Lord Mumford's Minx

by Alexandra Ivy

  Far from appeased, Mary shook her head in an accusing manner. “It is positively disgraceful. Young ladies do not appear in public without a proper chaperon and dressed in such a vulgar manner.”

  “Perhaps not, but it is either this or returning to Devonshire and the current Lady Stanholte,” Cassie pointed out with a decided lack of patience. “I suppose if you are quite fortunate, she may be willing to offer you a position.”

  “That will be enough of your sass, child,” Mary retorted with a wounded sniff. “I have no intention of working for that impostor.”

  Instantly contrite, Cassie swiftly crossed the room to give the woman a consoling hug.

  “Oh, I am sorry, Mary, but I fear I am sadly out of temper. I just wish this was all behind us.”

  “As do I, child,” Mary admitted, no more immune to Cassie’s generous nature than anyone else. “It was an evil day when that woman darkened the door. An evil day indeed.”

  “Well, if luck be on our side, Mary, she will soon be darkening the door of Newgate. All I need is to find Nell and all our troubles will be behind us.”

  Mary was not nearly so convinced. She knew quite well that any woman acquainted with London could easily lose herself in the vast crowd. Indeed, this Nell might be hidden anywhere. But for once she held her tongue. It was bad enough that her stubborn mistress was determined to shred her reputation beyond repair. At least she would be safe enough in Hyde Park. It would be quite another story should she take it in her head to poke through the dens of iniquity that ran rampant throughout the city.

  “As you say, Miss Cassie, all our troubles will be behind us.”

  * * *

  Despite their tardy arrival, the two gentlemen currently entering the park attracted a great deal of attention. Indeed, it would be difficult not to note the slender man with a striped orange waistcoat and emerald green coat. Lord Bidwell always managed to command a good deal of speculation with his outrageous attire, as well as more than a few snide comments, although they were always muttered in a low voice, since the gentleman in question was remarkable in his ability to make one appear a fool. But the center of interest was on Lord Mumford, who appeared astonishingly handsome in a dark blue coat and pantaloons tucked into a pair of gleaming Hessians.

  Not surprisingly, he commanded his own share of snide comments due to the fact most gentlemen found it utterly galling that a man blessed with title and fortune should also possess a handsome countenance and athletic form. Women, on the other hand, instinctively sat a bit straighter and pinched their pale cheeks on the off chance the Irresistible Earl might be gracious enough to glance in their direction.

  Unfortunately for them, Lord Mumford was thoroughly indifferent to the elegant crowd that filled the park. In fact, he had only agreed to the outing since Biddles had purchased a new Bit of Calvary he was determined to parade at the fashionable hour. And, of course, it served as a means of passing a tedious afternoon.

  Awry smile touched his firm lips. What he needed, he decided, was another golden-haired beauty tossing herself in his path. She at least had added a dash of excitement to his day, and oddly filled more than one dull moment with the memory of her willful gray eyes and sweet smile. And although he would never admit as much, there was rarely a day he hadn’t searched the crowded streets for a glimpse of the delicate profile.

  Annoyingly, it appeared he was doomed to failure. No one had seen or heard of the elusive young woman with golden hair and silver eyes. She clearly had disappeared without a trace.

  Raising a languid hand to stifle a yawn, Luke glanced at his companion, who was busily quizzing the various occupants of the park. Unlike himself, Biddles found a vast deal of amusement in watching the elegant crowd.

  “Ah ... I see that Lady Howell has managed to wrangle a new carriage from her latest chérie amie, quite a bang-up rig, although those bays are a queer lot if I don’t miss my guess. And there is Newly, back from his excursion to the country. No doubt his dragon of a grandmother handed over the sizable fortune needed to haul him out of dun territory just to rid herself of his presence, a tedious toadeater if I ever met one. And there is Umbridge, as hideously attired as ever. I do believe his sizable posterior has grown even larger over the past winter. Oh, and of course, Lady Steldon, poor creature. One would think that Lord Steldon would be good enough to stick his spoon in the wall once they were wed—he is, after all, fifty years her senior—but I suppose he is too clutch-fisted to turn up his toes and allow his despairing wife the pleasure of his inheritance . . . Oh, I say, have a look, Mumford.”

  Barely noting the ramblings of his companion, Luke reluctantly turned his head to regard what had captured Biddle’s attention. It took him a moment to spot the cream-colored carriage sporting a young lady with brilliant red curls and a decidedly provocative gown. Certainly a beauty, he concluded, and presumably new to London since he had yet to encounter the lovely Impure. But that did not explain his friend’s obvious interest.

  “Prime bit of muslin,” he drawled, “but I thought you had a decided preference for dark-haired beauties.”

  The long nose twitched as Biddles glanced at him in a mocking fashion.

  “Do you not find her in the least familiar?”

  Lifting his quizzing glass, Luke once more studied the woman, his blue eyes narrowing as she turned her head to reveal a delicate nose and firm jaw. An elusive memory seemed to flicker to life, but for once he discovered himself unable to pin down the precise image. Quite annoying for a man who had once lived on his sheer wits alone. He could only conclude that his luxurious way of life was making him soft in the noodle.

  “There is something . . . Damn, but I must be nearing my dotage to have forgotten where I encountered such a tantalizing Venus,” he retorted, his tone a shade ill-humored. “Next I suppose I shall be tottering about with swollen joints and partaking of those vile waters.”

  Biddles appeared smugly amused by his irritation, even going so far as to send him a consoling smile.

  “Before you retire to Bath, old chap, it might interest you to know that I make a habit of never forgetting a face. It is quite distressing how easily people can be fooled by a change of clothing. Why, a clever bloke suitably attired could no doubt serve Napoleon a brandy in his own bed.”

  Although the words were tossed out in an offhand manner, Luke felt his annoyance easing as a wry smile replaced his frown. He had no doubt the little rat had managed to use the disguise of a loyal French servant—he had donned the disguise himself on more than one occasion—and he was just brazen enough to thrust his way into Napoleon’s reclusive presence. That didn’t, however, explain how he was acquainted with the red-haired doxy.

  “No doubt, Biddles, but while I hold your undoubted skills in the highest esteem, I fail to comprehend what they have to do with the delightful Cyprian.”

  The air of smug satisfaction only deepened. “Perhaps it will aid your faulty memory to know that on the last occasion you encountered the delightful Cyprian she possessed golden curls and was covered in muck.”

  Just for a moment, Luke assumed that his friend was becoming a bit noddy. After all, the elegant courtesan had nothing in common with the innocent maiden he had found lying in the street.

  But even as the thoughts passed through his mind, the woman in the carriage gave a familiar toss of her head, and Luke felt his heart give an odd leap of excitement. How could he have been so blind? Even with the change in hair color and dress, he should have known the moment he had caught sight of the sweetly carved profile. He had, after all, imagined it enough over the past three days. Thank goodness Biddles had not allowed his own wits to become flabby with disuse, he thought with a flicker of self-disgust.

  “Good Lord . . .” He breathed softly. “I do believe you are right, Biddles.”

  “Naturally,” Biddles drawled, carefully watching as the carriage approached. “I must say, I approve of the transformation.”

  Frowning, Luke allowed his gaze to take in the ra
ther daring gown that revealed far more than a demure young lady considered proper.

  “What the devil is the chit up to?” he murmured, as much to himself as to his companion.

  Arching his brows, Biddles regarded him with wicked amusement.

  “I should think you are nearer the schoolroom than your dotage if you are forced to ask such a painfully obvious question.”

  Luke felt a decided surge of irritation at the suggestive words. Odd, considering that he should be pleased with the notion that he could further his acquaintance with the young lady without concern about unwelcome expectations.

  “I cannot credit it,” he retorted in firm tones. “Although our meeting was brief, I have no doubt she is a lady of quality.”

  “Even ladies of quality can fall upon hard times, Mumford. Indeed, I have no doubt the back streets of London are littered with such women. And since I can consider no more dismal future than being governess to a pack of squalling brats, or even worse, saddled with a vicious tabby, I cannot say that I wholly condemn her choice.”

  “Perhaps.” Far from convinced, Luke abruptly moved his mount forward. “Come along.”

  Without waiting for Biddles to respond, Luke angled his way toward the passing carriage, coming up from behind so that he could casually lean sideways to snatch the small fan off the seat without being noticed. Then with commendable skill he swerved his bay directly in the path of the carriage so that it had little choice but to come to an abrupt halt. The woman glanced upward, her face growing pale at the sight of his charming smile.

  “Pardon me, but I believe this belongs to you.” Luke performed an elegant bow, leaning forward to hand the stunned lady her fan.

  She gazed blankly at the lacy confection, clearly too rattled by his sudden appearance to wonder how the fan had managed to come into his possession.

  “I ...” Swallowing with difficulty, she held out a reluctant hand. “Thank you.”

  His blue eyes glinted with devilish amusement. “I am always delighted to be of service to such a remarkably beautiful woman. Or had you forgotten?”

  “Forgotten?” The teasing words seemed to clear her scattered wits, and much to Luke’s surprise, a decidedly icy expression hardened the delicate features. “I fear I haven’t the least notion what you mean.”

  “I was referring to the last occasion that we met.”

  Auburn brows arched in a haughty motion. “You must be mistaken, sir. We have never met before.”

  Not precisely a vain man, Luke nevertheless was accustomed to women who appeared suitably enraptured by his presence. In truth, he had become rather jaded by the knowledge he could take his pick of the most toasted beauties. But for the second occasion the mysterious woman appeared remarkably indifferent to the honor he was bestowing upon her. Even going so far as to deny even being acquainted. Hardly the expected behavior of a demi-rep on the search for a protector.

  “Indeed?” Luke questioned, his curiosity thoroughly aroused.

  “Now, if you will excuse me . . .”

  Having the previous experience of her abrupt departure, Luke was quite prepared as the carriage lurched forward. Maneuvering his mount forward, he ensured that the carriage halt or risk a collision.

  “Not before I’ve made my deepest apologies,” he retorted in smooth tones, willing to follow her lead for the moment. If she wished to pretend they had never encountered one another, then so be it. Allowing his gaze to roam appreciatively over her slender form and provocative red curls, he smiled in an inviting manner. “It is unforgivable that I should imply there is another woman in town who could hold a candle to your unsurpassable beauty. On closer inspection, I see you possess only the most passing resemblance.”

  A dark stain of color rushed to her cheeks at his blatant survey, even as her gray eyes flashed with a spark of irritation.

  “It does not signify in the least,” she retorted.

  “At least the momentary confusion has given me the opportunity to introduce myself,” Luke insisted, reaching out to firmly grasp her tiny fingers and raise them to his lips. Even beneath the thin gloves he could feel the leap of her pulse as her eyes widened with shock at his bold behavior. “Lord Mumford, at your service. And this rather disreputable coxcomb is Lord Bidwell.”

  Taking his cue, Biddles urged his own mount closer, bending forward and waving his arm in an elaborate bow.

  “Enchanted, my dear, simply enchanted.”

  Still clasping the woman’s fingers despite her less than subtle attempts to free herself from his grip, Luke regarded the lovely face with an expectant expression.

  “And you are . . . ?”

  Clearly wishing she possessed the nerve to plant him a facer, the woman reluctantly gave into her ingrained manners.

  “Lady Greer,” she supplied in clipped tones.

  Luke hid a smile. If this woman was Lady Greer, then he was Napoleon Bonaparte.

  “Are you recently arrived in London?”

  “Yes.”

  Hardly informative, but the woman clearly underestimated the skill of Lord Bidwell’s ear.

  “From Devonshire, I would hazard,” he drawled.

  She stiffened, but with a commendable effort, her expression remained aloof.

  “Not at all,” she lied smoothly. “Actually, I come from Ireland.”

  “Ireland?” Luke regarded the delicate features intently. “That is a considerable way from London. Are you here visiting or simply enjoying the sights?”

  “I hardly think my reasons for traveling to London can be of interest to you, Lord Mumford.”

  Luke smiled in a wicked manner. “Everything about you is of interest to me, Lady Greer.”

  She sucked in a shocked breath at his blatant words; then, snatching her hand free, she reached up to tug impatiently on the arm of her groom.

  “Drive on.”

  This time there was no ignoring the imperative command, and giving a jerk of the reins, the groom urged the rented nags forward, clearly indifferent to Luke’s exquisite mount. Unwilling to risk injury to his horse, Luke reluctantly pulled aside, watching the retreating carriage with a narrowed gaze.

  “A rather chilly reception for a young lady hoping to attract the attention of a rich benefactor, wouldn’t you say, Biddles?” he murmured, still able to smell the scent of violets in the air.

  “Positively frigid,” the small man agreed, his nose twitching.

  “Odd.” Luke cocked his raven head to one side. “Almost as odd as her refusal to recall our initial meeting.”

  “Clearly, she has no desire to be recognized as a golden-haired maiden with rather questionable taste in fashion and who has recently arrived from Devonshire.”

  “The question is, why?” Turning, Luke regarded his friend with glittering blue eyes. “Does she fear scandal for her family? Or is she hiding something more devious?”

  Biddles grimaced. “Does it really matter?”

  “It will enliven a decidedly dull season,” Luke tossed out in an offhand manner, although there was nothing offhand about his mounting interest. “Shall we follow the intriguing Lady Greer, Biddles?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “None whatsoever.”

  Heaving a rueful sigh, Biddles reached beneath his coat to produce a dainty lace fan, a rather sly gleam in his eye.

  “Then I suppose we shall have need of this.”

  Luke gave a pleased laugh at his devious friend’s clever ploy. Not even he had noticed Biddles retrieve the fan from the carriage.

  “You are a wicked, wicked man, Biddles,” Luke congratulated.

  Biddles gave a mocking bow. “I do my best.”

  Three

  Of all the rotten luck. Restlessly pacing across the hideous salon, Cassie seethed at her futile afternoon. It was bad enough to endure the leering glances from the numerous gentlemen that had approached her carriage, none of whom claimed any knowledge of Herbie, but to actually encounter the Irresistible Earl just as she was leaving the park
seemed the height of ill fortune.

  Really, the man was proving to be a devilish nuisance, she thought with a flare of irritation. She had almost swooned when he had suddenly appeared, the startling blue eyes dancing with wicked amusement. Why couldn’t he simply leave her in peace? After all, he supposedly avoided young ladies like the plague.

  But of course, she suddenly acknowledged, he no longer considered her a young lady. Instead, she had managed to convince him that she was the type of woman who would welcome the attentions of wealthy gentlemen without the fuss of proper behavior.

  Her stomach twisted in a queer manner at the thought, almost as if she actually cared what the arrogant Lord Mumford thought of her reputation. Which was ridiculous. No doubt it was merely her conscience rebelling at her reprehensible behavior, she swiftly reassured herself. Instead of fretting over the fact he considered her a common trollop, she should be congratulating herself on the fact she had managed to convince him that she had no connection with the shabby maiden he had nearly run down three days before.

  The stern chiding did little to relieve the unease that had settled in the pit of her stomach. It was clear that the day’s events had rattled her composure more than she had realized. What she needed, she decided with a sigh, was a soothing cup of tea.

  Moving toward the bell that would summon her housekeeper, Cassie was abruptly halted as the salon door was pushed open to reveal the granite-faced butler that had come with the house staff. It was the first occasion he had sought out her company, and she regarded him in wary surprise.

  “Yes, Tolson?”

  With the regal dignity peculiar to London butlers, the man regarded her in a steady fashion. “A Lord Bidwell and Lord Mumford to see you, my lady,” he announced, not seeming to find anything remotely unusual about her receiving two gentlemen visitors.