Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

G wen arrived before Somerton at Tamsin and Isaac’s house the day after the Phoenix Club ball. Tamsin accompanied her to the library to await Somerton’s arrival. On the way, Gwen told her about being the queen of the medieval ball at the Phoenix Club.

“Oh, I wish I’d been there,” Tamsin said. “Was it spectacular?”

“It was beyond my imagination.” Gwen was still giddy—not just from being the center of everyone’s attention, but because her mother had been so happy. That was all Gwen had wanted. To see the pride and joy in her mother’s eyes had meant everything. “And today, I had three callers.”

Tamsin beamed at her. “That’s wonderful, Gwen! It seems this plan with Somerton is working.”

“Yes, I can hardly believe it.” Gwen went to set her bag down on the table before turning to face Tamsin.

“Tell me about the callers,” Tamsin urged, moving toward the seating area.

They sat together on the settee, and Gwen told her about each one, starting with Mr. Thaddeus Markwith. Before she could finish, however, Somerton arrived.

“I’ll tell you about the last one later,” Gwen said to Tamsin as they stood.

“The last what?” Somerton, garbed in a bottle-green coat, brown-and-gold waistcoat, and dark brown breeches that would have revealed a host of imperfections on any other man, asked jovially as he strode in the library.

“My callers today.” Gwen grinned at him. “Thanks to you, I had three!” She laughed, unable to contain her glee. “My mother was beside herself. She didn’t even care when I told her you weren’t really courting me.”

“I’m pleased to hear it. Should we begin?” He glanced toward Tamsin.

“Sorry, cousin!” Tamsin said to the viscount. “I’ll see myself out.” She turned and left the library, closing the door behind her.

When they were alone, Somerton surveyed her a moment. “Three callers, eh?”

“Yes, can you believe it? I cannot.”

“I absolutely can,” he said. “I suppose you don’t need my help any longer.”

“I don’t know that I would go that far, but this is a huge improvement from where I was a week ago. I can’t thank you enough.” She moved toward him and was going to hug him, but stopped herself.

He narrowed his eyes briefly. “What?”

“I was going to hug you, but I realized that wouldn’t be appropriate.”

“Is it any more intimate than the waltz?” he said with his signature flirtatious smile.

“Are you flirting with me?” she teased.

His features sobered, but he didn’t appear any less handsome. Gwen wasn’t sure he could even if he rolled about in mud. “Probably. And I should not.” He looked away from her, and she sensed a change in him.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m concerned that since you won’t be needing my help much longer that we won’t be able to continue meeting like this. For my…problem.”

Gwen touched his sleeve, and he met her gaze once more. She saw the flicker of anxiety in his expressive green eyes. “I am committed to helping you—now and as long as you need it.”

The moment between them stretched, and Gwen’s pulse beat faster. There was something about the viscount that always made her feel…different. At least, not the way other gentlemen made her feel. Was that because he was a rogue? Whatever the reason, having his attention was exciting. Even if it was all a ruse. Just being in his presence was enough to make one’s heart skip.

He arched a dark gold brow. “Will your betrothed mind you secretly meeting with me?”

She cracked a smile at his sarcasm—at least she assumed it was sarcasm—and stepped back from him. “I do not have a betrothed, so let us not put the cart before the horse. Come, let’s get started. We only have an hour.”

Somerton held her chair at the table as she sat down. Gwen angled herself toward him as he took his seat. “How did your writing go?” she asked.

“Slowly. I copied the first portion six times. Three each night.”

Gwen was impressed. “How long did that take you?”

He looked up at the ceiling, his face scrunching as if he were calculating. “I don’t honestly know. It did become faster as I went.”

“That’s excellent! That’s exactly what we want, for this to become easier.” She pulled a piece of parchment from her bag. “Today, I would like to work on reading first, and then we can spend some time reviewing your speech. How does that sound?”

He leaned back against the chair. “I am entirely at your command, as ever.”

Something about the way he said those words and the manner in which his gaze seemed to…devour her made her shiver. She had no trouble seeing how he was able to steal kisses from nearly anyone. Although, Gwen was fairly certain he wouldn’t need to steal. She would give them freely.

Did that mean she wanted to kiss him?

She had to admit she was curious. She’d never kissed anyone, and she had to imagine the experience with Somerton would be sublime.

She needed to stop thinking such things! There were nice gentlemen showing her interest, if not yet courting her, and she was tutoring Somerton—nothing more.

“Miss Price?” he prodded, jolting Gwen from her wayward thoughts. “Woolgathering?”

“I’m afraid so,” she replied with a shake of her head, as if that would clear her mind. She needed to focus on the matter at hand—helping the viscount. Setting the paper in front of him, she said, “We’re going to practice reading. I’ve chosen a new poem for today, which I’ve copied onto this parchment in a specific way. I’ve underlined words I think you already know and broken other ones into parts so they may be easier to read. I don’t know if this will work, but I thought it was worth a try.”

Somerton nodded as he focused on the paper before him. “You put a great deal of planning into this.”

“Of course.”

He looked over at her, his expression…humbled? “Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure. I’m glad we’re able to help one another. You’ve been so very wonderful. Last night was particularly brilliant. I do think it may have changed everything for me to be queen of the ball.” She cocked her head. “Did you have anything to do with that?”

He shrugged. “I certainly didn’t stuff the box with votes for you. I may have suggested to some people that you would be a good choice.”

Her heart skipped. He’d done so much for her. “For a rogue, you are very nice.”

His brows dipped. “I’m not that nice. Remember that I am helping you because you are providing something for me in return.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Gwen argued. “We are both benefiting, as agreed upon. I hope you know I consider you a friend.”

“I consider you my friend too. But you mustn’t forget who I really am, Miss Price—a rogue conducting a transaction.” His gaze held hers, and again, she shivered. “There may come a time when you will want to sever ties with me,” he continued. “And I won’t ever blame you for doing so.”

He spoke so frankly. It was almost as if he were making her a promise.

Abruptly, he moved his attention to the paper before him. “Shall we begin?”

“Yes.” They’d already spent too much time talking and not reading. That was her fault. She found him very distracting today.

Somerton took a deep breath and started reading. Gwen put all other thoughts from her mind, though she couldn’t quite shake the lingering feeling that their friendship was more than a transaction, regardless of what he said. And she couldn’t imagine breaking off their friendship, not for any reason.

L ater that evening, Lazarus sat in a dim corner in the main room of the Siren’s Call nursing a tankard of ale. Their usual table had been occupied.

His meeting with Miss Price had gone well, though he’d experienced some frustration when they’d worked on the memorization of his speech. He’d thought he’d mastered the first several lines after copying them so many times, but he’d struggled.

Miss Price had been unwavering in her support, her calm demeanor keeping him from giving up. Until their time had expired. They planned to meet again the day after tomorrow. In the meantime, he was to continue his writing exercises. He also planned to use the technique she’d employed with underlining certain words and rewriting others, breaking them down into pieces.

He’d already rewritten half the speech doing that. It had taken him all evening. He’d decided he’d earned a tankard of ale at the Siren’s Call and a respite with friends. Only, they weren’t here, and as it happened, Lazarus was perfectly content to be alone.

A pair of gentlemen came from one of the gaming rooms, and Lazarus saw that it was Shefford and Bedingfield, another fellow who sometimes joined them. Scanning the room as Bedingfield was speaking, Shefford laughed just before his gaze settled on Lazarus.

Shefford said something to Bedingfield, who continued toward the door. Pivoting, Shefford approached Lazarus’s table. “Why are you skulking in the corner by yourself?”

Lazarus arched a brow at him, his hands cupping his tankard. “Skulking? I’m not Droxford. I wanted an ale.”

“Well, finish up and come with us to the Rogue’s Den. Bedingfield is hailing a hack.”

Cramming himself into a hackney coach and spending the evening in debauchery did not appeal to Lazarus. His brain was overtired from all the work he’d done today, and he just wanted to…do nothing.

“Thank you for the invitation, but I’ll pass this evening.”

Shefford slid into the chair opposite him. “What’s the matter? You do seem like Droxford—before he wed, anyway. You look almost, dare I say it, morose.” He grimaced as if he’d just delivered terrible news.

“Nothing is the matter. I’ve had a long day, and I’m tired. We rode in the park quite early, or don’t you recall?”

“I do, just as I recall the wonderful nap I took after bathing.” Shefford grinned. “You should have slept.”

“Yes, well, I had other things to do.” Lazarus was surprisingly annoyed by Shefford’s needling. Perhaps he was morose after all. Though, why should he be?

“Come to the Rogue’s Den,” Shefford cajoled. “You’ll feel much better. I guarantee you will sleep wonderfully.”

Lazarus did consider it, but he just wasn’t interested in a night of bed sport. He blamed his mental fatigue. “I appreciate your concern, but I think I’ll go home when I finish my ale. You and Bedingfield have a grand time.”

Shefford exhaled and stood. “Of course we will. Join us if you change your mind.”

He turned and left the club, and Lazarus lifted his tankard for a drink.

Jo appeared at his table, a dark brow arched in question. She took the chair next to him without asking. “I assume you just declined Shefford’s invitation to join them wherever they are going. And am I right in thinking it’s the Rogue’s Den?”

Lazarus fixed her with a wry stare. “Do you know everything that happens here?”

She laughed. “Nearly. My mother likes it that way. Why didn’t you go with them? I don’t know that I’ve ever seen you pass up an evening of hedonism.”

Was everyone going to stick their nose into his business? “I just didn’t feel like going.”

Her long, dark lashes fluttered as she narrowed her eyes and studied him. “Is it a woman who’s twisted you up?”

“I am not ‘twisted up.’ I’m tired. It’s been a long day.”

She briefly tapped her fingers on the table. “You did not deny the existence of a woman. You know, it would serve you right to be having romantic difficulties. You’ve broken a few hearts, at least. Perhaps it’s your turn to experience that disappointment.”

Lazarus flinched inwardly. “I hate that I’ve done that. It was never my intent.”

“You can’t help it if you’re impossibly charming and so attractive it makes one’s teeth ache as if they’ve eaten too many sweets.” She gave him a sardonic smile, but there was genuine warmth behind it. Jo was a good friend and an excellent listener.

“Should I change the way I dress? Stop bathing? Let my hair grow into an unpleasant mess?”

“That would certainly help. May I also suggest you grunt instead of smile and try being surly instead of gallant. I’m sure your friend Droxford would give you lessons, though I hear he’s almost genial now.”

“He’s completely enthralled with my cousin. It’s quite nice, actually.”

Jo sucked in a breath, her eyes rounding. “Are you in favor of love now?”

He rolled his eyes. “I’ve never been against it. I just haven’t found it myself, nor do I see it as necessary.” His parents had not shared a great love affair, but they’d been perfectly content with one another.

Lazarus noted the door opening and saw Evan Price walk in. Becky immediately engaged him in conversation.

“Is Miss Price the reason for your moodiness?” Jo asked.

Having picked up the tankard for a drink, Lazarus now returned it—heavily—to the table. He frowned at Jo.

“Why are you looking at me like that? I’ve heard the two of you are practically courting, that you were king and queen of the Phoenix Club ball last night. You made quite a stir. Some say you are completely gone for her.”

Damn. That was not going to help Miss Price’s cause. He needed to put distance between them—at least publicly. In fact, it might be time that she made it publicly known that she was not interested in courtship because he was too much of a rogue. Everyone would believe that story.

“You know a great deal,” Lazarus said evenly. “Were you at the ball last night?” He knew her mother was a member of the Phoenix Club. Jo was not since she was unwed. However, she could attend the balls with a family member who was.

“No, but you must be aware that people come in here and talk. I know things that would make your eyes pop out of your head and roll across the floor.”

The image was absolutely ghastly, but also rather amusing. Lazarus’s mouth ticked up in a smile. “You are frighteningly easy to talk to.” A thought struck him. “Do you collect information on purpose?”

“What a horrid thing to suspect,” she said. “As you said, I’m simply easy to talk to. Just because I know some people’s secrets doesn’t mean I would ever share them. I am nothing if not discreet. To be honest, I hear a great many things at the literary salon I attend most weeks. There are several members of Society who attend.”

Lazarus’s interest was piqued. He shot his gaze to hers. “What literary salon is this?”

“You’re interested in books?” She gaped at him. “I’m shocked.”

It should not have insulted him since he generally disdained reading. He had to in order to hide his own secret. For some reason, he considered telling Jo about it, in part because he was feeling defensive. But also because she did have an uncanny ability to put one at ease and make one want to share.

However, he could not bring himself to disclose his shameful secret. Sharing it with Miss Price had been hard enough, and it had gone so well that he dare not tempt fate again. “I am interested in attending a literary salon. Could you garner me an invitation? Or two?” This wasn’t just for him. He wanted to take Miss Price. She would be delighted.

“For you and your mysterious lady friend?” Jo teased. “I’m sure I could get you an invitation—and you could bring a guest. There are two ladies who host. Mrs. Fletcher-Peabody on the first and third Mondays and Mrs. Davenport on the second and fourth. If there is a fifth Monday, there is no meeting.”

“Could I go on Monday?” That was in just two days, so perhaps Jo wouldn’t be able to coordinate that.

“I don’t see why not. I’ll send confirmation by Monday afternoon. You’ll understand why it may not be sooner as this is rather late notice.”

“Of course. I appreciate your assistance.” His mind began working as to how he could get Miss Price there. She would need to be disguised. Perhaps she could be heavily veiled and take on the role of his great-aunt who lived near Bath. But she would want to speak, which meant she’d have to make herself sound like an older person. Would she even want to do all this?

Of course she would. Miss Price was a deep lover of books, and she was most intrepid.

“Here comes Price,” Jo said. “I won’t tell anyone that you’re harboring a tendre for his sister.”

“I’m not,” Lazarus protested, unsure if she was teasing him again or not. Because it was true. If not a tendre, he was harboring something for his sweet tutor. If he hadn’t already been thinking he needed to end his public association with her, this realization made it necessary.

Jo gave him an enigmatic smile. “I’ll send a note by Monday.” Then she left as Evan bore down on Lazarus’s table.

Yes, it was time for Miss Price to put an end to speculation that she and Lazarus might engage in a courtship. He would discuss that with her at their next meeting.

And he would ignore the pang of sadness that accompanied the end of their ruse.