His Wicked Charm
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“You seem to have managed well on your own.” Con cast a glance at the man who had fallen down the stairs. “I feel quite unnecessary.”
“Oh, you’ll be very useful,” Olivia tossed back. “We need to tie up these men.”
“Yes, starting with this one.” Con pointed to the man he had fought, who had let out a groan and was now shifting restlessly. Con unfastened his cravat and squatted down to turn the man over and tie his hands behind his back. “What about him?” Con pointed to the ruffian who had come tumbling down the stairs. “Did you kill him?”
“Oh, no, he’s breathing,” Thisbe offered. “Mother just cracked him in the head with the washbasin pitcher.”
“This is all of them?”
Thisbe explained, “No, there was another one who was here when we arrived, but he escaped out the window and down the drainpipe.”
“How is Meg?” the duchess asked. “We weren’t sure what happened to her.”
“She’s probably going to have a black eye, and she was unconscious for a while—she hit her head on the ground when the thug hit her. But she was able to tell us what happened.”
They spent the next few minutes finding things with which to tie the men, who were beginning to awaken by the time they finished.
“What shall we do with them?” Kyria asked, using a glass-fronted cabinet as a mirror to repin the disarranged strands of her hair.
“I suspect your husbands would like to have a chat with them,” Con said. “So we’d best load them into their van and take them back with us.” He frowned. “Thing is, we have two vehicles. We could leave these chaps here while I drive you ladies home. Then Rafe and Stephen and I can come back to collect them later.”
“Leave them here tied up all that time?” The duchess frowned. “That doesn’t seem safe. What if something happened to them?”
“Mother, these chaps just abducted you and held you prisoner.”
“Obviously, they are criminals, but the goal should be to reform, not just—”
“More important,” Olivia put in before the duchess could gain steam, “they might manage to escape if we leave them alone here together.”
“But if I take them back, you ladies will have to remain here,” Con pointed out.
“Con, really, do you think I cannot drive a wagon?” Emmeline asked. “You know I was a country squire’s daughter. I learned to drive all the wagons and carts on the farm.”
Lilah doubted that driving wagons was part of the education of most country squires’ daughters, but it was little surprise that the duchess had done so.
“You take the girls home in the carriage, and I’ll follow you in the wagon,” the duchess decreed.
“Very well, if you will agree to take someone with you, just in case,” Con countered, clearly accustomed to bargaining with his mother. “You have just been through an ordeal.”
Con’s mother gave him an indulgent smile. “Miss Holcutt can ride with me. She can take the reins if I grow too feeble, since she was not abducted.”
“Though riding around with Con doubtless qualifies as an ordeal,” Kyria stuck in with a grin at her younger brother.
“Thank you, I would be happy to,” Lilah told the duchess. It would be better not to spend the ride back to London with Con again. At least she wouldn’t be lying when she told Aunt Helena that she spent the evening with the duchess.
“There. All settled. Let’s get these fellows into the wagon and go home. I haven’t eaten since breakfast, and I’m beginning to feel a mite peckish.”
Con had bound the men’s hands behind their backs and hobbled their feet, so they were able to march the still-dazed men out and load them into the wagon with only a little struggle. The duchess and Lilah climbed up onto the driver’s seat, which was much higher but far less comfortable than the one on the carriage, and set off.
To Lilah’s amazement, the duchess seemed cheerful, even invigorated. “Con’s job is actually harder,” she told Lilah, handling the reins with expertise. “Carriage horses are more mettlesome and easily spooked than these work horses. Though the carriage is better sprung,” she added as they jounced over the rough dirt lane. “Would you like to learn? I could teach you when we get on a better road.”
Lilah blinked. “I hadn’t thought of it. But yes, I believe I would.”
Her gloves, of course, were the wrong sort for the task, and she wasn’t sure how she would explain the wear and smudges on them to her aunt, but Lilah thoroughly enjoyed the lesson. The duchess was a clear and patient teacher, if somewhat inclined to inattention, and the horses were as amiable and plodding as Emmeline had suggested, giving Lilah time to correct any mistake she made.
Her shoulders and arms began to ache after a while, and once again she found her stiff corset a nuisance, but she kept doggedly at it. The thought of Con’s reaction to her newly minted driving skills was enough to keep her going.
The duchess took back the reins when traffic grew thicker as they neared London. Lilah was astonished at how little time it had taken to drive the route, which had appeared so endless earlier.
A footman on the front stoop at Broughton House ran back inside as soon as he caught sight of them. By the time the duchess pulled up, welcoming relatives and servants had spilled out onto the street. They were swept inside in a hubbub of questions, embraces and laughter. After the initial greeting, most of the men went outside to deal with the kidnappers, while the women split up to go upstairs and change out of their grimy clothes.
Con turned to Lilah. “I told Jenkins to keep the carriage out front. I thought you would want to get home as soon as possible.”
“Oh. Of course. It is terribly late.”
Con was right. Aunt Helena was doubtless upset about Lilah’s spending the day here in such an unplanned, casual way; arriving home later in the evening would be worse. Nor was there any reason to remain. Lilah had done all she could. And yet…Lilah felt disappointed at the way Con was rushing her out. Perhaps he thought she had no place here, that she had pushed her way into what was purely family business—which, of course, she had.
A faint flush rose in Lilah’s cheeks. She had acted in an unaccustomedly inappropriate way. Awkwardly, she went on, “I shall take my leave. Please give my regards to your family. I’m very happy they are home safe.” She started toward the door, glancing over at Con in surprise when he stayed by her side. “There’s no need to escort me to the carriage.”
“There is if I intend to get in it, too.” He arched an eyebrow at her.
“You needn’t see me home, Con—I mean, Lord Moreland.”
“Really, Miss Holcutt, don’t you think that after brawling together, we are well enough acquainted for you to call me by my given name?”
“Very well. Con.” He was making jest of her, as he always did, and yet the sparkle in his eyes, the curve of his lips, made her want to smile back. Made her want to do things that were better left unmentioned. Being with Con was always so unsettling.
He paused, gazing at her significantly, and after a moment, he nudged, “And may I call you Lilah?”
“Oh. Yes.” Her name sounded different when he said it, so silky smooth and rich. Whatever was the matter with her? She added tartly, “I am sure you have already.”
“It’s quite possible. You know how things are in the heat of the moment.” His face was perfectly bland, making her uncertain whether he had meant to convey the double entendre. He went on smoothly, “And you are wrong. I do need to see you home. However unmannerly you think me, I am not ill enough behaved to send a lady off alone at night.”
“I never said you were unmannerly,” she protested as he handed her up into the vehicle, then swung in to sit down beside her.
“Did you not?” There was that “Con look” again, so inscrutable, yet somehow conveying laughter bubbling just beneath the surface. Lilah pressed her lips together. “Perhaps I might have. Sometime when you were being particularly outlandish. But I—it was said—”
“In the heat of the moment?”
She sent him a dagger glance. “Could you please, for just a few minutes, stop being so provoking?”
He chuckled. “I think I can.” He leaned forward and took her hand. “I have to tell you how impressive you were this evening.”
“I was?”
“Indeed. When I saw you whacking that fellow with a broom, my heart swelled with pride.”
“Hush.” But she couldn’t hold back a smile. “You’re talking nonsense.”
“You were a veritable Valkyrie. An Amazon. A warrior goddess come to life.” His face turned serious. “You were a great deal of help today, and I apologize for ever thinking you would be a hindrance.”
“Constantine…” It was foolish to feel so warmed by his words.
He leaned closer. “Tell me, Miss Holcutt, would you slap me this time if I kissed you?”
Lilah’s heart skipped a beat. She should pull away from him. Toss back a sharp set-down for his boldness. But what came from her mouth was only a whispered “No, I wouldn’t slap you.”
He bent his head, and she closed her eyes, as if she could hide what she was doing from herself. Con’s lips brushed over hers gently…once, twice. She felt his smile against her lips, then his mouth settled onto hers, his arms gliding around her, pulling her to him.
His kiss was slow and easy and thorough, his tongue stealing into her mouth and setting off a firestorm of pleasurable sensations. It was overwhelming, his kiss as dizzying as the champagne she’d drunk. Lilah was flooded with hunger. Urges she’d never imagined roiled inside her. She had no idea what to do, but she wanted to feel more, have more.
Lilah wasn’t aware when she had put her hands on his arms, but now she dug her fingers into the cloth, holding on. It seemed like forever, yet it was over all too fast. Con raised his head and stared down at her, his expression caught somewhere between amazement and dismay.
Then his arms tightened around her, crushing her into him, and he pulled her into his lap. This time his kiss wasn’t easy, wasn’t gentle, but shockingly, Lilah welcomed it. She wrapped her arms around his neck and her lips answered his with abandon. Lilah’s heart slammed in her chest, and her very blood seemed on fire. She felt reckless and wild, utterly unlike herself, and it was glorious.
Con’s mouth left hers to kiss her cheek, her jaw, her throat. She shivered at the delicate touch on her sensitive skin. Someone moaned softly, and Lilah realized with a start that the sound had come from her. Con kissed his way downward, reaching the hollow of her throat. His tongue teased around the pearl drop there, tracing a circle. Her abdomen flooded with heat.
Her hands went to his shoulders—whether to hold him off or hold on to him, she wasn’t sure. Right now Lilah wasn’t sure of anything…except the warmth of his mouth, the velvet softness of his lips, the touch of his hands upon her face. All she knew was that she wanted this to go on and on.
Too soon, Con pulled back, his eyes glittering in the dark, his breath uneven. For a long moment, he simply looked at her. His hands fell away. Clearing his throat, he said, “We’re here.”
It was only then that Lilah realized the carriage had stopped in front of her aunt’s house. How had they gotten here so quickly? She heard the coachman climbing down from his seat, and she hastily scrambled out of Con’s lap. Seconds later their driver opened the door.
Lilah bolted out, keeping her head down, afraid of what the servant might see in her face. As Con started to follow her, she turned, holding out her hand as if to ward him off. “No, don’t get out. I—well—good night.”
She hurried to the door and slipped inside, her legs trembling beneath her. She was careful not to look back.
CHAPTER EIGHT
BY THE TIME Con returned to the house, the wagon was gone, and he found his family seated around the dining table, polishing off the remains of the hasty meal Smeggars had brought in.
“Ah, there’s the man of the hour,” Theo said, smiling.
“Hardly. The ladies had already escaped on their own. All I did was drive them home.”
“A good bit more than that,” Thisbe protested. “You took care of the men downstairs. It would have been far different if we had had to overcome them, as well.”
“I had a great deal of help from Lilah—um, Miss Holcutt.” Con turned away, picking up a plate and beginning to fill it with food from the sideboard. “She went after one of them with the carriage whip, then a broom. Tossed a tin full of flour at him, as well.”
“I wondered why he was covered in white powder,” Olivia said, laughing.
“I was surprised to see her there,” Thisbe said.
“She happened to be here at the time.” Con kept his gaze on the dishes of food. “It was nothing, really.”
“What was nothing? I thought you just said she was very helpful.”
“She was. I didn’t mean what she did was nothing.” He toyed with the roll on his plate, then added another. “I meant her being here wasn’t unusual. She came to see Olivia. Had a book for her.”
“Did she?” Olivia’s face lit up. “How nice. She had offered to lend me a book, but it was just in passing. I’m surprised she remembered.”
“Miss Holcutt remembers everything,” Con said darkly, bringing his plate to the table and sitting down.
“Goodness, Con, do you mean to eat all of that?” Kyria asked.
“What? Oh…” Con gazed at his plate in some surprise. “Well, I am hungry.”
“I am not at all amazed that Lilah joined in,” the duchess said. “I quite like her. She’s a very nice girl, just a bit stiff. I blame her upbringing.”
“Why?” Con asked. “What’s odd about her upbringing?”
“Nothing,” his mother replied. “That is the point. She had the same sort of insubstantial education combined with an indoctrination into foolish rules that all young ladies do. It’s a pity that a bright girl such as Lilah was forced into such a constricted position.”
“I believe she was raised by her aunt,” Kyria added. “Mrs. Summersley seems a nice enough woman, just a bit staid.”
The duchess pointed at her daughter with her raised fork. “Exactly. Perpetuating a helpless, brainless vision of womanhood.”
Con snorted. “I wouldn’t call Lilah helpless or brainless.”
“Yes, I have hope for the girl,” Emmeline agreed. “Perhaps I should invite her to come to the next suffragists’ meeting.”
“I don’t think our experience with the suffragists today would encourage her to accompany you,” Olivia remarked.
“It isn’t as if there are always abductions at them,” the duchess protested.
“One would hope not,” Reed commented drily.
“What did you find out from the kidnappers?” Con asked, turning toward Stephen and Rafe.
“Pah!” Kyria’s husband let out an exclamation of disgust. “Nothing of any importance. They were hired hands.”
“Nor were they particularly bright,” Theo put in. “They had no idea why they were paid to abduct the women. They swore they didn’t even know who the ladies were.”
“He couldn’t even give us a description of the man who hired them,” Stephen added. “Said it was all done by way of letter, brought by a messenger.”
Con cocked an eyebrow. “Do you believe that?”
“Strangely enough, we did.” Theo shrugged his shoulders. “He seemed sufficiently demoralized. I think Mother terrified him more than Rafe. She does wield a wicked pitcher.” Theo’s green eyes twinkled.
“Really, Theo, you know I abhor violence. But I could hardly stand by when someone threatened my children.”
“What did the Dearborns say?” Con asked.
“They vehemently denied it,” Rafe said.
“Even when Rafe threatened them with various sorts of bodily harm,” Stephen put in.
“I’m less certain that I believe them,” Rafe put in. “They let us search their house after a big show of British affront, but that only proves they were careful enough to keep their distance from the crime.”
“I can’t think of anyone else with a grudge against us,” Reed said. “At least, no one who isn’t already in jail.”
“The Dearborns are obviously desperate for money.”
“That’s the peculiar thing.” Uncle Bellard spoke up. “We never received a note asking for a ransom.”
“It is odd,” the duke agreed.
“Perhaps they didn’t get a chance to send it before the ladies got away.”
“Maybe,” Megan said doubtfully. “But what sort of criminal wouldn’t have the note ready to go as soon as they grabbed their victims?”
“An incompetent one,” her husband suggested. “Which these men certainly seemed to be.”
“Maybe they wanted to make Father wait and worry, so he’d be ready to give them whatever they asked for,” Reed suggested.
“But I would have done that at once,” the duke replied.
“I don’t think they were after money.” Every head in the room turned toward Olivia at her words. “They interrogated Kyria. Twice. They were after information.”
“Interrogated you?” Rafe stiffened, looking at his wife in alarm. “What did they do to you?”
“Nothing, really,” Kyria said calmly. “So you needn’t get murder in your eye. They shouted a good deal, but they didn’t physically harm me. They just kept asking about the blasted key.”
“Key? What key?” Rafe asked.
“Exactly.” Kyria gave a sharp nod. “I asked them that very thing, but they had no response except to ask me again in a louder voice.”
“Why didn’t they describe it or tell you what it was for?” Desmond asked, frowning in puzzlement.
“They just said that I knew which key they meant. The one my father gave me.”
“I gave you?” The duke’s voice rose in astonishment. “Why would I have given you a key? To what? How very odd.”
“That was my thought,” Kyria agreed.
“I don’t know anything about any key,” the duke went on. “Except for a Greek key, of course, but I wouldn’t think they were interested in ancient motifs.”
“Perhaps they meant the key to your collections room,” Bellard suggested.
“What would a gang of ruffians want with Greek and Roman pots?”
“And why would they target Kyria?” Con added. “Why would she have the key to Father’s collections room?”
“Maybe they didn’t specifically target Kyria. Maybe they were told to grab one of the women, and any of them would have done.”
“Then why didn’t they ask the rest of us about it after Kyria proved recalcitrant?” Thisbe pointed out. “That would be the logical thing to do.”
“Maybe they meant to take Emmeline,” the duke suggested. “And they grabbed the wrong redhead.”
The duchess smiled at her husband. “Dear Henry. I think even those men would have noticed that Kyria was far too young to be me.”
“One of them had the nerve to say I was too old!” Kyria said indignantly.
Her brothers laughed, and Con said, “I suppose that’s the one you wanted to bash over the head.”
“It is. I heard them arguing in the hall after the last time he questioned me. One of them said some rather uncomplimentary things about my stubbornness, and the other said he could make me talk. But then Ruffian One—the one Mother demoralized—said that no, they couldn’t hurt me. I think he had realized how much trouble they were in. That’s when Ruffian Two said I was too old. And the first one told him he was daft, and they fell into arguing over which of them was more stupid.”
“Which would, admittedly, be hard to determine,” Theo put in.
“They ended it with Ruffian Two stomping off downstairs. He was really a most obnoxious man. He kept complaining because Thisbe cracked him over the head with a parasol. I ask you, what did he think we were going to do?”
“I am sorry I broke Sabrina’s parasol, though,” Thisbe said. “It was such a pretty thing.”
“I should have taken Papa’s umbrella instead,” Kyria mused. “It’s much sturdier. Next time I’ll know better.”
Con frowned. “Wait. Kyria was carrying Sabrina’s parasol?”
“Yes, I picked it up as we left the house because I’d forgotten mine.”
“It’s a very distinctive parasol, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it has a lovely painted scene.”
“So it’s the sort of thing one might use to identify someone. And he said you were ‘too old.’ I think they took the wrong person. Maybe they meant to kidnap Sabrina.”
LILAH WENT TO bed thinking about Con’s kiss and woke up with it still on her mind. It was disturbing, even more so because it had also been so exciting. Con had a way of confusing things.
She disapproved of him. He was rash. He had the most outlandish notions. He didn’t care a whit how he appeared to others. Indeed, he seemed to delight in making a spectacle of himself. She thought of the exaggerated mustache and garish suit she had seen him wear the first time she visited Broughton House. As if that weren’t peculiar enough, he had been consorting with people who were certain the world was going to end that week.
What did it matter that he was handsome and witty or that his smile did the most peculiar things to her insides? It didn’t make him any more normal or acceptable or dependable. He was, in short, odd. Just look at his name: Constantine. It was decidedly not British.
Con liked her no more than she did him. He considered her annoying and her beliefs antiquated. They could not be around each other for two minutes without finding something upon which to disagree.
Why had he kissed her? Why had he said he admired her? He had been teasing, she supposed, playing games with her. Yet he had seemed sincere. He had looked at her in a way that stole her breath.
Lilah was not a naive girl just making her debut. She knew better than to take compliments seriously—especially not the compliments of charming men like Constantine Moreland. She had done her best to learn all there was to know about Con, and she was well aware of his reputation as an inveterate flirt. He never pursued any particular young lady, dancing with this one, flirting with that one.
That was her answer, she supposed: Con had been flirting with her, and Lilah wasn’t adept at flirting. She had taken him too seriously. Or else he had been testing her, seeing just how far he could push her sense of propriety. That was an irritating thought. Lowering, as well.
It would be better to just put him out of her mind. Especially since she had overslept and was in danger of being late to breakfast. It was always served promptly at eight o’clock. She rang for her maid and dressed quickly, doing her hair up in a simple knot. She stepped into the dining room at eight on the dot.
Uncle Horace looked up at her and smiled. “Ah, Delilah. Just in time.”
“Good morning, Uncle. Aunt Helena.” Her uncle was a good man, if somewhat rigid about his schedule. He had taken on the raising of another’s child, which could not have been an easy thing for a man who was accustomed to an orderly, childless life.
“Not much interesting in the newspaper today,” Uncle Horace announced. It was his custom to read aloud to his wife and niece the stories he deemed suitable for the delicate ears of women, placidly unaware that after he left each morning, Lilah took the newspaper and read what she wanted. “I saw Sir Jasper at the club yesterday. I think he might drop in today.”
Lilah maintained a polite expression, though inwardly she groaned. Her uncle proceeded to talk about this acquaintance and that. Aunt Helena related the elegance of Mrs. Baldwin’s gown at the musicale the night before.
“Baldwin’s a capital fellow,” Uncle Horace stated. “Though I gather their youngest boy is a bit wild. Not the sort I would allow to court you of course.” Uncle Horace patted Lilah’s hand.
“No, naturally.” Though Lilah had no desire to be courted by Terence Baldwin, finding him both a bore and a libertine, it scraped at her nerves whenever her uncle made such decisions for her. Lilah could just imagine what the duchess would say about Uncle Horace’s pronouncement. She had to bring up her handkerchief to her mouth to hide a smile.
“Your aunt tells me you had dinner with the Duke and Duchess of Broughton last night.”