An Invitation to Sin (8 page)

After an hour of viewing original Edmund Witfeld inventions, Zachary felt ready for someone to intervene on
his
behalf.

"It's a cow," Zachary stated, looking across the field.

"Yes, it is." Witfeld crossed his hands over the pommel of his saddle, pride in the straight line of his shoulders.

"Why are we looking at it?" Zachary asked.

"I bred her. She's half Guernsey and half South Devon, with some odd ancestry thrown in on her dam's side. She's my third try. I kept getting bulls. Excellent beef there, anyway." Edmund looked at the cow fondly for a moment, then visibly shook himself. "It's the milk. She gives twice as much as either of her parent breeds."

Thank God. Zachary had begun to think Edmund Witfeld was insane, and that they were going to spend the scant remaining daylight admiring a cow for no good reason. She did have nice tits, he supposed, but he preferred two rather than four, and that they not be covered with white fur or be hanging down into the grass.

He realized Witfeld was looking at him, and that he was supposed to say something admiring about the damned cow. "She looks very healthy," he ventured.

From the farmer's grin and nod, he'd said the right thing. "Yes, she is. I bred her with one of the half-and-half bulls. She gave me a heifer, thank Christ—ha, listen to me, hoping for more females—but it'll be more than a year before I can breed the offspring."

As they watched, a calf trotted out of the grass and began suckling. "Does your cow have a name?" Zachary queried, mostly because he thought the man would be disappointed if he didn't show some interest.

"Dimidius. It's Latin for 'half.' "

"Was that your eldest daughter's suggestion, by any chance?"

Witfeld chuckled. "Yes, it was, as a matter of fact. How did you know?"

"Just a lucky guess."

They sat on horseback for another few minutes gazing at Dimidius and the rest of the herd. Zachary did his best to feign interest in the red-and-white beast, but in truth he would rather have been sitting through one of Melbourne's dissertations on life and Society.

So far this afternoon he'd viewed a horse-drawn field seeder, a goat-powered winnower, the old failed egg ramps and the framework for the new ones, and a cow with excess milk and apparently good beef. He was an expert at pretending interest, but after sitting through the Witfeld-Gorman chit barrage and now this, he was hard-pressed not to yawn.

"We appreciate your helping Caroline," Witfeld said into the silence. "It's a lucky chance, you being here now."

"You can thank my aunt for my presence," Zachary returned. "But surely there are other volunteers or possible recruits for Miss Witfeld's work. She seems quite talented."

"Oh, aye, but that studio requires an aristocrat's portrait. And this part of Wiltshire suffers from an extreme drought of aristocracy, especially during the Season." He chuckled. "I wouldn't have her going into Bath, where the nobles there don't know her from Adam. And I know what they'd say, a young unmarried female soliciting a subject for a portrait."

Zachary cleared his throat. He'd made the same assumption himself. "But—"

"If it weren't for you, she'd be sketching Eades," her father continued, "and he favors dressing up as King Arthur."

"Fortunately I prefer to emulate the Egyptian gods," Zachary drawled.

Witfeld eyed him. "You're joking, aren't you?"

"Good God, yes."

"Thank goodness." The patriarch laughed.

"If I might ask, though, if an aristocrat is so integral, why
not
send her to Bath despite the snobbery, or to London, where they might be more open to sitting for a female artist? A sister could accompany her and lend some propriety."

Edmund's jaw twitched. "I wanted to, but the agreement between Mrs. Witfeld and myself was that unless we could send all of the girls to London for their Season and all that silliness, we couldn't send any of them. And whatever I might privately think, I don't want a half dozen girls at my throat."

Apparently a gentleman farmer, even a viscount's grandson like Witfeld, couldn't afford to give each of seven daughters her own debut in Society. Afraid that he'd offended Witfeld, Zachary prepared an apology for his thickheaded question. His host, though, was already beginning an explanation of the benefits of water over wind power in grinding grain.

When his own sister, Eleanor, had turned eighteen, her debut had rivaled that of royalty. The Griffins
were
royalty, as far as Society was concerned. Since he knew quite well that none of the Witfeld girls had ever been to London, Zachary had simply concluded that their odd parents had kept them away on purpose. Money and the lack thereof had never entered his mind. No wonder all of his siblings railed at him so often for being an idiot.

Of all the sisters, though, he would have tried to send Caroline. She so obviously wanted to be elsewhere, and so clearly craved a more metropolitan existence than the one available to her in Trowbridge. It rather forcefully made Zachary consider the difference between them, since over the course of his life he'd never been denied anything— except for a purpose. She had her purpose, and he seemed to be the only route for her to achieve it.

"We should probably be heading back to the house," Witfeld noted. "If I deny the girls a chance to charm you again over dinner, I'll never hear the end of it."

They rounded a wooded hill, coming out onto an open glade crossed by a picturesque creek. Squarely in the center of the meadow, a tumble of old broken marble arches and pillars, and a half-decayed wall of stone and granite and twisted ivy, caught the last of the sunlight. For an unsettled moment Zachary thought he'd somehow been whisked back to Greece in front of the Parthenon. "What—"

"Oh, those are my ruins," Witfeld said, pride edging his voice again. "What do you think? They're still a work in progress, of course."

"They're… ancient-looking," Zachary offered, blinking. Now that he looked more closely, he could make out the artful arrangement of the broken structure, the carefully placed vines and clusters of ferns. Apparently Witfeld had succumbed to the current fad of creating antiquity.

"Thank you. Would you call them Roman, or Greek?"

Zachary mentally flipped a coin. "Greek," he decided.

"Excellent. You have a good eye, my lord."

"Zachary, please." After all, he'd been contemplating seducing the man's eldest daughter—or rather, convincing her to ask him to seduce her.

"Edmund, then."

"So, Edmund, do you think Mrs. Gorman and Miss Mary will be staying on for dinner?"

"Good Lord, I hope not," the Witfeld patriarch said vehemently.

During the course of this odd afternoon, one thing had become obvious. Edmund Witfeld had elevated the chore of avoiding his hen-filled household to an eccentric, all-consuming art. Zachary sent him a sideways glance as they returned to the manor house. Of all the members of the Witfeld family, Edmund might very well prove to be the most grateful for his little plan to teach the Witfeld sisters the art of being marriageable.

She feathered in a line of hair obscuring one half-drawn eye. Immediately the drawing became more like Zachary. "There you are," she murmured.

It was him, but at the same time it wasn't. She had the shape of his face, a vague placement of his mouth and nose and eyes, but as she gazed at the flat paper she realized that at the same time the drawing was nothing like him. There was a… a light missing, not just in his eyes, but in the whole expression of his face. Hm. She'd never felt that before; when she'd drawn a good likeness, she'd captured the person. This was different. It felt different, even in the light, lifting sensation that came over her when she drew. This time, as always, it was anticipation to see what would appear, but she also felt a large measure of excitement. Arousal. Something—

The conservatory door burst open. Caroline nearly jumped out of her skin as her mother hurried inside. "Mama! What's wrong?"

"He's not in here," Sally Witfeld announced, then vanished again, banging the door closed behind her.

For a moment Caroline stared at the door. "What…" Scowling, she set her sketch pad aside and stood. "What's going on?" she called, pulling open the door again and stepping into the hallway.

Anne hurried past her. "Mama thinks someone's kidnapped Lord Zachary."

"Kidnapped?" Caroline repeated, her heart stopping for a panicked second. Who would she paint? How would she find the elusive bit of him that she needed to make the portrait work? Then logic flooded back in, along with the realization that she was perhaps being a bit self-centered. "Why in the world would Mama think that?"

"He vanished out of the drawing room three hours ago, and no one's seen him since."

"He better not have returned to London," Caroline said grimly. If that were the case, she
would
wish him kidnapped. "Is his horse still here?"

Anne's lips twitched. "Oh, dear. You don't think they kidnapped poor Sagramore, too, do you?"

Caroline eyed her, immediately suspicious. "You know something. What is it, darling?"

"Well, since Papa's vanished as well, I think the two of them are out in a field somewhere, looking at cows. Or
a
cow, rather."

"Did you tell Mama your theory?" Caroline asked, falling into step beside her younger sister.

"Mama doesn't want to hear my opinion. She wants to panic and let everyone know that she'll simply die if something's happened to Lord Zachary. Lady Gladys is doing embroidery."

Ah
. "Well, panicking isn't very helpful, but it is one of Mama's favorite things to do." Sally Witfeld had seven unmarried daughters; she not only thrived on chaos, but she also tended to encourage it. "Shall we go out to the stable and see whether Papa's horse has been kidnapped, as well? Surely Nelson wouldn't go without a fight."

"And there is of course Harold, who is apparently in the garden eating Mama's geraniums."

"Hm. Perhaps we should save the duke's brother first, and then send
him
to rescue the flowers."

"A splendid idea." Anne grinned outright. "You realize we might become heroines for locating the lost prince."

With a snort Caroline gestured her down the stairs. "I'll risk being worshiped, if it means we can avoid having to carry Mama upstairs to her bed."

While the rest of their siblings and half the household staff ran about like headless chickens, she and Anne slipped out the front door and ran, laughing, for the stables. Caroline reached the wide double doors first and looked back to announce her victory in the race—then slammed straight into a broad, hard chest.

"Oh!" She would have fallen on her backside, but Lord Zachary grabbed her by the shoulders. "I'm so sorry!"

She tried to ignore the way his palms brushed along her arms as he set her upright again. His interest in her was so… disconcerting; and it was something she couldn't ignore, considering the close proximity in which her own request had put them. But his interest didn't explain hers.

"No worries," he returned, his eyes dancing as though he knew precisely the effect he had on her. Of course he did, blast him.

"We were looking for you, Lord Zachary," Anne panted, giving Caroline the moment she needed to recover her composure and her balance.

Their father emerged from the stable behind the duke's brother. "Zachary asked to see some of my inventions."

More likely her father had suggested that they go on a tour, and their guest had exhibited more of his annoying tendency to be easygoing and had agreed.
Wonderful
. Now Caroline had all six of her sisters
and
her father vying for her portrait subject's attention.

Zachary's expression didn't even twitch at her father's statement. "Edmund has done some remarkable work."

"Well, thank you, lad."

"Mama thought Lord Zachary had been kidnaped," Anne put in, not trying to hide her amusement.

"Bloody hell," Edmund grumbled. "We'd best return you, then, or I'll never hear the damned end of it."

No, he wouldn't. And he'd probably actually done Lord Zachary a favor by aiding his escape from the Witfeld-Gorman assault. Caroline thought quickly. "Perhaps Lord Zachary could explain that his journey from London left him more fatigued than he realized, and he required a breath of fresh air."

Zachary eyed her. " 'Fatigued,'" he repeated dubiously.

"Oh, yes, horribly so. And perhaps fighting an aching head that would have left him bedridden for weeks, completely unable to attend any social events."

His jaw twitched. "I was nearly dead, obviously." Zachary drew a breath. "Thank goodness the Wiltshire air is so…"

"Restoring," Caroline suggested, grinning. Good. He understood how much more harmonious the evening would be if he took the blame for his absence.

"As I knew it would be," Edmund added, sending both her and Zachary a grateful look.

"You're a genius," Anne whispered, hugging Caroline around the shoulders as they returned to the house.

"Just practical." She sighed. "You'd best include Papa on your chart."

"Don't worry, Caro. I'll try to give you time in the mornings so you'll have the light."

"Thank you." She returned her attention to the man walking directly in front of her. "By the by, Lord Zachary, your dog is eating our garden."

"Is he? Damnation. I told Reed to keep an eye on him."

"Oh. I was under the impression that Harold was
your
dog."

He sent her a sharp look over his shoulder as she stifled an abrupt frown. She really needed to learn to quell her retorts before they reached her tongue.

"He
is
my dog. I'll train him away from flowers this afternoon."

"In one afternoon?" she returned, trying to sound curious and admiring rather than skeptical.

"I've trained horses," he said, sounding the slightest bit defensive. "A pup should be easier."

She had her doubts about that, but obviously she'd already said enough. After all, Zachary was doing both her and her father a favor. "Much easier, I'm certain," she agreed, carefully keeping her expression innocent as he glanced at her again.

"Precisely."

As Barling opened the front door to welcome them into the house, Sally Witfeld was descending the main staircase. Her shriek made Caroline wince; she could only imagine what Zachary must be thinking.

"Lord Zachary! Thank the dear heavens! We all thought you must have been murdered!" With a gasp, Mrs. Witfeld sank onto the bottom step in a swoon.

"Oh, good God. I'll be in my office," her husband muttered, grasping Caroline's elbow, then releasing her again as he vanished.

For a brief moment it looked as though Zachary meant to follow, but with a visible squaring of his shoulders he stepped forward and brushed the gathering sisters out of the way. "Ladies, allow me."

"But Lord Zach—"

Amid the protests and statements of admiration he hauled Sally Witfeld into his arms and carried her up the stairs. As he reached the second floor, Caroline realized she was staring—staring at the muscles playing beneath his tight buckskin trousers, at the obvious strength in his broad shoulders.

She swallowed. Obviously she needed to know a little more about the male form beneath the layers of jacket and cravat before she could do the portrait justice. This wasn't just any painting. And it wasn't about the surface, after all; it was about showing the man, and who he was. And this man was strong enough to carry her substantial mother up a flight of stairs.

Shaking herself, Caroline hurried to join the procession heading for her mother's bedchamber. No one chose to inform Lord Zachary that his actions were probably unnecessary; Sally Witfeld saw the need to faint on a fairly regular basis. But if he'd known that, they wouldn't have been treated to that impressive display.

As Caroline topped the stairs, a hand grasped her arm. "Caro," Lady Gladys said, slinging her cane over her free arm and leaning on her new assistant.

"I hope Mama hasn't alarmed you, Lady Gladys. This isn't an uncommon occurrence."

Lady Gladys chuckled. "At finishing school some of the other girls and I made your mother a pillow and awarded it to her for being the best fainter in residence."

Caroline smiled despite herself. "You didn't."

"Oh, yes we did. Do you think we should inform my nephew?"

"He does seem rather proud of himself."

"I suppose you're right. It won't do to discourage him from heroic acts." A shadow crossed the older woman's face. "Though maybe we should," she said more quietly.

Intrigued, Caroline slowed their pace. "What do you mean?"

Gladys drew a breath. "Oh, he has it in his head that he wants to join Wellington on the Peninsula."

That explained his desire for a portrait of himself in military uniform. "He is the third brother, is he not?"

"Yes, he is. But—" Lady Gladys broke off. "It's a very long story, and not one meant for today. We should probably fetch the smelling salts."

With those intriguing words echoing about in her mind, Caroline led the way to one of the servants' closets and found the right bottle. So Zachary wanted to join the army, and at least one member of his family didn't want him to.

From his comments about his brothers' reactions to seeing him in a military uniform, several members of his family were against his decision.

Well, she could certainly sympathize with him wanting to do something his family didn't understand or appreciate. But that didn't make them alike. After all, she was taking steps to follow her dreams. Lord Zachary didn't appear to be doing anything but escorting his aunt on holiday and raising the level of chaos in her already unruly home.

What was it about him, then, that intrigued her so much? Yes, he had beautiful eyes and a handsome face and a lean, athletic frame. And yes, he seemed to have the ability to make her laugh when she meant to be serious, and banter when she knew she should be quiet. Caroline closed her eyes for a moment as her mother's maid appeared to administer the smelling salts. She had no control over what he did or who he was or what he wanted. All she knew was what she wanted—and that was to paint his portrait and submit it to Vienna before the deadline. Nothing else mattered. Not even his kisses.

Zachary stepped out of the way as the herd of females rushed in to administer aid to their mama. Personally he thought they were overreacting; on the way up to her bedchamber Mrs. Witfeld had adjusted the drape of her skirt twice.

Aunt Tremaine was obviously fond of Sally Witfeld, but from Zachary's perspective the Witfeld matriarch wasn't doing her daughters any favors. Some gentlemen of his acquaintance preferred delicate, fainting females, but he couldn't think of one soul who would voluntarily ally himself in marriage with a chit prone to scenes and hysterics.

He took another step backward, toward the edge of the room. All the daughters had gathered and were busily expressing varying degrees of concern over their apparently unconscious mother. The twins, Joanna and Julia, both waved fans over her face. Violet, the youngest, held her limp hand, while Susan and Grace argued over whether Mary Gorman should be permitted to dance with him at the ball. Closest to the door and furthest from the chaos Anne looked amused, while beside her Caroline's expression was more difficult to read.

As he watched, she turned her head and caught his gaze. At first he thought she must be embarrassed, but that was wrong, he realized. It was resignation he saw in her eyes. She'd probably lived through this same scene a hundred times, and she knew all the lines and had played all the parts. Yes, he enjoyed chaos, but obviously she at least on occasion found it troublesome. And that bothered him, despite her skepticism over his ability to train Harold.

Moving quietly so he wouldn't attract any of the female attention, he made his way over beside her. "So I looked at the
Mona Lisa
for nearly an hour," he said in a low tone, "and I finally realized what it was that kept my attention."