Twice the Temptation (42 page)

Catherine all but snatched it from his hand. She recognized Lucas’s handwriting instantly and was forced to restrain herself from tearing it open like a child with their presents at Christmastide. 

“Thank you, Smith,” she said in dismissal. The envelope was peeled opened, the letter extracted and unfolded by the time he crossed the threshold of the room into the hall. 

Lucas’s message indicated he would be late in calling on her and cited family matters as the reason. His closing,
Yours Always, Lucas
had her bracing herself against the back of the armchair, a wave of heat coursing all through her. Squeezing the letter in her hand, she placed that hand against her chest and closed her eyes. She could not bear to lose him and desperately wanted the promise in his letter. She wanted him to be hers always. When he arrived tonight, she would lay herself bare to him and pray to God she’d be awarded for her honesty and the deep abiding love she had for him. 

L
ord Granville was proving to be an effective ally. He knew everyone and at times knew precisely where they would be at set hours of the day.

“There he is, by the betting table on the far right closest to the stairs,” the earl said, tipping his chin in that direction. “He’s the fair chap sitting on the right.” 

Lucas spotted him instantly and summed him up in seconds. He possessed sharp patrician features and had that aristocratic softness about him many acquired having never done an honest day of work in their lives. In ten years, twenty if he were lucky, his boyish features would bloat with complacency and his belly would round with overindulgence. 

Lucas nodded to Granville, acknowledging he had found him. They stood next to their table by the front, the picture of two men carrying on an amiable conversation. 

“Do you have any idea if he’s much of a gambler?” Lucas asked, while keeping the man in the corner of his eye. 

The earl barked a laugh. “That is like asking if our queen is English or if the Pope is Catholic.” 

“Then I will take that as a yes.” 

“There isn’t a bet he won’t enter or a pot too large for his money the way he gambles. Invariably, however, mistress of luck often abandons him. Last I heard his father cut his quarterly allowance clean in half. Nearly felled the poor chap. When he marries, it will be restored.” 

“Have you known him to cheat?” Lucas asked mildly. 

The earl sent him a sharp look, his eyes narrowed. “What is this all about? Why exactly are you so interested in Landry?” 

Lucas told him all he knew of the bet and the unidentified lady he believed was somehow involved in bilking his brother of the fifty pounds. When he finished Granville’s expression changed very little. 

“I’ve never known him to cheat but there is always a first time for everything. He always struck me as a straight up sort of chap. Has a weakness for beautiful women but what man doesn’t,” he said, a faint smile on his face. 

Not exactly the answer Lucas had thought to receive. “May I beg an introduction?” 

The earl gave him a look as if that had not been in question. “But of course. This way.” 

For propriety’s sake, Granville introduced him to all the men at the table. There were six in all, Landry was saved for last. 

“I believe you met my brother recently,” Lucas said casually. 

“Indeed?” Landry said, raising a brow. “And who might he be?” 

“Are there truly that many Americans about the place?” 

Landry stilled, his gaze intent on Lucas as if searching for a resemblance he would not find. 

“I have met a chap named Templeton but then your name is—Beaumont, didn’t you say?” 

“Yes, he’s my half-brother,” Lucas replied smoothly, watching keenly as something that looked like caution flared in Landry’s eyes. He appeared vaguely unsettled by the revelation. 

A clearing of the throat ensued. “Ah, indeed. He’s a decent chap.” 

Lucas noted he didn’t say a word about the money he owed him. “I’ve come to settle his accounts.” 

It was as if the phrase had magical pull—as it should—making the man perk up, a pleased smile spreading across his face. 

“I knew he’d be good for it,” he stated triumphantly, scraping his chair back as he rose to his feet. “You’ll excuse me gentlemen while I collect my winnings.” Then added when they looked askance at him, “Go ahead. Play this hand without me but I shouldn’t be long.” 

“Granville, why don’t you sit down and wager some of the coin you’ve got stashed away in the Bank of London,” one of the men called out with a hearty guffaw. 

“Blakely, you know I don’t gamble, which is precisely why I’ve still got the blunt and you do not.” 

The earl’s remark silenced Blakely mid-laugh but it started the other men at the table snickering at their friend’s expense. 

“I prefer to settle this somewhere more private,” Lucas remarked as they made their way from the gaming area as Granville returned to the table they’d been sharing. 

Landry gave him a curious look and then shrugged. “Come this way. There are private tables on this side.” 

Once they were seated, Landry stared expectantly at him. “He told you the bet was in pound notes, correct. I’m not accepting any American blunt.” 

Lucas chuckled quietly. “Before I settle my brother’s debt, I just have a few questions?” 

Landry’s mouth pulled tight, suspicion clouding his eyes. “About what?” 

Placing his elbows on the table, Lucas steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “Why are you so certain you won the bet?” 

Landry grunted a laugh. “Oh no, he daren’t deny it. I saw the whole thing with my own two eyes.” 

“And what was that?” 

“Come now, Beaumont, I saw them all go out to the terrace. And by the look on your brother’s face, I knew exactly how the whole thing played out,” he stated smugly. 

Just as he’d thought, the man might as well have admitted to cheating his brother. “I’ve no doubt you did.” 

Landry stilled and stared, his gaze hard and searching. “Hell, you think I was part of the scheme?” he asked in dawning comprehension. 

It wasn’t so much the question but his expression and the incredulous tone of his voice that brought Lucas up. The first niggling of misgivings squirmed its way into the part of his brain that had already rendered a decision on the matter. 

“At least you concede it was indeed a scheme,” he replied in a cold voice. 

“But it wasn’t mine,” he denied, shaking his head in protest. 

“You are the one whose pockets will be fifty pounds heavier when it’s all said and done, is that not right,
my lord
.” 

Folding his arms across his chest, Landry stated matter-of-factly, “I made your brother that bet on a hunch.” 

“How terribly fortunate for you.” 

“I knew precisely what was going to happen when I saw Lady Meghan making eyes at him.” 

“Lady who?” Lucas asked sharply. Catherine’s friend? It couldn’t be. 

“Lady Meghan Townsend,” Landry affirmed. “If you haven’t been introduced, you’re missing one of society’s great beauties. And when she’s about, more than likely Miss Rutherford and Lady Olivia can’t be too far away. The three are thick as thieves but you have to watch yourself around them. They’re not that beautiful for nothing.” 

“And why do you say that?” 

He listened as Landry told him exactly why. After the man was finished, Lucas gave him his winnings, which was worth every bit of the fifty pounds he’d been forced to part with. Then he took himself off to call on Catherine Rutherford. He wondered how happy she would be to see him when she discovered why he’d come. 

L
ucas arrived at Laurel House just before seven that evening. Catherine greeted him in the foyer, relieving Smith of his duty of announcing him and escorting him to the drawing room. The moment Smith disappeared down the hall, she silently led him to her brother’s study where it was more intimate, and the door had a lock. After she preceded him inside, he closed and locked the door but did not venture farther in.

Save their greeting in the front—which she’d considered very cordial—they had yet to exchange another word. But looking at him now, his expression appeared to have undergone a dramatic change. His eyes had cooled by several dozen degrees and his jaw was firmly set, his smile gone like a mirage in the desert. 

His brother must have informed him about his situation with Miss Shipley and naturally this was the cause of his current less than cheery demeanor. But that did not stop her breathing from constricting or her anxiety from returning twenty-fold. 

“Lucas, what has happened? What is the matter? You look…” Now completely anxiety-ridden, she let her voice trail off. 

He continued to regard her and at length announced, “The young lady my brother was to marry has broken off the engagement. As you might imagine, Patrick is understandably distressed as am I.” 

Of course he was. But why was he standing so far away? Why had he not touched or kissed her? God, had he discovered her role in it before she’d had a chance to confess it to him herself? She prayed he had not. “I am very sorry to hear that. That is actually what I wanted to speak with—” 

“Are you acquainted with Miss Shipley?” he cut in, his gaze unwavering on her. 

Catherine swallowed. “Yes, I met both she and your brother at the ball last evening.” 

“Ah,” he exclaimed softly. “So you met Patrick? Tell me, what did you think of him?” 

“We were not formally introduced. He saw me and thought I was Charlotte.” Their conversation felt so unnatural. Too civilized. Her dread mounted with each minute that passed. 

His mouth curved and his lips parted, baring perfectly white and even teeth. But she could never call it a smile for his eyes lacked the warmth that would have labeled it such. “A common occurrence, that,” he said. 

“Yes, it would appear. Perhaps we should—” 

“Would you like to know why Miss Shipley called it off?” he asked quietly. Before she could form a response, he continued. “She overheard my brother making improper advances toward your friend, Lady Meghan.” 

Catherine felt her heart drop with a splat on the study floor. Her queasy stomach followed not far behind. She drew in a ragged breath and clutched the fold of her skirt tightly in her hand. In that moment she knew he suspected something untoward had gone on. Precisely what, she still was not certain but whatever it was had started a fury simmering in him like a volcano on the verge of eruption. 

“Lady Meghan,” he exclaimed softly, his voice conveying surprise but his eyes glittered with an entirely different emotion. “You are as shocked as I was, I am sure.” 

“Lucas—” 

“It would appear Lord Landry wagered my brother fifty pounds that Patrick would not be able to get your friend to agree to a rendezvous,” he said, continuing with the same soft, dispassionate voice. “My brother, emboldened no doubt by alcohol and youthful arrogance, accepted the foolhardy challenge believing he would win since your friend had been relentless in her pursuit of him since she arrived at the ball. You can imagine his surprise when not only did she spurn his advances but when
your other friend
, Lady Olivia and Miss Shipley appeared on the scene having overheard it all.” 

Catherine was not certain if he was condemning her for her friends’ actions or her for her friendship with them. It was not completely clear. What was clear was the condemnation in the retelling of the incident. 

“Meghan and Olivia are not—” 

“I spoke to Lord Landry,” he interjected again, his voice turning cold enough to form icicles at the height of an Indian summer. 

Never had the viscount’s name evoked such panic and fear within her, causing gooseflesh to chase up and down her arms. Catherine shivered as she tried to recall the apology she’d been practicing the better part of the day. 

“You will stop me when this begins to sound familiar, will you not?” He advanced toward her. 

“Lord Landry believes the whole thing was a ploy—as I’d begun to suspect after I spoke with Miss Shipley—except he swears he wasn’t privy to it. And you will never guess whom he believes was?” He angled his head slightly to the right, the facsimile of a smile on his face.