The Earl's Irresistible Challenge

‘I prefer it that way,’ Lucas replied as he went to pour his brother a measure of brandy. ‘You of all people should appreciate the benefit of being forewarned.’

‘You have the Tubbs clan in the nether regions to do that for you, Luke. Some boy I didn’t recognise, but scarcely out of breeches, opened the door for me. I thought Mrs Tubbs called a halt to her share in growing the family.’

‘That would have been Richard. He is Annie’s boy.’

‘Annie’s? My God, she was an inch high when I last saw her.’

‘Another sign you don’t come here often enough. Are you settled in London for now?’

‘I don’t know yet. A few weeks, perhaps, but I will visit Sam at the Hall before I leave again. I don’t like the fact that our little sister is still holed up at Sinclair Hall so long after Ricardo’s death.’

‘Don’t press her, Chase. It isn’t Ricardo she is mourning and you know Sam makes her own decisions, including how long and how hard to mourn. Besides, she is keeping busy with her work.’

‘I won’t press. I merely want to see her. And you? How long before you roam again?’

‘I am expected in St Petersburg in a month or so. Why not stay here while you are in London?’

Chase looked around the study.

‘No, the Mausoleum is your cross to bear, Lucas. Just walking by the closed door to the Great Hall reminded me why I prefer the uncomplicated impersonality of my lodgings on Half Moon Street.’

Lucas grimaced. ‘I always enter by way of the mews myself. One day I will have to do something about this place one way or another. It’s damnable that it is entailed.’

Chase swirled his brandy and went to sprawl in a wingchair by the fireplace.

‘That is sufficient reason to have an heir, just so you can then break the entail and rid us of the Mausoleum and the Hall.’

‘No, thank you. I don’t think the world needs more Sinclairs; we’ve done enough damage as it is.’

‘So we have. I dare say the world wishes our Sinclair ancestors had stayed in the far north among our Scottish forebears instead of joining the English court and wheedling good English titles and land out of them. Too late to repine now, though. So why don’t you tell me what is bothering you?’

‘Why do you presume something is bothering me?’

‘Years of experience. Out with it.’

Chase had an impressive ability to remain still while listening, offering neither distraction nor encouragement and certainly no indication of his thoughts, but Lucas knew him too well to be fooled. His very stillness was telling.

‘What do you think?’ Lucas asked as he concluded his story of the peculiar Miss Silverdale and her theories.

‘I think that if anyone else had told me this tale I would be checking them for the fever. Gypsies, doxies and occultists... Are you quite certain that young woman isn’t touched?’

‘I’m afraid not. She might be unconventional, but she is distressingly sane and as stubborn as a Cossack. Short of kidnapping her and bundling her off to her family in Yorkshire, I don’t think I can dissuade her from her fantasies of plots and injustice.’

‘Do you think there is a chance there is anything to it?’ Chase tipped his glass to watch the firelight undulate in its depths, his sharp-cut profile tense, his dark-grey eyes hooded. Chase was only ten when their father died and though their mother tried to keep the details from them, the gossip was too juicy to be contained and the boys at school were only too happy to share the tale of the duel and its causes. They were both sent down for brawling and the following year they had been only too happy to leave England to live with their grandmother’s family in Venice.

‘No, I don’t,’ Lucas replied. ‘This is clearly a case of acute denial of reality. Little Miss Silverdale evidently feels indebted to her godfather and has concocted this cock-and-bull story to assuage her grief and guilt. I think she is tilting at windmills, but I don’t want her making enquiries about our family. If anyone is to continue tarnishing our name, I prefer we remaining Sinclairs do it ourselves.’

‘True. So what do you plan to do about her and her occultist ambitions? What a pity I cannot observe her performance. You should.’

‘Are you mad? I prefer a full month of Wednesdays at Almack’s.’

‘No, you don’t. You are curious. Besides, imagine what might happen if that Catte Street doxy discovers she is being duped by this young woman during her occultism session? Not a pretty scene. Might sit heavily on what remains of your conscience.’

‘Be damned to you, Chase.’

‘Undoubtedly.’

‘All the more reason to bundle her off home.’

‘Perhaps.’

‘It is a waste of time.’

‘Well, you have time to waste if you aren’t needed in St Petersburg until next month. Unless you wish to go early and enjoy the Russian winter to the hilt? Bonaparte tried that, not very successfully.’

‘No, I damn well don’t. I was hoping you would have some useful thoughts on defusing this loose cannon.’

‘I do. Go oversee your budding occultist and keep the Sinclair name off the dunghill where is appears to enjoy residing all too often. Meanwhile I will go to the Hall and see Sam before I must leave London again.’ He stood, straightening his waistcoat and looking around with a sigh. ‘Do you know, I am of two minds about your having allowed the Mausoleum to descend into such bare silence. It doesn’t do your hedonistic reputation credit, you know. You could hire an acting troupe to stage an orgy or two and leave the windows open on to the square.’

‘No, thank you. Besides, the lack of information about what occurs here only encourages the creative minds of the ton. God forbid I should confuse them with something as mundane as reality.’

‘That is true, especially since you provide them more than enough material with your activities in foreign lands. Speaking of providing material, will you join me at the club tonight?’

‘I cannot, it is Wednesday. Almack’s calls.’

For a moment Chase stared at him in shock before bursting into laughter.

‘Good God, for a moment I thought you were serious. Don’t scare me like that. If you ever turn respectable, the world might develop expectations of me as well and if there is one thing I find more abhorrent than Almack’s, it is expectations.’

Chapter Four (#ubceaf13f-ee3b-5c03-8afd-35ac7a714692)

‘What the devil?’

Olivia dropped the tablecloth she was holding and ran for the study door. It was probably not a smart thing to do. The sound of a man cursing in what should be an empty house would usually be taken as a good sign to run in the opposite direction. But Olivia recognised the voice and, perhaps foolishly, she wasn’t in the least afraid. Alert, but not afraid.

She stopped in the doorway. Lord Sinclair was standing, hands on hips, inspecting her Wall of Conjecture.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, tucking a straggling curl behind her ear. It was absurd to wish she was wearing something more presentable than a simple muslin round dress. He was in riding clothes but he possessed the same casual elegance in his buckskins and dark blue riding coat as he had on both previous occasions. Again she was struck by the sheer power of his face and frame. He looked utterly out of place in her parlour. In her world.

‘What the...what are all these?’ he demanded and she moved a little more deeply into the room despite her discomfort.

‘Those are lists.’

‘I can see that. I’ve just never seen so many on a wall. How do you manage to make them stay there?’

‘I had felt pasted on the wall over a layer of corkwood and I use sewing pins to secure them. When I tried laying them out on the floor they kept scattering. How did you enter?’

‘And the strings? It looks like a mad spider is attempting to build its web here.’