Sylvia Day - Perfect Kisses

“I will never forget it, my lord.” Remington moved to the row of decanters on the nearby console. “The moment those words were spoken, it was an uphill battle for you to win Julienne. I am not usually grateful for aristocratic arrogance, but in this case, I have made an exception.”

Accepting the proffered libation, Justin smiled. “You will be surprised to learn the reason why I am here today, Remington. I do wish I could preserve the look on your face when I tell you.”

“Hmm…” Remington resumed his seat, held his snifter in both hands, and arched both brows expectantly.

“Lord Rothschild is a member of your club, is he not?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“Excellent. Perhaps you have extended credit to him in the past?”

Remington’s gaze narrowed. “Where is this leading, my lord?”

“To a file of information, I hope,” Justin said blithely. “You see, I wish to marry his sister, who is quite ruined. I would wed her regardless, but the obstinate woman refuses out of concern for me. She was disowned by Rothschild when the scandal broke and I am certain that adds to her reticence. Therefore, I must persuade him to accept her back into the fold. Publicly and dramatically.”

His smile turned into a grin as Remington’s face took on a noticeably shocked cast.

“For clarification, Fontaine: Are you asking me to disclose private information about a peer so that you may extort his cooperation in order to marry his scandalous, ostracized sibling?”

“Exactly! Extraordinary, is it not? Who would have guessed that I would one day do something so dastardly? And with such glee?”

“Not I,” Remington said wryly. “I begin to think I was lucky that you conceded Julienne so easily.”

Justin considered the man across from him carefully. “Oh?”

“You said you would fight for her, yet you never truly did. You could have been a grave threat to me, had you chosen to be.”

“She was in love with you and you made it clear that you reciprocated her feelings. You both had my reluctant sympathy. I did think she was daft to choose you, however. Gads, to think of the social heights she could have achieved as my wife!”

“Ah, now I recognize you, my lord,” Remington said, laughing. Setting down his snifter he pushed to his feet and moved to the shelves on the wall to the left of the grate. Some action on his part exposed a hidden doorway, which in turn led to a hidden gallery. Remington disappeared into the opening, and a moment or two later he emerged with a thick file. He whistled low. “For your first effort at extortion, you selected a fat bird.”

“Truly?” Justin stood, startled to realize how relieved he was. “Is there information I would find useful?”

Remington’s mouth curled slightly at the corners. “Plenty.”

The marquess crossed the room, set his glass down on the small table near the settee, and accepted the file. As he skimmed the contents, his mouth fell open. He shot a glance at Remington. “Damnation, how do you acquire such knowledge?”

“I have my ways,” Remington said evasively.

“Have you such detailed observations about others?”

“When necessary.”

“Bloody hell.”

“The information I hold is quite safe, I assure you. Aside from my man-of-affairs, you are the only person I have ever allowed to see a personal file.”

Justin nodded gravely. “I owe you a debt of gratitude.”

Remington waved the comment away with a careless gesture. “Consider it my debt paid for doing your least to win Julienne.”

“I should like to take some notes, if I could.”

“Certainly.”

A few moments later, after an attendant was summoned with fresh parchment and quill, Justin sat on the settee before the grate. A brief flash of light caught his eye, and he bent to investigate. When he straightened, he held aloft a lone tin soldier. The mental image of Remington’s children here with Lady Julienne made him smile.

“Remington?”

“Yes, my lord?” Remington glanced up from his paperwork.

“Would you be so kind as to compile a small list of merchants I might visit to purchase amusements for a small boy?”

Remington’s gaze moved to the toy and he grinned. “Certainly.”

Justin nodded his gratitude, then returned his attention to his most pressing task and began to write.

First, to his mother:

…plan a dinner party. Make certain Lady Cardington and Lady Sophie are in attendance. Also invite the following…

Then, to Lord Rothschild:

…requires a discussion regarding a matter of grave importance to both of us…

And finally, he began to transcribe the most grievous, valuable, and intriguing information of that held in the file. All the while he thought of Sophie, wondering what she would think of the man he had become-one willing to go to any length for love.

Fontaine pulled his mount to a halt before the Earl of Rothschild’s London townhouse. He imagined he should feel out of sorts or ill-at-ease at the very least. Instead he was determined and sure of his intent. In an hour or so, his life would be firmly set upon the path of his choosing. There was no way to avoid feeling triumphant about that.

Passing the reins to the waiting groomsman, the marquess climbed the short stairs with a decided spring to his step. Within moments, he was announced and shown into a large sitting room that boasted walls of pale gray woodwork inset with panels of grayish-green damask and a ceiling that was the canvas for an impressive mural featuring fat cherubs frolicking amongst fatter clouds. The overall impression was one of affluence, but Justin was well aware that, in this instance, appearances were deceiving.

“Lord Fontaine.”

Turning his attention to the man who approached him, Justin noted the assured stride and uplifted chin of Sophie’s brother. They were very much alike, the two Milton-Riley siblings. Physically similar in coloring and bearing, both tall and slender, yet there was a gulf between the two so wide they were nearly strangers to one another. Justin suspected it was due to the fact that they had been raised apart. Rothschild had been sent away to school, while Sophie resided with her grand-mère.

“Lord Rothschild,” he greeted.

“An unexpected call,” Rothschild said, returning the avid scrutiny with narrowed green eyes.

“Though not unwelcome, I hope.”

“That remains to be seen, does it not? Grave matters are rarely pleasant.”

Fontaine smiled and sank into the nearest chair, a narrow settee covered in soft green fabric and backed with intricately carved wood. “I have come bearing honorable intentions toward Lady Sophie.”

The earl’s eyes widened. A brief shocked silence filled the room, and then he threw his head back and laughed.

Bending down, Justin reached into the leather satchel he had set on the floor at his feet. He carefully withdrew the documents his solicitor had drawn up at his behest and passed them over. Rothschild’s amused gaze turned to one of bewilderment as he accepted the proffered packet and settled into the seat opposite.

For a time, the only sounds in the room where those of pages turning and the ticking of the clock. Justin waited out the earl’s reaction to his demands by studying the contents of the room, looking for any item that might match the articles mentioned in Remington’s file.

“Dear God. Who arranged this farce?” Rothschild asked finally.

“I beg your pardon?”

Lifting his head, the earl blinked in obvious confusion. “I would not have thought you likely to be involved in a mockery of this magnitude. What wager did you lose to be pressed into this?”

“I am entirely sincere,” Justin assured. “I wish to wed your sister and you shall make that possible.”

“Are you serious?”

“Quite.”

“Bloody hell.” An incredulous silence filled the room for a long moment, then the earl snorted. “Have her, if you so desire, but the stipulations you make in this agreement are the ravings of a madman. I am free of her as it stands. I’ve no need to part with anything of value in order to accomplish that.”

“True. I appeal to your gentleman’s honor.”

“You waste both of our afternoons with this nonsense.” Rothschild stood, tossing the packet onto the small table between them.

“I ask only for the items that belong to Lady Sophie. I’ve no desire for anything beyond that.”

“I will not simply hand them over to you, Fontaine, which will necessitate a lengthy courtroom drama while you attempt to prove ownership. You may have lost your head over Sophie, but I think there are limits to the amount of scandal you are capable of tolerating.”

Justin’s mouth curved grimly as he reached back into his satchel. He watched as the earl crossed the room to stand before the window. Rothschild appeared irritated, yes, but his frame also vibrated with a barely perceptible anxiousness that betrayed his concern. The earl was not ignorant. He would know that leverage of some sort was involved. The man was bluffing, as all gamblers were wont to do.

“I had hoped to keep this exchange on pleasant footing,” Fontaine said easily, leaning forward to set a sealed document atop the table. Although he was completely focused on the nuances of the earl’s physical reactions to his increasingly aggressive salvos, he kept his own exterior relaxed and innocuous.

Rothschild glanced over, his verdant gaze dropping to the tabletop. His hands were clasped at his back, stretching the dark broadcloth of his coat across his shoulders. Unlike many who found that addiction to gambling and the drinking of strong spirits went hand-in-hand, the earl was trim, fit, and known only as one who liked to wager on just about anything. Sadly, he wasn’t very good at it.

Sighing, Sophie’s brother returned to his previous seat to inspect the new offering and Justin turned his attention to a small statue that graced one of several artfully arranged bookcases. The many volumes that lined the shelves were displayed in every possible fashion-on their sides, spine outward, and front-facing. In between, various antiquities waited to be admired and coveted.

It was not long before the earl made some hideous noise that was something between a strangled gasp and a sob.

“By God!” Rothschild sputtered. “Where did you get this information?”

The marquess shrugged. “I have my ways.”

“You cannot prove any of this!”

“Do I need to?” Looking at the earl, Fontaine raised both brows in silent query. “What a deucedly nasty business that would be. Of course, it might be worth it. Your scandal might take some of the attention away from mine. Yours is decidedly more lurid, I think you will agree.”

Rothschild’s face flushed with anger and embarrassment. “You do not understand my position.”

“Oh, I think I do. You and Sophie were bequeathed a modest collection of Egyptian antiquities by a French relative, and you are presently using them to guarantee your markers.”

“So, you see, I must retain them.”

“No, you must see that I do not care about your predicament. I might have been more accommodating had you shown even a modicum of support for your sister when she needed it most, but you did not, so I shall not.” The marquess rocked back on his heels. “Instead I shall drag you unwillingly up to my estate in Northamptonshire where you will dine with your sister and several highly esteemed members of the peerage who happen to have a fascination with antiquities. You will support her now, as you did not previously.”

A cold, hard edge entered Rothschild’s eyes. “You think you can make her suitable? You are delusional.”

“I think I can make her an Eccentric, and that, Rothschild, will make her acceptable to other Eccentrics. It is a beginning.”

What followed was a tedious hour of complaining, cajoling, and conniving that resulted nevertheless in Rothschild ordering his valet to prepare for a journey north. With such a disagreeable companion in tow, Justin anticipated a miserable trip, but as he watched the loading of the earl’s trunks onto the rear of his coach, he was grinning from ear to ear regardless.

“Dear heavens, he’s done it!” the dowager Lady Fontaine cried.

She lifted her gaze from the boldly slashed penmanship of her son, and smiled at her dearest friend. She had gratefully accepted the invitation to join the countess and Sophie on their return to their residence, despite her concern that her removal from Northamptonshire would delay word. She should not have worried. Fontaine had written directly to the Cardington dower property, having anticipated her inability to wait out news alone. “He has convinced Lord Rothschild to assist us.”