To Con a Gentleman (Dalton Family 1)

Rose had sat quietly and listened to the family as dessert was being laid on the table. The sisters told Carver a lively story about a shy young buck that had begun calling on Elizabeth. Carver and Lord Hatley both schemed to run any gentleman through who even looked at one of their sisters the wrong way, and the duchess had glanced across the table to the duke with a look of strong love and contentment. Rose ached at the sight. She liked them too much.

Never once, on any of her previous jobs, had she felt any sort of connection with any of her targets. Usually, she hated the pretentious snobs. But here, she could genuinely see herself growing attached. And for that reason alone, she had to go as soon as possible.

The duchess had stood and signaled the end of dinner and the ladies all moved into the music room for after-dinner entertainment, where the gentleman would join them after their drinks. But Rose didn’t feel like participating in any of that. She couldn’t allow herself to get to know this family any further. Thankfully, Carver made an excuse of fatigue on her behalf, which allowed Rose to retire early to bed. Or as he didn’t know—to her escape.

She watched the small hand meet the twelve. It was time to go.

Rose laid her hand on the valise she had never unpacked and noted the odd feeling in her stomach. Not nerves. Certainly not morning sickness. But rather something she hadn’t felt in a long time—dread. She didn’t want to leave this place. How could she have been so stupid, allowing her heart to long for a life that could never be hers? She had never—not once—made that mistake before.

But she hadn’t actually lost her heart to Carver. Had she? The very idea was ridiculous. She knew the man was a womanizing philanderer and a deep gambler. But he was also remarkably funny, loving to his family, and achingly tender at times. Each side of his personality seemed to be at war with the other. In the end, which was the real Carver? There was a sadness in the depths of his eyes that didn’t match the rakish mask he wore.

But then again, there was the fact that he didn’t even bat an eyelash when she had declared herself his increasing mistress. Could a gentleman who was truly loving and tender really have acted so dishonorably to a young woman? Truly more concerning, if he couldn’t even remember that she was not a mistress of his, that would have meant there had been enough to cause confusion.

Had he looked at all of them the way he looked at her? Thinking about that almost-kiss made the hairs on Rose’s neck stand up and her stomach twist in odd, unfamiliar knots.

She finally stood up from the floor, smoothed the fabric of her plain green skirt, and picked up her bag. Out of habit, she moved to the door and began to turn around and allow herself her usual moment of reflection. But this particular time was somehow different from all the others. It felt wrong and too difficult to leave. Goodness, what was happening to her? Maybe she ought to take a little break from criminal work when she returned to London.

Rose hurried through the door and closed it quietly behind her. She glanced briefly in either direction, taking note of her surroundings. Everything was dark and still. She had blown out the candle inside her room instead of carrying it with her so that no one would see the light and grow suspicious.

The air in the hallway was cool, giving her a taste of the cold winter night waiting outside. Treading as lightly as possible across the rugs, she moved through the hallways, barely hearing the muted steps of her boots. After passing down several blackened corridors and two flights of stairs, Rose was confident that no one in the family remained awake. Even the servants had all retired downstairs. That made her escape far easier.

Making it to the first floor landing, Rose paused one last time to listen for sounds of movement in the house. Nothing. All was still. She tiptoed toward the door. When she and Carver had first arrived at Dalton Park, she ha

d been careful to take note of where the stables were situated on the estate.

All she needed to do was make it out of the front entrance and turn to the right, walking roughly forty paces to the stables where she would hopefully find a suitable horse to saddle. Her years of experience had made her a fine judge of horses and she’d yet to come across one that she couldn’t ride.

Rose made it out of the house and down the front stairs without a hitch. The air felt especially cold that night and the wind bit at her fingers. Maybe Uncle Felix was right about keeping at least one pair of gloves. But she’d never admit it to him.

Rose pulled her wool cloak more tightly around her as she approached the dark stables. Her heart began to thud harder in her chest in anticipation of leaving. Riding in such cold weather would not be pleasing by any means, but she knew she could manage it.

Chapter 11

Carver silently stared into the roaring fire in his father’s study. The flames danced and rolled inside the grate, but all he could see was her beautiful face. “Come back to me, Claire,” he whispered into the empty room.

No answer. No sounds other than the cracking and popping of the fire. His cravat felt tight and stifling. A quick adjustment and the linen was off, easing his suffocation only slightly. He always felt like he couldn’t breathe at night. Alone in the dark, there was nothing to stop his mind from teasing him with what life could have been like had she lived. No matter what he did, pain wrapped around him, squeezing and pressing the life out of him.

He leaned back in the leather chair and it creaked under his movement. He looked down and swirled his glass of untouched brandy. That, however, did distract him with thoughts of another beautiful face. With a sinking feeling, he realized that he might never be able to look at the drink again without thinking of Daphney and her haunting eyes.

Wonderful. Now his mind was obsessing about two women he couldn’t have. But only one of those women could he think on without pain, so he let his mind wander, attempting to puzzle her out.

Dinner with Daphney had been a disaster. But only because she had been enchanting—and that was not what he needed. How could he have been so stupid to bring a woman like her home to his family?

No one had acted as he had anticipated. Each of his sisters had taken to Daphney like a new fashionable bonnet. And Daphney seemed to fit perfectly among his family—his slightly eccentric and not at all normal family. They had all laughed and jested and poked fun at each other in their usual way, and Daphney had not only watched but joined in at times.

However, none of that mattered. She had to go. The woman was a liar, feasting on that lie at the expense of his family. But then an unwelcome thought popped into his head. Was he actually the liar? Daphney had not even wanted to come to Dalton Park in the first place. What had seemed like an amusing diversion was starting to become a real fix.

“By the way you are staring that drink down, I’d say you are expecting it to grow legs and run away,” said Robert, standing in the door of the study.

Carver looked toward his smirking brother-in-law. “A man never can be too careful about his drink.”

“May I join you?” asked Robert, walking to the adjacent empty seat.

Carver gestured for him to sit. Robert sat down and leaned back heavily, jutting his booted legs out toward the fire and crossing his ankles. “What’s keeping you up?” asked Robert.

The same thing that keeps me up every other night.

Carver hadn’t actually tried to sleep yet that night, but he didn’t have to try to know with certainty that sleep would not find him in his old room. Too many memories were in there. Really, they lived in almost every inch of that house. But his room was the only place where he was left alone long enough to dwell on them. The silence would be too loud. This room, however—his father’s private study—did not hold a single memory of her.