More shuffles from behind the pot. A low curse.
“Florence!” shouted the man behind her.
Alys pressed herself against the stone wall of the house as a disheveled woman crept around the pot.
“Malcolm?” ventured the woman timidly. “Done with your card game so soon?”
“Get back into the house,” the man said sharply.
She squealed, a thoroughly silly sound, and dashed back in.
Malcolm lit a cigar and puffed on it. Alys pressed back against the clay pot. She found a small opening, too tiny for a man, between the planter and the house. He dropped his match to the ground. As the match flared and died, she recognized Malcolm as Lord Mews, who held some government position.
“I know you’re still there,” Lord Mews said in a conversational tone.
Alys was about to step forward, but then she heard steps from the other side of the planter.
“What of it?” said a belligerent, slurred male voice.
“Do not presume to make sport of my wife and get away with it, sir.”
The other man laughed. Alys could only see them as dark figures.
The cigar illuminating Lord Mews’s arm made him seem a bit demonic.
“Laugh, will you? I can stop that laugh, make you remember to stay away from us.”
A rustle of clothing, a couple of running steps. The light from the cigar vanished momentarily. Then a man screamed.
“You bastard!”
“Fool!”
The light fell to the ground. The cigar must have dropped out of Lord Mews’s hand. She smelled something burning, heard a slap, then the sound of a fist meeting flesh. A grunt. Then, both bodies were on the bricks, rolling around. The men barked at each other, throwing punches.
What should she do? Stay hidden? Try to break up the combat- ants? Surely, Lord Mews had been provoked, but if, as she thought, he’d burned the man with his cigar he was scarcely an innocent.
Hatbrook. She had to fetch him. It was his mother’s party, after all. Swiftly, she crept along the house until she found the doors and opened them. A corridor stretched parallel to her. Where would Hatbrook be? She must be mindful of His Royal Highness. No scenes, no hysterics.
Swiftly, she went in the opposite direction of the ballroom, searching for the card room. After a couple of turns, she found herself in the main entryway. Sniffing, she hunted for cigar smoke, wasting precious moments.
“Can I help you, miss?” A footman came toward her from the direction of the ballroom. Tall, with sandy hair, his livery was impeccable.
“It is urgent that I speak to the marquess immediately.”
“Miss?”
“I know it is highly unusual, but I’m trying to prevent scandal.
Take me to him, please?”
The footman regarded her for a moment. “Scandal would be bad, miss.”
“Yes. There’s a fight.”
He raised his eyebrows, then gestured to her. They walked toward the back of the entryway and he pushed a panel to the left of a grand staircase. It revealed a hidden opening and she followed him down a narrow passageway. Then, he pushed another panel and they were in a gaslit corridor.
“Wait here, miss. I’ll fetch him.”
She paced for a minute or two that felt like hours, then Hatbrook exited the room where the footman had entered. He held a glass of punch.
“Miss Redcake? James said something about a fight?” He took her elbow and pulled her close to a sconce. “Are you hurt?”
She felt a sizzle of heat where he touched her, and found it hard to think. “Not me. Lord Mews caught his wife with a man. I don’t know who, it’s so dark on the patio.”
“Where?” He stared at her, then put his hand to her temple and smoothed her hair.
She leaned into his warm touch. “By those enormous planters?
Out the French doors?”
He nodded and took her elbow again. “That could be two places.
Show me?”
“You’d best take the footman. I’m completely lost.”
“I can take you back to where I found you, miss. Will that do?”
She nodded, and they moved back to the grand hallway. When they reached it, she circled around then pointed. “That way.”
“Lead on, Miss Redcake.”
The footman found a candelabra on a table as they walked, helping her find her way.
She walked swiftly, because of the fight, but wished she could slow down, enjoy the press of Hatbrook’s fingers on her glove. It was the work of a minute to find the doors. She heard a crash against one of them just as a party of ladies came into the corridor.
“Head them off,” the marquess instructed James.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Stay behind me,” he said to Alys, then released her and opened the door. She took the three-pronged candelabra from James in case she needed a weapon.
The two men collided with Hatbrook as he stepped onto the flagstones. He stepped back and threw the contents of his glass into one of the men’s faces—Alys wasn’t sure which man—then punched the other.
She raised her candelabra to light the scene, shocked yet thrilled by Hatbrook’s fighting prowess.
The man immediately went down on his backside. Hatbrook then grabbed the arm of Lord Mews, revealed to be a tall, bull-chested man of early middle years, and twisted it behind him, capturing him in a painful grip.
“You will stop this instant, Lord Mews,” he said.
The man on the ground, really not much more than a boy despite being the adulterer, started coughing. His face appeared yellowish and bruised under the candlelight. Alys felt a sticky substance under her slipper when she took a step toward him. Blood?
“Who? What?” sputtered Lord Mews.
“It’s Hatbrook. You are beating a man at the marchioness’s ball, my lord.”
“I-I was provoked.”
“I can recall a similar scene at one of Countess Gerrick’s parties last year,” said Hatbrook, his voice turning to ice. “Do not attempt to persuade me that this is not a sick game between you and your wife.”
Alys gripped the candelabra tighter. Could Hatbrook be serious?
“You,” Hatbrook pointed to the man on the ground. “Manfred Cross, correct? I believe I was at school with your oldest brother.”
The young man nodded, and winced, putting his hand to his mouth.
“I don’t know if you are a usual part of this game or not, but I want you to leave. My footman is just inside this door and he will lead you out.”
“Yes, my lord,” slurred Manfred Cross, who was dressed in lowerquality evening wear. Alys could see where the stitching had pulled away on the arm seams of his half-open shirt.
She set down her candelabra and helped him to his feet. With her assistance, he stumbled back through the French doors. She was happy to see James had found another footman and he took charge of the drunk, who was unsteady on his feet, half dressed, and from the looks of him, had at least a few loose teeth after the night’s exploits.
When she went back outside, Hatbrook had released Lord Mews and was remonstrating him in a low voice.
Lord Mews bowed when he saw her. “My apologies, miss.”
Alys was sickened by the smells of fresh, coppery blood, rank sweat, and burned flesh. “Shall I ask the footman to fetch a doctor?”
Lord Mews grinned through bloodied teeth. “He got the best of it.”
She wanted to put her hands over her eyes until he went away, but reminded herself she was made of sterner stuff than that.
“Collect your wife and leave quietly,” Hatbrook instructed. “If any word of this gets out I’ll report you to the prime minister.”
Lord Mews gulped. “Now Hatbrook, no need to get overexcited.
Why no one saw anything except this young lady, and I’m sure she won’t tell.”
“I’m sure I’d like to forget every part of this instantly,” Alys snapped.
Hatbrook flexed his fingers. After o
ne last glance at him, Lord Mews slunk out.
“Well done of you to have James come for me,” Hatbrook said.
“You are welcome, your lordship,” she ventured. “I wanted to be discreet. I know you have important guests.”
“You behaved most appropriately, and for that I sincerely thank you. Let us go back inside. I expect we both need a bit of tidying.”
She glanced at herself, noticed smears on her gloves. “Just my gloves, I think they are ruined.”
“We’ll find you a new pair,” he said. “I’ll take you to my sister, Lady Elizabeth. She isn’t out yet, but she will be soon so she has all the garments we might require.”
“You are too kind, sir, but don’t you need to get back to His Royal Highness?”
“He is being looked after.” The marquess smiled and held out his arm. “Come, we have earned a bit of time together after our exertion.”
She felt the firm musculature of his arm as she took it. This was no ordinary man. He took her down a hall and up a staircase she’d never have found on her own. This place was a maze.
When they were surely far away from any guests, she asked, “Do fights happen often at balls? I’ve never been to a ball like this before.”
“Do people sneak off for a bit of illicit fun? I expect that is common enough, but usually they are discreet and are not found.”
So not too many fights then. “I am glad to hear it, my lord.”
“You know, it’s strange to have you here at my house after seeing you at Redcake’s.”
She flushed. “I can go back downstairs.”
“No, not at all. You fit in here better than I’d hoped.”
He’d had hopes about her? Alys felt an odd fluttering in her stomach. “Thank you, my lord. I have been in great houses before, on business for Redcake’s.” Though mostly in the kitchens.
“Yes, you are quite the artist with your cakes.”
“Thank you. Tell me, did you feel better this morning, after eating the cake?”
“For a while. Ah, here we are.” He opened a door and they entered the corridor of another wing. “Any sort of sweet makes me feel better for an hour or so, then it’s back to feeling ill.”
“Any food does that?”
“No, just sweets. If I ate a meal of meat and potatoes I’d feel fine for hours.”
“It sounds as if sweet food isn’t good for you.”
He smiled. “But I love it so. I’m afraid I consume far too much of it.”
When she looked at the way his evening clothes hugged his body, she found it hard to believe. He had the broad shoulders, wide chest, and strong legs of a sporting man. “Do you box, sir? You were quite effective in that fight.”
“I’ve been known to spar with my stable hands at Hatbrook Farm, my estate in Sussex. When rain has kept us indoors.”
“You do strike me as a man who likes to keep busy.” Unable to resist, she gently squeezed his arm.
“Yes, I’m not one to sit on a sofa listening to music, or play cards for that matter. I’d rather ride or dance or do something else. I spend too much time in my chair doing paperwork.”
They stopped at a fine, paneled door and Hatbrook knocked. After a moment, the door opened and a slim girl with his sun-kissed hair peered out.
“Michael? What are you doing up here? It’s so early.” She tilted her head when she noticed Alys.
She took her hand from his arm.
“Beth, may I present Miss Alys Redcake? Alys, this is my sister, Lady Elizabeth Shield.”
Chapter Nine
Until now, Alys hadn’t realized she’d never known Hatbrook’s full name—Michael Shield. Quite nice.
“Call me Beth,” his sister said. “If you’re a friend of Michael’s.”
Alys glanced at Hatbrook and he smiled encouragingly, so she stuck out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Beth.”
Beth reached for her, then pulled back. “Oh? What happened to your glove? Did you have a bloody nose? I get those in the winter sometimes.”
“No, she helped me break up a fight,” Hatbrook said.
“How scandalous!” Beth’s eyes widened. “You must come in, Alys, and tell me everything. Go away, Michael, and don’t come back for half an hour or so. We shall be tidying.”
Hatbrook winked at Alys and patted his sister on the shoulder.
“Be good.”
Beth drew Alys into a comfortable sitting room and reached for the bell pull. “Strip off those gloves and I’ll have some soap and water brought.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you part of Michael’s set?” Beth asked.
“No, I’m new to this world.” She wanted to laugh. Alys Redcake, part of a set that played cards with a prince?
“Oh, come up from the country?”
Alys fought with the tiny buttons on her gloves.
“I’ll help you.” Beth pushed her gently onto a sofa and sat next to her so she could undo the buttons.
“No, I’ve lived in London for a couple of years now. We came from Bristol.”
“Where did you meet Hatbrook?”
“At Redcake’s Tea Shop and Emporium.”
“I do love it there. My mother has taken me there twice. You must be a member of that family?”
“Yes, I worked there until recently.”
“Worked there?” Beth looked shocked, but not censorious.
“Yes, I made the special occasion cakes. It is a passion of mine.”
“Why did you stop?”
“My parents want me to marry.”
“Ah. That is my fear, that my mother will try to marry me off my first Season. But I don’t want the fun to stop so soon.”
“I’m quite a bit older than you,” Alys confessed.
“Have your parents chosen a husband?”
“I had a proposal from a cousin that they frowned on, and I’m not thrilled with my father’s choice. He’s forty.”
“My goodness, that’s entirely too elderly,” Beth agreed. “Is he terribly rich?”
“Not at all, he works for my father. But my parents want me married quickly, so they can focus on my younger sisters. Rose is just a year older than you, and Matilda is twenty-one.”
“Are they as nice as you are? Does Michael know them?”
“They were introduced at a musicale recently. We were raised rather differently, with them attending finishing school.”
“And you worked.” The shrewd expression was jarring on a young girl.
“Yes, my family didn’t have much money when I was young. My grandfather died in terrible debt and my father had to rebuild.”
“Just like Michael! He’s worked terribly hard to restore the family fortune. To think, my mother suggested he ought to marry an American heiress only a year ago.”
She would rate even lower than an American trade or manufacturing heiress. No mystique. Besides, Lady Hatbrook didn’t like her.
“My sisters are friendly with Lady Lillian Cander, from finishing school. Are you acquainted?”
Beth shook her head. “Even if I was out, she runs with a fast crowd.”
“That is my understanding. But I’m afraid I don’t know anyone else in the social whirl.”
“You know me, now. After I’ve debuted in May we’ll see each other frequently.”
Alys smiled, touched beyond words that this young girl wanted to be friendly with her. “It will do my sisters a world of good to have such a friend as you.”
A maid entered, and Beth instructed her to bring warm water, towels, and fresh gloves.
“We went to Paris a couple of months ago, and ordered the most horribly expensive new wardrobe, but Mother wanted to shop before the Americans descended. Can you imagine a wardrobe costing twenty thousand pounds? I know it’s vulgar to discuss money, but my heavens.”
“That does seem excessive,” Alys agreed as she cleaned her arms and dried them.
“We’ll button you into the new gloves and you’ll be good as new if your char
ming gown is clean. Stand up and we’ll inspect you.”
Beth circled Alys as she stood in the center of the rug. “No, I don’t see any stains. My, but you have lovely curves.”
Alys blushed. Beth and her maid had scarcely finished buttoning her into the even tighter gloves before a discreet knock came on the door.
“That will be Michael come to fetch you. Have a lovely time and I hope you’ll call on me soon.”
“I’d like that.”
Beth answered the door, then ushered her out with a smile.
“Good as new?” Hatbrook asked as the door closed behind them.
“Yes. My dress didn’t need sponging and Beth offered me these gloves. I hadn’t realized how muscled my arms were until she tried to button me into them. We are the same size otherwise, I think.” She blushed again when she realized how improper her conversation must be.
“If you may permit, my thought when I first saw you was how slim you were. I should not have expected a full-grown woman to fit into a girl’s gloves.”
“You are full of flattery, sir.”
“Do you know, it was your ankles that attracted me when we first met.”
Alys found it hard to take a breath. “My ankles?”
“Yes. And your fiery dark eyes. You have a magnificent spirit.”
She swallowed hard, fisted her hands in the too-tight gloves. “I like your hair.”
He leaned casually against the wall. “You do?”
“Yes. I always think of it as sun-kissed.”
“I spend a lot of time outdoors. But the color usually darkens in the winter.”
“A pity. It’s quite nice as it is.” She spoke the next words in a rush.
“You have hungry eyes, I think.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled. “I do?”
“That was my first impression of you. An austere, almost haughty demeanor, but hungry eyes.”
“Austere. I never thought of myself that way.”
“You seem to set yourself apart a little. No one would think you were the average man.”
“I could say the same about you.”
She took a step forward. “But I am not a man.”
He lifted her hand, touched her cheek with one finger. “I know that.”
Time seemed to have stopped. Her lips parted instinctively, even as her brain screamed, “This is a marquess! What are you thinking?”
The Marquess of Cake Page 12
