Something Sinful (9 page)

“His Grace just arrived a moment ago, and is at your usual table.”

“My thanks. Send some rum by, if you please. I need to warm my bones a little.”

“Very good, my lord.”

Sebastian looked up from a small stack of papers as Charlemagne approached. “I told you not to take the barouche this morning.”

Charlemagne seated himself. “I made it worse by walking home. Apologies for being late.” A silent footman delivered the rum. “I think Caine was devastated at the carnage to my wardrobe, but he hid it well.”

“Mm-hm. As long as you didn’t drip water all over the new Persian carpet in the billiards room.”

“So you made the purchase. You have a certain sideways sensibility about you, you know.”

“Because I inquired about the carpet before I asked about your health?” Sebastian sliced off a section of table cheese and bit into it. “My thanks for noticing.”

“You’re welcome. And your carpet and I are both fine.” He pulled the Gaston House note from his pocket and nudged it in Sebastian’s direction. “It’s from Oswald.”

“Your butler?”

Charlemagne nodded. “Apparently someone tried to break into Gaston House last night. Oswald and a pair of footmen heard the noise and drove them off, but a window was broken.”

“That’s odd,” the duke commented, reading the note before he handed it back over. “I would think most of London would know not to break into a house owned by one of the Griffins.”

“Yes, well, apparently I’m not as terror-inspiring as you are.” Gaston House had been their maternal grandmother’s, and though technically it was his London residence, he barely spent more than a fortnight there each year—and that was mostly when he had negotiations to straighten out and couldn’t do it in noisy Griffin House. Not that Griffin House was nearly as noisy as it used to be.

“Considering that your butler could break an elephant in half, hopefully the culprits are terrified now. By the by, I ordered the lamb and kidney for you. And I may have some good news.”

Charlemagne looked from the papers at his brother’s elbow to Melbourne. “Prinny and Liverpool liked the canal expansion idea?”

“They did, but that’s not what I was talking about. Do you remember Reginald Burney-Smythe?”

“Viscount Dannon’s brother? He’s a banker, isn’t he?”

“Investor, these days. He has some connections in Madrid. One, in particular, who’s expressed an interest in acquiring fine quality silk. Apparently he’s willing to buy at up to six quid per bolt.”

His mind already working on a suitable response, Charlemagne reminded himself that despite his younger siblings’ claims, Melbourne could not read anyone’s thoughts. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, “but at the moment I have a lead on an even better deal.”

“You should let Burney-Smythe know, then. He could be a good source of information.”

“If you have the address, I’ll send him a note.”

“Good.” Melbourne gazed at him for a moment. “How many possible buyers do you have, Shay? I have to admit, all this interest has made me a bit curious to see the finest silk ever to come out of China.”

“I’ll conduct a tour of the warehouse when Nell and Caroline come to choose their dress material.”

“You’re not using any of our warehouses to store them.”

Of course Sebastian would know that; he kept detailed records of what was where, and when. With the amount of commerce the Griffins conducted, that in itself was a daunting task. “I have my own storage facilities. Why so curious?”

“No reason.” The duke gave a rare smile. “Since you’re obviously cooking up something secretive and highly profitable, I’ll change the subject. Peep apparently broke into your study yesterday morning.”

Charlemagne nodded, unconcerned, as two plates of lamb and kidney appeared before them. “I told her I’d already bought her birthday present. She was probably looking for it.”

“I think she found it.”

“I doubt it. I didn’t hide it in my rooms. I hid it in hers.” Grinning, Charlemagne dug into his luncheon. “She won’t get the best of me this year.”

“She wore a necklace into the breakfast room. A ruby pendant. I told her to put it back so she wouldn’t spoil your surprise.”

Damnation.
“Oh, that,” he returned, keeping the smile on his face. “That was a bit of a token for someone else.”

“A very nice-quality token. Anyone in particular?”

“Not any longer. A change of plans, you might say.” And since Sarala had already given him several reasons that she wouldn’t wear it even though he’d made every effort to ensure that she could, his little attempt at bribery or whatever it was that had possessed him wouldn’t go any farther than the two of them. It didn’t need to go beyond that, since she was the one whose attention he’d been trying to get and whose mettle he’d been trying to gauge.

Melbourne finally segued to the burgeoning cotton and tobacco trade with America and the resistance they were still finding from the older and more conservative members of the House of Lords. Shay only half listened, though, as he tried to find a logical reason why he hadn’t told his brother that he’d lost the silk to another bidder. At this point and with the lies he’d already told, he didn’t know what to say.

Was it pride, embarrassment at being outmaneuvered by a barely English chit? Probably—or it had been three days ago, anyway. Now he’d piled all sorts of nonsense on top of his initial blunder, for which he had no one to blame but himself. And he’d kissed his competition, which made no sense at all.

In addition, he hadn’t done much bargaining. She’d stated her outrageously high price, he’d countered with his insultingly low one, and then they’d danced around other topics, literally and figuratively. Obviously now he needed to resolve this before the family got wind of his blundering.

“—when Zachary and Valentine killed a pair of traveling jugglers.”

Charlemagne blinked. “What?”

“So you’ve returned,” Melbourne said dryly, sipping his wine.

“I was just contemplating,” Shay replied, trying not to sound defensive.

“Contemplating what?”

“Nothing, really. You were talking about a possible blockade against the British in the United States.”

“Actually I was talking about how far we can afford to antagonize the Americans by shanghaiing and conscripting their sailors, but I suppose it’s roughly the same problem.”

“Right.”
Pay attention, Shay.
“I’ve spoken with Admiral Tr—”

“I rely on your counsel, you know,” the duke interrupted in a low voice. “I don’t just come to these luncheons to hear myself talk.”

“I know that, Seb.” Charlemagne stirred the fork across his plate. “I apologize. It’s…I just have several things on my mind.”

Melbourne gazed at him. “Anything you would care to discuss?”

“No.” He sat forward. “I’ll talk with the admiral again. Maybe I can convince him to see reason.”

Dark gray eyes continued studying him with an intensity that had reputedly caused several cabinet ministers to excuse themselves from meetings. Finally Sebastian nodded. “Do your best, though the damage has probably already been done. And Shay?”

“Yes?”

“We don’t have to restrict our luncheon conversations to business. I am your brother, after all. And your friend. If something is troubling you, I hope you know you can tell me.”

Wonderful.
Now he had Melbourne worried. For a moment Shay debated simply confessing his stupidity. It had been only three days though. If he could salvage the negotiations with Sarala, conduct them professionally and with his usual, typical acumen, in another day or two everything would be back as it should and he would have nothing to confess. “Perhaps I’m just a bit unsettled,” he lied, “with the idea of Nell and Valentine having a child. Aside from the fact that I remember quite clearly when Nell was an infant herself, the idea of Valentine reproducing frankly frightens me.”

The duke chuckled, his shoulders lowering a little as he relaxed. “I’ve been having nightmares about that, myself. But I’ve never seen Eleanor as happy, so I suppose we’ll simply have to hope the child takes after its mother rather than its father.”

“Amen to that.” Charlemagne toasted him and took a generous swallow of rum.

In truth, Sarala had had much the same thought. If no one in her family had any other agenda, she would have looked forward to the event. “It all sounds well and good,” she returned, clutching her cloak closer around her shoulders as the three of them left the house for the coach, “but I know your true reason for wanting us to attend.”

“And what might that be?” her father asked as he settled into the coach beside his wife.

“Mama’s friends have decided to marry me off to either Lord Epping or Lord John Tundle, and Mama’s set on the Duke of Melbourne.” Sarala grinned; the more she thought about it, the sillier it seemed. “Only the poor men don’t know it.”

“There is nothing remotely poor about the Duke of Melbourne. Keep
that
in mind, Sarah.”

The marquis cleared his throat. “I thought you danced the other night with the duke’s brother.”

Sarala nodded at her father. “Lord Charlemagne. He’s quite…arrogant. I imagine his brother must be ten times worse.”

“Howard, you’ve met His Grace, haven’t you? You could perform the introductions.”

The marquis took his wife’s hand and squeezed it. “I’ve exchanged a word or two with him. He’s a bright young man with far better things to do than speak with someone just getting his Town bearings again.”

“If he knew you, he would speak with you, Papa,” Sarala declared. “You are very interesting.”

He leaned forward and tweaked her cheek. “And you are very kind to say that, my dear, and I admit that at least I have hunted tigers from the back of an elephant. I doubt His Grace has ever performed that particular feat.”

“I doubt very many Englishmen at all have done that.”

“Will you two stop it?” Lady Hanover asked, her tone equal parts amusement and exasperation. “This is not a competition. Well, it is, but not the shooting tigers sort. Can you make the introductions, Howard?”

Her husband sighed. “Yes, I can manage it. If he’s attending tonight.”

“Lady Allendale knows the duke’s aunt, Lady Tremaine, and she thinks the whole family may attend. They’re old friends of the Franfields.”

A shiver ran through Sarala—not at the idea of being introduced to someone who wouldn’t marry her, but at the thought she might see Lord Shay for the second time that day.

When they arrived at Franfield House the ballroom was full of chairs, all of them facing a pretty pianoforte and a harp. Thank goodness her mother had declared her playing too poor to show well, and she didn’t have to perform tonight. She knew all the notes, but she always became so concerned with precision and the right rhythm that her tutors said she played without feeling. Ha. She had a good deal of feeling. It just so happened that most of that feeling centered around terror.

“Dash it, we’re early,” her mother said. “I’d hoped we could make a grander entrance.”

“Well, it’s too late for that now,” Lord Hanover commented. “We can’t very well leave again and then return later. Shall we find seats?”

“No, we should mingle. Do you see any sign of the Griffins?”

“Not yet, my love. Apparently they are better at making entrances than we are.”

“None of your sarcasm now, Howard.”

Considering that the only person there at the moment with whom Sarala was acquainted happened to be Mr. Francis Henning, mingling seemed a terribly dull and useless idea. After taking one look at her mother’s determinedly happy countenance, however, she reconsidered.

“Good evening, Mr. Henning,” she said, accepting a glass of punch from a footman.

“Oh, I say, Lady Sarala.” He bobbed his head, jowls shaking. “Or did I hear you was Sarah, now? You ain’t having a laugh at all us young bucks, are you?”

She gritted her teeth. “Certainly not, Mr. Henning. I…go by both names. Call me what you will.”

“That’s—” He stiffened as he glanced beyond her shoulder. “Drat. My grandmama’s here. Excuse me. I have to go fetch her some punch.” He sprinted off.

Sarala turned around to see a stout woman with a shock of snow white hair scowling as she jabbed a walking stick in Mr. Henning’s chest. As she watched, the cane swung in her direction and back again.

Hm. It probably meant nothing. She was, after all, something of a curiosity—no matter how conservative her dress, she couldn’t hide her tanned skin, and most people seemed to think she had an accent. On the other hand, she also remembered what Lady Gerard had said about the Griffin family’s standards of marriage. Perhaps Melbourne and his kin weren’t the only ones to prefer England-born English.

“You’re not mingling, dear,” Lady Hanover said from behind her.

“I’m trying to. All of the participants playing in the recital must be elsewhere.”

“You know, several of the Society ladies host luncheons. Normally I wouldn’t attend because most of them seem to be havens for gossip and rumor spreading, but I see now that you and I will simply have to grin and bear it. It’s the best way for you to meet other young ladies of your station.”

“I would like that.” She would also like for any new friends she met to know her as Sarala, but even Mr. Henning had now heard of her name change. And since tradition and custom made it impossible for her to join her father for a business luncheon at one of his clubs, she supposed tea and gossip would have to do.

Lady Hanover kissed her cheek. “That’s the spirit.” The marchioness looked up as more guests appeared in the doorway. “Ah, look, Mrs. Wendon and Lady Allendale have come to show their support.”

More likely they’d come to see whom they could send swooping after Sarala first: Lord John Tundle or Lord Epping. She had no idea whether either gentleman would be in attendance, but she had enough to think about with Charlemagne keeping her on her toes and her mother setting her on Melbourne.

Twenty minutes later at the sound of a familiar male laugh she spun around—and knocked into the arm of a man standing behind her. “Excuse me,” she said, rising on her toes to make out Shay Griffin standing with his brother and sister-in-law. He’d come. A thrill of anticipation ran down her spine.

The man she’d bumped into put a hand on her wrist. “No, please excuse me,” he returned in a low, cultured drawl. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. I’m Melbourne.”

The breath froze in Sarala’s throat as her gaze jolted to his face. She belatedly dipped a curtsy. “Your Grace. I am—”

“You’re Lady Sarah Carlisle,” he finished.

His dark gray eyes weren’t on her face. For a single, disconcerting moment she thought he was gazing at her bosom—until she remembered the necklace. Shay had said no one would know where it came from. It had best not be a Griffin family heirloom, or someone was going to get their eye blackened. “I am, Your Grace. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Oh, heavens. Out of all possible outcomes, she hadn’t expected the duke to be the one to notice the ruby. After all her trepidation, her mother hadn’t even asked her about the jewel. In India she had had several ardent suitors, so perhaps her parents thought it had been a gift from one of them. Good.

She needed only one person to react to the necklace, and that was Shay Griffin. She couldn’t imagine what he would say when he realized she’d accepted his “gift” and still meant to demand six thousand pounds for the silks. He was the one who’d said one had nothing to do with the other, after all. But if his brother knew something about it, that changed everything.

“You and your parents are newly arrived from India, I believe,” Melbourne continued.

He hadn’t mentioned anything about the necklace. Perhaps he only admired fine jewelry, for the ruby definitely qualified as that. His gray gaze, a shade or two darker than that of his younger brother, met hers squarely.

“Yes, we are. We arrived in London just a fortnight ago.”

He stirred just a trace. “Then your acquaintance with your fellows must be limited. You and your parents must come sit with my family.”

What?
“I—That’s very generous of you, Your Grace, but I can’t speak for my parents.”

The duke nodded. “Where is your father?”

Thankful that her hand remained steady, she pointed. With another half nod the Duke of Melbourne turned on his heel and left her standing there. “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she breathed.

A pair of hands clutched her shoulders. Sarala jumped, squeaking.

“What did he say?” her mother whispered. “And stop that silly squawking at once.”

“You startled me,” Sarala returned, trying to settle her heartbeat as she faced the marchioness. “He only asked when we’d arrived in London. And—”

“My dears,” her father broke in, joining them, “this will rattle your nerves a bit, I’m afraid. The Duke of Melbourne just approached me and asked if we’d care to sit with him tonight.”

This time it was her mother who squeaked. “Heaven be praised,” she said vehemently. “You must have made an impression on him, Sarah. This is wonderful news.”

Sarala wasn’t quite so certain about that, but she kept her mouth shut. Perhaps Charlemagne had asked his brother to intervene and bargain for the silks. The duke, of course, wouldn’t want to deal with her, so he’d requested that her father join them. That made sense, though if Melbourne thought he could use his name and high station to force down the price, she would have to step in. Her family couldn’t afford to take a loss simply to assuage some man’s overlarge share of pride.

How cowardly of Charlemagne to arrange for reinforcements, though as their hostess appeared and urged everyone to take their seats, she had to admit that it didn’t seem quite his style to hand over control of his business dealings to anyone else—even a brother.

“Fix your sleeve, Sarah,” Lady Hanover whispered.

“My sleeve is fine, Mama. You need to stop worrying.”

“I’m not worrying. I only want to be certain that you’ll make a good impression. This is your best chance, my darling. How many people do you think are ever invited to join the Griffin family?”

They hadn’t been asked to join the Griffin family; they’d been asked to sit with them, which was an entirely different box of cats. Disputing semantics at the moment, though, wouldn’t do anything but spoil her mother’s buoyant mood.

Sarala took the moments as they made their way through the settling crowd to revise the approach she’d planned. With his family about, she couldn’t be as direct with Charlemagne as she wanted, nor as she’d intended. In fact, she should probably remove the necklace and save it for his silly picnic luncheon tomorrow.

Before she could do so, her father stopped just in front of her to shake the duke’s hand. “Your Grace, may I present my wife, Lady Hanover? And I believe you’ve met our daughter, Lady Sarah.”

Lady Hanover curtsied deeply, nearly pulling Sarala to the floor beside her. “Your Grace. Thank you for the great honor you do us.”

“My pleasure. Have you met my family?”

Sarala smiled as Melbourne introduced each member of the Griffin clan. When her gaze found Charlemagne, he was already looking at her and ignoring her parents. Her mouth went dry. Slowly his gaze trailed down her face to her throat, and almost imperceptibly his eyes widened. Abruptly she was glad she hadn’t had the chance to remove the ruby.

Aha. With a wily smile, the white queen moved onto the chessboard.
Check.