The Story of a Baron (The Sisters of the Aristocracy) (4 page)

His eyebrows rising to meet his hair, Jeffrey nodded. “The entire day,” he agreed with a sigh.

Wondering if her maid was still within earshot, Evangeline glanced around. “Me, too,” she replied, suddenly forgetting about her intention to call on Lady Samantha at eleven o’clock. Giving the baron a shrug, she considered their options. She could read it and then have it delivered to the baron’s residence. Or she could allow him to read it first and have it delivered to Rosemount House. Or ...

“Would you agree to read it ... together?” she offered with a raised eyebrow. “The weather is fine. We could find a bench in the square ...”

“And read it side-by-side?” the baron wondered, a shiver of excitement racing up his spine. His voice was quiet, as if they were arranging a clandestine
affaire
.

A shiver passed through Evangeline, the sensation leaving behind goose bumps on her arms and down her spine. “I think we shall have to. Although I can read upside-down when circumstances require, I would not wish to do so when reading for pleasure.”

Another shiver passed through Jeffrey. Pleasure. The woman read for pleasure.
Probably because she has nothing else to do, poor thing
. He could think of several other things she could do for pleasure, none of them involving books. All of them involving him. Naked, between the linens of his favorite bed in the family estate in Herefordshire. Or in his bedchamber in Sommers Place in Cavendish Square. “Of course,” was all he could manage, hoping his arousal wasn’t going to make itself evident behind the placket of his breeches.

“Then, it’s settled,” Evangeline stated with a curt nod. Clutching the book in one arm, she led the way to the stairs, knowing her maid would hurry to join them at any moment. Before she reached the bottom of the stairs, she had both gloves pulled onto her hands. When she passed by the circular desk, she merely nodded to one of the clerks, who acknowledged her with a quick nod and a receipt ready for her to sign.

By the time they reached the front door of the bookshop, Lord Sommers had hurried forward to open the door.

He stood aside as Lady Evangeline and her maid took their leave of the store. When he noticed Mr. Pritchard staring at him with a look of shock, he gave the man a shrug. “Perhaps you can order me another?” he said
sotto voce
. He tossed a shilling in the man’s direction. “Good day,” he called out and hurried to catch up to the women.

Chapter 5

Affaire in the Square

A moment later, Grandby descended the stairs into the lobby of the bookshop, his eyes darting about as if he expected books to come flying off the shelves. When he was noticed by the manager, he gave the man a nod and hurried up to him. “Did Lady Evangeline leave with Lord Sommers?” he asked
sotto voce.

Harold Pritchard nodded, wondering at the earl’s lowered voice. “She did,” he confirmed, a bit reluctantly. “With his book,” he added, one eyebrow cocked up.

Grandby frowned, wondering if the man meant that Lady Evangeline had run off with a book that belonged to the baron or if he meant the baron had written the book. If Lord Sommers was in pursuit, Evangeline was at a disadvantage given her heeled shoes. And the fact that she was of the feminine persuasion. “Good day,” he said quickly, donning his hat as he took his leave of the shop and wondered why his goddaughter would have done such a thing as steal a baron’s book.

He spotted the pair as they made their way into the center of the square. From the way they walked side-by-side, Lady Evangeline’s hand on Lord Sommers’ arm, it didn’t appear as if Lord Sommers was in pursuit of Lady Evangeline, nor did he seem like he was in a hurry to retrieve his book. Evangeline’s maid followed behind, apparently unconcerned that her mistress was in the company of the baron. Curious, the earl crossed the street and entered the square, deciding he needed to keep an eye on the situation.

Located in Finsbury Square, the building that hosted The Temple of the Muses proved the perfect backdrop as Lord Sommers and Lady Evangeline settled themselves onto a park bench. The baron made sure to leave a few inches between them at first, but when Evangeline opened the book to the first page, she allowed him to pull the book in his direction so that one side of it rested on his left thigh while the other was held by her gloved hand which she supported on her right thigh.

“Are you a fast reader?” Jeffrey wondered as he allowed her to turn the front pages until the first page of Chapter One appeared. “I ask only because I am not,” he clarified, not wanting to attempt to race her to the finish of each spread.

“Not particularly,” Evangeline replied with a shake of her head. “But if I get to the end of a page before you do, I shall wait until you have indicated you are ready for the next.”

Jeffrey nodded and then wondered if he should feel a bit offended. Did the earl’s daughter think him incapable of reading at the same speed as she? Although he usually didn’t read quickly, he had written the book – he could probably skim the thing and be done in a hour or so.

Of course, he had no idea what his publisher had done with the manuscript after their last meeting. An editor might have changed the story a bit, or added a character or deleted a chapter. He might have changed his prose so much the life would be sucked out of his carefully constructed words, or perhaps the man had embellished the story to make it more flowery or less comedic or more dramatic or completely ridiculous.
I’ll have to read it completely
, he realized, giving Evangeline a nod when he realized she was waiting for a response. “I am ready, my lady,” he said with more certainty than he felt.

“As am I,” Evangeline replied with a grin. She lowered her spectacles so they rested on the end of her nose and began to read.

Chapter 6

Chapter One: In Another Time and Place

Matthew Winters, Baron Ballantine, entered his favorite bookshop in search of a particular new title. Having just returned from the family estate in Shropshire, a poorly maintained pile set against a hill and overlooking pastures dotted with sheep and a fishing pond, the baron found the library in his bachelor apartments just as depressing as when he’d left it the year before.

He had missed the fall sessions of Parliament in favor of helping with the harvest and seeing to repairs on several structures on Ballantine properties. Christmas at Ballantine Park had been boring in the extreme – three days of drifting snow prevented him from leaving the estate, even to ride his horse. Once the snow had melted, it was time to arrange for seed and sowing. Not particularly fond of farming and having tenants who could see to the lands, Matthew decided it was time to return to Mayfair.

The Season was about to begin.

Despite the pleasant weather and a stack of invoices that demanded his attention – and most of his bank account – Matthew was determined to spend the day ensconced in his library reading. Trouble was, he had read every book on the shelves.

Well,
read
was probably too strong a word.

The tome on farming had at least been opened and occasionally used for reference, and the two on parliamentary procedure had been excellent sleep aides, but Ballantine was in search of more satisfying fare. Nothing fictional, he had decided the night before, but rather something to help with a particular problem. Hence, his trip to his favorite bookshop, The Palace of Prose.

The baron made his way to the third story of the shop, figuring the book he sought,
In Pursuit of the Perfect Woman: A Gentleman’s Guide to Finding a Wife
, would be mid-priced. At least, Thomas Christianson, the Earl of Atherton, had assured him it was affordable. Atherton had also sworn by the book’s recommendations, claiming to have used its advice to gain not only a loving wife, but one who came with a substantial dowry and a disposition that not only tolerated his mistress, but encouraged him to take another. “You never know when the first one will tire of you, dear,” she’d apparently said, “So it’s best to have another waiting in the wings. Or between the sheets, I suppose.”

Matthew wasn’t sure if he believed his friend’s recollection of Lady Atherton’s position on mistresses, but the man did have money with which to gamble at Black’s. Although Matthew didn’t gamble to excess – he couldn’t afford to do so given his limited means – he thought it would be an improvement for his position in Society to stay at the gaming tables longer than half an hour once a week.

The baron stopped in his tracks as he reached the top of the stairs. Although it was too early for most shoppers of the famed bookseller, the third floor could claim at least one other on this pleasant day.

One of the female persuasion.

A female who was rather beautiful, in fact. Lit from above by a skylight and dressed entirely in pink, she appeared almost angelic as the beams of light cascaded around her. Although her head was bent over an open book and somewhat shadowed by the brim of her pink bonnet, her profile suggested she was young but at least of marriageable age.

As Matthew Winters regarded the tall gel at the end of the hallway, he thought she seemed familiar, but he couldn’t place where he might have met her. In a ballroom, perhaps, or maybe she had been perched on a phaeton parked outside of Hunter’s Tea Emporium.

The thought reminded him that he’d promised his mother he would escort her to Hunter’s for an ice sometime that week. Given the fair weather, he figured he had best fulfill the obligation sooner than later. If it rained, he’d be forced to enter the premises and endure being introduced to every available unmarried daughter of the peerage.

Well, a number of them anyway.

The shop wasn’t large enough to accommodate all of them.

The baron made his way past the shelves featuring books on botany and physiology and around a table on which was an artfully arranged display of books on keeping a household.

Convinced the woman was about to take her leave of the book shop, Matthew was determined to introduce himself before she did so.

Passing the sportsman’s section, he paused to glance at a book on fly-fishing. He was about to open the slim volume when he noticed the woman motioning toward one of the lounging rooms. He was nearly in greeting distance when her lady’s maid suddenly appeared in the doorway.

Damnation!

The woman turned and regarded him for only a moment, recognition suddenly apparent in her eyes. “Ah, Lord Ballantine,” the willowy blonde said as she held out her hand in his direction. The maid suddenly stepped back and pretended to study a book on art history.

Stunned, Matthew had to force his mouth to stay closed. Apparently they had met in the past, but he still couldn’t put a name to the face. She was poised, not the least bit embarrassed about her height, and definitely not a milkwater maid. “My lady,” he answered as he took her hand and kissed the back of the pink silken glove. “You have me at a disadvantage, I’m afraid,” he admitted, deciding a bluff wouldn’t work.

The woman, who sported a light pink pelisse and matching parasol, which, thankfully, remained closed, gave him a brilliant smile. “Geraldine Porterhouse. I believe you play cards with my brother, Richard.” After a slight pause, she added, “Lord Afterly,” in her light voice. A familiar voice.

Matthew gave a quick shake of his head.
Of course, I wouldn’t have known the lady’s identity!
The last time he had seen Lady Geraldine Porterhouse, she was still in the schoolroom! “I suppose no one gets away with calling you ‘Jerry’ these days,” he commented in a teasing voice.

Her sea green eyes widening in surprise, Geraldine raised a hand to cover her mouth. “You
do
remember! Although, I must admit, I wish you didn’t,” she replied with a wan smile. A pink flush colored her face before she could lower her head.

The brim of her pink hat briefly hid her features from Matthew.
She’s become a lovely creature
, he thought as he wondered to whom she was married.

Her parents, the Earl and Countess of Afterly, had both drowned when their Continent-bound ship went down near the coast of Spain. They had been on their Grand Tour of Europe, their trip nearly complete when they perished. Richard Porterhouse, still in his twenties, inherited the earldom. But his penchant for traveling – his avocation was archaeology – meant his younger sister was left on her own for months at a time. At least the poor chit was a sociable creature; she managed to attend a variety of
ton
events despite not having an escort nor a companion at her elbow. Even though he had only been back in London a few days, Matthew had already heard some gossip about her – everyone in the
ton
had heard about the supposed exploits of Lady Geraldine Porterhouse.

“It looks as if you were about to take your leave. May I escort you to your carriage?” Matthew offered, extending an elbow in her direction.

Geraldine glanced back to ensure her maid still shadowed her. “Why, that’s very kind of you, my lord,” she replied, moving to rest her hand on his arm as if she did it everyday. “I am actually on my way to shop in New Bond Street.”

“Call me Ballantine, of course,” he replied quickly, daring a quick glance at Geraldine’s jewel-bedecked hand on his arm. There were three rings, but none on her fourth finger.

The daughter of an earl gave him a nod. “A barony seems to suit you, Ballantine,” Geraldine commented as she allowed him to lead them down the stairs. “How long has it been?” she wondered.

Matthew knew she referred to the death of his father, a rather unexpected event that left his mother an almost helpless widow and a barony near receivership. “Coming up on four years now,” he finally answered, chiding himself on how he had allowed the innocent question to result in a sudden fit of melancholy.

They made their way to the front of the bookstore, Geraldine’s maid following close behind. Not comfortable making small talk, Ballantine wondered what topic he might bring up to keep the gel talking. “Forgive me, but I don’t recall reading about your wedding. Who is the lucky man, if I may ask?” he wondered as a footman saw to the door.

Turning her head to regard the baron as they passed through the front doors of the establishment, Geraldine had to resist the urge to snort. “You didn’t read about a wedding involving me because there hasn’t been one,” she countered with a shake of her head and a quick wave of the hand decorated with gemstones. Or, perhaps they were paste. He couldn’t really tell.

Matthew nearly stopped in his tracks.
Not married?
Geraldine Porterhouse was one of prettiest chits in the
ton!
Her father had been an earl. Her brother was now the Earl of Afterly. How could she have avoided the bonds of marriage? “But you’re ... betrothed, certainly,” Matthew replied, glancing up and down the street in an attempt to determine which piece of equipage would be taking the chit to her next destination.

Geraldine Porterhouse gave an audible sigh. “I am not, actually,” she replied with an eyebrow that arched suggestively. “A situation that will probably not change until my brother can see fit to spend more than a fortnight in London. Or a highwayman kidnaps me and takes me to Gretna Green,” she added in a suddenly excited voice, one eyebrow arching up again, as if she found the prospect of an elopement preferable to a more respectable betrothal.

Frowning, Matthew wondered where in the world Richard Porterhouse might be at the moment. “Is Afterly still in Greece?” he guessed, his frown forming a vertical line between his brows.

“Rome now, I think,” Geraldine replied with a shrug. “But I’ve received word he will be returning soon. Which means he’s about to run out of funding and needs to come home to beg for more,” she said
sotto voce
. “I certainly hope he remembered his promise to bring me back a bauble or two from Italy. Seems the least he can do after leaving me alone for so long.”

Matthew nodded his understanding. Richard Porterhouse spent months abroad on archeological expeditions, digging up bits of pottery and other remnants of societies long dead. “Does he truly leave you ... alone?” Matthew asked with concern, a shiver of excitement traveling down his spine as another part of him anticipated what he could be doing with the divine Miss Porterhouse until her brother returned from the Continent. Kissing her, certainly. Divesting her of the ridiculous pink gown she wore. Taking his time as he learned every inch of her with his tongue and teeth and the tips of his fingers. Burying himself inside her. Taking his pleasure until he was delirious. Giving her pleasure until she nearly fainted. And then doing it all over again the next day.

“Why, Lord Ballantine, you naughty boy,” Geraldine replied with a lifted eyebrow, her voice suggesting she wasn’t teasing but guessing exactly what he was thinking.

His face reddening at her comment, Matthew wondered how he could respond. Agree with her assessment? He
was
thinking rather naughty thoughts of her just then.

Deny he had been thinking any such things? He could, but then he’d be telling a lie.

Ignore her comment? Ignore it, and then say something completely unrelated so she would be forced to change the subject?

He was about to agree with her when the earl’s daughter suddenly stopped, forcing Matthew to spin to his right as her hand still clung to his arm. Geraldine’s maid, only a few steps behind them, nearly collided with her mistress.

Almost face-to-face, Matthew regarded Geraldine with a stunned look. “My lady?” he said in alarm.

Geraldine blinked, and her mouth was open as if she were about to speak, but no sound came out at first. Lowering her face, Geraldine sighed. “I apologize, my lord,” she said in a small voice. “I ... I cannot believe I could be so ...
bold
. So brazen. You must think me awfully uncouth,” she added in a most apologetic tone.

Matthew stared at the suddenly sorrowful woman who stood before him. Her confident air had been replaced with one of contrition, her willowy frame appearing shrunken as her shoulders slumped. He thought he saw her eyes brighten with unshed tears. And at the thought that she might start to cry right there in the middle of New Bond Street had the baron in a state of near panic. “My lady, whatever you are thinking, let me assure you, there is no reason to believe that you have offended me, for you have not,” he assured her. “And I ... I do not think of you as particularly bold. Or brazen,” he added for good measure.

Liar
, he thought just as quickly. For, compared to other ladies of the
ton
, he suddenly realized Lady Geraldine
was
rather bold. And a bit too brazen, in fact. And the only woman on the planet with whom he could imagine enjoying the scandalous activities they could perform in his bedchamber.

Or hers.

I am going to hell
.

Geraldine lifted her head, her eyes finally meeting his. One tear had escaped and was leaving a wet trail down her cheek. “I merely meant to tease,” she whispered, lifting her reticule in an attempt to find a handkerchief. Before she could get it open, though, Matthew had his own out of his pocket and was gently dabbing at her cheek.

He could admit he was guilty of the very crime she mentioned. He should own up to it. He should put her out of her misery and admit she was right. But he found he rather liked this version of Lady Geraldine. Teary-eyed damsel in distress. All woman. All soft and pliable. Angelic.

I could put her on a pedestal and worship her
, he thought with a sigh.

But I’d rather worship her naked body in my bed
, his baser side argued.

Christ!
He hadn’t realized how much he missed having a mistress until that very moment. If he spent two more minutes with the lady, she would be in grave danger of losing her maidenhead – if she even still possessed it, given the
on-dit
that suggested she had been intimate with at least three gentlemen. Matthew had a passing thought that her jewels might have been gifts from those gentleman, a thought that had his good mood suddenly turning sour.

Matthew glanced around, desperate to find an excuse to take his leave of her. “Let me assure my lady that you may tease me whenever you wish,” Matthew finally said, not realizing how his words could be misinterpreted.