Authors: Diane Whiteside,Maggie Robinson,Mia Marlowe

Tags: #Historical romance, #Fiction

Improper Gentlemen (19 page)

BOOK: Improper Gentlemen

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“The word about town is that you’ve an understanding with Viscount Musgrave,” Aidan said casually as he led her through a graceful underarm turn.

She sighed. He didn’t need to know so much about her life, when it was obvious she still knew very little about his. How did a man fall from heir to a British title to a shackled prisoner on Royal Dock? Even if he hadn’t known he’d had a privileged birth at the time, his mother should have. And she ought to have used her influence then.

“Do tell me if ye’ve set a date,” Aidan said. “They’re laying odds on it at White’s, ye see, and the purse is too fat to ignore.”

“No, we haven’t set a date.” She jerked her gaze away from his knowing grin and tried to keep her eyes focused on a point north of his right shoulder. The room spun so, she was forced to give up and look back at him. “He hasn’t actually proposed, if you must know.”

Not for lack of her great-aunt’s trying. Lady Chudderley was determined to make the match. She so badly wanted Rosalinde to set her cap for the viscount, she had sweetened the deal by promising to settle an astounding sum on her father the day Rosalinde wed Musgrave. It was high time the family made inroads back into the well-connected nobility, and Musgrave was related to nearly every peer in the realm by some degree of consanguinity.

Since Lady Chudderley had no direct descendants, unless Rosalinde married well, the Burkes would be relegated to the status of merchants and tradesmen when her great-aunt passed on. Since the commissioner’s
investments
, her father’s pet name for his gambling debts, had taken a disastrous turn of late, Rosalinde felt honor-bound to try to meet the old lady’s terms for his sake.

Besides, she owed her father something after the way he’d spirited her home in order to protect her good name.

“Nothing set in stone between ye and Musgrave, then. Good,” Aidan said. “That leaves hope for me.”

Rosalinde snorted. It wasn’t terribly genteel, but Aidan brought out unladylike urges in her of all sorts. “Whatever gives you the idea that I’d welcome your attention, sir?”

“Past experience.”

She stiffened in his arms. He might have a title now, but as far as she was concerned, he was still an Irish convict. One who’d been convicted of murder, no less. And she knew to her sorrow that he couldn’t be trusted.

If only he wasn’t so devilishly handsome . . .

She gave herself a mental shake. She’d made a mistake in the past, but surely she wouldn’t make a cake of herself over the man’s fine face and form now.

“I advise you not to address your attention to me, my lord, unless you enjoy spending your time to no profit,” she said with exaggerated formality. “The man I wed will be a
proper
gentleman.”

“Ah, lass. Ye’d be wasted on a proper gentleman and ye know it,” Aidan said, then he leaned in to whisper to her. “A proper gentleman only beds his wife to get an heir. His mistress has all the fun while his wife faces the uncertainties of childbed. I ask ye now, where’s the justice in that?”

She looked pointedly away from him as they continued to waltz. “If you cannot keep from being indelicate, I must ask you to refrain from speaking for the duration of this dance.”

“Sometimes the truth is indelicate,” Aidan said.

“You want the truth? Very well. At the risk of being indelicate, I confess I cannot bear the sight of you.”

She pulled free of his palm on her waist. Without relinquishing her hand, he twirled her back into his arms as if her steps away were part of the dance.

“Indelicacy is one thing. A lie is another.” He shook his head in reproof. “Never dabble in a game of
poque
, lassie. Ye can’t bluff. Your face is an open book. Ye can bear me well enough and we both know it.”

She stopped dancing and cast her eyes down at the tips of his shiny boots. “Release me this instant,” she said through clenched teeth. “Or I will cause such a scene, they’ll hear it all the way to Bermuda. And that’s no bluff.”

“Good,” Aidan said with a laugh. “Sounds like just what this party needs.”

“Pardon me.” Another male voice jerked Rosalinde’s gaze up. “May I cut in, Stonemere? I desire the honor of dancing with Miss Burke, if the lady has no objections, of course.”

It was Viscount Musgrave, tapping Aidan’s shoulder. His expression was calm and unruffled and as proper as tea with the vicar. Dear Edwin was the perfect antidote to this rogue who plagued her with improper thoughts of all sorts. Rosalinde could have thrown her arms around the viscount and kissed him right on the lips.

Of course, that wasn’t a very proper thought either.

Botheration!
One dance with Aidan Danaher had undone years of studied self-control. At least Lord Musgrave was coming to her rescue, like a white knight. She stepped out of the circle of Aidan’s arms.

“The honor is mine, Lord Musgrave.” Rosalinde smiled brightly as she dipped a shallow curtsey of farewell to Aidan. “Good evening, Lord Stonemere.”

“It
was
a good evening. Whether it continues so remains to be seen,” he said sourly; then he recovered his manners and sent her a polite smile. “I thank ye kindly for the dance, Miss Burke.” He gave a curt nod to the viscount.

Viscount Musgrave took her into the correct dancing position and they tilted away from Aidan to the final lilting strains of the waltz.

“Oh, my, that was far too short. Seems I mistimed my request,” Edwin said when the final chord faded.

His eyes were the color of the surf off Brighton on a high summer day. With his fair hair and square-jawed good looks, Rosalinde normally found Edwin Farrell Sotheby-Finch, Lord Musgrave, to be exceedingly fair to look upon. Unfortunately, a certain Irish scoundrel was playing havoc with her sense of manly beauty at the moment.

“Might I have the honor of another dance?” Edwin asked.

Rosalinde caught sight of Aidan over Edwin’s shoulder and yanked her gaze back to the viscount’s earnest face. “Of course, my lord. I should be delighted.”

She certainly should be. Lord Musgrave was considered no end of a catch. A single dance with him was enough to set most maidenly stomachs aflutter. Instead her belly fizzed as if someone had loosed a jar of lantern beetles in it.

“And I’d be delighted if I could convince you to call me by my Christian name,” Edwin said.

“If it were appropriate for me to do so, rest assured, I would, Lord Musgrave.” Even though she thought of him as Edwin, the name had never passed her lips.

Formality was a small shield, but it was all she had to protect herself from a man’s designs. Not that she suspected Lord Musgrave of any ulterior motives.

Rather, she held herself in suspicion. If she’d insisted on calling Aidan ‘Mr. Danaher’ instead of agreeing to go along with his easy informality while they worked together in the stables, surely she’d never have allowed him to kiss her. Or touch her. Or invite him to sneak into her bedchamber by moonlight to show her why her belly knotted at the sight of him.

“I hope it will become entirely appropriate for you to call me Edwin very soon,” Viscount Musgrave said and then launched into a description of his doings in the House of Lords.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Aidan mouthing a message to her. She forced herself to attend to what the viscount was saying as they waited for the start of the next tune, but she could muster little interest in the poor condition of drains in the city or the bill Lord Musgrave was shepherding through the House of Lords in order to rectify the situation.

The music began, a stately quadrille this time. She and the viscount formed up with another three couples to complete the intricate turns and steps. Each time she looked up, Aidan was there, his lips forming the same words. With each pass, she managed to decipher another word. Rosalinde lost her footing and stumbled when his meaning became clear.

“Leave your window open.”

Of all the insufferable cheek. The man must think her mad. She’d do no such ridiculous thing. It would mean ruin this time for certain.

Besides, she liked nice men, men who counted it a favor if she called them by their Christian names, men who worried over the state of drains and danced with their cool, dry hands lightly holding hers in perfect correctness.

But, God help her, some wicked, ungovernable part of her heart wanted to lift her window sash when she retired to her chamber that evening.

To see if Aidan Danaher would climb through it.

Chapter 3

The play’s the thing
Wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the King.

—S
HAKESPEARE
,
Hamlet

A
idan watched Rosalinde through the intricate turns of the quadrille. Pleasant as it was to see her move with grace around the room, it was not so pleasant to see her do it in the company of another man. Each time she glanced his way, he silently repeated his request for her to leave her window open. After she missed a step, turned the wrong direction and nearly plowed into Lady Cowper, Aidan was satisfied his message had been received.

Now if she’ll only do it
, he thought with a long sigh.

He resisted the temptation to use the
Knack
on her. Once he was in her chamber, it would be a simple thing to be found with the lady
in flagrante delicto
and settle the whole question with a quick marriage to hush up the scandal.

He was a baron with means now. Once the initial furor died down, Polite Society would come to the conclusion that he wasn’t such a bad bargain for her. He was looking forward to spending a good deal of time and money convincing her of that as well.

But if he used the
Knack
to gain entrance to her bedchamber, how would he ever know if it was he she fancied or if she’d been compelled by his gift to welcome him to her bed?

Love was freely given or it was not love.

Aidan was determined to have nothing less from Rosalinde Burke. In the darkness of his incarceration, she’d been the one spot of blazing color. Her kindness and generous spirit had kept him from growing bitter over the injustice of his situation. One night with her convinced him of the existence of a merciful God.

But Aidan didn’t intend to show her any mercy. Short of
knacking
her, he’d make her love him or at least remember that once she had loved him. Surely that never really went away.

He stopped at the arched doorway leading into the room set aside for gaming and looked back at her. Rosalinde smiled up at her dancing partner and a red haze settled over Aidan’s vision.

Viscount Musgrave wasn’t a bad sort. Lord knows, it might have been easier if he was. They’d even been friends years ago during the short time Aidan and his brother came to live with their English cousins. Edwin was thoroughly decent, a stickler for good form and fair play.

Aidan could more than hold his own with cutthroats and thieves. Against an upright, proper gentleman, he wasn’t quite sure how to proceed.

He’d charmed Rosalinde once. He only hoped he’d be able to do it again. In case she didn’t lift the sash of her window to him, it was time to set plans for his alternate goal in train. He intended to clear his name.

Aidan steeled himself to abandon her to the dance floor with Viscount Musgrave and made his way to the gaming room. Six or seven tables had been set up around the long hall. Whist, euchre, loo, any type of game of chance a man might favor was in full swing. There was even a hazard table, the dice clicking merrily, in one corner. Aidan’s cousin, George Stonemere, raked in the bones and gave them a shake. Judging from the hard set of his mouth, the dice had not been kind to him.

“If Lady Chudderley ever tires of being a meddlesome busybody, she might set up for gaming hell proprietress in earnest,” Aidan murmured.

At the
poque
table at the far end of the room, Rosalinde’s father hunched over a dwindling stack of chips. The regretful expression on his heavily jowled face reminded Aidan of a dog who’d just pissed the rug.

After shadowing Mr. Burke on a trek through a number of gaming establishments one night, Aidan knew the man was in debt. In fact, he’d made it a point to quietly buy up the lion’s share of Mr. Burke’s vowels from his creditors, to keep Rosalinde’s father from being hounded for repayment. The former commissioner had no idea Aidan Danaher held his IOUs, a princely sum. He suspected that despite his recent elevation to rank and privilege, Mr. Burke still considered Aidan little more than the Irish convict who used to muck out his stables and spit-shine his boots. When Rosalinde’s father saw him, his face brightened with calculation and he motioned for Aidan to join them.

“Don’t know why it is, Stonemere, but I seem to have better luck with the cards when you’re playing too,” Mr. Burke said expansively.

“Perhaps because it’s always good luck to have a player with poorer luck at the table,” Aidan said with a self-deprecating chuckle as he pulled up a chair. The play was fast and furious. He made sure Mr. Burke raked in the next three pots.

He and the commissioner had made their public peace months ago, when they first ran into each other on English soil.

“Knew you couldn’t have been guilty,” the commissioner had said gruffly. “Glad to see an injustice overturned.”

Aidan had merely smiled. Mr. Burke knew Aidan had confessed to the crime of which he was accused, but because he now had a milord before his name, somehow that fact was conveniently forgotten. In public, at least. A man with a title might do anything with impunity, it seemed.

Aidan’s mother must truly have loved his bounder of a father for her to have given up such power to follow him to a piss-poor potato farm in Ireland. Or maybe the old devil had used the
Knack
on her. Aidan was never quite sure how matters stood between the two of them. She was every inch a lady of quality and his father was as rough as they came.

“Such a man is a trial to the soul,” his mother would say, but the smile that tugged at the corners of her sweet mouth also said such a man was wildly exciting.

Wildly exciting or not, his father didn’t provide Aidan and his younger brother Liam with a stable home. The family moved from shire to shire, his da taking work where he could get it. When things got too hard, his mother had packed Aidan and Liam off to live with their English cousins in Wiltshire. After growing up wild as thistles in Ireland, transplanting them to Stonehaven was a disaster on all counts.

Two players tossed down their hands and excused themselves, clearly disgusted at the former commissioner’s continued string of good luck.

“I see there’s room for another player.”

Aidan looked up to find his cousin George standing by an open chair.

Good.
He hadn’t even had to use the
Knack
to lure him to the table. Aidan didn’t want to dissipate its power should he need it later, but he’d have done it if George hadn’t moved to the
poque
table soon. He wanted to make sure George was in on the final hand. Without speaking, Aidan waved his cousin to a vacant chair. He didn’t want to chance George hearing the slightest hint of excitement in his voice over this development.

“I, too, would like to play.” Viscount Musgrave appeared suddenly, squeezing through the crowd.

Aidan frowned. Even though Musgrave had been visiting Stonehaven when the murder occurred, he didn’t suspect the viscount and didn’t need him around in order to further his scheme to clear his name.

Especially since Rosalinde was still hanging on the man’s arm, all flushed and lightly winded from her exertions on the dance floor. A couple of curls at her temples had loosened and now dangled past her chin. The effect was too soft, too sensual for fashion.
Undone.
The light sheen on her cheeks reminded Aidan of how delectable she looked after a good hard swive, her skin glistening, spent with pleasurable effort.

Aidan tamped down his body’s reaction to her. He needed to focus his energy elsewhere now. On his cousin George, mostly.

“There you are, Father,” Rosalinde said as she hurried around to Mr. Burke’s side. Aidan stood to acknowledge her presence, as all the men did, but she didn’t spare him a glance. “Aunt is looking for you.”

“Well, if Lady Chudderley comes here, she’ll find me, gel,” her father said. “My luck’s running too high to leave the table just now.”

“True enough,” Aidan said with what he hoped was a hangdog expression. “Your father’s about to turn out me pockets.”

In truth, it had been a good trick to lose to him. Mr. Burke was an abominable player, but Aidan needed him to win. It was the only way to make his plan work.

“By all means, sit down, Lord Musgrave,” Rosalinde’s father insisted. “But don’t feel badly if I beat you too.” He turned his head toward his daughter. “Tell her ladyship I’ll attend her after I relieve Lord Stonemere of the rest of his chips.”

“Shouldn’t take long at the rate ye’re going,” Aidan said amiably as the dealer started flicking cards at each of them.

Rosalinde made no move to deliver her father’s message, instead taking up a position from which she could scowl at Mr. Burke most conveniently when he wasn’t looking. Aidan decided it was preferable to have her here after all, so there’d be no confusion later about what happened.

Viscount Musgrave settled beside Aidan. “I must say, I wouldn’t have figured you for a man who didn’t mind losing.”

“Cards are nothing,” Aidan said, shooting Rosalinde a quick glance. She refused to meet his gaze. “But there are some things it would pain me a great deal to lose.”

“I daresay prison taught my cousin patience in losing,” George said artlessly.

Someone’s breath hissed in surprise. It was one thing to be aware of a gentleman’s unsavory past, quite another to throw it in his face.

“It taught me many things, but mostly that a man makes his own luck when it comes to the important things in life,” Aidan said, breaking the uneasy silence. He glanced at the cards he’d been dealt.
Too good.
He tossed them, face-side-down into the center of the table, bowing out of a winning hand. “Certainly didn’t improve me luck at cards though,” he said with a laugh.

The next hand was better for his purposes. It was far worse. Aidan could hardly have had a weaker start, but he made a cautious bid.

“Want another drubbing, do you?” Mr. Burke said and matched his bet.

The viscount and cousin George were both in. Aidan raised his stakes, with less caution this time.

“I believe he may have the cards this hand,” Lord Musgrave said as the bidding went around the table. “But I’ll back my own.”

When one of his opponents showed signs of flagging, Aidan
Sent
him a strong silent suggestion and they all continued to bid. Finally, Aidan shoved his remaining chips into the center of the table.

“I can buy that pot, you know,” Mr. Burke said.

“But ye’re too much the gentleman to do that. Allow me to sweeten it further, if ye will.” Aidan leaned forward and caught the eyes of every player around the table. “My lake is teeming with trout. The woods in Wiltshire are full of gamebirds and trophy bucks. To my wager, I’ll add a fortnight for all of ye as guests on my country estate. I’ll show ye such sport, ye’ll talk of it for the rest of your lives.”

“Fur, fins, and feathers, eh? Some men prefer other quarry,” George said with a wink. “Will there be women?”

“Of course. Bring your families as well. Perhaps your mother and sister would enjoy a country outing, Musgrave.” Aidan turned to the viscount, purposely misunderstanding his cousin. He needed this to be a respectable house party, not a rakehell’s orgy. Though if all went well, he’d have his own private carouse with Rosalinde.

Viscount Musgrave eyed Aidan thoughtfully for a moment. “It’s been years since I visited Stonehaven. Very well, I’ll take that bet.”

“And I,” Mr. Burke agreed, slapping down the appropriate wager.

George squinted at Aidan. “I wouldn’t mind staying at the family seat again, though I warn you, this may turn into a more expensive wager than you intend.”

Aidan let his lip twitch, hoping George would take it for a tell that he was bluffing.

“Let’s see your cards, cousin.” George pushed a stack of chips forward.

Aidan slumped his shoulders and tossed his pitiful hand into the center of the table. “Looks like ye gentlemen have sniffed out me bluff. I lose.”