Chapter 5 #2
“What does Kilmuir know about horseflesh?” Lord Nestor didn’t give Lord Archer the chance reply. “When can I meet her?”
Lord Archer’s gaze screwed up to the sky, as if searching for the answer there. Valentina’s every last nerve frazzled to the end, and he looked as cool as a light spring breeze.
And it struck her.
Lord Archer was in his element.
Valentina, on the other hand, preferred that the rules be laid out clearly, and that everyone play by them. Black and white, no gray space.
The gray was where Lord Archer thrived and frolicked.
“The contessa has expressed an interest in a visit to Hyde Park on the morrow.”
“Name the time,” said Lord Nestor.
The more intense Lord Nestor became, the more relaxed Lord Archer appeared. But Valentina guessed his heart was racing just as fast as hers. Not from fright, like hers, but from pure excitement. “Eight of the clock.”
“That’s rather late for a Hyde Park visit.”
“In the morning.”
“I never rise before ten.”
Lord Archer shrugged. “Perhaps tomorrow you will. The contessa rises with the sun.”
It was all Valentina could do not to snort. She’d never risen with the sun in all her life. The only time she’d ever seen a sunrise was this very morning with this blasted, frustrating man.
“Fine,” said Lord Nestor. He looked none too pleased about it.
Well, it appeared she and Lord Nestor shared something in common.
“Remember to be at your most charming.” Lord Archer couldn’t resist toying with his quarry, like a cat.
“At eight in the morning?” Lord Nestor snorted. “Not bloody likely.”
“And don’t forget a gift.”
“What does the chit like?” Lord Nestor was getting grumpy and petulant like a fractious child pushed too far.
But Lord Archer wouldn’t—or couldn’t, more like—stop. He was having too much fun. “Small, furry animals.”
Valentina squeaked a surprised, “Yip!” then coughed to cover it up.
Lord Nestor peered around so as to get a good look at her, and Valentina ducked her head so all he could see was the top of her floppy hat.
Earlier, when she’d arrived in the receiving hall dressed as a stable lad, Lord Archer had taken one look at her and said, “You’ll have to batten those down.”
She’d immediately gone hot. “What do you mean?”
But she’d known what he meant. Her breasts. It wasn’t enough to dress in men’s clothing and tie one’s hair back in a queue. One’s breasts couldn’t be swinging all willy-nilly beneath one’s shirt.
“And take this.” He’d thrust a big, floppy hat in her direction.
Within the large, terrible idea of the ruse they were attempting to perpetrate, it had been a good idea, she could see now as she took refuge behind it.
“Is your stable lad unwell?” asked Lord Nestor.
“He squeaks like that when he needs to be oiled,” said Lord Archer without a hint of humor.
Valentina poked her head up just enough to catch Lord Nestor’s reaction. He was looking at Lord Archer as if he’d sprouted another head. “A small, furry animal?” he asked, continuing their conversation.
“Oh, you know, like a puppy or a kitten or a vole or a mole, for that matter.”
“Right,” said Lord Nestor, slowly. The man looked ready to bolt.
Lord Archer must have drawn the same conclusion as Valentina—that perhaps he’d pushed a step past the edge—for he directed a small bow toward Lord Nestor and said, “Until tomorrow.”
He pivoted on his heel and vacated the stable at an uncomfortably fast clip. Valentina struggled to draw abreast with him. She had a few words to say to this man. More than a few, in fact.
“Not yet,” he muttered. “We’ll talk when we’re in the hackney.”
Of course, it took several minutes to wade through all the greetings that came Lord Archer’s way—the man was truly popular—and hail a hackney cab. Once inside, they sat opposite each other.
Heavens, but the man was attractive. His hair that had caught the sun and kept it. His face that had been chiseled from stone. His long, lanky form that somehow spoke of both strength and elegance. In combination with that personality of his, he was too much.
This wasn’t a good time to have those thoughts.
Not that there would ever be a good time.
“You’ll have me meet Lord Nestor?” she asked, the question emerging as an accusation. “As a contessa?” It all defied belief, but particularly that last part.
His smile widened. “Isn’t it perfect?”
He would think that.
“Perfect? For whom?”
“Did you see the way Nestor took the bait?”
Was the man impervious to the obvious? “How am I to impersonate a contessa?” She started with the most obvious. “I have nothing to wear.”
He waved the fact away as mere detail. “You can borrow a riding habit from Delilah.”
“That won’t work.”
“Then from Juliet.”
“That won’t work either.”
His gaze narrowed on Valentina. “One would think you don’t wish this entire plan to work.”
Valentina pointed out the obvious. “Your sister and cousin stand a good six inches taller than me, for starters.”
“Tucker will take care of it.”
She canted her head. “Nothing is impossible in your world, is it?”
“Should it be?” The man had the temerity to look flummoxed. Then the mischief returned to his eye. “We have Nestor all but caught, but it would be good to string him along for a while. We can’t make it too easy.”
“Why not?” she asked, exasperated. “I think he would hand over the money today.”
Lord Archer shook his head. “He needs to work for it a bit longer. Justice isn’t so easily served.” His gaze narrowed on Valentina. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “You must make him work for it.”
She exhaled a gusty, frustrated breath. He looked utterly unbothered. People must have directed gusty, frustrated breaths in his direction every day of his life. “Why make it difficult?”
“Haven’t you noticed? People like a little difficulty. If it simply falls into Nestor’s lap, he’ll grow suspicious. The man might be greedy, but he’s not entirely stupid. Leave it to me. Not only will your family and the others get their money, they’ll get a heap of justice, too.”
She didn’t know why she should believe this barmy lord she’d known for fewer than four and twenty hours, but she did.
Still, there was something she needed to say. “I think they would be satisfied simply with the money.”
“Ah, but I wouldn’t.”
And there it was, peeking through his glib words and smile. The depth she’d sensed in him. He wasn’t only a barmy lord, was he?
He rubbed his hands together. “Now we pull a swindle on the swindler.” He thought for a second. “A double swindle, if you will.” Another second of thought. “The swindler becomes the swindled.”
She laughed. She couldn’t help herself. “You really like saying that word.”
“It does possess a certain panache.”
Like the man who spoke it.
Soon, they reached Casa Windermere, as Lord Archer called it.
Detached from its neighbors, it was a truly spectacular mansion, all red brick and towering white columns and clean lines and imposing elegance.
As she stepped inside, she became suddenly awkward.
The possessor of all this was helping her.
“I’ll just change out of these clothes now. ”
“We’ll see you at the evening meal?”
She gave a noncommittal nod and made her way toward her room. Once inside, she closed the door and exhaled slowly.
A surprising thought came to her.
She was relieved that Lord Archer was a friend, and not an enemy.
For all his light and charm, something deeper resided within him. A relentlessness. And something else, too… Something more substantive than the blithe facade he presented. Something solid inside him.
It intrigued and pulled her in, though she knew she should resist.
For that look in his eyes—emanating from the part of him that was deeper—called to a deeper part of herself.
A part that longed to respond.