Sin With a Scoundrel: The Husband Hunters Club (7 page)

“Next time you can tell me how things went.”

Tina nodded. Now that it was time to go she suddenly felt lost and alone. She didn’t want to go. She wasn’t sure she was ready. What if she tried to kiss Horace, and he laughed at her?

Impulsively she said, “Do you mind if we do it again? Just to be sure I have it right?”

Amusement flickered in his eyes, but he inclined his head gravely. “Of course, Miss Smythe, it is important to get these things right. Perhaps if you were to approach me this time, if you were to kiss me?”

“That is rather bold, is it not?” she ventured.

“But you must be bold. Take the bull by the horns, or in this case, take Horace by the lips.”

She straightened her back and approached him, purposely resting her hands upon his shoulders, taking a moment to gather herself before she lifted her face toward him and gently brushed her lips against his. He did not respond; he dared not. She did the same again and then, perhaps frustrated by his lack of response, took his lower lip between her teeth and nipped it gently.

Desire skewered him.

His hands went round her waist, holding her against him, not caring if she could feel his obvious erection. He was responding now, and she kissed him with a lack of self-consciousness, totally immersed in the moment.

This time it was Tina who broke away, breathless, flushed, her lips swollen. “My goodness,” she gasped, green eyes shining. “That was . . . was very instructive. Thank you, Mr. Eversham! I am sure I have the hang of it now.”

He thought he might smash something, but instead he smiled his polite smile and put on his charming face, disguising how he really felt. If she knew how much he wanted to lay her on the sofa, she’d be frightened of him. He almost frightened himself. Lack of control was not something Richard was used to feeling—he’d trained himself to be cold and heartless.

“Good, Miss Smythe. I shall see you next time.”

She was saying something about the time and place, hurrying to the door as if she couldn’t wait to escape him, and he let her go. With the door closed he told himself he was back in control, that there was nothing underhanded about what he was doing, it was simply his job, and if Miss Smythe led him to his brother’s killer, then that was all that mattered.

Then why did he have to go to the window to stare down at her, to watch her hurry away?

After a moment his thoughts calmed, and he remembered what she’d said about Little. That was the second time that name had cropped up recently. He wondered just what Mr. Little had to do with Horace Gilfoyle; why was he at his soiree? They didn’t seem to be cut from the same cloth, and yet here they were together.

Tina was right, it was a pity he could not go to her dinner party. He would have liked to observe the main suspects interacting. He would have liked to know just what they were planning next.

And then he remembered that Sir Henry Arlington was also going to dinner. Sir Henry could pull some strings, surely?

It was an audacious idea. Richard wondered if he dared, and what would Tina say if he did? It would move their relationship into a completely different sphere if their kissing practice hadn’t already done that.

Did he dare?

Richard smiled. Of course he dared.

T
ina felt light-headed, a most unusual sensation for her. And she felt warm, very warm. Her body was one warm glow. Who would have thought a kiss would have such an effect on her? And would being kissed by Horace be as pleasurable?

She hoped so, but deep in her heart she feared that it was kissing Mr. Eversham and not the kiss itself that had made her ache and glow all over.

And if that was the case, then she was in quite serious trouble.

Chapter 10

A
rchie had arranged to meet with Maria on her next free afternoon, and he found himself looking forward to it far more than he’d expected. Not that he’d tell Richard Eversham that; after all this was meant to be work, prying information from the woman, not gadding about enjoying himself.

But who said he couldn’t do both?

Archie had taken more pains than usual with his appearance, plastering his unruly curls down on his head, brushing down his jacket and trousers, and shining his shoes. He felt he was looking his very best when he arrived at the park opposite the Smythe residence.

Not long afterward he saw the very alluring Maria Baez walking toward him, her head tilted to one side, her mouth curved in a smile.

“Mr. Jones,” she said with her charming accent. “You are early I think.”

“I may be a little early, Miss Baez.” He found himself simply looking at her, enjoying the curve of her cheek and the dark shine to her hair beneath the straw bonnet. Archie had never found it difficult to chat to women—he’d once regarded himself as a bit of a ladies’ man—but suddenly he felt as gauche as a boy. What if she discovered the truth about their “accidental” meeting? Perhaps he should simply tell her.

At first she returned his look, and then she laughed. “Mr. Jones, it’s not polite to stare.”

“I am sorry, Miss Baez. I was just . . . thinking.”

“Would you care to share your thoughts?”

For a moment he thought he might do just that, but common sense reasserted itself. He was cultivating Maria’s company so that he could spy upon her household for his employer. Such information was not likely to endear him to her, and it certainly wouldn’t get the job done.

“I was wondering whether you might have been too busy to meet me today, Miss Baez. I believe the Smythes are having a dinner party.”

“And how did you know of that?”

She gave him a sharp look, and Archie wondered whether he’d stuck his foot in it. Richard had told him about the dinner party, after the visit by Miss Smythe, but he could hardly explain to Maria how he came to hear of it. Miss Smythe’s visits were a secret, and he’d been sworn to silence. Perhaps he wasn’t very good at this game of spying after all, or perhaps it was being in Maria’s company that was scrambling his brains.

Luckily she didn’t wait for an answer. “Actually you are right, there is a dinner party, but they will not miss me for an hour.”

They strolled along in companionable silence.

“Are you happy in your current position?” Archie asked her at last.

“I am very happy,” she said firmly. “They are very kind to me. I worry sometimes that . . .” She glanced at him. “There are money problems, you understand, but they will rise above them. I know they will.”

Archie tucked that piece of information away for later.

“What of you, Mr. Jones? Are you happy in your position?”

Archie chuckled. “Oh yes, very happy. My household is not a conventional one by any means. I never know what will happen next or who will come calling. Life is never dull in Jasmine Square, Miss Baez.”

Maria smiled, putting aside that address for future reference.

For herself she’d prefer dullness if it meant Miss Tina would forget about her plan to marry Lord Horace. Several times it had been on the tip of her tongue to tell her young mistress exactly what sort of man he was, but she didn’t feel she could—it was not her place—not unless Tina asked for her advice.

But there was more to Miss Tina’s secretiveness than Lord Horace. She was up to something, and Maria was determined to discover what it was. Just as she was going to find out what Archie Jones’s game was, sniffing around.

And yet she was enjoying his company. Where was the harm in it? And he didn’t seem to be a debt collector. If he had been, she was certain he would have quizzed her after she mentioned the Smythe’s financial troubles instead of simply letting it pass.

So what was he? Who was he?

Maria glanced sideways at him and bit her lip on a smile. He had tried to flatten his curls, but they were already springing up irrepressibly all over his head. She didn’t know why he bothered. She liked his curls.

She liked him.

He caught her eye and smiled at her. Maria slipped her hand through the crook of his arm, and they strolled on. It was such a lovely day, and suddenly she didn’t care what his real agenda was, she was determined to enjoy it.

Chapter 11

T
ina stood in front of her mirror. She could not, of course, wear anything too revealing for a family dinner, and she thought the pink dress from last season, though a trifle insipid, suited her coloring well enough. She and Maria had worked on it, altering the hem and sleeves, adding some ribbons and lace. At least the neckline was high enough to appease her mother and Maria had done wonders with her hair, as usual.

Outside she could hear the coaches arriving as their guests made their way to Mallory Street. Earlier, seeing the crates and boxes being carried into the kitchen, full of the finest food and wine, Tina couldn’t stop herself wondering how much money this was all costing and how her father could pay the bills.

Well, he couldn’t. It was a tribute to his previous standing that he’d managed to extend his already overstretched credit.

And as if that wasn’t bad enough, Tina had the uncomfortable feeling that she, too, was being treated like one of the dinner dishes. Prepared and primped and laid out on a silver platter for the highest bidder. Horace or Mr. Little? They were both wealthy men. If she were to put the question to her parents, then she was sure either of them would do.

But that was unkind. They weren’t really going to force her into a miserable marriage, but at the same time they would be hoping that she could bring herself to take one of them to husband. Horace’s fortune would chase away all their problems, and of course it wasn’t such a hardship, marrying him. She’d known him all her life, dreamed of marrying him all her life.

Why then was she feeling so glum?

Determinedly she pinched her cheeks until they were pink, her green eyes returning her desperate stare from the mirror. If she could manage to get Horace alone, if she could kiss him, then at least she would have given this her best shot. Even if he rejected her—laughed at her—she could say she had tried. And if Horace did laugh at her, then she was confident Mr. Little wouldn’t.

Once upon a time her father would have locked her in her room rather than allow her to contemplate marriage with a merchant.

How times had changed!

Tina forced a smile, forced herself to appear happy in her role of the good and dutiful daughter, and with her head high set off to make her own history.

A
s Richard followed Sir Henry and Lady Isabelle into the Smythes’ house, he was well aware that tonight he would be the most unwelcome guest at this dinner party. Although Sir Henry had agreed that his being here was a splendid idea, Richard doubted anyone else would think so.

Richard had also taxed Sir Henry with the fact that he was a friend of Tina’s father and had never mentioned it to him, but his superior grew evasive.

“Personal business and Guardian business, Richard. I try not to muddy the two.”

“But when I mentioned I was meeting with Miss Smythe, you said nothing.”

“I didn’t want to make it awkward for you.”

Richard suspected that was true, but realizing Sir Henry knew more than he’d expected made him uneasy. He didn’t like surprises. Now he was wondering if Tina was the woman he thought her or if perhaps she was in league with Gilfoyle.

He stopped himself. No, Tina was exactly as she seemed. A beautiful young woman who had her innocent heart set on a man who wasn’t good enough for her. Although if Archie was right, and the parents were in financial difficulties, then they might have an ulterior motive for throwing their daughter at one of the wealthiest men in the country.

The house was large and rather fine, the sort of place he would have expected Sir Thomas Smythe to settle his family in, but the lack of knickknacks and the curious absence of paintings made it obvious to him—but only because he was looking—that Archie was right. The Smythes had money troubles.

His hostess, Lady Carol, an older version of her daughter, was very regal, and her manner made it abundantly clear that his invitation had only been issued because of Sir Henry’s intervention. She wasn’t rude. She smiled and received him—she was too well-bred to do otherwise—but he couldn’t miss the steely glitter to her eyes.

What had Sir Henry told her to force her hand like this? Or rather what had he told Sir Thomas? Whatever it was, Richard wasn’t here to make friends. He had a job to do. Little and Gilfoyle could well be dangerous characters, involved in riots at the very least, and at the most . . . murder. If the Smythes wanted to invite such men into their home, then they must take the consequences.

So he gave Lady Carol a smile that was charming and totally unrepentant, and strolled into the drawing room to join the other guests.

Tina wasn’t here.

He knew it at once although he looked about, just to be sure. Because how
could
he know? How
could
he be so sure? And yet he was. Absolutely. As if he was already so attuned to her scent and the timbre of her voice that he would instinctively have found her in any crowd.

A few of the guests glanced at him uneasily, but for a moment he was alone, and he remembered why it was he hadn’t been to anything like this for almost two years. He was almost relieved when Sir Henry caught his eye and came to stand beside him.

“Over there.” His superior gave a discreet nod toward a group of gentlemen by a marble bust of a Roman emperor on a plinth.

“Who am I meant to be observing?”

“Charles Smythe, in the green waistcoat, and John Little done up like a dog’s dinner.”

Charles stood with a couple of others who were immediately recognizable as young blades about town, and a slight gentleman who looked uncomfortable in his immaculate evening wear. The tobacco importer—the new player in the game.

Richard decided he looked harmless enough.

As if he’d heard his name spoken, despite that’s being impossible, John Little looked at them across the drawing room. It was only a brief moment, but Richard sensed a stirring in the air, a soft whisper of warning.

Perhaps appearances were deceiving.

“ . . . Had a devil of a job getting you invited,” Sir Henry was saying, oblivious to Little’s glance. “Don’t do anything to make me regret it.”

“Like telling off-color jokes at dinner?”

Sir Henry’s eyes narrowed. “Not funny, Richard.”

“Well, you know I am unaccustomed to dining in the company of quality, Sir Henry. I hardly know which fork to use.”

“You know perfectly well how to behave,” he retorted gruffly. “You know better than most of them.”

Did he? He knew he should reassure his superior, but there was a devil in Richard that liked to behave outrageously. Which was probably why he enjoyed his current work so much. Oh there were times when it was difficult to be the man no one wanted to be seen with in public, never more so than right at this moment. But Richard knew it was important to his work and revenging his brother’s death to place himself in a position where he was considered not quite a gentleman, a bit of a rake perhaps, and a wastrel. People were inclined to tell such a man things they wouldn’t have told someone respectable.

Because he didn’t matter, he learned so much more.

A nearby group of ladies were sending glances his way, and he was tempted to flirt a little, cause a few blushes, give them something to tell their friends. He was, after all, the notorious Mr. Eversham, and wasn’t that just the sort of behavior society expected of him?

But Richard wasn’t really interested in those ladies; he was interested in one particular lady.

Then a movement near the door caused him to turn, and there she was, pink-cheeked and smiling, her dark curls swept up onto her crown, pearl earrings matching the necklace about her creamy throat. She was quite ravishing, and why Gilfoyle hadn’t already snapped her up was beyond Richard’s comprehension.

She’d only taken a few steps when she saw him.

Her green eyes widened. Her soft mouth fell open. She froze.

Inwardly Richard sighed. If Miss Smythe was such a poor actress, she would never capture Lord Horace. Clearly she needed a great many more lessons.

“Tina?” Lady Carol had noticed and slipped an arm about her daughter’s waist. She shot Richard an unwelcoming glare. “Are you all right?”

“I . . . that is, yes. Yes, of course I am.”

Good, he thought admiringly. She’d recovered herself well and now turned away from Richard to greet her friends. Lady Carol sent him another withering look, as if it was all his fault. And of course it was.

A moment later Lord Horace breezed into the room, laughing, shaking hands, completely secure in his place in society and particularly the Smythe household.

Richard felt his hackles rise.

Sir Henry was quick to introduce them.

“Mr. Eversham!” Gilfoyle said in delight. “You are a man I could have a very interesting conversation with. I believe you helped Peterson to the altar. Saved him from the Fleet just in the nick of time by marrying him to that ugly heiress.”

“It was Peterson who did the proposing, not I,” Richard said politely.

“That wasn’t how I heard it,” Horace retorted, and his blue eyes gleamed with malice.

“Heard what?” Charles Smythe had joined them, clearly eager to support his friend. He cast a look at Richard that was coolly disapproving. “I’m rather surprised you are here, Eversham. My mother wasn’t particularly pleased to know someone of your reputation was coming, I can tell you. You’d better not go near my sister.”

“Now, Charles, mind your manners,” Gilfoyle said with quiet authority.

Charles flushed and cleared his throat, like a puppy that’s been reprimanded. Obviously, Gilfoyle was the stronger personality in that friendship but not for much longer if Richard guessed right. Young Charles was finding his feet.

“I can always eat in the kitchen,” Richard suggested mildly. “If you prefer?”

Charles chose to make a joke of it, laughing with some relief, and a moment later it was time to go in to dinner.

T
ina was very much aware that although she had greeted their guests, she hadn’t spoken to everyone. There was one person she hadn’t been able to bring herself to approach.

“Mr. Eversham is your father’s guest,” Lady Carol said dourly, when she’d whispered the shocked question after she first saw him. “Just ignore him. That’s what I intend to do.”

So she had. Trying to understand why he was here, in her house, was too difficult for her just now, and really she couldn’t deal with it.

Anne and Margaret gathered about her, perhaps sensing her inner turmoil. Anne was wearing a pale lemon dress with white lace, which suited her pale coloring beautifully, while Margaret wore a pale green gown, which contrasted nicely with her red curls. Indeed Margaret looked far more attractive than Tina had expected, and suddenly she was anxious about Horace’s wandering attention. But he didn’t seem to notice Margaret or Anne, and once he’d greeted her, he barely glanced at Tina either although she saw him laughing with Mr. Eversham.

What was he
doing
here?

When she first saw him, she thought she was seeing a ghost. Indeed, she’d been struck dumb by the sight of him in her familiar surroundings. It was all very well to imagine him by her side, but for him to be here, in flesh and blood . . . She was still shaken by his presence. Had he come to help her win over Horace? Did he really think she could remember any of his instructions, let alone put them into practice, while he was observing her with those warm gray eyes?

It was a nightmare.

If only she could get him alone, to question him, but her mother was watching her like a hawk.

His being here is
going to ruin everything.

Lady Carol led them in to dinner, where they all took their places around the long, mahogany table. Tina found herself seated between Horace and John Little while Anne was between Horace and Charles, and Margaret sat on John’s other side. She was surrounded by friends, she reminded herself, and Richard Eversham was far, far away at the other end of the table.

But she was aware of him. No matter how she tried to pretend he wasn’t there, his presence colored everything around her.

He had kissed her. And she had asked him to do it again! What if her mother were to find out? What if he were to tell her? What if people could see it just from looking at the two of them?

She closed her eyes briefly and took a deep breath. This was getting ridiculous. He would never tell, and neither would she. No one would know, no one
could
know. Her connection with him was a secret between him and her.

“Miss Smythe, are you feeling faint? You are very pale this evening.” It was John Little, wearing a worried frown as he peered into her face.

Mr. Little seemed determined to claim her attention. He was a nice enough man, but she wasn’t attracted to him; if anything, she felt a little sorry for him.

Tina gave a nervous laugh. “Actually I am famished. Should a well-brought-up lady admit to such a thing?”

He smiled back, his blue eyes twinkling, as if he found her completely captivating.

“Didn’t finishing school teach you the answer to that?” Horace put in. He’d obviously been listening. “ ’Though I’d be sorry if it polished too much of the old Tina from you. Girls are all the same these days, and you are refreshingly different.”

Had Horace offered her a compliment?

“I doubt anyone could change our plainspoken Tina,” Anne teased. “And like Horace I would hate to think she had become like all the other young ladies in London society.”

Charles laughed, too, and something about the way he was looking at Anne tugged at Tina’s attention, but then Lady Isabelle Arlington interrupted, and she forgot it.

“The notion that a girl needs to be ‘finished’ before she is of marriageable material is quite absurd.”

There was a hush, as there usually was when the eccentric Lady Isabelle expressed her opinion in company. She had insulted so many people that it was only her aristocratic family connections and her wealth that ensured her continued welcome in society.

“I’m sure ‘absurd’ is too harsh a word,” Lady Carol said, her face stiff with disapproval. “Tina has learned a great deal from attending Miss Debenham’s. The establishment has a fine reputation, and many of its young ladies have risen high in society.”