Mine Till Midnight (The Hathaways, #1)

by Lisa Kleypas

“But I’m a viscount now,” Leo had replied nonchalantly. “I have to do it with style, or what will people say?” “That you were a wastrel and a fool, and the title might just as well have gone to a monkey?”

“You should probably know that if my brother hasn’t already managed to kill himself, I plan to shoot him when we find him.” “I’ll hand you the pistol.”

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of the family … and so is Leo. When he’s sober.” “When would that be?” His bland tone made the question all the more sarcastic.

When Cam had asked glumly if a decrease in physical urges was something that naturally occurred when a man entered his thirties, St. Vincent had choked on his drink. “Good God, no,” the viscount had said, coughing slightly as a swallow of brandy seared his throat.

“Rohan, one of us is an unmarried man with superior mathematical abilities and no prospects for the evening. The other is a confirmed lecher in an amorous mood with a willing and nubile young wife waiting at home. Who do you think should do the damned account books?” And, with a nonchalant wave, St. Vincent had left the office.

“Brothel?” She shot her companion an exasperated glance. “I swear, Merripen, he’ll die at my hands tonight.” She looked back at Cam. “How much did he lose at the hazard table?” “Approximately fifty pounds.” The pretty blue eyes widened in outrage. “He’ll die slowly at my hands. Which brothel?” “Bradshaw’s.”

Amelia reached for her bonnet. “Come, Merripen. We’re going there to collect him.” Both Merripen and Cam replied at the same time, “No.”

She gave Merripen a frosty stare. “I’m not returning home without Leo. You know me well enough to take me at my word.” Half-amused, half-alarmed by her force of will, Cam asked Merripen, “Am I dealing with stubbornness, idiocy, or some combination of the two?”

No sensual depravities, no skilled courtesan, not even a room full of unclothed women, could have interested him half as much as Miss Amelia Hathaway and her red ribbons.

“I’ve seen those well-dressed gentlemen do things that would make you faint to hear of them.” “I never faint,” Amelia said indignantly. Rohan’s smile was a flash of white in the shadowed interior of the carriage.

“A man who wants trouble can find it anywhere.”

“I believe in magic and mystery, and dreams that reveal the future. And I believe some things are written in the stars … or even in the palm of your hand.”

“Do you believe in fate too?” she asked Merripen. A long hesitation. “I’m a Rom,” he said. Which meant yes. “Good Lord, Merripen. I’ve always thought of you as a sensible man.”

Just because you can’t see or feel something doesn’t mean it can’t exist.”

Noticing his unfocused gaze, she said, “I’m the one in the middle, dear.” “Ah. There you are.” Leo’s head bobbed up and down like a string puppet’s. He glanced at Merripen, who was providing far more support than Leo’s own legs were. “My sister,” he said. “Terrifying girl.”

After a moment, Amelia reached to untie her bonnet with trembling hands, and discovered the ribbons were hanging loose. One ribbon, actually. The other … Removing her bonnet, Amelia regarded it with a perplexed frown. One of the red silk ribbons was gone except for the tiny remnant at the inside edge. It had been neatly cut. He had taken it.

Poppy took a deep, appreciative breath. “How bracing,” she said. “I wonder what makes the country air smell so different?” “It must be the pig farm we just passed,” Leo muttered.

“We have a ballroom!” Poppy exclaimed. “We have deer!” Beatrix said gleefully.

There are two kinds of people

Merripen emerged from a hallway leading away from the entrance room. He was in his shirtsleeves with no collar or cravat, the neck of the garment hanging open to reveal tanned skin gleaming with perspiration. With his black hair falling over his forehead, and his dark eyes smiling at the sight of them, Merripen cut a dashing figure.

“You’re three hours behind schedule,” he said. Laughing, Amelia pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and gave it to him. “In a family of four sisters, there is no schedule.”

Merripen broke off as he glanced over Amelia’s shoulder. Unceremoniously, he brushed by her and reached Win in three strides. Amelia saw Win’s slight form swaying, her lashes lowering as she half-collapsed against Merripen.

Leo surprised her by bending to brush a light kiss on her forehead. “You haven’t met a man worth giving up your independence for. But you will someday.” He grinned before adding, “Despite your encroaching old age.”

He stopped and glanced back at her with a raised brow. “You’ve been pouring unsweetened tea down my throat for days. If you have no objection, I’d like to go out for a piss.”

As Leo left the room, Amelia folded her arms and sighed. “Despite that uncouth remark, he’s generally pleasant when he’s sober.

After all, Merripen had helped nurse both Win and Leo through the scarlet fever. Without him, Amelia was certain neither of them would have survived.

“You’re a bully,” Win repeated, smiling into his dark face. “Yes, I know,” Merripen murmured, tucking the lap blankets around her with extreme care.

Following her sister’s gaze, Amelia saw a small reptilian creature slithering up Beatrix’s shoulder. A sharp cry escaped her lips, and she moved forward with her hands raised. Beatrix glanced at her shoulder. “Oh, dear. You’re supposed to stay in my pocket.”

“Thank you, dear, but no. Dress yourself and have some breakfast—and keep a close watch on Win. She’s in Beatrix’s care at the moment.” “Oh.” Poppy’s eyes widened. “I’ll hurry.”

“Devil take the rocket,” came a gravelly-voiced reply. “What is the woman’s condition?” “Unharmed.” The silver-haired man remarked, “Impressive, Rohan. You covered a distance of fifty yards in no more than five or six seconds.”

“I would hardly miss a chance to leap on a beautiful woman,” Rohan said, causing the older man to chuckle.

“A what?” The delicate greenery fell from her nerveless fingers. “If a man wishes to reawaken his lover’s interest, he feeds her watercress. It’s a stimulant of the—” “Don’t tell me! Don’t!”

“Only when it’s obvious I can do a better job of it than they can. What are you smiling at?” Rohan stopped, obliging her to turn to face him. “You. You make me want to—” He stopped as if thinking better of what he’d been about to say. But the trace of amusement lingered on his lips.

He gave a nod, took her in with one of those bright, disarming glances, and stayed to watch her progress as she walked away. With each step Amelia put between them, she should have felt safer, but the sense of disquiet remained. And then, she heard him murmur something, his voice shadowed with amusement, and it sounded as if he had said, “Some midnight…”

“It’s ready.” As he glanced at Win’s golden beauty, it seemed his expression turned even surlier, if such a thing were possible. As if a word puzzle had just solved itself in her brain, that stolen glance made a few things clear to Amelia. Merripen wasn’t attending the dinner that evening because he was trying to avoid being in a social situation with Win. He was trying to keep a distance between them, while at the same time, he was desperately worried about her health.

“You might consider a less dangerous hobby,” Lady Westcliff suggested. “Bird-watching. Butterfly-collecting. Something a bit more dignified than setting off explosions.” Amelia expected the earl to frown at this irreverence, but he only looked amused. And as his wife’s attention moved to the rest of the Hathaways, he stared at her with covert fascination. Clearly there was a powerful attraction between the two.

“I like her,” she heard Poppy whisper to Beatrix as the two of them walked behind her. “Do you think all American women are so dashing?” Dashing … yes, that was an appropriate word for Lady Westcliff.

“You may not be able to avoid our involvement,” Lady Westcliff said with a grin. “You’re in Westcliff’s sphere now, which means you’ll get advice whether or not you asked for it. And the worst part is, he’s almost always right.” She sent a fond glance in her husband’s direction. Westcliff was standing in a group at the side of the room. Becoming aware of his wife’s gaze, Westcliff’s head turned. Some voiceless message was delivered between them, and he responded with an almost indiscernible wink.

“Only since Lord St. Vincent took possession of the gambling club. Since then, Mr. Rohan has become a sort of protégé of both Westcliff’s and St. Vincent’s.” She gave a quick laugh. “Rather like having an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other. Rohan seems to manage them both quite well.”

Cam noticed Amelia kept stealing glances at her siblings like a mother hen with chicks gone astray.

“Don’t hurt him!” Beatrix Hathaway called out anxiously. “He’s a family pet!” The assembled guests glanced from Cam’s closed hands to the Hathaway girl’s apologetic face. “A pet? What a relief!” Lady Westcliff said calmly, staring down the length of the table at her husband’s blank countenance. “I thought it was some new English delicacy we were serving.” A swift wash of color darkened Westcliff’s face, and he looked away from her with fierce concentration. To anyone who knew him well, it was obvious he was struggling not to laugh.

As soon as the doors were closed, Amelia went to her sister with her hands raised. At first, Cam thought she intended to shake her, but instead Amelia pulled Beatrix close, her shoulders trembling. She could barely breathe from laughing.

He smiled. “I doubt that. The Westcliffs have welcomed back guests who’ve done far worse.” “Worse than setting wild creatures loose at the supper table?” “They have great tolerance for eccentricity.”

Setting the broom aside, he left the room. Win exchanged a perplexed glance with Amelia. “What is he doing?” “I have no idea.”

Merripen looked down at Win’s turbaned head, his fingers twitching as if he were sorely tempted to touch a blond tendril that had slipped from beneath the cloth. His face was hard with the patience of a man who knew he would never have what he truly wanted. Using a single fingertip, he pushed a saucer away from the edge of the table. The china rattled subtly across the battered wood.

His bleary gaze moved over the pair of them. “Why are you on the floor with your buttons undone?” Amelia considered the question. “I decided to have a spontaneous tryst in the middle of the hallway with a man I hardly know.” “Well, try to be quieter next time. A fellow needs his sleep.”

“I…” Her face turned hot as she glanced into Cam’s vivid topaz eyes. “I don’t think so.” “If you’re not sure about it,” Leo said, “you probably weren’t.”

She pointed an unsteady finger at the closed door. “There are bees in there, Leo.” “Bees. Good God.” Her brother gave her an affectionately mocking smile. “What a coward you are, Cyclops.”

“From Lord Westcliff’s private study,” Beatrix muttered. “It was on his desk. He probably uses it for his official correspondence. I’ll go hang myself now.”

“Oh, Amelia, why must our family be so odd?” “We’re not odd.” Poppy batted her hands in a dismissive gesture. “Odd people never think they’re odd.” “I’m perfectly ordinary,” Amelia protested. “Ha.”

“Someone has to do it. And I’m the oldest Hathaway.” “Leo’s the oldest.” “I’m the oldest sober Hathaway.”