by Heather Boyd
She looked up slowly, and the corners of her mouth lifted into a wicked smile. “I didn’t think you were, but your mistake was believing a woman like me wouldn’t like the sound of ruin—the other kind—very much. Oh well.”
He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Oh, dear. I’ve gone and shocked you, haven’t I?” She raised one shoulder and sighed. “Few ever want an old spinster to flirt with them.”
She spun away before he could respond, dancing into the light from the ballroom as if she hadn’t just met with him and taken five thousand pounds with her. When she walked back into the ballroom, chin high and serene, he stood there gaping like a fish for several moments.
He shook his head and then hurried to another doorway and returned to the ballroom, too.
Miss Hillcrest was just full of surprises. He really had been a fool about her. She was a cut above average. Women like her might be fascinating but in the end, worth steering clear of. They easily tangled a man up in their affairs and distracted him from his own.
But tonight, Alexander had a good reason to follow her around Norrington’s townhouse discreetly for the rest of the evening, taking note of her behavior toward the other guests and keeping an eye on her rather plain reticule.
She seemed well liked, particularly by gentlemen—both married and unmarried, too.
Every now and then, Miss Hillcrest caught him watching her, and that impish smile of hers returned. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear the woman was enjoying having him follow her about. Saucy minx.
Of course, over the years, many women had wanted him to dangle after them. He was well versed in deflecting unwanted admirers. His last mistress had tried hard to make him love her, of all things.
His lips curled into a relieved smile as Miss Hillcrest took another man’s arm and strolled away toward the card room. He couldn’t quite see who it was, though.
Since Miss Hillcrest had left the ballroom, Alexander saw no good reason to remain if he didn’t intend to dance with anyone. She could be on her way to the card room now, but he didn’t want to follow too closely. He trusted her skill at cards but he did want to be on hand to witness her accomplishing his goal. From what he’d heard, this little event had been paid for wholly on credit.
He turned for the card room, but then Lord Carmichael materialized before him. “Going somewhere?”
“Not really.” He pointed ahead. “Who was that fellow walking with Miss Hillcrest? I cannot for the life of me remember his name.”
Carmichael stretched to see then rolled his eyes. “For heaven’s sake, that’s Lord Sullivan.”
Sullivan. Widow. A man on the hunt for a bride to please his family. “So, is he a client of the Academy like Scarsdale pretends to be?”
“I suspect so.”
“Poor man, to resort to such drastic measures.”
Carmichael looked at him with amusement. “Your day will come, too, I expect.”
Alexander bristled. “I will not have to set one foot in that establishment to find the right bride for me.”
“No, women will be beating down your door to catch you in the parson’s trap, no doubt,” Carmichael teased.
Alexander turned a withering glance on his closest friend. “Shouldn’t you be with your wife? Where is Lady Carmichael tonight?”
He jerked his head to the far side of the room. “Over with the old ladies. I dare not interrupt.”
“Then let’s not.” He and Carmichael strolled into the card room side by side.
Miss Hillcrest was just sliding into a seat at a table of three other women. He stopped some distance behind her…and found the roundness of her rear on the seat momentarily distracting. Sylvia Hillcrest was a smallish woman, but nicely rounded in all the right places, he found. She wore long gloves and what skin he could see sported an occasional freckle. Were they everywhere?
He cleared his throat and hurried to ask Carmichael what he was doing the next day. He listened but kept one eye on proceedings. The game was going well. Everyone but Lady Norrington seemed to be in high spirits.
A footman approached the table and offered champagne to the ladies. He noted Miss Hillcrest accepted, but he quickly realized she wasn’t drinking, favoring keeping her wits about her and on the game.
Watching someone else play on his behalf was frustrating business, yet he dare not move any closer.
Miss Hillcrest finally seemed to win a hand, and the ladies cheered for her success. As she dealt out the next hand, he became anxious. Would she really do as she’d promised?
He probably should have offered to compensate her for the favor she was doing him tonight, to ensure she kept his secret. But what could a cheeky woman without a fortune want from a marquess who asked her to do him a small favor? Introductions? She seemed to know everyone he did already. She had the Duke and, particularly, the Duchess of Exeter’s ear already, too. Money? If she wanted more, she could always win a fortune at cards without any trouble anytime she liked.
No, money and the prestige of his approval would not be fitting reimbursement for such a woman.
Of course, he’d have to wait and see if she was as successful as she claimed. The night was young yet.
He moved slowly about the room until he stood surrounded by women and the players’ husbands in the game. Miss Hillcrest ignored him. Her focus was solely for her cards and her opponents for the rest of the next hour. She won and lost. He grew more and more impressed by her skill as her winnings piled up around her.
Lady Norrington stuck to her side like glue, remaining at the table with Sylvia even when others had moved on and been replaced by new players. Sylvia made her losing streaks look utterly authentic, and her wins were graciously done. As she’d claimed the other night, she only took money from those most able to afford the loss.
Lady Norrington’s luck was mostly bad, except when Sylvia Hillcrest made a mistake that benefited her. Miss Hillcrest lost enough to Lady Norrington that their hostess smiled proudly at her remarkable reversal of fortune. She eventually quit the card room, taking a great deal more money with her than she’d sat down with.
Alexander watched her go with a satisfied smile. No doubt she was headed for her personal safe, wherever that might be.
And he found himself a little in awe of the spinster.
It was only fair and right that Miss Hillcrest be offered a reward for her efforts tonight. But what to give her?
When it was time for the evening to end, he ended up in line behind the Carmichaels and Miss Hillcrest as he followed them out into the night and their waiting carriages. He overheard her promise to call on their hostess the very next day.
He nodded to Lord Norrington. “Excellent evening.”
Norrington offered him a curt nod in return and turned to the next departing guest insultingly quickly. As Norrington snaked an arm out to touch his wife, Alexander sighed in exasperation. For goodness sake, the man’s wife wasn’t so desirable that he’d try to seduce her on the way out the door. Lady Norrington thanked him for coming, but was pulled toward her overprotective husband so all he could do was murmur a good evening and leave.
Norrington was being ridiculous. If Alexander was the slightest bit interested in the man’s wife, he might only have to snap his fingers. That was, if Lady Norrington was interested in him in return. She wasn’t. She loved her foolish husband above all others. Anyone with eyes should see she’d never be tempted to stray.
Alexander was actually much more interested in a certain lady with a flare for playing games, who also possessed a nicely rounded bottom.
By his reckoning, Miss Hillcrest had parted with one quarter of what he’d given her. When she might divest the rest of his charity troubled him only a little, but he was confident that one way or another, she wouldn’t let him down. He wasn’t sure why he’d placed his faith in her so easily, but he trusted her. And not just because mutual friends spoke so highly of her at every turn.
He’d had ample time to obs
erve her behavior from a safe distance; perhaps that was why he was suddenly willing to take a deeper interest. She seemed like someone he could consider an ally, or even a close friend one day, if she’d been born a man. Friendships with women were too complicated to bother with.
Her face appeared at the window of her carriage and, before she drove off, he threw a smile her way. Yes, he considered her to be a potential asset to his business affairs. All in all, it had been a satisfying evening and successful start to their new partnership. Conducting the rest would take careful execution, but Alexander was very good at tying up loose ends.
He entered his carriage and smiled to himself as he was driven off. There was to be a masked ball in his home with his closest friends soon, but he’d failed to invite or even think of adding Miss Hillcrest to the guest list. He was thinking of doing so now…and perhaps not just for games conducted in the card room.
Sylvia Hillcrest had caught his eye. He sensed they might have a great deal in common, but only time would tell if that was the case or not.
If he could put Sylvia and Lady Norrington together again in his own card room, there was no telling how much money could change hands. Everyone would be masked and the play would be high stakes at every table. No one might notice Miss Hillcrest didn’t really belong among them if she looked the part and kept her identity hidden all night long.
Yes. There would be ample opportunity for Miss Hillcrest’s special talents to shine when she was under his roof. He could clearly see how the evening would unfold.
And later that night, perhaps, he’d discover how bold she might really be.
He pursed his lips, weighing his chances of seducing a spinster against the risk of escaping the affair again. Pursuit of unwed women for pleasure was a tricky matter. Caution was called for to avoid the parson’s noose from choking a man of his freedom permanently.
But he was tempted indeed.
First, however, Norrington must be saved from his own stupidity.
Chapter 4
In any friendship, there were moments when a lady ought to know when to make herself scarce. That time was almost exactly five and forty minutes after she’d arrived at the home of her good friend Lenore, Lady Carmichael. The woman was simply besotted with her husband, and it showed. Sylvia set aside the pattern book she’d been leafing through and smiled. “I should be on my way.”
“Oh, don’t go yet,” Lenore cried out.
“I must,” Sylvia told her with a grin. “You’ve been peeking at the door for the past ten minutes, hoping you might see him standing there.”
Lenore blushed and played with the fabric samples spread over her lap. “I don’t mean to be rude to you. I do still need your help.”
“I know, but your attention is far away. That’s why I’m taking myself off now. I hate to see you suffer without him,” she teased, and had a good laugh when Lenore blushed bright red. “I do love that you love each other so well, so often.”
The pair were always touching and slipping away. As soon as she was gone, no doubt the pair would be straight back up to bed, where Lenore had confessed they spent a great deal of time. Sylvia could readily believe that. The trip to and from the Duke of Exeter’s estate with them during the winter had been long, with frequent unnecessary stops overnight at small, cozy inns. It might have been very awkward if Sylvia had possessed any prudish tendencies whatsoever. The fact that Lord Carmichael was forever chasing his wife all over the house still for a bit of attention, Sylvia took as a very good sign. Her sweet friend was sure to have a happy and long marriage.
Sylvia stood and kissed Lenore’s cheek. “I’ll see myself out.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Lenore promised.
“I’m not. Go and get him,” she urged, and then slipped out the door.
The butler appeared instantly. “Shall I call up a carriage, miss?”
“Thank you. I’d appreciate that.”
“I’ll find what’s become of your maid, too.”
“Thank you for that.”
He handed over her hat and gloves and Sylvia paused before the mirror, making sure she looked her best. Not that she expected to stumble upon anyone she wanted to impress, but one never knew what handsome man might lurk just around the next corner.
Lord Carmichael poked his head out of his study doorway. “Are you going so soon, Miss Hillcrest?”
She caught sight of his grin and wagged a finger at him. “Try not to look so relieved at my going.”
He grinned. “You know I enjoy your company.”
“But you prefer your wife’s more,” she suggested.
Carmichael shrugged helplessly. “You know me so well.”
She glanced outside but the carriage had still not arrived.
“Wharton took his defeat very graciously the other night,” Carmichael confided as he came up to stand beside her and looked out, too.
“I’m pleased he could stand the loss, but please don’t expect me to put on a show for all your friends.”
“Surprises do Wharton good.” Carmichael laughed. “Keeps his mind sharp.”
“You make him sound as if his life is deficient of challenges,” she murmured.
“Well, he conquered society more or less a decade ago when he first took the title. He’s easily bored,” Carmichael admitted.
“A wife would keep him on his toes,” she mused.
Carmichael burst out laughing. “That’s what I keep telling him, but he won’t take my advice. He should listen to both of us.”
“Like everyone else—like you, too—he’ll most likely marry when taking a wife becomes something he cannot live without,” she warned. “Ah, here is your carriage. Thank you so much for making it available to me again.”
“My pleasure.” He bowed. “Until next time.”
“Until next week,” she promised him, just as her maid came running up from the servants’ quarters below. “Ah, good.”
“Sorry to be late, Miss Hillcrest.”
“You’re not late,” Sylvia promised as they hurried outside together.
A groom helped them into the large open carriage, and even though the sky held a threat of rain, she smiled happily.
The carriage traveled slowly from Mayfair, angling toward her home. When they reached Berkley Square, and she saw the wide-open space, she had a sudden yearning to get out and walk the rest of the way home.
She stopped the carriage and bid the coachman a good day. Together, she and the maid skipped across the busy road for the quiet of a leisurely park stroll.
The woman she’d met the other day was there again, sitting by herself and watching everyone who passed her by.
Introduced or not, Sylvia approached the old woman with complete confidence that she was doing the right thing. “Good morning, my lady.”
The old woman raised one brow as she held Sylvia’s stare steadily. “So, you’ve come back, have you?”
Sylvia nodded, studying the woman closely and then waiving her maid back. The lady was very well dressed again in an embroidered muslin gown and crisply styled spencer in the same stunning hue of sky blue. Sylvia, in plum, was not the woman people would notice today. Sylvia’s stranger held herself stiffly, as if she’d been warned never to relax her posture all her life. She didn’t look to have been crying today though, and that was good. “I actually walk the square every day. It’s a pleasure to see you taking the air again, too.”
The old woman glanced around slowly. “You don’t come from one of the nearby residences.”
“No,” Sylvia admitted, wondering if that would make a difference. Her home was more modest than those around her now. The families here were wealthier and more important, or at least they thought they were. “I share a home with my two cousins on Albemarle Street, not far away. I come here for the exercise and to take in the sights. I have an interest in understanding people and what makes them happy.”
“Then you had better sit down, I suppose,” the woman advised. “Though understandi
ng what makes others happy surely is the work of a lifetime.”
“I agree,” Sylvia murmured as she settled at the old woman’s side and folded her hands in her lap. “Do you like to watch other people, too?”
“If the view is pleasant.” The woman shifted a little and a flicker of a grimace appeared on her face for a moment. “I wonder if you can spot a particularly obvious hen trying to attract an old, featherless cock?”
Intrigued by the description, Sylvia lifted her gaze slowly and easily noticed a young woman sneaking peeks at a pair of older, bald gentlemen sitting not far away. The woman was making it fairly obvious that she was definitely interested in catching the eye of one, or both. The lady adjusted her posture, thrusting out her bosom farther. Everyone should have noticed her with behavior like that. But the men seemed much more interested in their own conversation than what happened around them.
“Men are so often oblivious to what women do unless they are standing in front of them, aren’t they? Who do you think she is?”
The older woman squinted. “Most likely a new widow come up to Town in search of a better match than her last.”
“Why do you say that?”
“The state of her clothes and possessions—all new, I suspect—mark her as a woman trying hard to impress. The maid lurking behind her is clean but decidedly shabby. The woman has the funds to spend on herself but not the most important servant a lady could ever need.” The woman shrugged. “And new to Town because she’s been sitting there as long as I have been here, and has talked to no one of any consequence.”
“I see,” Sylvia replied, then looked at the woman curiously. “Have you had a pleasant morning speaking to your friends in the square today?”
The older woman threw a cross glance Sylvia’s way. “I am a stranger here, too.”
Sylvia had been coming to walk in this square long enough to spot the faces of any newcomers, and had assumed that was the case with this woman. “You have not always leased a home in this square before?”
The lady shook her head. “Needs must this year.”
“Ah,” Sylvia murmured and decided not to press for more information just yet. Perhaps this woman had fallen on hard times, too. Sylvia wished the woman all the luck in the world in improving her situation. She wished she could help. Sylvia inclined her head toward the young woman sitting alone. “Do you think she’s in love with one of them?”
