My Lord Hercules Read online

  Miranda’s mouth fell slightly open and tingles raced across her skin when Hercules’s gaze lowered to her lips. Did he truly mean to kiss her? Good heavens! Why should the idea of kissing some strange man elicit such a reaction in her?

  “On second thought, I’d rather you not tell me your name.” His voice rumbled across her lips, which made her heart thump and something pool deep in her belly.

  But she couldn’t kiss him. She didn’t even know him. “Miranda.” Her name came out in a rush of air as she leaned back against the squabs.

  Hercules chuckled and looked rather pleased with himself. Had he tricked her into telling him? The fiend! “Harrison Casemore,” he said as he leaned back on his bench. “So very nice to meet you, Miss Miranda Bartlett.”

  Harry was still grinning the next morning as he sat at his brother’s breakfast table. The image of Miranda Bartlett leaping from the hack and scampering around to the mews behind Number four Curzon Street had replayed in his mind all evening. He doubted he’d ever forget the sight of her shapely legs as she ran toward her home. A more spirited girl he didn’t believe he’d ever met, and that was saying something.

  “Fill your pockets last night?” His older brother, Everett Casemore, the Marquess of Berkswell’s voice interrupted the lovely vision still dancing around in Harry’s mind.

  “I beg your pardon?” He focused on his brother, who had at some point taken a seat across from him at the breakfast table. When had he done that?

  “You’re smiling like the cat that ate the cream. Did you abscond with the entirety of some fellow’s fortune last night?” Berks eyed him warily.

  Harry shook his head. “Did poorly at the tables, actually.” But he felt like he might have won something much more important, a battle of will and wits against a very interesting young lady. She was quite the diversion from his losses. She could, he suspected, be quite the diversion from a lot of things, if given half a chance.

  “Who knew losing would make you smile like a dolt.”

  Harry shrugged. “I was thinking about paying Pippa a visit this afternoon. You’re welcome to join me, if you’d like.”

  Berks frowned at him as though he’d sprouted a second head. “I’ll be in the Lords today.”

  Which Harry knew perfectly well, but his mind was still in a bit of a jumble. If Berks was in parliament, then Marston should be too, shouldn’t he? And Number Four, Curzon Street, was not too far from St. Austell House. “Not all peers take their responsibility as seriously as you do—”

  “No, St. Austell won’t be in his seat, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Harry managed not to snort. He certainly hadn’t meant their dissolute brother-in-law. He shook his head. “I’d be surprised if he was. No, I was wondering about Marston. Devlin Bartlett was never meant to be the heir. Just wondering how he’s taken to his new responsibilities.” And whether or not Harry could count on the new viscount being at home that afternoon.

  “Tragic,” Berks agreed. “And the poor fellow has three sisters on the market. Having only Pippa was bad enough.”

  “Really only two sisters left,” Harry added. “Since the eldest has agreed to wed Puttenham.”

  Berks smiled. “Marston got off easy there. Puttenham’s not the most interesting fellow in the world, but more upstanding than St. Austell.”

  “The girl must be level-headed.” Much more so than at least one of her younger sisters. Poor Puttenham. “Man probably doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

  He must have given something away with that last statement, because Berks’s gaze took on a scrutinizing glint. “I had no idea you were so fascinated with Marston’s family.”

  “No fascination,” Harry protested. “Just making conversation.”

  His brother didn’t look convinced. “Uh-huh.”

  “So suspicious, Berks.” Harry chuckled.

  “Whatever else you’re up to, when you pay Pippa a visit this afternoon, do give her my love.”

  “Berks sends his love,” Harry said as he stepped into his sister’s parlor.

  Philippa, Countess of St. Austell, rose from her blue settee, grinning from ear to ear. “Harry!” She rushed forward and threw her arms around his middle, squeezing him as she had ever since she was a tiny little girl.

  He hugged his sister back and then tipped her chin up, so she’d have to look him in the eyes. If she lied to him, he’d know it. “Is St. Austell treating you well?” he asked the same question he always asked whenever he saw his sister these days.

  Pippa blushed a bit. “Jason is quite attentive. There’s no reason to threaten him again.”

  The devil if there wasn’t. Just the idea of how attentive the damned earl had probably been to make her still blush made Harry see red. Bloody reprobate. He still couldn’t fathom how of all the decent fellows in London, Pippa had somehow lost her heart to the wicked and debauched St. Austell.

  “Now tell me,” his sister said, attempting to change the subject as she tugged him toward the settee, “what brings you here so early today?”

  The proximity of your home to Marston House. No, that wouldn’t do. “Do I need a reason other than wanting to spend time with my little sister?”

  “Usually,” she replied, dropping onto the seat. “Not that I’m complaining. I don’t see you nearly enough these days.”

  Because her devoted husband was ever present, and remembering how St. Austell had lied his way into Pippa’s life still rankled Harry to no end. “Well, you’ll see me at your ball tomorrow,” he said, taking the spot beside her.

  His sister’s face lit up and she captured his hand with her small one. “I am so glad. It’s a bit nerve-wracking to do the first time. I can use all the friendly faces I can find.”

  “You’ll do wonderfully.” Then an idea occurred to Harry. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? “Tell me, are Marston and his family on your guest list?”

  “Marston?” Pippa shook her head. “I’m not familiar with the name.”

  No, she wouldn’t be. “The Bartlett family. They were in mourning during the Season, so you didn’t meet them. But they are your neighbors at Number four.”

  “Oh.” Pippa nodded.

  “Went to Harrow with the viscount. He has three sisters, all about your age.”

  She smiled, like she always did. His sweet, ever-trusting sister. It was no wonder St. Austell had manipulated her so easily. “Thank you, Harry. I would love to make their acquaintances.”

  And Harry would love to get his sister’s opinion on Miss Miranda Bartlett after she’d met her. “Actually, I was heading over to Marston House in a bit. If you have an invitation ready, I can deliver it myself.”

  “You’re hardly one to play messenger.” Pippa tilted her head to the side as though to study him better. “Is there something different about you this afternoon, Harry?”

  “Different?”

  “I’m not sure what it is,” Pippa said, “but there is something decidedly different about you. Are you up to something?”

  He couldn’t help but laugh. “What could I possibly be up to?”

  “I was just wondering the same thing,” drawled Jason York, Earl of St. Austell, from the threshold. Then he nodded his head in Harry’s direction in way of greeting. “Casemore.”

  “St. Austell,” Harry grumbled.

  “I heard a very interesting story about you this morning.” The earl stepped into the parlor. “Something about you tossing a mysterious dark-haired chit in gentlemen’s clothes over your shoulder at Gioco’s last night and absconding with her?”

  Pippa gasped.

  Harry shook his head. “What a bizarre tale.”

  “Indeed.” His jackanapes of a brother-in-law dropped into a chintz chair across from Harry and Pippa, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “And yet I heard it from Heathfield and no less than a half a dozen other fellows this morning.”

  “Harry!” His sister turned her full attention on him. “What on earth?”
r />   Harry shrugged. What else could he do? If that many people were talking about the incident, it was better to come clean. Somewhat, anyway. “I helped a girl find her way out of the club, that’s all.”

  Pippa touched a hand to her heart. “What was she doing there?”

  Harry would still love to know the answer to that question.

  “Better question is who is she?” St. Austell asked.

  “Not really certain,” Harry lied.

  “You didn’t ask?” His brother-in-law smirked, as though he could spot a liar. He probably could, being one himself.

  “Jason,” Pippa admonished.

  How Harry would love to toss the disreputable earl through a window. Obnoxious ass. He retrieved his hand from his sister’s grasp and nodded in her direction. “I’d best be off to Marston House. Shall I tell him to expect an invitation from you later today?”

  “Marston will be in the Lords.” St. Austell’s blue eyes narrowed on Harry. “But his sisters are all reported to have dark hair, now that I think about it.”

  Harry glared at his brother-in-law. “I find it quite interesting that you’re paying attention to reports about Marston’s sisters, since you’re married to mine.”

  “Harry, Jason.” Pippa sighed. “I would truly love it if the men I love more than anything could manage to be in the same room together without coming to blows.”

  “Sorry, sweetheart,” St. Austell cooed. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

  It took all of Harry’s control not to snort. The blackguard couldn’t be on his best behavior if his life depended on it. Still, he adored Pippa more than anything. So Harry leaned toward her and dropped a kiss on his sister’s brow, just like he had done most of her life, whenever she needed soothing. “Sorry, Pip.” Then he rose from his spot, slightly tipped his head in his brother-in-law’s direction, and said, “I should be going though.”

  Pippa smiled. “I’ll make certain to invite all of Marston House, Harry.”

  Perhaps Miranda should just march herself down to Woodsworth House, pound on the front door and demand the villain show his face. It certainly wasn’t the first time that particular thought had crossed her mind, but until now she’d dismissed it each and every time. After all, she’d be turned away at the door and wouldn’t be allowed admittance over the threshold, as she didn’t know the gentleman, nor any of his sisters. No, she’d have to catch Woodsworth somewhere outside of his home, where he couldn’t turn her away.

  Blast Harrison Casemore! She would have found her quarry last night if the Herculean brute hadn’t thrown her over his shoulder. At the thought of the handsome gentleman who’d turned her legs to mush, Miranda leaned back from her escritoire. Her heart beat a little faster, though she tried to ignore it. That was easier wished for than done, however.

  What if Mr. Casemore had kissed her the previous evening? What would she have done then? All alone with him in that hack? That particular thought had kept her up half the night. The other half the night, she’d cursed the strapping man for tricking her into revealing things she didn’t want to reveal – her name, her direction. Who knew what else he’d have dragged out of her if the ride home had taken any longer?

  Without so much as a knock, Miranda’s door was tossed open and her younger sister Penelope barged into the chamber as though it belonged to her. It didn’t. Penny’s chamber was across the hall and to the left. Miranda scowled at her exuberant sister. “I’m busy, Penny.”

  Penny launched herself across Miranda’s nicely made bed and cupped her face with both hands, her dark curls bouncing about her face. “You have a caller. I told Louisa I would get you.”

  A caller? Miranda shook her head. Her sister must be mistaken. She hadn’t caught any man’s interest, and none had caught hers. None would either, not until she could find Tessie. Who had time for silly courtships when her dearest friend was missing? “Send whoever it is away. As I said, I’m busy.”

  “Busy moping in your chambers or plotting or whatever it is you do these days.” Penny sighed. “It’s no matter. You need to come down. Louisa is entertaining the fellow.”

  Miranda groaned. “Who is it? Do you know?”

  “Wherever did you meet Lord Harrison Casemore? I’m rather—”

  Lord Harrison Casemore? He’d come here? He was more than a mere mister? How had Miranda missed that? Blasted man had learned all her secrets, but had kept a number of his own.

  “—certain I would have remembered a man of his stature, and I’ve attended every event you have this season.”

  Miranda leapt from her chair. “He’s here?” she croaked. What if he said something to Louisa about last night? Their sister-in-law would tell Devlin and then Miranda would be done for.

  “Mmm. Yellow parlor. You should hurry unless you want Louisa to scare him off.”

  Miranda could only be so lucky. The man she met last night wouldn’t be scared away by her kind sister-in-law. The man she met last night would, in turn, find a way to weasel out all sorts of information from Louisa. But to what end?

  She dashed toward her door, but as she caught a glimpse of herself in the beveled mirror, Miranda stopped in her tracks. Heavens! She looked awful. Her hair wasn’t pinned and she’d worn a drab daydress, not for the way it flattered her figure, but more because of its comfort. She couldn’t see him like this!

  From her bed, Penny laughed. “He must be something. I don’t recall you ever giving a second thought to your appearance before.”

  “Oh, hush,” Miranda hissed. “And help me! Quickly!”

  If Harry had to drink another cup of tea waiting for Miranda Bartlett to show her pretty face, he was going to float away down the Thames. But what choice did he have? He was not about to leave Marston House without seeing her once more. He had to know if she was just as enchanting in the daylight as she had been in the moonlight. Or he had to know if his whiskey-soaked mind had created her out of the ether.

  Miranda’s sister-in-law, Lady Marston, seemed pleasant enough, but she wasn’t at all the exotic, headstrong girl he’d come to visit this afternoon. Not by a long shot. And even as she’d tried her best to be a charitable hostess, the viscountess seemed to have run out of things to say to Harry. So they both sat quietly in their respective seats, smiling at each other and alternating turns, taking sips from their cups.

  But then, in the doorway, a lovely vision in green appeared, and Harry nearly choked on his tea. He sprang to his feet and he could only gape at the beauty who stood just inside the threshold. There was something to be said about scooped bodices. Her unbound hair, cravat, and waistcoat from the night before had well hidden Miranda’s charms from his view. Dear God, he’d missed so much. What he wouldn’t give to be alone with her in that hack again right now. He wouldn’t care if she told him her name or not. In fact, he would do everything in his power to make her forget her name altogether.

  “Miss Miranda.” His voice came out, sounding like a croak. Dear God, he sounded like a green lad of fifteen.

  “My lord,” she returned, stressing the last for some reason. “What a surprise to see you.”

  Was it? She’d had to know he’d seek her out. Harry’s gaze swept across her form, drinking her in. Miranda’s dark tresses were piled high on her head, revealing a graceful neck. How the devil had Harry let her escape last night without stealing a kiss first? Without tasting her pretty olive skin?

  Lady Marston cleared her throat. “Miranda, Lord Harrison tells me we should expect an invitation from Lord and Lady St. Austell to attend their ball tomorrow evening. Isn’t that nice?”

  “My sister,” Harry clarified, glad to have discovered that his voice had returned to its usual timbre. What in the world was wrong with him? In all of his years, he’d never been so flummoxed over a mere girl. Not once. How quite disconcerting it suddenly was not to be in complete control of his thoughts.

  “The one who isn’t harebrained?” Miranda’s pretty hazel eyes twinkled as they landed on him.


  Harry smiled back. “I’ve only got the one.”

  Miranda heaved a sigh. “How generous of her,” she said. “However, I believe we are busy tomorrow night, aren’t we, Louisa?”

  Busy gaining entrance to more gaming hells? Or getting herself into an even worse predicament? The girl needed a keeper, and clearly Marston was too busy for the job.

  Before the viscountess could respond, another dark-haired beauty scrambled into the room as though she’d been listening in the corridor and was afraid things wouldn’t go her way. “A ball at St. Austell House?” She nearly danced on her toes. “Oh, say we can, Louisa.”

  Lady Marston glanced from the sister and then to Harry. She nodded in agreement. “We’ll look forward to seeing you there, Lord Harrison.”

  Thank God for the sister. Whichever one she was, the chit had become Harry’s favorite Bartlett. Well, other than Miranda, of course. “I am certain Lady St. Austell will be thrilled to make everyone’s acquaintance.” Then he flashed his most charming grin at Lady Marston and said, “I had hoped to convince Miss Miranda to join me in my phaeton in the park today.”

  The viscountess shot her sister-in-law a look and replied, “Well, then you should ask her, my lord.”

  But Miranda would most likely say no, just as she’d tried to get out of Pippa’s ball. Harry’d had to outwit her at every turn last night to get any information out of her. Fortunately, his mind had been functioning properly then, which was quite surprising, all things considered, as he had been suitably foxed at the time.

  Harry returned his attention to the exotic girl who’d captured his interest the very first moment he’d seen her. Perhaps a bit of bravado would help his cause. After all, it had never failed him in the past. “What do you say, Miss Miranda? We have much to discuss, do we not?”

  Panic flashed in her eyes, but it was gone a moment later. She smiled tightly, then nodded her acceptance. “A ride in the park sounds lovely.”

  Good heavens, a ride in the park with her Hercules! Miranda couldn’t keep her heart from fluttering, which was more than disloyal of her. She shouldn’t be batting her eyes at Harrison Casemore. She should be seeking out ways to get that nefarious Woodsworth to tell her what he’d done with Tessie.