To Con a Gentleman: A Regency Romance (Dalton Family Book 1) Page 4

  Thoroughly put out with the now silent seat, Rose huffed and crossed her hands primly in her lap. She raised her eyes, reluctantly, to meet the earl’s. His eyebrows were lifted in a devilish grin. This job was going wonderfully.

  If Rose ever wanted to see that two thousand pounds, she needed to regain some control. And quick. “Well, my lord. First, I’m not surprised that you do not remember me,” But you certainly will after this carriage ride. “It’s why I was nervous to come in the first place. You see…the night you—er…summoned me, you had been drinking rather heavily.”

  He grimaced but his eyes danced. “That couldn’t have been very pleasant.” She fought to resist a smile. Probably because her sense of the ridiculous was already heightened from the seat noises. Certainly not because the awful man had wit.

  “I’m not here to discuss the pleasantries of our encounter, Lord Newburry.”

  “Then what are you here to discuss?” Was his face simply frozen into that lazy smirk?

  “To speak plainly, my lord, I am here for compensation.”

  He nodded. “Naturally.” Was he enjoying this?

  After her idiotic attempt to recreate the embarrassing noise made when she scooted across the seat, Rose was struggling to maintain both her control and her dignity. She wanted to slap herself for being so bird-witted.

  “As I said before, I have been released from my post due to this pregnancy without recommendation and I feel that it is only right to be compensated since I will very likely not be able to regain employment until after the child is born. If at all.” Was her language too polite? In all of her irritation, she had completely forgotten to resort back to the vulgar tongue. Apparently, there would be no end to her mistakes that day.

  “Seems fair. How much compensation, my dear?”

  “If you would be willing to give me enough money to live on, I wouldn’t trouble you again and no one would need to know that the child is yours.” Rose made sure to phrase it in such a way that he could hear the threat in her statement.

  There. She had regained a little ground.

  “And out of curiosity, just how much would it take for you to continue living?”

  Again, she found herself biting her cheeks to keep from laughing. She was realizing that it was possible to both hate someone and find them funny at the same time.

  “Two thousand pounds?” she unleashed her puppy eyes.

  His eyebrows shot up and a low chuckle pushed through his broad chest. “Goodness, woman! Keeping you alive is not going to be cheap, is it? What if I just want to keep you barely breathing? Would that save me a thousand pounds or so?”

  Her lips twitched, but she kept herself in hand. “Perhaps you might ask your butler what the going cost of living is, my Lord.”

  “So she does have claws. I thought so.” His smile grew wide and somehow more handsome. Infuriating.

  “Beg your pardon. That was impertinent,” said Rose, forcing herself to slip back into character. A maid would never have spoken so freely to an earl as she had a moment ago.

  “No, don’t apologize,” he said, settling back comfortably in his seat. “I like you far better with a bit of pluck.”

  A strange sparkle entered his eyes. Was a sparkle good or bad? She honestly could not tell how this job was going anymore. She felt as if she had jumped into the ocean but had forgotten how to swim.

  “What’s your name?” he said. “No, don’t frown at me. You said it yourself, I do not remember you because I was foxed.” She wished he was less funny.

  “My name is Daphney Bellows, my lord.”

  “Middle name?”

  Her brows pulled together. “You wish to know my middle name?”

  “Of course,” he said. “How else am I going to convey when I am cross with you? A middle name adds a certain amount of threat, do you not agree?” Threat? What was that supposed to imply? She got the feeling that he was teasing her but she wasn’t sure whether she should be angry about it, or laugh. Really, she should get out of the carriage. Something was afoot but she couldn’t quite grasp what.

  She proceeded, gauging his expressions carefully, looking for some hint of where he was going with this conversation. “I do not intend to make you cross during this drive.”

  He shrugged his big shoulders. “Why should that matter? We are bound to be cross with one another at some point.”

  “But why?” Were they even having the same conversation?

  Lord Newburry leaned forward in his seat and spoke low as if he were about to tell an exciting story. “Daphney, have you never been around children before? The little things can pit one parent against another in an instant.” Maybe he was drunk? That was the only reason she could think of to make sense of his ridiculous ramblings and unaffected manners.

  “Forgive me, my lord, but—”

  “Carver.” He interrupted, yet again throwing her off balance. She was beginning to feel dizzy. Talking circles around a person, until they couldn’t remember what they were discussing, was usually her tactic.

  “Beg your pardon?” she asked.

  “Call me Carver.”

  “I think that would be improper.”

  He grinned and sat back again. “So would pushing a lady from a moving carriage, but I can’t promise I won’t do it if you keep calling me by that title.”

  Rose gave up and fell back heavily against her seat. “I don’t—” her shoulders rose and fell and she shook her head a little, “I can’t even remember what we were talking about.”

  “Your middle name,” he graciously reminded.

  Rose gaped at the man thinking that maybe if she stared at him long enough he would make sense. Finally, she said, “Ingrid,” without really thinking.

  “Ingrid? Daphney Ingrid Bellows,” he said the name slowly as if contemplating it. “I like it. Has a nice rhythm to it.”

  Drunk. That had to be it. What she still couldn’t decide was whether to hate the man or like him. Perhaps if he were uglier the decision would be easier. But instead, her eyes just kept wandering to where his jacket stretched across his shoulders. Is this what it felt like to be cast under a spell? She needed to get out of the carriage—now.

  “I’m sorry, my lo—Carver,” she corrected, not willing to find out if the earl would actually toss her from the carriage. “But—there is still the matter of my compensation.” Bluntness was the only tactic remaining in her arsenal.

  “There will be no compensation,” he said.

  “None?” she asked, but not truly surprised at his refusal. This whole job had been an utter disaster. The sooner she could get away from this odd, confusing, good-looking earl the better.

  “None,” he said again, but with a growing intensity in his eyes that made Rose’s stomach turn over. “I’m going to marry you.”

  Chapter 5

  “Are you ill?” Carver asked the minx sitting across from him. “You look as though you might cast up your accounts. But I understand that’s normal for women in your condition.” She looked utterly stunned. It was difficult not to laugh.

  Clearly, marriage was not part of the scam she was trying to pull off. And he had known it was a scam almost from the moment he met her.

  Carver knew the woman was correct in her assessment of Lord Newburry's character: he would likely never remember the face of a maid he had pursued, drunk or not. But he was just as certain that a maid who had fallen prey to Newburry's advances would not forget the face of her pursuer. Which left him with the inevitable conclusion that this woman had never before met Newburry and was betting on his nefarious reputation to pull her through whatever ruse she was running.

  Perhaps she would have managed to scam the man of his money if she had gone to the right door—which was actually two down from his. He wished she had. Lord Newburry was the worst sort of man and it would have been satisfying to see him taken in by this woman.

  At first, Carver had been eager to write her off. But then she had shown that one bit of backbone before h
e had stepped into the carriage. That pluck was strangely compelling, and only intensified every minute they shared in the carriage. The more they sparred, the more he realized that she was not at all what she seemed. It was like watching a flame try to hide beneath a sheet of fabric. The more she spoke, the more the flame threatened to engulf the fabric. And for reasons he couldn’t identify, Carver desperately wanted to see it set fire.

  “But—surely you don’t want to marry me?” said Daphney—if that was even her real name—in that same meek voice he knew was put on. She was right. He didn’t want to marry her. And in the end, he wouldn’t. Carver just wanted to see how far he could push her little shenanigan and hopefully remain entertained enough during the long journey to avoid dwelling on the pain that would meet him at home.

  “Who truly wishes to be married?” he said, taking on the personality he knew belonged to Lord Newburry. “But alas, I am a gentleman trying to turn over a new leaf. As such, the honorable thing to do would be to marry you as soon as possible.”

  “How convenient you choose now to turn over a new leaf,” she mumbled, barely audible. The poor vixen looked ready to throttle him for messing up her plans.

  He had to inspect his knuckles to keep from laughing. “What was that? I couldn't hear you.”

  Quick as that she pulled back on her shy maid facade. He had seen enough of her fire to know it was only a mask. Could he be dealing with a professional thief? He liked that idea. “Of course, I appreciate you wishing to do right by me, but don’t you think a marriage between an earl and a pregnant maid might cause a bit of a scandal?”

  “As the notorious earl?” He shrugged it off. “Hardly. I dare say everyone will find it a dead bore. Marrying a proper lady would be much more surprising.”

  He smiled to himself as he watched her struggle to calculate a way out of the mess. For some reason, it was clear that she did not take to the idea of being married to him. Perhaps she was already married? Why did he hope she wasn’t? But he did know the pregnancy was fake. At some point during her humorous seat-scooting performance, the pillow under her dress had dislodged and moved precariously to the side of her abdomen.

  “Could it be that you do not want to accept my offer, Miss Bellows?” Carver knew that she could not, in her right mind, deny him without looking strongly suspicious. Only a madwoman would not accept the hand of an earl. Especially when supposedly carrying his child.

  Her eyes flashed to his. Goodness, they were beautiful. So much lurked beneath their amber surface. He remembered Oliver’s romantic notion of eyes telling a story and felt a little bad about ever thinking the man was daft.

  “Oh, of course I do!” said Miss Bellows, holding his eye contact. “I’m only shocked. I had not expected something so…generous of you.” Oh, he heard the way her teeth tightened over those last few words.

  He smiled. “Remarkable, aren’t I?”

  Carver watched her purse her lips and flare her nostrils, biting back a remark. He wished she wouldn’t.

  “Just right, sir.” Her eyes bounced around the carriage. Was she looking for a way out? Perhaps she would cave sooner than he expected. Oddly, that disappointed him a little.

  He leaned forward and took her hand in his. Those bewitching brownish-gold eyes looked back at him, wide and full. Carver realized he had never seen such an eye color before. They looked exactly like brandy. “My dear, I can see that you are apprehensive. Come sit by me and I can soothe your nerves.” He had to clench his teeth together to refrain from laughing when her eyes widened at the innuendo.

  Clearly, she thought him every bit the rakeshame that Lord Newburry was.

  Her lovely pale pink lips formed a tense smile as she pulled her hand away from his. “Apprehensive? Oh no, not a bit! I’m only trying to understand what all of this means. I just—I cannot imagine that you would truly be happy married to me. I’m afraid that you are acting rashly and, if given more time to think about it, would prefer to simply provide for my financial needs and be free of any responsibility.” She would like that, wouldn’t she? But that was definitely not going to happen.

  He moved her valise to the ground. Why did she have a valise with her? Convenient—he’d say that much. Carver then moved to her bench and sat so their shoulders were touching. He wasn’t actually going to do anything untoward. But she didn’t have to know that.

  He took her hand in his once again, this time taken surprised by how nicely her hand felt in his. And was it her that smelled so wonderful? It was soft and airy, but also warm and comforting. She smelled like vanilla.

  Keep your head straight, man. “Let us get to know each other better, shall we?” He could hear her sharp intake of breath.

  “I think we know each other plenty.” She laid her free hand on the skewed baby bump, and as he felt her body stiffen beside him, he had to hold back a grin.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her discretely pull her cloak around her stomach.

  “I would disagree,” he said. “I believe there is still much I have to learn about you.”

  How long would it take for the woman to cry pax? He reached out and touched her chin, tilting her face up to look at him. Unfortunately, the moment her eyes locked with his, he completely forgot that he was acting. The air felt too thick to breathe and his heart pounded against his chest. His eyes slid to her bow-shaped lips. She did not turn away or even show any hesitation. In fact, her lips parted slightly. He leaned in only a breath away before realization took hold of his senses. What the devil was he doing? He wasn’t actually going to kiss her, was he?

  Yes. No! That was not part of the plan.

  Daphney seemed to have the same thought. She looked down as he scooted away from her. And of course, the bench made that horrible squelching sound again. Perfect. Heat rushed up his neck as he waited for the ‘I told you so’ look that Miss Bellows was sure to give him. Instead, her face was pale and almost concerned. Maybe he had taken the act a little too far.

  “You know, I think I am feeling a little unwell after all.” She adjusted her posture until her arm was pressed against the wall by the door. “Could you have your coachman stop the carriage and let me out here? I think I just need some fresh air.”

  He smiled, both relieved that perhaps she hadn’t heard his embarrassing noise and because he knew full well that she was hoping to find a way to escape without having to admit to her scam. He knocked on the wall of the carriage and it pulled to a stop.

  Daphney looked at Carver with a pleased smile, maybe a touch smug, before the footman opened the door and let down the stairs. Apparently, this was the part where she would get out and plan to never see him again. “I’m terribly sorry to leave you in the middle of our discussion, but I think a walk is just the thing to help my queasiness. I’ll send a note around to your house with directions to where I may be reached so that we can settle all the details of our engagement.” Mmhmm.

  He smiled and nodded mutely while handing the woman her valise. The footman reached out and helped Daphney from the carriage. Carver stayed where he was, holding a smile on his face. He didn’t need to look out of the carriage to know what she would find. Or rather, wouldn’t find. If his estimations were correct they were about a half-hour outside of London and exactly in the middle of nowhere.

  Carver picked a piece of fuzz off of his jacket. She’ll be back in 3…2…

  “Where the devil have you taken me, Carver?” There was that spark again. She sprang back up into the carriage with all the agility of a woman not with child. But the bump was centered again, so that was something.

  “We are currently on our way to visit my family at Dalton Park.” He stiffened.

  Dalton. Had he accidentally given himself away with the slip of the family title? As the first son of a duke, Carver held his father’s courtesy title, Earl of Kensworth, until he succeeded his father and would take over the dukedom. If Daphney knew anything about the peerage, she would know that the Earl of Newburry had already succeede
d his father and inherited the earldom. Did Daphney know that Dalton Park belonged to a duke?

  He watched her face closely and was relieved to see that she didn’t seem to understand the significance. For once, Carver was thankful that titles among the peerage were vastly complicated and hard to keep track of.

  “Where is Dalton Park?” Her voice rattled with restrained anger.

  “In Kent. About a six-hour journey so we really ought to be getting back on the road.”

  Her eyes widened. “Kent! Oh, for heaven’s sake, I am not going with you to Kent! I must insist that you turn back now and kindly set me down in London.” Gone was the meek little maid that had been sitting across from him earlier. Her gorgeous eyes flashed fire.

  It was very difficult for him to keep his amusement from showing. “Afraid not. I’m already running late as it is. My family is expecting me in time for dinner and I don’t want to disappoint them.” That much was true.

  Those eyes just blinked at him as if unable or unwilling to understand what he was telling her. “You will not take me back to London?”

  “I will not.”

  She moved to sit on the edge of the bench and looked around the carriage, at a loss for how to proceed. It was clear that whoever she was; she was unaccustomed to her demands not being heeded. She found her fire again and faced him with a sharp movement. “Did you not think it pertinent to tell me that we would be leaving town before I entered your carriage?”

  He shrugged. “You didn’t ask.”

  “I didn’t think I needed to!” The woman was maddeningly beautiful when in a passion. “What kind of gentleman sweeps a female into his carriage, then carries her out of town without her consent?” she asked.