Redeeming the Reclusive Earl - Virginia Heath Page 0,102
where you are concerned. But I should warn you, it is a warm night...’
‘What has that got to do with it?’
She leaned close to whisper, her warm breath tormenting his ear, ‘I cannot guarantee I will be wearing a nightgown.’
All his blood seemed to pool in his groin. ‘Until midnight, then, Miss Nithercott.’ He kissed her hand, thoroughly enjoying their flirting and the havoc she was playing with his body. ‘I shall count the seconds—alongside the panelling and the billiard balls, of course.’
Max watched her disappear up the stairs and turned towards his study, then stopped dead when he encountered Lord Percival staring at him open mouthed.
‘Did I hear you say Miss Nithercott?’ His blood ran cold. ‘As in Miss Euphemia Nithercott?’
‘It’s not what you think, Percy.’
‘The Miss Nithercott who submits paper after paper to the Society? The one Lord Whittlesey has banned?’ Max could tell by his wide eyes that the man had heard a great deal more of their conversation than just her name and was rapidly piecing it all together. ‘She is not Miss Jones... You are not really engaged... This is all a ruse!’
‘Not entirely.’
‘Are you really Lord Rivenhall, sir? Or is that an alias, too? Is this whole thing a deception?’
‘Of course I am Rivenhall and Effie really is my fiancée—or at least she is now. And the dig is real. All the finds are real. The only deception is the name on the paper, and in her defence, she had no choice.’
‘She wrote the paper!’
‘Well, of course she wrote the paper. I cannot write for toffee! I’m a sailor, not an antiquarian. I can barely string two long sentences together because my schooling stopped at twelve! But Effie knew you would never publish the damn thing if it came from her, so we put my name on it instead! That hardly matters in the grand scheme of things.’
Perhaps he could appeal to Sir Percival’s better nature. The man adored Effie. The pair of them were as thick as thieves. Too ridiculously intelligent peas in a pod. ‘You said yourself you had never read an essay so thorough, so compelling or so well written.’
‘That was before I knew it was plagiarised!’
‘How can it be plagiarised when Effie wrote it?’
‘Because you are attempting to take the credit for it, sir!’
‘Out of necessity because your stupid Society refuses to consider anything written by a woman.’
‘Archaeologia is a respected publication, Lord Rivenhall. It cannot be party to a fraud. This is a travesty! I have to tell Lord Denby.’
And just like that, one of her two dreams would be shattered simply because Max had opened his big mouth.
‘Then put Effie’s name on it and it won’t be a fraud. Then Denby and his minion will definitely not publish it for sure and the entire world of antiquity will be denied her discovery! That, sir, is the travesty.’
‘She was to be denied anyway if it was to be published in your name.’
‘And isn’t that the greatest travesty of all?’
* * *
Effie awoke with a start to the sun shining through her bedchamber window and an empty space next to her in the bed. She could see by the covers he hadn’t been there and wished she knew why he hadn’t come.
The last thing she remembered was the raucous sounds of what appeared to be a very drunken game of billiards downstairs shortly after the clock struck twelve. After that she must have dozed off and there was every chance he had stuck his head in, seen her sleeping soundly and decided to leave her to rest.
Even though he had promised he would wake her and even though she was scandalously naked and had brushed her hair one hundred times and left it loose. Now she was still outrageously naked, but her shimmering curtain of beguiling hair probably now resembled a bird’s nest.
She took one look at the clock and was horrified to see it was already eight. With the antiquarians leaving at nine, breakfast was probably already in full swing and