Opening her fan, Anna slowly waved it in a negligent fashion. An odd glimmer glowed in her eyes.
“My dearest Jane. I am quite proud of you, you know,” she at last said in abrupt tones.
Jane was taken aback. “Proud?”
“You have rebelled in the most glorious fashion.”
Strangely embarrassed, Jane gave an uneasy laugh. “You are mad. I have behaved with a shocking lack of propriety.”
Anna leaned forward with a somber expression. “No, you have taken command of your situation. Society thrust you into the position of ridicule, but you refused to accept its harsh judgment. Instead you have boldly decided to use its absurd vanity to your own advantage. If Hellion acknowledges you as a worthy woman then all will rush to follow his lead, just as they rushed to condemn you with disdain. You are a champion for all wallflowers.”
Anna had clearly become noddy, Jane decided as she regarded her friend in shock.
“Absurd. I am merely a woman desperate enough to attempt any foolishness. And I am still far from certain that he will agree to my request.”
There was a faint stir across the room and Anna turned her head to regard the two gentlemen entering from the balcony.
“Ah, here comes the devil now. And Lord Bidwell.”
Jane refused to allow her unruly gaze to cling to Hellion’s elegant form. It was bad enough society presumed she had all but accosted the man. She would not also add insult to injury by gaping at him like a looby.
Instead she studied the slender man at his side.
“An odd gentleman,” she murmured, noting the brilliant pink coat and burgundy pantaloons.
“Undoubtedly,” Anna agreed in a distracted tone.
Returning her attention to the woman at her side, Jane was startled by the arrested fascination upon her countenance.
“What is it?” she demanded.
“What?”
“You are regarding Lord Bidwell in quite a queer manner.”
Anna’s gaze never wavered from the pointed, rather intriguing countenance. “Do you know, I suspect that Lord Bidwell is not quite the fribble that he would have others believe.”
“Why do you say that?”
“More than once I have noted him hovering behind plants and furniture.”
“Hovering?” Jane demanded with a lift of her brows.
“Well, he usually is pretending to adjust the buckle upon his shoe or even to have fallen asleep in a corner, but I am quite certain he was attempting to overhear the conversations of those close to him.”
It seemed absurd.
Why would a lord of the realm behave in such a disreputable manner? (Jane conveniently forgot her own recent role as blatant eavesdropper.) Surely Anna must be mistaken.
Then she abruptly stiffened, a sense of dread clutching her stomach.
“Good heavens,” she breathed.
With obvious reluctance Anna turned to regard her with a questioning gaze. “What is it?”
“Lord Bidwell was standing with Mr. Caulfield when I approached him. I was so nervous I paid him little heed.”
“He manages very well to fade into obscurity when he wishes.”
“Yes.” Jane pressed her hands to her stomach. “And now he returns to the ballroom with Mr. Caulfield.”
It took only a moment for Anna to follow her fearful reasoning. “You believe he might have been listening to your conversation?”
“It is possible.” Jane gritted her teeth as she considered the horrid implications. “Blast it all. What if he tattles of my ridiculous scheme? I shall be utterly ruined.”
Anna gave a slow shake of her head, her brow furrowed. “I think it far more likely that he will attempt to blackmail you. He is notoriously without a feather to fly with.”
Jane gave a choked cough, not at all enamored at the notion of being held a virtual hostage by the nasty little rogue.
“Thank you, Anna, that is most reassuring.”
As if realizing her words had hardly been a comfort, Anna abruptly reached out to pat Jane’s arm in a comforting motion.
“Do not fear, Jane. I shall deal with Lord Bidwell.”
“Really? And how will you accomplish such a feat?”
Anna took a moment to consider her various options before a slow, decidedly smug smile curved her lips.
“Clearly we shall have to be more clever than he is.”
“Pardon me?”
“Do not concern yourself, Jane. I shall devise some scheme of keeping that inquisitive nose out of your business.” Anna’s sweet features abruptly hardened with resolution. Her eyes, however, shimmered with a strange glow. “I have always longed to pit my wits against another. This will be the perfect opportunity.”
Jane was quite certain that she had never seen her friend quite so animated before.
“I think you must be deranged.”
Anna gave a rueful chuckle. “No, just so wretchedly bored that I would willingly roll dice with the devil to relieve my tedium.”
Against her will Jane’s gaze turned to regard the golden-haired, black-eyed Hellion.
A shiver raced over her skin.
A premonition?
Or simple feminine lust?
Impossible to say.
“I believe that dicing with the devil is precisely what we are about to do.”
Several hours later Hellion left the smoky card room and came to a sudden halt.
Across the thinning crowd he could see the slender form of Miss Middleton sitting in neglected isolation. There was nothing in her serene composure to indicate she was in anyway miserable, not unless one studied the manner in which she tightly grasped her fan. Hellion, however, possessed the oddest sensation—he could physically feel her smoldering frustration.
A frustration that only deepened as a group of dandies swept past her seated form, never even noting her presence.
Hell’s teeth. On how many occasions had he passed her by with the same blithe arrogance? Perhaps two or three dozen occasions? His lips thinned as his heart was struck by a pang of guilt.
What was the matter with him?
He never took note of eligible maidens.
Oh, to be sure he occasionally asked one to dance or escorted her down to supper. He knew his duty to his hostess. But never could one claim he had sought her hand more than once, nor that he had made any indication he desired more than a passing acquaintance.
Still, he could not utterly deny a sense of discomfort at the sight of Miss Middleton forlornly watching the dancers glide across the floor.
Bloody hell. She was obviously worth a dozen of the giggling, prancing chits upon the dance floor. And to a gentleman who appreciated genuine warmth to shallow beauty, far more desirable.
His brooding gaze swept over the delicate profile, lingering upon the satin mouth before lowering to more closely survey the slender form. She would not do for a man who enjoyed the more lush curves, but his practiced imagination could easily judge just how perfectly the delicate breasts would fit into his hands.
“Ah, Hellion, I hope lady luck has been kind with you this evening?” Biddles drawled, appearing at his side with that unnerving silence.
Hellion swiftly smoothed his features, not about to reveal his uncharacteristic interest in an innocent chit.
“She was fickle as ever,” he retorted. In truth he had won more than he had lost, but the difference would not have fed a mouse.
“A true lady,” Biddles retorted with a faint smile.
Hellion shrugged. “I thought you had escaped to the comfort of your mistress.”
A lacy handkerchief appeared in the thin fingers as Biddles dabbed at his nose. “A charming notion. Unfortunately I had to offer Barbette her conge.”
“Indeed?”
“It was inevitable, I fear. She had decided to end her liaison with the French ambassador, you see.”
“Gads, surely that is good news?”
“Good?” Biddles regarded him with chiding astonishment.
Rather as if he were a dim-witted child. “What possible use can she be without providing the delectable means of knowing when the ambassador is properly occupied so that I can read his correspondence in peace?”
Hellion was shocked in spite of himself. “Good Lord, she tells you when she is to have a tryst with the man so that you can slip into his house and read his private papers?”
Biddles gave a bland smile. “It has been a most profitable arrangement.”
Hellion could only admire his audacity. “Well, I suppose it is a pity that it has come to an end, but surely the woman possessed other attractions?”
“The usual.” Biddles gave a negligent shrug. “I very much fear that I have reached the advanced age where I desire more than a body paid to be willing.”
An echo of restless dissatisfaction threatened to race through Hellion. Dissatisfaction he was swift to smother.
No, damn it all. He enjoyed his beautiful courtesans. What gentleman of sense would not? They were beautiful, well trained in the arts of seduction, and best of all wise enough not to badger a gentleman when he was in need of peace.
If perhaps he discovered himself biting his tongue at their shallow chatter, or wishing that he could discover one mistress that he desired to share more with than a swift coupling, it was simply a reflection of his current troubles.
It had nothing at all to do with loneliness. Or the sense that he was constantly searching for something just beyond his reach.
“If you say,” he forced himself to mutter in what he hoped were careless tones.
Perhaps not careless enough, as Biddles regarded him in a knowing manner. “You will discover soon enough.”
Hellion narrowed his gaze in a silent warning. This was not a subject he was willing to discuss. “That I very much doubt, my good friend. So, you had no other delights to tempt you on this fine evening?”
The twinkle returned to the pale eyes. “Actually I had several, but I was rather rudely coerced into discovering information on Miss Middleton, if you will recall.”
Hellion gave a startled lift of his brows. Not even he had expected such quick results. “You cannot have succeeded so swiftly?”
“Surely you did not doubt my skills?”
“Skills? You must be a sorcerer to have conjured information with such speed.”
Biddles offered him an elaborate bow, his lace handkerchief fluttering in his fingers. “My talents are boundless, my good sir.”
“They must be. What did you discover?”
“To begin with, I have firmly ensured that Miss Middleton is indeed a considerable heiress.”
Hellion was not unduly surprised. A claim of fortune was all too easy to disprove. The fact his own straightened circumstances were not yet common knowledge was simply because no one had made the effort to discover the truth.
He winced at the horrid thought.
“How considerable?” he demanded.
“Rumors claim one hundred thousand pounds.”
His heart nearly stopped. “Good Lord.”
“There is also a tidy estate in Surrey that is unencumbered.”
“An heiress, indeed,” Hellion breathed.
It was a fortune far greater than even the one he had expected as the Earl of Falsdale. Far greater. It seemed impossible to believe that some young buck had not yet swept her off her feet. Could they all be so shallow?
Biddles gently cleared his throat, bringing an end to Hellion’s brief distraction.
“As far as scandals I can discover none. To be honest, few others have paid enough heed to her arrival to spread any gossip.”
“A typical wallflower,” he said dryly.
“Yes.”
“Have you encountered any of her friends?”
Biddles gave a regretful shake of his head. “She appears to have only one, a Miss Halifax, and she disappeared before I could approach her.”
“A pity.”
“I shall speak with her before the week is out.”
Hellion folded his arms over his chest as he turned his head to regard the solitary female form in the corner.
“Then all that remains is her dark secret,” he murmured.
“I do not perform miracles, Hellion,” Biddles protested. “Such information will take time to acquire.”
“Not too much time,” Hellion retorted in low tones.
“Then you are going to accept her proposition?”
A tingle that might have been anticipation raced through his body. He was uncertain when he had made his decision. Or even precisely why he was about to agree to the audacious proposal. All that he did know was that he could not turn his back upon Miss Middleton’s plight.
A rather worrisome realization.
“How could I possibly refuse?” he muttered, his gaze remaining firmly fixed upon the woman who had managed to do what no other had ever done before.
Capture his jaded interest.
CHAPTER THREE
From the diary of Miss Jane Middleton, April 25th, 1814:
Dearest Diary,
It must be said that there is something utterly reassuring about numbers.
After all, life is such a muddled, unpredictable affair. It never seems to matter how well one plans a day or the future, there are always unexpected, unpleasant surprises. It can be as small as rain on a day one has scheduled to go riding, or the realization that the yellow gown one has ordered makes one appear rather like a summer squash. Then there are the horrid surprises, such as the realization that a promise made upon the grave of a beloved father is destined for failure.
Ah, but numbers . . .
They are precise. They never alter nor deceive.
Two plus two will always be four.
It is a truth that one can depend on. Today and forever.
A most reassuring notion.
Which is no doubt why it is far more enjoyable to devote a day to balancing ledgers than mingling among the masses.
The note arrived shortly after breakfast.
After devoting three days to convincing herself that it was decidedly best that Hellion had chosen to forget her proposition as the ravings of a lunatic, Jane discovered her heart halting in shock.
The note promised nothing more than that he would call upon her at three o’clock. Jane, however, was certain that he would not have chosen to actually seek her out unless he was considering her wild scheme.
It was a knowledge that sent her heart galloping and her palms perspiring.
She should send a message informing him that she had changed her mind. She should at the very least send the excuse that she was ill and unable to see him. That would give her the opportunity to ascertain she was not suffering some horrid brain fever that was causing her to act the buffoon.
But on each occasion she determined to put the gentleman off, she discovered herself wavering.
What did it matter that her decision to offer the daring proposition had been more an impulsive urge than a well-calculated scheme? Or that it had been utterly unlike her to take such a risk without considering all the numerous implications?
Did she have any option?
There was no avoiding the unpleasant truth she was failing miserably at her attempt to discover a suitable husband. Did it make more sense to devote the remainder of the season in dark corners, hoping some gentleman tripped over her feet or became so desperate he would force himself to take a wife he neither admired nor respected?
The thought sent icy shivers through her body.
She had made a promise. One that she could not abandon.
Sucking in a deep breath she allowed the memory of her father’s broken frame as he was carried to the house form in her mind. He had been barely clinging to life, and yet his thoughts had been solely upon her. Grasping her hand he had choked out his fear at leaving her on her own. Tugging her close, he had whispered in her ear.
“My sweet child, for all my success and achievements, my greatest happiness has always come from having a wife who
was my true partner and a daughter whom I love with all my heart. I have taught you all the skills to command your inheritance, but not to gain contentment. Fortune is meaningless. A family is the true treasure. Please, Jane, promise me that you will seek a husband who can be your companion. A man to share your laughter and tears. A man who can give you the children you deserve. I cannot bear to think of you alone. I cannot bear it . . .”
What could she have done but accept the pledge? She would have promised anything to ease his desperate fear.
Now she could only hope that there was one gentleman in all of London who could offer her at least a measure of friendship.
Seeking to ease her tangled nerves, Jane closeted herself in her large library. There was nothing more soothing than a few hours devoted to the vast investments she controlled.
What could be better than watching the progress of a once-abandoned coal mine as it was transformed into a profitable success? Or pouring over the information she was gathering upon a posting inn she was considering having built?
It was fascinating, exciting, and her one true passion in life. Let other maidens worry over the cut of their gown or the number of gentlemen who paid them respect. She would always prefer the blood-tingling pleasure of pitting her wits against fickle profit.
She was still busily scratching out a list of questions she intended to hand over to her business partner, Mr. Samuels, when the door to the study was pushed open.
Presuming that it was a servant to warn her Mr. Caulfield had arrived, or even her distant cousin, Mrs. Shelling, whom she had brought to London as her companion, Jane did not bother to glance up for a long moment.
It was only when a rash of prickles raced over her skin and the faintest hint of male cologne tantalized her nose that she abruptly lifted her head to discover Hellion leaning negligently against the doorjamb.
The quill dropped from her fingers as she rose awkwardly to her feet.
She had depended upon a few moments to compose herself after he had been announced, although she was not quite certain how she intended to accomplish such a feat.
Perhaps several large shots of brandy.
Or barricading herself in her chambers.
Now, however, she could do no more than force a stiff smile to her face and hope she did not appear as ruffled and ill at ease as she felt.
Some Like It Wicked (Hellion's Den) Page 4
