Seduction in Mind

Chapter Eighteen

As it turned out, however, Loucas was in wait for Alex in Park Lane. Though she stayed in the carriage, he found her.

"Beggin' your pardon, Miss Alex," he said through the half-open door of the carriage. Sam's hand was on the latch, his movement to descend arrested. "Tina's havin' her baby early and your ma wants you home."

"Oh, dear." She glanced at Sam. "My sister-in-law's not due until next month." Turning back to Loucas, she asked, "When did her labor start?"

"This mornin'. We couldn't find you, so here I am, beggin' your pardon, my lord," he said with an irony that made it plain he wasn't apologizing at all.

"I really have to go." Alex began to rise.

"I'll take you."

"No, please, that wouldn't be wise."

"The carriage is just around the corner, miss."

"I'm so sorry I have to leave," Alex apologized. "But Tina's last delivery was complicated and-"

"I understand." Pushing the door open, Sam stepped to the ground and then helped Alex descend. After escorting her to her carriage, he stood at the door. "Let me know if I can help in any way."

"Thank you," she said, distracted.

He shut the door and stepped back from the carriage. The driver's whip cracked.

As he watched her drive away, he felt a moment of anguish for Alex's distress, for her sister-in-law's travail… for his own profound sense of loss.

The moment the viscount stepped over his threshold, any further consideration of loss was eliminated by the sharp crack of his barrister's knuckles.

"Farris. What a surprise."

"It's a matter of some urgency, my lord," the elderly man declared, as though his presence in Sam's entrance hall weren't warning enough of disaster.

"Have you been waiting long?"

"Most of the day, sir."

At least he was aware now of the degree of misfortune. Farris didn't call on his clients as a rule. His offices in Piccadilly were sumptuous, centrally located, and staffed with enough underlings to run an extensive operation. "Follow me," Sam offered, moving down the corridor. "Coffee, Owens." He glanced at his butler. "In my study."

A few minutes later, Farris was seated, their coffee had been served, and Sam was lounging against the corner of his desk, too restless to sit. "Tell me everything."

Sam charged. "You needn't spare me any details. I'm quite capable of withstanding shock."

"It's your-er-ex-mistress, my lord."

Which one? he thought, but said merely, "Ah."

"She intends to sell her story to the newspapers, sir."

"What story?"

"Of how you lured her from her home in Cairo, sir, with a promise of marriage and then"-the barrister flushed beet red-"mistreated her in a variety of ways." He wiped his forehead nervously. "She was quite specific, my lord."

"Farida," Sam whispered, his body gone rigid. "Bloody bitch." His gaze refocused on his barrister and he stood. "I'll talk to her and straighten this all out. There was no marriage proposal, and the question of luring is up to debate on several levels. She's been well compensated for her time. Did she tell you I bought her a house and paid off all her gambling debts? Along with those of her damned brother?"

"She did, my lord, but, of course, her interpretation of those gifts is-er-different perhaps from yours."

Sam glared at the elderly man in his morning suit. "Do you believe her?"

"It's not a question, sir, of whether I believe her or not," he answered as a barrister would. "It's a question of whether her story reaches the papers."

Sam drew in a deep breath because he knew what was coming next. "And what would you suggest I do?"

"I would suggest, sir, as a prudent measure, we offer her some settlement."

"Again? She already cost me more than she was worth."

Farris coughed discreetly. "That would be for you to say, of course, but should her account be published, the public would be treated to only her point of view."

"I want her silenced," Sam growled. At Farris's look of alarm, he quickly amended his statement. "Not literally, just in terms of her newsmongering. Good God, Farris, if I paid off every ex-mistress who threatened to spread gossip about me…" He shrugged.

"Yes, my lord. I understand."

"And now I've put you in a damned box, I suppose," Sam noted gruffly.

"One needs a certain degree of negotiating power, sir. She has Collins for her barrister."

Sam swore softly. Collins was celebrated for his notorious divorces. "Very well, what do you think would buy her silence? Be frank."

"Five thousand pounds." [6]

Sam's brows rose marginally. "For that kind of money, I want to be assured she's back in Egypt."

"It could be a nonnegotiable stipulation."

"It would have to be," the viscount said brusquely. "Tell them, otherwise they can publish and be damned."

"Yes, sir. I will convey your feelings to them most exactingly."

"She receives no money until she reaches Egypt. If they agree, I want a detective on her trail and a report sent back to me that she has landed on her native soil." He blew out an explosive breath. "Do you know how much this adventuress has cost me?"

It wasn't a question he wished answered, Farris understood. "I'll speak to Collins personally, sir."

"Immediately."

"Of course."

Sam suddenly smiled. "Forgive my outrage, Farris. I know how hypocritical this must seem to you. But the woman's been very well treated."

"I know, sir. One of our agents has seen her house… and her jewelry."

Sam laughed. "Maybe I should think about settling down, eh, Farris? It would be considerably cheaper."

"Hardly a reason to marry, my lord." The elderly man had seen the misery of Sam's first marriage, and he genuinely liked his young client.

"You're right, Farris, as usual." His barrister had covered up with discretion all the lurid details of Penelope's death. "I defer to your advice on this matter as well. But keep me informed."

Farris rose from his chair. "I'm sorry to have delivered such odious news."

"Never mind," Sam replied kindly, reaching out to shake the man's hand. "It was my doing entirely."

"She's exceedingly greedy, my lord. Even Collins is surprised, I think."

"Really." Sam grinned. "Then I hope Collins gets his money in advance. Otherwise, he's not likely to see it."

"I'll tell him, sir."

"Good luck, Farris." Sam pursed his mouth. "Perhaps I should consider celibacy for a time."

His barrister's eyes widened for the briefest instant. "Indeed," he affirmed, clearly at a loss for words.

Minutes after Farris left, Owens entered the study with a doleful expression on his face. Sam said, "Bring me a brandy before you speak."

Although Owens was tall and far from frail, he had the ability to melt into the background. For those few minutes in which Owens carried out his master's wishes, Sam was able to forget Farris's visit and dwell for brief moments on the pleasure he'd experienced with the beautiful Alex Ionides.

He was smiling faintly when Owens handed him his brandy. Immediately drinking it down, he handed the glass back to his butler. "Now that I'm fortified, tell me what has caused your woebegone look."

"Your father, sir."

"He's said something to disturb you?"

"He's here, sir."

"Bloody hell," Sam muttered. "Is this my day of penance?"

"He arrived before Farris left, so I put him in the back drawing room with a bottle of his favorite whiskey."

"Perhaps we could leave him there until he passes out."

"He seemed to be on a mission, sir. I doubt he'll stay quiet long."

"In that case, fill my glass up once more and then go fetch him," Sam said glumly. "And if anyone else comes calling, tell them I left the country."

"Very good, sir."

"You astonish me, Owens." He gazed at his butler's retreating back. "Do you ever lose your temper?"

"Not while I'm working, sir."

"Not even with my parents?"

Owens hesitated for the briefest moment before setting the decanter down and turning back to Sam with his drink. "They do try one's patience, sir."

"A true understatement. Thank you, Owens." Sam took the freshly filled glass from him. "Want to take any bets on my father's mission?"

"They're all the same, sir. I couldn't take your money. I believe the Thornton girl is on the agenda this time."

"So I thought. Mama has her eye on their Yorkshire acres."

"Begging your pardon, sir, but the countess is most persistent."

Sam smiled tightly. "No need to wonder why I drink."

The servants credited Sam's drinking to his intemperate amusements as well, but ever courteous to the well-loved master of Ranelagh House, Owens said only, "You do bear a certain burden, sir."

"Escort my latest burden in and then do me a favor and announce another visitor in, say, five minutes. I can listen to my father's admonishments for only a limited period of time."

When the Earl of Milburn appeared in the doorway, his habitual scowl in place, it took enormous effort for Sam to greet his father with courtesy.

"Do come in, Father. Forgive me for keeping you waiting. I had an earlier appointment."

"I hope not with that arriviste Miss Ionides. I heard you caused quite a stir leaving Wales's box beforetime day before yesterday."

He couldn't accuse only Alex's parents of undue surveillance, Sam thought with irritation. "Actually, no, Father, it wasn't Miss Ionides. Farris stopped by."

"Are you involved in some damned scandal again? Another whiskey, Owens," the earl barked.

"Nothing to concern yourself with, Father. I'll have a brandy, Owens." Make it large, he wished to say but stopped himself. He could deal with anything for five minutes. "And then you may leave, Owens."

His father sat down in the nearest chair. Sam glanced at the clock.

"Farris doesn't come calling for nothing," his father noted darkly.

For a flashing moment, Sam debated warning his father about the possible publication of Farida's accusations but decided it would be time enough if Farris's negotiations failed. "He had business concerning my railroad stock," Sam fabricated.

"You're wasting your money, my boy. Land-now, there's where you should be investing. It's the strength and backbone of this country."

"I'll tell Farris," he replied politely, watching his father take his whiskey from the silver salver Owens held out to him. With land prices falling steadily for decades, he wasn't likely to invest in property.

"Speaking of land…" The earl cleared his throat and Sam braced himself. "That Thornton gel has some damned good acreage in her dowry."

"I told Mother the other day, I wasn't interested, Father. Young girls fresh out of the schoolroom don't intrigue me." Taking his brandy from Owens, he quickly drained it.

"Don't know what intrigue has to do with those ten thousand acres in Yorkshire. It's a profitable connection, son. That's what matters."

"Not to me." Had the hands on the clock stopped moving? "If you're interested in Yorkshire land, Dudley has some for sale."

"If you marry the Thornton chit, it don't cost a thing."

"I'm not sure I'll marry again, Father. Marcus has two sons. I don't feel any pressure to provide a Lennox heir."

His father's brows drew together in a scowl. "You know how your mother feels about that."

"With great clarity. However, my feelings are in opposition to hers." He glanced at the door, hoping to hear Owens's knock.

"Penelope was a bit of a trial, I admit, but-"

Sam's gaze returned to his father. "She was considerably more than that. She damned near put the Lennoxes on the front page of The Times more than once. Thanks to Farris, scandal was averted, but I'm not in the mood to marry now-perhaps never. So kindly tell Mother to desist from parading hopeful ingenues before me."

"You were too lenient with your wife."

"I didn't care to lock her in her room, and short of that, she was uncontrollable."

"Damned rocky patch you went through there, but it's over, and once you have time to lick your wounds, I don't doubt you'll find some young filly to marry."

"I don't have any wounds, Father. I never wanted to marry Penelope anyway. I don't like flighty young women."

"Then someone like Miss Ionides suits you better, doesn't she? A woman twice married." He winked. "She knows what she wants, eh, my boy?"

"I wouldn't know."

"Come, come, don't humbug me. We both know what young widows want. Hell, I remember when she married St. Albans. He was in a right fine frame of mind for the entire two years he was married… before he dropped dead. Probably too much of a good thing, if you know what I mean." The earl's smile was lecherous. "You can enjoy a dark-skinned beauty like that. Who wouldn't? But no need to get serious. Her family"-one brow arched upward-"merchantmen out of the Levant, you know."

By this time Sam was praying for the knock on the door, and when it came a second later, he practically leaped to his feet. As Owens entered the room, he moved toward him as though he were his savior.

"The Earl of Airlie, sir."

"Thank you, Owens." Turning back to his father, Sam said mendaciously, "I'm sorry, Father. Edward's here and we have an appointment at Tattersalls. If you'll excuse me."

"I thought we were going to Hattie's," Eddie remarked, appearing in the doorway.

Surprise registered on both men's faces.

Sam hadn't expected Edward in the flesh, while the Earl of Milburn always intimidated Eddie.

"Hello, sir." Eddie greeted the earl politely before half turning to Sam, his brows faintly lifted. "Meant to say Tattersalls," he said blandly.

"I'm sorry to take my leave so suddenly, Father, but there's a new hunter coming on the block this afternoon. And my stable master thinks it's worth looking at."

"I'll tell your mother we had a good talk." His father offered Sam a conspiratorial smile. "Calm her nerves for a time. You boys go off and enjoy yourselves."

"What the hell was that all about?" Eddie asked as the two men stood on the drive outside Ranelagh House, waiting for Sam's carriage to be brought up.

"My father came as emissary for Mother, who has decided Clarissa Thornton will suit as my next wife. I told him, as I did Mother, that I'm not interested. He thinks I need time to get over my wounds from Penelope. He also thinks Miss Ionides will serve in the interim as a suitable bed partner just so long as I don't entertain any notions about marrying her. Apparently, her skin is too dark," Sam finished sardonically.

"Perfect would more aptly describe it."

"Not when her family is made up of Levant merchantmen," Sam noted mockingly.

"Your père could, however, overlook Penelope's nymphomania because she was from good Anglo-Saxon stock."

Sam tipped his head faintly. "He called her a bit of a trial."

"He was lucky her escapades didn't end in a trial. That would have changed his notions about good Anglo-Saxon stock."

Sam exhaled. "Both my parents have descended on me in less than a week. Hopefully, I shall be free of them for at least another month now. And my thanks for appearing so opportunely, although I was quite willing to perjure myself to avoid listening to my father's views on the state of the country, the government and the rising tide of the bourgeoisie."

"Luckily, my père prefers the country. Not so many mushrooms, [7] he says."

"When so many country estates are being purchased by the new industrialists. Is he blind?"

"Conveniently blind. My mother keeps their social circle small in order to forestall the inevitable shock when he discovers he's surrounded by new neighbors."

"Gentility is nothing more than ancient riches made by some tradesmen long ago. I was tempted to remind Father of our nabob ancestors."

"But you didn't wish to prolong the conversation."

"Exactly. I say as little as possible and leave as soon as possible when dealing with my parents."

"Thank God mine stay in the country. Now, are we really going to Tattersalls?"

"No, we're going to Aspreys. I need a present suitable for an infant."