A Gentleman ’Til Midnight
Page 15
“Steady,” Captain Warre murmured, seamlessly guiding her forward as the crowd found its voice again in a roar and a stately old man came toward them, beaming. The sight of him sent her reeling back even further through time, and for a breathless moment she was eight years old again, being shooed from Papa’s library.
“My dear Lady Dunscore,” he declared with a bow, kissing her hand. “Words cannot express my deep gratitude and delight at seeing you once again. It has been too long, my dear. Too long indeed.”
Mr. Allen was positively, irretrievably out of his mind. Instinct overcame time, and she curtsied deeply. “An honor, Lord Deal.”
“And, Croston,” he said to Captain Warre. “An honor and a relief, my good man. Ach—an honor and a relief.” Turning back to her, he lowered his voice and leaned close. “We have our work cut out for us, but don’t you worry. Too many wafflers not to win over a bare majority, and I don’t want that upstart cousin of yours for a neighbor.” He smiled at her with kindly brown eyes and winked, and the past made another grab for her mind.
“I have every confidence in your ability to persuade them, Lord Deal,” she said, though at the moment she felt very little confidence of any kind at all. Through a break in the crowd she spotted part of an elaborate confectionery display on a table along one side of the room. In its center sailed a ship constructed of sugar.
Good God.
Already an onslaught of well-wishers presented themselves to Captain Warre, proclaiming their amazement at his safe return while the melodious strains of an orchestra lilted from the far end of the ballroom. Some of the faces she remembered. Some she didn’t.
Furtive female eyes slid her direction from behind fluttering fans, at once curious and condemning. Less cautious male eyes appraised her with salacious approval. Their stares assaulted her like cannon fire from all sides and she felt herself being dragged back, dragged down, reduced into the small pile of helpless girl who’d been taken from the Merry Sea.
You know nothing about me. The scream pushed into her throat, but of course, she swallowed it. She waited for her senses to sharpen the way they did when a ship engaged her at sea, but instead she floundered beneath the weight of what they thought they knew. She could feel them measuring who she was against who she’d been, drawing conclusions based on their own imaginations.
They didn’t know one bloody thing about it. Someone—Lord Deal—pushed a glass of red wine into her hands. She took a drink and locked eyes with a devil in red and gold embroidery and a jet-black wig. He raked her shamelessly with his gaze.
“Whatever has put that glint in your eye,” Captain Warre whispered, “leave it be.”
“I was merely thinking perhaps I should have brought my cutlass, after all. I have a distinct impression that I’m being looked upon as prey.”
His eyes shot to the dark-haired rotter. “I shall deal with men like Winston, if the need arises. Your job is to appear demure, amiable and harmless.”
“Harmless!”
“Smile,” he ordered under his breath.
She curved her lips.
“We shall do this on my terms or not at all, my dear lady Captain. I’ll not allow your stubbornness to keep me in London a day longer than necessary. In fact, the evening’s tedium is lessening my sense of obligation as we speak.”
A hint of concern in his eyes belied the bite of his words, and it fueled her with a lick of irritation. “Need I remind you that I saved your life?”
“You say that as if you did me a boon.”
He pivoted for more introductions, and more, and more.
“Lady Dunscore!” a Lord Swope exclaimed, letting his eyes rest on Katherine’s bosom. “An utter fascination.”
“Indeed,” declared a Lord Tensy, grinning at Lord Swope’s side. “Almost makes me want to be shipwrecked myself—sorry, Croston. Terrible thing to say. Apologies.” He reached for Katherine’s hand and kissed it. “I am ever at your service, Lady Dunscore. And you have my deepest condolences. Your father was a capital fellow. Great friend.”
“The best,” Lord Swope said, and winked at her. “Never got to bed before four when old Dunscore was around.”
“Lost five hundred quid to him in one night,” Lord Tensy said. “Couldn’t begrudge him a’tall. Not a’tall. Never met a better gamer in all my life.”
Hopeful speculation in their eyes made it clear they wondered whether she would prove equally entertaining.
Lord Deal leaned close and steered her away. “You mustn’t look so grave, my dear. More than a few tight-arses in our company will warm to that stunning smile I saw a moment ago. Ach—here’s someone you may remember.” They joined a trio that included a wrinkled man in a ridiculous bagwig and purple waistcoat and a silver-wigged woman in an equally silver gown embroidered with a geometric pattern. “McCutcheon!” Lord Deal said heartily, addressing the other man in the group. “Excellent to see you as always. And Plumhurst...Lady Plumhurst. A pleasure indeed!”
McCutcheon. Oh, no. Years ago, she’d thought herself over the moon for him
“Unbelievable turn of events!” Lord Plumhurst cried, clasping Captain Warre’s hand. “Simply unbelievable!”
Katherine kept her attention squarely on that bagwig to avoid looking at Lord McCutcheon.
“What a dreadful experience you’ve had, Lord Croston,” the silver Lady Plumhurst said. “It’s a miracle you’re still with us.”
“Not so much a miracle as a very timely rescue,” Captain Warre told them evenly. “May I present to you my savior, Lady Dunscore.”
“Favorable currents were his savior, I’m afraid,” Katherine replied, “I merely pulled him from the water.” Finally there was no avoiding McCutcheon, and she found him regarding her with a mixture of horror and pity. The face that had sent her fifteen-year-old self into raptures seemed pasty and vapid next to Captain Warre.
“Merely!” cried Lord Deal.
“How fortunate that you possessed the necessary resources to help when needed,” McCutcheon said stiffly to Katherine.
Katherine—no longer the blushing debutante—looked him directly in the eye. “I gave the order to lower the nets the moment my crew spotted him floating on a piece of debris against the hull.” Stop looking at me that way, she wanted to snap. “We had him on deck in a matter of minutes. He was soaked through and nearly lifeless—we pulled him from the water just in time.”
“Lucky thing!” Lord Plumhurst declared. “Positively dreadful.”
Katherine nodded gravely. “You can imagine our distress.”
“And my relief when I realized I had run into the Possession,” Captain Warre added with a hint of sarcasm intended for her ears only.
She smiled. “I am only grateful we did not know his identity, or the moments before his rescue was complete would have been all the more tormenting.”
“When I saw her colors, I knew I would be well cared for and that my ordeal was over.” He turned his lying green gaze on her in a false display of the gravest appreciation. “It’s hardly an exaggeration to say that I owe Lady Dunscore my life.”
One might even say it was a boon.
“What an irony, after your attempts in Salé proved so fruitless,” McCutcheon said, turning to Captain Warre.
Salé. Katherine’s attention glanced off McCutcheon, fixed on Captain Warre. A chill ran down her spine.
“Isn’t it?” Captain Warre said mildly.
“The would-be rescuer becomes the rescuee,” Lady Plumhurst said, fanning herself vigorously. “Astounding.”
Rescuer. Captain Warre refused to meet her eyes. But she’d heard all she needed to—she could piece together the rest. Have you spent any time in the Barbary states, Captain? Oh, yes, he’d been there. Once. He’d simply omitted that it had been in an attempt to free her.
Her hands
began to tremble. “Irony aside,” she said to McCutcheon, “you can only imagine how grateful I am to have had the opportunity to repay Lord Croston’s earnest efforts.” The full weight of what McCutcheon had just revealed bore down on her. She felt herself shrinking, reeling back to those first terrifying days in the dey’s palace, hoping she would be ransomed but hearing no news. “Although I daresay my attempts required less effort than his, and certainly met with less opposition.”
Lord Deal clapped his hands together. “Oh, but let us not delve into the melancholy past, shall we? What a blessing these two fine young people are both home safe and sound at last. And to think our dear Lady Dunscore was so providently used in such a miraculous rescue... It all smacks strongly of a divine hand, if I may say.”
“Divine indeed.” Captain Warre smiled at the crowd, still avoiding her gaze. “Lady Plumhurst, your daughter was recently married, was she not?”
He had been there. In Salé. And she was bloody well going to find out why he hadn’t told her.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Dear Sirs,
Observed Lady Dunscore at Lord Deal’s musicale. Confectionery ship on display. Remained on display after Her Ladyship departed. Perhaps too messy a prize.
Yours, etc.,
Croston
“JAMES, YOU’VE BEEN at sea far too long if you think there is anything acceptable about paying a call at this hour, even to your sister.” Honoria stood staunchly in the doorway to her dressing room, but James was in no mood for resistance. “You could at least have waited for me to dress and come downstairs,” she complained.
“I’ve got appointments this afternoon I can’t cancel,” he said, pushing past her.
“So amusing. You’re impossible, James. You’ve always been impossible.” All false outrage in a peacock-blue dressing gown covered in ribbons, she followed him into the room. “You may leave us, Mary,” she said to her lady’s maid. “And have a light breakfast sent up.”
“I can’t stay,” James told her.
“The breakfast is for me.” She went through to her bedchamber, and he followed as far as the open doorway. “I haven’t been out of bed half an hour yet.” Indeed, the bed lay rumpled behind her, and there was a pillow on the floor, and he suddenly wished he had waited for her downstairs. It was likely the same bed she’d shared with Ramsey before he died, and the idea of Ramsey touching his little sister—of anyone touching her, even within the bounds of marriage—was more than he could take on an empty stomach. He retreated to the dressing room.
A moment later she returned. “Are you really retiring?” she asked, putting her arms around him and looking hopefully into his face.
He looked down into a sea of misplaced adoration. “Where did you hear that?”
“This is London, James. Oh, please, say it’s true. I’ve missed you so much.”
“It’s true.”
“Oh, I’m overjoyed!” But looking into his eyes, she frowned. “What’s the matter?”
Katherine Kinloch was the matter. Nick was the matter. The Lords were the matter. His own bloody conscience was the matter. “Nothing’s the matter,” he said, and extricated himself from her embrace. “In thirty minutes I shall be taking Lady Dunscore on a strategic round of visiting instead of lingering at my breakfast table with the papers.”
And when he did, there would be no more avoiding a private moment with her as he’d successfully done last night. They would be together alone in the carriage, and there was no doubt that he would get an earful thanks to McCutcheon and his wagging tongue.
“James, I’ve never once known you to linger at the breakfast table. But in that case I forgive you for calling so early—if you tell me every detail about last night’s musicale. What an aggravation that I’d already accepted that invitation to dine with the Misses Cavely! But I never attend Lord Deal’s musicale. The average age of the attendees is above eighty, I daresay.” She turned a sly look on him. “I heard Lady Dunscore was fairly well received.”
“As well as could be expected.”
And now Captain Kinloch knew he’d taken her captivity far more personally than he should have. That he’d thought about her, argued for her, gone out of his way on her behalf. There was no reason he should have done any of that—except that once he’d learned her fate, his mind had conjured up an image of an innocent and terrified young girl in the hands of Barbary captors, and he couldn’t let it go.
Last night, on her stricken face, he’d seen that girl as though she’d risen from the dead. He never wanted to see her again. Sooner give him the fury that had burned in her eyes the rest of the evening. That he could deal with.
“Lord Deal ought to have some influence in the matter, I should think. But rumors run wild, James. La, you cannot imagine the stories I’ve heard, even just this morning!”
“I thought you’d only just risen.”
“There’s nothing remotely appealing about pretending to be thickheaded, James. I’ve had hardly any sleep at all. I received a note from Lady Effy at two o’clock this morning saying Lord Winston seemed quite taken with Lady Dunscore at Lord Deal’s—promise me you won’t allow that to develop—and one from Lady Atwell at half past four saying she heard Lady Dunscore beheaded three Barbary pirates with a single swipe of her blade. That can’t be true, can it?”
“No. It can’t.”
“One pirate, perhaps?” she suggested hopefully.
“Would you like me to go into the particulars of beheading? It takes a good deal of strength because the blade must sever the bone—”
“Never mind!” She covered her ears. “No beheadings, then. I accept.”
“This is insanity, Ree. Nothing about Captain Kinloch is worth sending a footman running through the streets in the middle of the night.”
She raised a brow.
“I’d hoped to settle this quietly,” he said, trying and failing to keep the frustration from his voice.
“You’ve achieved far too much celebrity for that, brother mine. Perhaps you don’t realize? When news of the Henry’s Cross arrived—” Pain fleeted across her face, but then she smiled a little and disappeared into her bedroom again, returning a moment later holding something out in her palm. “If you tell Nicholas, I shall be forced to think of a very unpleasant punishment for you.”
He looked at the object in her hand. “Oh, for Christ’s sake.” His own likeness stared up at him in brash colored paints from the front of a metal-edged brooch.
“Thank goodness the street hawker had no idea who I was,” she told him.
“Street hawker?”
“It’s disgraceful, I know. But I couldn’t resist it, James. Not when I thought—” Emotion silenced her again, and she curled her fingers around the brooch and held it to her breast. “You may not take it from me. I won’t let you have it.”
“Believe me when I say the thought of taking it from you never crossed my mind.” But she looked so much as she had when they were small that a moment of emotion threatened his composure. He tamped it down. “I need your help, pet.”
“I confess I’m relieved to hear it because I’ve already told Lady Dunscore that I intend to do all I can. She’s magnificent, and I adore her.”
“Now listen here, Ree. She’s no one you should be associating with.”
“I’m a widow, James. I associate with whomever I please.” She tilted her head slightly. “You seem awfully critical of her, given that she saved your life.”
“That I owe her my life changes nothing about her character.”
“Which is...?”
“Lady Dunscore is the most damned, belligerent creature I’ve ever had the misfortune to encounter.”
“I see.”
“She may not have beheaded Barbary pirates, but she could take a prize with her tongue alone as a wea
pon.”
“Her tongue,” Honoria mused, heavy with insinuation. “My intuition is telling me, brother dear, that misfortune may not accurately characterize your encounter with Lady Dunscore’s tongue. Mmm?”
“Damnation, Honoria!” All pretense of patience abandoned him.
She laughed. “I’ve pinned it exactly, I see.”
“You’ve pinned nothing. I knew it was a mistake to enlist you in this.”
“To the contrary! You were perfectly right to come to me.” Honoria’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Interesting, though, that she gave no hint there was anything more than a heroic rescue between you.”
“That’s because—”
She waved him away. “Oh, don’t try to deny it, brother dear. It’s written all over that menacing face of yours. But never fear—your secret is safe with me.”
He contemplated explaining more fully how very mistaken Honoria was in her assumptions, but decided it would only entrench her more solidly in the notion that he harbored something more than begrudging gratitude toward Captain Kinloch.
Something like flaming lust.
“Don’t make more of this than it is, Ree, for God’s sake.”
“Very well. Tell me how I may be of service.”
“I need you to help me find her a husband.”
“Her— Lady Dunscore? A husband? She said nothing to me about wishing to marry.”
He stared at her.
Comprehension settled in her eyes, and her lips curved in a way that made the hair stand up on the back of his neck. She came forward and fingered his lapel. “Never say I’m not helpful, James. I daresay I’ve found the perfect man already.”
He pulled away. “This is serious business. I need someone suitable. Someone she will agree to. I’m beginning to fear she won’t secure her estate any other way.”
“Such a pessimist. Lady Dunscore is very beautiful, James, and one should never underestimate the power of a beautiful woman. I realize you’ve always been stuffy, but even you must know there are as many ways to influence politics as there are to cook a goose.”