by Heather Boyd
“Who?”
Eyes alight, she happily turned the paper for him to read.
Alexander was relieved. The Norringtons were coming after all. Even though Norrington didn’t quite like or trust Alexander anymore, apparently the fool could not pass up an opportunity for high-stakes gambling in a desperate bid to cover his mounting debts. “Excellent. That’s everyone I expected.”
They shuffled back to allow the large and delicate Persian rug to be rolled up and carted away for storage. Lady Chapman sighed as it disappeared from the room. “I’ve always loved that rug.”
“Mother is much too fond of it to let it be trampled by dozens of uncaring feet.” He glanced up at the chandeliers, and then scowled. They all seemed to boast new wax candles in them. “Bring those down and remove half those candles.”
“But why? Surely you could bear the cost of a few candles,” she chided quietly.
“Bright light would expose all manner of misdeeds conducted in this room, of course,” he told her.
“Oh,” she whispered. “Should I expect to be imposed upon?”
He grinned. “I certainly hope so.”
The maids and footmen worked quickly together, and he gave them a nod of approval when the job was done. “If you have added all new candles in the card room, too, reduce the number there, as well. Only by a quarter, though. My guests still need to see their cards to play at their best.”
One of them threw a defiant glare at Lady Chapman’s back, and then masked it quickly when he noticed Alexander watching him. Had his servants tried to protest the additional candles to Lady Chapman before Alexander had spoken up? “Is there a problem?”
“No, my lord,” they said quickly, eyes lowering again.
No, the problem seemed to be Lady Chapman. “Well, off you go.”
He sighed. Yes, next year he’d make do without a hostess and host his own party. Society rules be damned.
“Is there anything else I’ve done that you want changed now?” Lady Chapman asked in a decidedly prickly tone he didn’t care for.
“I don’t know,” he answered, crossing his arms over his chest. “Have all the guest bedrooms been made ready for use?”
“By whom?”
He shrugged. “By anyone who doesn’t want to make love under the staircase.”
She colored, cheeks flaming, and glanced around nervously. “I thought you spoke in jest about that?”
“Not even a little. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not stumble upon lovers lurking in the shadows myself.”
Lady Chapman colored a brighter red and her hand rose to her lips. She looked up at him with huge eyes. “Should your bedchamber be prepared, too?”
“It’s already prepared.”
The bedding had been changed, a fire would be burning in the hearth to keep his lover warm later, and his favorite wine would be sitting beside a pair of crystal goblets.
At least, he assumed Miss Hillcrest enjoyed wine. He was sure he’d seen a glass of the stuff in her hand at some dinner over the winter. As for the rest, only time would tell if she’d really agree to meet him for a tryst later in the evening.
He looked about him and nodded, satisfied now. Everything was ready for when the first guests arrived, despite Lady Chapman’s groundless fears that there was still too much to do. She would leave soon, to change for the party, and return at eight o’clock in costume to greet the first guests through the door with him. Once that was done, he didn’t really care what she did next with her evening, so long as it wasn’t following him about.
Alexander intended to enjoy himself thoroughly tonight. He had plans. He was always making plans. “Excuse me. I will see you later.”
Next, Alexander had a meeting with his banker, then important business with another investor that really couldn’t wait another day.
And he still had to make arrangements for his special guest’s invitation to be delivered and transport arranged for her, as well.
He collected his papers, the invitation, and strolled out to the mews, where his grooms worked tirelessly to keep his horses and carriages in perfect condition.
The coachman burst to his feet upon seeing him. “We did not hear you were wanting the carriage today, my lord?”
“I hadn’t summoned one yet.”
The fellow snapped his fingers at the stable hands. “Ready his lordship’s best carriage.”
“The plain one instead,” Alexander called, and the men scrambled in the other direction. The one without the family crest on the door would suit his errands perfectly well today. “I’d like my journey today to be done discreetly,” he confided to the coachman as he sat himself down on the rough bench beside the fellow.
“Of course, my lord.”
Alexander crossed one leg over the other and spread his papers out on his knee, making a last-minute review. There never was an end to the matters that required his attention. So much to do and still more tomorrow. He sighed and looked up.
“Is everything all right, my lord?”
“Fine. Fine.” He smiled. “It’s simply good to get out of the house.”
“Very good.”
He waited patiently for the carriage to be brought out, casting an occasional glance at the business of putting the horses in place. He quite enjoyed the company of his grooms, admiring their lack of polish and gruff ways with each other, and the fact that they had so few concerns. They rarely complained, which was a far cry from the House of Lords when the debates turned rowdy. Out here, the stable master was king of all he surveyed and he never let the others forget their place.
There was a pecking order in all walks of life.
As a marquess, Alexander was somewhere near the top, with his fingers in as many pies as possible. He’d made it his business to know everything about everyone he dealt with in his world. He did not like surprises.
The coachman returned, cap in hand. “Where shall we take you today, my lord?”
“The first is not far. I want an invitation delivered.” He handed over the address he’d scrawled on a scrap of parchment, and the sealed invitation to his party addressed to Sylvia Hillcrest. Because it was a masquerade, only those carrying an official invitation would be admitted at the door. “Commit the address to your memory. You will be returning to collect my guest and will take her home again safely after the party concludes.”
He winked. “Right you are. We’ll keep your ladybird safe for you.”
“She’s not that,” Alexander said quickly, cutting off any potential gossip. “We have a business arrangement. That is all.”
“Of course, my lord,” the fellow agreed, but he was trying not to grin, and it was obvious he didn’t really believe Alexander.
He ignored the fellow’s impertinence lest his protests add fuel to the fire. “After that invitation is delivered, you will take me on to Madam Bradshaw’s.”
The man nodded slowly, fingering the scrap of paper with Sylvia’s address on it with a growing frown. “When are we to return for you?”
“You should remain nearby.” He had no time for Bradshaw’s usual pleasures today. “My business there should only take a few minutes. After that, I will want to go to my club, and then you can return home. I will make my own way back before dark.”
“Very good, my lord.”
The coachman set his cap firmly on his head as the carriage was brought up. He inspected the carriage, making a few minor adjustment before announcing everything was in order.
The trip to Albemarle Street took little time, and he remained in the shadows of the carriage as a footman successfully delivered Sylvia Hillcrest’s invitation to his party.
Alexander hoped she would come out to play with him.
He was looking forward to seeing her pit her skill against the best society could offer. He had a feeling she would wipe the floor with them.
The carriage got underway—but suddenly he sat up straight when he noticed a gentleman start up the Hillcrest Academy’s front stairs. If he was not
mistaken, that was Lord Sullivan calling on them. Just how many lessons did one man need to make a second marriage?
Alexander shook his head. Nonsense, all of it. Making a good match required a man to find a woman with similar interests, loyalty and good sense, and a steady temperament that allowed a man free rein to conduct his business in peace. If a man wanted a wife, he had to make a plan and carry it out. Nothing should get in his way of achieving his goal.
Chapter 6
“Eugenia, can you see if the carriage has arrived,” Sylvia called, rushing to make herself ready to go out in time. The last-minute invitation to tonight’s party was unexpected but a night not to be missed.
She’d heard of Lord Wharton’s event last year and was very curious to see for herself what went on there. Unfortunately, a series of late appointments had her now rushing when she needed to be calm and make sure she’d make the right impression. It was absolutely essential that no one recognize her tonight. There would be gambling, and excess, and she intended to enjoy herself thoroughly.
The event was rumored to be the most spectacular private function of the season. She was truly astonished to have received an invite, but she wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Tonight she could dance, flirt and gamble behind the safety of her mask, and not worry who might notice her lack of decorum…or a prolonged winning streak.
“There’s a carriage standing outside now, but I don’t believe it is the one you ordered. It looks far too grand to have come from your usual stables.”
Sylvia rushed to peer out her window to see for herself the very black coach and matched pair of gleaming horses standing before her home. There were four smartly dressed grooms waiting before her home in the dark. “That’s certainly not meant for me,” she acknowledged. “I wonder who could be inside?”
A knock rang through the house, and Sylvia jumped.
“Perhaps it is Mr. Berringer, come to sweep you away on his arm at last,” Eugenia teased.
“Oh, don’t be foolish,” she chided her cousin. “That young man is destined to become a duke.”
“That doesn’t mean he couldn’t be smitten by your charms. You are, after all, the loveliest of us.”
“No, Aurora has always had that distinction,” she insisted.
“We are all beautiful in our own way, but I suppose it could only be Aurora who catches someone’s eye.”
“She’ll make the most beautiful bride.”
“Probably the most shocked, too,” Eugenia said with a laugh.
Their cousin was the most likely to make a match out of all of them because she was younger. Eugenia and Sylvia had secretly decided to lend a portion of their inheritances to dower their cousin, should the right man come along and fall helplessly in love with the girl. They would not allow a lack of fortune stand in Aurora’s path to true love.
A maid came to the doorway. “There is a message for you, Miss Sylvia.”
“For me?” Sylvia rushed to take it and held it up to the light of her candle to read.
Get in the carriage. W.
How rude! She read the note again, frowning.
Was the carriage outside really for her? Sylvia moved to the window and peered out. There wasn’t a crest painted on the door that she could discern to lend some idea where it had come from, nor did the grooms wear any livery she recognized. Obviously, someone very wealthy owned that carriage, though. Wealthy and bossy, and a man, too, judging by the strong penmanship in the note.
The only person she knew who fit that description was perhaps Lord Wharton. The party was at his home tonight, and she had his money still.
Perhaps he wanted it back from her before the party. She bit her lip, hoping he hadn’t changed his mind about her gambling for him. She’d been so very excited about the prospect of nearly unlimited games tonight.
“Who is the note from, Sylvia?”
Sylvia tucked the note away before Eugenia glimpsed the handwriting. “Oh, it’s from a friend who worries about my traveling arrangements. They sent their own carriage to collect me.”
“That was very thoughtful,” Eugenia said with an unconcerned smile. “Do remember to convey your appreciation. The roads in London are full of scoundrels and thieves on the best of nights.”
Sylvia breathed a sigh of relief that Eugenia didn’t ask who’d sent it. If the carriage had been sent by Lord Wharton, as she strongly suspected it had, it was imperative her cousins never learn of their arrangement. They would tease her mercilessly and suggest she had not one, but now two suitors vying for her favor. How wrong they were.
“I don’t think anyone would be interested in stealing from someone like me, but I will be sure to convey my appreciation for their consideration.”
Sylvia hadn’t told her cousins about her most recent conversations with Wharton, or the money she carried hidden in her reticule from him. They would never approve of her gambling with someone else’s money. But it had felt good to try to help him solve Lady Norrington’s financial woes. For the first time in a long time, she’d done something involving a gentleman without expecting a marriage as the end result.
“You shouldn’t keep the carriage waiting,” Eugenia said, dragging Sylvia from her thoughts about the evening to come.
“I suppose not. Could you pass me my mask?”
Once she had it, she made her way to the front door, silk skirts swishing about her legs, and saw the waiting carriage standing beyond. It seemed a dream to have such an elegant carriage waiting at her front door and a pair of grooms standing at attention beside it.
She paused on the pavement, looked up at the first tall man, and asked in a soft voice, “Who do you work for?”
“Lord Wharton, miss,” he whispered back. “He said you’d be suspicious and sent these. He said you’d understand.” The fellow dug in his pocket and produced a stack of playing cards for Sylvia. “I’m John Morrow, head coachman of his lordship’s stables in London, if that helps your nerves.”
“I’m not at all nervous, sir, but any sane woman in my situation would question who sent this beautiful carriage for her,” she chided. “Shall we be on our way?”
“Very good, miss.” The man snapped his fingers, and another groom came forward to fold out the step and open the door. “Your carriage awaits.”
She couldn’t help but grin at the fellow. He seemed determined to show her every courtesy possible.
She entered the candlelit interior and lowered herself to the plush red velvet cushions. Sylvia sighed deeply in the pleasure of her luxurious surroundings as the carriage door clicked shut behind her. A lady could get used to such indulgences if given a chance, but of course, Sylvia would never take the boon for granted. This must be the compensation Wharton had decided she should have for her efforts in helping him with his friends. She set his deck of cards on the seat beside her.
Since she was alone, Sylvia wriggled back against the squabs, slipped off her slippers and settled her stocking-clad feet lightly upon the opposite velvet bench. Luxury indeed. As she flicked the little tassels on the window curtains idly, she almost felt like a princess going to a grand ball.
They turned toward Berkley Square—but then suddenly came to a complete halt in the middle of the road. Sylvia scrambled to get her slippers back on, and not a moment too soon. Her door was wrenched open and a large man was suddenly inside the carriage beside her.
“How dare you?” she cried out in shock.
But when she caught a glimpse of Lord Wharton’s grinning face as he quickly doused the interior lamps, throwing them into complete darkness, she was relieved.
“I knew you’d be the type to want to arrive early,” he teased.
Sylvia considered if she could hit his shoulder with her fan for that remark and get away with it or not. Most likely not. She clutched her fan tightly. “You scared me half to death, my lord. What are you doing in my carriage?”
“This is my carriage,” he announced with a shrug.
Obviously. �
�Have you no care for a lady’s reputation?”
“I’ll only need a moment of your time.” He tapped the roof, and the carriage got underway again.
A shiver raced over her skin as he became still. The illusion of security and comfort was gone now, replaced by a creeping suspicion about what the marquess could want her for in the dark. She had been foolish to think the carriage was for her comfort alone. A reward for helping him. That hadn’t been the case at all. “What do you want with me?”
“Do you have my funds with you?”
Sylvia nodded quickly. “I do.”
“Good. My men are going to protect you from thieves on your way to my home.”
Now she knew the why of the carriage. Many an unwary hack driver had been waylaid by thieves in the dead of night—and a lady traveling alone might unwittingly put herself in peril because she hadn’t her own servants to protect her.
However, Sylvia was not certain why the marquess thought his escort necessary, too. She was not carrying so much in funds that she needed his presence to fend off any would-be thieves.
Who was going to protect her—and her reputation—from the marquess?
“Thank you, but your presence is hardly necessary, and quite possibly damaging to my reputation if we are seen together alone. Did you even think of that?”
“Of course I did, Miss Hillcrest. I have considered every aspect of our association quite carefully. Now, we need to have a little chat.” He leaned closer, and the scent of his spicy cologne filled her nostrils with a desire to be the sort of woman he found impossible to resist. She folded her hands in her lap to fight the urge to lay her hands upon him. “I want to know how your visit with Lady Norrington went today,” he said in a low murmur.
Although she shivered at the intimate tone of his voice, she quickly narrowed her eyes on him. “Are you spying on me?”
“Of course not,” he said indignantly. “I happened to be passing Lady Norrington’s home earlier today and saw you enter her townhouse. What happened?”
Sylvia sighed. What a fool she was indeed to think he might have been interested in more than his own schemes. “I managed to stuff a handful of coins under a cushion today,” she said proudly.
