by Heather Boyd
He seemed to choke. “Did you not think that would look suspicious? What if a servant finds them and keeps them instead?”
Sylvia smiled. “Oh, Lady Norrington found them all right, and she didn’t suspect me at all. She discovered the funds while I was still there, but she was very careful not to let on about it. The housekeeper asked for a quick word with her, and as soon as she stepped out of the room, I had the job done. I put them under her chair pillow. Quite simple, really.”
“Well,” he said, sitting back. “Nicely done.”
She squinted at him in the dark. “Why couldn’t you have done the same when you called on her?”
“I don’t visit her at home anymore.” He winced. “Was there any hint of their situation changing?”
“How do you mean?”
“Furniture sold and items missing.”
“I have never visited Lady Norrington at home before the ball, so I couldn’t say for sure if anything was missing. Everything seemed as it should be, though. The right amount of good furniture and paintings on the walls.”
Lord Wharton nodded and didn’t say more for a while. Sylvia tried to study him in the dark carriage as he stared out the window at the passing view. Every now and then the moon illuminated his handsome features. He was at ease in the dark with her, more so than she was with him right now. He was the sort of man to make a woman breathless just by being near.
Sylvia fidgeted with her mask, wondering if she should already have fitted it to her face in case they were seen together. She had a reputation to protect, after all, not that Lord Wharton seemed the least bit interested in her that way. She had to remember they were in league together, not potential lovers. “If Lord Norrington doesn’t trust you, why are you so keen to help them?”
His eyes turned her way. “That’s none of your concern.”
“Don’t I deserve the truth for helping you?”
He crossed his arms over his chest, a defensive gesture if ever she’d seen one. He might trust her to carry his money under his watchful eye, but explaining himself, his real motives, to a woman might be more than he was capable of. So many lords were like that, she’d found.
His lips twisted. “You deserve something for your trouble, but I’ve yet to decide what I want to give.”
“The comfort of the carriage is more than enough,” she assured him. “Anything of greater value would have to be refused.”
He studied her, and his smile returned. His glance flickered over her gown and back to study her face. “What else besides cards do you do well, Miss Hillcrest? You seem the kind of woman with other secret talents a gentleman might be interested in.”
Ah, so they were back to flirting again. She had wondered if she’d imagined it the other night. “A lady never tells,” she said primly, but then fluttered her lashes in an exaggerated fashion.
He grinned. “Neither do I, no matter how bold the lady might choose to be.”
Sylvia had to admit she enjoyed the occasional flirtation. There was no harm in it with Wharton. He would never be a client of the Hillcrest Academy. He was much too self-assured to need any help courting a wife.
But might Wharton be something else to her? Something a little scandalous, perhaps? His eyes and smile hinted at wicked thoughts.
A little thrill of excitement rushed though her when Wharton held her stare overlong. He moved his foot, and then his lower leg was pressing softly against hers.
He was flirting with her, and it was working, too. She could feel her body react to him…and she liked it. She put her hands flat on her thighs, and then slipped one across to settle lightly over his knee.
His breath hissed out. “Bold, indeed.”
Sylvia withdrew her hand. Eventually, he moved his leg away, but a smile played over his lips still. “You interest me.”
Sylvia had to admit Wharton interested her, too. She had a weakness for confident men, and Wharton was certainly that. She’d had many months of discreetly observing him in the shadow of mutual acquaintances to know his character lacked for little to recommend it but a dose of humility now and then. However, Sylvia was well aware she could not make a fool of herself over him.
If she was the marrying kind, he’d be quite the catch. The top of anyone’s list. Luckily for him, she was not desperate to wed like so many women seemed to be. But a little flirting with a bachelor was always fun and caused no harm if the man respected her.
She smiled. “In what way might a lady be considered too bold, my lord?”
His lips quirked but she soon realized he wouldn’t say what he was thinking out loud. He’d thrown out a lure and she’d taken the bait. All that was left was for him to reel her in. She wet her lips, anticipating being scandalous with him in the dark.
He lifted a hand and thumped the roof of the carriage. They came to a stop on another dark, empty street. “This carriage is yours for the entire evening, Miss Hillcrest,” he said. “My men will take you home, too, whenever you wish to leave my party. I do hope you thoroughly enjoy yourself tonight. Perhaps we might see more of each other later, too.”
An image of the marquess leaning over her, bare chested, flashed through her mind.
Her indrawn breath of excitement must have been loud, because the marquess laughed softly. “I was thinking that same thing about you, too.”
When his hand stretched out and settled on her knee, Sylvia considered swooning. His fingers were so very warm through her thin evening gown. He moved his fingers a little, adjusting the fabric over her knees, then dipped between. Sylvia closed her eyes, waiting, anticipating…
A blast of cooler air swirled across her face and she opened her eyes.
Wharton was gone from the carriage. He’d left her in complete darkness with her overactive imagination running rampant and her desires truly out of control.
“Oh, that wasn’t very nice of him,” she grumbled under her breath as the carriage got under way again for the party.
Chapter 7
Alexander slipped along the dark alley, hood of his cloak pulled far over his brow to hide his identity, and darted into the mews behind his home. The scents of the stables and horses housed there overpowered him briefly but he rushed on, eager for the evening to come. He had a spring in his step as he pushed open the door to the kitchens.
Sylvia Hillcrest interested him even more after their intimate little chat in his dark carriage.
She was not the shy spinster she appeared to be at first glance.
She was something far better.
He rubbed his hands together and took the servants’ stairs up to his private chambers two at a time. His valet was waiting beside a full copper tub of steaming-hot water. His costume for tonight had already been laid out. “Shave first, then bath.”
He dropped into a dressing chair and tipped up his chin.
The valet bustled around behind him, creating a lather with Alexander’s favorite shaving soap. “Lady Chapman arrived half an hour ago and asked for you.”
“Is there a problem?”
“Not that I heard of, my lord.”
“She can wait,” he decided. A cloth went around his throat and Alexander made himself relax. He didn’t want the man to cut him just because he clenched his jaw at the wrong time. He closed his eyes as the valet went to work, and when his beard was scraped away, he stripped.
“I’ll be back in a moment with your evening meal,” the valet promised.
“Thank you.”
Alexander stepped into the high-sided copper tub and immersed himself to scrub away any offending body odors, and scrubbed his head, too. Once clean, he stood and let the water drip from his body. The slight draft from an open window created a delicious thrill over his skin, like the touch of a skilled lover.
He couldn’t wait to be alone with Sylvia Hillcrest later tonight and hopefully discover more of her secrets—like how she tasted, how she moaned when he pleasured her sex with his fingers and mouth.
Thoughts of bedding Sylvia
aroused him, but…first things first.
Norrington.
His arousal subsided as he reached for a length of cloth to dry himself.
There was a rapid knock on his door but before he could answer, a masked woman slipped into his chamber.
He recognized the gown. It had been described to him earlier. Lady Chapman. “Bloody hell!” he cried out, rushing to cover himself with whatever fell to hand. “What the devil do you think you are doing by coming to my chambers?”
“I couldn’t wait to see you!”
Alexander cursed under his breath and started throwing on clothes. “What can I do for you this evening, Lady Chapman? Is there a problem with the party?”
“No,” she murmured, and then sighed. “I just thought… I wanted to see you. See if you needed any help with your costume.”
Alexander sighed. Lady Chapman was quite determined to throw herself at him. He wished he had been firmer with her earlier. “When I asked if you’d act as my hostess, that is all I ever intended for you to do.”
“But everyone knows…”
“Knows what?”
“That being your hostess is just for appearances’ sake.”
Alexander shook his head. “If I want a woman in that way, I say so. She’d know before anything happened between us what I intended to do with her. I am sorry to disappoint you, but nothing will ever happen between us. You’ll only ever be Chapman’s widow in my eyes.”
Lady Chapman seemed to reel at his announcement. “I could be more than that to you.”
“Friendship is all I can offer. I will not replace Chapman in your bed.”
“It wouldn’t have been like that,” she hissed, then turned on her heel and stormed through his bedchamber, slamming the door behind her.
Alexander moved to lock the door. He raked a hand through his damp hair, deeply annoyed that Lady Chapman had forced him to put her in her place.
He really had no time for this sort of thing.
Alexander finished dressing with no further interruptions save his valet returning with a plate of sandwiches. He devoured those quickly, tied a mask about his face, and then used the servants’ stairs to join the party on the floor below discreetly.
There were a number of his friends lurking in the music room, glasses already in hand. He joined them, silently standing at the rear, and they didn’t notice one more masked highwayman in their midst for some time. Scarsdale and Lord Foyle, an old school chum, were deep in whispered conversation. He recognized them instantly since they wore the same costume to every masquerade he’d ever attended.
A third man’s identity eluded him until he asked a question. “Did you see that woman run off into the night?”
Alexander knew that voice very well. Norrington, and not in a costume Alexander had expected to see. He was impressed. Most of Norrington’s head was covered in twisted silk, like a turban, and he had also somehow applied hair, a beard, to his lower face, when he usually was clean-shaven. He had a surprisingly dangerous look about him tonight. Not even his mother would recognize him.
“Couldn’t miss her,” Scarsdale admitted. “Nice pair of tits, too.”
Foyle nodded. “Who do you think it was?”
Norrington smirked. “I’ve no idea, but she came down the staircase from the direction of his bedchamber.”
Foyle chuckled. “Do you think she our host’s new woman?”
“Could be,” Scarsdale said, looking around. “None of my business unless I fancy the same woman.”
“You’ll have to find out,” Norrington suggested, obviously hoping the other pair would, and then feed him juicy gossip about Alexander’s life.
Strangely enough, if Norrington had asked the name of his mistress, Alexander would have instantly told him what it was. Still, he didn’t care for Norrington snooping into his affairs…which was of course what Alexander always did with his friends. He was quite aware that made him a complete hypocrite, too.
Alexander leaned closer. “And they say women can’t keep their noses out of everyone else’s business.”
Foyle jumped and cursed him.
Scarsdale threw a smile his way. “I knew you were there. You always use the servants’ staircases during a party.”
“That will be the last time ever I do then,” he announced. “Norrington, what a pleasure to know you take an interest in my life still.”
Norrington had stiffened up almost as soon as Alexander had spoken. “Still having no luck with the ladies, I see?” he sneered
“I have all the luck I’ll ever need,” he promised. He glanced about the room and then moved closer to his former friend. “Where is your wife?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“I should like to pay my respects,” he murmured.
Norrington’s expression soured. “She stayed home.”
Alexander closed his eyes briefly. “Why?”
Norrington shrugged. “A sudden headache came upon her. You know how delicate women can be.”
That didn’t fit any description any woman he knew. But then, he wasn’t married to one. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, although what he wanted to say would be a lot louder and involve every curse he knew.
Lady Norrington was supposed to be in the card room so Sylvia Hillcrest could find her, play against her, and lose to her. If she’d stayed home, his scheme to help Norrington was doomed.
Alexander would have to warn Sylvia that her services were not needed tonight, too.
“Excuse me,” Norrington murmured, and then headed for the card room.
Foyle smiled quickly. “Marriage hasn’t improved him.”
Alexander wouldn’t add to the gossip about the rift that had grown between him and Norrington. He slapped Foyle and Scarsdale on the shoulders. “Enjoy yourselves, gentlemen.”
“And you.”
Alexander moved on, checking the rooms and that all was in order. Of Lady Chapman, there was no sign. It must have been her leaving in a huff. She’d taken his rejection completely to heart and abandoned her duties as his hostess. He didn’t approve, but he was glad she was gone.
He found his butler at the door, checking off invitations against a list. “Is everything in order?”
“Yes, my lord.” The man leaned close to whisper, “Lady Chapman’s left.”
“Yes, I heard. Do you think you can manage without her?”
“Always, my lord.”
Alexander picked up the list and ran his eye down the tally. Almost everyone invited had presented their invitations already. All but one.
“Good. Excellent.” Alexander glanced at his pocket watch, cursing his tardy coachman. Where the devil was Sylvia? She should already be in his home. He hoped she didn’t become too disappointed when he told her she wouldn’t need to play cards with Lady Norrington tonight. He also hoped she wouldn’t turn around and leave again before they had a chance to talk in private. He checked no one was nearby. “I might be unavailable for a time after midnight. Unless someone dies, I am not to be disturbed.”
The fellow nodded quickly. “I’ll make sure no one does.”
Alexander smiled and then went to the card room. Like all others, Norrington kept up his disguise as he emptied his pockets onto a card table.
Alexander watched on, feeling helpless and concerned. Norrington hid it well but he was clearly desperate to win a fortune tonight. And with Lady Norrington gone, there wasn’t much hope of a distraction. When Anna was around, Norrington wagered with a little more restraint.
As it stood now, the evening was turning out to be one unmitigated disaster after another.
Chapter 8
The carriage deposited Sylvia at the Wharton House front steps at last, later than she should have arrived. A broken-down carriage on a dark street and a fight between two coachmen had delayed their journey considerably. She was very glad to be in Lord Wharton’s home and not listening to the roughest of men fight with their bare fists right beside her coach window.
If she’d been in a hack, alone, she’d have been very afraid. But with Lord Wharton’s grooms standing protectively around her, she’d felt immeasurably safer.
She swept into Lord Wharton’s ballroom, eager to put the ugly event behind her and enjoy herself at last, full of anticipation for the evening. She took up a glass of champagne immediately just for something to hold.
The crowd was thin yet but she easily saw Lady Carmichael standing alone, mask dangling from her fingers across the room. Sylvia should have expected to see her, and Lord Carmichael, too, as Carmichael was Lord Wharton’s good friend. However, she’d not shared her good fortune in receiving an invitation with their mutual friends yet. She might be wise to remain in disguise.
Unfortunately, the decision was taken from her when Lady Carmichael waved excitedly at her.
Sylvia rushed over and kissed her offered cheek. “How do you do tonight?”
“Very well. I didn’t know you’d been invited to this event,” Lenore whispered.
Her invitation had come from the owner of the house himself, though she wasn’t going to tell anyone. “Where is your husband?”
“He darted off to fetch punch for us both. He should be back at any moment.” Lady Carmichael looked Sylvia over. “You look beautiful. And very mysterious.”
“So do you. Pregnancy becomes you,” she whispered.
“I’m getting fat,” she said with a laugh then swept her mask back into place. “Oh, I should have chosen a mask that tied in place like yours. I’m already tiring of holding it up before my face.”
Sylvia had tried to talk Lenore out of the purchase but it had been so very pretty in the shop, the new countess simply had to have it for her own. Lenore wouldn’t countenance purchasing a second one. She might now be a countess and wealthy, but at heart, she was still the frugal companion she’d always been.
“Well, this way, your husband can hide behind the mask with you while you kiss,” Sylvia suggested, knowing that just might be very often tonight.
