A Rake’s Guide to Seduction (28 page)

The earl of Lynley arrived one morning several days later, unannounced except by a terse message sent on ahead from the local inn: “I shall call on you directly” was all it said.

Anthony read it, then put it aside to continue his breakfast. He didn’t care if Lynley had come all the way from Sussex, or why. Lynley had never cared a fig for him, and Anthony felt the same about him.

Celia came in, filling the room with cheer and light. “Good morning, darling. You rose early today.”

He got to his feet and bowed his head. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Perhaps because you kept me from my rest all night. Yes, I see your consideration.”

Anthony laughed. “No, it was not about last night. I let you sleep because I plan to keep you from your rest again tonight.”

Pink flooded her cheeks. “Hmm,” she said with a mischievous glance at his plate. “You’d best have some more to eat, then. To keep your strength up.”

Anthony smiled at her, his feral rake’s smile. Her eyes widened, and she darted a quick glance at the door. “Not to worry, madame,” he reassured her, prowling around the table toward her. “I have plenty of strength for that endeavor. Shall I demonstrate?”

She licked her lips and tried to look stern, but he could see the pleased flush. He, too, glanced at the door. Good God, marriage suited him just fine. If he turned the key, he could find out just how far that flush extended, right now….

“What is that?” Celia asked, shaking him out of his thoughts. Anthony followed her gaze to the crested letter on the table beside his plate.

“Lynley wishes to call.” Celia’s gaze flew to his. Anthony gave a small shrug. “I suppose it had to happen sooner or later.”

His wife tilted her head. “Do you not wish to see him?”

“I? I don’t care, one way or the other. No doubt he wants to inspect you, to see if you measure up.”

She came across the room to him and took his hand. For a moment she just held it between her own two, her hands small around his. “If you don’t wish to see him, tell him not to come. Marcus will understand.”

He considered it. He hadn’t seen Lynley in years, not since the man had walked away from his mother’s grave without a word or a backward glance at Anthony. He no longer hated the earl, but he didn’t feel any interest in him, either.

But in denying Lynley, he would also be denying Celia. She was the daughter of a duke; she deserved to be a countess, even if Anthony didn’t deserve to be an earl. Celia had taken him even given his past, and he owed it to her to be as respectable as he could be, including tolerating Lynley’s visit. He curled his fingers through hers. “I should see him. And you might want to meet him. He is your father-in-law.”

“I don’t seem to have much luck with fathers-in-law,” she remarked. “But if he hurts my feelings, you shall have to console me.”

Anthony smiled. “I should like nothing better. But perhaps…” He hesitated. “I’ve been thinking,” he said carefully. “Perhaps I should allow people to call me Langford again. I never cared when it was only my name in question, but now—”

“I think Celia Hamilton sounds very well,” she said, as lightly as if he hadn’t spoken. “I’ve already ordered calling cards.”

He stared at her. “You don’t need to.”

“All that you are, I am, too,” she said.

He turned their linked hands over, raising her knuckles to his lips. “No, my dear, I think you are much better.”

Lynley arrived later that morning. Celia glanced at Anthony and, at his shrug, told the butler to show in the earl. Her husband put aside the book of poetry he had been reading to her, and Celia put her slippers back on. It had been such a cozy morning up to that moment, as they hid away in the sun-filled small drawing room. “We could summon Mama to face him down,” she suggested, but Anthony shrugged again.

“No, better to get it over and done with.”

“The earl of Lynley,” announced the butler a few minutes later. Celia got to her feet, curious in spite of herself. Anthony stayed in his seat. She composed her face, to hide her interest in the earl, and placed her hand on Anthony’s shoulder. Anthony didn’t say anything, but he turned his head and pressed his lips to her knuckles. Then he rose to stand beside her.

Lynley was not at all what Celia had expected. He was old—older than she had thought. A few inches shorter than his son, he was thin and stooped, with a long, slightly crooked nose and wiry gray hair. He leaned on a cane and wore clothing as austere as any minister. For a moment the room was quiet as he simply peered at her over his spectacles.

“Lady Langford,” he said at last. He extended one foot and gave her a formal, if painfully slow, bow.

“Welcome to Ainsley Park, sir,” she replied, curtsying.

“Hmmph.” He continued to study her. “How old are you?”

Celia narrowed her eyes at him. “Not yet three-and-twenty.”

Lynley harrumphed again. “Not too old, then. Good.”

“Shall you inspect her teeth next?” drawled Anthony.

Finally the earl turned his gaze on him. “As rude as ever, I see.”

Anthony’s mouth twisted in a faint smile, but he only inclined his head.

“Won’t you be seated?” Celia couldn’t help but agree with Anthony, but this was her brother’s house. Best they should discover Lord Lynley’s purpose so he could be on his way that much sooner. With short, jerky steps the earl moved to a chair and seated himself. Celia took a seat near her husband, trying not to think that the earl reminded her of a large spider.

“To what do we owe this visit?” asked Anthony in a bland voice.

Lynley’s left eye twitched. “I received word of your marriage too late in time to attend the wedding.”

Anthony nodded once. “It was a very small ceremony.”

The earl didn’t look entirely pleased. “Yes, I know,” he said sourly. “As the future earl, you ought to have married in the Lynley chapel.”

“I was under the impression I wasn’t to set foot on the property again,” Anthony said. “It would be difficult to conduct a wedding with the bridegroom some miles distant from the chapel.”

Lynley grunted. “I suppose the Exeter chapel will have to do.”

“Thank heavens,” murmured Anthony wryly, “since it’s already done.”

By now Celia was almost sorry she’d let her mother write to Lord Lynley about their marriage. What a sour old man, she thought. No wonder Anthony didn’t want anything to do with him.

The earl turned to her then. “You may leave us.”

Celia couldn’t hide her surprise. Her eyes widened, and she instinctively looked to Anthony. His face was set, but he nodded, rising to his feet. Celia stood and bobbed a very slight curtsy to the earl, then turned to Anthony. “I will stay if you want me,” she whispered.

“Make your escape and be glad,” he murmured back. “I’ll find you when he’s gone.”

After she left, Anthony remained on his feet. He hated sitting and staring eye-to-eye with the earl, as he had been forced to do for years as a boy when he was being punished. Lynley would make him sit on a stool in the corner of the study, and if Anthony so much as sneezed or twitched, he risked a blistered palm from Lynley’s riding crop. Anthony admitted he had often misbehaved as a boy, but he refused to relive the experience every time he had to see Lynley.

As the earl groped for his cane, Anthony strolled to the windows. After a moment Lynley came up beside him.

“I see you have finally made something of yourself,” said the earl, his gaze fixed on something outside.

“I am as I have always been.” Anthony, too, gazed out the window.

The earl grunted. “Hmph. Perhaps you’re my son after all.”

Anthony turned a cool gaze on him. “Good God, I hope not.”

Lynley’s eyebrows shot up. Then he gave a bark of laughter. “That’s proof of it, if nothing else.”

Anthony had no trouble looking bored. “Have you seen what you came to see?”

Lynley nodded slowly. “A pretty girl. Good family.”

“Better than yours,” said Anthony.

“Better than I thought you would land,” Lynley returned in the same flat tone. “I expect she brought you some funds. No need to crawl back and beg forgiveness, eh?”

“Forgiveness? What, for being born?”

He grunted again. “I was never convinced you weren’t mine. I was never convinced you were, either, but that’s neither here nor there now. I have no one else to inherit. It might as well be you.”

It was on the tip of Anthony’s tongue to say he didn’t need the estate or the bloody title, that he had made his own fortune and place in life. But it occurred to him that this was an enormous concession from Lynley, if the man really believed Anthony was not his son. “Why did you think my mother would have lied to you?” he asked instead.

Lynley didn’t respond for a moment. “Your mother was a child when I married her. I suppose it was drummed into her head that she must not disappoint me or anger me. She barely spoke for the first few years of our marriage; I hardly knew what her voice sounded like.”

Bits of memories floated back to Anthony. His mother, her face fearful, taking his hand and hurrying him down the stairs and out of the house. Her frantic pleas for him to stop crying when he had fallen and scraped his knee. She had been terrified of Lynley. Anthony had recognized that even as a small boy.

“But eventually she came to me and said she was with child.” Lynley snorted. “Ten years it took.” He turned a piercing gaze on Anthony. “You could be mine. You could be the butler’s, or the stableboy’s, or a passing peddler’s. No one can prove a thing.”

“If she were so frightened of you,” Anthony asked in a cool tone, “why would she risk deceiving you that way?”

Lynley’s eyes narrowed. He said nothing, just tapped his fingers on his cane.

“I think you know she didn’t,” Anthony went on. “I think you never would have allowed her to stay, had you truly thought she carried another man’s child. No matter how little you cared for her, you knew I was your only chance for an heir, and that’s why you’ve never repudiated either of us.”

A vein in Lynley’s forehead pulsed. “You might have shown some deference, even a little gratitude. A proper son does not humiliate his father at every turn.”

“A proper father takes a kindly interest in his son.”

The earl pursed his lips. “I did my duty. The best schools—and you were thrown out of all of them.”

Anthony’s lips curled in a mocking smile. “Ah, yes, for beating the mathematics tutor at cards. How dare I.”

“And fighting.” Lynley’s nose flared at the memory. “Like a common street brat. Disgraceful.”

“They insulted my mother,” said Anthony. “I know you didn’t care, but I did.”

“Well. Hmph. That’s all in the past now.” Lynley flicked his fingers as if to brush aside the distasteful history. “I expect you’ll take your proper title again, now you’ve got a wife.”

Anthony shrugged. “I’ve gotten along well enough without it.”

“See here,” Lynley warned him. “You’ll not be an embarrassment to me still.”

For a moment Anthony stared at him. An embarrassment? He embarrassed Lynley? He had his own fortune, and the hard-won knowledge to keep it and increase it. He had friends, not numerous but loyal, who would stand by him. He had a beautiful wife who loved him and believed in him. And he didn’t owe a single bit of it to anyone, especially not to Lynley. “Good day to you, sir.”

“Take the title, and you may pay a visit to Lynley Court,” said the earl as if Anthony hadn’t spoken. “I should like to see how the girl comports herself as mistress of a household.”

“The girl is called Mrs. Hamilton,” said Anthony. “And I have great faith she shall comport herself splendidly as mistress of a household, just as she does in all things. But she shall be mistress of my household, in London. I do not intend to give her up or share her, certainly not with you and certainly not at Lynley Court.” He bowed. “I think we have quite exhausted this conversation. Good day, sir.”

Lynley stared at him in amazement. “What?” he cried. “You’re tossing me out?”

“No,” said Anthony. “It is not my house.” He walked to the door. “I shall notify His Grace you are here. You must excuse me.” He opened the door and left Lynley staring, open-mouthed, after him.

Anthony found Celia in the garden, supervising the children. She turned to him with a beaming smile, and his heart turned over in his chest. She would be a splendid countess—
his
countess. Eventually, he supposed, he would give in and take the title again; he would visit Lynley Court again. He’d even speak to the earl again, someday. It would be an insult to his mother if he didn’t accept his inheritance, after what she had suffered for him to get it. But it would be on his terms, in his own time, and not because Lynley deigned to bestow any of it on him.

“What are you working on?” he asked, coming down the steps to where the children worked.

“Paper boats.” Celia tousled her nephew’s hair. “Thomas would like to be an admiral, so we must construct his fleet.”

“And Edward will be a captain,” said the boy without looking up from folding his paper. Edward waved a half-folded boat in the air, then put it in his mouth. Celia exchanged a look with Molly, who grinned and went back to work on her own boat.

“Ah. I shall see that Aunt Celia is returned to you in time to christen the fleet, but I must steal her away.” He took her hand and tugged, drawing her away as the nursemaid stepped up to take her place.

“Has he gone?” Celia asked as they strolled the garden paths, arm in arm.

Anthony lifted his shoulder. “I don’t know. He was still in the drawing room when I left.”

“You left him?” He nodded. Celia made a small noise of surprise. “I thought you might mend fences with him.”

“I think it best if a very tall fence divides the earl and me.” Celia laughed. “I have everything I want,” he said quietly, squeezing her hand. “I don’t need anything Lynley can give me.”

“Perhaps I shall set myself to charming the earl for you,” she said. “Not because you need it, just to see if I can. If you can set yourself to charming Mama…”

Anthony chuckled. “I assure you, my task is by far the more pleasant.”

“Then that will make my triumph all the sweeter,” she told him with a saucy grin.