Taking the Earl (Heiress Games Book 3) Page 5

  But it was, without a doubt, the most opulent room he’d ever been invited to sleep in.

  The dead earl’s taste had been formed a few decades earlier, when baroque fashions were all the rage. A maid would need to spend an entire day dusting the elaborate scrollwork and curlicues of the giant bureau against the north wall — let alone beating the heavy drapes that hung from the four-poster bed. If he wasn’t mistaken, the figurines on the fireplace mantel were solid jade. A matching pair of vases flanked the figurines. He lifted one, looking at the marking on the bottom. Ming Dynasty, without a doubt.

  Vases would be hard to transport, but the figurines alone were worth more than everything he’d stolen in his early days.

  He and Cressida had eaten in the receiving room — quietly, since they couldn’t know who might have been assigned to eavesdrop on them. The meal had been far more elaborate than the idea of “trays” had suggested, with multiple courses that encouraged lingering. Before he’d known it, over two hours had passed. When a footman had finally escorted them to their chambers, the man had said that the main dinner had ended as well, and that most of the guests had chosen to retire rather than going to the drawing room after the meal.

  That meant Max should retire too. He knew Ferguson was suspicious of him — he wouldn’t have encouraged Lucy to house him nearby if he wasn’t. Max could sneak around the house another night. Tonight, he was going to lie low.

  Since Max hadn’t brought a valet, the housekeeper had ordered a footman to unpack and hang Max’s belongings. The earl’s clothes had all been removed from the dressing room, and Max’s suits looked meager in the vast space. His trunk, though, was still in the dressing room. That might have been an insult in another case — in a house as grand as Maidenstone, there would be someplace to store luggage for the guests during their stay. The fact that his trunk was still in the room implied they weren’t sure Max would be staying longer than a night.

  But he was glad for their hesitation. If his trunk was in his room, it would be easier for him to make a quick escape. And while his favorite lock picks were tucked into the pocket of his waistcoat, his other tools were sewn into the lining of his trunk.

  He couldn’t believe they had gained entry so easily. Neither Miss Briarley nor the Duke of Rothwell were pleased to see him — not that he’d expected them to be, since a missing heir would throw everything into chaos. But they hadn’t stopped him from staying the night. If anything, Miss Briarley had seemed to warm to him over the course of their conversation.

  She might prove to be a problem.

  He’d flirted with her instinctively, hoping to gain a temporary ally. But it had been a little too easy to flirt. His jokes had come a little too naturally — drawn out by her wide, expressive dark eyes and her unexpected humor.

  She was confident, cool, and perfectly composed. She was also beautiful, especially when she was annoyed enough to relax her rigid, perfect posture. She was far too direct for the sheltered debutante he’d expected to find. And he’d found himself sparring with her for reasons that had nothing to do with finding hidden treasures.

  He’d have to be careful with her. But the night had gone as well as he could have hoped. He’d gained entrance to Maidenstone. His family would be settling into their roles, ready to look for valuables that they could steal. He had overcome the first hurdle.

  Or, at least, he thought he’d overcome the first hurdle. Behind him, someone knocked on the door.

  It was too early for Titus or Antonia to have anything to report. They wouldn’t risk coming to him outside of their agreed meeting times unless it was urgent. And Cressida knew better than to be seen out of her room alone after retiring for the night.

  He wasn’t sure what he expected when he opened the door. But whatever it was, it wasn’t Miss Lucretia Briarley.

  His breath caught in his throat.

  He couldn’t tell if the hairs on the back of his neck rose because the danger had increased — or because he was more pleased to see her than he should have been.

  This was not part of the plan.

  “I’m sorry for disturbing you, but my errand shan’t take long,” she said, brushing past him without an invitation. “Would you be so kind as to shut the door?”

  “If I’m not mistaken, this is unusual behavior for an unmarried lady,” he said.

  “Quite,” Miss Briarley replied.

  Max still hadn’t moved. He was too stunned by her appearance.

  Pretty was too weak a word for her. She looked like she might have been a goddess, or an empress. Her hair, still swept up for the evening, was glossy and perfectly contained. Her dress was understated, but the white muslin was a rich woman’s fabric — it could only belong to someone who had servants to manage the impossible task of keeping it clean. Her slippers had never seen mud or snow. And her jewelry — it was entirely appropriate for a young, unwed woman. But the strand of pearls around her throat could feed his family for half a year.

  She looked exactly as she had when she’d first entered the drawing room hours earlier — dressed impeccably, with an air of confidence that said she was accustomed, at least in this domain, to being entirely in command.

  It made him want to spar with her. Or it made him want to give in to the dark, daring look in her eyes.

  He’d passed the first hurdle and gotten into the house. But Lucretia was a far more formidable threat than he’d expected — both to the job and to his sanity.

  She looked at him calmly, nodding toward the door when he still hadn’t moved. “I don’t know how things are done in Golden Square, but I suggest you close the door before we’re caught together.”

  He shut the door, leaning against it for good measure. “In Golden Square, any woman who sought me out after dark could only be seeking one thing.”

  He wanted to shock her — perhaps to insult her, just a bit, as repayment for the insult she gave him by implying that Golden Square was beneath her. People often revealed too much when they were surprised — or when they were indignant.

  But Miss Briarley didn’t blush. “I could see how you might expect that, Mr. Vale.”

  “Then is that why you’re here?”

  “At the moment, no. That offer may come later, if you correctly play the hand you’re about to be dealt.”

  He hadn’t shocked her, but she had completely shocked him. And he couldn’t help but think of playing cards with her — and of her body as the prize. Would she be so perfectly composed while her limbs were wrapped around him? Would she seem so unattainable if she was writhing beneath him?

  He shook the vision out of his head. “What did you say?”

  She looked him directly in the eye. He’d only lit a single lamp — but now he wished he’d forgotten his frugality and set the room ablaze. He couldn’t read the emotion on her face, but he saw the set of her shoulders and the way she’d planted her feet.

  She was there on a mission. But she wasn’t positioned as a seductress might have displayed herself — despite the images his brain had created for him. There was no softness in her voice, no practiced artifice in the way she regarded him.

  “I have a problem, Mr. Vale,” she said. “As do you. But I think we may be able to assist each other.”

  He crossed his arms. She sounded eminently sane and reasonable. But a sane and reasonable woman would not come to a strange man’s room, alone, in the middle of the night.

  And a sane woman would not have even hinted at offering to sleep with him, unless she meant to make it happen.

  “I’m not aware of any problems that an earldom won’t solve,” he said.

  It was mostly meant to needle her. But she laughed. “On that score, at least, you’re correct. Do you want a drink before I state my position?”

  She walked over to the decanters that sat on the bureau, not waiting for him to answer. “I don’t keep any gin, but Grandfather’s whisky is quite good,” she said, pouring a glass and bringing it back to him. On the way, she absentl
y straightened one of the vases on the mantel — the one he’d touched and replaced.

  He narrowed his eyes. He didn’t know whether the sudden rush of heat came from her peremptory treatment of him, the insult she offered by implying that he would only want gin, or the danger she might pose if she noticed every misplaced object as easily as she’d noticed the vase.

  He needed to find out what she wanted, now, and send her on her way. Anything else with her would be too dangerous.

  He didn’t take the whisky when she offered it to him. “As charming as this is, I think you should tell me your business and leave.”

  That set her back on her heels just a little. She frowned. “I thought we might have an amicable chat about your claim before the issue becomes more…complicated.”

  “I’m not opposed to talking about it. But that conversation could just as well happen in the morning, could it not?”

  She shook her head, almost violently. “In the morning, Ferguson will interrogate you about your antecedents. Word will spread that you’re here to claim the estate. Once the guests know, there’s no telling what will happen.”

  “If you are here because you want me to keep my claim a secret, you will be disappointed.”

  She looked down at the glass he’d refused. He thought she might drink it, but she sighed and set it on the mantel instead. “I don’t want to keep your claim a secret. I want to help you with it.”

  Every word out of her mouth surprised him. He couldn’t help but stare at her even though it gave his shock away.

  Miss Briarley smiled. “Are you sure you don’t want the whisky?”

  He didn’t want the whisky. He wanted to shake her, to demand that she start making sense.

  Or he wanted to kiss her. Not that that would add any clarity to the situation.

  She was everything he couldn’t have — expensive, perfect, clean, untouched. But beyond all that, it was her determination that intrigued him.

  She wanted something. And she wanted it badly enough to come to a man, one whom she thought was a shopkeeper and a fraud, in the middle of the night.

  What could Lucretia Briarley, with all her riches, possibly want?

  And why did that question intrigue him — make him want to learn her secrets, when the only secret he needed to know was the location of the earl’s safe?

  He picked up the whisky. Even the glass was expensive — it had a certain heft to it, proclaiming cut crystal.

  Max usually drank out of tin.

  “Is there a reason why you want me drunk before you explain yourself, Miss Briarley?” he drawled, trying to regain his balance by throwing hers off. “I may not perform as well for you if I’m too deep in my cups.”

  This time, she blushed. The sudden sweep of pink across her cheeks was unmistakeable — and delightful. But she didn’t lose her composure. “Crudeness doesn’t shock me, Mr. Vale. But you’ll want my help learning your manners if you think you can talk to other ladies like that.”

  “You’ll teach me how to talk to ladies? That’s an unexpected offer.”

  She shrugged. “It’s more important to me to make sure you know how to manage our finances without running Maidenstone into the ground. But if that includes telling you what not to say to the vicar’s wife so that you don’t make a muck of the neighborhood, I can include that in your lessons.”

  She said it all as though she was sure he’d be staying at Maidenstone — as though she wanted to help him stay.

  That made no sense. The prickling on his spine may still have been attraction to her — but it was also a warning.

  He tossed the whisky back in one go. It was expensive stuff, too good for such ill usage — but Max wasn’t in the mood to play the gentleman.

  Especially when he wasn’t a gentleman.

  “Enough, Miss Briarley,” he said. “This has been very charming so far, but I need to know what you’re offering. Unless you’d rather I take the offer you haven’t made?”

  As far as menacing threats went, it wasn’t much of one, and it wasn’t one he’d ever follow through on. But Miss Briarley was cautious enough to take a step back. “Lady Maidenstone is in the next room — she’ll hear if I raise an alarm.”

  “If I understand the ton’s rules about propriety, you’ll be the one who is ruined if we’re discovered together,” Max said.

  “Only if we don’t marry. And since marriage is what I came to offer you, being caught would only serve to help me.”

  Chapter Five

  She probably should have waited until morning to make her offer. Vale seemed intelligent enough, but at the moment, he stared at her like he could barely comprehend proper English.

  Then he walked past her and poured himself another finger of whisky.

  “I hope you won’t impair your judgment,” she said.

  He shot her a look. “It’s not my judgment that should be called into question.”

  “I’m quite serious, Mr. Vale.”

  “That’s what has me worried.”

  His accent had lapsed a little — he had very nearly dropped the h. But it was the only indication he gave of nerves. Otherwise, he regarded her as coolly as ever.

  She had hoped that a few hours apart would be enough to control her attraction. She’d spent dinner running through this conversation in her head. She’d thrown cold water on her face before coming here. She hadn’t knocked on his door until she was sure she could make her proposal without letting their banter distract her.

  But she’d been a fool for thinking that his hazel eyes wouldn’t lure her in again.

  Still, she had a plan. She had to focus on that. For the first time since the party had begun, she had a clear, achievable goal. She could focus on Vale directly, rather than merely hoping that someone would be attracted to her.

  If it were only for her sake, she might not have been so audacious. But she wasn’t the only one affected — especially if his claim was valid. If he were the earl, it would impact every servant and tenant at Maidenstone. No Briarley worth her salt would abandon Maidenstone to an interloper.

  A man who’d been raised in the shops wouldn’t know how to manage a grand country estate. He wouldn’t care about the tenants or know how to pursue agricultural improvements. He would likely take Briarley House in London as his main residence, pillage Maidenstone for anything he could sell, and leave the abbey to fall into disrepair.

  And even if he kept it all intact, it would still leave Lucy and Julia without any way to support themselves. Lucy would have to pretend to be a widow with a new identity if she moved somewhere else — she could never let anyone know that she was an unmarried woman with a bastard child.

  It couldn’t be borne. Lucy would do anything to prevent that outcome.

  Even something as audacious as offering herself to a man who looked intent on getting drunk at the mere thought of marrying her.

  At least he was sipping his whisky this time, not tossing it down his throat like he was swilling blue ruin in a gin shop. She smiled, putting every bit of confidence she had into her voice. “I think you’ll see that my offer is beneficial for both of us.”

  “So you mean it, then? You aren’t pulling one over on the poor tradesman who came to ruin your day?”

  There was a slight edge to his voice. He had seemed intrigued earlier — now he looked bored. But she suspected that was a mask to cover something stronger.

  “My offer is very serious,” she said. “You can decide later which of us benefits more from it.”

  He raked a hand through his hair. The light brown strands stood on end, making him look far wilder — and younger, as though for a moment he could be himself rather than the man his responsibilities had turned him into. She had thought that he was in his mid-thirties, like Ferguson. But now, she would wager that he was younger, and that difficulties of his earlier life had given him more maturity than she usually saw from men of her own class.

  “May I ask why you would do me the honor of marrying me?�
�� he asked.

  “It’s simple. As Ferguson said, you’re likely a charlatan. You’re a social climber intent on bettering your situation, even if you must lie to do so. You don’t have the training or the breeding to be the lord of an estate, let alone take a seat in Parliament.”

  “You don’t make me sound like the marrying kind,” he drawled.

  Lucy laughed. “No. The obvious course would be to let Ferguson prove that you’re committing a fraud. At the very least, you’d be forced to leave Maidenstone. You would likely be executed. Especially if whatever documents you’ve brought to prove your claim are discovered to be forgeries.”

  Vale inclined his head. “You know more than I would have guessed about the law. But I wouldn’t have come unless I was very sure of my rights. Your duke could make a man like me swing from a noose.”

  “Ferguson’s not that bad,” Lucy said. “He’s annoying beyond measure. But he’s honorable. He won’t hang you unless you deserve it.”

  “I’m not finding much comfort in that,” Vale murmured.

  “No, I can see how you wouldn’t. But if you agree to marry me, I’ll teach you everything you need to know to pass Ferguson’s tests. If I tell him that your background matches what we know about the Briarley family tree, it will go a long way toward convincing him to decide in your favor.”

  Vale stayed silent for nearly a minute. Lucy fought the urge to twist her hands. She had to seem confident and capable if she was going to convince him to do this.

  But it was hard to stay still when she couldn’t read anything from his expression. He took a slow sip of whisky. The way he handled it told her he was accustomed to spirits — he didn’t shudder as the alcohol hit his throat. But that was the only detail she gathered from her perusal of him.

  That wasn’t true. His face was blank, but there were so many other details to note. His clothing had been inexpertly cut, but his shoulders were broad enough, and his hips narrow enough, that his body showed advantageously despite his tailor’s lack of skill. His cravat was so perfectly white that it must have been new. If he didn’t have a valet, he had tied the cravat himself. It wasn’t elaborate, but it was immaculate — stylish enough that he could be admitted to White’s without anyone raising an eyebrow at his neckwear.