The Bedeviled Viscount Brockton, page 26
Callie’s hands balled into fists. “Justyn has never asked me to defend him. I only want to protect him because I love him.”
“Ah, yes,” Simon said, understanding—and knowing Callie’s words were precisely those he would have put into her mouth for her, had he the power to do so. Callie was the sort of girl—no, the sort of woman—who would dare anything for those she loved. Face any danger, and welcome it. Hadn’t that been why he’d been allowing her to believe he disliked her?
So that, loving him as he hoped, prayed, she might, she would not feel the need to protect him?
“Callie—” he warned, prudently breaking off as his mother strode into the room, looking about quickly and then inquiring where the gentlemen were. She was all dressed and painted and primped and, clearly, somebody had better show up soon and be mightily impressed before she exhaled too deeply and her stays kept her from ever inhaling again.
Callie, obviously seeing the viscountess as an ally, immediately ran to her and demanded that she agree that a ride in the Promenade with the earl of Filton was exactly the sort of thing their excursion to Almack’s had been for—hadn’t it?
Imogene, as yet not privy to anything but the first, sham plan her son had conjured up, gingerly sat her tightly laced self down on the striped satin couch in the center of the room and looked to her son. “What’s the matter, Simon? Having second thoughts about throwing Callie at Filton’s head? Now, why is that, I wonder?” Then she smiled, looking very much like a satisfied cat with canary feathers sticking out of her mouth.
“Mother—” Simon began warningly—hadn’t he been warning Callie when his mother entered? Was he destined to spend the morning doing nothing more than calling out names, knowing he would be cut off at any moment, before he could say anything else?
And, sure enough, he had barely gotten that single word past his lips before Callie interrupted him, saying, “It’s not fair, Imogene. It was my idea to bring Filton down—mine! And now, just as things are progressing so nicely—oh, I admit it might have been better if Justyn had waited another week or two before coming home to muddle the business—Simon is cutting up stiff over exactly what he’d wanted in the first place. All your hard work, Imogene—all your care of me, your lessons—will you let them go all for nothing, just because Simon is balking at the first fence?”
Little minx! How dare she use his own mother against him? Just because he’d used his mother against her—well, he wouldn’t think about that right then.
“Let me hasten to correct you on one point if I might, brat,” Simon said, stepping forward, putting himself between Callie and his mother. “It was your idea—much as I can understand your reluctance to own to it—to shoot the blackguard. Everything since has been my idea. And, because it is my plan, it is up to me to adjust it if I see problems now that didn’t at first present themselves. Mother,” he said, bowing to the woman, “I have decided to keep Callie as far away from Noel Kinsey as possible. You agree, of course.”
Imogene merely smiled. Evilly.
“Problems, is it?” Callie slammed her fists against her hips, leaning forward belligerently, deliberately goading him. “Such as?”
“The gel has a point,” Imogene said, nearly gloating, she appeared so happy. And still slightly evil, bless her and curse her. “And every right to an explanation of this change of plans. What problems, dear boy? Tell me. Tell us. Please. Did I say please? No! We demand it, actually.”
A man shouldn’t even consider strangling his beloved mother, but Simon felt the thought nudge at his brain for just a moment. He couldn’t say that the mere thought of Noel Kinsey being alone with Callie in the park was enough to bring his blood to a rapid boil. Not if he didn’t want his mother jumping up to run through Mayfair, crying the banns within the hour. He and Callie had some serious talking to do before he could allow his mother to get the bit between her teeth. Some very serious talking.
So, being an intelligent human being, and a gentleman, and a man who treasured his own skin, Simon opened his mouth again—and lied through his teeth.
“Armand has already planned to invite Filton to a small gaming party at White’s, scheduled, as it happens, for two o’clock this afternoon. A limited group, high stakes, and the probability of gambling until the wee hours. As I’ve already made a rather serious incursion into Filton’s pocketbook—not that you’ve bothered to ask—he is doubtless more than eager to sit down with me again, in the hope of redeeming a few of his markers. In other words, be prepared to receive a second note from our friend Noel Kinsey once Armand’s arrives on his doorstep, begging off until tomorrow. And now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve just remembered something I forgot to tell my secretary.”
Callie stepped to her left, blocking his passage. “You mean to have him write up a note, to send it round to Armand, arranging all of this nonsense you’ve just made up out of whole cloth,” she accused quietly, so that the viscountess—busily rummaging through a dish of comfits, searching for her favorite flavor—didn’t hear her. “Oh, Simon, you should be ashamed of yourself.”
“I’m mortified, brat,” Simon told her honestly, then exited the room through the rear archway. He was on his way to the servant stairs when he heard the door knocker go on the ground floor. “I’ll be right back, to meet your family,” he called to Callie.
“You’d better be,” Callie replied. “Lester’s hiding in his room, his head stuck under his pillows, and I need someone here to help me knit another row in our blanket of lies without dropping a stitch.”
Simon turned, smiling at her. “That’s very good, Callie,” he said, complimenting her. “But I’m relying on your vast experience in this area of fibbing and truth-bending to carry us through.”
She cocked her head to one side, measuring him with a narrowed-eye look. “You’re not angry with me anymore, are you, Simon, as you were at the inn? You’re trying to be, especially about my having agreed to ride out with Noel Kinsey, but you’re not. You understand why I did it.”
“Angry with you? Why, Callie, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never been angry with you. But understand you? Oh no. Never, brat. Not in a million years.”
“Now who knows how to tell whopping great lies?” she asked. “I’m as transparent as window glass to you, and I’m not quite sure I like it,” she ended, then ran to the top of the stairs, to greet her family—but not before Simon saw the leap of happiness in her eyes.
If only they could get through these next few hours, these next few days, these next few lies, without killing each other...
Once he had scrawled a note to Armand and sent Roberts off with it, Simon returned to the drawing room, to see three unknown men variously positioned around the room.
One, the youngest one—blond and considerably handsome—he decided had to be Justyn. That left Sir Camber and the squire, and he quickly decided that Lester’s father had to be the rather large man sitting on the chair closest to Imogene, wearing much the same happily bemused expression that was his son’s hallmark.
Which left the tall, thin gentleman standing next to the mantel—and wearing last year’s fashions—to be none other than Sir Camber Johnston, Hero of the Fish Bone.
So thinking, Simon walked briskly into the room, introducing himself and learning that, yes, he had been correct, for the gentleman he’d decided must be Sir Camber immediately took his hand in both of his and began pumping it furiously, thanking him effusively for having taken in his dear daughter and giving her the Season she so richly deserved. His effusiveness explained away the man’s gullibility in believing Imogene’s note to him—the man was too grateful to have looked beneath the surface of the lie.
It was then the beefy squire’s turn to wring the blood from Simon’s fingers. Without allowing more than a smile and a nod from Simon, the man then went on at some length about how honored he was to know that his only son—”a good boy; a good, good boy, for all he’s only sparsely furnished in his upper stories”—had been befriended by the viscountess. Smartest thing his boy ever did, the squire said, getting himself stuck in the mud so that the viscountess could pull him out again.
“My turn now, I believe,” Justyn said smoothly. He extended his hand to Simon, saving him from possible permanent injury as the squire proved with his grip that he was a man who worked his own fields and possessed the vigor and strength of a prizefighter half his age. Indeed, Simon had already noticed his mother measuring the man from head to toe. She was about as subtle as a racetrack tout sizing up a fleet-footed mount. This thought Simon rejected as soon as he had it but, unfortunately, too late to completely banish the image, and the connotations, from his mind.
“Delighted, Mr. Johnston,” Simon said, trying to concentrate on Callie’s brother, assess him without prejudice.
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lord. Please allow me to add my thanks for your kind care of my sister. I only hope the brat hasn’t given you too much trouble.”
Simon smiled at Justyn’s easy use of the word brat. It would appear that he and Callie’s brother already agreed on at least one subject. He decided to learn to know the young man better, and draw his own conclusions, ignoring Callie’s assertion that her only brother couldn’t so much as choose his own cravat without her assistance. “The credit belongs mostly to my mother, gentlemen,” he said, bowing in Imogene’s direction. “And the pleasure has been both hers and mine.”
“Well, I’ll tell you, my lord, you’ve both worked a miracle, that’s what,” Sir Camber said, splitting his coattails with some flair and seating himself in a chair near the fireplace. “I hardly knew the child when I saw her last night. You’ve done wonders with her—although I’m not quite sure about the hair, you understand. It used to be much longer.”
“Really?” Simon commented, looking to Callie, who had moved to stand beside Justyn, the pair of them looking very much alike in their features, if not their coloring. “I could have sworn it was about this same length when I met her.”
“Tell us about India, Justyn, now that we’re all here to listen,” Callie commanded quickly, sending a look toward Simon that told him she didn’t think he was being quite as helpful as he could be. “We didn’t get to talk more than a minute last night before the squire started nodding off, so that you went back to your hotel. You look wonderful—did you make your fortune?”
“Well, here comes a story I’ve already heard,” the squire said, slapping his beefy hands on his knees before standing up and turning to look down at Imogene. “Would you care for a turn around the block in the boy’s fine rented carriage, my lady? I’d like to see a bit of London whilst I’m here, and I’d be honored to have your company. Besides, it’s not good to have the horses standing too long, the way I see it.”
Simon covered a laugh with a cough as he watched his mother do her best imitation of a maidenly simper—and a woman built less for simpering he’d yet to encounter. “Why, I’d be delighted, kind sir,” she said, hopping to her feet with such alacrity she nearly stepped on the man’s toes before he could move away and offer her his arm. “We’ll just have Roberts run off upstairs and get Kathleen to fetch my shawl and bonnet.”
Tall, Imogene then mouthed silently to Callie and Lester as she turned her head back over her shoulder on her way out of the room, her grin wide and pleased—but not half as wide and satisfied as was Roberts’ own grin as he stood just in the hallway, a bonnet already in one hand, a paisley shawl in the other.
“Could I interest you in a glass of claret Sir Camber? Anyone else?” Simon asked, then said that he hoped they could dispense with formalities while the four of them spoke, an offer of friendship and camaraderie with which both gentlemen readily agreed.
“I never made it to India, actually,” Justyn said a few minutes later, once all of them were seated in comfortable chairs in the center of the room. “My last post to you was from Italy, wasn’t it, brat? Yes, I thought so. I wrote that letter while still aboard ship, then went ashore, posted it, and met my destiny—all within a day.”
“Your destiny, Justyn?” Callie asked, sitting forward, on the edge of her seat both physically and with her obvious eagerness to hear everything he had to say. Simon watched her face, believing the love for her brother he saw there made her even more beautiful than she had been before. If he had ever wondered why a young girl would go to such lengths to avenge her brother, he would wonder no more. There was a very special love between this brother and sister, and Simon felt suddenly excluded, and rather slighted in not having been blessed with a sibling or two of his own.
Justyn took a sip of claret before answering. “Yes, Callie, my destiny, melodramatic as that may sound. It was on the docks that it happened—and I’ll do my best to keep this short and simple, as Papa has already heard the story. The ship was being unloaded and a young boy had broken away from his nurse and wandered onto the docks. There was a shout and I turned to see the boy in danger of being knocked into the water by a whacking great load of swinging cargo. Without really giving it much thought, I ran over to him, snatched him up—and met my destiny. Actually, I didn’t meet her until I’d been unconscious for a few days, as the cargo that missed the boy gave me a glancing blow on the head that rattled my brains for a while.”
“You could have been killed!” Callie exclaimed, then frowned. “Justyn, did you say her?”
He nodded, smiling “Signorina Bianca Alessandra di Giulia, daughter of Conte Alessandro Antonio Giacomo di Giulia, the most sweet, beautiful, wondrous creature in the entire world—and my wife. She’s waiting for us in our father’s house, for she’s increasing, and the trip from Rome was marred by more than one storm, so that she told me she couldn’t face any more travel right now.”
“I—I—you have a—and there’s going to be a—oh, Justyn!” Callie exclaimed, throwing herself into his arms. “I can’t believe it. Why didn’t you say anything last night? You must have been dying to tell me. That’s above everything wonderful.”
“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” he said, smiling at Simon over an armful of Callie. “Unless you choke me to death, brat, leaving my poor Bianca a widow.”
“Oh! Oh, I’m sorry,” Callie said, retaking her seat and smiling her thanks to Simon, whose only function thus far had been to offer her his handkerchief so that she might wipe her moist eyes. “There’s more, isn’t there, Justyn? I can see it in your eyes. Tell me the rest of it.”
“Like my friend, the squire, I’ve heard all this before. And, happy as I am, I think I’ll get myself another drink, if nobody minds, and take m’self off to that corner over there,” Sir Camber said, rising. “Didn’t sleep a wink all night, I didn’t, on that lumpy mattress at the Pulteney. Might just take you up on your offer to stay here in Portland Place, Your Ladyship, just for the good night’s sleep it might gain me.”
Imogene, who had returned to the room to fetch her reticule, appeared ready to drool at this dose of good fortune. “That would be wonderful, I’m sure. The three of you, all sharing our humble roof? Yes, yes indeed. Above all things wonderful. I’ll just go tell Emery before the squire and I are off.”
“Justyn?” Callie prompted, as Imogene minced away again, doing her best not to look at the sight of the woman in a feminine simper.
Her brother spread his hands almost apologetically as he looked to Simon. “What else? Well, I’m waist deep in money, as luck would have it. For one thing, Bianca’s father settled a ridiculously large fortune on me for having saved her little brother,” he said. “I thought to turn him down, as I wasn’t planning on being a hero or anything like that, but he made me see the sense of the money, as Bianca is accustomed to wealth. Bianca’s papa is a great believer in not standing in the way of true love, but he wasn’t about to see his only daughter living in poverty. And so I’ve come home, the prodigal returned as it were. To have you all meet my dearest Bianca, to have our first child born in England, to pay back Papa for all the heartache I have caused him—and to get some of my own back from one Noel Kinsey, Earl of Filton. Do you know him, my lord?”
“Oh, dear,” Callie breathed, also looking at Simon, her eyes more filled with apprehension than interest. Apprehension, and warning.
“I’m vaguely acquainted with the man, yes, and a more unlovely fellow would be difficult to find,” Simon answered carefully. Then he asked, “What do you have planned for him?”
Justyn smiled at his sister. “I met a man aboard ship, brat, a most wonderful old fellow. You would have adored him. We spent all of our time talking together and playing at cards, weeks and weeks of playing at cards. Oh, the things that clever man taught me! And do you know something?” he went on, his eyes narrowed. “Filton cheats.”
“Imagine that,” Simon breathed quietly, earning himself a swift, killing look from Callie.
“Yes, my lord,” Justyn said feelingly, “imagine that. I don’t know how I could have been so green, so easily duped. But I’m the wiser for it, let me tell you, and now I’m going to seek Filton out and win back every penny I lost to him, and then some. I want to bring him low, destroy him if that’s possible.”
Simon looked to Callie again. “Imagine that,” he repeated. “You know, the more I look at the two of you, the more I can see the resemblance,” he then added, wondering how long it would be before Callie threw something at him.
Just then there was a commotion in the hallway and Roberts ran in to say that her ladyship had made it down the stairs well enough, then sat down on a bench in the foyer, waiting for the carriage to be brought round—and fainted dead away into the squire’s arms... and would Miss Johnston please come right away, as the squire is starting to open her ladyship’s buttons and that couldn’t be at all proper, could it?
