by Allison Lane
* * * *
Charles remounted his horse, castigating himself for interfering. Yet what else could he have done? He hated men who forced unwilling women.
Russell would pay, he vowed as he trotted up the drive. For the attack. For abandoning honor. But especially for reminding Charles of the day he’d found his sister’s governess broken and bleeding after a brutal rape. She’d died that night. He’d been barely ten.
At least this time he’d arrived before anyone was hurt. But why the devil did the victim have to be the annoying Miss Knolton, bane of his existence?
Oh, he’d known that she worked at Russell House. That was why he’d originally declined the invitation to this house party. But Castlereagh had ordered him to attend. Baron Schechler was another guest. Since Merrimont had failed to wrap up a trade agreement with the Prussian, the Foreign Secretary had sent Charles to deal with the matter.
He would have welcomed the assignment if it had taken him anywhere else, for it gave him an excuse to skip his family’s Christmas gathering. They would present him with a bevy of suitable young ladies, but he wasn’t ready to reconsider marriage. Six months ago Emily had jilted him practically at the altar. Not until he figured out how he’d misjudged her so badly would he try again – though he could hardly explain his reluctance to others; no one must suspect that Lord Charles Beaumont’s judgment was faulty.
But it was.
His spirits plummeted, for the problem could so easily destroy his career. He’d battled Schechler for years. The man was an uncompromising ass at the best of times, but Charles had previously held his own in their discussions. Or so he’d thought. Now he had to wonder. No one who missed fundamental truths could negotiate even a simple contract. Had Schechler taken advantage of his incompetence all this time? Would the wool fall from Castlereagh’s eyes, revealing how incapable Charles really was?
Drawing a deep breath to settle his nerves, he passed between the columns of Russell House’s massive portico and plied the knocker on the front door.
— 2 —
That evening Edith retreated to a corner of the ballroom, hoping to escape further notice. Three men had already complimented the ribbon around her neck. Had Charles meant to draw attention to her?
Yet his suggestion had been sound. Bruises decorated her throat. Even the high-necked evening gown that marked her as an employee didn’t cover them completely. But she wondered at the experience that could both recognize her problem and devise a remedy suited to her means and position.
Her eyes sought him out before she could stop them. He was murmuring into Lady Cavendish’s ear, his words bringing a blush to the lady’s aging cheeks. Edith could only pray she did not figure in his conversation.
She’d avoided him since coming down to dinner, an easy task since she always knew where he was. The air in his vicinity pulsed with energy, and people seemed more vibrant when he was nearby.
Pulling her eyes from the emerald winking in his cravat, she concentrated on her job. It had been Diana who had suggested informal dancing this evening – several neighbors had joined the party for dinner, so there was a sizable crowd. But the last-minute change of plans raised Edith’s suspicions, for it had been Diana who had originally planned an evening of cards and the games at which she excelled.
The girl was clearly up to something. She was avoiding Edith, deliberately separating from each dance partner on the opposite side of the room – which kept her close to Charles. People were beginning to notice. Not that Diana was flirting with him, but—
A footman dropped a tray in a crash of glassware, drawing all eyes. As Miss Parkes fled the scene, Edith whipped her gaze back to Diana in time to see the girl slip outside with Jessup.
Damnation! Miss Parkes was Diana’s closest friend, so this was no accident. Diana must have asked her to create a diversion so she could leave unnoticed.
Edith glanced wildly around, wondering how to follow without drawing attention to Diana’s misbehavior.
“What’s wrong?” murmured a voice in her ear.
Edith sighed in relief. The Earl of Hawthorne might be one of the Beaux, but he claimed to owe her a favor. “Miss Russell slipped outside. Can you fetch her back?” He had recently made a love match, so Diana’s reputation would be safe. No one would suspect him of trifling with her.
He smiled. “Miss Russell’s betrothal removes many restrictions on her behavior. A turn on the terrace does no harm.”
“If that was all…”
“What do you fear?”
She couldn’t explain while they might be overheard, so she led him to the hall. “Miss Russell has become almost fey, flirting and carrying on until people are whispering about it. Mr. Jessup is encouraging her. He followed her outside.”
“Does she disapprove this match, then?” He frowned.
“I don’t believe so. She was in alt about her betrothal, and I honestly think she cares for Mr. Merrimont. But she is young and foolish – and accustomed to constant adoration.”
“Ah.” Hawthorne smiled. “My ward had the same problem. But Merrimont is not a man to fawn.”
“No. Nor should he. I believe he cares for Miss Russell, but he won’t spout nonsense or turn his back on duty when she demands attention.”
“So she’s trying to bring him to heel?”
“I fear so, and the excitement she derives from clandestine meetings doesn’t help. Her determination and Merrimont’s stubborn pride are a dangerous combination – especially now. I can no longer trust Mr. Jessup. His eyes hold a desperation I neither understand nor like. I doubt he will stop with flirtation this time.”
* * * *
Hawthorne nodded as her analysis increased his already high regard for her. He could rescue Miss Russell easily enough. Jessup would never dare counter the Beaux, who were known to punish those who crossed them. Men knew that one word from a Beau was the only warning they would get.
Normally, he wouldn’t care a fig about Miss Russell’s conceits – or about Merrimont, who was a stiff-necked prig with more pride than sense. But he owed Miss Knolton a favor for preventing his ward from causing a scandal last Season.
Yet rescuing Miss Russell from folly would not solve Miss Knolton’s problems for long. Her next charge might be worse than Miss Russell. Or the one after that. What she really needed was a husband.
Charles would be perfect.
Hawthorne had vowed to find wives for both of his friends – payback for an incident last spring. He’d succeeded with Richard Hughes, but Charles was proving to be a challenge. Miss Knolton could meet that challenge, for there was something about her … something beyond the beauty she tried so hard to hide.
“You are right to be concerned,” he said. “I will see that no harm comes to her tonight, but I am not staying at Russell House.”
“I can manage.”
“Not alone.” He flashed the smile that had brought countless women to his bed before his marriage. “Charles will lend a hand until the wedding.”
She paled. “That won’t be necessary, my lord. And he will be too busy, in any case.”
“I hardly—”
“I appreciate the thought” –she actually interrupted him– “but he will never agree. He despises me.”
Charles despise a female? Impossible. Yet now that he thought on it, there was some truth to her claim. He couldn’t recall a single moment when the pair had kept less than the entire width of a room between them. Such extreme separation could not be coincidence, for both mingled freely with the crowd.
Something must have happened after he’d left town last Season. Something Charles had not shared with his friends. And if it was still affecting him…
“You wrong him, Miss Knolton. He is perfect for the job. Your problem goes beyond tonight’s escapade. I can see that you fear this betrothal might collapse. Charles works with Merrimont and can discover his thoughts. And if Miss Russell threatens scandal, Charles’s diplomatic skills and family ties will be usefu
l. His father is the very powerful Marquess of Inslip, you might recall.”
Giving her no chance for further protest, he slipped away.
* * * *
Charles relaxed the moment Miss Knolton left the ballroom. Perhaps he would survive the evening without another embarrassing confrontation after all. How so clumsy a lack-wit held a responsible position was a mystery.
He made sure that Russell didn’t follow her, then put her out of his mind. It was time for another try at the baron.
Their afternoon meeting had been less than auspicious. Schechler was as intransigent as ever, and Charles had been loath to push too hard lest he reveal his shortcomings by demonstrating an insufficient grasp of the situation. But perhaps these agreeable surroundings would make Schechler more amenable – or the quantity of wine the man had consumed at dinner. Charles had limited his own intake so he would be sharp if he managed to corner the Prussian.
Braying laughter drew his gaze to the punch bowl where Schechler was entertaining several ladies. As Charles watched, Schechler threw himself into his tale, broadening the gestures meant to clarify his heavily accented words – or so it might appear to innocent eyes.
But Charles was no greenling. He could have written the script himself, so it was no surprise when the contents of Schechler’s glass spilled across Lady Frobisher’s bosom.
Horrified, the baron burst into apologies, producing a wholly inadequate handkerchief to daub the drips from her flesh before rushing her away, ostensibly in search of her maid. Charles would wager anything the search would end in the baron’s bedchamber.
He shook his head, wondering if he could use the incident to pry a few concessions from the man. Lord Frobisher was hot-tempered and very protective of his property. If Charles could confirm the baron’s liaison—
“Don’t frown in public.”
Charles flinched, then cursed himself for betraying surprise. “Jacob! Why the devil are you sneaking about?”
“Sneaking? In a room packed with a hundred people?” Hawthorne grinned.
“Yes. Well…” Charles shrugged.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect you were planning a tryst. What is it this time? Negotiations going badly?”
“Schechler’s an ass.”
“That’s hardly news. You’ve known that for five years.”
“Handling him doesn’t grow easier. But if I can verify that he and Lady Frobisher—”
“He isn’t that stupid.”
“I would have agreed if I hadn’t watched him pour wine down her bodice.”
“Really?” Hawthorne’s eyes suddenly gleamed. “That does bear checking – but not by you,” he added as Charles turned to leave.
“You?”
“Hardly. We need to talk, and you can’t be caught prying.” A gesture brought his wife to his side.
“Charles!” she exclaimed, offering her hand. “We’ve had no chance to speak this evening. You look well.”
“As do you. Quite ravishing, in fact.” He wondered if it was marriage that made her glow, or her advanced pregnancy. Probably both. And he was happy for her. She hadn’t looked nearly this content when she’d accepted his proposal – which should have warned him that offering for her was a huge mistake. Jilting him to wed Hawthorne had been right for all of them – the two were wildly in love – but it had tossed them into a storm of gossip.
She laughed. “Don’t look so appalled, Charles. You needn’t fret. I shan’t deliver for weeks yet, and I’m not carrying twins. The midwife insists that all Hawthorne heirs are large.” She exchanged a glance with her husband that nearly set the room ablaze.
Charles thanked Providence that they’d discovered the truth before he’d married her, then raised a brow at Jacob. “Where is Richard? I’d expected him tonight.”
“We were to drive over together, but one of their tenant cottages caught fire. He tried to send Georgiana anyway, but she insisted on helping.”
No surprise there. Richard’s wife was never content to play while others worked. Charles wasn’t used to having his fellow Beaux married, though. Or to their staying in the country. London wasn’t the same without them.
“We’ll get together before you return to town.” Jacob murmured something to his wife, who immediately left. “She’ll discover the present occupation of your baron. Which means you are free to do me a favor.”
“Anything.”
Jacob smiled as he stepped into an empty alcove. “Since I knew I could count on you, I already promised the lady you would help.”
Alarms jangled in his mind. “Lady?”
“Miss Knolton. She—”
“No.”
“You haven’t heard me out.”
“No. The woman is a menace. I want nothing to do with her.”
Jacob’s eyes gleamed. “I wasn’t aware that you were acquainted.”
“We’re not.”
“Then do me the courtesy of listening instead of jumping down my throat.” He rarely used that tone on his friends.
Charles snapped his mouth shut, cursing himself for losing control. He would still refuse, of course, but first, manners demanded that he endure the tale of the poor exploited Miss Knolton, who was being unjustly persecuted by the villainous Peter Russell. That it was true fanned his fury. But he had to stay away from her. She’d already made him the butt of gossip twice. He would be hard-pressed to maintain his dignity at the Foreign Office if it happened again.
“Miss Russell’s flirting is out of control,” said Jacob bluntly. “If something isn’t done, her antics could jeopardize the wedding.”
“Which is no more than she deserves,” growled Charles to cover his surprise.
“Probably. She is demanding attention, and Merrimont is ignoring her. They are both being ridiculous. If they don’t suit, they should say so. I don’t care what happens to their betrothal, but a scandal will hurt Miss Knolton. We can’t let their idiocy destroy innocents.”
“Are you sure Miss Knolton is innocent?” Inciting the girl to riot sounded more like her.
“Of course. Miss Knolton is the most levelheaded female I know, my wife excepted.”
“Levelheaded? She causes trouble wherever she goes.”
“You must have her confused with someone else.”
“Hardly.”
“What do you know about her?”
Charles shrugged. “Her baronet father died in debt. Her mother and sister now live in a cottage. Her brother perished in Spain – volunteered for the Forlorn Hope since he lacked the blunt to buy a commission.” He kept his voice light, as if everyone knew the story, though it had taken him several days to discover that much. And once he had, he’d wanted to kill Sir Richard for the trouble he’d caused his family. “A sad tale, but hardly unique.”
“Also incomplete. Her mother tries to support herself as a village dressmaker, but it is Miss Knolton who keeps a roof over the family’s head.”
“Which explains why people tolerate her incompetence. They feel sorry for her.”
“Are you blind?” demanded Jacob. “She’s worth every shilling she makes – and more.”
“A clumsy fool?”
“You are absurd.”
“Absurd! Who destroyed my best coat by smearing it with cream cakes in the middle of Lady Beatrice’s drawing room? Who gave me a concussion that kept me in bed for a week?” He snapped his mouth shut as laughter sparkled in Jacob’s eyes.
“O-ho… Sits the wind in that quarter, eh? Since I’ve never known you to hold a grudge, you must have a yen for the girl.”
“Absolutely not! She’s a menace, I tell you.”
“The gentleman doth protest too much, methinks. You’re in love with her.”
“Impossible. I don’t know her – and I don’t want to. I can’t risk another concussion when I’m involved in negotiations.”
“Keep repeating that, and perhaps you will come to believe it. In the meantime, you promised your help. Word of a Beau. I owe Miss Kn
olton a favor. Since I’m returning home tonight, I’m counting on you to help her. You know Merrimont well enough to do the job.”
Charles cursed. Refusing after he’d agreed would strain a friendship that dated back twenty years. And he had to admit that his animosity was entirely personal and possibly overdone. He’d never heard a word against her, and so few people knew about her family woes that she would hardly win so many positions through pity.
“Very well. What does she want?”
“Nothing. She thinks she can handle Miss Russell herself. But the girl is too determined for a single guardian to keep her in line, no matter how competent. Then there’s Jessup.”
“Jessup?”
“He’s behaving quite oddly. It isn’t done to toy with a friend’s betrothed.”
Which was why Charles had had to resort to subterfuge to make Jacob and Emily admit their love. He raised his brows.
“They slipped away a quarter hour ago. I found them in a heated embrace on the terrace. Since I don’t believe Jessup cares a fig for the girl, I put the fear of God into him – or at least fear of the Beaux – and vowed you would watch him closely. But I don’t know why he’s taking such risks. It takes a powerful motive to ignore both friendship and kinship. My ignorance bothers me.”
“And me. I’ll look into it. And speaking of the Beaux, I told Russell that you would watch him. I caught him attacking an unwilling female this afternoon.”
“Who?”
Charles shook his head. If he was wrong about Miss Knolton’s character, he could not risk harming her. Jacob would never mention the incident, but the ballroom was too near. One whisper could doom her.
Jacob scowled. “I’ll deal with him. He’s young enough to settle.”
“I doubt he has the brains. It seems to be a family failing. How Merrimont can believe Miss Russell will suit, I don’t know.”
“Find out. If he’s decided she won’t and is trying to make her end it, you can help them avoid scandal.”
