Chapter 3 #2
It was a fine day, the sun peeking out intermittently, and Hart walked beside Justin St. Briac the short distance to Chesterfield Street.
After a bit, the older man inclined his head toward a narrow, three-story townhouse with a delicate fanlight above the bottle-green front door.
“My daughter and niece live there. Just remember our plan, my lord. Invent a plausible subject for them to research and leave them to it. As long as the women are being properly remunerated, they will have no reason to question you.”
Hart nodded yet determined to keep as close to the truth as possible. The reason for this morning’s meeting with the two women might be an elaborate ruse, but Hart had decided to go by his own name, and he’d even contrived a real subject for the two women to research.
As they stepped back to avoid a curricle speeding recklessly down the sloping lane, Hart inquired, “You are not concerned about me visiting your daughter on my own in the future?”
“Because you are known to be a libertine?” St. Briac gave a snort of laughter. “I can assure you, my lord, even if you should dare to make romantic overtures to my daughter, she would have none of it.”
Hart sent him a sidelong glance. What the devil did that mean?
St. Briac shook his head as if reading Hart’s thoughts. “You are far too old for my Emmie. Not her type in the least.”
“Ah. I see.” Had he been insulted?
“In any event,” continued St. Briac, “you are merely a figurehead, on hand to reassure the girls that they are not living here on my charity.” He paused to send Hart a conspiratorial look and added, “Which they are, of course, but they must not know that.”
They had reached the front door, and Hart was having serious doubts about the entire scheme. Instead of lifting the brass knocker, St. Briac reached for the door handle.
“Emeline and Louise have refused to have servants, so there is no butler or housemaid,” he explained with furrowed brow. “Nevertheless, I insisted on a cook. And eventually, I will see to it that they have a decent staff.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Hart returned with a trace of irony.
“Emeline has a lot of ideas of her own.”
“I see.” Clearly the man wished to manage his daughter, and Hart’s own role in this drama was proof of that. “Did you not tell me that Miss St. Briac is three-and-twenty?”
The Frenchman frowned. “She may be, but that does not mean she knows what is good for her.” In the next moment, an expression of wry amusement played over his face. “If my wife were here, she would delight in reminding me that Emeline takes after me. We are both stubborn and ungovernable.”
“Fortunately, it will not be my place to govern your daughter,” Hart reminded him, wondering yet again what he was getting into.
“Pas du tout!” St. Briac gave him a sharp glance, then, without knocking, turned the doorknob. “Come in but wait in the entryway until I summon you. I must smooth the way.”
Hart nodded and followed him into the small vestibule.
It was no wonder Emeline St. Briac rebelled against her controlling papa, Hart mused.
He stood in the shadows, near the door, and waited as the Frenchman looked first into the parlor, then crossed into what must be a dining room.
Female voices were engaged in conversation, but they broke off as St. Briac entered.
From his vantage point, Hart glimpsed shelved cabinets built into the corners, but instead of dishes, they were filled with books and artifacts of some sort.
“Papa! Louise and I have forgotten the time,” cried a voice that must belong to Emeline. “We have been so happily occupied, we aren’t properly dressed.”
“It’s fine,” replied the Frenchman’s deep voice. “Lord Jasper Hartcliffe is a serious scholar, and as such is not concerned with such matters.”
This announcement was met with a feminine cry of astonishment. “Papa, are you saying that our employer is…Lord Jasper Hartcliffe, the notorious rake? We have heard shocking stories about him. Perhaps he is hoaxing you.”
An odd, unsettled feeling came over Hart, and his body grew taut, almost as if the chit was mocking him.
There were muffled voices as Justin St. Briac seemed to chide his daughter, and then he appeared in the doorway and gestured to Hart.
“The ladies are here,” he said. “Come this way.”
Suddenly, Hart was possessed by a strong urge to turn and leave. The feeling was tinged with something like foreboding. He had no idea what these people might do or say next. Yet even as he glanced back toward the exit, he thought of Austell.
Bloody hell. There was nothing for it.
Emeline stood close to Louise and waited, wondering what an infamous rake who turned female heads all over London would look like. Satan, perhaps…
However, the tall man who entered appeared, at first glance, unexpectedly sober.
He wore a plain, dark suit, but Emeline perceived the outline of the lean, hard physique beneath his clothing.
When her gaze traveled to Hartcliffe’s face, her heart began to race.
Sculpted features, a slightly crooked nose, astute deep-blue eyes with golden depths.
His skin was tanned, as if he spent more time outdoors than in a library.
When he smiled, she caught the quick flash of white teeth.
As he removed his hat, Emeline was surprised to realize that his lordship’s raven hair was liberally salted with silver. Even more than Papa’s—but surely this man couldn’t be that old?
“Ladies, it is a pleasure to meet you,” he said, smiling politely at Louise, then letting his gaze travel to Emeline.
She stared back at him, shockingly aware of his well-cut, sensual mouth. Her tongue felt thick. Fortunately, Louise intervened and shook Hartcliffe’s hand.
“My cousin and I are very pleased to assist with your research, my lord, and are eager to learn more. As you might know, we have years of experience in the field of paleontology.”
“Yes,” he replied smoothly. “Your fine reputations precede you.”
Emeline at last found her voice. “We are serious scholars ourselves, my lord.” She stared before taking the strong, masculine hand he had extended, shocked by the warmth and pressure of his fingers.
It was nothing like the clammy handshake of most aristocrats she had met.
“We are eager to know more of your assignment for us.”
“Let us not stand on ceremony, ladies. Since we shall be working together, I suggest that you use my given name.” With a dry smile, he continued, “I am known as Hart.”