With a sigh, he dropped the red roses off the side of the steps. Barbara would likely prefer a rarer flower, or a scarab beetle or something.
That was the thing; she was intelligent, aye, but fascinating. HelikedMiss Barbara Fokette, liked her as a human, not just as a possible sexual partner. From the gaming room she’d looked wan and plain, but up close he’d seen the sparkle in her blue eyes, been intrigued by the dip of her decolletage across the top of her gown, wanted to tuck the stray curl behind her ear…
She wasn’t as classically beautiful as other women he’d seduced over the years, perhaps, but he found himself looking forward to the opportunity.
Not that he had a choice. The wager with Remmy was stupid; he’d happily defer to his friend and allow him the limelight of notoriety, if it would help him and his theater. But Barbara had become more than a wager as soon as her relationship to Standish became known. Hehadto seduce her, or at least appear to. The scandal would distract the Earl of Standish,which was exactly what the Home Office needed to continue to investigate the rumors of treason.
Kenneth told himself he wasn’t going to feel guilty about ruining the lass’s reputation; he would make certain she enjoyed the hell out of herself. Besides, if he was smart, she wouldn’t have to be entirely ruined.
Just…mildlyruined.Slightlyruined.Gentlyruined.
With a bracing breath, he knocked firmly on the door and plastered a hopeful smile on his face.
A long moment went by and Kenneth didn’t hear any steps on the other side of the door. Was he too early for visiting hours? Nay, he’d double-checked before taking a hansom cab to this quiet London street. Finally he knocked again, louder this time, and eventually he heard something. The sound of the knob rattling, a masculine mutter…he assumed the butler must be quite elderly.
But to his surprise, when the door eventuallydidswing open, Baron Fokette himself stood there, holding a book open with one hand in front of him, the other hand on the knob.
He peered at Kenneth over the top of his reading glasses. “Yes?”
Kenneth almost burst into laughter at the eccentricity of it all. Instead, though, he schooled his features. “Good morning, milord.”
The man blinked. “And—and you are?”
“I’m Kenneth Fraser.”
“Why didn’t Elmo get the door?”
Elmo?“Pardon me?”
The baron frowned about, as if Kenneth might be hiding a man about his person. “The footman, Elmo. Or Missus Whinge, the housekeeper. Why didn’t they answer the knock?”
Kenneth was struggling to contain his laughter. How in the hell washesupposed to know where the man’s servants were?
“I’m sorry, milord, but I dinnae ken. I havenae seen them. All I ken is I knocked and ye answered.”Eventually. “Ye and I met last night.”
The older man, with his wild mop of graying hair, squinted at Kenneth for a long moment, then nodded. “Ah. The knight. Or baronet? Sir something.”
Och, aye.“Knight, milord, I was knighted eight years ago.” Forservices to the Crown, which meant upsetting an anarchist ring and killing an assassin before he could poison one of the British princesses. “Kenneth Fraser?” he prompted. “We met last night. The ball. Ye were there, aye? I toured the Earl’s Egyptian collection with yer daughter.”
At that, the Baron’s eyes lit up and a genuine smile crossed his face. “Were those funerary figurines not magnificent? I admit, I am an ancient Greek man myself.”
Since he appeared to be waiting for an answer, Kenneth tried to pretend they weren’t having this conversation while standing on the step, and nodded politely. “Are ye? Ye’ve aged quite well.”
“Thank you.” The man bobbed his head in agreement, clearly misunderstanding. “As did thatushabti. I was impressed that Errol was able to snag that set in such brilliant condition—we rarely get anything that good-looking coming out of the Peloponnesus.”
“Except yourself, milord,” Kenneth joked loyally. Was the man not going to let him inside?
Baron Fokette didn’t seem to notice. “Are you here to see my collection of Spartan breastplates? I received a particularly spectacular specimen last year—there’s a hole clean through it!”
And presumably, the chest of the poor bastard who’d been wearing it. Kenneth maintained his polite smile and shook his head. “Some other time, perhaps, milord. I am actually here this morning to call on yer daughter.”
The man’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Daughter? Daughter? Which one? Maggie’s married, you know. Can’t have her. I think the younger one is too young for you. Annabelle, that’s her name. We call her Bella—you can’t, mind.”
Kenneth pressed his lips together and cleared his throat. “Aye, milord, not her. Barbara, the one with the Egyptian collection.” Dear God, they didn’tallhave antiquities collections, did they?
But to his surprise, the older man sighed and stepped back from the door. “Canopic jars and funeral steles. That’s all you young bucks want these days.” He lifted the book in front of his face and waved vaguely down the hall. “I should have guessed. She’s in her library. Upper level.”
With that, the Baron Fokette wandered off, muttering to himself about the book he was reading.
