The Daughter of an Earl (4 page)

What if Brett is not my problem, but my solution?

The man was good at resolving difficult situations, accomplishing what he set his mind to, and persuading people to do his bidding.

He was also slick as a cardsharp, and cardsharps always won.

She had vowed to consort with the devil to achieve her goal. Satan appeared in many guises. If he posed as a shrewd, handsome American businessman for this sojourn, so be it. She was a woman of her word.

She would get Brett Curtis to assist her.

In return, she would escort his sisters to London and to shop along Oxford Street, liberating Brett to search for his wayward cousin.

To set her plan in motion, she needed allies. Melody was right. Brett might be able to fend off two women, but four? Well, then it would be like trying to change the direction of salmon en route to spawn, or in this case, to shop.

“I would love to offer you my services as an escort in London. You can stay with us at Keaton House during your visit. Father has business in the city and has been badgering me to accompany him. What better reason to do so than to visit Madame Duchard's?”

Emily did not glance Julia's way after noting her parted lips and wide eyes. Julia must think Emily's two heads had sprouted horns, so stunned did her sister appear.

Melody clapped her hands in glee. “That is a marvelous plan.”

Miranda's brow furrowed. “Lady Emily, perhaps you should confer with the earl before extending—”

“My father will be absolutely delighted to have you join us.” She waved away Miranda's concerns. “He has been worried about my not getting out enough and encouraging me to enjoy the Season. I have a tendency to rusticate in the
country more than I should, so a city excursion will alleviate my father's worries about my growing roots and sprouting leaves.”

Once upon a time, she had relished the never-ending whirl of balls, garden parties, and elaborate dinners. Since Jason's death, Emily no longer felt as if she belonged there. Did not know if she ever would—or if she could summon the energy to try. But to obtain the answers she sought and for Jason's sake, she would force herself to return—and more difficult, pretend to belong.

“It is a grand offer. I do not know how to thank you. Brett will be indebted to you,” Melody said. “After all, you are sparing him an evisceration at the gallows.”

Emily hoped their brother shared their gratitude, but she had no idea how the man would respond. He was an American, and nor did he behave as one expected. He could be outspoken, irreverent, and unpredictable.

She hoped the positive attributes upon which she was counting overrode these problematic ones.

“This is a generous offer,” Miranda said. “If you are quite certain your father would approve, we would be honored to accept.” Her worried gaze drifted to Julia.

“As Emily says, I am certain Father will agree to the plan and the company.” Julia hastened to assure them, recovering her power of speech and looking delighted. “But to alleviate any doubts, let him speak for himself.” Julia clutched the baby close, swept to her feet, and with the Curtis sisters following, led their group over to the men.

Surprised at the speed in which the events were unfolding, Emily followed at a slower pace.

“Papa, Emily has had the most delightful idea!” Julia announced. “Miranda and Melody expressed an interest in visiting London, so Emily invited the girls and Brett to stay with you and her at Keaton House.” Julia beamed at her father, as if she was bestowing on him a prized gift.

All the men's eyes turned to Emily. Usually a loquacious man, her father appeared to have been rendered mute, so stunned was he. Emily's cheeks warmed.

“Is that so?” Brett said in a slow drawl.

His deep voice rumbled through her body, and she blinked as she met his curious gaze. She had paused beside him, and he stood so close that she could smell the subtle fragrance of his cologne, see the gleam in his eyes. He wore his hair unfashionably long, so it brushed the collar of his shirt. She swallowed at the sudden dryness in her mouth.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

She lifted her chin and plastered a bright smile on her face. “Father has business in London, and your sisters tell me that you do as well, so I thought an invitation to Keaton House to be timely.”

“It will save you that long walk off a short pier,” Melody said, squeezing Emily's arm and shooting Brett a triumphant look. “You do recall saying that you would prefer to take—”

“Yes, Melody, my memory is just fine.” Brett cut his sister off. “It is yours that I worry about. If you recall, I promised to escort you to the city as soon as I tied up my business matter. I refuse to impose on Lord Taunton or Lady Emily's generosity when—”

“Impose! Please, impose! In fact, I insist.” Her father had recovered his voice, and it boomed out. He hastened to Emily's side, his eyes glowing. “I should have thought of it myself. Have to thank Emily for doing so.”

“Really, we cannot—” Brett began.

“You can. You must! A visit to England is not complete without a trip to London,” he said, echoing Julia's words. “As the Season is in its infancy, I am sure we can extract invitations to those events the ladies would enjoy. Isn't that right, Emily?”

Emily's smile wavered. A familiar quickening of nerves had her pulse racing and her heart pounding, momentarily paralyzing her. She had to tamp down the desperate urge to rescind her invitation and stay rooted in Bedfordshire. Safe. Protected. Away from the prying eyes, the censure, and those endless murmurs.

How is she? Better? She never was quite the same after the viscount's death. So very young. A tragedy.

She forced her breathing to level as she had practiced, calming herself.
For Jason's sake. For justice.

“Of course. I am sure there is a pile of invitations awaiting us.” She hoped they did not bury her. “I shall make a point of weeding through the most promising.” And deadheading those from sycophants and tittle-tattlers. The former seeking favor from the earl, the latter looking for grist to feed the ever-churning gossip mill. “I am sure there are many that will suit our needs.”

Daniel dropped a hand on Brett's shoulder, a teasing gleam in his eyes. “Actually, staying at Keaton House will suit yours as well, Brett. As you have given up your apartments and have been lodging in the room above your office. Keaton House is far more hospitable with Lady Emily and Taunton helping to make your sisters' visit to our fair isle an unforgettable one. Lady Emily will garner invitations to the very best events. While you may not appreciate the advantages that come with titled connections, you cannot deny your sisters the right to do so. To dance at the Duke of Hartwick's ball, to attend Lady Davis's garden party, and of course, to—”

“I understand,” Brett said through gritted teeth. He shrugged his shoulder, dislodging Daniel's grip and addressing Emily and her father. “Lord Taunton and Lady Emily, to secure my two favorite sisters their happiness, I accept your generous invitation to—” He got no further. His words were drowned out by his sisters' squeals of excitement. Melody released Emily to tug Brett down by his shoulders and gave him a smacking kiss on his cheek.

His indulgent smile set off a flutter in Emily's breast.

When the silence settled, Miranda spoke up. “Two of your favorite sisters? What about Merritt?”

“Merritt who?” Brett winked.

Melody laughed and caught Miranda's arm to draw her away, their heads close together.

“Your sisters tasked me with moving a mountain,” Julia said. “I thank you for enabling me to do so. I feel quite heroic.”

“It is not me whom you should thank, but Lady Emily.
You do know they will not be fit to live with once they experience a London Season. But I admit, you have rescued me from a nagging, begging, and whining siege.”

The Curtis sisters clearly shared their brother's tenacity in the pursuit of their goals. Emily would keep that in mind.

“I am indebted to you,” Brett added, giving her a courtly bow.

And that was her plan—to have him in her debt.

She couldn't resist a smile of triumph, but when he straightened and those deep, fathomless blue eyes met hers, her smile wavered. Her heart skipped as if she had raced downstairs and missed a step. The man stirred up yearnings she did not want to feel.
Attraction. Desire. Lust.

Worse, he dug up old memories. Tumultuous memories of joy and . . . pain. Everything she had fought to bury with Jason.

W
HAT
business do you have in London? As your largest investor, I have a vested interest in matters concerning the company,” Daniel said as he lifted a decanter of whiskey from the mahogany bar and collected two tumblers.

It was late evening, and Brett and Daniel had retired to Bedford Hall's billiard room. A blend of gray-green marble and red mahogany, the room was another legacy of Daniel's late brother and his lavish renovations upon his inheritance of the title. Brett had never felt at ease in the ostentatious room, but he gave neither his environs nor Daniel's words any heed. His mind was preoccupied with another matter—

Lady Emily Chandler's curious invitation.

For a woman bent on skirting his company over the past year, he could not fathom what had brought about this abrupt change of heart. She had been unwavering in her disinterest, her defenses entrenched and damn near impenetrable. Not that it mattered, because there could never be anything between them. A decade ago, another earl had told him exactly how they felt
about their pampered daughters marrying untitled Americans who work in trade.

So it begged the question, after a year of doing the dance of avoidance, why had Lady Emily extended an invitation to stay with her and her father at Keaton House?

“That bad?” Daniel said.

Startled, Brett's eyes met Daniel's and he snatched the glass of whiskey from his friend's hand. “What the devil is her purpose in inviting me and the girls to Keaton House?”

Daniel paused in lifting his glass to his mouth, and a scowl blackened his features. “You best not rescind your acceptance. Julia will have my head, and I am not spending another night in the guest quarters.”

“I am not . . .” Brett began and then paused, intrigued. “Another? Has the blush of wedded bliss faded so soon? Do you need advice? After all, I have a way with women and—”

“Yet you still remain a bachelor. I will keep my own counsel because my bed is almost never empty, which is more than I can say for yours.” Daniel tipped his glass in a toast and drank.

Brett had no witty retort to refute the pitiful truth. His bed
was
empty. Had been for too damn long. His mood souring, he twirled his glass in his hand, brooding into the amber depths. When he met Daniel's amused gaze, he addressed his earlier comment. “Why, pray tell, is my head in jeopardy with your wife if I do not take Lady Emily up on her invitation?”

Daniel leaned back against the bar and sighed. “According to Julia, this is the first time since her fiancé's death that Emily has, of her own accord, extended an invitation to anyone, let alone expressed interest in rejoining society. So my lovely, overprotective wife is delighted with this turn of events, and you cannot cry off. It will upset Emily, which then upsets my wife, which will then upset me.” He narrowed his eyes. “I will have to call you out. As you know, I am a lousy shot, so this will have a very bad ending for one of us. Do you understand?”

“I do.” Brett's lips twitched.

“Good.”

“What do you mean Lady Emily has not joined society? She has traveled to London numerous times. She was with us that autumn when I was tossed from the curricle.”

“I did point that out to Julia, but she explained that while Emily visits the city, she declines most social invitations, preferring to avoid large gatherings of the ton.”

“As do I. You said Lady Emily was a good judge of character.” He shrugged. “This simply affirms your words.”

Daniel laughed. “True. But your exile is due to your contempt for—to borrow your words
—the haughty pomposity of the vacuous half-wits who wear their aristocratic titles like haloed crowns. All the while, they are incapable of dressing themselves, adding a simple sum to keep their estates out of debt, toss down fortunes at the turn of a
—”

“I understand.” Brett held up his hand. “However, I call them empty-headed peacocks, not half-wits. No need to mock poor simpletons for a mental deficiency that, unlike your ton, is no fault of their own. Otherwise, that is an accurate assessment of your aristocracy.” Suddenly aware of his audience, he quickly added, “Of course, that is, with the exception of Your Grace and a select few.”

“Of course,” Daniel said dryly. “Very kind of you to make an exception for me.”

“Your decade in America thinned your blue blood. And building Curtis Shipping from the ground up, your hands now carry the stains of trade. No erasing that, my friend.”

Daniel nodded. “I also dress myself and can do a simple sum in my head—that is unless Julia is nearby. It is the damnedest thing, but when that woman is in the room, all coherent thought goes right—”

“Then you tend to think with another part of your anatomy. It is why you are no longer a full partner in the firm.”

“Touché.” Daniel smiled. “However, I do not know how Melody maneuvered Emily to extend the invitation to you and your sisters, but Julia is pleased with this turn of events. And when my wife is content, I am—”

“Not sleeping in the guest quarters,” Brett said.

“Exactly.” Daniel grinned.

Brett took another sip of his whiskey, pondering Emily's reason for avoiding society, and if Melody was truly responsible for changing Emily's mind. The East India House, the company headquarters of the East India Company, was located on Leadenhall Street in London. Drummond had refused to assist Emily, and she had rejected Brett's offer of help. But if Emily sought clarification for the questions she had in regard to her fiancé's work, it would be difficult to do so with his sisters in tow.

As a businessman, he was used to having everything add up into neat, logical sums. This invitation did not add up. He was missing information. With his sisters joining Lady Emily in the city, Brett had a vested interest in ferreting out what was missing. Lady Emily might be in need of a better chaperone than the absentminded Agnes, but he refused to allow his sisters to step into that role. Not when it involved clandestine meetings with men of Mr. Drummond's ilk.

“So you will go?” Daniel said.

“I will. Far be it from me to be the source of so much distress. Besides, while you are a lousy shot, Melody is not. She would shoot me and not shed a tear.” Brett could not resist adding, “And when have I ever turned down an invitation from a beautiful woman?”

“Having seen Emily fend off your attention over the past year, I am confident of her success in continuing to do so. As I said, she is a good judge of character.”

“Everyone has their blind spots.” He must be standing in Emily's. It was time he shifted to a more favorable position.

Daniel shook his head, but refused to comment. “Since I have been distracted with the festivities, we have not had a chance to catch up properly. What is this business in London? I know there was something else on your mind. What is it?” Daniel walked over to an English Tudor cargo rack where mahogany cue sticks polished to a gleaming sheen were neatly stacked. “Game?”

Brett followed Daniel to select a tapered cue and chalk.
“This particular business does not concern Curtis Shipping. I am on a personal errand for Aunt Beverly.”

Daniel tipped his head to the side as if contemplating the matter. “Let me guess. She has sent you to retrieve something for her in Seven Dials, thus satisfying her lifelong wish for you to disappear?”

Seven Dials, near Covent Garden, named for its convergence of seven streets and its signature column with six sundials on it, was synonymous with abject poverty and all manner of craven vice. With its overcrowded slum dwellings and dark alleys, it would be an easy venue into which a gentleman could disappear, never to be heard from again. “Let us hope that is not where my search takes me.”

“You are serious,” Daniel marveled. “What has she lost?”

Brett smirked. “Your good friend, my beloved idiot of a cousin, Andrew Winslow Reynolds, now the Duke of Prescott, has disappeared, and I am tasked with finding him.”

Surprise crossed Daniel's features. “You did ask when you arrived if I had heard from Drew recently. Do you fear foul play? God knows, the family never wanted Drew to claim the title.” His eyes hardened. “Drew wrote and requested that I not give his father and brother the honor of my presence at their funeral, a snub I was happy to execute on Drew's behalf, but that is the last I heard from him. How long has he been gone? And why the devil are you tasked with finding him? Your aunt Beverly never trusted you with her crockery let alone her good silver, so why has she suddenly entrusted you with finding her lost heir?”

“About three months.” Brett rubbed his neck, which burned like a brand of guilt. “And . . . well, his last night was spent drinking with me.”

“Ahhhh,” Daniel said as if that explained the matter. He leaned against the bar and folded his arms across his chest. “I understand. You encouraged him to flee and seek his freedom in America, rather than don his ducal crown of thorns with all its aristocratic trappings.”

Brett tossed Daniel a black look, and took a sip before answering. “I might have said words to that effect. Hell, we
were both deep in our cups. Toasting his freedom from his father and Gordon's tyranny. Drew was in shock. As you know, being the fourth son, he never expected to inherit. Add to that, Prescott's mantle is not an easy one to bear, his father's legacy staining it black. Drew understands the full import of what becoming the Duke of Prescott entails.”

“But his friends know Drew for the man he is, as we know you to be more than a provincial American clod,” Daniel pointed out. At Brett's withering glare, Daniel held up his hands in defense. “However, I do understand that the name comes with a reputation that no man should have to carry. I remember that Drew rambled on about the year he spent painting in America after he visited us. The freedom that came with not being stamped as
that bastard's youngest son
. You can well imagine how he is grappling with taking the title, particularly when he has carved out an identity for himself as the artist A. W. Grant.

“His paintings did well in America, and those you brought over here garnered more admirers. In fact, his last picture sold for over two hundred pounds. If he does follow your advice and flee his ducal trappings, thanks to you, he has the funds to subsist independent of his inheritance. And his family has no inkling of this income. Probably a good thing, because his last picture of the delectable nude was risqué. Aunt Beverly would not approve, but I do.” Daniel grinned.

“It was Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty.” Brett shook his head. “And all these years, Drew was believed to be the simpleton in our trio. Glad you find this amusing. At least someone does.” But he had to concede Daniel's point. “I am aware that I have to accept some of the responsibility for his flight.”

“Some?” Daniel arched a brow. “You planted the seed and engineered the means for Drew to fund his escape.”

“Fine. More than some, but Drew is his own man, responsible for his own decisions.” He decided against showing Daniel the note his cousin had left his aunt. She had delivered the damning missive to Brett paired with a tongue-lashing
that still had his ears ringing. Best to keep its contents quiet until he had discussed the matter with Drew. That is, once he found his errant cousin. While Brett could not force Drew to return home, he hoped to deter him from pursuing the madcap course of action spelled out in his parting missive, and which now burned a hole in Brett's jacket pocket.

“As we both know how canny Drew is, I suspect his disappearance is shoving a thorn up your aunt's arse,” Daniel said. “She is probably in bed now calling for her smelling salts or laudanum. I say, well done, Drew. The woman deserves every torturous moment he can squeeze from the bitter old bat. However, his younger sisters do not. Drew knows this and would never abandon them. My guess is that he will return when he feels your aunt has sufficiently suffered.”

Brett relaxed enough to grin. “I surmised the same, so I told Aunt Beverly I will find Drew. However, I have no intentions of dragging him home until I determine his intentions. Or until Drew has played out whatever hand he has chosen to deal the woman.”

“Fair enough. When he does return, he will be the Sixth Duke of Prescott, making him another member of the peerage. You, my friend, might be forced to revise your opinion of our aristocracy. And”—he lowered his voice—“finally realize that not all of us are of the same ilk as the Earl of Wentworth.”

Brett's eyes snapped to Daniel's, the name like a fist to his gut.

“Just think on it, Brett. It is past time,” Daniel added.

Brett tossed his drink back. He only wished it could drown out the memory of the man whom Brett held responsible for nearly destroying him and all he sought to build.

Daniel cleared his throat. “Now then, to cheer you up, I will let you attempt to best me in billiards and win back the first of A. W. Grant's works. It is a generous offer, considering its stock is poised to increase with Prescott's ducal rise.”