If His Kiss Is Wicked Read online

  Restell was of a mind to tell her it would be foolish of her to instruct him in any matter, but in the interest of arriving at his appointment on time, he kept this to himself. “Very good. I will see you out.”

  Emma stood and waited for Restell to step aside before she retrieved her reticule. Clutching it in front of her, she thanked him for his invaluable time without any hint of sarcasm.

  Restell stood just inside the entrance to the town house while Hobbes helped Emmalyn into the carriage. He noticed she did not cast a look in his direction once she was aboard. Her determination to act as if nothing extraordinary had taken place amused him, and for that reason alone he would have accepted her case with or without the promise of a favor to be returned.

  Still, it was always better to have the favor.

  “I trust you found something to divert you while you waited.” Lady Gardner swept into the salon where Restell had been left to cool his heels in anticipation of her arrival.

  Restell turned away from the painting he had been studying and regarded his stepmother with equal parts affection and wariness. “You are looking in fine health this afternoon. Solomon informed me you had gone to the park. I imagine you found your stroll agreeable.”

  “Let us say that I found it more enlightening than agreeable,” she said, offering her right cheek, then her left, for his kiss. “But we will come to that.”

  Restell was all for coming to it now, but apparently Lady Gardner wanted to fit the noose snugly before she released the trapdoor. He had an urge to loosen the folds of his neckcloth.

  “Have you been offered refreshment?” she asked.

  “Yes.” The condemned’s last meal. “I declined.”

  Lady Gardner removed her pelisse and bonnet and held them out to the butler who had followed her into the room. “I will have tea, Solomon, and some of those iced cakes that Mrs. Trussle made this morning. Restell? Are you quite certain you will not join me?”

  “Thank you, but I am not hungry.”

  “What has that to do with anything? I am attempting to foster civility.” She threw up her hands as though she had quite given up on imparting good manners, then pivoted on her heel and addressed the butler. “Restell will have tea and cakes also, Solomon.”

  Restell was careful not to catch the butler’s eye, fearful that one of them would be moved to sniggering, if not outright laughter. Lady Gardner would not appreciate either response if she believed it was at her expense. Restell doubted she could be persuaded to understand that he was the object of the jest.

  As soon as Solomon vacated the salon, Lady Gardner gave her full attention once more to Restell. “Is that a new frock coat?” she asked, casting her gimlet eye on the cut of his garment. “It suits you.”

  “It is new,” he said. “And thank you. I will extend your compliment to my tailor.”

  “It would be better if you would introduce your father to the man. I despair that Sir Geoffrey will never find a cut that flatters his figure.”

  “His figure is decidedly more round these days, Mother.”

  “Is it? I confess, he seems much the same to me as the day I met him.” She paused, much struck by hearing herself say so. “Is that the nature of love, do you think?”

  Restell smiled. “I suspect it is but one facet.”

  “Yes, well, it is good of you to venture an opinion when you have little enough experience with it.”

  “On the contrary, Mother, I find myself in love with irritating frequency.”

  “Oh, no.” She shook her head with enough force to dislodge a lock of silver-threaded auburn hair. Sweeping it aside, she went on, “We will not have that argument. You cannot be in love with opera dancers and actresses.”

  “Not at the same time, certainly.”

  “That is not what I meant and you well know it.”

  “Someone should be in love with opera dancers and actresses. I have always found them so deserving.”

  “I wish you would not use that reasonable tone when you are being deliberately provoking. You know I find it confusing.”

  “I’m very sorry. I shall endeavor not to excite your nerves or your gray matter.”

  “You are all consideration.” Her light blue eyes narrowed slightly as she regarded Restell askance. “You are all consideration, aren’t you? I shouldn’t like to discover that you are having me on.”

  “I shouldn’t like you to discover that, either. It cannot possibly bode well for me.”

  Lady Gardner rolled her eyes. “You are a rascal, Restell. A dear one, to be sure, but a rascal nevertheless.” She took his hand, drew him over to the upholstered bench set a few feet from the window, and urged him to sit when she did. He obediently sat. “You cannot conceive of whom I happened upon in the park this afternoon.”

  Restell remained silent, waiting, hoping that he looked appropriately interested. His neckcloth seemed extraordinarily tight again.

  “Will you not at least venture a guess?” Lady Gardner asked.

  “You said I could not conceive it.”

  “Well, certainly you cannot, especially if you do not make the attempt.”

  Restell chose not to educate his stepmother as to the accepted definitions of “cannot” and “conceive.” He offered a guess instead. “Lady Armitage.”

  “No. Oh, heaven’s no. Do you take no notice of what goes on around you, Restell? She has been dead these last three months.”

  “Then she is unlikely to enjoy a turn in the park.”

  Lady Gardner was saved the effort of a rejoinder by Solomon’s arrival. She bade him place the service on the table in front of her and sent him out, then she poured tea for herself and Restell. Handing him his cup, she said, “It was Lady Rivendale. She is just arrived from the country.”

  “She is well?”

  “Very well. She spent a fortnight with her godson and his wife at Granville Hall and another fortnight with Ferrin and Cybelline at Fairfield.”

  Restell realized he would have known of the latter visit if he’d had the opportunity to finish reading his brother’s correspondence this morning. The missive was still lying on his desk beside the bank draft drawn up by Miss Hathaway. It occurred to him of a sudden that he should invest Miss Hathaway’s money in some venture that would return a good profit to her. She might appreciate the means to be independent in her dealings with the world. Certainly it would not cause her distress to be less beholden to her uncle.

  Lady Gardner snapped her fingers in front of Restell’s nose. “You are not attending me, dear.”

  “I’m sorry. You were saying that Lady Rivendale spent a fortnight at Ferrin’s estate.”

  “I have said a great deal more than that.” She sighed. “The gist of it is that her ladyship has reminded me of her great success in bringing about perfectly acceptable matches. Your own sister benefited from Lady Rivendale taking an interest in her future.”

  The way Restell remembered it, Lady Rivendale’s interest was confined to making a substantial wager on the likelihood that his sister would accept a proposal from Mr. Porter Wellsley. How that benefited Wynetta was outside Restell’s understanding, but his stepmother remained persuaded it served as a catalyst to bring Wellsley up to snuff. The fact that Wynetta and Wellsley remained indecently happy after four years of marriage merely underscored her conviction. “I seem to recall that Ferrin was of considerable help in bringing the thing about.”

  “Does Ferrin say so?”

  “No, he accepts no credit.”

  “Then you should not be giving him any. He is well out of it, and that is as it should be. The entire affair was havey-cavey; the less said about my son’s part in it, the better.”

  Restell suspected Ferrin would agree. It was too much to hope that Lady Rivendale or his stepmother had their sights set on his younger sisters. Hannah was just turned sixteen and considered too immature to be the object of a serious match, even by Lady Gardner’s standards. Portia was only twelve and showing unexpected signs of being b
ookish. It remained to be seen whether she could resist the tidal wave of entertainments that Lady Gardner would use to tempt her when she became of age. If it came to placing a wager, he would stake his living on his stepmother. One rarely was disappointed by depending upon Lady Gardner to achieve her goals.

  For proof, he only had to recall how she had taken the twins in hand after her marriage to Sir Geoffrey. When they came of age, neither Ian nor Imogene had the inclination to resist her even if they’d had any weapons at the ready. They were turned out on the marriage mart virtually unprotected. Imogene accepted a proposal her first season and was married at twenty. Ian did not last much longer.

  Ferrin thwarted his mother’s machinations for years, but that was largely because she was taken with his reputation as a rake. As she was of the opinion that one scoundrel in the family was all that could be properly managed, she did not indulge Restell’s attempts to follow his stepbrother’s lead. He had entertained some hope that when Ferrin married he might be allowed to embrace the role of family rogue. Sadly, Lady Gardner was proving resistant to this idea.

  For his part, Restell was conscious of showing regrettable signs of respectability. It was quite possible his dear step-mama thought he had grown ripe for the plucking.

  He sipped from the cup of tea he had not wanted, swallowed hard, and waited.

  “A cake?” Lady Gardner asked, holding up the plate.

  Restell shook his head, holding fast to the last bit of his resolve.

  Lady Gardner helped herself and bit one corner of the cake delicately. She took no pains to hide her pleasure. “Mrs. Trussle is a treasure, though I suspect her iced cakes are at the root of your father becoming rounder. I shall have to have a word with her about that, I suppose.” She plopped what remained of the cake into her mouth and finished it off with considerable relish.

  “Now, where was I?”

  Restell sidestepped the trap by remaining silent.

  “Oh, yes, Lady Rivendale’s splendid success on the marriage mart. She asked most specifically about you, Restell.”

  “Did she? That was very kind of her.”

  “I told her you were unattached and had no prospects.”

  Restell offered a wry glance. “It is to your credit that you did not puff the thing up.”

  Lady Gardner’s lips flattened. “It gave me no pleasure, I can tell you that, but as she is in a position to offer assistance, what would have been the point?”

  “Indeed. You did not enter into a contract, did you?”

  “Do not be absurd.”

  “It is a perfectly reasonable question. I have no idea how these things are accomplished. Does she present you with a list of eligible females? And now that I think on it, what constitutes eligibility? Must they be females of a certain age? Say, between eighteen and death? Can they be widows or are you set on a virgin?”

  “You are being outrageous.”

  Restell was unapologetic. “Is a substantial dowry a consideration? What of her face and figure? Can she have interests outside playing the pianoforte and embroidering pillows?”

  “She will not be an opera dancer, of that I am certain. Really, Restell, you are intent on annoying me.”

  “No, that is not my intent, Mother, but it might well be a consequence of asking for the particulars. I do not even know if you and Lady Rivendale are prepared to make the proposal on my behalf or whether I am permitted to fumble through the thing myself. What opinion am I allowed to offer? I freely admit my thoughts have thus far been self-serving. I have not begun to consider the feelings of the female. She will have some thoughts on the matter.”

  “She will be pleased to have you, Restell. You cannot doubt it. What do you imagine will not appeal to her? You are possessed of an extraordinarily handsome countenance and a sharp wit. You have had benefit of a fine education, which you did not completely waste in spite of your best efforts to be sent down. You are an accomplished horseman, better than most of your set at cards, a superior partner in the waltz, and have much to recommend you as an excellent son and brother. You are discreet to a fault and your unfortunate predilection for actresses and their ilk aside, you have been known to demonstrate sound judgment. Do you lack so much confidence in yourself? I hadn’t realized.”

  Her stout defense of him had the effect of taking the wind from his sails.

  Satisfied that she had effectively silenced him for the nonce, Lady Gardner continued to present her position. “Can you not see why it is imperative that someone help us manage the match? You are already besieged by a veritable legion of marriage-minded females.”

  “Hardly a legion,” Restell interjected.

  “I beg to differ. I am speaking of the daughters who want you and their mothers who want you for them.”

  “Oh,” he said quietly. “Then you might be right.”

  “There is no question but that I am right. You are six and twenty, Restell. That is an age where your father might reasonably expect you to marry.”

  Restell frowned. “Has he said as much?”

  “No. You know he is absorbed in his political designs. He relies on me to manage the family.”

  “We all rely on you, Mother, because you are so very good at managing us. It hardly seems fair that you should take on so much responsibility. It must be wearing on your nerves.”

  Lady Gardner leaned toward Restell and divulged in confidential tones, “You cannot appreciate the extent of it.”

  “And the sacrifice.”

  “Yes, there is that.”

  “One wonders that you do not neglect yourself.”

  “It is a delicate balance, doing for others and taking care of oneself.”

  “I should think so,” Restell said. “We take shameless advantage of your noble nature and profit from your good intentions. You would be well within your rights to throw up your hands and have done with the lot of us, unrepentant ingrates that we are. What a diversion it might be for you to step to one side and observe how we manage without your deft, guiding hand. Now, there would be a lesson for us and considerable comedy for you. Imagine the depth of our appreciation for you in such circumstances.”

  “You would all be humbled.”

  “Clearly that would be the way of it.”

  “I confess, it has a certain appeal.”

  “It would serve us right.”

  Lady Gardner chose another iced cake as she considered the consequences of her inaction. “You are an original thinker, Restell.”

  “Your influence, Mother. It is the very nature of your arguments that compels me to think in novel ways.”

  She smiled. “That is a pretty compliment.”

  Restell was rather pleased himself, though he took pains not to show it. Deciding he had played his cards as skillfully as was possible at this juncture, he judged the better course of action was to change the subject. He set aside his tea and pointed to the painting he’d been studying when his stepmother entered the salon. “Is that your newest artistic acquisition?”

  Lady Gardner swiveled on the bench to improve her line of sight. “The Fishing Village? Yes, that’s new. I told you about it, do you not recall? Of course, you do not. It is as you said, I am taken completely for granted.”

  Restell rose to his feet, touching his stepmother’s shoulder lightly as he did so. “Do not be so hard on yourself, Mother. You know that I do not recall much of what anyone says to me.”

  Lady Gardner snorted. “I am not fooled. You have a mind like a steel trap, Restell.”

  This was not the direction Restell wanted the conversation to take, so he did not attempt to argue the point. “So this is the Vega.”

  “That’s right. Do you like it? It seemed as though you were admiring it earlier.”

  “I was, yes. It is a departure from his other work, I think. There is a sense of movement here, of activity. I do not seem to remember that Vega has ever rendered a scene with so much industry. The fishermen. Their wives. Children at play. Here is one woman who
looks as if she means to abandon the fish she is cleaning and gut her husband. The humor is unexpected. The whole of it puts me in mind of Brueghel.”

  “That was my sense also. I wanted it very badly and your father appeased me.”

  “Vega still does portraits, does he not?”

  “Yes. He has not abandoned his bread and butter. I understand Lady Greenaway has commissioned him to do a family portrait for her. Lord Greenaway is not enthusiastic about the engagement—I have that from your father—and how she will manage to make her five young children sit for it is beyond my comprehension, but she is set on the matter. Sir Arthur is commanding an indecent sum for his work, though I suspect that he will wish he had negotiated a much larger sum when he has met the children.”

  Restell chuckled. “When have you had occasion to meet Lady Greenaway’s children?”

  “The terrors interrupted the musicale I attended in her home last month.”

  “Bad form.”

  “They are undisciplined, but that is neither here nor there.”

  “On the contrary. Lady Greenaway might be grateful for such insight and advice as you can offer her. We have never interrupted one of your literary salons or evening entertainments.”

  “True, but you make no mention of the time the twins dangled you by your heels from the balcony.”

  “We didn’t disturb anyone. You would not have known if Ferrin had not tattled.”

  She sighed. “That was really too bad of him. I did despair of that boy ever finding a sense of humor. Cybelline has been excellent for him.”

  Restell recognized dangerous waters. They were perilously close to discussing the benefits of marriage again. He nearly reeled at the prospect. “If you were to act as a mentor to Lady Greenaway, you could very well be invited to observe Sir Arthur as he creates the portrait. You should indulge your interest in painting, Mother. Think how such an intimate perspective might enhance your own happy talent.”

  “My, Restell, but you are clever today.”

  He shrugged modestly. “You inspire me.”

  “Your father says the same, but he is generally speaking of some political machination. It is difficult to know whether to be flattered.” She finished her drink. “I think I will invite Lady Greenaway to tea soon. Obviously she is in need of some guidance regarding the continued employment of the children’s nanny.”