“Do you always pry through people’s homes behind their backs?”
He answered her accusation with a vague shrug. Then, withdrawing a delicate snuffbox, he helped himself to a small sample. She watched in burning frustration as he ensured his cuffs were perfectly straight before slowly lifting his head to regard her with a knowing smile.
“I presume it would be a waste of breath to assure you that only a fool would follow a strange woman through the back streets of London?”
Expecting questions, accusations or even threats, Cassie was caught off guard by his wry taunt. For goodness sakes, did the man assume she was a thorough ninny? she wondered. Only desperation would force her into such ridiculous follies.
“As much a waste of breath as me reminding you that what I choose to do is none of your concern,” she retaliated with a tilt of her chin.
An unexpectedly wicked grin softened the finely chiseled features.
“Perhaps we are both in need of another lesson,” he drawled.
Something perilously close to excitement flared through Cassie even as she took a hasty step backward. She’d had all the lessons she could endure for one day.
“You stay where you are, sir.”
The dark head tilted back as he gave a sudden laugh. “Ah, Lady Greer, you are a delight,” he said. “Unfortunately, I must take my leave. My aunt has demanded my presence for dinner. Unlike you, she appears to appreciate my charms.”
Futilely wishing that Lord Mumford did not possess such an extraordinary ability to unsettle her, Cassie eyed him in a sour manner.
“Is she perfectly well?”
“To the best of my knowledge.” His smile widened. “Although my uncle has been known to disagree.”
“Well, please do not let me detain you, my lord.”
His bow was mockingly elaborate. “A pleasure as always, my lady.”
With a last smile, he crossed to disappear out of the French doors. Cassie slowly raised a hand to her pounding heart.
Never would she become accustomed to the dangerous gentleman.
Never.
* * *
The town house of Lord and Lady Pembroke was a resplendent testament to the ingenuity of Edward Wyatt. Ornate gilding provided a rich contrast to the deep blue velvet wall coverings throughout the vast rooms, along with pier glass fitted to the doors. The lavish style was echoed in the glittering chandeliers and ebony and gilt furnishings.
Not that Luke was allowed to admire the expensive decor. As was the fashion, Lady Pembroke had invited far more guests than could comfortably squeeze into the house. Climbing the marble staircase, Luke suppressed a grimace at the heat and smoke that greeted him.
Why the devil did a London hostess presume that the more uncomfortable their guests, the more successful their gathering?
It was little wonder a reasonable gentleman preferred the comfort of his club, Luke acknowledged even as he summoned a smile for the thin, silver-haired matron holding court on the landing.
Lady Pembroke was the sister to Luke’s late mother and had been a celebrated beauty in her time. A shrewd woman with a taste for comfort, she had chosen a husband who was as rich as he was undemanding. The marriage had flourished remarkably well. Lord Pembroke was allowed his freedom to indulge in his studies of ancient Greek culture, while Lady Pembroke was given an ample income to become a most celebrated hostess. The only blemish on the union was their lack of children.
As a result, Sophia had turned her maternal instincts to the orphanages of London, showering them with both her time and fortune. Her generosity had made her a favorite with Luke, who often added his own wealth to her philanthropic efforts.
Now her thin face lit with surprised pleasure at the sight of him.
“Luke.”
He bowed over her outstretched hand. “Aunt Sophia, as beautiful as ever.”
“Whatever brings you here?”
Luke straightened to regard her with a teasing smile. “I was invited, was I not?”
“You know quite well you are always invited to our modest gatherings,” she retorted, eyeing him in a speculative manner. “However, until this evening you have made a pointed effort to avoid them.”
“How shameless of me.” Luke lifted his quizzing glass to survey the exquisites that were crowded into the open rooms. “Of course, I was quite unaware how delightful a hostess you are.”
“Fah.” A cunning lady who did not suffer fools gladly, Sophia met Luke’s glittering gaze squarely. “What do you want, Luke?”
“Why, Aunt Sophia. Surely you do not consider me such a shocking bore as to pay my respects only when I require something?”
“That is precisely what I think. I also think that you are far too accustomed to having others pander to your every whim,” she retorted in dry tones.
Luke made an unconscious grimace. “Not everyone.”
“Indeed?” Sophia gave a surprised blink. “I should like to meet the rare individual willing to dare your displeasure.”
Luke suppressed a laugh. He had no doubt Sophia would take great delight in Miss Cassandra Stanholte and her habit of treating him as no more than an unwelcome interloper. For now, however, he intended to keep his intimate knowledge of the young lady a close secret.
“I shall introduce you as soon as she arrives in London,” he promised.
“She?” Clearly caught off guard, Sophia grasped his arm to lead him into a nearby alcove. “I demand to know who she is.”
Satisfied that he had suitably piqued his aunt’s curiosity, Luke gave a mild shrug.
“Miss Cassandra Stanholte.”
“Stanholte?” Sophia frowned as she attempted to place the name.
“She currently resides in Devonshire, but she has plans to travel to London for the Season.”
The wide eyes became even wider. Hardly surprising, considering Luke’s notorious distaste for debutantes.
“And what is your particular interest in this Miss Stanholte?”
Luke once again shrugged. “Nothing more than a promise to a friend.”
“Oh?”
“I assured my dear friend I would see Miss Stanholte comfortably established in a proper town house with a suitable companion,” he lied with casual ease.
“You?” Sophia regarded him in blatant disbelief. “Absurd.”
Luke smiled in wry amusement. “Why?”
“What do you possibly know of settling a young lady in a proper establishment?” Sophia demanded.
“Thankfully, not a whit,” Luke confessed, absently smoothing the fold of his intricately knotted cravat. For the occasion he had chosen a black satin coat and pantaloons with a snow white waistcoat. A large ruby glinted against his lapel. Oddly, the severe attire only enhanced the masculine form and darkly handsome features. A fact that was noted by the vast majority of the females throughout the room. “Which is precisely why I have come to you.”
“You wish me to rent an establishment?” Sophia frowned in puzzlement.
“Actually, I plan to have my secretary make the necessary inquiries for a town house.” Luke waved a negligent hand. He could hardly confess he had personally met with an agent today to choose a town house that would suit his very high demands. “What I need from you is a gently bred lady who would agree to act as a chaperon for the remainder of the Season.”
For a long moment his Aunt studied his carefully bland countenance, as if seeking to determine the truth behind his decidedly queer behavior. Luke held his breath. He was going to need the support of Lady Pembroke if his plan to remove Miss Stanholte to a respectable establishment was to succeed.
“I do have a school friend who has fallen upon difficult times,” she at last confessed. “She is currently residing with her brother, a boorish prig whom she will no doubt be delighted to escape, but she is bound to be curious why I should take such an inordinate amount of interest in an unknown Miss straight from the country.” Sophia lifted her brow in a meaningful gesture. “As will all of London.”
Luke was well aware of the risk of scandal. Still, what choice did he have? He could hardly allow Miss Stanholte to remain in her current home.
“I shall rely upon your discretion to avoid any unwelcome gossip,” he responded, his tone somber.
Sophia tilted her head to one side. “I do not suppose I can convince you to tell me the truth?”
As swiftly as it had disappeared, his lazy smile returned. “Whatever do you mean, Aunt Sophia?”
“I may be old, Luke, but I am not entirely beetle-witted,” Sophia pointed out in dry tones. “No gentleman, friend or otherwise, would entrust a susceptible debutante to the care of a noted rake.”
Luke could not resist a low chuckle. “Why, Aunt Sophia, I am deeply shocked.”
“Fah.” She lightly batted him with her fan, even as her gaze narrowed with suspicion. “This lady is ... respectable?”
It was Luke’s turn to be caught off guard. “Do you believe I would attempt to foist my mistress onto Society?”
Sophia shrugged. “It has been known to occur.”
“I assure you, the lady is beyond reproach.”
Luke was once more subjected to that searching, rather quizzical glance.
“I must admit I am intrigued, Luke.”
“Then you will lend me your aid?”
The older woman gave a sudden decisive nod of her head. “I will visit Anne Stowe and inquire if she will be willing to become a chaperon.”
Luke felt a flare of relief at her agreement. With a town house secured and a chaperon discovered, he was quite confident that he would have Miss Stanholte established within a few days. If only he could keep her from blundering into some disaster before then.
“I knew I could depend upon you, Aunt Sophia.” He offered her a roguish grin. “Of all my large and usually tiresome family, you are beyond a doubt my favorite.”
Waving aside his absurd compliment, Sophia regarded him with a simmering curiosity.
“Tell me about this Miss Stanholte,” she demanded.
His smile twisted with a hint of self-mockery. “She is beautiful, intelligent and occasionally charming,” he obligingly described. “She is also a lady of staunch independence who considers me a deplorable cad.”
Sophia’s laughter chimed over the muted din of the guests. “Good for her. I believe I like her already.”
Taking his aunt’s hand, he bowed with exquisite grace. “Now I believe I shall take myself to the card room and sample Uncle Henry’s fine brandy. Pray contact me after you have spoken with Miss Stowe.”
Leaving Lady Pembroke regarding him in a most suspicious manner, Luke made his way through the chattering guests to a back salon. He would pay his respects to his uncle and take his leave.
He had achieved what he wanted.
Seven
A layer of thick clouds hung over the city as Cassie waited in the shadows of the mews. The brooding grayness only added to her sense of unease, and with a shiver she pulled the thick cloak closer about her tense frame.
Not for the first time she wondered if she was once again behaving like a fool. Would any lady with the least sense be standing alone in this neighborhood waiting for a perfect stranger?
After all, Lord Mumford had been quite correct when he had warned that Millie might very well be leading her into a trap.
No, she fiercely told herself. She would not think of Lord Mumford. Not now.
It was bad enough that she had endured a sleepless night reliving those moments in his arms over and over. And that she could still smell the scent of sandalwood lingering in her salon. She would not have him haunt her every moment.
Twitching her cloak even tighter, Cassie peered down the foggy lane. It was well past the appointed time, and she was beginning to fear that Millie was not going to show. Regardless of her doubts, Millie was her only lead. If the young maid did not appear, she would have nothing.
Intent on the path, Cassie took little heed of the faint rustle in a distant hedge. It wasn’t until a thin form abruptly pushed its way through the hedge and stepped into view that she turned with a small gasp.
Her heart gave a sharp leap of dismay. She easily recognized the thin, unpleasant features of the man from the theater. Toby? Yes, that was his name.
She stepped backward, but at the same moment another figure emerged from behind her. This time she did not recognize the large, broad-faced man, but it was obvious he was as dangerous as his companion. With an effort, Cassie suppressed her instinctive scream. She couldn’t panic. It was essential she keep her wits about her.
“Ah, Lady Greer.” Toby performed a mocking bow, clearly enjoying her startled expression. “What a pleasure.”
Cassie tilted a determined chin. She would not give this man the satisfaction of seeing her inner fear.
“What do you want, Toby?”
Toby smirked as he strolled closer. “Millie sends her regrets, but she was unable to meet you today.”
Something in his tone made Cassie’s heart take another leap. Oh, dear heavens, what had she gotten herself into?
“Where is Millie?”
“Never mind about her,” he growled. “Yer just come along nicely and yer won’t get hurt.”
“What have you done with Millie?” she shrilly demanded, too frightened to even consider her own plight.
“I gave her a coin and sent her on her way. Far better than you are going to get,” Toby promised in an evil tone.
“No—”
“Grab her,” Toby ordered his silent companion.
Suddenly jolted into the realization that these two men intended to forcibly kidnap her, Cassie attempted to turn back to the small gate that led to her grounds. If only she could get close enough, a scream might alert the staff to her danger. But even as she stumbled over the hem of her cloak, rough arms were encircling her body and hauling her against a hard man’s frame.
Cassie nearly gagged as the vile odors of whiskey and an unwashed body clouded the air.
“Let me go,” she gritted, kicking her foot backward in the hope of hitting a knee.
Toby slipped forward, pulling a knife from beneath his shabby coat.
“I suggest yer stop fighting. Yer wouldn’t want that pretty face hurt, would yer?”
A chill of sheer terror raced down her spine. “I will scream,” she threatened, knowing the threat was futile even before Toby gave a sharp laugh.
“There be no one but the rats to hear yer screams, my lady.”
“What do you want from me?”
“All in good time.” Toby gave a jerk of his head. “Let’s go.”
“I fear you will not be going anywhere,” a third male voice suddenly drawled as the elegant Lord Bidwell stepped out of the fog.
Cassie felt a flare of relief as Toby spun about to regard the gentleman outrageously attired in a shocking yellow coat with a red striped waistcoat.
“What the bloody hell?” Toby cursed in frustration. “This ain’t yer business, guv.”
“You are mistaken.” Yet another male voice answered, this one all too familiar to Cassie. All heads turned as Lord Mumford rounded the corner of the mews holding a pistol. “This is very much our business.”
“You,” the thin man breathed.
Lord Mumford smiled without humor. “I suspected that I would find you here this morning, Toby.”
A flash of fear narrowed the close-set eyes as Toby raised his hands, the knife thumping onto the damp ground.
“I ain’t meant no harm. I only wished to talk with Her Ladyship.”
The smile twisted with sardonic disbelief. “You can explain that to the magistrate.”
The mention of the magistrate had a startling effect on the two men. With a muffled curse, the scoundrel holding Cassie shoved her aside and plunged back into the nearby hedge. At the same moment, Toby darted behind his lumbering friend to make his escape.
“Biddles,” Lord Mumford called as he hastily moved to Cassie’s side.
The tin
y gentleman rolled his eyes heavenward in resignation.
“Why do you not chase the villains through the nasty streets of London while I remain with the beautiful damsel in distress?”
“Biddles.” Luke flashed his friend a warning glare.
“Very well.” Biddles performed an elegant bow. “Adieu, my lady.”
With startling agility, the nobleman withdrew a silver pistol from his coat and in a blink disappeared into the hedge. Cassie watched him with a vague sense of unreality, suddenly aware that her head was swimming in a most alarming fashion.
“Oh.”
As always, Lord Mumford appeared to read her very thoughts. Without a word, he bent downward, scooping her up in his arms as if she weighed no more than a child. Unfortunately, her reaction to his close proximity was anything but childlike.
Being pressed so intimately against the broad chest reminded her vividly of their embrace of the day before. Once again her body trembled as a rash of awareness tingled over her skin. Moments before, she had been filled with terror; now that terror was slowly receding and a delicious heat was flowing through her blood.
Clenching her eyes shut, Cassie attempted to control the flutters of pleasure stirring deep inside her. It was a futile effort. She was only more aware of the slender hands cradling her with exquisite care and the tantalizing scent of his warm skin.
How could this man disturb her with a mere touch? She was no susceptible chit to swoon over every handsome gentleman. It was all so annoyingly unfair.
For a long moment she battled the absurd desire to relax against the strength of his enticing male form, barely aware that his long strides had taken them back through the gate and up the path to the house. It was only when he bent forward to pull open the French door that she forced her eyes open.
“My lord, I insist that you put me down,” she demanded, her voice oddly breathless.
The blue eyes lowered to her flushed countenance, smoldering with an emotion that made her shiver.
“Not now, Miss Stanholte,” he warned. “I am in little humor for your shrewish independence.”
Shrewish? Why, the rotten toad. She was not a shrew.
“I am perfectly capable of walking.”
Lord Mumford's Minx Page 8
