Page 17

Melbroke House, London

One week later

S ure enough, as Captain Mason had predicted, an invitation arrived from the Viscount Melbroke inviting Leo to dinner.

It was ludicrous. He had no business accepting such an invitation to dine with a lord at a formal dinner but to decline the invitation would have been the height of disrespect.

Or so his mother insisted. She was still annoyed about his refusal to consider accepting the title, so he decided to give her this one victory.

He was presently in a hired carriage on his way to dinner.

Left alone with his thoughts, he was once again second guessing the wisdom of this idea.

He would probably stick out like a sore thumb among those guests.

What if word got around that he was dining with aristocrats?

He’d never be able to show his face in The Yard again.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat rolling his shoulders under his dress coat.

It fit well enough, but it was just a touch too snug.

It was a fine dark broadcloth and had been cut to perfection two years ago.

Possibly three. Apparently, his shoulders had gained at least two inches in that time.

He did like the waistcoat, however. It was one of a pair of silk waistcoats he’d allowed Richard to gift him.

Like the suit, he rarely had any occasion to wear it.

His choice for this evening was a floral brocade in shifting shades of dark coffee brown and deep violet.

Neither was au courant, and he had no idea if his choices were appropriate, but they would have to pass muster.

The Lord only knew he wouldn’t have to use them for long.

He had nothing against earned appreciation but there was absolutely no reason for a viscount to invite him to dinner, no matter what he’d done for his only child.

When he was younger, he would have enjoyed the attention and the glory.

He would have demanded it as his due. Now Leo knew the cost of too much attention, the dark side of too many eyes focused on him.

Not all were friendly or encouraging. Some saw it as cause for envy or umbrage, and others saw it as anathema and acted accordingly to redress balance.

It had taken two knocks to learn the lesson, first in the army and then at Scotland Yard, but by God he had learned it.

But being singled out like this for nothing more than doing his job was making him itch.

He just wanted the whole evening to be over and done with so he could return to his life.

The carriage came to a stop and Leo opened the door hopping down onto the cobblestoned streets of St. James.

Melbroke House, the London residence of the Viscount Melbroke, was a free-standing residence of unrelieved pale grey stone from the walls to the columns bracketing the door to the steps leading up to the deep green door.

It was one of the rare detached private residences only owned by the oldest noble families of the ton.

The ones who had multiple residences long before the terraced residences became so popular over a hundred years before.

What the fuck was he doing here? Madness.

He shook his head once to clear it, paid the driver and strode up to the front door. He knocked briskly before he could talk himself out of it. Moments later the door opened, and Leo came face to face with a butler as stone faced as a gargoyle.

“Good evening, sir.”

Well, that was a good beginning. “I am—”

“Is that you, Kingston?” the viscount’s voice came from over the gargoyle’s shoulder, and Leo glanced up to see the older man and his daughter, Miss Hawthorne, walking towards him with a friendly smile.

The Viscount Melbroke and his daughter cut noble figures, him tall, fit and handsome in black and white and her small, dark and elegant, in her pink silk dress. “Thank you, Varis.”

“Very good, my lord,” Varis nodded and walked away.

“Good evening, my lord, Miss Hawthorne,” Leo said giving them both a bow.

The Viscount walked up to him and shook his hand firmly. “Good evening to you. I am pleased you were able to attend this evening.”

“Far be it for me to turn down the invitation of a viscount.”

“Nonsense, an enterprising young man as yourself, I am gratified you could make the time.”

“You are too kind, my lord.”

“Papa, I will take Mr. Kingston in to the rest of our guests,” Miss Hawthorne suggested, taking his arm.

“Ah.” This was going to be the longest night of his life.

“Very good, Ellie,” the Viscount said, “I’ll let cook know we are ready.”

“Other guests?” Leo murmured to her once her father was out of earshot. She snickered in reply shooting him a sidelong glance.

“Oh, yes. It is a full table tonight, but I made sure you were familiar with most of our guests. There were a few family members father insisted upon, but never fear, Mr. Kingston, I will make the introductions.”

“I can’t imagine who I would know within your father’s social circle.”

“Can you not?” she asked, with a cheeky sparkle in her eye that reminded him alarmingly of Richard. Once they reached the drawing room he understood why.

Assembled there were none other than Basil’s parents, the Viscount and Viscountess Sterling who were conversing with Captain Mason and his wife.

Miss Mason sat beside an older woman in a pool of firelight in a gown that shifted from the deepest burnt orange to crimson, chatting politely with a gentleman Leo didn’t recognize from behind.

Was that called shot silk? Richard would know the answer.

He’d thought the blue dress she’d worn at the opera was a sight to behold, this one was even more exquisite, with a golden motif embroidered into the hem of each flounce of her skirt and along the neckline of her bodice.

She was so gorgeous it hurt. Her hair curled softly around her face teasing the curves of her shoulders and brushing the golden bell-shaped earrings at her earlobes.

His fingers itched to touch her, to see if her hair was as silky as he imagined.

If her full mouth was as soft as it looked.

Would she taste as sweet as her smile? Who was that idiot she was speaking to?

A horrible thought occurred to him. Was that her fiancé?

Had he already arrived? A hard knot formed in his stomach at the sight of them together.

She seemed happy enough and he knew he should be happy for her.

She had been terrified of him turning out to be a brute.

He was happy for her sake, but Jesus he didn’t know if he had it in him to watch her smile at her fiancé all evening.

Then the man turned his head slightly and Leo squinted. No, he recognized that young man.

The blonde curls, the cheery smile.

That was the Harridan’s great nephew. The solicitor. Albert, was it?

“Is everything alright, Mr. Kingston?” Miss Hawthorne asked.

He turned to her, catching his face in a mirror. When had he begun frowning? He smiled at her and nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

“Ah, Kingston, you’re here.” Was that Richard? Leo looked to his left and saw him sitting near the fire with none other than Mrs. Theodosia Burghley-Harrison. The Harridan. The current bane of his existence. And that backstabbing, insufferable little fucker was smirking. “Come join us.”

“Mr. Kingston,” Captain Mason stood to greet him, and Leo strode forward and took the escape offered in the gentleman’s outstretched hand.

“Captain Mason, good evening. Mrs. Mason, resplendent as always.”

She didn’t quite smile at him, but her face had softened a bit then as she gave her customary greeting of a slow deliberate nod. He decided to take that as a win. Then he turned to the Viscount and Viscountess Sterling.

“Good evening, my lord, my lady,” he bowed to both of them, feeling a bit like a marionette.

“Good evening to you. I am afraid I am not acquainted with you, sir,” the Viscount Sterling said glancing from his wife to their hostess who was still holding his arm.

“No, although the name seems strangely familiar.”

Miss Hawthorne spoke up, fulfilling her end of the bargain. “My lord, my lady, allow me to introduce our guardian angel, Mr. Leo Kingston, formerly of Scotland Yard.”

“What an epitaph,” Lord Sterling commented, his expression saying he wasn’t any more certain Leo should be here than any of the other non-white members of the party.

“He has more than earned it, I assure you,” Miss Hawthorne continued, “he was the agent of justice behind the trouble Mr. Thornfield experienced last year, to say nothing of my and the new Mrs. Thompson’s rescue.”

“My goodness, yes!” Lady Sterling’s eyes lit up. “I read it in the paper, about Ada’s rescue and the subsequent uncovering of some sort of crime ring, wasn’t it?”

“Human smuggling. Scotland Yard sorted out the most of it, my lady.” Once he’d practically gift-wrapped the culprits for them.

“You were named in the issue if I recall. And your offices in Pimlico, was it?” she continued.

Leo blinked in shock. Christ, the woman had a memory. “Just the one office, but yes.”

“How delightful. I never imagined I would be able to shake the hand of the man who saved my daughter-in-law,” she said, with something like genuine appreciation in her eyes.

“It is entirely unnecessary, my lady. Mr. Thornfield is a longtime friend; I could hardly stand aside.”

“But the speed of it,” the woman marveled to the other guests. “No sooner had the girls been taken than they had been found, the scoundrels rounded up, and the girls safely returned to their families.”

“I’m sure it didn’t feel that way for you however, Miss Hawthorne,” Mrs. Mason said in her accented English. Leo tried not to gape at the sound of her voice. It was always a rare thing when she graced others with it.

“You are correct, but I am sensible of and grateful for the efforts Mr. Kingston made on my and Ada’s behalf.”

“Oh, course you are, dear,” Lady Sterling said, smiling at her.