To Con a Gentleman (Dalton Family 1)

A strange sparkle entered his eyes. Was a sparkle good or bad? She honestly could not tell how this job was going anymore. She felt as if she had jumped into the ocean but had forgotten how to swim.

“What’s your name?” he said. “No, don’t frown at me. You said it yourself, I do not remember you because I was foxed.” She wished he was less funny.

“My name is Daphney Bellows, my lord.”

“Middle name?”

Her brows pulled together. “You wish to know my middle name?”

“Of course,” he said. “How else am I going to convey when I am cross with you? A middle name adds a certain amount of threat, do you not agree?” Threat? What was that supposed to imply? She got the feeling that he was teasing her but she wasn’t sure whether she should be angry about it, or laugh. Really, she should get out of the carriage. Something was afoot but she couldn’t quite grasp what.

She proceeded, gauging his expressions carefully, looking for some hint of where he was going with this conversation. “I do not intend to make you cross during this drive.”

He shrugged his big shoulders. “Why should that matter? We are bound to be cross with one another at some point.”

“But why?” Were they even having the same conversation?

Lord Newburry leaned forward in his seat and spoke low as if he were about to tell an exciting story. “Daphney, have you never been around children before? The little things can pit one parent against another in an instant.” Maybe he was drunk? That was the only reason she could think of to make sense of his ridiculous ramblings and unaffected manners.

“Forgive me, my lord, but—”

“Carver.” He interrupted, yet again throwing her off balance. She was beginning to feel dizzy. Talking circles around a person, until they couldn’t remember what they were discussing, was usually her tactic.

“Beg your pardon?” she asked.

“Call me Carver.”

“I think that would be improper.”

He grinned and sat back again. “So would pushing a lady from a moving carriage, but I can’t promise I won’t do it if you keep calling me by that title.”

Rose gave up and fell back heavily against her seat. “I don’t—” her shoulders rose and fell and she shook her head a little, “I can’t even remember what we were talking about.”

“Your middle name,” he graciously reminded.

Rose gaped at the man thinking that maybe if she stared at him long enough he would make sense. Finally, she said, “Ingrid,” without really thinking.

“Ingrid? Daphney Ingrid Bellows,” he said the name slowly as if contemplating it. “I like it. Has a nice rhythm to it.”

Drunk. That had to be it. What she still couldn’t decide was whether to hate the man or like him. Perhaps if he were uglier the decision would be easier. But instead, her eyes just kept wandering to where his jacket stretched across his shoulders. Is this what it felt like to be cast under a spell? She needed to get out of the carriage—now.

“I’m sorry, my lo—Carver,” she corrected, not willing to find out if the earl would actually toss her from the carriage. “But—there is still the matter of my compensation.” Bluntness was the only tactic remaining in her arsenal.

“There will be no compensation,” he said.

“None?” she asked, but not truly surprised at his refusal. This whole job had been an utter disaster. The sooner she could get away from this odd, confusing, good-looking earl the better.

“None,” he said again, but with a growing intensity in his eyes that made Rose’s stomach turn over. “I’m going to marry you.”

Chapter 5

“Are you ill?” Carver asked the minx sitting across from him. “You look as though you might cast up your accounts. But I understand that’s normal for women in your condition.” She looked utterly stunned. It was difficult not to laugh.

Clearly, marriage was not part of the scam she was trying to pull off. And he had known it was a scam almost from the moment he met her.

Carver knew the woman was correct in her assessment of Lord Newburry's character: he would likely never remember the face of a maid he had pursued, drunk or not. But he was just as certain that a maid who had fallen prey to Newburry's advances would not forget the face of her pursuer. Which left him with the inevitable conclusion that this woman had never before met Newburry and was betting on his nefarious reputation to pull her through whatever ruse she was running.

Perhaps she would have managed to scam the man of his money if she had gone to the right door—which was actually two down from his. He wished she had. Lord Newburry was the worst sort of man and it would have been satisfying to see him taken in by this woman.