I was here with my father to help with the swaling."

Squire Conner's monocle dropped from his eye again. "You're the Earl's grandson? Henry will be so pleased you could come tonight." He turned and walked a few paces toward Judge Conner.

Charles grimaced. "Please excuse my father. He tends to forget things, including people he's only just met. You get used to it. Gatherings like this one seem to make it worse, but he loves this sort of thing."

Tempy watched as Squire Conner plucked at his eldest son's sleeve. The two men spoke briefly, and then returned to their group. Squire Conner grinned broadly as he rejoined them. It was obvious he was enjoying himself immensely. "Henry, do you recall that the old earl had a grandson? Here he is."

"Actually, I had business with the earl earlier today and invited him to join us for dinner this evening," the judge said. He glanced at his brother sharply. "Do you have everything in hand?"

Charles shrugged, lifting his glass in a gesture that resembled a toast. "I do what I can."

Henry narrowed his eyes. "See that you do
everything
you can."

Mrs. Conner returned to their group. "Henry, please come greet our neighbors. They've only just arrived," she said. She wrapped her arm around her husband's and shot Tempy a dismissive glance. Squire Conner followed them, leaving Tempy with Lucien and Charles.

"What was that all about?" Lucien asked.

Charles shrugged. "With the state of my father's memory, Henry asked me to keep an eye on him tonight. Just to make sure he stays out of mischief."

"Mischief?" Tempy asked.

Charles shrugged. "Sometimes when he gets muddled he also gets a bit angry. He doesn't like being confused, and he hates what's happening to him."

Tempy remembered another of Mme Le Clair's lessons. A light touch to the arm or hand was supposed to help forge a connection with a man. Charles struck her as someone who needed some emotional support. She reached out and rested her hand on Charles's forearm, giving it a squeeze. "You're a good son to be so supportive."

Charles patted her hand where it rested on his arm and looked into her eyes. "You are a very sympathetic young woman. Thank you." His smile was a few degrees warmer than it had been.

When Tempy glanced over to where Squire Conner was standing with his older son, she noticed that the judge was glaring at his younger brother. She glanced up at Charles to see if he noticed the glare as well, and saw his jaw clench. Yes, he'd noticed, and it was obvious that he didn't like it. But that was often the way with brothers, wasn't it? They knew each other too well, judged each other too harshly, and jumped to conclusions too quickly.

"If you'll excuse me," Charles said, giving her hand a pat, "I need to collect my charge." He sauntered toward Squire Conner and caught his attention with what must have been a witty comment or jest, because the squire laughed rather loudly and walked away with him. The next time she noticed father and son, they were holding drinks and chatting with another group of guests.

Lucien introduced her to the man who ran the Porlock newspaper. He had kind eyes. During the course of their conversation, he mentioned that he'd attended Lucien's court case and had written an article about it for his paper.

At dinner, Tempy didn't sit near Lucien. At an event such as this, it was customary to seat couples apart from one another so that they'd have the opportunity to socialize with others. Tempy found herself next to Charles and across from Squire Conner. She didn't recognize the gentleman sitting to her right, but he seemed engrossed in a conversation about horses and steadily ignored her.