Chapter Ten

Victoria grimaced at her reflection.

“Oh, do not scowl so, Victoria. I daresay you will have a permanent frown by the time you are twenty-five,” Honoria fretted, her own lovely expression one of practiced serenity.

“Impossible. I’ll be twenty-five in two months—and what do I care if I have a permanent frown? It isn’t as though I mean to attract admirers,” Vic remarked, tucking a loose tendril of hair behind her ear. The dratted thing wouldn’t stay in the pins Ping-Na had stabbed her with earlier.

“And why not?” Honoria asked, a horrified look on her face.

Vic shrugged. “Mama has been rather incessant in reminding me that a woman must be demure, effacing, sweet, and soft to snag herself a gentleman.” Vic hated that her mother had actually listed “soft” among the requirements. She knew that all the training had turned her body into a frame of lean muscles and taut skin. There wasn’t an ounce of fat or softness about her. And she hated that it mattered, but she knew it did. “Just you wait until Mama turns her eye on you. I am not the only female Daring without softness.” She eyed her sister’s small but lithely muscled frame.

Would a man like Richard prefer a soft, doughy wife? Shocked at her own thoughts, Victoria swallowed a groan.

“Our mama is listing qualities that were all the rage when she was in London last. Who knows what has changed since? Perhaps gentlemen now prefer intelligent, accomplished, deadly, athletic women…”

They looked at one another through the mirror and broke into gales of laughter.

It was absolutely silly to concern herself with what gentlemen wanted. No matter what, she felt certain they wouldn’t want her. Lack of softness aside, she had little to recommend her in the wife part of wife-ing. She wouldn’t know how to plan and host a party, and she certainly didn’t know how to bow and scrape to get invitations to balls and parties her husband would require them to attend.

Besides that, the whole notion of being a pampered, purposeless wife was a blood-chilling one. Used to a life of daily exercise—of the body and the mind—she shuddered to think of what it would be like to wake up in the morning and have nothing of substance to occupy her time. Would a husband allow her to continue training? Would he even find her attractive, with her lack of softness?

And just like that, thoughts of Richard intruded again. Would he seek a soft and pliable mistress, even after speaking his vows? She thought of how he’d doggedly pursued her at the Banebridge party, seeking to know if she were well. Would a man who showed such thoughtfulness about the welfare of a simple housemaid break his vows of faithfulness to a woman he promised to cherish until death did they part?

Victoria’s bedchamber door flew open, and Faith, followed by a much more sedate Grace, entered the room.

“They’re here! They’re here!” Faith sang, rushing to the bed to throw herself upon it.

He’s here.

Vic’s heart tripped, making her breath leave her body like a gust of wind. Blast! She thought she’d spent enough time preparing herself for this evening, when she’d have to face that dratted man again. Apparently, she’d fooled herself, and now she was much too wound up to sit still.

She jumped to her feet, nearly knocking over the stool in front of her vanity.

“I saw them pull up to the house, and I ran out to meet them. The duchess is here—and the duke and his brother, and a pucker-faced one, too.” Faith was wont to describe people in the most unflattering ways.

Verity, following her younger sisters into the room, rolled her eyes and huffed. “All of London knows that now, you scamp. How did you outrun Ping-Na? You should be upstairs in the nursery where you belong.”

Faith frowned, and Grace let out a pained sigh. “Must we?” Grace asked. “I would much rather sit with you in the parlor, listening to all the conversations.”

“And I want to practice my lip reading,” Faith interjected, bouncing from the bed and landing, deftly, on her feet. She was more like her monkey, Mai, than she was a normal little girl.

It really was unfortunate that Faith had to leave her beloved simian behind. They’d all given up something to start their new life in England. And she? Well, she’d given up her sanity, apparently, because it was the height of insanity for her to even think of doing what she and Verity had planned.

Verity pulled Faith into her chest, patting the smaller girl on her head gently. “You can practice your lip reading when we are out and about, not when we have polite company over. It’s rude to purposefully overhear conversations in one’s own parlor.”

Faith scrunched up her nose and eyed Verity with incredulity. “Then how are we supposed to catch the spies within our own circles? Is that not the reason Father is making me train, so that I can overhear without actually hearing?”

She had a point, and from the pinch in her lips, it was clear Verity knew she’d been soundly routed.

“Oh—off with you two, before Ping-Na removes the blankets from your beds and replaces them with burlap sacks again.”

Not surprisingly, that made Faith and Grace move rather quickly out the door, leaving Vic, Honoria, and Verity laughing after them. Their nanny-cum-maid-cum-cook-cum-nursemaid, Ping-Na Wen, had followed them from Zhejiang, stating that the young masters would “fall to pieces like poorly made dumplings” if she didn’t come with them. And heavens but they were grateful she had.

When Vic grew homesick for China, she went to Ping-Na, who knew just how to lift her spirits: long conversations in Mandarin and oolong tea.

“So,” Honoria began, drawing all eyes to her. “What are you two hiding?”

The question made both Vic and Verity tense. “Whatever do you mean, dear sister?” Verity asked, strolling to Vic’s vanity mirror to pat at her perfectly coiffured hair.

Honoria planted her hands on her hips. “Why did you two run off after yesterday’s meeting with Leavenson like your stays were on fire?”

Vic snorted. “You very well know I do not wear stays.” Who could breathe with so many layers choking them?

Honoria chuckled, then rolled her eyes, waving off Vic’s comment. “Do not try to distract me with your ridiculousness, Victoria. I know you and Verity are up to something. Why, my own twin sister is keeping secrets!” She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead and leaned back, looking like the most dramatic of actresses.

Biting back a laugh, Vic flicked her gaze to Verity, who was staring at the point of her slipper, no doubt pondering her answer.

After their earlier conversation, during which her outrageous sister had suggested Vic murder Richard Downing, she and Verity had put their heads together and decided that, rather than kill the man, they would simply distract him.

“He saw you and now he thinks he knows, but he doesn’t. Not really. It is up to us—you—to keep him from coming to any conclusions that would make trouble for us,” Verity had said. “He sent you roses— That means he is focused on you. If I were to try and garner his favor, he would become suspicious. But if you, dear sister, were to…welcome his attentions, we could continue our operation without his eyes watching our every move. Keep your enemies so close they cannot see the knife at their throat— That’s what I say. Also, how difficult would it really be to be the object of such a handsome man’s attentions?”

Pretty bloody difficult. Especially when she thought about those golden eyes of his, and how they sparkled with humor…then how his lips quirked into a wicked grin much more suited to an incubus than a peer of the realm.

But Verity was right, though Vic was loath to admit that. It was Victoria who had allowed herself to be recognized—though she was loath to admit that as well—so she would do whatever it took to dissuade Richard from looking any further, from asking any questions.

She would distract him. That meant she would do her best to maneuver the too-perceptive man away from the clandestine goings-on in the Daring household. The last thing they needed was someone poking about, especially someone with a duke brother who may or may not be a criminal.

Verity and Victoria both agreed that their little plan would go no further than the two of them. They didn’t like keeping things from Honoria, but they also knew that Honoria would go above and beyond to “help,” which could very well mean she’d end up compromising herself to get Richard off their scent.

And the last thing Vic needed was the blasted man as a brother-in-law.

No, you’d much rather have him for yourself.

That voice had become a blasted nuisance as of late, and she only had herself to blame. She’d trained most of her life to combat weakness in all forms; she’d just never thought to strengthen her heart and mind against the wiles of the opposite sex.

Wiles, indeed. He need only smile at her in his way to turn her thoughts into overcooked rice. Richard Downing would not best her. She would be the most attentive, adoring, persuasive, simpering, eyelash-fluttering, nauseatingly sweet woman any man could ever dream of. Hopefully, the man would fall for her wiles. Then she’d draw his focus away from all else—while also uncovering information for Operation Imperial Twilight. And, hopefully, without losing her heart in the process.

And when had her heart entered the fray? Probably when she’d spied those atrocious roses. They were still in her bedchamber, except she’d moved them to her bedside table so they were closer to her when she slept. She’d refused to wonder about the niggling need to keep them at all.

“I am waiting,” Honoria whined, reminding Vic that she needed to come up with an excuse as to why she and Verity had been caught in a coze without her.

Verity, God bless her, opened her mouth to answer for them, but before she could utter a syllable, Ping-Na was there, glaring at them as only Ping-Na could.

“Little mistresses late. Mistress Lady is looking red,” she intoned in her broken English.

Upon reaching London, Lady Gadstoke had insisted that Ping-Na learn English, making it easier for her to communicate with the other household servants. The tiny but fierce woman took on her new task as she did everything else: wholeheartedly. But Vic still missed the old way.

In Mandarin, Victoria replied, “We lost track of the time. We will be down shortly.”

Ping-Na eyed them all curtly before turning and disappearing down the hall.

Honoria sighed. “Well, I supposed you were saved by the harridan—but do not think I will forget. You will tell me what you two are up to.”

“Think what you like, Honoria,” Verity said, a pained smile on her face. Neither Victoria nor Verity appreciated their own duplicity, but it had to be that way. The fewer who knew, the better.

At least that’s what Vic told herself as she descended the stairs to meet their guests in the parlor.

…

Richard stood at the hearth, his mind caught between his conversation with Lord Gadstoke and wondering when Victoria would make her appearance. He didn’t have to wait long, because just as her father was speaking about attending the Algren garden party, his three eldest daughters entered the parlor.

But he only had eyes for Victoria.

She was resplendent in a gown of sunrise pink, a deeply rich color that only enhanced the flush of her cheeks, the lushness of her lips, and the creaminess of the skin on her throat.

She was a goddess in the flesh, come to torment him.

You have been reading too much Byron. Truthfully, he’d only read a few bawdy poems, nothing that would compare to Victoria…or what just seeing her was doing to his insides. His chest was heavy, and the pulse in his neck was pounding. Sweaty hands, swirling thoughts, and nearly complete loss of composure—how did one woman affect him so?

He was a viscount, had lands and a fortune of his own; he was a peer, a strong and capable man, one who’d experienced more than his share of fiery affairs and hopeful debutantes looking to be viscountesses. So why did the sight of a beautiful woman turn him into Yorkshire pudding?

No, not just any woman. This woman. Victoria. With her jeweled eyes and penchant for intriguing him.

It didn’t help that she was looking at him, her face lit up, her eyes sparkling. And she was smiling. Her smile slammed into him, making his breath catch. He hadn’t known what to expect from the mysterious and beguiling Victoria Daring, but it certainly wasn’t this. She seemed almost…happy to see him? Oh…but that couldn’t be good.

She was most certainly up to something, but he’d let her play her game, if only for her to fall ever deeper into a snare of his making. He met her smile with a knowing one of his own, then watched the flash of wariness appear just before it was cloaked behind a curtain of feigned interest.

But…was it feigned?

His smile widened, flashing his teeth, and she blushed, the color rising from the delectable tops of her breasts up her long, graceful neck and into her cheeks. By God, she was delicious.

And if that blush had been any indication, her interest was very much real. Just as his was.

“My darlings,” Lord Gadstoke called, raising his arms in welcome. Lady Gadstoke stood, rushing to her daughters and leaning in to speak to them quickly, her face pinched. To their credit, the daughters looked properly chastised for whatever they’d done that had earned their mother’s displeasure.

“Now that we are all here…” Lady Gadstoke began, then introduced each woman to Richard’s aunt and cousin. Introductions were always the most tedious of things, though he did enjoy watching his aunt watch the Darings with a speculative eye.

Aunt Margaret had made a name for herself for her ability to see through the facade and right to the meat; she’d tongue-lashed many a well-dressed cad with pockets to let who’d dared to leer at Elizabeth as though she were ripe for the plucking. And now his aunt was peering at Victoria, a dark and curious gleam in her eye. What was she thinking?

He didn’t even know what he was thinking—he couldn’t think, not with Victoria so near. She was seated on the couch next to her sisters, and every once in a while, she would glance at him.

“Lord Richard,” Lord Gadstoke drawled, “are you much involved with Parliament?”

He took a long sip from the tumbler of Scotch in his hand. He’d need fortification for any conversation about politics.

“As a matter of fact, no,” he replied. “I leave the politicking to my brother. I have not the stomach for the arguing and the cajoling and the blustering.”

Nodding, Lord Gadstoke offered, “There is much of that, but there is also progress. I have many connections I have made over my years in the Far East, and many of them would give their right eye for the opportunity to actively participate in measures that benefit their people. But without the wigs.”

Richard chuckled, and he felt Victoria’s eyes on him. Studying him.

He liked it, her attention.

“I understand you have done tremendous work with the local peoples… Have your children also worked closely with them?”

“Absolutely. I encouraged each of my children to learn the language, the culture, and even some of the less genteel arts.”

That piqued his interest further. “Oh? Like what?”

“Well…” His gaze flicked to his wife, who was glaring at him. He coughed. “It really is of no consequence.”

Oh, but he must know now, especially since he suspected that those arts included blade play and lock picking.

“We are glad to have you back, my lord. Your involvement with the Foreign Office is important work,” Justin effused, his own tumbler empty.

Involvement in the Foreign Office? Something niggled at Richard’s mind…. Did what Victoria was doing in the earl’s study have anything to do with her father’s affairs? He knew that Banebridge had several connections in shipping and trade; had those things made him a target of some plot? And if so, what plot could possibly require a noble lady to dress in disguise and break into his personal study?

Lord Gadstoke cleared his throat. “It is important work. There are many enemies at our door. We must keep our eyes and ears open, and our hands ready for decisive action.”

Again, the niggling…

“Hear, hear,” Justin gushed.

Suddenly annoyed about the topic—or rather his uneasiness about Lord Gadstoke’s words—Richard snapped, “Politics is an old man’s game.”

Surprisingly, Lord Gadstoke chuckled. “It is that, but I was born an old man. At least that’s what my daughters tell me.”

Justin tsked. “Dear brother, there is more to politics than that. Think of all the people we help with the decisions we make—why, where would the commoners be without House of Lords to better their lives?” Spoken like a duke.

“We would help them better if we put aside our entitlements and gave them a hand up. You haven’t seen pride in one’s work until you’ve seen a lad grin from ear to ear, simply because you thanked him for his diligence in caring for your horse.”

Justin snorted, sending a shaft of outrage down Richard’s spine.

“You’ve gone maudlin, little brother. We pay them to do the work; does it matter what words we speak to them?”

Struck by his own brother’s empirical tone and staggeringly arrogant words, he opened his mouth to share his displeasure, but the butler arrived just then, announcing dinner.

Saved by the dinner bell.

Lord Gadstoke escorted his wife, Justin escorted his aunt, and Richard escorted his cousin into the dining room. While making small talk with Elizabeth was pleasant enough, he’d rather Victoria had threaded her arm through his and walked beside him. Though their time in the parlor had been short, and he hadn’t been able to speak with her, he couldn’t help but feel that something had changed about her. Rather than avoid looking in his direction as he’d expected, he’d caught her looking, caught her blushing, caught her smiling at him.

Suspicious and yet diverting.

Having Victoria smile at him wasn’t the worst of outcomes, but still… Her furtive glances and becoming blushes seemed out of place between them, especially after their silent battle at the haberdasher’s. A battle he couldn’t wait to wage once more.

As they made their way into the dining room for dinner, he intensified his resolve to uncover what Victoria Daring was up to. No matter how intoxicating her smiles.