by Cheryl Bolen
Bloody bad timing. Daphne quickly detached herself from him.
"Now see here, you two," Lord Sidworth said, eying them, "if you keep this up, we'll have to announce the betrothal immediately." Though his words were stern, his demeanor was relaxed, even jovial.
Daphne slipped her hand into Jack's. "Which would be fine with me, Papa."
Jack wished he could stuff a large handkerchief into his faux fiancé's mouth. What could she be thinking? In a matter of weeks he would be far from London, never to see her again. He did not like to think of Daphne being known as a jilted lady. Even if she was the one who was supposed to cry off.
Lord Sidworth eyed Jack somberly. "Then perhaps we should draw up the marriage contracts. Here, in the library, tomorrow?"
Jack swallowed. If the earl's man of business and his solicitor got involved, they could very well learn there was no Mr. Jack Rich, South African mine owner. "I'm a very rich man," Jack said to Lord Sidworth. "I want nothing from you . . . " His gentle gaze settled on Daphne. "Except your most precious possession." Before he knew what he was doing, he dropped a soft kiss on the top of Daphne's silky head.
Lord and Lady Sidworth looked at each other with tender smiles. Bloody hell! Lady Sidworth even had tears in her eyes!
"Be that as it may," Lord Sidworth said, "I must insist on a formal agreement."
Jack bowed at the earl. "As you wish, my lord."
Daphne's grip on his hand tightened. "I beg, Papa, that you and Mama run along and leave Mr. Rich and me alone for a moment. We were discussing a private matter when you entered."
"Your father's called for the carriage," Lady Sidworth said. "We mustn't be late to the Glenweil ball."
Daphne gave her mother an impatient stare. "Mr. Rich and I won't be a moment."
After Lord and Lady Sidworth left the chamber, Jack spoke sternly. "Would that your parents' firstborn was mute."
"I'm dreadfully sorry. It's so unlike me to blurt out silly statements."
Yes it was.
"Don't worry," she said. "I'll think of something."
"That's supposed to reassure me?"
"Give me tonight to think on it," she said. "In the meantime I must dispatch this letter to Captain Bennington."
"You know his direction?"
She pouted. "I daresay, Captain, there are few London occurrences that escape my notice." No need to tell him how easily she had discovered Bennington's whereabouts. In this case, a fortuitous call upon her sister by an army officer provided all the information she needed.
"But you can't just have a page deliver the letter. It has to appear to be from a government official."
"I know that! As it happens, I've bribed one of our footmen to deliver it tonight. He'll be dressed in my cousin's naval uniform--the same one you wore. How fortunate that the three of you are of the same height--though I daresay Penrwyn won't fill out the uniform nearly as well as you."
His brows plunged. "What of the 'sealed package'?"
"I've got it right here." She moved to a writing table and opened its drawer, withdrawing a folded packet that had already been sealed and began to wrap Bennington's letter around it. From the same drawer she procured what was obviously Sir Ronald's seal and used hot wax from her father's desk to bond it. "There! Now I've got to slip this to Penrwyn while you engage my parents in conversation."
"I assume Penrwyn's the footman?" He suddenly recalled a tall, slender youth who had waited upon the Sidworth table.
She looped her arm through his and looked up at him. "Indeed he is."
"Pray, what's in the sealed packet?" he asked.
"Nothing," she said with a smile.
Just as Jack thought. Bennington would thankfully be far from London when he discovered the pages were blank.
* * *
The crush of carriages in front of the Duke of Glenweil's mansion on Berkeley Square filed around the corner and down Piccadilly. The wait, Jack found, was well rewarded when he viewed the magnificent townhouse which for sheer grandeur could only be rivaled by Carlton House. Lights blazed from every window in the four-story mansion. Topiary pyramid trees and glittering lanterns flanked the huge entry door where footmen in scarlet livery greeted them.
One look inside the palatial rooms convinced Jack that tonight's fete was the ball of the season. Hundreds of formally dressed ladies and gentlemen packed the swirling stairway and every room he could see, and the hum of refined conversations assured him that whatever he and Daphne discussed could not be overheard. Which was a good thing. He hoped like hell she could point out George Lamb. And perhaps the man who claimed him as a son.
As they stood in the receiving line, he bent to speak into Daphne's ear. "You must tell me if you see George Lamb."
She nodded, her sweeping gaze scanning the room while her arm draped possessively across Jack's. Then she shook her head.
There was a regal quality about the Duke and Duchess of Glenweil, who stood upon the entry hall's highly polished marble floor to greet their guests beneath a multi-tiered crystal chandelier that illuminated the room like daylight. Jack thought the hosts could pass for brother and sister. Both were white-haired and slender with aristocratic noses, and both dressed in elegant ivory and gilt. Despite that men of fashion now wore dark clothing for formal occasions, the duke clung to the opulent fashions of his youth. He had no doubt spent time at the French court when he was a young man. Before the Terror.
When Jack and Daphne reached the front of the line Jack was astonished to be addressed by the duke. "So you're the man I've heard so much about," he said to Jack. "Lady Daphne's suitor." He turned to his wife. "Sidworth tells me Lady Daphne's beau is an accomplished linguist. He's fluent in Hottentot and such, too."
"How amazing!" the duchess said. "I don't think I've ever known anyone who could speak Hottentot."
Jack prayed he would not be called upon to demonstrate.
"Mr. Rich also has intimate knowledge of Latin and Greek," Daphne added.
He squeezed her hand.
"My Latin and Greek aren't what they once were," the duke said, ruefully shaking his head.
Daphne nudged Jack forward and addressed their hosts. "We mustn't monopolize you, your graces. You have many more guests waiting." She inclined her head respectfully as they strode away and began to climb the stairs.
"Why do you not join the men in the card room while I search for our persons of interest?" she said.
"I will, but I'd like you to scan the room first."
The second-floor drawing room had been turned into a card room set up with a dozen square game tables, all of them occupied. Daphne's gaze swept over those assembled, and she shook her head.
Even though their persons of interest were not there, he saw that Bottomworth sat in the far corner concentrating on his game of whist. Jack would definitely avoid that corner. St. Ryse was deep in play at a nearby table, and Lord Hertford, seated at a table near the fireplace, was also in the room. Nodding at the departing Daphne, Jack decided that furthering his acquaintance with Hertford and St. Ryse could prove helpful to their investigation.
He walked up to St. Ryse's table, and when that gentleman looked up, they nodded to one another. "I hope you bring me luck, Rich," St. Ryse said as he tossed out a card, "or you'll soon be taking my place."
"As much as I enjoy playing, I would not wish to at your expense." Though Jack had been told Lady Carlton was St. Ryse's lover, Jack had never seen evidence of this. The two never danced with each other when they attended the same ball. Of course, her husband was usually in attendance. Still, if the man were angry enough to want to do in the regent for his marked attentions to Lady Carlton, he surely would give some indication that she held his affection.
The drone of voices suddenly rose, and several men glanced at the doorway. "Ah, the Duke of York is here," a man at Jack's right said.
Jack turned to gaze upon the man who was the regent's brother. From head to toe, the royal prince was decked out in military finery, com
plete with Hessians and enough gold in his dangling medals and looping braid to stock a jeweler for a year. He must have cut a dashing figure when he was a younger man, but the years had been no kinder to him than they had been to the brother who was a year his senior. Despite his bulk, the Duke of York moved with assured arrogance, a gleaming sword at his side. Why the man needed a sword at tonight's gathering was beyond Jack's comprehension.
Men set their cards face down when he strolled to their tables and spoke amiably. It was only then that Jack remembered the Comtesse de Mornet was this man's mistress. Would she be here tonight? Or had he brought his duchess? Jack would have to ask Daphne.
A pity she wasn't here to introduce him to the duke. All that stood in line between him and throne were the regent and the regent's daughter, Princess Charlotte.
He saw that a man left the table where Lord Hertford sat and hurried to take his place. An acquaintance with Lord Hertford was definitely called for. "May I join you?" Jack asked.
"Please do," Hertford said, nodding at the empty chair across from him.
Jack started to introduce himself but remembered Daphne's rules of aristocratic etiquette. One must be presented to a peer. With luck Lord Sidworth would come along shortly to do the honors--hopefully without boasting of Jack's expertise in tribal linguistics.
Once the royal duke left the room the men at Jack's table directed all their attentions to their cards. Jack directed his attention to Lord Hertford. The peer was considerably older than the regent. Which made him elderly. Jack would be stunned if the man still had sexual relations with his wife. Or someone else's wife, as seemed to be the case with members of the ton. But even a celibate man would not tolerate another man bedding his wife as the regent was said to be bedding Lady Hertford. Would he?
As Jack sat there recalling what Lady Hertford looked like, he had a difficult time believing the regent could be attracted to her. Though she was considerably younger than her husband, she was older than the regent. Yet Daphne had insisted Prinny fancied older women. How could a man who was obsessed over beautiful possessions not likewise wish to surround himself with beautiful, young women?
The ways of the aristocracy were well beyond Jack's comprehension.
"I thought Prinny might be here tonight," the player to Jack's left said to no one in particular.
"I believe he's suffering some kind of indisposition," Lord Hertford said. "Hasn't left Carlton House in an age."
"A pity," the man to Jack's left said. "The Duke and Duchess of Glenweil must be disappointed. He always attends their balls."
Lord Hertford shrugged. "Prinny's tenacious. He'll bounce back from whatever's got him down. Might even show tonight."
That Hertford was so optimistic might exonerate him from suspicion. Wouldn't the true culprit be beginning to get suspicious that the regent realized his life was being threatened?
Damned if Jack knew what to think. Going only on his instincts, he could not believe any man here tonight was the guilty party.
But someone sure as hell was--though the identity of that person stumped Jack. What if all these days truly had been wasted? What if Daphne had been wrong when she insisted he establish these contacts?
"Speaking of being indisposed," the man to Jack's left said, "I've heard that King George is not expected to last out the year."
"I'd be surprised if he did," Hertford said.
"So Prinny will be king next year," said the man on Jack's left.
Jack watched Hertford's lips narrow. "How many more journalists will be imprisoned then?"
Of course he was alluding to Leigh Hunt's scathing attacks on the regent. The press would riot if Prinny became king.
And Hertford knew it.
When the game was over Jack scooped up his winnings and took his leave. He needed to find Daphne.
He was not at all pleased when he found her. She was dancing (and if he wasn't mistaken, flirting) with the Duke of York who looked to be enthralled with her. The duke held her entirely too close. And why did she have to smile up into his face so adoringly? It would serve her right if she got a crick in her neck!
When the dance was finished and she crossed the room to Jack, the royal duke at her side, Jack glared at her. Some help she was!
"Your grace," she said to the duke, "I should like to present to you my very dear friend Jack Rich."
The duke flashed Jack a broad smile. "My pleasure, Mr. Rich. Did I not see you in the card room?"
"Indeed you did, your grace."
"I take it things did not go well?"
Easier to play the loser, Jack thought, agreeing with the duke.
Still holding Daphne's hand, the duke placed it within Jack's, murmured something flowery, then took his leave.
Jack watched as he strolled to the Comtesse de Mornet and lingered, no doubt waiting for the next set to begin.
"Is the Duchess of York here?" Jack asked.
Daphne shook her head. "She abhors social functions."
"Another German woman?"
Daphne nodded. "The duchess has only two interests: living in the country and her brood of dogs. I believe there are eighteen of them."
"Then it's a good thing she's not married to the heir."
"Yes, it is. I daresay she'd hate to be queen."
He moved closer to Daphne. "Would you do me the goodness of standing up with me, my lady?"
A smile touching the corners of her lips, she placed her hand in his, and they strolled onto the dance floor. He was pleased that it was a waltz. It would be easier to talk privately with her. "Have you seen George Lamb?" he asked.
"No. And I've been thinking about that. Why are you so obsessed over him?"
"For one reason, because I can't believe any of the men here are responsible for the attempts. It's easier to blame a stranger than a man one likes."
"And your other reason?"
He shrugged. "It's my belief a man would resent that his natural father refused to acknowledge his existence. Especially if that father had royal blood."
"Oh, I see what you mean. But surely he wouldn't wish to kill his own father!"
"I can't ignore any possible motive."
"No, of course you can't, but such a motive is founded on the premise that George Lamb's a madman. You must know I find him to be perfectly normal."
Dash it all! He trusted Daphne's instincts. They had always been correct.
He gathered her closer as the tempo of the orchestra music slowed. Her fresh spearmint scent and the feel of her gracefulness in his arms was an aphrodisiac. Arsenic would be less dangerous. "Can you think of anyone we might have overlooked?" he asked, desperate to redirect his thoughts. He was also desperate to discover something that would assure him they were on the right track. The further they got into the investigation, the deeper grew his doubts over its success.
"I wish I could, but I can't."
Which brought him back to George Lamb. "Does Lamb ever come to these functions?"
"Rarely. But I had my hopes for tonight's."
"I gather it's the social event of the season."
"You, my dear captain, learn fast. The Glenweils' ball is the one no one wishes to miss. In fact, this is the first time the regent himself has not attended."
"And we know why."
"The poor man," she said in a forlorn voice. "I would imagine he's prostrate with curiosity over what we've learned. Do you think I should call on him?"
"Then he really would be prostrate."
"I suppose you're right."
He watched the Duke of York gliding across the room with the fetching comtesse, who wore a deep violet dress that was cut indecently low. For a man of his size, the duke was an exceptionally graceful dancer. "Why does Reginald St. Ryse never dance with Lady Carlton?" Jack asked.
"He can't very well dance with his lover when his wife's here!"
Jack stiffened. "It never occurred to me the man was married."
"It's the deucest thing. After all these years of b
eing Lady Carlton's lover and after she bore him two illegitimate children, he wanted to have legitimate children. So he married Lady Carlton's niece, the legitimate daughter of the old Duke of Devonshire."
"Bizarre."
Daphne threw her head back and laughed. "You are such an innocent!"
Innocent men did not murder their enemies as he had murdered Frenchmen who thwarted the English. Innocent men did not offer false flattery to lonely old princesses nor did they sleep with the enemy's mistress to learn their enemy's secrets. He frowned. "Then you don't know me as well as I credited."
Her step slowed and her eyes locked with his, her face suddenly drained of expression. "You are very respectable in matters of morals." Her voice softened. "Please, Jack, don't hate yourself for acts you've had to perform for crown and country."
How could she know what he'd never told anyone? In that instant he forgot that she was an earl's daughter. He forgot that when their work was finished they would never see each other again. He forgot they were in a room full of people.
And his head dipped to settle his lips on hers.
Chapter 18
No sooner did his lips touch hers than he stiffened and pulled away. Silence hung over them like an eerie fog until he cleared his throat a moment later. "Forgive me," he said softly, gentling the hand he rested at her waist.
Conflicting emotions tore through her. The blissful touch of his lips created a molten ache within her, and the knowledge that his feelings for her were stronger than his gentlemanly sensibilities sent her heart soaring. But she straddled a deep rift, Jack and her powerful attraction to him on one side, her family and society's rejection of him on the other. With an aching heart, she knew on which side she would have to plant her feet.
In the single instant he'd let slip his strong sense of decorum, she had learned something profound about Captain Jack Dryden: The affection he felt for her was not something feigned for her parents or the ton. It was real.
As real as the intimate way she and Jack had come to know each other. It was as if a lifetime of shared experiences had been packed into the last two weeks. She could scarcely credit that she had not always known him, that their deep affection had only recently been forged. To contemplate a future without him was more painful than anything she had ever endured.
