A Gentleman ’Til Midnight

by Alison Delaine

  Damn, damn, damn.

  Captain Warre took a measured step away and offered the slightest bow. “Lovely evening.”

  Holliswell returned the bow while his calculating gaze shifted from her to Captain Warre. “Your lordship. Cousin.” His smile was a razor’s edge. “Excellent to see you are enjoying the party.”

  Katherine reached deep for an air of disdain and somehow clothed herself with it though everything inside her throbbed and ached from Captain Warre’s kiss. She glanced at Holliswell’s companion and curled her lip ever so slightly. “Likewise, Mr. Holliswell.”

  Holliswell’s companion looked aside awkwardly and, when Holliswell stalked away, followed him into the shrubbery.

  * * *

  FOOL. KATHERINE STORMED up the staircase after the garden party, rubbing her lips with the back of her hand. Fool!

  She should have returned to the crowd the moment she realized Captain Warre had followed her. Should never have let him stand there touching her. Should have at least pulled away before he kissed her. Could she have been any more reckless? It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen what he was going to do.

  And now—

  “Lady Dunscore.”

  Katherine’s head came up sharply as she reached the landing. “Why are you still here? You’ve been dismissed—more than once.”

  “Miss Germain has left.” Miss Bunsby said shortly, holding out a letter for Katherine to see.

  “Left.” Good God. What had Millicent done now? Katherine hurried up the rest of the stairs and snatched the letter from Miss Bunsby’s hand, quickly skimming the contents.

  Gone. Home to Bedfordshire to live with her brother Gavin.

  Gavin. Millie didn’t even like Gavin.

  But Millie was free to make her own choices now. A lump tightened Katherine’s throat. Phil was recapturing her London life, India was languishing in her father’s custody, William was off doing who knew what and now this. The life she’d built with people she loved—people who knew her, who respected her—was as good as gone.

  She swallowed, hard, and fixed her gaze on Miss Bunsby. “You will pack your bags this instant and leave my house, or I will have you arrested and we shall see how your impertinence fares in gaol.”

  “That is hardly the most efficient course of action under the circumstances.” Below, a footman emerged. “Well?” Miss Bunsby called down.

  “Madam. Your ladyship.” He looked from Miss Bunsby to Katherine and back to Miss Bunsby. “I couldn’t find any,” he told her.

  “Find what?” Katherine demanded.

  “We live in the biggest city in England—perhaps in all the world,” Miss Bunsby called impatiently. “Do not tell me there is nobody who knows how to make kesra.”

  “Kesra—” Katherine started.

  “Go back out,” Miss Bunsby directed, “and do not return until you find someone.”

  The footman’s mouth tightened, but he turned on his heel and left. At that precise moment, Anne’s voice drifted from the pink rooms. “Miss Bunsby? Miss Bunsby, where are you?”

  Katherine rushed to her daughter’s room, crouching down to where Anne sat with her mandolin on the floor and cupping Anne’s face in her hands. “Dearest, are you all right?”

  “Mama, I don’t like it here. I want to go back to the ship.”

  Miss Bunsby frowned worriedly. “She wouldn’t take any food.”

  “You know we can’t go back to the ship,” Katherine said into Anne’s hair, and saw the untouched tray at the bedside. “Why have you not eaten?”

  “I’m not hungry. Millie went to visit her brother, Mama. I miss her.”

  “I know, dearest.”

  “And I want kesra.” Anne buried her face against Katherine’s arm. “Mama, I don’t like it here.”

  Kesra. Katherine looked at Miss Bunsby. Helplessness gripped her. “You will love Dunscore, sweetling.” I promise. “There will be no awful smells, and the sea shall be the only sound, and we shall eat kesra every day.”

  “Will Captain Warre be there?”

  Katherine’s heart ached a little at the hope in Anne’s voice. “Captain Warre has much to do now that we’re in London,” she said. “I doubt he has much time for visiting, so you mustn’t expect him to call.”

  “But I want him to visit. Will you tell him, Mama? Please?”

  “I will tell him.” A few more reassurances later, they finally coaxed her to sleep in peaceful exhaustion.

  “I tried to stop Miss Germain from going,” Miss Bunsby said outside the room, “but she wouldn’t listen to me. I can’t say I’m surprised. Two days has been plenty to see she wasn’t happy.”

  “Devil take that blasted surgical school,” Katherine said, and refolded the note.

  “Is it truly impossible for her to attend?”

  “If I believed otherwise, I would have helped her do it.” But Millie would try, anyway. There was little doubt of that. She might stay with her brother for a while, but then she would find her way back to Malta. What then? Any number of unpleasant answers flitted through Katherine’s mind. At the same time, she felt Miss Bunsby’s eyes on her. Waiting.

  Katherine assessed her in return. Strawberry-blond hair in a simple chignon. Too-pretty blue eyes. Slender build. Chin raised a notch too far to suggest submission.

  She’d already proved well enough that she did not understand the word. She almost reminded Katherine of India.

  “Yesterday Anne asked about our friend William Jaxbury,” Katherine said, teetering on the edge of indecision. “Has there been no word from him this evening?”

  “Not one, your ladyship.”

  Perhaps Miss Bunsby had proved herself tonight. Just a little. “If he should arrive while I am out,” Katherine said, “he is to be denied nothing.”

  Comprehension—satisfaction—settled over Miss Bunsby’s blue eyes, and she smiled.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Dear Sirs,

  Encouraging lack of maritime activity at Lady Carroll’s. Reflecting pool perhaps too small a body of water. Lady Dunscore unused to land operations; likely impeded by presence of shrubbery. No gentleman engaged.

  In your humble service,

  Croston

  “CHANGED? WHY SHOULD my cousin’s arrival have changed anything?” A blustering, early morning wind outside Westminster Hall might have threatened to take Holliswell’s peruke with it if the carefully rolled hair hadn’t been petrified with grease, and Nick would have watched with satisfaction as it rolled down the street like a ball across a lawn. “Katherine’s arrival only makes the situation more pressing,” Holliswell went on in an offensively mild tone, “especially considering the circumstances.”

  The circumstances. That, of course, referred to James’s miraculous return. Nick’s throat tightened, but he quickly gained the upper hand of his emotions. “The story of my brother’s rescue is already on the lips of every porter and match-seller in London,” he said flatly, “and I doubt if there is a drawing room in all of London that doesn’t echo with the retelling as we speak. If the Lords decide she’s a heroine, the Virgin Mary herself won’t be able to convince them to pass that bill.”

  Holliswell’s lips, chapped and pale, curved coldly. “The question will be put this afternoon, will it not?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then let us hope the second reading is approved.” He paused. “Lord Adkins has expressed an interest in Clarissa. I’m not sure they should suit, but then, what girl couldn’t suit herself to a viscount?”

  Adkins.

  Nick’s vision hazed over. Just last year Adkins had hosted practically the entire ton at a masquerade in celebration of his sixtieth birthday, but the real celebration had taken place a week later at Adkins’s country estate, where rumor had it the entertainmen
t had included prostitutes playing a unique version of croquet.

  His hands ached with the need to curl around Holliswell’s lapels and slam the man against the lamppost behind him. Instead, he tightened his lips. “Only the daughter of an earl, I would imagine.”

  “I’m not sure I like what you’re suggesting, Taggart.”

  “I think you like it a great deal.” It was no stretch of the imagination to think that once Holliswell had the title he coveted, he might decide his daughter could make a more advantageous match than either himself or Adkins—although how a marriage to Adkins could be considered advantageous for Clarissa was beyond comprehension.

  “I can’t imagine the cause is lost,” Holliswell said. “There is plenty about Katherine to exploit. You know that as well as I do. God knows how many Moors she’s taken between her legs, and I hear she’s got a half-Moor whelp as proof. She can’t possibly imagine society will accept her this way. In fact, having her here may work to your advantage in gathering more votes.”

  For God’s sake, Nick didn’t want to exploit anyone. He just wanted this bloody business over with. “If you believe that, you’re delusional. I’ve already heard of half a dozen men lining up to propose marriage.”

  “Marriage.” Holliswell’s eyes narrowed, and Nick watched him consider how quickly such a turn of events could change everything. “It would have to be someone powerful enough that the Lords would not possibly consider divesting him of his newly acquired assets. She’ll not find anyone of that stature desperate enough to take on such a baggage.”

  “Perhaps,” Nick said. “And perhaps not. I’ve heard she made a successful debut at Deal’s and again last night at Lady Carroll’s. She may find someone yet.”

  “A successful debut indeed—with your brother, in the shadows of the shrubbery.”

  “Watch what you’re implying, Holliswell.”

  “I witnessed their intimacy with my own eyes,” he sneered.

  It was a lie. Wasn’t it? “It’s nothing to me if he’s tupping her,” Nick said, though it was hardly the truth. If she was more to James than just a welcoming commodity—if James got it in mind to marry her—then this damned business with Holliswell would be for nothing.

  “Isn’t it?” Holliswell said meanly. “If that’s the way the wind blows, you’ve got a bigger job ahead of you than either of us expected.”

  He felt a little sick, both at the idea of Katherine Kinloch becoming connected to Croston and the prospect of working against James. It grated hard to go against his older brother, especially after believing him lost. From what he’d heard, James had been publicly acknowledging her as his savior. Much more of that, and the bill’s cause would be lost anyhow.

  “I will do what I can,” Nick bit out. “But I fear the tide will soon turn, and no effort to stop it will be successful.” Especially if James was tupping her. But if the choice was Clarissa’s future or Katherine Kinloch’s, he would do what had to be done.

  He reminded himself that such a woman had no business acceding to a title in her own right. But for chrissake, he was starting to wish he wasn’t the one leading the charge to strip it from her.

  * * *

  THE INVITATIONS BEGAN to arrive before Katherine got out of bed. By the time she was ready to dress, there were twelve.

  Winston. Hardly a surprise.

  Werrick. Cashen. Naturally.

  The number of invitations might have been a sign of spectacular success, but...

  Marston, Obbs, Abnersthwaite. Known for their bad luck at the gaming tables, Phil had said.

  Blaine. Nicklesdale. Estates mortgaged to the hilt, Honoria had said.

  Robert Prentiss? The greedy-eyed baronet?

  And three more whose names she didn’t recognize, but the quality of the paper said everything she needed to know about the state of their finances. Good God. They actually believed she might subjugate herself to them in marriage and put Dunscore at their disposal.

  Her maid appeared in the doorway to the bedchamber. “Which gown shall I prepare, your ladyship?”

  Katherine tossed the invitations on the dressing table and went to her trunk. The only thing these men wanted more than her in their beds was Dunscore in their coffers.

  “None, thank you.” She unlatched the lid and snatched up a pair of her old trousers. “I shall dress myself this morning.”

  “Very good, your ladyship.” The maid’s wide-eyed look said she thought it anything but good.

  “But I shall want the pale green this afternoon, and the deep blue for tonight,” she added. The deep blue, with its shimmering silk and its revealing cut. Because there was plenty of support yet to be gathered, and she was perfectly capable of exploiting their lust for votes. But marriage? She would see them in hell first.

  “Very good, your ladyship.” The maid bobbed a curtsy and left.

  This morning, however, she would do as she pleased. The familiar clothing she’d worn aboard the Possession settled around her like a shield, and she smiled at herself in the glass as she slid her cutlass through her sash. Wouldn’t it be satisfying to arrive at Vauxhall tonight dressed like this?

  Satisfying, yes. Helpful? Definitely not. Katherine sighed at her reflection.

  She grabbed up the invitations and went downstairs to study Papa’s ledgers. By the time dinner was to be served, seventeen had arrived. Dobbs had just delivered the eighteenth invitation when Captain Warre strode into the library.

  “His lordship the Earl of Croston to see you,” Dodd said from the doorway, but Captain Warre had already reached the desk, looking windblown and strained, with dark circles beneath his eyes. The mouth that had burned so hotly was set in a grim line.

  “Have you heard the news?” he asked.

  “What news?” She stood and faced him across the desk, wishing she didn’t remember last night’s kiss quite so well.

  “The second reading has passed. The committee meets on Wednesday next.”

  Wednesday. “That only gives us six days.”

  “Your mathematical skill is far better developed than your sense of fashion.” His gaze raked over her. “For God’s sake, what do you plan to do if you receive a caller—invite them to sit on the floor and smoke a hookah?”

  Six days. All the flirtations in the world couldn’t win enough support in six days. Could it?

  “I rather thought I might call for tea.” She tossed the stack of invitations in his direction. “It would seem my company is in high demand. But if these are any indication, any callers I receive will be proposing more than conversation. I’ve ordered Dodd to burn any more that arrive.”

  At that precise moment, Dodd returned carrying a card on his silver tray. “Lord Ingraham to see you, your ladyship.”

  “Ingraham.” Last night’s conversation in the arbor sprang to life. He thought he would marry her and open their marriage bed to the public, did he?

  “Please tell him her ladyship is unavailable,” Captain Warre instructed.

  “And have him return later?” Katherine scoffed. No. She would deal with this immediately. She strode out from behind the desk and headed for the door. Thirty seconds would be all she needed to take care of Lord Ingraham.

  She found him waiting by the door in the entrance hall wearing a ridiculous pale blue coat embroidered with bright yellow leaves. “I am only accepting marriage proposals in writing at this time, Lord Ingraham,” she told him before she was halfway across the hall. “If you’d care to send yours, I shall put it with the rest. Be sure to include the exact amount of your debt, of course.” She stopped directly in front of him. “Oh, yes—and the number of your friends you will expect me to entertain in our marriage bed.” She gave him what she hoped was her most feral smile.

  Ingraham’s startled eyes dropped to her feet, paused on her cutlass and shot back to h
er face. “Good God.”

  Behind her, Captain Warre’s tightly bemused voice carried across the hall. “Left you speechless, has she, Ingraham?”

  “Croston.” Lord Ingraham looked past her, then back. “Lady Dunscore. I—” He paused, then smiled and bowed. “Certainly not. Not speechless a’tall. Though I can see that you are otherwise occupied, so with your permission, I shall take my leave and return at another time.”

  If he returned again, she would run him through before he crossed the threshhold. “You may state your business now, Lord Ingraham, and eliminate the need for a future visit.” Beside her, Captain Warre’s animosity radiated off him like heat off a ship’s deck in summer.

  Lord Ingraham’s smile turned brittle. “I see. Well, naturally, my business isn’t pressing. A mere social call. Perhaps you would consider saving me a dance at the Rogersfield ball next week?”

  “I will give it my careful consideration.”

  “Good day, then, madam. Croston.”

  The moment he was gone, Captain Warre turned on her. “He’ll have your eccentricity spread across all of London before noon.”

  “And by midnight, my breasts will have them all trailing after me regardless. Or have you forgotten our plans for Vauxhall already?”

  “Being hotheaded and impulsive can gain you nothing.”

  “Encouraging the notion that I am available to debtors and wastrels can gain me nothing. But forgive me, Captain, if I did not handle Ingraham precisely the way you would have told me.” She returned to the library and resumed her place behind Papa’s desk. “Who are the committee members?”

  Captain Warre took up the invitations and leafed through them while he told her the names.

  It was no surprise that several names matched those on some of the invitations. “I particularly enjoyed the Duke of Winston’s invitation,” she said. “What a delight to hear he will chair the committee. Do you suppose he’s especially proud of the luxurious cushions in his carriage, or could there be another reason for his efforts to assure me of their comfort?”