It was Leo’s turn to roll his eyes. “I won’t bother to ask how you can be so sure.”
Boscombe grinned. “You did tell me to keep a special watch on her, and she’s quite a pretty little thing when she bothers to smile, which ain’t often.”
“A watch, Boscombe, only a watch.”
“I’ll have you know I used my initiative.”
Leo didn’t want to know what else he’d used but had a feeling that Boscombe would give him chapter and verse anyway.
“Nice little pair of plums she’s got under that buttoned-up bodice and prim exterior. Ripe for the picking they were. Feels out of place, she does, what with everyone looking down on her mistress. I felt duty bound to make her feel better about herself.”
“Just so long as you didn’t leave her with any lasting memories.”
“‘Course not. I’m not that daft. I shot it all over her little plums.”
Leo couldn’t help smiling. Until a thought struck him and immediately wiped the smile from his face. He, it seemed, didn’t possess his servant’s good sense. Far from withdrawing, he’d ejaculated deep within his little Tethys without a thought for the consequences. How could he have been so stupid? He’d never forgotten himself like that before.
He needed to talk to her. To make sure…to make sure of what, precisely? There was nothing he could do about it now and she wouldn’t know for a while if he’d impregnated her. But he couldn’t just leave it. He had to make her understand that if it came to it, he wouldn’t shirk his responsibilities.
“Tonight’s the night,” he said, wrapping a towel round his waist. “The duchess is here and so is her tiara. Is everyone in place?”
“Aye, milord.”
“And they all know what to do?”
“‘Course!” Boscombe looked highly affronted.
“Just checking.” Leo grinned. “Seems to me you’ve been distracted, what with one thing and another.”
“Think I can’t jiggle a silly maid and still carry out my duties?”
“Jiggle? What a charming turn of phrase you do have. All right. Just make sure everyone remains vigilant.” He shot Boscombe a sideways glance. “Which means no more jiggling this night.”
“Aye, duty first, I suppose.”
“You suppose right.” Leo tied his neckcloth to his satisfaction and slipped his arms into the sleeves of his ebony evening coat, pulling it into place over his crimson silk waistcoat. “I don’t anticipate the theft will take place tonight. All the others have occurred on the day following the ball when everyone sleeps late and the house will be quiet. But even so—”
“Even so, I shall stay alert.”
“Good man.” Leo took a last look at his profile and turned towards the door. “I shall go down now. You know how to contact me if you need me.”
“Bit early, aren’t you?”
Leo was well aware of that but he wanted to be there when Julia’s impostor made her entrance. He needed, somehow, to make things right with her before the ball got underway.
As the guests congregated and Tethys didn’t make an appearance, he almost thought she wasn’t coming down. It was just a few minutes before the guests were due to take their seats, and couples were already making their way towards the extended dining room when a commotion made him look towards the stairs. She was descending slowly, head held high, an enigmatic smile playing about the lips he’d so thoroughly kissed just a few hours before. Conversations ceased and a few gasps were heard. Hardly surprising since his Tethys was wearing a daringly revealing gown quite unlike anything he’d seen before. She looked astoundingly beautiful. Already he could detect envious whispers being exchanged between some of the ladies.
When she finally reached the vestibule, there was a veritable stampede of men trying to reach her. Leo wasn’t amongst their number. But he was watching. Closely. As though sensing his eyes upon her, she looked in his direction. And quickly looked away again without acknowledging him. Leo sighed. He clearly wasn’t forgiven.
Lord Marshall claimed the right to take Julia into dinner. No one seemed to notice that it might be construed as an insult that he didn’t escort the duchess, who was squired by an elderly earl she was known to favour. Leo was equally relieved when he saw Gower offer his arm to Mrs. Nugent, flashing a grin over his shoulder at Leo as he did so. As happy as he could be about the seating arrangements, Leo had no complaint to make when Sarah Ainsworth materialised at his side.
“Shall we?” He proffered his arm.
“Most certainly.”
Leo glanced at his one-time paramour’s midnight-blue ball gown, her full breasts spilling out of the bodice in a fashion he would once have considered enticing. “Very becoming.”
“Bah!” She flapped a hand. “I thought so too until Lady Dupont upstaged us all with that glorious creation. Only she can carry it off.”
“You’ll still give her healthy competition.”
“That’s as may be. All I know is that the gentlemen will dig deep into their pockets for once in order to win a waltz with her in that dress. I dare say she’ll raise fifty guineas or more.”
“You make her sound like a horse.”
Sarah smiled. “Do I? It wasn’t my intention. It’s clever of our host to escort her in, don’t you think?” Leo did think, especially since he’d had the foresight to arrange it. “It will make all the others that much more desperate for a share of her later. Shall you be amongst the bidders?”
“Probably not.”
“Not up to the competition, eh?” She shot him an amused sideways glance. “Anyway, I shall ask her for the name of her modiste. If I can get anywhere near her, that is.”
“She’ll probably enjoy sharing that information with you. Ladies take such pleasure in talking about fashion.”
“Do stop being so polite, Leo.” She flapped a hand beneath his nose. “There’s nothing worse than a former lover treating one with respect.”
Leo laughed. “Then what would you have me say to you?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Something salacious and quite wicked. There hasn’t been nearly enough wickedness at this party. Well, if there has, I know nothing of it. I feel positively ancient, being excluded from all the sinful behaviour.”
“The party isn’t over yet.”
“True. And in that gown, Lady Dupont’s only asking for trouble, so there should be ample scandal to keep the tabbies’ tongues exercised.”
Leo quirked a brow. “It’s not like you to be so catty, Sarah. I thought you left that sort of behaviour to the women who have no other weapons to fight back with.” He glanced at her breasts. “It seems to me you’re still well-endowed with the necessary weaponry.”
“Talking of which,” she said, seating herself at the chair he was holding for her and taking her time to arrange her skirts, affording him an even closer view of her décolletage, “how is your particular weapon? Not rusting through lack of use, I feel assured.”
Leo barked a laugh, drawing the attention of several of their fellow diners. Sarah was never one to mince her words. If he couldn’t sit anywhere near his little impostor, then dining with Sarah would be an enjoyable alternative. “In perfect working order, I thank you.”
“That’s what I feared,” she said, pouting. “I knew it the moment I looked at you.”
“I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about, Sarah.”
“Fiddlesticks! You know perfectly well. You have the smug look about you. The one all men acquire when they’ve just dipped their wicks.” She smiled at him. “Come on then, Leo, who is she?”
“You’re quite mistaken.”
“Oh very well then, have it your way.” She grinned. “You always were one to play your cards close to your chest. An admirable trait but disastrous when it comes to keeping the rumour mill greased. Attract that footman, Leo, and have him pour me some more wine, will you. If you won’t flirt with me, or reveal the identity of your latest bedfellow, then I might as well get intoxicated.”
“And miss all the scandalous activities?”
“Perhaps, with a little Dutch courage to fortify me, I shall create some scandals of my own. I’m not quite in my dotage yet.”
Leo offered her an indolent smile, half his attention on the non-Julia seated on Lord Marshall’s right-hand side. “So I observe.”
“That tiara of the duchess’s is quite hideous. All those vulgar diamonds. And it must weigh a ton. Shouldn’t be surprised if she develops a permanent crick in her neck.”
“It’s reputed to be worth a fortune.”
“Even so, it does little for her.”
“Your daughter seems to be getting along well with Mrs. Nugent’s boy.”
“Oh, don’t say that and ruin my evening. The wretched child has developed a tendre for him, and I can’t possibly let her marry the son of a Cit.”
Leo laughed. “Sarah, you are the world’s biggest snob.”
“I know, darling. Isn’t it glorious!”
* * *
Katrina focused on what Lord Marshall was saying to her, trying to formulate a witty riposte. The strain was already giving her a headache. She ought to have been flattered by the reception she received when making her entrance. Instead she was seething at the way Celia had manipulated her. Again. Katrina had made it clear that she didn’t want to be late and draw unnecessary attention to herself. Celia assured her that she wouldn’t be. None of the ladies arrived at these affairs until the last minute. If she was too early, all the gentlemen would accost her. The mere thought of Leo Kincade getting anywhere near after the shameless manner in which she’d treated him was enough to make her heed her maid’s advice.
But once again Celia had played her false. Katrina had wanted the ground to open up and swallow her whole when she glanced down the stairs and saw everyone gathered there already. All heads seemed to turn in her direction, the ladies gasping, pointing at her and whispering behind their fans. She’d reminded herself that she was supposed to be Julia. Her friend courted attention and she could do this by pretending to be her.
Realising that her gown was a resounding success had at least given her heart. Ladies would be begging her for the direction of her modiste, provided she didn’t get unmasked as an impostor before the end of the night, which was very likely. Still, she must cling to the possibility of gaining some custom from this farrago.
She was aware—far too aware—of Leo Kincade watching her through eyes gleaming with unsettling intelligence. He lifted a hand in acknowledgement but she quickly turned her head, pretending not to notice. She was no longer angry with him. Her ire was now directed at herself for handling the entire situation so badly. Acute embarrassment prevented her from holding his gaze. Why hadn’t she opened up to him and accepted his offer of help? Only now when it was too late did she realise that if she was to stand any chance of surviving this night, then she would most certainly need it.
Here she was, agonising over her treatment of Leo when he’d clearly put her out of his mind. He was seated halfway down the table with Sarah Ainsworth. The two of them were laughing together with an intimacy that could only mean one thing. He’d already moved on to his next victim. She was on her own. He looked up and caught her watching him. Furious when she felt herself blushing, Katrina turned to the man seated on her other side and, with a dazzling smile, enquired after his family.
The meal came to an end and the rest of the guests assembled for the ball. Katrina was mobbed, every dance except the blasted auction waltz quickly spoken for. She didn’t care who she danced with, as long as it wasn’t Leo or Lord Gower, neither of whom had petitioned her hand. She ensured that she was never alone and couldn’t be coaxed out onto the terrace or to sit in a quiet anteroom to recover her breath. If she stayed in a crowd she was safe. Safe from Gower. Safe from Leo Kincade.
Safe from anything Amos might have planned for her.
The supper break came and went. She couldn’t have said afterwards whom she sat with or what subjects were discussed. She did recall giving her direction to a number of ladies keen to consult Julia’s modiste, too distraught to be relieved that they weren’t deterred by her humble address.
At Lord Marshall’s direction she took a seat at the side of the stage, shaking with nerves. She was barely conscious of the other lots being knocked down, of the raucous laughter and general air of carnival about the proceedings. Leo had yet to address a single word to her that evening and she was now thoroughly out of charity with him. She’d been unpardonably rude to him, that much she understood. But surely he realised the strain she was under. She glanced around, seeking his broad shoulders amongst the throng. She located him almost at once, even though she told herself she hadn’t consciously been keeping track of his movements. Liar, said the tiny voice of her conscience. She ignored it, just as she’d learned to ignore so many other things during this endless week. Needless to say he was deep in conversation with a lady, laughing at something she said, taking no interest in Katrina whatsoever.
Katrina straightened her shoulders and rose as Lord Marshall offered her his arm and invited her to join him on the podium. Damn Leo Kincade! She would get through this thing without even thinking about him. She didn’t need his help.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen,” Lord Marshall said to an instantly hushed room. “The highlight of our auction and the moment you’ve all been waiting for. The opportunity to share a waltz with the charming Marchioness of Lanarkshire. Er, with her husband’s prior knowledge and consent, naturally.”
Riotous laughter and loud cheers. Katrina ignored the colour that she felt creeping up her cheeks and smiled until her face ached.
“One at a time please, gentlemen. No unseemly fighting over this fair prize. Who’ll start the bidding?”
“Twenty guineas,” shouted a small man with bug eyes.
“My dear Lady Dupont.” Lord Marshall’s expression was scandalised. “Pray, don’t take offence. I feel sure the gentleman meant none in bidding so insultingly low.”
Katrina broadened her smile.
“Fifty,” shouted someone else.
“Come, come, gentlemen, I couldn’t possibly recommend to Lady Dupont that she grace the floor for such a paltry sum.” He spread his hands. “After all, I have her husband to answer to.”
“Seventy-five.”
“The lady is a fine exponent of the waltz. I’ve seen her myself and give you my guarantee.”
Katrina felt sick.
“One hundred.”
She was stunned out of her misery. That was a huge sum of money, even amongst these wealthy denizens.
“Remember that the funds are going to a worthy cause.”
The bids rose to an astonishing level. Katrina didn’t recognise any of the gentlemen making them, nor did she wish to. The moment had arrived when she would be recognised as a fraud, incapable of dancing a single step. It didn’t matter which of these men exposed her.
“Two hundred guineas!”
There was a collective gasp, part of which Katrina herself was responsible for. The bidder was Lord Gower, standing at the front of the crowd now, viewing her with an expression of naked avarice.
“Thank you, Lord Gower. At last someone shows true appreciation for the prize on offer.”
Katrina knew where Leo was standing but had stubbornly refused to look in his direction. Her eyes instinctively flew towards him now. If he cared to look he would doubtless see the terror in those eyes. He showed no reaction to Lord Gower’s bid and took his own sweet time glancing her way. And holding her gaze for a fraction of a second, as though considering.
For a moment she allowed hope to flare but he didn’t make a bid and it was as quickly extinguished.
“Are there any more, gentlemen?”
Absolute silence.
“Well in that case. Going once, going twice—”
“Five hundred guineas!”
This time the gasp became a roar and all heads turned to see who’d pledged such a massive sum. Katrina
almost fainted with relief when Leo sauntered across the room, a half smile playing about his lips. Sarah Ainsworth grasped his sleeve and whispered something to him but he didn’t acknowledge her. His eyes were glued to Katrina’s face instead.
“She’s all yours,” Lord Gower said to Leo, shaking his head at Lord Marshall. “Hope she’s worth it,” he added in an undertone.
Katrina’s legs almost buckled beneath her when Leo took her hand, helped her down from the podium and led her onto the dance floor. It was already ringed several people deep with spectators wishing to see what Leo got for his money. Katrina suppressed a grimace. They were about to be sorely disappointed.
“Thank you,” she said to Leo as soon as she could find her voice.
“You’re welcome.”
“I didn’t deserve your intervention, not after—”
“Shush!”
“You didn’t need to bid so much. I can never afford to pay you back.”
“I don’t expect you to.”
“Then why?”
“There you have me.” He lifted his shoulders. “I wish I knew.”
The musicians, caught up in the drama of the auction, finally reorganised themselves and struck up the opening stanza of a waltz so famous that even Katrina recognised it. She gulped. Her mouth was dry, her hand shaking as Leo swept her into his arms and took it in a firm hold. The crowd applauded. The time had come.
“Left foot backwards,” he whispered in her ear.
“I know.”
He tilted his head and regarded her, amusement in his expression. “Do you?”
God’s beard, he seemed to know that she couldn’t dance. Did anything escape his notice? “Let’s hope it’s possible to fool all these people,” she said, giving up the pretence.
“Oh, I’m sure we’ll manage.”
“I wish I shared your optimism.”
“Have faith, Tethys.”
“Hush, I’m counting.”
The Perfect Impostor Page 20
