A Gentleman ’Til Midnight

by Alison Delaine

  “Without knowing his identity,” Katherine explained impatiently, “we had no idea what he was capable of.”

  “I see.” But still Honoria’s eyes danced with other imaginings, and Phil’s expression was positively triumphant.

  Things were spiraling out of control very quickly. “I shall have Madame Bouchard design a space in my skirts this afternoon for my cutlass,” Katherine snapped. “If anyone is to duel on my behalf, it shall be me.”

  “A splendid idea,” Phil said. “Men like Winston and Wenthurst might not be led so slavishly by their anatomies if they feared their precious organs might be lopped off.” She laughed in that sultry way of hers. “By now I’m sure all the ton knows you threatened to cut off Winston’s cock in his sleep.”

  “Which was fabulous, but unwise given that he will chair the committee,” Honoria said, and then laughed. “La, how it must have shocked Winston to have his proposition so violently rebuffed!”

  “It wasn’t that proposition that offended me,” Katherine told them. “It was his assumption that I would soon be accepting a different kind of proposition.” A couple rode past on horseback and waved a greeting to Honoria. Katherine lowered her voice. “What is everyone thinking of with all this talk of my marriage? Can they possibly be serious?”

  Phil waved the idea away. “Dearest, it’s only natural for men to think of marriage when there is a propertied woman to be had. You mustn’t let it upset you. They cannot force you into wedlock.”

  Honoria frowned. “They could, indeed, if they make it clear the bill will move forward if she doesn’t marry.”

  “They could at that,” Phil agreed.

  “But will they?” Katherine’s question shot too loudly into the air.

  Honoria took Katherine’s arm. “Tell me, suppose a man did show honorable intentions—a tolerable man, naturally. Would you be interested?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “A handsome man, of course. Strong. Of good breeding and titled, naturally. Honorable, steadfast, loyal—”

  “Someone has been reading too many novels!” Phil laughed.

  “Oh, hush. Your Pennington was such a man, Philomena.” Phil fell silent, and Honoria tightened her grip on Katherine’s arm. “In all seriousness, Katherine. If marriage does become your only option—”

  “It can’t.”

  “—have you not considered that perhaps it would solve everything?”

  She wasn’t a fool—the well-bred, titled man Honoria spoke of was her own brother. “Find me a man who obeys orders instantly, who will never question my authority even in his own private thoughts, and I shall consider it.”

  “Ha!” Honoria exclaimed. “If I find such a man, rest assured I shall keep him entirely for myself. Oh! Look there.” Honoria grabbed Katherine’s arm and her voice dropped to a whisper. “Isn’t that Miss Holliswell? Who is she talking to?”

  Katherine looked in the direction Honoria’s nose pointed, still contemplating the too-real possibility that the price for Dunscore would be her freedom.

  “It looks like Viscount Edrington,” Phil said, and made a noise. “Most foppish bore in London.”

  “Oh, dear,” Honoria said. “Look how she’s in earnest. Poor girl—such a timid thing. How could Nicholas harbor affection for her?” After another moment she said, “Do you think she could be afraid of him?”

  “Of Edrington?” As they watched, Miss Holliswell glanced over her shoulder and shifted a little. A prim young woman who could only be Miss Holliswell’s maid waited nearby, wringing her hands.

  “You don’t suppose he has a tendresse for her,” Honoria said doubtfully. “How are we supposed to discover anything when she carries no fan?”

  “I should hope she doesn’t have a tendresse, for both their sakes,” Phil said. “The last Viscount Edrington drained the estate nearly dry. He hasn’t nearly enough income to satisfy her father’s expectations.”

  “La, look at that! She tried to walk away, but he followed her. Should we go rescue her, do you think? It’s obvious she’s being accosted.”

  At that moment, Katherine spotted Captain Warre and his brother striding purposefully toward Miss Holliswell and Lord Edrington. “I don’t think we’ll need to,” she said. “Look.”

  The men hadn’t seen them, and the reason why was clear: Nicholas Warre had his entire attention focused on Miss Holliswell. As they watched, he broke away from Captain Warre and strode toward her and the viscount. Captain Warre’s thunderous expression was visible even from this distance.

  “Good heavens, the poor girl is liable to faint dead away,” Honoria said. Just then, Captain Warre spotted them. Honoria waved. “Come—let’s go find out what’s going on.”

  Katherine would have preferred not to, but yet another pair of men was strolling in their direction, so she followed Honoria and Phil. They met Captain Warre—whose heart she had absolutely not chained—beneath a tree.

  “I know nothing more than that Nick had heard Miss Holliswell was in the park when I arrived,” he told them irritably, “and that if I wanted to speak to him, I had to come along.”

  “Oh, what do you suppose he’s saying?” Honoria asked with frustration.

  Whatever Nicholas Warre said to Viscount Edrington, it had the effect of causing the viscount to bow, mount his horse and ride away.

  “Well, pooh,” Honoria said.

  Phil’s lips twitched mischievously. “He could at least have challenged Edrington to a duel.”

  Honoria’s eyes danced in Captain Warre’s direction. “Duels are all the rage these days, are they not?”

  Katherine glared at her.

  “Oh, look,” Phil exclaimed now, taking Honoria’s arm. “There’s Lady Pollard. Honoria, were you not just saying this very morning that you wished to speak with her about her pair of greyhounds?”

  “Indeed!” Honoria said. “And there she is, with both of them on leads. What a remarkable coincidence! Quickly—we must catch her before they run off with her.”

  They scurried off toward Lady Pollard and the two greyhounds Honoria had likely been unaware of until this moment, leaving Katherine alone with Captain Warre, who still scowled at his brother.

  A duel. She looked at his profile, chiseled like the most perfect statue carved by the greatest master, and her blood pulsed a little faster. It was easy to imagine the way his eyes would have turned stony when he threatened those men at the theater, the way his voice would have iced over.

  A flutter took wing in her belly.

  “Illegal activity is beyond the scope of anything that might repay the debt you owe me,” she informed him.

  “Sometimes I forget how quickly news spreads in London.”

  “Do not call a man out on my behalf again.”

  Now he turned and leveled those green eyes at her. “Rest assured, it was a momentary lapse of judgment.”

  A tiny, irrational disappointment grabbed her. “As were the boats,” she said, when she should have thanked him. “I’ll not have Anne relying on you, only to have you forget all about her after your debt is repaid.”

  Anger lit those eyes. “I would never abandon Anne.”

  You’re my princess, Katie. Father had used to say that, too, but it was a lie. She hadn’t been a princess—just a naive young girl like every other naive young girl, nothing more nor less special than the rest, expendable in the end when something more fun came along.

  “Do not back yourself into a corner, Captain. It is inevitable. You and I have an acquaintance by necessity—one that, by the grace of God, may end very soon.” Before she—not Anne—became the one in danger of relying on him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Dear Sirs,

  Observed Lady Dunscore at theater and Hyde Park. No sign of unlawful maritime activity, but r
ecommend increasing naval budget to defend the Serpentine as a precaution.

  In your humble service,

  Croston

  NICK WATCHED HOLLISWELL stuff a piece of bread half the size of a man’s fist into his mouth and fought to keep from curling his lip in disgust. The man had no bloody business being an earl—Scottish or otherwise. Nobody else at the table seemed to care, but then, every last one of them had reasons to curry Holliswell’s favor.

  It was fitting company, considering Nick fell into that category himself.

  Next to him, Clarissa poked at her stuffed pheasant and lifted three peas on her fork, casting him a quick, uncertain look from beneath long, dark lashes.

  Bloody Christ. Holliswell could stuff an entire roast suckling into his mouth for all he cared—Clarissa was the one who mattered.

  “Have you recovered from this afternoon?” he asked her under his breath.

  “I have, Lord Taggart. Thank you.”

  The sooner he could get her out from under Holliswell’s thumb, the better. She was so damned fragile. How in God’s name had she been allowed to go to the park with only her maid?

  “I shall make sure Edrington doesn’t bother you again,” he told her.

  Her hands faltered as she sliced a morsel of pheasant. She nudged it a little, sliced again.

  He would have to teach her something of life or be driven to an early grave watching out for her. It would be easier to explain the dangers once she understood the intimate details of a marriage. But in order for that to happen—

  God. He would have to be very, very careful on their wedding night. Incredibly, unbelievably careful. He could hardly stand to think of it. What a girl like Clarissa really needed was to be cloistered away in a convent somewhere on the Continent where no man’s hands could ever defile her.

  He would bloody well need a mistress. Because aside from what was absolutely essential—if he could even bring himself to do that much—he could never expect Clarissa to endure—

  Holy Christ.

  He attacked his pheasant with new purpose.

  “...cousin caused quite a stir at the theater last night,” a Mrs. Tinningsworth was saying to Holliswell across the table.

  Holliswell reached for another hunk of bread. “I would imagine my cousin causes a stir everywhere she goes,” Holliswell said. “She is an oddity, after all.”

  “I heard she removed all the furniture from her house and replaced it with Moorish cushions on the floor,” someone else said. “Could it be true?”

  Nick imagined that it probably was. He was so bloody tired of hearing about Katherine Kinloch. He’d give his right testicle to see this whole damned business finished today.

  “I meant what I said,” he murmured a little too sharply to Clarissa. He would find a way for them to marry even if the bill did not pass.

  “Yes, I know.” Her eyes never left her plate.

  “No matter what we have to do.” Even if they had to resort to something improper. Better to see her reputation sullied than her delicate body defiled by the likes of Oakley or Adkins.

  By God, he’d bloody well take her to Scotland if he had to.

  * * *

  BY ALL THAT was holy, James was going to bed her. Just once—just enough to put an end to this fascination that led him around by the balls. Enough was enough. He was finished with wanting. It was time for having.

  James tore off his coat without waiting for his valet and threw it on the bed. Five days. Five hellish days of thinking of practically nothing but Katherine, and thank God—thank God—the committee would meet tomorrow, because he couldn’t take much more of this. Laughing, talking, dancing... If he had to feel her hand on his arm one more time, instead of on his cock where he wanted it, he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions.

  He wasn’t growing more rational, finding a new sense of purpose, finding a cure for what ailed him. He was burning up with lust. It could not continue. One good tumble with her—that was what he needed. After that, he could find a suitable bride and live in peace.

  A thought of Anne snuck in, and he kicked it aside. He didn’t want to think of Anne, or what Katherine might ultimately have to do to keep Dunscore. The only thing he wanted to think about was Katherine’s legs wrapped around his hips.

  This entire business was nothing less than a debacle. Men he’d once considered friends slathered over her as though she were a succulent roast they couldn’t wait to devour. An evening at Lord DeBarre’s, a card party at Lord Kilbourne’s, another night at the theater after he’d sworn he wouldn’t go again and more strolls in the park than he’d ever hoped to take in his life. Each event felt specially calculated for his particular torment.

  Tonight they’d dined with Lord and Lady Pelsworth. The only—only—redeeming value in the evening had been his introduction to a Miss Lydia Ridgeway. Miss Ridgeway was a perfect marriage candidate—on the shelf, he’d been told, well mannered and passably attractive. Not that he could find out anything else about her with Katherine constantly at his side.

  Katherine—ill-mannered, insanely beautiful and far too convincingly amused by the damnable Earl of Tungsley—was the devil in silk. And he was no closer to finding her a husband now than he’d been the day she’d dragged his sorry arse from the water.

  Because you don’t want to find her a husband.

  He did. He did want to find her a husband. Just not before subduing this madness inside him, because he was halfway to losing his mind. More than halfway.

  Well, he had a solution for that. James braced his hands on the edge of his dressing table and stared at the preservative he’d just pulled from the top drawer. It would let him do all he wanted to Katherine without fear of consequences, and then he could remove himself to Croston with the likes of Miss Ridgeway or Lady Maude or Miss Underbridge.

  With any luck, tomorrow the committee would put an end to all this. The only event left to endure was tonight’s ball at the Rogersfields’. And there was a good chance he could turn that situation to his advantage. He would simply watch for the right moment, get her to the right part of the house and then he would seduce her. It wouldn’t be difficult. He could have had her on board the Possession if William hadn’t interrupted them, and it would have saved him the torment now. He could still feel her breasts as though he held them in his hands this moment. If William hadn’t burst in, he would have pushed those damned trousers over her hips and—

  He inhaled sharply and pushed away from the dressing table, gripping the back of his neck. He stared at the preservative. Finally snatching it off the table, he stalked to the armoire and slipped it inside his jacket with a mercenary sort of relish.

  Oh, yes. He would have every last inch of her open and quivering beneath him, hot and ready for him. He would have her at his mercy, to do with as he pleased, and by God there would be no bloody cutlass to get in the way. He would taste her and touch her until she screamed his name.

  Not Captain. Not Lord Croston.

  James.

  His beautiful, piratical emasculator would beg for him, and he would satisfy her. He would satisfy them both, and their “acquaintance by necessity”—as she so coldly put it—could go to the devil.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  IF ONE MORE Lord So-and-so put his hand where it didn’t belong, by God, she would lop it off and laugh while blood pooled on the ballroom floor.

  Katherine faced her partner and applauded the orchestra, imagining the satisfaction of drawing her cutlass from its new hiding place in her skirts and showing the lecherous rat how much she appreciated his groping.

  The stifling ballroom air cloyed her lungs as desperation began to set in. All her flirtations and imprisoning dresses were going to be for naught. There were bodies everywhere—tall ones, short ones, slender ones, plump ones. Male ones. If opinions
could be swayed by “accidentally” touching her breasts, she would have little to worry about tomorrow. But the truth of the matter sat cold and indigestible in her stomach.

  “You’re a splendid dancer,” the latest Lord Whatsit told her, steering her through the crowd by her elbow as the orchestra struck up another tune. “Splendid!” For all she knew, he didn’t have any influence at all. But he did have a fascination for her cleavage.

  What would he think if he knew that a foot below, her cutlass hung inside a secret opening in her skirts? How gratifying it would be to introduce the two of them and rid him of that sickly smile.

  “Allow me to bring you some punch,” he suggested eagerly.

  “I’m not thirsty.” She could find the punch herself—just as soon as she located Phil and Honoria and asked whether committing murder would be a strike against her with the committee. Judging from this crowd, she would find them sometime tomorrow.

  Suddenly a hand wrapped around her arm, and Captain Warre materialized at her side. “Excuse us, Denby,” he said. Excellent—perhaps he would challenge this imbecile to a duel.

  Lord Whatsit backed away with a startled bow. “Of course. A pleasure, Lady Dunscore.” His eyes weren’t on her breasts now. She nearly smiled.

  “You look pale,” Captain Warre told her.

  She was more glad to see him than she would have wanted to admit. “One can scarcely breathe in here, and I’m dying of thirst.”

  “We can’t have that.” He shoved a mostly full glass of red wine into her hand. Hardly a thirst-quencher, but she drank deeply anyhow. A drop of liquid clung to the glass where his lips had touched it, and a tingle awakened low in her belly as she drank. “I know where we can escape the crowds,” he said, and navigated her through the milling hordes.

  “Have you found out anything?” she asked.

  “A little.” He guided her out of the main ballroom and into a second, equally crowded, side room off which branched a large connecting hall, from which stemmed several smaller passageways. By the time they started down one of these, they were alone. “We can find privacy here,” he said. His hand stayed on the small of her back even though the crowd was gone. Several doorways opened on either side of the passageway; as they passed one, she caught a glimpse of a couple intertwined on a couch. Quickly she looked away.