Chapter Ten

L eo leaned back in his chair in his office and stared up at the ceiling. Exhaustion burned in every muscle, but at the thought of Saffron, his body came alive.

He reached beneath his desk to where his cock stood at attention, freed from the fall of his trousers, and imagined her in his arms. The light-pink flush of her skin over her bosom drawing his mouth closer. He would love to kiss that pert nose, see her smile.

She would bend over his desk, and he would flip her skirts back and dive into the sweet heat of her entrance, riding her until she came apart. He would stay anchored inside her and wait the few moments she needed to recover, holding on to his passion with iron control. When she stopped shuddering, he would plunge into her again and empty his seed inside her.

Other men have mistresses for such a task , Leo thought, panting hard. He finished into his neckcloth and threw it into a corner for some maid to find in the morning and giggle.

With some tension drained, he tucked himself away and pulled open the middle drawer of his desk to reveal a collection of dusty glass bottles that wobbled and clinked together. He selected one at random, pulled out the cork with his teeth, then took a long swig. When it was empty, he replaced it in the drawer, then knocked the drawer closed with his knee.

He thought about returning to his newly relocated studio and working on his latest piece, but a distant thud and murmuring of voices reminded him that his time was no longer his own. As host to the event, it would be rude if he was not present to greet his guests as they arrived.

He straightened his waistcoat, then strolled out of his office and down the hallway to stand at the top of the stairs and observe the chaos erupting in his entryway. When he realized it was Saffron's aunt and sister arriving, he turned around and took a longer route to the front door. It took an extra few minutes, but he did not want to interrupt their reunion.

By the time he'd navigated the creaking stairs and cold halls to return to the foyer, Saffron and her family were no longer present. He waited for a moment, unsure of what to do next, when the front doors creaked open and two men entered, engaged in conversation. The first was Simon, dressed in a dark-blue waistcoat and trousers. In one hand he carried an enormous umbrella, and with the other, he gestured to his companion, a man in his late forties with streaks of silver shot through his black hair and a matching salt-and-pepper mustache. The man wore a tall, domed hat and an ankle-length, dark-blue, wool coat. He kept his hands on a black, leather belt high on his waist.

Leo had almost forgotten that he had sent for the constable.

Simon spotted him and raised a hand in greeting, then turned to his companion. "Can't say I've ever heard of mischief around these parts before."

"A nuisance, I'm sure," the constable said. "I'll get this sorted out as soon as I can." The man caught Leo's eye and straightened. "You would be the Viscount Briarwood, Lord Leopold Mayweather?"

The use of his title sent gooseflesh pricking up his arm. "The viscount" was his father, then later his brother. But both were dead, and the title was his responsibility.

"Indeed," he said, his voice echoing as he descended the stairs.

Simon removed his hat and handed it off to a servant. "I met Detective Jansen on the ferry. He told me of the nasty business of the break-in."

"I am surprised you arrived so soon," Leo said. "Did the storm not wash out the bridge?"

The detective removed his hat. "It was in working order by the time I passed over, but I'd rather not tally long. The surging waters can wipe out logs in a moment, and my wife would not be happy if I did not return for supper."

"Of course," Leo said. "Follow me and I will show you to the scene."

As he guided the detective to the room that had once held his studio, Saffron appeared at his side.

He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, then turned to his cousin. "Simon, I believe you've met Miss Summersby. She came to some trouble along the road."

His cousin removed his hat and bowed. "I am sorry to hear that, Miss Summersby. Is your sister—"

"Angelica is well," Saffron said, interrupting. "She accompanied me, along with my aunt."

Simon tugged at the bottom of his waistcoat. "Excellent. Well, cousin, we should not keep the detective waiting."

Leo guided the group to the sitting room. He had relocated all the implements and products of his craft, leaving a cavernous room that was occupied by a single, horsehair sofa, an oval, walnut table, and a gilded-bronze lamp. It was so different from the sanctuary he had established that he hesitated on the threshold, horrified by the transformation. The very soul of the room had been sucked out, leaving behind a hollow shell.

That's what society does, forcing out all uniqueness to emphasize only what is acceptable.

Simon and the detective crossed the bare floor to inspect the boarded-up window. Saffron, however, split from the group and conversed quietly with a maid, who then rushed away.

"I asked them to move in some additional seating and a few paintings from other areas of the house," she said when she rejoined him. "This room is near the entrance, and you want to ensure that it gives the right first impression to your guests."

He could've kissed her, but she flitted out of his grasp.

"Be careful." He pointed to the tips of her feet, peeking out from beneath her gown, covered in silk slippers. "There may still be shards of glass on the floor. I would not want you to injure yourself."

"I am sure your staff has done a thorough job," she said. He searched the floor in front of her as she went, his heart pounding with every step, expecting her to let out a high-pitched cry as a shard cut through her thin slippers. When nothing happened, he forced his attention back to the problem at hand.

The detective crouched by the window, one hand on his chin, the other holding a small notepad. "You say nothing was disturbed?" He peered out the window, where long branches scraped against the sides of the house in the buffeting wind. "Might it have been one of them branches that done the deed?"

"There was a branch, but the end was cleanly cut. There was also mud on the carpet inside, and evidence of a horse sitting for some time nearby," Leo said, as Saffron surreptitiously used a corner of her gown to remove a streak of mud from the window frame. "I searched the woods but lost the track by the cliff. I suspect he had a ship docked nearby."

The detective scribbled on the notepad. "Well, I'm not sure what we might do. Destruction of property, that's a crime, but it will be blasted hard to catch the man, what with the storm. I would guess any evidence is long gone by now."

Leo sighed. Although he had expected as much and had already moved his canvases to a secured room where only his most trusted servants could enter, he had the overwhelming urge to rush to the room and count the canvases and make sure there were none missing.

"What do you suggest, then?" he asked, doing his best to keep his tone even as Saffron wandered away to direct the newly arrived Mrs. Banting where to position more chairs, oblivious to the potential danger beneath her feet.

"You might hire some locals to keep guard," the detective said. "This isn't a case for Scotland Yard, my lord. Chances are, you spooked the thief right off and he won't soon return."

Leo had his doubts, but he understood there was little the law could do, even if he revealed the priceless pieces of art that had been present in the room on the night of the break-in. Better to take matters into his own hands.

"Thank you, Detective. We will consider your suggestions."

He walked the man out, partially to ensure he didn't wander around on his own, but also to remain occupied and unable to answer questions for some time longer. As expected, once the doors closed, his butler and housekeeper were at his side.

"Milord, the roast—"

"No room in the stables—"

He took a deep breath. Before he could settle their concerns, Saffron swept between them.

"Calm down, both of you," she said. "Now, Mrs. Banting, you start. What problem is so serious that you must accost your master mere moments before the guests arrive?"

Sinclair and the housekeeper plied the woman with a deluge of problems. As he watched, bemused, she triaged a new main course for the dinner and arranged for a new paddock with a temporary stable to be built that same afternoon.

"Your skills are wasted," he said once his servants had quit her side. "You would be a remarkable mistress of a household."

The moment he'd said the words, even in jest, he regretted them. He had no intention of ever marrying. A dalliance was acceptable, but taking a wife would make him vulnerable. He could not risk feeling the kind of pain he'd felt after Sabrina's death again.

Saffron's jaw trembled. "Indeed."

"If only there was a way to manage the lives of those around you without marriage," Angelica said from the stairs. Dressed in a silver-and-lilac gown with an overdress of white, pleated flounces and silk rosettes, she descended to stand beside her sister. Her curls were piled atop her head and decorated with iridescent beads.

"Are you sure you are recovered?" Saffron asked, touching her sister's cheek with her fingers.

"Stop fussing," Angelica said. "I'm fine. Aunt Rosemary is fine. You can stop worrying about us."

"If only that were possible," Saffron said.

Hoping to forestall a fight, Leo bowed before Angelica. "You are radiant, Miss Summersby. Nearly as radiant as your sister."

"You are too kind, Lord Briarwood," Angelica said, waving her fan in front of her face. "I must admit that a maid supplied us. Most of our gowns were soiled in the crash."

Well, that will not do.

"I will rectify that situation at once," he said. "My coachman will accompany you to the nearest dressmaker at your convenience. You may use my account." Angelica squealed.

"That wouldn't be proper," Saffron said, putting her hands on her hips. "You presume too much, Lord Briarwood."

Hearing her use his title bothered him, even though he knew she had to use the proper form of address around others. He looked forward to making her moan his name. Assuming he got a chance. He would not blame her if the next time they were alone, she insisted on maintaining a proper distance.

"As we have already established," he said, "I am entirely improper."

Angelica grabbed on to Saffron's arm. "Oh, please, sister, please say yes . It has been so long since we had new gowns."

He kept silent as the sisters argued, hoping that Saffron would realize his offer was practical, as much as it was his own secret desire to see her dressed in finer clothes. If she was going to help him in his search over the coming days, he needed her able to blend in. If she wore another gown like the one she'd worn at Lady Jarvis's ball, she would attract too much attention.

"If Aunt Rosemary agrees," Saffron said at last.

"I will ask her," Angelica said. She turned and rushed back up the stairs.

As Leo laughed, a loud boom sounded through the hall for the third time.

A footman hurried from the sitting room to pull the door open. A woman in an indigo day dress stepped over the threshold, her hand on the arm of a large man with a bulging stomach. The difference between the two was striking. The woman's brightly painted lips and low-cut bodice suited a woman half her age, whereas the man, with his mottled complexion and deep-set eyes, seemed like he might drop dead at any moment.

Three servants dressed in dark-brown livery hovered around the couple, holding overlapping umbrellas to keep the rain from touching their masters. On entering the hall, they bustled away, dragging the soaking wet umbrellas with them.

Saffron stood behind Leo, and as much as he wanted her by his side, he respected her choice.

"Mr. and Mrs. Morgan," Leo said, forcing a smile. "Welcome."

Mr. Morgan frowned. "Lord Briarwood. Didn't expect you to be the one to greet us."

Leo was growing rather tired of having to explain the state of his house. He was looking forward to the conclusion of the auction when he could return to his solitude.

"My butler is occupied with a more pressing matter," he said.

Mrs. Morgan inclined her head, making the peacock feathers in her bonnet bounce.

"Girls, present yourselves to Lord Briarwood," Mr. Morgan said before coughing into a handkerchief.

Two young ladies scurried forward, dressed in nearly identical bell-shaped gowns that differed only in shade.

"Miss Morgan," Leo said to the girl in lilac, bowing over her hand.

She gasped. "Lord Briarwood, you know my name?"

"Of course, and your sister." He clasped the hand of the girl in peach and bowed. "Miss Beatrice Morgan."

The girls tilted their dark blond heads together and giggled. Both were young, beautiful, and heiresses in their own right.

"Oh!" Mrs. Banting said, as she rushed into the room. "I apologize, my lord."

As she took charge of showing his guests to their rooms, Leo watched Mrs. Morgan order her daughters about. Mr. Morgan kept shooting glances down the hall. Could the Morgans have come to steal the Ravenmore? With two young daughters, he didn't think they had the time or privacy.

"Too young for you," Simon said, appearing at his shoulder without warning, making Leo jump.

"You're like a damn ghost," Leo said. "Must you sneak around like that?"

Simon shrugged. "Perhaps rather than my stealth, you might say it was you who had your mind in the clouds." He glanced around, then smiled at Saffron. "Hello, Miss Summersby. Will your sister be joining us this evening?"

"I could not keep her away if I tried," Saffron said.

Then the door creaked, and Simon turned. "Ah, my favorite of your guests has arrived."

A tall, raven-haired woman strolled through the front doors wearing a sleek, crimson gown with a low neckline and cinched waist. Lady Olivia Heather, the Countess Dowager of Allen. He had not spoken to her in months, but she was as beautiful as the day they had met, shortly after the death of her husband, the Earl of Allen.

Simon stepped forward to greet her. "Lady Allen. As lovely as always."

The woman's rouged lips curved into a smile as she accepted Simon's greeting. "Mr. Mayweather. I look forward to renewing our association."

Leo heard Saffron gasp and reached out to take her hand before she could retreat, pinning him to her side.

"What is she doing here?" Saffron hissed.

Leo squeezed her hand. "It's not what it seems."

Saffron huffed. "Really? You didn't invite your mistress to this event? The same woman who was fawning over you at Lady Jarvis's ball, when we first met?"

Lady Allen met his gaze and raised one sleek eyebrow. He shook his head slightly, then took a step backward, forcing Saffron along with him. He led her out of the room and into a dark corner before realizing she was tugging at her hand.

Look what you've done now. You'll be lucky if she doesn't hate you.

He released her, increasing the distance between them before he could do something stupid, like kiss her. Her eyes were wide and misty, her lips twisted, her brows drawn together.

"Trust me," he said. "Please. Let me explain."

She bit her lip, crossed her arms, then nodded, once. "Fine. Explain."

He took a deep breath, exhaled. "Yes, Lady Allen was my mistress, but I severed our arrangement years ago."

He could see the suspicion in the hard lines of Saffron's face, and the indecision in her eyes. She wanted to believe him; he just had to give her a reason.

"Why is she here?" she asked.

"Our parents were friends," he said.

"Could she be—"

"Olivia is too refined to stoop to theft," Leo said, interrupting Saffron's accusation. Of all his guests, he suspected Lady Allen of being the thief the least. Seduction, trickery, and blackmail were Olivia's weapons, not theft.

"See to your guests," Saffron said. "I-I must make sure my sister and aunt are settled in their rooms. I will return shortly."

"Of course." Leo bowed, and when he straightened, she was gone.

At least she didn't reject you.

He had feared that exact outcome, a termination of their agreement, and the weight of it still rested heavily on his shoulders. In the short time he'd known her, Saffron had become important to him. That was the most terrifying thought of all.

Restless, he returned to the entryway, where Olivia was waiting. She met his gaze and smiled, but the expression held none of the heat that he'd expected.

"Lady Allen, I apologize that you were not greeted properly."

"A trifling matter." Her eyes sparkled. "I am far more interested in your relationship with Miss Summersby. I saw the way she looked at you. Quite the mess you've landed yourself in, Leopold. You will give me the entire story when it is over." She held out her gloved hand, and he pressed a kiss to her fingers, then handed her off to a footman, who took one look at the mountain of trunks being loaded from her carriage into the foyer and paled.

"I would suggest you consider a household bonus after this event," Olivia said as they watched the footman struggle to carry a trunk up the stairs. "Unless you want to hire a new staff."

Leo closed his eyes. It was only three days. He could manage three days of disruption.