A Lord's Kiss Read online

  “She already has.” Ethan drew an invitation from his coat pocket. “Two evenings hence, I am to attend some sort of recital with her. Thus, the ridiculous amount of money I will hand over to Mr. Weston when I send around for the requested proper clothes. He has promised they will be ready a few hours before I am to fetch Lady Georgiana.”

  Sir Stirling’s eyes widened on glancing at the invitation. “Are you fond of music, Captain?” The man’s expression did not instill confidence. In fact, it inspired something akin to horror.

  “Not particularly. Why?” The hair on the back of Ethan’s neck prickled. They strolled down Bond Street toward Sir Stirling’s carriage.

  “I expect that’s just as well.” The gentleman handed the invitation back.

  What was that supposed to mean?

  “Uncle Ethan!” a familiar voice called across the street.

  He followed the sound to find his brother’s son crossing the cobblestones hand-in-hand with Ash’s new wife. Once they were safely across, the lad pulled away and ran up to Ethan, stopping just short of bowling him over.

  “Good morning, Master Dorrill,” Sir Stirling said with sincere solemnity as he inclined his head. “Have you been serving as Mrs. Dorrill’s escort today?”

  “I have, Sir Stirling. This is my uncle. Did you know that?” He tugged at the wide sleeve of Ethan’s coat.

  “I did indeed.” He bowed as Ash’s wife caught up to them. “Mrs. Dorrill. I see you have a most enthusiastic escort for your shopping this morning.”

  “For his shopping,” she corrected. “A parcel of books and a model of Nelson’s Victory await us in the carriage. A pleasure to see you again, Captain Dorrill. We saw you and Sir Stirling leave Weston’s. Can I assume you have been doing some shopping of your own?”

  “I was in need of more suitable attire,” Ethan said. “Sir Stirling was kind enough to deliver me into the hands of Mr. Weston.”

  “I like your clothes,” young Matthias declared, still clutching Ethan’s sleeve. “You look like a pirate.” He turned to Sir Stirling. “Though he isn’t one. A pirate, that is. Aunt Ellie said so.”

  “Good to know,” Sir Stirling replied as he pulled his watch from his waistcoat pocket. “As much as it pains me, I must be off. I have a number of appointments this morning. Where might I drop you, Dorrill?”

  “We will convey my brother-in-law home, Sir Stirling,” Mrs. Dorrill announced. “Won’t we, Matthias?”

  “Yes, please. Come with us, Uncle Ethan.”

  “Well played,” Ethan murmured under his breath. The lady tossed him an innocent smile.

  “Will your husband approve?” Sir Stirling inquired, already waving his carriage over.

  “Have you ever known me to ask my husband’s approval?”

  “Point taken, ma’am.” Sir Stirling made her a respectful bow and shook Ethan’s hand. “Bon chance, Captain Dorrill.” In moments, he stepped into his elegant town coach and left.

  Mrs. Dorrill took Ethan’s arm and steered him toward the corner of Bond Street, where an open barouche waited.

  “Did the raspberry tarts work?” Matthias asked as they walked to the corner.

  The coachman leapt down, opened the door and lowered the steps. Ethan gave him his direction, then waved him off and helped his brother’s wife and son into the barouche.

  “They did, indeed, Matthias. Thank you for suggesting them. The lady was delighted.” Ethan settled onto the rear-facing seat as the carriage pulled away from the curbstone.

  “Raspberry tarts?” Mrs. Dorrill inquired.

  “Lady Georgiana’s favorite,” Ethan replied. “I sent an inquiry around to Matthias as to where I might find the best in London. He was most helpful.”

  “Uncle Ethan is courting Aunt Georgiana. I’m helping him,” Matthias announced with pride, even as he pulled a large picture book from a package wrapped in brown paper.

  She appeared bemused. “Courtship advice from a seven-year-old?”

  “Any port in a storm, Mrs. Dorrill,” Ethan replied. “I cannot ask my brother, though his courtship skills must be formidable to capture not one, but two such lovely ladies as you and your sister.”

  “You must call me Eleanor, or Ellie. We are, after all, family.” She ruffled Matthias’s hair. He beamed up at her, his smile so very like his father’s, at that age. Until their parents died and left them to Thomas Dorrill’s tender mercies. “Did you know Bella, Captain?”

  “I am Ethan. I met your sister not long before Matthias was born. She was a kind and beautiful woman. My brother has been very fortunate in love.” Ethan meant it. He’d been so happy when Ash had married Bella, in defiance of Thomas’s wishes. And had mourned her loss for his brother’s sake. He’d wanted both of his siblings to be happy. It was all he’d ever wanted. Ash was settled now. All that was left was to free their sister, Margaret, from their grandfather’s reach. Then, perhaps, Ethan might be forgiven for failing them so long ago.

  “And what of you?” Eleanor asked. “Are you lucky in love? Is that why you are courting Lady Georgiana?”

  “Time will tell. I am making every effort to win her favor.” He forced himself to maintain his casual sprawl on the comfortable squabs of the barouche. His sister-in-law was a clever woman, the very last thing he needed.

  “To what end?” She pinned him with blue eyes unblinking and far too discerning.

  “How do most courtships usually end?” He wanted to signal her coachman to pick up the pace. She might notice if he suddenly turned to the man and ordered him to “spring ‘em” in the middle of Bruton Street. Sweat ran down his back in icy rivulets.

  “So, you have left the sea in search of a wife?” She divided her attention between Ethan and Matthias, who had lost interest in their conversation in favor of his picture book of the animals of India.

  “Perhaps my brother’s wedded bliss has made me long for the same.” He nearly cringed. Not the sort of answer to give a woman like Eleanor McCormick Dorrill.

  The barouche finally turned onto Grosvenor Street. The house his grandfather had purchased but chose not to occupy stood beckoning at the far end of the street. Ethan’s very skin tightened, as if pulled in many directions at once. Such a simple thing, to ride in a carriage with members of his family. His family. Matthias hopped across to sit beside him, to show him the book of India’s animals. Ethan bent his head to listen to the boy’s excited chatter. All the while, his brother’s wife watched, her expression half-fond and more than a bit suspicious. A constant in his family’s experience.

  “I like your book very much, Master Matthias,” he said. “Tell me, do you think Lady Georgiana might like the gift of a book?”

  “She might like a puppy better. Papa and Aunt Ellie gave me a puppy for my birthday. His name is Admiral. Aunt Ellie has a dog, too. His name is Dragoon.”

  “Those are handsome names. A puppy is a fine gift, but perhaps I should start with something smaller.”

  Matthias furrowed his brow. He tapped a finger on his chin. “A book is almost as good as a puppy. Papa gives Aunt Ellie books all the time.”

  “Ah. Aunt Ellie, may I beg a recommendation of you?”

  “Are you certain your acquaintance with Lady Georgiana is of long enough duration to make the giving of a gift proper?”

  “I have no idea. It was of long enough duration for her to require I purchase new clothing in order to escort her to a musicale.” Ethan didn’t mean to sound petulant, but seeing Matthias again reminded him exactly how uncomfortable a chafing rudder was going to be.

  Eleanor chuckled. The barouche rolled to a stop before the handsome four-story townhouse. “She actually ordered you to—”

  “She did. Just as she arranged my invitation to this musical event at Lord Dedham’s,” Ethan replied as he stepped down to the pavement between the street and the small gated front garden before the house. He tugged the stiff invitation card out of his pocket and handed it to her. The tiny gasp, the widened eyes, and the swift flash and th
en disappearance of a distinctly evil feminine grin scared the hell out of him.

  “Do you care for music, Ethan?” she asked serenely.

  “No,” he drew out, emphasizing the o. “Why?”

  “No reason. I am certain you will have a most enjoyable evening. Mrs. Wells’ singing is known all over London.”

  Ethan did his best to decipher her meaning. He failed miserably. He turned to his only ally in this farce of a courtship. “Thank you for your advice, Master Matthias. If you think of anything else to help me win your Aunt Georgiana, send word by Dickie.”

  “I will, Uncle Ethan. I think I should like some marzipan this time.”

  “Done, sir.” He smiled as the boy waved and set to unwrapping the rest of his shopping acquisitions.

  “Dickie?” Eleanor inquired as she offered Ethan her hand. “Marzipan? You are taking courtship advice from a child and corrupting one of our footmen in the bargain?”

  “Ash is not ready for me to…” Ethan had not counted on anyone discovering his desire to get to know his nephew, to garner any scrap of information possible about his brother’s life. “Dickie is a friend. Please don’t fault him.”

  “Of course not,” she replied and squeezed his hand. “I will do what I can, Ethan.”

  “I hope my brother knows how fortunate he is.” Ethan raised her hand to his lips and bowed over it.

  “He does. I remind him constantly.”

  Ethan let loose a bark of laughter. “I thank you both for the advice, the company, and the use of your carriage.” He stepped to the gate and opened it.

  “Lady Georgiana would appreciate any of the novels of Mrs. Radcliffe. Her own copies…were lost.”

  Lost. Lady Georgiana’s father had squandered his fortune. If not for the help of Daniel McCormick, who had married Addington’s younger daughter, the family would be penniless. Ethan could just imagine how the lady’s books had been lost.

  “Thank you, Eleanor.”

  “And I am fond of marzipan, too.”

  Ethan grinned and waved as the barouche rolled into motion.

  “When will Uncle Ethan be able to visit us at home?” he heard Matthias ask as they drove away.

  Thank goodness, he didn’t have to answer that question. Ethan had no answer. Not one he wanted to contemplate, at least.

  “I trust the fitting went well, sir?” Townsend, Ethan’s newly acquired butler, inquired as he took Ethan’s gloves and handed him the post.

  “As well as slow torture by a pin-wielding tailor can go. We will need to send someone to pick up the clothes the day after tomorrow.”

  “Of course, sir. Shall I ring for tea to be brought to you in the study?”

  “Tea? No. Some of Cook’s excellent sandwiches and a glass of ale? Yes. And have them brought to the library. The study is in serious want of a window.” Ethan reached into the deep pocket of his coat and drew out the invitation. “Townsend?”

  “Yes, sir?” Townsend, a man of no more than fifty years, sported a head of neatly cropped grey hair and the most erect posture Ethan had ever encountered. He suspected the butler’s stiff spine was a way to make up for his spare build and a height half a foot shorter than Ethan’s own six feet. Either way, the newly hired servants in the household had learned in the first week the man was exacting, intolerant of idleness, but fair. Ethan had liked him at once.

  “Have you heard of a singer, one Mrs. Wells, who will be hosted in recital by Lord Dedham?”

  The butler paled and swallowed hard. “She…retired from Covent Garden a number of years ago. Lord Dedham hosts her two or three times each Season.” The man appeared to want to say more.

  “Anything else, Townsend?”

  “Are you fond of music, sir?”

  ***

  Ethan was in hell.

  And there was a soprano in it.

  A snoring earl to the right of him. An angel in a gossamer blue gown to the left of him. And on the dais before him, a mountain of a woman in a bright purple gown doing a perfect imitation of a cat in its death throes. The funereal caterwauling competed with the accompaniment of a pianoforte played so forcefully it threatened to push the purple mountain into the laps of the front row of listeners seated in delicate white and gold chairs.

  As a fall might interrupt the performance, Ethan was all for it. Save, he and Lady Georgiana were seated in the front row. He glanced at the program. Mozart. Unless the Austrian prodigy had purposefully written an aria for fatally wounded felines, someone owed the man an apology.

  He cut his eyes to study his beautiful companion. Dressed in a creation of some sort of frothy fabric the color of an August sea, Lady Georgiana put him in mind of an angel come to earth or a mermaid risen from the waves. She sat perfectly still, her entire attention on the soprano. She gave all the appearance of a rapt audience. The singer attacked a particularly high and difficult passage. Ethan winced. Lady Georgiana glanced at him, and he forced his pained grimace into a smile. Dear God, the woman had to be stone deaf. Or run mad as the worst bedlamite in London.

  Ethan sought something to distract him from the torture he’d endured for the last three-quarters of an hour. His gaze fell to the perfect ivory expanse framed by the cut of Lady Georgiana’s bodice. It left her delicate shoulders bare and outlined the curve of her breasts with a trim of dark blue ribbon. The golden glow of the dozens of beeswax candles in chandeliers and candelabras throughout the chamber caressed the slightest sheen of perspiration over her rose-touched skin. His mouth went dry. He rolled his lips in for a moment, to avoid licking them like a thirst-driven dog. He commanded himself to raise his head.

  Lady Georgiana raised a brow and pinned him with her utterly discerning blue eyes. He couldn’t help it. He grinned. She rolled her eyes, which made her nose scrunch and gave her face the delightful expression of a disgruntled imp. She leaned over and touched two fingers to the top of his ungloved hand. He turned his hand to trap those fingers against it with his thumb. Quiet descended, as if they were the only people in the world. She exhaled in a short, shaky breath and leaned closer, her lips touching his ear.

  “Wake the earl. The first part of the program is over,” she whispered and sat up straight to join in the tepid applause which greeted the end of Herr Mozart’s suffering. From the look on Lady Georgiana’s face as she joined the other guests in the rapid pilgrimage to the refreshment tables, Ethan’s suffering was just beginning. He roused Lord Dedham, who clapped a few times, surveyed the room, then shot from his chair like a much younger man in search of Mrs. Wells.

  Wait! The first part of the program?

  Ethan stood and immediately regretted it. The fit of Weston’s clothes was considered the finest. It was also the tightest. Townsend had assured him he cut a fine figure of a man. Lady Georgiana’s expression upon seeing him in the foyer as she descended the stairs when he’d arrived at her family’s home to escort her to the musicale assured him she approved. His rudder, however, did not. Nor did his fundament. Nor his shoulders. He’d never been so uncomfortable in all his life. And an irritative ringing had set up in his ears.

  “Are you enjoying the musicale, Captain Dorrill?” a familiar voice inquired at his shoulder.

  “You might have warned me, Sir Stirling,” Ethan groused as he strode toward the refreshment tables in search of the author of this evening’s torture.

  “Would it have kept you from escorting the lady?” the Scotsman replied, matching Ethan stride for stride.

  “No, but I might have been better prepared. I nearly fell off my chair when Mrs. Wells started singing.”

  “You would not be the first. I see Weston has you kitted out quite nicely.” Sir Stirling stayed Ethan with a hand to his arm. Lady Georgiana had joined a group of ladies at the punch bowl. As if on cue, they all turned to stare at Ethan for several minutes and then resumed their conversation, punctuated with quiet laughter.

  “Weston has me itching in places I have never itched before, thank you very much. If Townsend had not w
arned me to practice walking in these damnable evening shoes, I’d have fallen on my arse coming up Lord Dedham’s stairs.” He took the glass of champagne Sir Stirling offered and raised it in the direction of Lady Georgiana. “I am utterly out of my depth, aren’t I?” Ethan downed the beverage in one draught.

  “Aren’t we all when it comes to women? You have assured me your intentions toward Lady Georgiana are honorable.”

  Sir Stirling’s abrupt change of subject startled him. “They are.” They were, or so Ethan told himself. Honorable intentions meant marriage. He meant to marry her, even if his reasons for doing so were… Her husky laughter reached across the room and sent a bolt of some powerful sensation ricocheting through his body. Hell, at this point, he didn’t know what his reasons were. “I won’t hurt her. I won’t dishonor her. Is that enough?”

  Sir Stirling James studied him to the point Ethan’s neckcloth tightened like a noose around his neck. “We shall see. Enjoy the rest of the program.” The gentleman wove his way through the crowded drawing room and out the doors toward the staircase that led to freedom. Fortunate devil.

  Ethan, hands clasped behind his back, crossed to stand directly behind Lady Georgiana and her companions. Eventually, the other ladies noticed him and fell silent.

  Lady Georgiana glanced over her shoulder and tilted her head up to meet his gaze.

  A half smile creased his lips.

  “Are you enjoying the musicale, Captain?” she asked.

  “Fully as much as you intended, my lady. Thank you.” He inclined his head.

  “Is it true you are a pirate, sir?” A petite blonde asked breathlessly.

  “Felicity!” A plump redhead, no more than eighteen, gasped.

  “I do admire a man who can wear his hair the way you do, sir,” announced a tall, slender girl with perfectly coiffed brunette hair and the eyes of a shark. “Many consider it out of fashion to wear it so long, but I find it…striking, in a common sort of way.”

  Lady Georgiana threaded her arm through his and wrapped both of her hands around his bicep, which she gripped fiercely. “I find I am hungry, sir. Shall we avail ourselves of the refreshments?”