The Devil's Own Luck (Once a Spy) (3 page)

anything at all
about me. I can’t possibly marry someone who would propose marriage without even taking the time to get to know me. I know it happens all the time, but I don’t want that type of marriage. I would positively hate it. I don’t have to be swept off my feet, but if I’m to live with someone for the rest of my life, it should be the right someone.”
    “But if the ‘right someone’ came into your life, how would you know he was the one?”
    Her cheeks turned pink and she stared at her lap a moment. “It’s something I’ve had time to think about the past few weeks.” She looked up at him and said, “Please don’t laugh, but I have put together a list of requirements.”
    Rand found it very difficult not to laugh, but he managed to keep a straight face. “I thought you weren’t looking.”
    “I’m not,” she protested. “These are just a few things to keep in mind for the future.”
    He allowed himself a smile. “Does your brother know of these requirements?”
    She looked at him as if he were a complete imbecile. “Of course not! For one thing, he would get terribly confused and provoked if he thought someone met all my requirements and would suit, but I thought that they didn’t. Two people can look at someone and see something entirely different.”
    “Very true,” Rand observed dryly. “I should have realized that.”
    “And it isn’t good to be completely inflexible, either,” she continued thoughtfully. “I really think it might be best to regard them as guidelines rather than requirements.”
    He nodded, more because it seemed the wisest thing to do at the moment rather than in agreement, as he hadn’t the faintest idea what he was agreeing to.
    “Would you like to hear them?”
    Rand tried to beat back his curiosity and failed miserably. “It might offer me invaluable insight into the feminine mind,” he remarked casually. “Please do enlighten me.”
    She took in a breath and began. “I know this is horridly shallow, but I’d rather not marry anyone shorter than me and I’d rather that he not be too unattractive. Though if he were a truly fine person, I might not mind too much if he were a little bit shorter.”
    “He could always wear higher heels,” Rand murmured into his glass.
    Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Are you making fun of me?”
    “Oh no. I’m finding this fascinating.” He waved his hand in the air. “Pray, continue.”
    She hesitated a moment and said, “I don’t care if he has money as I have more than enough, but I’d rather that he not really need money because then I would always be suspect as to why he chose to marry me.”
    Rand nodded. “Understood.”
    “My husband must be an accomplished dancer and horseman. And kind,” she added as if the three somehow belonged together. “And smart enough not to gamble away the family fortune. And I, in turn, would not care to be treated as an empty headed dolt.”
    “I doubt anyone would dare treat you in such a fashion. In fact, I pity the man who would try. Anything else on your list?” He swirled the brandy in his glass and then raised it to his lips.
    “It’s my understanding that all this begetting I will be required to do is much more enjoyable if I’m physically attracted to my husband, so I plan to look at any potential husband and if I can imagine his tongue in my mouth without gagging, I’ll assume I’m attracted to him.”
    “Augh!” Rand choked and experienced the highly objectionable sensation of having brandy forced up into his nose.
    Cecelia came over to pound him on the back. “Are you alright?” she asked solicitously. “You’ve such a reputation as a rogue and a rake I didn’t think you would object to my honesty.”
    “You thought wrong,” he sputtered. “Where in the devil did you learn that!”
    “I heard about it when I was in school.”
    He stared. She was smiling at him, damn her. “They teach you that in school?” he asked incredulously.
    “No, of course not. A school friend of mine, Allison Benson, has six brothers…”
    “Who don’t know when to keep their bloody mouths shut,” he finished for her. “Good God, brat, you don’t need a companion. You need a handler with a very short leash. If Stratton had heard you say that he would lock you in your room and throw away the key. I may well do it for him!”
    She grinned. “You won’t tell him, will you?”
    Rand wiped his nose with his handkerchief and sniffed. He wasn’t certain if he would ever be able to drink brandy again. At least, not in Cecelia’s presence. “No. But don’t you dare repeat that to anyone or you’re apt to find yourself packed off to Northumberland where no one knows who you are.”
    “But it’s true, isn’t it?” she persisted.
    “Maybe as far north as Scotland,” he continued, deliberately ignoring her question. “You simply can’t go around saying things like that.”
    “But,” she interrupted a little more loudly, “men like to kiss like that, don’t they?”
    “Stop!” he ordered. “Go back to your chair. Sit down and let me recover my wits before you say another word.”
    “But…”
    “Not another word.”
    “Very well,” she said calmly and returned to her seat.
    Rand pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned.
Why the devil did Stratton and Priscilla think they needed a honeymoon?
If they hadn’t left, he wouldn’t be sitting here trapped in the same room with an enticing, but completely untouchable, eighteen year old chit who was discussing an erotic form of kissing. Despite her inelegant description and the painful burn of brandy in his nose, he was having a difficult time keeping his imagination in check. Why did she have to grow up to be so damned attractive? And why did she have to be Stratton’s sister?
    “Pardon me.” Reeds had quietly entered the drawing room. “Lady Fitzberry asks if you would be so kind as to visit her in her chambers as she is unable to greet you in the drawing room.”
    
Thank God.
If the idea weren’t so objectionable, he could have kissed the butler. “I would be delighted to visit Lady Fitzberry.” He rose and offered his arm to Cecelia. “Come along, my dear,” he ordered. “Madame has beckoned. We mustn’t keep her waiting.”
    Mirabella was turned out for company with a crimson and gold shawl knotted at her breast and matching turban on her head. A plum coverlet was tucked around her where she lay on the chaise lounge. Like most women, she was not immune to Rand’s charm and her cheeks were tinted pink with excitement as Reeds ushered him and Cecelia into her sitting room. She held out a pudgy bejeweled hand which Rand took and bowed over.
    “Lady Fitzberry,” he said pleasantly. “A pleasure to see you again though I am most distraught to hear of your mishap.”
    “Thank you,” she fluttered. “It’s a pleasure to see you as well. I was so surprised when Cecelia told me of your arrival. Do forgive me for not joining you in the drawing room.”
    “Of course. I trust you’re not in too much discomfort.”
    “Not overmuch. Though it is quite vexing to be unable to move about. It was so silly of me to fall. I simply wasn’t paying attention.” She indicated the chair across from her chaise. “Do sit down, Mr. Danfield.”
    “You look well,” he said as he settled in his chair. “That shade of red is very becoming on you.”
    He thought he heard a faint snort from Cecelia, but Lady Fitzberry beamed at him.
    “Do you think so? It’s called “Scarlet Rose.” I’ve a number of garments made up in it. I do love the color red. I would love to see Cecelia wear red, though I suppose it really isn’t proper for a young lady her age. It’s just that if a color flatters one, why not wear it? The world can be such a somber place and I don’t see the harm in brightening it up. And the rules in the country are a bit more relaxed than they are in town. Though I suppose they aren’t relaxed enough to allow that type of discretion. Would you care for Ratafia?”
    Rand was having a difficult time keeping up with her prattle and her last question took a moment to register. He barely stopped himself before making a face. Ratafia was a dreadfully sweet and syrupy concoction and he couldn’t imagine why anyone would drink it. “No thank you, my lady.”
    “I’ve noticed that most men don’t seem to care for Ratafia. My nephew won’t touch it. I suppose it’s a lady’s drink. In fact, I don’t know that I’ve even seen a man drink it. Though, I imagine that there are some that do. I think it’s perfectly lovely.” She looked over at Cecelia who was perched on a window seat with her hands folded in her lap. “What about you, my dear?”
    Cecelia smiled politely. “No thank you, Aunt. We’ve just had tea.”
    “You must get terribly lonely marooned like this in your sitting room,” Rand remarked sympathetically.
    “Oh, dreadfully so,” Mirabella responded. “Of course, Cecelia comes to visit every day, but I don’t expect her to keep me entertained all day long. It wouldn’t be fair to make too many demands on her time. She has her own interests to pursue. And my
little darlings
come to visit as well; though no more than two or three at a time. More than that and they become a little over exuberant and, of course, the servants haven’t the vaguest idea how to make them behave.”
    Rand nodded slowly. “A perfectly sensible idea. And how are the
little darlings?”
    She puffed up with pride. “Simply splendid. They’re taking their exercise at the moment. Apollo and Athena are scheduled to visit next. It’s so important that they maintain their routine with everything that has happened. Poor dears had to get over the stress of moving to a different location and then I became laid up. And little Adonis feels so badly about running in front of me. I’ve told him over and over again that it wasn’t really his fault, but I can tell it bothers him terribly.”
    Rand’s lip twitched slightly as he prayed for self control. “Cecelia mentioned that a friend of yours may come to visit. A Mrs. Weathers I believe.”
    “She’s such a delightful person. I’ve only just written. I do hope she can come. In addition to keeping me company, she will be able to accompany Cecelia on her social calls. Poor dear hasn’t been able to go anywhere since I’ve injured my ankle.”
    He glanced over at Cecelia who was now staring out the window, swinging one leg back and forth. “Seems a perfect solution,” he commented.
    She turned her head slowly and met his glance with a murderous glare. “I don’t mind not having a companion at present, Aunt Mirabella. Truly.” Then she smiled at him and he knew he was in trouble. “But have you heard the news, Aunt? It seems Mr. Danfield is no longer Mr. Danfield, but Lord Clarendon. He is now the Marquis of Clarendon. Isn’t that splendid?”
    “Oh, my. Oh, yes. What wonderful news!” she exclaimed. “I had no idea you were in line to inherit.”
    “It was somewhat of a surprise,” he murmured.
    “Such an honor. Of course, you always were a man of great consequence. This is exactly as it should be. There is no one more deserving.”
    “He’s in need of a wife.” Mischief danced in Cecelia’s eyes. “Have you any suggestions Aunt Mirabella? Ophelia Corsairs is husband hunting, I believe.”
    Miss Corsairs was a pinched faced, sharp-tongued spinster who had been husband hunting for the past ten years, to no avail. Even a moderate fortune had not helped her in her quest. She was insufferable and Rand sorely wanted to throttle Cecelia for making the suggestion. If Miss Corsairs set her cap in his direction, life would be most unpleasant.
    Mirabella looked doubtful. “That may be the case, dear, but there are other young ladies who might better suit Lord Clarendon. I don’t mean to be unkind but Miss Corsairs is not the most agreeable young lady.” She thought for a moment then perked up. “The Mitchell’s are having a house party in a few weeks and there are certain to be a number of young ladies there. I’ll let Lady Mitchell know you’re here, and you’ll be certain to receive an invitation.”
    Rand ground his teeth and nodded. “It’s very kind of you to be concerned, but I had planned to postpone my search until I return from the Clarendon estates in Devon. I would like to know what I can offer my future bride, before I do so. If you will forgive me, I’m afraid I must be off. I’ve not been to Bryony Hall yet.”
    “Of course. You must come for dinner once you’ve settled in.”
    “I shall look forward to it.” He rose and took Mirabella’s hand. “Until then, my lady.”
    She inclined her head and fluttered her lashes. “My lord.”
    He turned to Cecelia. “If you don’t mind, Lady Cecelia, would you be so kind as to walk with me a few minutes. I’m thinking of purchasing a pony for my niece and I wanted your opinion.”
    She stood and smiled sweetly. “Of course. I would be happy to.”
    When they reached the corridor, he grabbed her arm and hissed, “Miss Corsairs, indeed! You’ve done it now, brat!”
    She blinked innocently and asked, “You don’t care for Miss Corsairs? Why ever not? She’s perfectly respectable.”
    “Because she’s a tongue like a viper, and a face like a prune.”
    “How unkind of you,” she chided. “I thought you above such remarks.”
    “I’ve never skirted the truth.”
    “Really? That shade of red is very becoming on you,” she mimicked.
    Before he could respond, the sound of canine panting and grunting reached their ears and a plump chamber maid rounded the corner with a small, beribboned long-haired gray and tan terrier tucked beneath each arm.
    “Oh, milady. Sir,” she squeaked, caught up in the dilemma of trying to curtsy without dropping the dogs, who were now barking and wriggling in excitement over a new human to greet.
    “You must pet their heads, else they will never cease barking,” Cecelia informed Rand. When he made no move to do so, she added, “Are you afraid of dogs? I promise they won’t bite you.”
    He scowled at her. “That wasn’t my concern, and you well know it. I’d prefer not to be drooled on and they seem to be doing a bang up job of slobbering all over the place.” He gave each dog a perfunctory pat on the head and muttered, “That had best do it because that’s all you bloody beasts are getting from me.”
    “Athena’s breeding,” Cecelia said as they continued down the corridor. “Would you care for one of her puppies? I’m certain Aunt Mirabella would be happy to grant you pick of the litter.”
    “Gad, no,” he said in horror. “Dogs are meant to retrieve birds, hunt squirrels and fox and round up sheep. Not grow ridiculously long hair, wear hair ribbons and be carried about like a baby.”
    “Very well.” She sighed. “But don’t let it be said that I didn’t offer. Now, what was this about a pony for your niece?”