To Con a Gentleman (Dalton Family 1)

Rose flexed the muscles in her legs and tried to speak over the noise without actually yelling. “I was saying, that there simply is no one else that could be the f-father, my lord. Without a doubt, the situation I find myself in came about because of my unfortunate encounter with you.” She tried to be firm and yet meek, balancing her own backbone with Daphney’s fragile sensibilities.

The steady stream of footmen and maids continued their work of carrying luggage through the foyer and out the door. A footman removed the knocker from the door, and two maids began covering furniture in the little parlor across the hall. Were they closing up the house? Rose tried to catch a glimpse of the earl in between the line of servants. This was not going well at all.

The earl spoke loudly and without shame across the foyer. “I see! So, to make sure I have this straight, I am the man who has stolen your virtue?”

Goodness! She wouldn’t have to try hard to feign embarrassment that time. Did the man have no scruples about speaking of such sensitive matters in a remarkably busy room? And even worse—he was not cowering or showing the least bit of remorse.

“You’re certain it wasn’t anyone else?” he said.

“I am quite certain it was you, my lord!” Rose’s voice raised to an octave that made even her cringe. Servants continued to bustle about, completing their tasks. She felt discomposed by the commotion, and more importantly, the earl seemed to be distracted by it as well. She could feel what little power she had slipping. “My lord, might there be a more private place we can talk?”

“Darling, you needn’t worry over the discretion of my staff. I assure you they have far more important things to care about than the loss of your virtue.”

Ardent hatred began to take root. At least other gentlemen that she had scammed similarly had had the good grace to be fearful, sometimes even remorseful, and were always eager to pay what duty owed.

This man, however, didn’t give a dash.

“Even so—I would feel more comfortable speaking with you in private.”

“Would you?” There was that amused tone again. “Well, I am afraid that you’ve caught me as I’m going out. Ah, Jeffers!” he said, turning away from her to address the butler who had just entered the room. “Please see that my mother’s crystal vase is safely packed. The woman will have my neck if it arrives in pieces.”

Was that it? Had he dismissed her so quickly? Her pride prickled. Rose had never been so patently unsuccessful before. Clearly, she was going to need to display a bit more of her backbone.

She waited—unable to keep her foot from tapping beneath her dress—as the earl addressed a maid, the housekeeper, and two footmen before he turned on his heels and walked right out of the house without excuse or apology. Rose’s foot stilled as she blinked at the front door.

Had he really just left? Had he forgotten she was there? Never before had she been treated as such an afterthought. A nuisance, yes. Hated, absolutely. Ogled, often. Completely ignored, never.

Rose lifted her chin in the air, tightened her bonnet’s strings under her chin and marched after him. She had never failed at a job, and she did not intend for this to be the first.

Chapter 4

“My lord!” Rose called out while taking the outside stairs in quick succession. He paused, one boot perched on the bottom stair of the enclosed carriage, and turned his eyes to her. “I’m afraid that I must demand a private audience with you!”

He smirked. “Are you still here? I thought you had left.”

Her jaw and fists tightened in unison. “You were the one who left, my lord! You may think that because you are titled and wealthy, you are not held to the same morals as everyone else, but believe me when I tell you that I will not be fobbed off no matter your station.”

A bit too much. But at least it changed the expression on his face from one that was amused and unfeeling to one that seemed as if he were really looking at her for the first time. His eyes roamed her face as if searching for something. She saw a flicker of something in his eyes that she could not name. Before she had time to figure out what it was, it was gone, and he smiled, almost mischievously. She didn’t trust it.

“Very well, get in,” he said, extending his hand to assist her up into his waiting carriage.

Rose looked from the empty carriage back to the earl who was easily twice her size, and now that she could observe his face more closely, in possession of a menacing-looking cut above his right eyebrow. “In… your carriage, my lord?”

“Yes, where else would we talk? I told you I was—”

“Going out. Yes, you need not repeat yourself.”

He smirked and extended his large, calloused hand once again.

She didn’t love the idea of getting into an enclosed carriage alone with such a notorious rake, but seeing as it was the only way to have a private conversation with him, she took his hand and stepped into the carriage. She swallowed against a lump forming in her throat and placed her valise on the seat beside her. Everything would be fine. And if he did not behave, there was a pistol on her thigh reminding her that she could take control of the situation at any moment.

Although she had never actually been forced to shoot anyone, Rose knew she was a fine shot. Along with the lessons of pick-pocketing and conning, Uncle Felix had insisted from her first day under his tutelage that she learn how to handle a pistol. And thanks to his thorough instruction, Rose could shoot a playing card out of a man’s hand from twenty-five paces away without so much as grazing a single finger.

Lord Newburry stepped into the carriage, making the whole thing shift from his weight, and sat on the bench facing her. His legs were so long that even without intention their knees were almost brushing. She shifted a little closer to the door.

A footman shut the door,

allowing Rose to experience firsthand what it felt like to be a bird shut inside a cage with a hungry cat. No matter. She could handle herself. And at least it was a very well sprung cage. The warm brick at her feet, a luxury she would have, at other times appreciated, only added to the perspiration pooling in her palms.