The Choice of a Cavalier (The Heirs of the Aristocracy Book 3) Page 14

  Tom dipped his head and said, “Usually it’s drinks at a men’s club, but since I cannot take you to White’s...” He gave a shrug.

  “I suppose you drove your phaeton here?” She knew he had. She had seen him through the window when he arrived.

  “I did, but I can return with a town coach,” he said, mentally calculating how long it would take for him to get to Woodscastle in Chiswick, change clothes, and return to Fairmont Park.

  “We can go in mine,” she offered. “But it will take some time for Cummings to doing something with my hair.”

  “Your hair is quite fetching the way it is,” Tom replied.

  “Don’t be a bounder, Mr. Grandby.”

  “Call me Tom. Or Thomas, if you must.”

  Victoria angled her head a bit. “Don’t be a bounder, Thomas.”

  He allowed a grin. “I am telling the truth, my lady.” When she didn’t reply but merely stood from the desk, Tom was quick to rise. “Might I be allowed to wait for you in here?”

  She glanced around and gave a slight shrug. “Of course. Use the desk if you’d like.”

  He gave a bow as she took her leave of the study, and he watched as she made her way to the stairs.

  One thing was certain. She walked with a definite limp. One he found quite fetching.

  Chapter 20

  An Unexpected Caller

  Six o’clock that evening, Comber townhouse in South Audley Street

  Darkness had already settled over Mayfair when the town coach carrying Juliet pulled up in front of her home. A footman saw to opening the door and then collected her valise as she made her way to the house.

  The butler stepped aside, and before Juliet could greet him, Williamson said, “You have a caller, miss. Arrived about quarter of an hour ago.”

  “Me?”

  “There you are,” her mother said as she hurried through the hall towards the front door. “I was about to send another coach.”

  “Mother, I was only detained a few...”

  “He’s in the parlor. I’ve seen to it he has coffee and walnuts, and, well, I was about to invite him to dinner.”

  “Who?” But Juliet’s eyes widened when she sorted who her caller had to be. “Haddon?” She rolled her eyes. “He wasn’t supposed to come until tomorrow afternoon,” she complained. “To take me for a ride in the park.”

  Julia Comber regarded her daughter with an expression of suspicion. “Oh? And when was this arranged?”

  Juliet sighed. “Yesterday. He paid a call at Fairmont Park, but it was really to see me, I think. He claims Father said he could.”

  A guilty look crossed her mother’s face. “Perhaps because I encouraged it.”

  “What?”

  Juliet glanced around the hall before she pulled Juliet into the front salon and closed the door. “I had a caller this afternoon. The Marchioness of Morganfield.”

  “His mother?” Juliet asked in shock.

  Julia nodded. “She’s over the moon at how Lord Haddon has changed, and she said it’s all because you punched her son.”

  “He told her about that?” Juliet couldn’t imagine why a man would admit to being punched. Especially by a woman. “What was he thinking?”

  “That he wishes to take you to wife. She claims he needs you to keep him humble. He also likes that you can handle a horse.”

  Juliet knew her mother had never approved of the amount of time she spent in the stables. She had hinted that a young man wouldn’t approve, either. After three Seasons, Juliet had begun to believe it, since none of her suitors had been serious about marriage.

  Well, Lord Haddon wasn’t a young man. He was old enough to be her father. Perhaps the older a man was, the more he appreciated a woman who could handle a horse.

  Or a punch in the gut.

  Juliet wriggled out of her redingote and removed her bonnet, handing them to her mother. “My hair is a mess,” she said. “But I’m not about to have it repaired just for him.”

  Her mother winced but regarded her daughter with a critical eye. “It’s really rather fetching that way. Like you intended it to be a messy bun.”

  Screwing her face into a grimace, Juliet marched out of the salon and headed up the steps to the parlor. On the landing, she shook out her coral skirts and straightened the long sleeves. At the top of the stairs, she took a deep breath as if girding her loins and headed into the parlor.

  “Good evening, Lord Haddon,” she said as she dipped a curtsy.

  Christopher quickly stood from the chair he had taken near the fireplace, one upholstered in a floral pattern featuring blue roses. “Ah, Juliet. You are a vision,” he said as he gave her an exaggerated bow. “I apologize for my early arrival.”

  “Did you plan to spend the night?”

  The query caught the earl off guard, and he gave a chuckle. “If only I could,” he said. “To be as close to you as possible.”

  Juliet blinked. She had intended for her words to be taken as a scolding. “You didn’t say that to my mother, I hope?”

  “Would it have helped my suit?” he asked, with far too much enthusiasm.

  “Lord Haddon—”

  “Haddon, please. And when we’re really alone, I would ask that you call me Christopher. Or Chris. Or whatever you wish, really.”

  Juliet could imagine a half-dozen words she might call him, but none of them would have been appropriate for an earl. “May I inquire as to why you have arrived...” She mentally calculated just how early the earl was. “Twenty-one hours early?”

  Looking thoroughly besotted, Christopher stepped up to her and took both of her hands in his. “You are so quick with arithmetic. And you did it without a pencil and paper,” he murmured in awe.

  At first, Juliet thought he might be teasing her, but then she watched as he gave a shake of his head. “Of course you can. Forgive me. You no doubt had a tutor in addition to a governess.”

  Well, she’d had the benefit of a tutor, but only because her younger brother, Jamie, had a tutor. She had sat in on his lessons when boredom threatened her sanity.

  “Something like that,” Juliet agreed. “But I know what I need to know to run a household. How to keep the books, of course. Like any young woman would.” She had a thought to shake off his hands—he still held her fingers draped over his index fingers, his thumbs barely brushing her knuckles.

  A slight tremble vibrated there, and Juliet sucked in a breath. “You still haven’t said why it is you have come twenty-one hours early.”

  An odd expression crossed Christopher’s face, and Juliet stared at him. She had never really looked at him up close like this. Now that she studied his features, she found she could not look away.

  He was handsome, his hair almost as dark as his mother’s and tinted with hints of red and gold. The waves in it meant he could never sport the latest fashionable hairstyle for men, and there was one forelock that seemed determined to decorate his forehead.

  His complexion was almost the olive of an Italian—he had inherited that from his mother as well—and his eyes were a chocolate brown with hints of gold speckles in their depths. Damn it, but if he didn’t have long lashes, too, tipped in gold.

  Juliet was sure he had inherited his nose from his father, for there was the hint of generations of aristocracy in its shape.

  But what had her attention just then was his lips, for they were parted slightly. They barely hid teeth bestowed by the dental gods on only those they deemed worthy.

  Apparently, Christopher, Earl of Haddon, was worthy.

  “I couldn’t wait to see you again,” he murmured, finally answering her question.

  Juliet watched his lips form the words, her brows furrowing when they lowered to hers.

  Soft, she thought first, rather stunned they weren’t more firm. That the kiss he was bestowing on her wasn’t hard or more urgent or crushing in its intensity. Instead, it was simple and respectful, almost innocent.

  When he pulled away, she had to stop herself fro
m leaning forward to recapture his lips with hers.

  “I couldn’t wait to do that, either,” he whispered.

  “Oh,” Juliet managed to say before she swallowed. When she noticed his attention had gone to the door—her back was still to it—she glanced around to find her father leaning against the jamb, his arms crossed over his chest.

  Panic gripped her, but Christopher was quick to say, “Good evening, sir. I was just bidding Miss Comber good night.” He turned his attention back to her. “I shall return for you tomorrow at three o’clock.” Then he once again lifted both of her hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles.

  Juliet watched him go, watched as he gave her father a deep nod as he passed him on his way to the stairs. She listened as his footfalls faded down the steps, and then she finally took a breath.

  She blinked a few times as she stared at her father. “How long were you standing there?”

  Alistair uncrossed his arms and moved to join her in the parlor. “Long enough to know that he is thoroughly smitten with you,” he replied.

  “How do you know that?” she asked, hoping her embarrassment wasn’t evident. Her coral gown certainly didn’t help. Her face was probably doing its best to match the color.

  “Because I’m quite sure I looked exactly like he did the first time I kissed your mother.”

  Juliet swallowed. “How much longer after that before you knew you loved Mother?”

  Alistair’s eyes darted to one side. “An hour, mayhap? Probably less.” He sighed as he turned his attention back to his daughter. “If you cannot abide another moment in his presence, I will write and let him know he’s not welcome tomorrow.”

  Juliet stared at him for a long time before she shook her head. “There’s no need. I’ll go on the ride in the park with him,” she said. “As will my maid. At some point, he’ll either show his true colors, or he’ll prove that he really has changed for the better.”

  After that kiss, though, Juliet didn’t know which one to want more.

  Chapter 21

  Dinner for Two

  Meanwhile, at Fairmont Park

  “Have you ever been to Rules for dinner?” Tom asked as he opened and held Victoria’s redingote for her. The establishment was London’s oldest restaurant and featured different game meats according to the season.

  “Of course. Father has taken us many times,” she replied. She had changed into a more formal gown, a deep blue watered silk trimmed with tiny blue fabric flowers along the neckline and the seam of the flounce. Her maid had done her hair in an elegant chignon, and ringlets bobbed from both temples.

  “Did you like it?” Tom asked as he helped her into the redingote, a deep blue wool that fit to perfection. Clark stood off to one side, holding a matching hat and kid gloves.

  She buttoned the coat. “I did. I cannot say if I still do as I’ve not been there since my return to the capital.” She pulled on the pair of black gloves and then took the hat from the butler.

  Tom watched in awe as she set the hat at a perfect angle on her head—without the benefit of a mirror. His mother would have fussed over the positioning and attempted several angles all while putting voice to a number of complaints. Then his father would simply lift her into his arms and carry her to the coach, essentially ensuring she would forget about her hat and instead focus her energy on berating him until he could silence her with a kiss.

  Tom blinked at the memory of how his father had behaved with his mother—still did, for all he knew. He had half a mind to try it on Victoria, just to discover how much she might complain—or not.

  But if she didn’t complain, then he wouldn’t have a motive to kiss her.

  Dammit.

  He offered his arm, and Victoria placed a hand on it.

  “Let Cummings know I won’t need her assistance when I return,” Victoria said to Clark. “I’d rather she spend some time with her family.”

  “Very good, my lady,” Clark replied with a bow. Although he opened the door for them, his expression suggested he was none too happy about Lady Victoria stepping out with a gentleman—and no chaperone.

  “I’ll have her home before one o’clock,” Tom murmured as he passed the butler.

  Victoria gave him a quelling glance. “Clark is not my protector, and I am old enough to go out without a chaperone.”

  “You are a duke’s daughter, though,” Tom said as the footman opened the door of an unmarked town coach. He turned his attention to Cummings, remembering the footman was married to Victoria’s lady’s maid. “Could you let the driver know we’re going to Rules in Maiden Lane?”

  “Aye, sir,” the footman replied.

  Tom turned back to Victoria. “A rogue intent on kidnapping an aristocrat’s daughter might decide you are the perfect mark. You are, of course, under my protection on this night—”

  “I rather doubt anyone will attempt a kidnapping,” Victoria said. She stumbled a bit before stepping up and into the coach. “It’s far too cold for anyone to be waiting in a hedgerow, and besides, the coach has no markings. Deliberately,” she added as she took the seat facing the direction of travel.

  “I had wondered about that, my lady,” Tom said as he took the seat that faced her. “I suppose it is wiser than traveling in a coach emblazoned with Somerset’s crest.” He glanced around the roomy interior, impressed by the light blue velvet squabs. It was also warmer than he expected on a wintery night. “On my visits here, I have not noticed anyone seeing to your safety.” The comment was a white lie, but he was curious to hear how she would respond.

  Victoria furrowed a brow. “The groom carries a pistol in his pocket, and Jemmy hides a knife in a boot. On the days Juliet is here, she sports a small lady’s pistol—”

  “Does she know how to use it?” Tom asked in surprise as the coach lurched into motion. As far as he knew, none of his five sisters had ever learned how to wield a gun. They could operate microscopes and telescopes, though, and identify some fossils and indigenous plants, but those skills would hardly ward off an attack.

  He supposed if they had to, they could throw agates at a ruffian, or they could bonk a would-be kidnapper over the head with the tube of a telescope, although the tripod would probably do more damage.

  “Miss Comber is an excellent shot,” Victoria replied. “Her father taught her how to shoot. He wouldn’t let her spend Tuesdays with me if she wasn’t capable of defending herself.”

  Tom had a brief thought of Haddon, his arms held up, as Juliet Comber threatened him with a pistol. The earl would probably enjoy the experience, though, thinking it was some sort of foreplay.

  “Hardly anyone knows I live at Fairmont Park, which suits me just fine,” Victoria continued as she adjusted her coat to cover her half-booted feet. She angled her head to one side. “Where do you call home, Mr. Grandby?”

  Tom winced at hearing the query, but decided truth was best. “I have a room at Arthur’s, although I can still call Woodscastle in Chiswick my home should I require the comforts of a larger estate.”

  “Arthur’s?”

  He nodded. “It’s a men’s club that is owned by its members, and there are a few of us that have taken rooms above it,” he explained.

  “In St. James Street?”

  “Indeed. Makes for a quick ride to my office in Oxford Street in the mornings. It usually takes longer to get back there at night, depending on traffic,” he explained.

  “And here I thought you might live in a mansion in Mayfair,” she said.

  Although he thought she might be judging him based on where he lived, Tom didn’t hear any censure in her voice. “I have considered it on occasion,” he admitted. “But given the amount of time I spend in my office, I have concentrated my efforts on making it as comfortable—and presentable–as possible.”

  “Oh?”

  “I do have to consider the first impression my office makes on a potential investor,” he explained. “I rather doubt a man of means would be comfortable leaving his money in the h
ands of someone occupying a shabby cubbyhole.”

  “Goodness. I didn’t even see your office, and yet I have turned over a considerable sum to your care,” she said, sounding in the dark as if she might be chiding herself.

  “About that. May I inquire as to who recommended you invest in steam buses?”

  Victoria seemed to ponder the question for a time before answering. “Not yet,” she replied. “I think it best he remain unknown to you.”

  “And why is that?” Tom asked in alarm.

  She allowed a sigh. “Because I prefer there be no...”

  “Collusion,” he finished for her. “Of course. You’re absolutely right.” Still, it rankled that whoever had recommended the investment knew his identity.

  “Will you take me there?” she asked after a few moments of silence. Although the exterior lanterns were lit, she was barely visible in the darkened interior.

  “To the office? Certainly. After dinner, perhaps?”

  “If it’s not too close to one o’clock,” she countered.

  Tom could imagine her dark eyebrows arching in a tease, his parting words to Clark coming back to haunt him.

  “Do you drink brandy, my lady? As an after dinner drink?” He kept a bottle of the best that Berry Brothers offered in their Jermyn Street store. “Or do you prefer... champagne?”

  “We’ve not yet had dinner, and you’re already planning on how you’re going to seduce me?” she countered.

  Tom cleared his throat. Loudly. “My lady, I—”

  “I’m teasing, Mr. Grandby,” she scolded.

  Hating that he couldn’t see her in the dark, Tom asked, “Are you? Because...” He inhaled. “I like you.”

  “I should hope so. I just signed over most of my inheritance—”

  “That’s not why,” he countered. “I like your confidence. You’re a refreshing change from the parade of helpless females I tend to meet.”

  “You cannot hold it against them, Thomas,” she argued. “They’ve no choice in the matter of their upbringing, no choice in their education—or lack thereof—and certainly no choice in how they shall live their lives. Marriage is their only option.”