by Regina Scott
Eric snorted. “Not much of a secret if even old Bixby knows about it.”
Bixby affixed him with a sharp blue glare. “Don’t disparage what you don’t understand, my lad. All of London may know that the Marquis of Hastings recruits the aristocracy into his service, but no one really knows who actually works for him, and under what circumstances. If Lord Borin is one of his, we should stop surveillance before we get caught.”
“Agreed,” Katherine replied. “It sounds as if we know enough about Lord Borin in any event. Besides, if his lordship is so desperate for entertainment that he would consider joining the war effort, we owe it to him to see him safely wed instead. I should not like to see him killed or wounded like Father and Sir Richard.”
They disbanded then, but, as she went about her other duties that morning, she couldn’t seem to remove from her mind the image of Lord Borin wounded. She had had more than enough experience with the wages of war. She didn’t remember much about her own father. As an officer under General Moore, he had been away fighting much of her life. He had been killed several years before Sir Richard had been wounded. She remembered far more about Jonathan Amory, the former Lord Templeman, who had been her stepfather. A gentle man with a kind heart and a keen sense of appreciation for the talents of others, he had made her feel as if she could accomplish anything. She had very nearly had to do just that to keep their family together since he and her mother had died.
And then there was Sir Richard. Unlike her father, he frequently managed to return to England. She remembered him visiting often as she was growing up. There was always a smile on his face and laughter in his eyes. He had never been too busy to take tea with her, to set her up in front of him on his fine mount, to make faces at her while she practiced her harp. How he had changed after his wound. She rarely saw a smile now. And he could barely find time to help Eric with his lessons, let alone assist her in managing their affairs. She could not let such a fate await Lord Borin.
Her plan rationalized, she waited for his arrival that afternoon. She had already determined how she would slip away before he left with Constance, forcing them to drive alone. Once Constance felt the full effect of his charm, she was sure, her stepsister would be lost. Lord Borin would be just as lost. She’d seen few men who could resist Constance’s dewy beauty, at least until Lord Templeman bullied them away.
“Psst, Miss Katherine,” Bixby hissed from the entry. “He just drove up.”
“And in a fine high-perch phaeton too,” Eric called, one eye to the narrow window beside the door. “Look at that pair of blacks! If Constance doesn’t want a ride, may I go?”
“You,” Katherine said firmly, pulling him back and giving him a hug, “are supposed to remain out of sight. Now scat and tell Constance to hurry.”
But Constance didn’t hurry, and Katherine was forced to receive the viscount alone while Bixby went to fetch the girl.
“I cannot think what could be keeping her,” Katherine assured him, noting with approval his immaculately tailored deep blue coat and lighter blue trousers. “Constance is usually so punctual.”
“Perhaps she decided a drive was not quite the thing today,” he replied with a winning smile that lightened the blue of his gaze. She felt an answering smile on her own lips and forced her mouth to firmness.
“Oh, no. Constance was greatly looking forward to this, my lord. I know she holds you in high esteem.”
“I am honored.” He leaned closer. “And you, Miss Collins? Do I hold a similar place in your esteem?”
“Why, why certainly.” She was stammering! She cleared her throat, leaning back from him. “That is, I see every reason to admire you, my lord.”
“Then I hope you will not doom me to drive alone, if your stepsister does indeed change her mind.”
“She will not change her mind,” Katherine promised, rising. He rose as well. “If you will excuse me, I shall see what I can do to bring her to you.”
She found Eric, Bixby, and Sir Richard in Constance’s room. Her stepsister was huddled in bed, the window curtains were drawn, and everyone conversed in whispers.
“What is this?” Katherine demanded from the doorway. The men quickly hushed her. Emma came up behind her with a loaded tray, and Katherine moved aside to let their housekeeper pass.
“Here, Miss Constance,” the older woman said helpfully. “Cucumber compresses and some nice chamomile tea.”
Bixby sidled up to Katherine. “Headache,” he explained. “Not much to be done, I’m afraid.”
Katherine found the timing impossible to believe. “Constance is not prone to female aches,” she reminded the butler though she kept her voice low. “What makes you think this is not a fabrication?”
From the bed, Constance moaned. To Katherine, it sounded just as theatrical as her agony on the stairs a few days ago. Sir Richard and the rest obviously thought otherwise, for they exchanged sympathetic looks.
Katherine marched up to the bed and glared down at her. “Constance Templeman, do you mean to tell me you will forego a drive with Lord Borin for a miserly headache?”
Constance peered up at her, eyes brimming with tears. “Oh, Katherine,” she said in an anguished whisper. “I want to go, believe me. I am utterly distraught to miss a chance to drive with his lordship.” A hand fluttered to her brow, dislodging the compress Emma was trying to place.
Katherine threw up her hands and stalked back to the withdrawing room.
She schooled her face to regret before entering. “I fear Constance has been taken ill,” she told Lord Borin, who had risen at the sight of her. “No doubt it will pass as quickly as Sir Richard’s ailment. But I fear she will not be able to accompany you today.”
“I quite understand. Shall I wait while you fetch your shawl?”
Katherine blinked. “Me? Oh, no, my lord, I cannot join you. I should see to my stepsister’s needs.”
“You were able to visit while Sir Richard was down,” he pointed out logically.
“Yes, well, but sometimes another woman …,” Katherine started, but his frown told her he didn’t believe her. “Do you truly wish for my company?”
His smile was so warm her heart danced in her chest. “You would honor me, Miss Collins.”
Telling herself she might as well do something to further their advantage, she went to fetch her bonnet and shawl.
She wasn’t sure what to expect, but she thoroughly enjoyed herself. She felt like a queen riding up so high in his carriage. The breeze teased her cheeks, and the sun was warm. It was rather flattering to watch heads turn as they passed.
And her companion was as charming as she’d known he’d be. She asked after his studies years ago, his exploits since, hoping to learn more. He did not brag, but neither was he nauseatingly humble about his abilities. In fact, she got the impression that he took his good fortune in stride. She could not help envying him that and told him so. He sobered immediately.
“I had not realized until recently the drawbacks to such an existence,” he replied as he drove the horses through the tree-lined paths of Hyde Park. “Tell me, Miss Collins, do you believe a gentleman is only worthwhile if he is willing to strive for a goal?”
She frowned in thought. “I would say that many gentlemen of my admittedly small acquaintance have no goal. They seem content to drift from one activity to another, always in search of something to interest them, to entertain them.”
He nodded. “That is exactly what I mean. Such an existence can be pleasurable, for a time, but I find it growing stale.”
Was he about to confess he would join the military? She felt her panic rising. “But surely with your fortune you could do a great deal of good,” she tried. “Charities, benefits, endowed trusts.”
He wrinkled his nose as if in disgust. “And let someone else manage it or have to stomach the tedious administration. Either way, my interests are hardly served.”
Was it excitement he craved then? She felt compelled to press him. “You would not do so
mething drastic, my lord. Renounce your title? Take holy orders? Join the cavalry?”
She relaxed as he barked out a laugh. “Good God, no! I may be an idealist, Miss Collins, but I am no martyr.” He sobered again. “Though perhaps it would be better if I were. I admit to having a deuce of a time keeping to my task.”
“What task is that?” she asked, curious.
“I confessed its nature to your uncle, but he seemed to want to handle the issue himself. Perhaps you should discuss the matter with him.”
You can be sure I shall, she thought. Aloud she said, “Very well, my lord. But if you will not divulge the task, will you at least share with me what keeps you from it? Perhaps I can help.”
“Ah, but I cannot find it in me to wish rescue,” he replied with a grin. “The distraction is the company of a charming young lady.”
She grinned back. “Yes, Constance is a marvel, isn’t she?”
He started laughing again. “You are the most humble female it has been my good fortune to meet. Will you not allow yourself to be praised?”
He meant her? She felt herself warming and stamped down the feelings with impatience. He could not want her. It would spoil everything. “Certainly I accept praise, when it is warranted. But do not attempt to tell me I am more beautiful or charming than my stepsister, my lord. I took you for an honest man.”
He shook his head, urging the horses through a knot of carriages. “I assure you, I am honest to a fault. However, if you wish to hear your stepsister praised, I will admit she is without peer.”
Now why didn’t that please her? For once she had managed to get him to focus on Constance. “Yes, she is,” she said firmly. “She is accomplished, sweet-natured, and good-hearted. She would make some fellow a marvelous wife.”
There, she could not have put it more plainly unless she proposed to the fellow on her stepsister’s behalf. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye and saw him nod his golden head sagely. She should be in alt, but all she felt was a distinct lowering of her spirits.
“So,” he said merrily, “we have discussed my activities and your stepsister’s worth. What of you, Miss Collins?”
“Me?” She tensed. Could he suspect? She prayed her voice did not betray the rapid beat of her heart. “What do you mean?”
“Surely such a lovely young lady must have a few pastimes. What do you do for entertainment?”
If you only knew. “I fear I am far too busy managing the household for idle pastimes, my lord,” she replied primly.
“Did not your stepsister say you play the harp?” he pressed.
She grimaced. “In truth, I once took great pleasure from it. Unfortunately, my mother was forced to sell my instrument when my father died. My stepfather bought me another, but it was in his townhouse. The new Lord Templeman has not found it convenient to have it returned.”
He frowned. “But I thought your stepfather died two years ago.”
“Three,” she replied and could not completely erase her bitterness. “But Lord Templeman is a very busy man. No doubt my instrument does not remain on his mind long.” She shook off the depression that threatened. “It matters little. I have my hands full with the household and tutoring Eric.”
“Your younger brother?” When she nodded, he continued. “He is not away at school?”
She heard the increased interest behind the tone. He must suspect Eric was the boy he had followed back to their home. “He will enter Eton fall term, we hope,” she told him carefully. With any luck, he would think that her hesitancy was caused by her brother’s abilities and not their financial state, which was actually the case. “Now he spends a great deal of time preparing.”
She managed to maneuver the conversation back to his own childhood. As he talked, she watched the sunlight through the trees caress his face with light. The glow rivaled that which shone from his eyes as he spoke of his family. They were gone now, like her father, mother, and stepfather. He seemed just as saddened by the loss as she was. Yet growing up in Hampshire sounded more pleasant than she had thought country life to be, although she thought she detected a touch of loneliness behind his words. What would she have done if she had not had first Eric and her mother, and then Constance and Sir Richard, to focus on? Might she too have frittered away her life?
They returned to the house deep in conversation. It was with true regret that she elicited his promise to call again on Constance and waved good-bye.
Inside, she immediately checked on her stepsister, to find the girl convincingly abed. The only sign that she had done more than sleep was her Bible lying open beside her and her writing desk on the table beside the bed. Katherine could not help noticing the list of names on the lap desk, particularly as Lord Borin’s was on the top. But she could not bring herself to wake her stepsister and ask. She would have to wait until morning.
Neither could she ask her uncle about his conversation with the viscount. Eric was studying geography with Sir Richard. Bixby, helping Emma prepare the evening meal, was more interruptible. She pulled her butler aside.
“Any news on Miss Montgomery?”
He kept his voice low over the bubble of the kettle on the stove. “The Duke of Rehmouth is interested but has been unwilling to oust Lord Borin. It wouldn’t take much to get Miss Montgomery to switch allegiance.”
Katherine nodded. “See that she gets the ruby then, as a parting gift from Lord Borin. And see that the duke is aware that she may need further consolation.”
“Are you sure?” Bix pressed. “What if she won’t accept the ruby?”
“If she is all that you say, she will accept it,” Katherine replied in dismissal. “And any woman who would release Lord Borin for a jewel doesn’t deserve him.”
Chapter Eight
Alex wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or annoyed. It very much looked as if everyone in the Collins’ household was innocent. The Bow Street Runner confirmed as much.
“Sounds like a right neighborly group,” he told Alex that evening when he made his report. “Though rumor has it the youngest miss is a bit of a snob.”
Alex already knew the lie of that rumor. He set his hopes on Lord Templeman, only to be disappointed again.
“None too pleasant a gentleman, to be sure,” the runner said. “But I could find nothing too havey cavey about his business. Sorry, me lord, but it looks like you might be chasing the wrong goose.”
So, Templeman had no reason to watch him either. Neither had Alex been able to spot anyone following him the last few days. Apparently whatever interest he had held, he now lacked. It was rather lowering. He had no mystery, and nothing to commend himself to Lord Hastings.
The one thing he had gotten from his investment of time was an appreciation for the quick mind and strong spirit of Miss Katherine Collins. He would have liked to further that acquaintance, but in doing so, he would raise expectations that he intended to offer for her. And he wasn’t ready to retire to matrimony just yet.
As if to prove it to himself, he strolled over to Lydia’s flat that evening. He was fully aware that he had been neglecting his mistress for several days, and fairly certain she would be thoroughly miffed about it. Most likely she would attempt to wrangle a bauble or two out of him as penance. With that thought in mind, he had stopped by the jewelers earlier in the day and picked up a ruby pendant.
As he approached the building that housed her flat, he was consoling himself with the thought that the stone would at least grant him an evening’s reprieve. Time enough later to call off their arrangement. He did not think she would be distraught. Too many others were sniffing at his heels. And small wonder. Her curves were legendary. The color of her long, flowing, golden hair was not the cunning of a bottle. Those violet eyes could be cool or passionate. But for all that, he found he was not going to miss her.
He was perhaps three doors away when he sighted a tall, shabbily dressed man hurrying out of the entrance. Even in the twilight, he felt sure it was the man who had followed him.
Alex leaped forward. “Stop!”
The fellow jerked around, eyes widening, then turned to flee. Alex halted in shock. It was the Collins’ butler. He started forward again but not before the fellow sprinted around the corner. He knew better than to try to catch him. Besides, it wasn’t as if he didn’t know exactly where to find him.
He glanced up at the apartment building. What connection could the Collins’ family have with the tenants? Was his mistress somehow involved with the plots against him? By heaven, he was becoming positively paranoid! Mind whirling, he entered the building and climbed the stairs to Lydia’s flat.
Maudie, her little dark-haired maid, was surprisingly hesitant to let him in the door. Once he entered his lady’s sitting room, he understood why. The Duke of Rehmouth lounged on the rose velvet settee. Only the fact that his dark hair was still pomaded in place and his black evening clothes unrumpled saved him from feeling the force of Alex’s fist.
“Bit behind times, old fellow,” Rehmouth said as if he noted the fire in Alex’s eyes. “I came as soon as I heard the news.”
“Oh?” Alex replied, forcing himself to move to the hearth and lean negligently against the pink marble fireplace. Lydia had insisted on redoing the place in shades of red, claiming it romantic. He had thought it rather endearing at the time; now he found it stifling. “What news was that?”
Before the duke could answer, Lydia sailed from the dressing room. The diaphanous morning robe that fluttered about her curvaceous form only enhanced her considerable charms. “My Lord Borin,” she announced pleasantly, “you did not need to come yourself. As you can see, I am well cared for.”
Rehmouth leaned further back and smiled proprietarily. Alex fought the impulse to knock the silly smile from his face. Had he ever looked so besotted?
“I do thank you, of course,” Lydia was continuing, “for the ruby. It is a lovely parting gift.”
Alex stared at her. “You knew I had bought you a ruby?”
Lydia’s fair brows drew together over her violet eyes. “Do you deny it? I refuse to return it, so, if that’s why you came, you can take yourself off. You’ve been nothing but inattentive these past few weeks. I deserve something for my trouble.”
