Never Entice an Earl (27 page)

“How is Wolverton today?” he asked O’Connell.

“Very well. He wishes to see you when we are through here.”

Mr. Ollister straightened. “Let us finish our business, so we can all return to our
posts.” He looked to Dominick.

“As we all suspected, the Home Office has seen fit to revise the scope of our mission.
Now that the earl has a true heir, your role, Blackmer, has been substantially compromised
in that you are no longer the assassin’s lure you were intended to be. Even though
no attempts have been made against Wolverton’s life, we will continue to secure the
premises, and now also devote ourselves to protecting the child. Blackmer, while you
could certainly remain on indefinitely as security, no one believes you would look
very convincing in a nanny’s cap—”

Everyone chuckled.

“As such, Home Office has seen fit to assign another agent to fulfill the nanny role,
while you have received new orders.” Bending, he extracted a folded square of parchment
from his boot, which he handed over to Dominick.

Mrs. Brightmore said quietly, “I hope it’s what you want.”

“Indeed,” murmured O’Connell.

They all knew his situation and that this small-scale assignment, for him, had been
intended as punishment. As professional exile. Perhaps at last his superiors had forgiven
him for Tryphena’s death, though he would never forgive himself.

Breaking the seal, he opened his orders and read. A smile broke across his face, and
he exhaled in happiness and relief. At last, the Home Office had seen fit to return
him to international service.

“Very good.” Mrs. Brightmore clasped her hands in front of her apron. “I’m so happy
for you, Blackmer.”

As required, he tossed his orders into the fire.

“As are we all,” said Mr. Ollister, grinning. “But there is little time for celebration.
Let us all return to our duties—that is, except for you, Blackmer. Enjoy your last
evening in London before you are returned to the jaws of danger.”

“Which, as we all know, is precisely where you wish to be,” said O’Connell. “The earl
is waiting.”

After confirming his orders had burned to nothing, he continued on into the earl’s
private chambers.

Wolverton sat in his wheeled bath chair beside the window, dressed in his finest for
the party. Below, carriages crowded the street and finely dressed guests lined the
pavement, waiting their turn to enter the house.

“And so, it is time for us to say good-bye,” he said.

Dominick approached the earl, and bowed. “Yes, my lord. I leave tomorrow.”

“Very good, then.” The old man smiled up at him, his eyes warm with admiration. “I
know this assignment was not your first choice, and that you are eager to return to
the more exciting realm of international espionage.”

He nodded. “Spy games have always been my true calling.”

“There was a time when I played a few of those games myself.”

“So I have been told. You are quite the legend.”

The earl chuckled, clearly delighted by the compliment. “Thank you. My only regret
is if my actions somehow placed my family in any sort of danger.”

“Yes, my lord, but we don’t know that.”

He nodded. “I just want you to know how very much I have appreciated your devotion
to myself and my family. I thank the Lord every day your particular skills were not
needed, but I must admit I slept more peacefully at night knowing you, along with
O’Connell and Mr. Ollister, were there to protect us.”

“Thank you for saying so, my lord.”

“Godspeed.”

“Stay just there, out of sight!” said Sophia, looking out over the gathered crowd
of guests. “Mother will give the signal.”

Clarissa stood at the top of the staircase, with her sisters and eight of her dearest
friends, each of whom held wreaths covered in flowers. Well, six of her dearest friends,
and two Aimsley sisters because her mother had quite insisted. They all clustered
about her, in a happy crush.

“Everything is so lovely, Clarissa.”

“We’re having such a wonderful time.”

“I can’t wait until the dancing starts.”

Daphne gestured. “Ladies, it’s time.”

Sophia quickly lined them up into the order they’d agreed upon. In the ballroom, the
orchestra began to play. Each of the young ladies held her wreath and made her way
toward the stairs, smiling down over an admiring crowd gone suddenly silent. The first
two began their descent.

Clarissa asked Sophia, “Do you think the wreaths and the procession are too much?”

“Don’t be silly. It’s your night. Besides, I had twelve attendants, in case you’ve
forgotten, and they were all wearing those ridiculous ostrich plumes.” She winked.

Clarissa moved to take her place on the landing, and the crowd murmured in admiration.
Her mother and grandfather waited at the bottom of the stairs. There was His Grace,
the Duke of Claxton, standing with Lord Raikes, and Mr. Kincraig. Oh, and Havering.
But…

“I don’t see Devonby,” she murmured. She couldn’t very well descend the stairs if
her fiancé-to-be was not even in the room to see her. But her sisters urged her to
follow her attendants down the steps and she complied. Again, her gaze swept the room.
Had he been delayed? Why wasn’t he here?

“Who did you say you were looking for?” said Daphne, from where she followed just
behind.

“Did you say Lord Devonby?” said the eldest Aimsley sister, glancing over her shoulder.
“Well, he won’t be here, of course.”

“Why not?” asked Clarissa.

The younger Aimsley turned and said, “He married Emily FitzKnightley this afternoon
and they are already off on their honeymoon.”

Clarissa’s heart seized.

“That can’t be true,” she said, through numb lips. Her blood pounded in her ears,
so hard she could hardly see or hear. “Wouldn’t we all have known about it?”

“It came as a surprise to everyone, and they married by special license. We ought
to know; we are her cousins and served as her bridesmaids.”

“Clarissa, stop whispering. Straighten up and smile,” Sophia murmured.

Clarissa did stop whispering. Indeed, she stopped everything, as a rush of dizziness
swept over her. Devonby, married? The chandelier above the staircase seemed to twist
and spin on its chain.

“I’m so sorry, I—” she murmured.

“Clarissa?” inquired Daphne.

The world pitched, turning upside down in a blur of muslin, feminine squeals of surprise,
and pink.

Dominick read the Aimsley girl’s lips, and saw Clarissa’s face go white. Damn it.
That she should find out the news of Devonby there on the stairs in front of everyone.

He watched, helpless and separated by a sea of people as Clarissa wavered. Then went
limp.

He didn’t think twice; he just moved, pushing through the crowd to where she lay amidst
a tangle of flowers and feminine limbs. Gathering her up in his arms, he lifted her,
sweeping her away, down the hall.

Lady Margaretta followed. “Clarissa!”

“Tell her…I’m fine,” Clarissa pleaded against his neck, her voice thick and her words
barely discernible.

“She is well, I believe,” he called back. “She only fainted for a moment. From the
excitement, I’m sure.”

Her Ladyship nodded, and paused midstep with her hands raised. “I shall come straightaway
after seeing to the other girls and ensuring that no one has been injured!”

He carried her into a small sitting room, where he deposited her—or attempted to deposit
her—on a settee.

“Let go, Clarissa.”

“No,” she retorted.

She held even tighter to his neck, and sobbed into his shirt. Knowing not what else
to do, he simply sat with her there clinging to him. Trying very hard not to notice
how soft and warm and perfect she felt, because that would serve absolutely no useful
purpose.

Fox rushed in. “Is she all right?”

Thank God. He had no intention of being Clarissa’s hero. That honor ought to belong
to someone else. Someone permanent in her life.

“Take her please?” he asked, hands raised imploringly behind her back.

Fox took one step toward them, but just then Clarissa’s sisters and their husbands
arrived, instantly distracting him, and he drifted off to the side.

“Oh, Clarissa!” exclaimed Daphne, rushing toward them. “I’m so sorry.”

Sophia did as well, touching a gentle hand to her sister’s head. “Did you slip? Or
did you faint?”

“Is she hurt?” inquired Claxton from the door.

“No, no, no,” she cried, toward the wall, over his shoulder, refusing still to look
at anyone. “I’m fine. Only embarrassed. I’m so stupid. How could I have been so stupid?”

“You’re not stupid,” assured Sophia. “And you mustn’t be embarrassed. You’re not the
first debutante to faint at the moment of her debut. Remember Elizabeth Malloy? At
least you didn’t expose your bare bottom to two hundred people the way she did.”

Lord Raikes murmured, “I must say, I’m sorry to have missed that.”

Fox burst out in laughter, but clasped a hand over his mouth.

“Gentlemen!” Daphne rebuked.

Clarissa seized Dominick’s neck tighter, and cried harder. “I am mortified! I just
want to be alone.”

Lady Margaretta entered the room and, after quickly assessing the situation, said,
“I think what would be best is if everyone gave Clarissa a moment alone and returned
to the ballroom. You can all help her by telling everyone she is well, that she only
fainted and that she’ll be returning to the party as soon as she is recovered.”

Everyone left the room, her sisters throwing glances of concern over their shoulders
on the way out.

“Are you all right here, Mr. Kincraig?” Her Ladyship asked, touching a comforting
hand to Clarissa’s back, who still snuffled against the front of his shirt. God, she’d
made a handkerchief of him. No doubt his shirt was a mess, and he’d have to go immediately
home after.

“I’m certain she would rather be with her mother.”

“No.” Clarissa shook her head vehemently, pressing her face to his neck. “Not yet.
I have disappointed you, Mother, and everyone else!”

“Of course you haven’t.” Lady Margaretta bit her bottom lip and patted Clarissa’s
shoulder. She sighed and glanced toward the door. “I really must go and see about
Wolverton. He must be very concerned.”

He nodded. “And so I will…stay with Clarissa. If you promise to return. Quickly.”

It seemed the appropriate thing to do.

“I’m afraid you don’t have any other choice,” she winked, despite still looking worried.

And in the next moment, they were alone.

“Oh, Mr. Kincraig, I’m so humiliated.”

“It was that horrible pink carpet, wasn’t it? You slipped on it, didn’t you?”

“Oh, you horrible man.” She shook her head, and drew away enough to glare at him through
tearstained eyes. “You don’t understand!”

“I think I do.”

“You can’t,” she declared. “It’s not just that I’ve fallen down a staircase in front
of the whole of society, it’s…it’s…” A surge of new tears flooded her eyes.

He swallowed hard, feeling ill prepared to cope with such an intense display of female
emotion. Forthrightness seemed the only way forward. “I know about Devonby getting
married, and I know how you felt about him.”

“How
could
you know? We never told anyone.”

“The attraction between two people is not difficult to perceive, if one pays attention.”
He would leave it at that.

Her stared back at him. “You were paying attention?”

“Not on purpose.”

Her eyes narrowed just a bit. There. When she looked at him like that, he felt like
she saw straight through him.

“
Devonby.
The bastard!” he blurted, in an effort to throw her off. “He is a scoundrel of the
lowest form,” he declared, hoping to make her feel better. “Would you like me to call
him out for a duel? You know how fond I am of spectacles, and I’d be happy to make
one for you, on my way out of town.”

“No!” she cried. “You can’t tell anyone.
Anyone.
”

“He should be made to reckon—”

“
Swear it
, Mr. Kincraig,” she insisted, twisting her hands in the front of his coat, her eyes
suddenly wild. “You will tell no one.”

Her vehemence startled him. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“Good,” she whispered, her shoulders suddenly slumping. “Because I must share another.
If I don’t, I fear I will explode.”

Another secret? He did not like the sound of that. He half raised off the settee.
“Perhaps I should get your mother? Or one of your sisters—”

She yanked him back down into place beside her.

“It must be you,” she insisted, half choking on her words. “Someone who doesn’t care
a whit about me. Someone who can give me advice without the complication of a heart.”

How she misjudged him. He almost felt stung. Oddly, he wasn’t.

He could only suppose she’d written some letters to Devonby and now wanted them back
or some other such nonsense. “What is it, Clarissa? What is this secret you have to
tell me? Whatever it is, we can talk it out, and we can—”

He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence before she threw herself into his arms.
“I’m pregnant, Mr. Kincraig.
Pregnant.
What do you suppose
we
shall do about that?”

He choked out a curse. Not because of what she’d told him, which indeed would be shocking
enough—but because at that very moment he saw her mother standing in the door, white-faced
with shock, having just pushed Wolverton inside.

“Clarissa? Mr…Kincraig?”

Clarissa twisted, still half sprawled on his lap, her arms a circle around his neck.
“Oh, no.” In the next moment, she scrambled closer to him, as if she could somehow
disappear into him. Which only made the situation look worse.

Wolverton wrested control of the chair, turning the wheels so that he positioned himself
just two feet away. Glaring at Dominick, he thundered, “I trusted you with my life.
All of our lives. But clearly, I ought not to have trusted you with
her
.”