Hopefully Bella was as bored as he was and ready to depart.
“Ah! There you are, my boy,” The dowager Duchess declared, accepting the glass of punch he offered. “I trust you remember my grandson, Wallshire, Lady Carlisle?”
Lady Carlisle tilted her auburn head, extending a slender gloved hand. “A pleasure to meet you again, Your Grace.”
He drew her hand to his lips briefly. “Lady Carlisle.” Then, gently but firmly, he disentangled his fingers. Normally he was more than receptive to an eager widow, especially one as luscious as Lady Carlisle. But tonight he was too distracted to be tempted by her come-hither smile or her generous bosom spilling over the top of her emerald silk gown. His mind was on the manor. He was anxious to return to view the progress of his renovations and inspect the new stallion in his paddock.
“Well, I can see you’re as restless as a cat and ready to be gone.” A dimple winked at the corner of his grandmother’s mouth, the only physical trait he had inherited, but, lately had not had the occasion to flaunt. There had been precious little to smile about, thanks to Lord Galloway and his conniving chit of a daughter. The Dowager tilted her head and lifted one brow. “I suppose I should be grateful you agreed to come at all.”
“Anything for you, Bella,” he whispered the pet name he used for her in private against her ear.
“Excellent,” she teased, slipping her arm through his. “I shall hold you to it.”
He allowed a wisp of a smile to grace his ducal lips. He would always have an ally in Bella. Perhaps, because he was the spitting image of his grandfather. He too had been very tall, slightly over six foot, with raven black hair, and brandy colored eyes. Broodingly handsome, Bella had called him. He didn’t know about the handsome part, but he had certainly done a lot of brooding of late.
Fans fluttered in a succession of waves as Hunter and Bella threaded their way through the crowded ballroom to the entrance.
Bella chuckled softly as she clung to his arm. “It does my heart good to see all the hopeful young debutantes vying for even a glance from my grandson. Your absence has only served to increase their interest.”
“Yes,” Hunter couldn’t control the dryness in his tone, “That must be why Lady Patterson herded her daughters in the opposite direction when she saw me coming.”
“Lady Patterson is a bird-witted fuss.” Bella didn’t attempt to disguise her disgust. “You can’t expect her to hold up under that unapproachable look of yours. That cocky swagger you’ve acquired doesn’t help either. You frighten her half to death.”
His heart clutched that Bella thought him such an arrogant sod, but now wasn’t the time to open old wounds. “I’m sure you’ll have me navigating straight before the season is out,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze.
“You don’t need my help.” Bella gave a merry laugh. “There are plenty of willing matrons lusting after your title for their daughters and eager to help.”
“It seems I’ve come full circle then,” he said dryly.
Bella’s tone softened as she tilted her head toward his. “It’s time you put that behind you, my boy.”
He managed to smile, despite the bitter resentment twisting in his gut. He thought he had put it behind him, but tonight had brought it all back, gushing old pain to the surface again. Everything Galloway had done seemed fresh and raw, like a kick in the teeth. Seeing Galloway tonight had reopened the wound, making Hunter feel a fool all over again. A slow burning anger and a profound sense of injustice built in his chest, remembering Galloway’s unwarranted attack on his character.
“Phelia is married now,” Bella reminded him gently. “Her life has moved on and so must yours. The important thing is that you’ve learned from your experience.”
Oh he’d learned alright—learned to beware of cunning, devious women. Phelia Galloway was a slut. She’d spread her legs for half the soldiers in Plymouth before he’d ever laid a hand on her. Of course, he hadn’t known that at the time, only that she sure as hell wasn’t a virgin when he touched her. No innocent would return his kiss the way she had that night in the garden. When Lord Galloway had suddenly appeared and accused him of compromising his daughter, he’d been stunned.
He had turned round to find her bodice torn, her glossy auburn curls falling around her bare shoulders, and her body shaking with pitiful sobs.
He was trapped.
He’d never forget the look of betrayal in his own father’s eyes. At the time it had felt like a blunt knife twisting in his heart. After that, their relationship had never been the same.
But that was a long time ago. Bella was right. It was time to put it behind him.
After collecting Bella’s carmine cloak, they bid a gracious farewell to their hostess then stepped out into the moonless night to locate their coach. The ducal crest was easily recognizable in the line of vehicles awaiting departing guests.
As Hunter steered Bella forward, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a silvery blonde head. He stiffened, then watched amazed as his dandified neighbor, Lord Hamilton, stepped into the carriage behind her.
She was the one.
She had to be!
He wasn’t mistaken.
She was the one he’d spotted fleeing his house. But, who was she to Hamilton? According to gossip, Hamilton favored actresses, but he would hardly bring his mistress to a function such as this.
Hunter’s immediate reaction was to charge after them, until he remembered Bella. He couldn’t very well leave her standing alone on the street. He closed his eyes and muttered an oath. What wretched, bloody luck!
Bella sent forth a squeal of protest. “I’ll have you know my arms are attached to the rest of my body.”
“Forgive me, Bella.” Hunter hadn’t realized he’d quickened his pace and was fairly dragging her down the walkway.
“Whatever is the trouble?” She craned her neck, peering up at him. “You look angry enough to spit, and, if I’m not mistaken, a little white around the gills.”
“It’s nothing… nothing.” He handed her up into the couch. “I have a lot on my mind with so many repairs underway at the manor.” Hunter tucked the rug snugly around Bella’s diminutive form then swung in beside her. “I think you should come with me tomorrow. The sea air would do you good.”
Bella patted her white head, pressing the pearl studded comb deeper into her chignon. “I’m as healthy as a horse. Now hand me that flask.” She lifted a brow. “Don’t look at me like that. I know you have one. It’s a devilishly cool night, and my blood needs warming.”
Hunter reached inside his blue, satin waistcoat. “I think I’ll have some first. Knowing your love of drink, there won’t be any left when you get through.”
She gave a loud snort. “Impertinent rascal!”
“I believe I deserve a chuckle or two at your expense after what you’ve just put me through.” He hated these boring elaborate functions. He would much prefer to be sailing a ship or riding hell bent down a sandy beach in his buckskins without his jacket and this damn cravat strangling him senseless.
Bella shook her head, but her eyes twinkled as she tipped the flask to her lips. “Yes, that was lovely, just what I needed.” She handed him back the flask of brandy, then settled back on the padded leather seat. “Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy yourself. I can see you love playing the mysterious rogue.”
Hunter couldn’t help but smile at her blunt observation. If Bella was anything, she was forthright. “It has its advantages.”
“If you do charge off to the coast, I shall expect you back in time to escort me to the Carbery’s ball. It’s the last time I’ll get to see you before I leave for Italy. That gives you a fortnight to play the heathen, riding and hunting, or whatever it is you do there. I have no idea. I much prefer the warmth of the Mediterranean to the damp English countryside.”
Hunter didn’t need reminding of Bella’s preference for the continent. He was well versed in her love for her mother country, having listened to many stories over the y
ears of her youth spent tromping through her father’s vineyards. Though Hunter enjoyed his visits to her ancestral home, where he frequently did business with his Uncle Antonio, he preferred a gayer, more liberal society. Vienna and Paris were more in keeping with his tastes.
But neither could compare with the rugged beauty of the southwestern shores of England where he had spent his childhood. Wallshire Manor was the place he called home. After two years in the navy and another two privateering, he was content to be on dry land once again. The war with America had toughened him and given him an opportunity to vent his spleen, and the war with France had made him astoundingly rich. But peace had put an end to the fighting and his interests had turned to trade.
He spent all of his energies building his shipping business, never missing an opportunity to turn a profit. Still, when he lay in bed at night alone, the past returned to haunt him.
He’d had almost a year to come to terms with his father’s death, yet felt no closure. When he joined the navy, his father was exceedingly proud of him, though he’d grumbled long and hard about risking his only heir in battle. ‘It just isn’t done!’ He’d railed. But Hunter had been adamant.
He didn’t give a damn about his reputation. He knew who he was. But he had to protect his father. Even if his father hadn’t initially believed him, he had to protect him.
His father apologized and tried to make amends, but at the time Hunter was too angry and too crushed to listen. When he finally forgave his father, they were an ocean apart. His father died before their reconciliation was complete.
Returning to Wallshire manner was like a balm to Hunter’s soul. It made him seethe with anger to discover two intruders upon his arrival, destroying the sense of security he sought. Galloway was certainly behind it. There was only one thing he could be looking for.
Or, so he thought. Until he’d gone on the attack, charging after them with blood in his eye. It wasn’t until he’d caught a glimpse of the one he’d tailed round a bend in the road that he realized he was chasing a woman. Not that it mattered. He’d learned four years ago how vicious and calculating women could be. He trusted none, save Bella.
But, he was determined to find out who the rider was, and what she was doing there—better yet who she’d been with. He was certain the other trespasser had been a young man. Unfortunately, by the time Hunter had reached the study window all he could see was the top of two heads, one golden, one silvery blonde—an unusual color. It shouldn’t be difficult to discover who she was.
Lord Hamilton had obviously lied to protect the little chit. Whether relative, or friend, she was clearly under his protection. When Hunter caught up with her, he intended to find out what she was doing in his study—wring the bloody truth out of her if he had to.
***
The Carbery’s annual ball in Grosvenor Square was one of the largest events of the season. All of society seemed to be crammed under their glittering chandeliers. It was rumored the Prince himself might show his royal jowls.
Kay’s dance card was full before she stepped out onto the pink marble floor for her first waltz. As Lord Herrington, whirled her passed the neoclassical columns round the edge of the dance floor, Kay thought she caught sight of Charlie’s sister, Phelia. She couldn’t help wondering if the Duke was here as well.
She couldn’t pry a word out of Charlie, but according to
Uncle Fabian, Phelia was at the root of the scandal surrounding the Duke. In
truth, she was the scandal. It seemed the two were caught in some compromising situation, ending in a hasty marriage for Phelia and a commission in the navy for the Duke.
Kay quivered to think what had transpired to cause their families to take
such drastic measures. If the Duke of Wallshire had taken liberties with Phelia, why hadn’t he done the honorable thing? It seemed she was dealing with a more ruthless character than first imagined. If he’d abuse a young maiden, and heartlessly thrust her aside, what might he do to a thief?
A shiver rippled up Kay’s spine.
But there wasn’t much she could do, save keep her eyes and ears open—make certain she didn’t run into him. No easy feat, since she had no idea what he looked like.
“I hope you’ll allow me to call on you, Lady Katherine,” Lord Herrington said, bringing her attention back to the present. He was the most zealous of her suitors, having left his card at least a dozen times at their house in St. James since she’d arrived in London. He had even withstood the twins’ rigorous screening.
But there was something about him. It was difficult to put her finger on, except his persistence seemed disquieting. Though he was darkly handsome, charming, and a wonderful dancer, his friendship with Phelia made Kay wary.
But she managed to smile, answering in a non-committal tone, “I should like that.”
“I hope this won’t sound too presumptuous.” He leaned closer assailing her with his stale breath, “But I feel very comfortable in your company.”
The flush of pleasure on his face made her insides squirm. “How very kind.” And inappropriate.
“You remind me so much of my sister.”
“Do I?” Kay blinked up at him with what she hoped was a bland expression. “How sweet.” His sister? She’d suffered some strange conversations on the dance floor, but this was certainly the oddest to date. Luckily the dance ended and she was spared any further awkward disclosures.
She danced two quadrilles, a lancer, and a gallop after that, all with different partners. By the time her last partner returned her to Fabian, she was quite out of breath and ready for a rest.
“I think I’ll slip out to the garden for a little puff.” Fabian tilted his golden head close to her ear. I trust you’ll be safe in the care of Lady Marjorie and Lady Vivian?”
“Of course.” Kay leaned on his arm to place a quick kiss against his cheek.
Then turned to her friend, Vivian. “I think he’s just hiding from Eliza, Vive, what do you think?” Eliza Fox, a young debutante, never missed an opportunity to bat her gooey brown eyes at Fabian whenever he passed. You could almost see Fabian shiver at the attention, and not with pleasure.
“Mind your manners,” Fabian told her with mock sternness, giving her the evil eye down the length of his aquiline nose. An exaggerated wink belayed any attempt at serious parenting before he strode off into the crowd.
“You are the luckiest girl alive.” Vivian rolled her expressive brown eyes and waved her fan furiously, stirring her mahogany curls as though she had the vapors. “I should love to have two handsome uncles as my guardians.”
Kay smiled. Meeting Vivian at a spa in Bath was another of her blessings. Both poised for their coming out the following season, they had much in common. They were as close as two bodies could be. Kay felt comfortable confiding anything in Vivian, as she did now. “Well, don’t go falling in love with either of them. They’re confirmed bachelors.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Vivian’s eyes twinkled. They’re only ten years our senior, surely there’s hope.”
“Perhaps for Uncle Fabian, but not Uncle Fergus. He’s as crusty as they come and set in his ways, and if I’m not mistaken, prefers the company of men over women.” Kay let out a small chuckle of laughter. “Uncle Fabian, on the other hand, prefers a great number of women.” She plucked two glasses of champagne from one of the passing liveried waiters and handed one to Vivian.
Vivian stole a covert glance toward Lady Marjorie, who sat visiting with her
cronies, before looking disappointedly at the glass in her hand. “Mother doesn’t approve of champagne.”
Kay wiggled her brows suggestively. “Then we shall have to drink it elsewhere.”
“Yes, we shall.”
The two linked arms and headed for the balcony.
“What about your Uncle Fabian?” Vivian gasped, out of breath trying to keep up. “Won’t he wonder where we’ve gone?”
“I’m sure he’s already at the card tables, engrossed in a game o
f faro or whatever he’s winning at these days. He’s terribly lucky just now. It’s driving Uncle Fergus mad.”
“I thought he was off to the garden to blow a cloud?”
“Just an excuse. I saw him veer off before he reached the balcony, and if I’m not mistaken, was heading for the drawing room.”
Reaching the landing of the balcony, they nearly collided with Phelia and her husband Major Hughes. Phelia appeared as regal as a queen in a green mull gown adorned with silver tinsel embroidery, auburn hair swirled elegantly atop her head. A matching silk shawl lay draped about her arms, for show rather than warmth.
Her critical green gaze slid over the pair before lifting one pencil thin brow.
“Don’t they look lovely together,” she crooned. “I wish Charlie were here to give them a dance. You should partner them, my love. We can’t have our dear Lady Katherine labeled as a wallflower. It’s horrid enough she wasn’t able to make a match after her first season.”
Vivian pinked under Phelia’s patronizing tone. Kay could almost see the dander rising on the back of her neck. Vivian had quite a temper when provoked, and right now she was ruffling her tail feathers for a fight. “Kay was stricken with an awful bout of influenza last season, I’ll have you know.”
Kay’s tone turned calm and polite in extreme, having learned after years of
practice to ignore Phelia’s subtle yet cutting remarks. “Lady Vivian was kind enough to act as my nursemaid during my recovery. She’s very quick and adept with a chamber-pot.”
“I’m sure.” Phelia’s lips curled downward, her gaze sliding over Kay with bored superiority. “I don’t envy your battle in the marriage mart.” She turned back to Major Talbot. “She’s very pretty, don’t you think, such delicate features, but that hair color, hardly fashionable, and those aqua eyes, so strange. Not to mention having two men as chaperons.”
The major cleared his throat, lifting his index finger to smooth his glorious brown mustache. “Yes, well, I don’t know, I’m sure.”
Kay drew herself up to her full five foot, six inches. “On the contrary, I’ve found men make the best chaperons. You can never have too many.”
The Thief and the Rogue Page 2
