How to Sin Successfully

Riordan steadied the kite, feeling Miss Caulfield’s tension ease as the kite trick demanded more of her attention. He kept his voice low. ‘Do you feel the slack? Now, wait for it—no, don’t go too soon.’ His hands tightened over hers. ‘Wait for the last possible moment … and … now!’ They tugged together and the kite flat-turned effortlessly.

‘It’s like a bird in flight,’ Miss Caulfield breathed.

‘Is that the best you can do?’ Riordan teased her. The description seemed far too tame for such a smooth, elegant move. Surely the woman who recklessly took off her hat in the park and imagined a nursery to be the burning town of Bronte just to get it tidied up could do better than that?

‘It’s apt,’ Miss Caulfield replied, taking umbrage. ‘What do you think it’s like?’

He stepped closer to her, his hands tightening gently over hers as he guided the kite into another graceful flat turn. ‘I think it’s like making love to a woman.’ He put his mouth close to her ear, breathing in the freshness of her. ‘A good lover cultivates patience; a good lover knows how to wait until the most final of moments to …’

‘Lord Chatham, that is quite enough.’ Miss Caulfield dipped and slipped under the circle of his arms. ‘You are really a most audacious man.’ Her face was flushed, but it wasn’t all from embarrassment.

Riordan laughed good-naturedly at the return of her self-consciousness. ‘Maybe I am, a little.’ He executed a few more tricks he remembered from childhood while Miss Caulfield watched, one hand shading her eyes as she looked into the sky, a very convenient alternative to looking at him.

‘Growing up, my brother and I would spend winters in the attics building kites.’ Riordan did a back spin with the kite. ‘Come spring, we’d fly them every chance we got. We had fabulous competitions.’ He hadn’t thought of those days for a long time. ‘We started when we weren’t much older than William.’ Their fascination with kites had lasted quite a while. Even when Elliott had gone away to school, they’d flown kites when he came home on holiday.

‘You miss your brother,’ Miss Caulfield said softly. ‘You were close. His death must be a terrible blow for you.’

‘Yes, Miss Caulfield. It is,’ he said tersely, thankful she wasn’t looking at him. He gave all his attention and then some to the kite, willing the moment of vulnerability to pass. He had not missed the present-tense reference. Everyone said his brother’s death had been a terrible blow, as if it was something he’d got over and relegated to the past. But it wasn’t like that. He missed Elliott every day. He missed knowing that Elliott was out there, somewhere, keeping order and doing good.

Miss Caufield allowed him to fly in silence, standing quietly beside him. It was a smart woman who knew when to give a man his space. After a while, Riordan began reeling the kite in. ‘Why don’t you get the children and we’ll go to Gunter’s for ices?’ He watched her pick up her hat and head down to the boat pond. He wasn’t sure why he’d told that story about building kites. She was a virtual stranger. Maybe he’d told her in apology for his inappropriate comment about making love to a woman. Maybe he’d told her because he didn’t want her to think he was an entirely graceless cad.

‘Is it always this busy?’ Maura looked about her in delighted amazement from the barouche. They were parked across the street from Gunter’s Confectionary with other carriages of the fashionable who’d come to take advantage of the good weather. Busy waiters ran from the store to the carriages, delivering ices and other treats. She marvelled at the waiters managed to stay clear of horses. Any moment, Maura expected there to be an accident.

‘It’s always this busy. Do you know why?’ Lord Chatham leaned forwards with a smile. He was going to tease her. Maura was fast coming to recognise that smile. She braced herself.

‘It’s the one place a young woman may be seen alone with a man without the presence of a chaperon.’

‘Of course. It has nothing to do with the quality of the merchandise,’ Maura replied drily, but she did look around to test his hypothesis. Young men lounged against carriage doors sharing ices with young ladies. ‘It looks fairly harmless.’ Not nearly as wicked as Lord Chatham’s low tones had implied.

Lord Chatham shrugged as if he found her comment debatable. ‘I suppose it depends on who you’re eating ices with.’

A waiter came to take their orders and Maura knew a second’s panic. What to choose? There’d been ices occasionally at her uncle’s home, but never this array of flavours to pick from. The children chose strawberry. Lord Chatham chose burnt filbert. Maura hesitated a fraction too long.

‘Chocolate crème, if you please, for the lady,’ Lord Chatham supplied with a wink. ‘It’s positively decadent.’

Maura flushed. A gentleman had ordered for her, had treated her like a real lady for the first time. She understood it meant nothing beyond good manners—she was a practical girl, after all. He’d been doing his duty. Still, it had felt nice. No one had ever felt compelled to his duty on her behalf before.

The chocolate crème was decadent, Maura decided after the first bite. She let the cool richness slide down her throat, taking care to savour it, aware that Lord Chatham was watching her.

‘Do you like it?’ he asked, although he must have known the answer already. ‘We can set up an order for the house. You can have ice cream delivered every day.’

‘Every day?’ Maura raised an eyebrow. ‘That sounds like the height of luxurious living.’

Lord Chatham took a bite of his ice cream. ‘The Italians eat it every day. Florence is full of gelaterias. Their ice cream is gelati,’ he explained to the children who were hanging on his every word. ‘The flavours would astound you; all types of chocolates, vanilla, strawberry, almonds—almost any flavor you can think of.’

‘I want to live there,’ Cecilia put in. ‘I would eat ice cream every day.’

Lord Chatham waggled his dark brows and gave Cecilia a mock-serious look. ‘I did live there and I did eat ice cream every day. It was one of the best parts of being in Italy.’

‘What were the other best parts?’ William ventured, taking a break from his ice cream. ‘The volcanoes? Mount Etna is in Italy.’

‘As is Mount Vesuvius. One day, I climbed that mountain …’

The rest of the afternoon, Lord Chatham regaled the children with tales of his time abroad. They listened enrapt. Maura listened, too. It was easy to get caught up in the stories. The earl was an excellent storyteller and the topic was captivating. She’d never known anyone who’d travelled as extensively as Lord Chatham. How wonderful it must be to travel like that. Lord Chatham had clearly enjoyed his time abroad. His face took on a softness, his eyes were far away as he recalled narrow streets and hill towns, rich wines and foods eaten in villas that caught the afternoon breezes. Her own world seemed very small. The furthest she’d ever travelled had been her flight from Exeter to London. That hardly counted as a trip. It had been an escape.

Cecilia’s head lolled against her and Maura moved an arm about the sleepy child. ‘Perhaps we should go home.’ The ice creams were eaten and both children were pleasantly drowsy from their exciting day.

The drive home was slow and the noise of late-afternoon traffic made conversation difficult. Maura stayed busy with her own thoughts, most of them occupied by the man sitting across from her. He was proving to be quite the conundrum: fun-loving and stern by turn; easy-going and yet vulnerable; handsome and flirtatious by nature. Her employer presented a most tempting attraction, an attraction that must be resisted. Her post depended on it. She must not even think it, no matter how much the temptation beckoned, no matter how often he lured her with his smiles and bold words designed to spark her passions and curiosities.

Maura scolded herself for the momentary lapse. He would flirt with anything, that much was clear. But she couldn’t afford to be his next conquest. It boded ill that she was thinking such thoughts after only a day in his employ. Perhaps this was why the other governesses had left. Perhaps they had been made of sterner stuff.

‘A penny for your thoughts.’ Lord Chatham stretched his legs. The traffic noise had died down the closer they got to Portland Square and the quieter, elite streets. ‘Or are they worth more than that?’

‘I was wondering why the other governesses left.’ It made little sense. The children were decent children, even if they were a bit unruly at times from a lack of structure. The home was in a good neighborhood, the work no more onerous than any other a governess might expect. In short, there was nothing wrong with the posting, technically. But Mrs Pendergast had made it clear the situation was intolerable.

‘I suspect, Miss Caulfield, they didn’t like me.’ The hint of a mischievous grin hovered on his lips.

‘I find that hard to believe.’ They probably had liked him too much.

‘Is there a compliment in that somewhere?’ He laughed it off and then sobered. ‘I assure you, Old Pruneface—that was Number Four—didn’t like me one bit. I interrupted her lessons far too often. She told me if I interrupted one more time she was leaving. So I did and she left.’

‘Maybe it was calling her Old Pruneface.’ But Maura did not miss the secondary message. Was there a warning for her in it? He would continue to interrupt as he had done today when and where he pleased? ‘About the schedule, Lord Chatham—’ Maura began.

‘Didn’t you like our lessons?’ he broke in with a soft, melting smile.

‘Lessons?’

‘I told you the lessons would take care of themselves and they did. We had etiquette about how to ride in a carriage, we had science about wind and lift and some about the water, too, when William and I were at the pond. We had history and geography, Italy and volcanoes.’

‘So we did,’ Maura conceded with a modicum of surprise. He’d been thoughtful and inventive about the day’s interruption. She’d not known many men like that. Indeed, she’d not known any until today.

He gave her one of his playful winks. ‘You are not the only one, Miss Caulfield, who can turn fun into more noble ends.’

‘Today was lovely, but there is also merit in structure.’ Maura stood her ground. ‘We can plan outings. We can set aside a certain day of the week for them,’ Maura cajoled. ‘I’m not saying we can’t have outings. I believe in them wholeheartedly.’

The carriage pulled up to the town house, effectively curbing further conversation. All she managed to wring from Lord Chatham by way of closure was a lukewarm ‘we’ll see’ before they began the process of getting the children inside. She helped William into the house while Lord Chatham carried a sleeping Cecilia up the steps, looking more like a father than an earl. It was a heart-warming sight that would have made it all too easy to forgive him his myriad sins: the indifference that led to children eating breakfast alone, a messy nursery, the anarchy by which he ran his town house and the rakishness that led him to flirt unashamedly.

Surely a man who was so good with children wasn’t all bad, which made it that much worse for her. It would be better if he were an irredeemable dissolute like Wildeham. Then she’d know what to make of him, how to manage him.

The butler, Fielding, met them in the foyer with a stern look. ‘Milord, your solicitor is waiting to see you. He’s been here since two o’clock.’ Maura sensed it was as close to a reprimand as the butler would dare. Except for a slight tightening of his jaw, Chatham looked unperturbed over the development.

‘Miss Caulfield, if you could take Cecilia?’ Lord Chatham deposited the child in her arms. ‘It seems I have forgotten the appointment. Fielding, show Mr Browning to my study. I will see him immediately.’

Maura climbed the stairs with her bundle, William trailing beside her. She was starting to see reasons for the earl’s indifference. No wonder he wasn’t interested in the children’s schedule and ignored the importance of structure. Lord Chatham couldn’t even keep his own.

Chapter Five

‘Well?’ Riordan took his seat behind the large walnut desk and fixed the solicitor with a stare he hoped would qualify as ‘imperious’.

‘It’s not good news,’ Mr Browning began, giving the glasses on his nose a push with his middle finger, a gesture Riordan found singularly annoying.

‘Of course it isn’t.’ Mr Browning never managed to bring good news.

‘Lady Cressida Vale and her husband, the viscount, want custody of the children.’ At least Mr Browning wasn’t sugar-coating anything but that didn’t stop a cold stab of fear from settling in Riordan’s stomach.

‘You mean they want custody of the trust funds.’ Riordan held his temper, but just barely. He’d expected this. Lady Vale had intimated as much at the funeral.

Mr Browning gave Riordan a censorious look over the rims of his glasses for speaking so baldly. ‘There is no proof of such motivation.’

‘She is a maternal cousin of their father and I am a paternal cousin. When it comes to next of kin, we are equal, except that my family stepped forwards to care for the children when her side had the chance and did not.’ Riordan remembered very well Elliott swooping in to save the day four years ago when the children had become penniless orphans.

‘Things are different now.’ Mr Browning was prevaricating this time. It could only mean there was more bad news.

Riordan leaned back in the chair and steepled his hands. ‘Naturally things are different. Elliott left the children well provided for. Ishmael, their father, left them nothing but a mouldering estate.’ No one had wanted to take on the burden of two young children with no prospects.

‘The guardianship is different now, too,’ Mr Browning pressed on uncomfortably. He pushed a paper forwards in explanation. ‘The former earl was deemed a proper guardian.’

‘Are you suggesting I am not?’ Anger started to simmer.

‘I’m not. They are.’ Browning nodded towards the paper, urging him to read it.

Riordan scanned it, his anger boiling at the list of sins enumerated against him: an improper lifestyle of womanising and gambling, no structure for the children, an incoherent education—the list went on. All of which could be remedied by the presence of a motherly figure in the household, presumably Lady Vale. The thought was laughable. Lady Vale was about as maternal as … well, no apt comparison came to mind, to borrow Miss Caulfield’s word from earlier in the day.

‘The children will have their structure. Tell the Vales that.’ Riordan pushed the paper back across the desk with a sense of satisfaction. ‘I have a governess.’ Ha, the Vales could try to trump that. The Vales argued for structure—well, he had it. Miss Caulfield and her appreciation for such structure would feel vindicated.

Browning coughed and fidgeted. ‘With all due respect, milord, you’ve had five governesses.’

‘I haven’t exactly “had” five governesses.’

Browning coughed at the vulgarity. ‘Hired. You’ve hired five governesses in an unseemly short period of time.’

‘And the point is?’ If that skinny ferret of a solicitor was going to agree with the opposition, Riordan would make damn sure he had to come out and do it blatantly.

‘Well, five, milord, seems to undermine your case rather than help it.’

‘That’s your opinion.’ Riordan skewered Browning with a hard look. ‘My brother left those children to me. He did not leave them to the Vales and for good reason. The Vales can disagree with me all they like, but Elliott’s will is uncontested.’ He was relying on the immovable bulwark of English law to hold firm.

Mr Browning was silent and Riordan felt the weight of unspoken words hanging between them. ‘Mr Browning, say something,’ Riordan said quietly.

‘I am sorry for the loss, milord. I liked the earl a great deal.’ Meaning that he didn’t care for the current earl nearly as much. Riordan was used to it. It wasn’t the first time he had been measured against the perfect standard of Elliott and come up lacking. ‘The nature of the earl’s death does call into question the sanctity of his will.’

‘Put that in plain English for the rest of us.’

‘The Vales could argue the earl was mentally unstable.’

Riordan studied his hands. ‘Would they win?’

‘I don’t know. Does it matter?’ Mr Browning offered astutely.

It wouldn’t. It was the scandal of it all coming out that mattered. Elliott’s memory would be besmirched. Riordan would put a stop to that if he could. His brother had been an upstanding saint of a man who’d met with a mysterious end. He didn’t deserve to have his life publicly examined and criticised.

Riordan reached for the paper again. He stared hard at the words itemising his fall: womaniser, no home structure, lack of a motherly presence for the children. Browning was most regrettably right. A governess would not plug the dyke. He tapped a finger on the polished surface of the desk, thinking. A governess might not, but a wife most certainly would.

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