by Stella Riley
Nipping this conversation in the bud, Nicholas said, ‘Nell is herding everyone in to supper. If you want to talk fashion, you can do it over food. The one thing I’ll say for Nell is that she keeps a good table.’
The second they moved away, Cassie paused beside Sebastian and over the odd, melting sensation that had still not gone away, said, ‘I’ve never given you leave to use my name.’
‘Give it to me now.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it’s a lovely name and it suits you. And you might appreciate there being at least one person who doesn’t shorten it.’ He waited and when she said nothing, asked curiously, ‘Why do you let them?’
‘It’s not a question of ‘letting’. Everyone just does it. It’s a habit.’
‘Break it. God knows, anyone who was ever crass enough to call me either Seb or Bastian learned their mistake in short order.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘Now … who do you want to sit with? The Amberley-Ingram-Vernons or the group currently gathering about Harry, Aristide and Mistress Leighton?’ Or better yet, he added silently, just me?
Having managed to separate herself and Nicholas from the others on the pretext of going back for her fan, Madeleine paused just outside the supper room and looked him in the eye. Then, stiffening her spine, she said, ‘I hope that we have now laid to rest any misconceptions you may have had regarding my attitude towards you, my lord.’
Nicholas blinked. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘I am referring to my reasons for generally preferring to avoid your company.’
He shook his head. ‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to spell it out.’
‘Very well. You have given every indication of wishing to pursue me. I have attempted to make it plain that I would rather you didn’t. This is not due to personal dislike or, indeed, any personal feelings at all. I would say the same to any gentleman who appeared to entertain the hopes I suspect that you do.’
‘Ah.’ Much of his lordship’s pleasure in the last half hour evaporated. ‘Well, that’s certainly put me in my place, hasn’t it?’
‘That wasn’t my intention. I only wanted to make the position clear.’
‘Then let’s finish the job, shall we?’ Nicholas told himself that the tight feeling inside him was annoyance. ‘Precisely what are these hopes you think I have?’
‘Given the great gulf between our stations in life, I can only think of one thing.’ The effort to keep both face and voice utterly dispassionate was beginning to strain her resources and she’d hoped to avoid saying what she’d have to say next. ‘If you are looking for a mistress, Lord Nicholas, you should look elsewhere.’
The feeling that actually hadn’t had anything at all to do with annoyance suddenly became a gust of blazing anger. Grasping her wrist, Nicholas yanked her out of sight of the other guests and immediately released her. Then, in a tone of dangerous softness reminiscent of his brother, he said, ‘What the hell do you think I am, Madam? Aristide is a friend of mine and you are his sister. Even if I was in the habit of seducing respectable females – which I’m not – those two facts render you untouchable.’
Pale with shock, she absorbed the muscle beating in his jaw and eyes filled with temper. Feeling as if she had strayed into quicksand, she said, ‘Then what do you want with me?’
‘Now? Nothing. Previously? I had the idea that I would enjoy getting to know you better.’ His smile was hard and the sudden fury had been replaced with frigid courtesy. ‘My mistake, it seems. And now, allow me to relieve you of my unwelcome company and escort you to join the others.’
The buffet supper was a feast for the eyes as well as the palate and contained numerous unfamiliar delicacies that Madeleine would have liked to sample in order to describe them to the Gallic genius who ruled Sinclairs’ kitchen. As it was, she could barely force anything past the inexplicable obstruction in her throat. While everyone ate, drank, talked and migrated from group to group, she became aware that Lord Nicholas neither came within ten feet of her nor even glanced in her direction. She tried to tell herself she’d done what was necessary and that he’d get over it; but somewhere deep down inside, she felt ashamed.
In due course, she was drawn into a circle composed solely of the married ladies. At first, the conversation was all about fashion or the latest gossip. But after a while, Lady Elinor said, ‘I probably shouldn’t ask and if you’d rather not talk about it you need only say … but I wondered if you’d tell us about Sinclairs, Mademoiselle. It’s very provoking when one’s husband spends his evenings in a place one can never go oneself.’
‘Yes. I can imagine.’ Madeleine summoned a smile and briefly described Sinclairs – being sure to include the fact that, aside from members of staff, no females ever entered the premises.
By the time she stopped speaking, Nell’s eyes had gathered an expression that both Isabel Vernon and Althea Ingram knew spelled trouble. She said, ‘The club is closed during the day, isn’t it?’
‘At present, yes. Why do you ask?’
‘I thought … I wondered if some of us might have a private tour one afternoon.’
‘Stop it, Nell,’ said Isabel.
‘Why?’
‘You’re asking Mademoiselle to break a house rule,’ contributed Rosalind. ‘And if I were her, I might suppose you’d invited me here this evening with that very thing in mind.’
‘But I didn’t!’ Nell looked at Madeleine, her gaze slightly stricken. ‘Truly, the idea only just occurred to me.’
‘Of course,’ murmured Madeleine.
‘Don’t let her off too lightly,’ advised Isabel. ‘The rest of us are quite accustomed to these wild starts.’
‘I only asked,’ grumbled Nell. ‘What’s so terrible about that? Don’t tell me the rest of you aren’t curious because I won’t believe it. And if Mademoiselle says no, then that’s the end of the matter.’ She smiled invitingly at Madeleine. ‘Well?’
Not unlike others before her, Madeleine felt as if she’d fallen into the path of a tidal wave. But these ladies had welcomed her in a way she’d never expected so she said slowly, ‘I would have to consult with my brother, of course … but I cannot see that it would pose much difficulty. And perhaps you would all care to call me Madeleine?’
Having no idea what his wife was plotting, Harry Caversham poured his brother-in-law a glass of port and said quietly, ‘What’s wrong, Nick? Annoyed I didn’t warn you?’
Nicholas tossed back the port in one swallow.
‘Should I not be?’
‘Perhaps. But I’ve a suspicion it’s more than that.’
‘Indigestion,’ said his lordship negligently. ‘Something seems to have disagreed with me. Is there any chance of a quiet hand of cards, do you think?’
‘Not tonight. Nell was adamant that the party shouldn’t split in two.’
Nicholas looked at him. ‘She has more torture planned?’
Harry grinned ruefully. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised.’
‘Hell.’
When she was sure everyone had eaten and drunk their fill, Nell re-assembled her troops in the drawing-room and said, ‘Who’d like to suggest a game?’
Nicholas wasn’t the only guest who groaned.
Jack Ingram said, ‘Parlour games, Nell? Aren’t we all a little old for that?’
‘Speak for yourself,’ retorted Philip.
‘In fact, he was speaking for me as well,’ remarked Lord Amberley. And when Philip opened his mouth to reply, ‘Don’t. Do not point out that I am the oldest person present. If games are to be the order of the day, I suspect I shall feel the weight of my years without being reminded of them.’
Since the Marquis of Amberley was thirty-seven years old and one of the handsomest men in London, his wife wasn’t the only one who laughed. Lady Elinor, however, sensing an undesirable distraction, said, ‘How about Charades?’
Cassie and Isabel nodded, Nicholas dropped his head in his hands and, pleasantly but with finality, Amberley said, ‘No.’
�
�Dominic – it doesn’t matter,’ murmured Rosalind.
‘It does.’
‘Of course it does,’ echoed Nell. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think.’
‘Blind Man’s Buff,’ said Sebastian, looking with raised brows at the marquis who grinned and gave an almost imperceptible nod.
‘Yes!’ Rosalind sat up, laughing. ‘None of you will stand a chance!’
‘That,’ remarked her husband, ‘is unfortunately true. Her instincts are frightening.’
‘Blind Man’s Buff it is, then,’ declared Harry. ‘The ladies can find a blindfold while we gentlemen move the chairs. Rules? Are there any?’
‘Stay in the circle,’ said Nell, twisting a silk scarf into a narrow strip. ‘Keep moving until the Blind Man counts to twenty, then stand still – though ducking is allowed.’
‘A slightly different round, to begin,’ suggested Amberley. ‘I’ll wager five guineas that Rosalind can identify everybody here. Any takers?’
‘Only if you put a time limit on it,’ said Philip. ‘Otherwise I’m not wagering a groat.’
‘Thirteen people to identify,’ mused Harry. ‘A minute each, do you think?’
‘Too generous. All of us inside … seven minutes?’
‘Done,’ said Rosalind happily, as her husband guided her to the centre of the circle and started gently turning her. ‘Place your bets, gentlemen – and get ready to pay up.’
When she stopped counting and everyone was still, Rosalind walked unerringly across the carpet to the first person she found and said, ‘Jack. The only gentleman wearing hair powder.’
Mr Ingram laughed and sat down.
After that, everyone else was named with remarkable speed and efficiency.
‘Bergamot scent … Cassie.’
‘Philip … too much braid on your cuffs as usual.’
‘Your gown rustles delightfully, Madeleine.’
‘Ah. Dominic. You may kiss me.’
‘Isabel … lemon soap.’
‘Mm. Tricky. But … yes. Mr Audley, I think.’
And so it went on, each sitting down in their turn, until Rosalind said, ‘That’s all thirteen. How long?’
‘Six minutes fifteen seconds.’ Mr Ingram put his pocket-watch away, tossed a coin to Lord Amberley and submitted to being blind-folded. ‘I should have known better.’
Jack made three incorrect guesses before eventually identifying Aristide; Aristide named Henrietta on his first attempt; Henrietta guessed Nicholas on her first attempt; and Rosalind astounded everyone further by dropping into a crouch a split second before she could be touched.
From his position on the far side of the circle, Sebastian watched Cassandra trying to emulate the marchioness’s tactics and lose several hairpins when she ducked too late and Philip’s hand collided with her upswept curls, several of which came down to bounce against her neck. Managing to grab her whilst provoking fits of laughter, Philip proceeded to identify her as Althea Ingram.
Sebastian found this mistake incomprehensible. He was fairly sure he could recognise Cassandra at ten paces. If that thought was mildly alarming, the one that followed it – though no more than a logical progression – set alarm bells ringing.
The storm-cloud eyes sparkled, the petal-smooth skin was flushed … and Sebastian wanted to kiss her. Indeed, had circumstances permitted it, he realised he probably would have kissed her. And then, because he wasn’t in the habit of deceiving himself, he acknowledged that there was no ‘probably’ about it. All of which added up to one simple fact. For a sensible man who was very definitely not looking for a bride, it was time to give this particular lady a very wide berth indeed.
The trouble was, as Sebastian knew only too well, he’d never been particularly sensible … and he had a fatally low resistance to temptation.
~ * * ~ * * ~
CHAPTER TEN
On the following afternoon, Mr Penhaligon received a summons from Lady Silvarez which he had the disappointing feeling was not going to lead to the bedroom.
Coming directly to the point, she said, ‘I thought we had an agreement. I asked you to provide me with an entrée to polite society and all you’ve done so far is to smuggle me in to the Cavendish ball which has achieved precisely nothing. I also asked you to disrupt Sebastian Audley’s life but again, all you’ve done is to propose a wager and send your pets to do the same – neither of which succeeded. I don’t think you’re even trying.’
‘The things you want aren’t that easily accomplished,’ he shrugged, hiding the fact that Norville’s failure was a sore point and Audley’s subsequent reaction, downright infuriating. ‘Also, you didn’t use Cavendish House to its best advantage.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Attracting the gentlemen won’t win you invitations. The way to do that is through the ladies.’ He paused, letting her digest this. ‘However, I do have two suitable events in mind. One is the Bedford House masquerade tomorrow evening. Such affairs are always less formal and this particular one is a full-blown costume ball. If you wish to go, I’ll take you.’
She smiled. ‘Excellent. And the other thing?’
‘Sheridan’s new play opens at the Theatre Royal on the eighth of May. My brother keeps a box at Drury Lane which he never uses so I’ll make up a party of two or perhaps three couples. They, in turn, will have acquaintances who may visit during the interval – and if you’re wise, you’ll pay more attention to the ladies than to their husbands. For the rest, the theatre is an excellent place for being seen and I imagine on that night everyone who is anyone will be there.’ Lifting one eyebrow, he said, ‘Does this earn me a reward?’
‘It might. Yes. Perhaps.’ Reaching out, she brushed his lips with one fingertip until he drew it into his mouth and gently nipped it with his teeth. Then, sitting back again and favouring him with a much warmer smile than before, she said, ‘We can return to that later. First, tell me what – if anything – you are doing about Mr Audley.’
‘I’ve been considering the options.’
Quite aside from the Norville fiasco, Mr Penhaligon would enjoy throwing a few obstacles in Mr Audley’s way. He was irritated by Sebastian’s popularity with the ladies and the ease with which he’d been accepted by men like Rockliffe. It also irked him that, amongst the females to whom Sebastian was currently paying attention, were some of his own personal conquests – in particular, Anna Whitcombe. Admittedly, he didn’t want to marry the girl himself. But until Sebastian had burst upon the scene, he’d known that – should he choose to cast his handkerchief – Anna would have been quick to pick it up. However twice recently whilst dancing with her, he’d seen her gaze combing the ballroom; and he had the annoying suspicion that he knew exactly who she was looking for.
‘Audley seems bent on re-establishing his respectability. Take this private wager with Lord Sarre, for example. I don’t know the precise terms but --’
‘Can’t you find out?’
He stared at her as if he thought her completely demented.
‘Break into Delacroix’s office and have my membership of Sinclairs revoked? No. I can’t. And the terms are immaterial. Whatever they are, they preclude Audley indulging in his usual shenanigans. And for the rest, he’s living an apparently blameless life.’ Richard paused and started ticking things off on his fingers. ‘He doesn’t drink to excess. He plays cards but only at Sinclairs and generally with the same group of men. If he has a mistress or visits brothels, I’ve been unable to discover it. His dealings with married ladies are of the utmost decorum and he’s never alone with the unmarried ones even for a minute. Also, as if all that wasn’t enough – aside from Sarre, who’s no longer in Town – his friends are Nicholas Wynstanton and Harry Caversham. One is the Duke of Rockliffe’s brother and the other, his brother-in-law.’
Miranda waved this aside.
‘What difference does that make? Your brother is an earl.’
‘This isn’t a question of rank,’ said Richard edgily, ‘this is bloody Rockliffe.
He is not someone any sane man would want as an enemy.’
‘Oh.’ Although she still didn’t appear convinced, Miranda returned to the main point at issue. ‘Well, there must be something you can use against Audley. A man like him doesn’t just change overnight.’
‘If you have suggestions, please share them. The only alternative I can see is to set a deliberate trap – but every possibility I’ve considered has flaws. However, if and when I think of something fool-proof, I’ll let you know.’
There was a long silence. Finally, Miranda looked at him and said, ‘Then perhaps we should work on the problem together. Later.’
* * *
Mr Penhaligon was not the only one making plans which included The School For Scandal. Nell Caversham also intended to assemble a party – making use of Rockliffe’s box since, with Adeline’s confinement due any day, he wouldn’t be using it himself. But like everyone else, her most immediate priority was the Bedford House masquerade.
‘Harry and I are going as Charles the First and Henrietta Maria,’ she told Cassie. ‘How about you? I promise I won’t tell anyone.’
‘A medieval lady,’ replied Cassie. ‘I got the idea from a tapestry. You know the kind of thing; a pointy head-dress with a veil and a gown with trailing sleeves.’
‘That sounds pretty. Elegant, too, I should think.’
‘Yes.’
Nell’s brows rose. ‘You don’t sound very sure.’
For one very good reason, this was an understatement but Cassie wasn’t about to share that reason with Nell; so she shrugged, made a vague remark about finishing touches … and changed the subject.
The truth was that as soon as Cassie had tried on the undeniably lovely gown of blood-red silk, she’d discovered a serious and completely unforeseen complication. The wide, boat-shaped neckline clung to the edges of her shoulders and the sleeves fell away from her elbows to the floor in graceful folds, just as they should; but the gown was designed to follow her body in one long, sinuous line, to and beyond the gold-embroidered belt worn low on her hips. The problem, therefore, was not with the gown itself but with what could – or more pertinently could not – be worn beneath it.
