The Viscount’s Vendetta by Kathy L. Wheeler

Twelve

T

hat man had a lot of nerve putting Maeve’s care for him at risk. She hurried up the one flight and stalked to Lord High-and-Mighty’s bedchamber, crashed through the door without bothering to knock. “Lord Harlowe, what the devil do you think you are about—”

From his reclined position in the copper tub, Harlowe lifted one brow. “Good morning—Maeve.” He drew her name out into one long husky syllable. “Care to scrub my back?”

Gasping, she stomped across the room prepared to shut out the cold breeze, only to stop short and hang her fire-branded face outside. She gulped at the cool air. She eased back inside but didn’t turn around, leaving the window ajar. “Are you trying to catch your death? I think it might even snow today.” Still she didn’t turn back to him. Lord knows what she would have seen. “What do you mean by walking all over London in the wee hours. That is the coldest part of the day.”

“I thought you had a drive with Dorset scheduled.”

“I do. At four. I’m going shopping with Lorelei and Ginny this morning. Then the park with the children.”

“Yes, and then a meeting with Kimpton on securing new lodgings.”

She frowned, still keeping her eyes pinned to the gardens beyond. “Yes, but how did you know that? Oh, never mind.” She spun around. “You must hurry—Oh!” Gasping, she covered her eyes with one hand. “Put some clothes on. At the least, lock the blasted door. Celia and Irene are here and are liable to walk in as I did.” Oh, God. She’d walked in. Unannounced. On Lord Harlowe. She edged past the tub, keeping her eyes averted.

“Would you mind handing me my towel, my dear? Only so I don’t catch my death.”

The laughter in his voice tipped her temper. Why the devil should she be embarrassed? She was a widow. She squared her shoulders, dropped her hand, and scanned the area. She located the scrap of linen on a chair next to the tub, grabbed it, and threw it at him.

His stellar reflexes snatched it out of midair. He rose from the tub like Poseidon from the sea. “You know what I think?”

She was too stunned to move, shocked at his lack of modesty. “No,” she choked out. Could she not just sink through the floor? Could she not pull her eyes away from all his shameless beauty? The sculpted contours of his chest, the solid erected shaft jutting from the tufted hair between muscular thighs, stealing her ability to breathe. The cold air pouring in from the window did nothing to cool the fire raging over her too tight skin.

“I think you can’t resist me. I think you want to see me.”

“You-you went out last night. As Lorelei so succinctly put it, ‘you could have been set upon by cutthroats.’”

His demeanor instantly changed to something dangerous. “I needed air,” he bit out. “You are not my keeper.”

“Ah, but that is where you are wrong. I am in charge of your health and you put yourself at risk.” With the pragmatism she was known for, she considered him without blinking. “All children need fresh air. I suppose that includes you.” She flung out a hand, masking her temper. “Never mind. What’s done is done. In any event, I wish to invite you to accompany us to the park.”

The danger in the room shifted to something deeper. He grinned, a wolfish flash that raised her flesh in goosebumps, her insult sailing over his head. Though he still had a ways to go, the gaunt, haunted look about him was lessening, his coloring had lost its chalkiness. And nothing, absolutely nothing looked unhealthy about the erection practically pointing at her.

“You’re referring to me as a… child?”

Among other things.“If you are so desperate for air, we leave at one o’clock,” she said, making her escape, unable to shut out the laughter following her trek back down the stairs.

 

Despite his midnight excursion, for the first time in months, Harlowe felt robust. A promising night’s rest and his head didn’t ache. He hadn’t suffered any nightmares or chills or cravings. Add the unexpected visit from one Maeve Pendleton, Lady Alymer, and a strange sort of exhilaration filled him.

Even the suggestion of an invasion of children didn’t deter such elation. In fact, he might just take her up on her invitation, if only to watch that color bloom in her cheeks that clashed horrendously with her ginger-colored hair. He tugged on his trousers, chuckling softly at the thought.

Rory strolled in, holding a tray of breakfast meats, strong coffee, and fresh bread. “Thought you might be ’ungry, milord.”

“I am a bit. Grab my dark green waistcoat, will you. I wish to speak with Kimpton before he is off for the day.” Rory set the tray aside and took up his coat. Harlowe shrugged into it. “I’ll hurry back.”

Harlowe reached the base of the stairs, stunned and inundated by the cloying scent of sweet apples. And no wonder, as a dire suspicion stole over him. He paused before the largest of three massive vases. He hesitated half a second, then poked about for a card. Deep within the forage, he located an impressive piece of vellum.

Lady Alymer,

Thank you for a lovely afternoon.

Yrs most sincerely, Oxford.

For an instant, Harlowe saw red to the pink and white apple blossoms filling the hall. He blinked several times to clear his vision. In an instant, the craving clawed at him—a stark harsh hunger—to sink within the depths of a draught of laudanum. Just a sip—no. This was the thinking that led to insanity. He squeezed his hand into a fist and breathed deep through his nose. He didn’t know how long he stood there—

“Harlowe, you looking for me?”

Kimpton’s voice startled him to the empty hall, the vases of flowers. “Yes. If you have a moment.” He pulled out his handkerchief and dabbed at the perspiration dotting his forehead and upper lip. He shoved the linen in his pocket before following Kimpton into his study.

Kimpton moved behind his desk and looked up. “I see you survived your late night ordeal.”

Harlowe cleared his throat. “I, uh, have some questions. Spoke to Welton last night. It jarred something in the chaos of my feeble brain,” he said with a self-deprecating smile. “Rowena Hollerfield.”

Kimpton groaned. “God, not her. That woman has been the bane of my existence.”

Not the reaction he’d been expecting. “What do you mean? Where is she?”

Kimpton hesitated, seeming to gauge Harlowe with some inner struggle. “Dead. Maudsley murdered her.”

Harlowe dropped into one of the Hepplewhites’ across from the desk. “You’d best start at the beginning. Just pretend I remember nothing.” Which wasn’t far from the truth.

“Rowena was a highly skilled, socially adept courtesan.” Kimpton glanced at the open door.

Harlowe took the hint, rising to close it. “That much I remember.”

“She was, in fact, my mistress before Lorelei and I married.”

Harlowe’s lips tightened, but he remained silent. He’d forgotten that as well. Part of the reason he’d hated Kimpton. The relationship had been common knowledge. Harlowe and his school mates at Eaton had talked of, made wagers on, created stratagems of stealing Rowena Hollerfield from Harlowe’s future brother-in-law.

“Don’t worry yourself, Harlowe.” Amusement gleamed in his eyes. “My association ended with Rowena Hollerfield the moment I met your sister. However, Rowena stopped me on the street one afternoon a little over a year ago. Said she was carrying my child.” This was said with a shot of disgust. “It wasn’t mine, of course. You can imagine my surprise when said child turned out to belong to you.”

Harlowe let out a long shaking breath as a flash of the girl in the picture he’d painted appeared in his head. Corinne. Young, clinging, pregnant. Anger. He’d been angry. And trapped. Somehow, he’d been trapped, though he failed to remember how or why.

“Rowena had plans on blackmailing me.”

That startled him. “Blackmail?”

“Yes. Of course, once I realized you were the father, I was obligated to assist her in any way possible. I sent her and Corinne to the hunter’s cottage at Kimpton. Your sister would have killed me had I not.”

“Mauds—”

“That’s where things gets complicated. Maudsley came looking for his wife, Ginny, whom he’d almost killed. Accused me of hiding her. Of course, everyone knows it’s illegal to keep a man’s wife from her husband, not to mention I was insanely in love with my own wife.” Kimpton spoke with a small smile. His smile disappeared and he grew serious, shaking his head. “He found Rowena and slammed her up against the wall, near as we could tell. No one saw him. It was a vicious attack. She wasn’t quite dead when Lorelei found her.”

Harlowe felt sick. “Lorelei found her?”

Kimpton’s lips compressed, and he gave a sharp nod.

On a hard swallow, Harlowe said, “I see.” But he didn’t see. “Did you ever learn why?”

“Temper, most likely. Maudsley had a horrendous temper. You might remember? He had three children.”

Harlowe nodded slowly, remembering what Maeve had told him about Corinne being Maudsley’s first child with Lady Hannah. “Yes, Corinne, Irene, and Celia.”

“We suspect he killed Hannah when he learned Corinne was not a boy.”

“Jesus.”

“So the man had had no heir. The closest conclusion Brock and I were able to ascertain was that when Maudsley learned Corinne hadn’t perished with her mother, he somehow discovered Rowena had run away with her as a newborn and raised her. We have no idea how he found out about Corinne. Hell, he was in the hunter’s cottage when Corinne was in labor. For all I know he could have learned the truth that night. As I said, no one saw him attack Rowena.

“In any event, Lorelei found Rowena in the drawing room. When Maudsley learned Corinne had borne a male child, it was clear he was determined to take the child.” The air around Kimpton grew dangerous. “He kidnapped Lorelei, Nathan, and Irene. We think he planned on petitioning Parliament in allowing him to make Nathaniel his heir.”

Harlowe shoved a hand through his hair. “Is that even possible?”

“It’s rare, but I believe it’s happened.”

None of this explained how Harlowe and Corinne had ended up married. Trapped. The word haunted him. He needed a look at Rowena Hollerfield’s lodgings. “I wonder if I can locate Rowena’s staff.” Perhaps he’d find his answers there.

Kimpton’s eyes narrowed on him. “What are you saying?”

“I’m not sure. Why would I have been associating with your ex-mistress? I can’t help but think I must have been there for reasons other than the obvious.”

Kimpton drummed his fingers atop the mahogany. “I’ll do some checking, but Harlowe—” he speared him with a hard glint— “if you disappear again, I’ll kill you myself. Lorelei was beside herself for over a year. I won’t have her upset like that again.”

Harlowe studied the man he’d hated as a child. Seeing Kimpton from an adult standpoint now was enlightening. This was a man who truly loved and cared for his sister. The insight put any remaining childhood fears to rest. He could trust Kimpton. “Understood.”

 

Maeve was a bluestocking through and through. Shopping was not her forte. Lorelei and Ginny took advantage of the morning, refusing to let Maeve bow out of going to Bond Street when there was a good three hours before their promise to the children regarding their jaunt to the park.

All was not lost, however. Under Lorelei’s and Ginny’s urging, Maeve picked out her own gowns. Having control over the cut and depth of the bodices had her shaking her head. Her choices were a far cry from her mother’s, where the slightest turn on the dance floor could lead to scandal and instant nuptials.

Lady Ingleby’s master plan, no doubt, depending on her dance partner at the given moment.

For the first time Maeve could remember, her life was coming together. She had funds, say over her own wardrobe, and soon, her own dwellings. She had the oddest whim to throw her arms in the air and spin about like a child.

She contained the impulse and glided into Kimpton House after Lorelei, draping her pelisse over her arm.

“Are the children ready, Oswald?” Lorelei asked him.

“Yes.” Kimpton stepped out of the parlor, followed by three children—two girls and a boy—followed by Brock and Harlowe.

Maeve’s gaze went straight to Harlowe. He was younger than Brock and Kimpton by a good ten years, but the man could hold his own, Maeve thought. The past year had aged him beyond his age of five and twenty. The breadth of his shoulders couldn’t be denied. His color, as she’d noted earlier, was healthier. His hazel eyes gleamed. If he could parade about London in the night hours with no ill-effects, a day at the park could only help, she decided, magnanimously.

“We are ready, Lady Kimpton,” Irene said. “Most especially Nathan.” She had him by the hand. His thumb was in his mouth.

“Are all of you accompanying us?” Ginny asked. She looked as stunned as Maeve felt.

Brock sauntered over and kissed her. “Of course, my dear. We couldn’t very well expect Harlowe to go it alo—”

“Expect Harlowe,” Lorelei echoed. “You mean”—she shot her brother a glare—“you feel you are being forced to spend time with your child?”

Maeve froze, and from the corner of her eye, she caught the hurt in Harlowe’s expression.

Harlowe stepped over and hugged Lorelei. He was quick, Maeve gave him that. “Of course not,” he told her. He winced. “I just don’t know him. I can’t remember—” His eyes shot to the company: Irene, Cecilia, Ginny, finally stopping on Maeve. “I don’t have much experience with children. Any more than you’ve had, my dear.”

Lorelei’s demeanor softened immediately. “Of course, darling. I should have realized.”

Irene went to his side, patting him on the arm. “Don’t worry, Lord Harlowe. Lady Kimpton didn’t know children either at first.”

A stalled hush fell over the foyer, leaving Maeve with more questions than answers.

Lorelei dabbed at her eyes. “Irene is right. Come, let’s go. I do believe Lady Alymer has a driving appointment with Dorset upon our return.”

All eyes turned and focused on her. The heat in her face seemed to cheer Harlowe immensely.

Her own quickly shifted to a scowl.

 

The troupe walked the short distance to Grosvenor Square, Celia skipping ahead, while Irene clung firmly to a determined Nathan, forcing her to move faster than she likely considered proper for a young lady of nine.

Maeve took pity on the girl and took his hand, freeing Irene.

Brock swooped Irene off her feet, swinging her around. Her childlike squeal that filled the air was both engaging and reassuring. In most instances, the girl was definitely not a child.

Kimpton sauntered up beside Maeve. “I have a list of suitable places for you to consider. Most are nearby.”

“Truly?”

He didn’t bother responding to that.

Nathan tugged on her hand. She stopped, leaned over and looked at him. “What?”

He held out his chubby arms, and her heart squeezed.

She bent down to pick him up, but Harlowe grabbed him first. “He’s too heavy for you,” he groused.

Maeve straightened, staring at him, then blinked.

“What? I’m not about to collapse, holding a… a child.”

Kimpton cleared his throat. “Lady Alymer, the list?”

Shaking her head, she turned back to Kimpton and the strip of paper he held out.

“Oh. Yes. Thank you.” Maeve perused the list, automatically striking off the one closest to Ingleby House. Her most fervent desire was not to be in view of anyone, least of all Ingleby House. “What of this one? Hanover Square. It sounds ideal.”

He frowned. “Are you certain? I hesitated to add it, thinking it too far away.”

She gave him a brilliant smile. “I shall decide if something is too far away or not, my lord. Thank you for your trouble. Might I keep the list?”

Kimpton inclined his head. “Of course, Lady Alymer. When you are ready to view the properties, I’m more than happy to accompany you.”

“Me too,” Harlowe said, stunning her into a small stumble.

Harlowe righted her with a quick hand. “Excellent. That’s settled then.”