Beguiling the Earl Read online

  “Was that all?” If that was the duchess’s secret, her case was truly hopeless. Kerrick was hardly falling all over himself nor writing sonnets composed to her beauty.

  Charlotte shook her head. “I followed the conventional wisdom that says men want most that which they cannot have.”

  At Catherine’s obvious confusion, Charlotte smiled. “I made him believe that I was not the least bit interested in him, and then I proceeded to flirt with any man who would give me more than a few moments’ notice.”

  Catherine mulled that advice over in her head. Did she have it in her to fake an attraction where none existed? Her thoughts went to Rose Hardwick. Was that what the other woman was doing? Pretending to be aloof to Kerrick? Rose did surround herself with other admirers. Was she attempting to draw Kerrick’s interest by pretending indifference? The thought made her feel slightly ill, because that would mean that Catherine had a direct rival for Kerrick’s attention. One who already seemed to hold the advantage if her parents’ expectations were any indication.

  “I’m not sure I can do that.”

  “You might not have to,” Charlotte said. She must have seen Catherine’s confusion, for she added, “Kerrick already likes you very much.”

  Catherine hesitated a moment before saying, “I’ve heard there are expectations about his future.”

  Charlotte looked at her levelly. “Clarington tells me that there is no formal betrothal, and I suppose he would know. I might only be three and twenty, but over the years I’ve seen that expectations do not always turn into reality. Until Kerrick declares himself and is accepted, he is free to pursue others. Or to be pursued.”

  The duchess was correct, of course. If there was no formal understanding between the two, and since neither of the parties involved showed any sign of having a romantic attachment for the other, what would it hurt to follow where her heart led? She would never forgive herself if she didn’t at least try to capture Kerrick’s interest.

  “What do I do? I cannot be coy with other men. Not when…” She was unsure of how to continue, but Charlotte knew what she was going to say.

  “Not when the rival for his affections is using the same tactic? And doing so splendidly, I might add.”

  The note of admiration in Charlotte’s voice was enough to make Catherine despair.

  “You’ll have to use the opposite strategy. Since Rose Hardwick is putting a lot of effort into pushing Kerrick away, we’ll have to make sure he’s pushed in your direction.”

  Catherine liked the sound of that. “How?”

  Charlotte considered that for several moments. “To begin,” she said, “I’ll do what I can to keep my husband occupied over the next few weeks. If Kerrick wishes to spend some quality time bonding with a male friend, he’ll be forced to do so with Overlea. That should put him into your path more often.”

  Catherine was so caught up in their conversation that she hadn’t noticed that Kerrick and the duke were already returning until the duchess silenced what she was about to say by reaching out to tap her arm and inclining her head to the right. Catherine turned to find them with a middle-aged man of average height whose skin bore witness to the fact that he spent a great deal of time outdoors.

  After Kerrick made the introductions, Mr. Clifton smiled at her and said, “I hear you are very fond of plants. What would you like me to show you first?”

  “I want to see everything,” Catherine said with a self-deprecating laugh. “But I fear my companions wouldn’t be too happy to spend the next several hours wandering over every acre of land.”

  Mr. Clifton’s eyes warmed at her obvious enthusiasm. “I’m afraid that wouldn’t be possible, even if they were willing, but I can show you an assortment of what we’ve collected here.”

  “Can we start with the plants that have been collected from voyages abroad?”

  “You are a woman after my own heart,” he said, holding out his arm for her to take.

  Over the next three hours, Catherine saw many plants that she’d only seen in black-and-white sketches, and some that she’d never even heard of. Her favorites were the tropical flowers. It was still early spring and many of them weren’t yet in bloom, but the assortment of vibrant colors and shapes was enough to make her mind whirl.

  More than once she’d exclaimed over something and turned to find Kerrick watching her. At first it was with patient amusement, but then something changed. She couldn’t tell what, exactly, and she didn’t want to make too much of it lest she build up her hopes only to have them dashed, but there was definitely a new connection between them.

  The duchess seemed to be taking her promise to help bring her and Kerrick together seriously and went out of her way to drag her husband off to secluded corners of the various gardens they saw. She didn’t think Kerrick or Clarington knew what she was doing, the latter probably thought that the romantic atmosphere of the gardens was behind his wife’s desire to spend time with him separate from the rest of the group, but Catherine knew exactly what was afoot and appreciated the duchess’s effort.

  When they reached the orangery, the last stop on their impromptu tour, even she was starting to flag.

  “I would love to return later in the year and see the trees with their oranges,” Catherine said with a wistful sigh.

  “Unfortunately, the site won’t be as impressive as we’d hoped for,” Mr. Clifton said. “The trees are starting to show signs of stress because they are not receiving enough light in here. We’re going to have to move them somewhere that has more windows. Perhaps even a glass roof. Hopefully they won’t decline too much before that can happen.”

  “I hope not,” Catherine said. “That would be such a shame.”

  She gave the trees one last look before turning back to the others. She was reluctant to leave and made a vow that she would return one day to see more of the gardens.

  “What is the matter,” she asked when she saw the odd expression on Kerrick’s face.

  “You have something right here,” he said, brushing a finger across his nose.

  She reached up and rubbed her own nose and heard Charlotte’s laugh. She turned to look at the duchess, but the woman only gave her a quick wink before dragging her husband and Mr. Clifton away.

  “You’re just making it worse,” he said.

  She glanced at her hands and grimaced when she saw the dirt on her gloves.

  “Here,” he said, removing a handkerchief from his pocket. He was about to hand it to her but hesitated. “If you don’t mind?” He held up the square of crisp white cloth.

  Catherine shook her head and it was everything she could do to keep her breathing even as he stepped closer and raised the handkerchief to wipe away what she hoped was only a small smudge of dirt. He was impossibly close—closer than he’d been when they’d danced. His brow furrowed in concentration as he rubbed the dirt away from her nose.

  When he was done, he didn’t step back. Instead, he continued to gaze down at her.

  “You’re tired,” he said.

  The look in his eyes, together with the heat inside the orangery, brought a flush to her cheeks.

  “And hot,” she managed when she remembered to breathe again.

  His eyes darkened, and for a moment she found herself thinking that he was going to kiss her. But then he looked away and took a step back, and the moment was shattered.

  “We should join the others. They’re probably halfway to the carriage by now.”

  Catherine could only nod in reply as she took his arm and they exited the building.

  Chapter Three

  He dreamt of Catherine that night. Heated dreams in which he had separated her from the rest of their party and taken her into a maze that existed only in his dream. He awoke feeling frustrated and more than a little guilty. As he lay in bed, his body still hard and his mind clouded with erotic images, his thoughts went to Nicholas’s warning to stay away from Catherine. If his friend learned that he was dreaming about divesting his sister-in-la
w of her clothing and making her take note of something other than the infernal plant life that so interested her, he’d have Kerrick’s hide.

  But it wasn’t just her body that attracted him. If he were merely suffering from sexual frustration, he knew several women who would be more than happy to ease his discomfort. He realized, though, that Catherine Evans was more than just a young woman making her debut in society. She was a contradiction. She seemed so young and innocent at times, and along with that youth came an exuberance that charmed him. But she was also intelligent. She liked gardening, yes, but her interest went beyond merely liking pretty flowers. He’d noticed when he was at Overlea Manor the previous fall that she’d studied with the dedication of a scholar the exotic plants Nicholas’s grandmother had collected over the years. She’d spent hours looking through books and making notes of her own. He couldn’t fathom why plants held such fascination for her or why she’d devote so much time to their study. He did know from what Overlea had told him that Catherine’s quick thinking had saved her sister’s life.

  Catherine had hidden depths that weren’t immediately obvious when one first met her, and he couldn’t deny that he longed to explore those hidden layers. Longed to learn just what it was she desired most in life. He realized that he hoped it was him, but he attributed that desire to his vanity. Women made no secret that they found him attractive, and Catherine wasn’t immune to his charms. And she had said she was bored before his return to town. If the far-too-young Viscount Thornton was any indication of the company she’d been keeping, it was no wonder she needed more stimulating companionship.

  He shook his head when he realized the direction in which his thoughts were headed. Overlea had been correct in his assumptions the day before. He did want to court Catherine. She was younger than him, yes, but only by eleven years. It wasn’t unusual for men much older than he to marry someone her age. Normally he preferred the company of more experienced women who only expected a short-term dalliance. There was only one type of relationship he could pursue with Catherine Evans—a more permanent one. And, for the first time in his life, he found that the prospect of marriage no longer seemed so disagreeable to him.

  But he had one very important matter to attend to before he could even consider the possibility of courting Catherine. He had to clear up the matter of the Worthingtons’ expectation that he would one day marry their daughter. He suspected his mother had encouraged them in that belief.

  He was considering whether to break the news first to his mother or to Lord Worthington when a knock at his bedroom door brought him out of his musings. When no one entered right after, he knew it wasn’t his valet come to dress him for the day. He rose, donned his banyan, and opened the door to find his butler on the other side, a silver tray balanced on one hand. His guilt immediately made him think that Overlea was downstairs at that very moment, ready to pummel him for his wayward thoughts. Hoping he wasn’t about to be called out simply for glancing in Catherine’s direction, he reached for the calling card placed neatly in the center of the tray.

  When he read the name of his visitor, he managed to keep his expression impassive. He offered a curt nod by way of reply, closed the door a little too carefully, and moved to the bellpull to summon his valet. What he really wanted to do, however, was to hit something. His gaze shot to the window, a fleeting thought of escape flickering through his mind, but he repressed the urge with ruthless practicality. Given the failure of his recent line of inquiry, he shouldn’t have been surprised to learn that the unofficial representative of the Home Office had seen fit to contact him directly. Escaping now would only delay the inevitable.

  The Earl of Brantford waited for him in the library, seated in one of the high-backed wing chairs before the unlit fireplace. As always, the fair-haired man was the picture of lazy indolence. But Kerrick knew he was far from the carefree noble he pretended to be. What had him on high alert, however, was the file Brantford had placed on the small table next to his elbow. Kerrick’s day had just taken a marked turn for the worse.

  “Brantford,” he said by way of greeting as he settled in the chair across from him. “I must say, I’d rather hoped not to see you again so soon.”

  “Alas, life is filled with disappointment. I’d hoped to be much closer to ending this matter as well, but I recently learned that is not to be.”

  Annoyance flared, but Kerrick wouldn’t allow it to show. It never served to allow one’s emotions free rein in this business. “I thought I’d been clear that my last round of queries would be the end of our arrangement.”

  “How odd. I’d heard that you hadn’t turned up any leads.” As always, Brantford’s tone was even.

  “You heard correctly. The trail was already cold when I arrived and I couldn’t find anyone who knew anything of import.”

  Brantford eyed him steadily. “So you haven’t, in fact, fulfilled your final duty to the Home Office.”

  It was with great effort that Kerrick kept his temper in check. “I went on the mission, which was all that was required of me. This meeting is at an end.”

  He started to stand, but the gleam in Brantford’s eye stilled his movement.

  “Officially, yes, your term of service has run its course. However, I believe there was a personal favor you asked of me last fall. I would ask for a favor in return. You are, as you say, not required to oblige me…”

  He didn’t have to complete the sentence. Kerrick had put himself in the other man’s debt when he’d called on him to help Nicholas discover who had been trying to harm his family. Only someone with no honor would ignore a debt.

  “This is the last of it,” he said.

  “Of course.”

  Kerrick settled back in his chair, resigned to yet another trip. Brantford was doing his best to appear bored, which he knew meant that he wasn’t going to like what was coming.

  “Where are you sending me?”

  “Actually, we’re not sending you anywhere. Your services are required right here in town.”

  Unease settled within him. “Doing what?”

  Brantford brushed an imaginary piece of lint from his sleeve, the movement slow and precise, before meeting his gaze. “Worthington has become a person of interest in our attempt to discover who has been leaking sensitive information to the French. It has not escaped our notice that the man has certain expectations of you with respect to his daughter. That places you in the perfect position to observe him more closely.”

  The words settled over him like a death sentence. He couldn’t keep his thoughts from going to the young woman he’d hoped to court a scant few minutes before. If he was obliged to pay court to Rose Hardwick for the rest of the season, that would leave Catherine free to form an attachment elsewhere. Somehow he hid his bitter disappointment.

  “And if I don’t wish the entire world to believe I’m courting Miss Hardwick?”

  Surely he only imagined the flicker of annoyance that crossed Brantford’s face, the slight tightening of his jaw before he continued.

  “I doubt anyone would consider it a hardship to pay court to a beautiful young woman. You won’t be the only man dancing attendance on her. As long as you are careful not to find yourself in a compromising position with her, she will survive the season with her reputation intact. You will then be free to turn your attention back to Miss Evans.”

  Yes, Brantford was most definitely annoyed if he was baiting him. Kerrick let the comment slide, however. Nothing would be gained by arguing with the man.

  “Tell me everything,” Kerrick said.

  Brantford reached for the file and leaned forward to hand it to him. Kerrick took it but didn’t look at its contents.

  “What little information we have is in there,” Brantford said. “I am afraid it isn’t much, which is why we are in need of your assistance.”

  Kerrick didn’t know much about Worthington, but he found it impossible to believe the man was a spy for the French. He didn’t have the necessary subtlety for the rol
e.

  “Why on earth would anyone believe Worthington is leaking information? Unless I’m mistaken, he doesn’t have access to the kind of secrets the French are seeking.”

  “No, of course not,” Brantford said. “We suspect he is but a small player, and in all likelihood doesn’t even know what he’s entangled himself in. We’ve noticed, however, that his finances have recently improved. Not by a very large amount, but enough to have us wondering how he could possibly afford to purchase a much larger house in Mayfair. Until recently, his finances were on the verge of collapse.”

  “Perhaps,” Kerrick said with a bitter twist of his lips, “he is just borrowing against the possibility of his daughter marrying well.”

  Brantford shook his head. “We’ve already made a few discreet inquires and have confirmed that his finances have improved. Not so much that he doesn’t wish to align his family with yours, of course, but enough that he no longer needs to worry about creditors taking everything that isn’t entailed. The same could not be said six months ago.”

  “You believe there’s someone else.”

  “Yes. Worthington is now comfortable, but his cash flow has not increased so much that we believe he’s selling secrets directly to the French. But he does have friends placed highly in the navy. We believe he is telling someone else what he knows about the movements of our naval fleet. When we learn with whom he’s been speaking, we expect to discover who has been keeping Napoleon well informed of Britain’s plans in a number of areas. Have a look at the file and you’ll see why we’re convinced we finally have a lead on discovering the traitor.”

  Kerrick rose to his feet and Brantford did the same. “I’ll keep you advised of my findings.”

  Was that sympathy on the other man’s face?

  “We wouldn’t ask this of you if we weren’t convinced of Worthington’s involvement.”