“I take no offense, sir,” Michael answered carefully, “but I will not discuss a lady’s character lightly and never in public.”
“I understand your reluctance, Lassiter and it does you credit,” Lord Ambrose replied. “I invite you to call upon me to discuss certain information that would be useful to you. If you are amiable to the notion, sir.”
“ At your leisure, my lord,” Michael returned with a deferential bow. Lord Ambrose nodded, then left the card room. Michael watched him stroll regally through the assemblage and wondered into what sort of broth The Incomparable Araby had fallen.
***
Birdsong drifted through the trees in the early-morning quiet of Hyde Park. Most fashionable people were still in bed, but if one wished to actually canter, or indulge in even a mild gallop along Lady's Mile, or Rotten Row, then the hours between dawn and breakfast were your safest bet. No carriages rumbled along pathways seeking to displace a horse and rider. April was a delightful month, Araby reflected as she watched a light, morning mist rise from the Serpentine. By late summer the same mist would be replaced by a fetid odor, the result of hot weather and refuse. With luck she would be long gone from London before summer’s heat destroyed one of the city’s most charming areas.
Once she'd secured her engagement to Iredale there would be a lavish wedding to plan. Her family might not be of royal descent, but her social position guaranteed that the eyes of all fashionable London would be watching the planning of her nuptials. It was an exciting, though somewhat daunting, prospect. Araby smiled at the gentleman riding along side her. Leo Crispin, Lord Iredale was a handsome man. His blue eyes held both warmth and humor and attested to an even disposition. He always spoke calmly and with careful thought. She liked that about him. His smiles were gentle and he displayed kindness to everyone, even his servants. You could tell a great deal about someone by how they spoke to those in their service. Perhaps he would even make her feel safe after so many turbulent years.
“I love the early morning,” Lady Katherine sighed with contentment, “particularly when you can enjoy it amongst trees and grass.”
Viscount Danvers smiled happily at her. “I quite agree, Lady Katherine. I’m often up before first light at home just for the pleasure of watching the sun rise over my meadows.” Katherine gave him one of her genuine smiles, the kind she reserved for those few she truly cared about. During the past few weeks Katherine's reserve had warmed significantly towards Danvers. They were an unlikely match at first glance, but Araby supported any suitor who made her friend look so happy. She glanced back at Sarah, wondering what she made of this astounding transformation in their mutual friend. Sarah, however, was too busy attending to some drivel coming from the Earl of Reagan’s heir, Lord Phillip Marchwell.
Araby returned her attention to Lord Iredale, tilting her head coquettishly as she lifted one corner of her mouth in a half smile. She knew it to be a fetching expression. She’d practiced it in front of her mirror until she could employ it to great effect. “What say you, Lord Iredale? Are you enjoying the morning?”
His gaze wandered over her face. “Indeed I am, Lady Arabella,” he answered softly, a sparkle in his eyes. “The morning is splendid and the company...incomparable.”
She rewarded him with a musical laugh for his play on her social title. “I’m certain that after all this exercise you gentlemen will do full justice to the breakfast Lady Katherine has planned for us.”
“Now that sounds promising,” Lord Danvers interjected. “Tell me, Lady Katherine, what delicacies have you in store for our merry cavalry?” Her answer was cut off as another rider loudly hailed Danvers and Marchwell.
“Bless me, it’s Dickie Bentley. I thought he was still hiding out...I mean, traveling on the Continent,” Marchwell exclaimed. He gestured towards his friend. “Come on lads, let’s go see what old Dickie’s been up to.” He started forward leaving the other gentlemen little choice but to follow him. Iredale tipped his hat apologetically to the ladies.
“Should we go with them?” Sarah asked.
“Absolutely not,” Katherine replied with feeling. “Richard Bentley is a ramshackle second son who ran off to Paris with his sister-in-law’s maid. It was quite a scandal. He must have decided it was safe to return. In any case, it will not do for us to be seen speaking with him. I suggest we wander a little further down the path.” She urged her mount forward trusting her friends to follow suit.
“What happened to the maid?” Sarah asked once they’d achieved a discreet distance from the men.
“She was dismissed,” Katherine retorted, drily.
“You know what I mean! Did she return as well? Did he marry her, or is she...you know...ruined?” Sarah's eyes sparkled at the thought of such scandal.
“I’m sure I don’t know,” Katherine answered with an air of boredom. “Marriage to anyone in service is entirely out of the question and girls who insist on taking up with their betters always end up in a bad way. Though, what else can one expect from the lower classes? They haven’t the same capacity for moral character as we do.”
“Katherine, that’s a positively feudalistic thing to say,” Sarah exclaimed with indignation. She cast a guilty look over her shoulder at the three grooms following behind them. They were some distance back and chatting amongst themselves, but Sarah lowered her voice to make certain her conversation with Katherine could not be overheard. “Just because someone is not born with the same advantages that we enjoy doesn’t mean their character is poorly formed or that their life matters less.”
Katherine tugged her gloves into place. “According to Mama it does,” she said quietly.
“Oh, well, your mother....”
“Is the epitome of grace and all that is socially proper,” Araby said smoothly, before one of her friends said something unforgivable to the other.
Katherine arched one eyebrow as she continued studying her gloves. “Very true. Just ask her.”
Before this season Katherine had rarely, if ever, quoted her mother as a fount of wisdom. Recently, though, she’d taken to spouting some of her mother’s less savory views on life and the marriage mart. Vivian Saunders, the Countess of Bellwood, had employed a strategy for her daughter’s debut that would have done the Admiralty proud. The woman was just as ruthless as Araby's stepfather in her single-minded pursuit of a husband worthy enough for her daughter – albeit in a different way. Lady Bellwood intended to make Katherine the social leader of the ton after her marriage. She would stop at nothing to achieve her goal, nor would she settle for anything less than absolute perfection from her daughter. Araby knew that at times her friend suffered greatly under the strain of her mother’s expectations. Hopefully, Danver's interest would result in a good marriage that would undo much of Lady Bellwood's influence.
Sarah reached out to her friend. “I’m sorry Katherine. I let my mouth run away with me, but I hate it when you talk so. Those are your mother’s views, not yours. You see, you are one of the dearest, kindest people I know, no matter how carefully you try to hide it.”
Katherine regarded the other girl as if she’d suddenly appeared at Ascot carrying a parrot on her shoulder. “You never see people as they are, Sarah. You always grant them better natures than they possess and one day you’ll suffer for it.” Any further discussion was halted by the rumbling of carriage wheels on the path behind them. The girls moved their mounts aside and turned their heads to see who approached them. Rich, feminine laughter interspersed with low, masculine chuckles flowed from an open landau.
“Oh dear,” Araby sighed, “It’s Skeffy Arlington crawling home from a night of tomcatting. Turn your backs, ladies. It appears his carriage is full of opera dancers.”
She might as well have waved a red flag in front of Sarah. “Who is with him?” Sarah lifted herself slightly in her saddle hoping for a better look.
Katherine leaned over and poked her friend’s shoulder with her riding crop. “Turn your head, you little fool,” she hissed. “We can
’t so much as appear to acknowledge them. If Dicky Bentley's company is out of bounds, this carriage is beyond the pale.” She glanced towards the place they’d left their escorts, but the men appeared to have moved closer to the water, unaware of both the carriage and its exceptional occupants.
Just then the carriage drew abreast of them and Skeffy ordered his driver to halt. Araby cast a sidelong glance towards the landau. There were three men in evening dress as well as three women whom no one could mistake for ladies.
“Deuced if it isn’t the Furies,” Skeffy guffawed, mistaking his own heavily slurred words for wit. “Have a look girls,” he said to the three females in the carriage. “You’d be hard put to find more virtue any place outside of a convent.” The women laughed and Araby found herself longing to look directly at them. She’d never seen an actual lightskirt. Another man seated on the other side of Skeffy said something that drew a sharp laugh from the man riding on the opposite seat.
“It’s the same coin, Lassiter, just a different side. At least our beauties tell us the cost up front,” he said, his tone, jeering.
Lassiter. The very name made Araby snap her head towards the carriage. She sucked in her breath as she recognized Michael Lassiter as the man seated on the far side of the landau. He watched her with an open air of mockery as he tipped two fingers to his hat. The soiled dove leaning against him gave a merry laugh.
Katherine whispered Araby's name sharply. “Turn away, now,” she hissed.
The dark, brooding man seated opposite Arlington and Lassiter barked out a laugh drawing their attention. Sarah let out a gasp and covered her mouth as recognition sank in. His lips curled back in a deadly smile. “Give me an honest whore over a well-born one any day.” His teeth gleamed in a way that reminded her of a wolf bearing its fangs. A lock of his shaggy hair drooped across his forehead. If Michael Lassiter looked dangerous – and he did – this man looked completely savage. Contempt, even hatred filled his expression as he perused each of the Furies in a slow, insulting manner.
“Steady on, Kingsford,” Arlington admonished him. “Language in front of the young ladies, you know.”
Lord, protect them. It was Rafe Kingsford, Damaris’ half brother. “What ladies?” Kingsford snarled.
Araby wanted to say something – to explain, to plead with him, but it would be pointless. There was no compassion in his eyes, nothing remotely humane enough to which she could appeal. She wanted to run and hide from the violence she saw in this man’s eyes, but she couldn’t move. All she could do was sit frozen, the blood draining from her face knowing that she’d earned his hatred fairly when in her desperation, she’d made a target of his sister. If Kingsford chose to strike her down here and now there was no one close enough to aid her, save Katherine, or Sarah.
The other occupants of the carriage remained silent – no twitters, not so much as a throat being cleared to break the lethal silence. Katherine moved her horse in an attempt to make her friends move away, but it was little Sarah who urged her own mount forward in a direct challenge to Kingsford. She met his stare bravely, though Araby could see she trembled violently. Katherine glared at him, but he’d already changed his focus to Sarah. He narrowed his gaze, running his black eyes over Sarah’s length, leaving no doubt as to nature of his thoughts.
Sarah lifted her chin. “Good day...gentlemen,” she snapped. Michael Lassiter barked a command at the driver and the landau moved on. Rafe Kingsford turned in his seat to stare at Sarah until she turned away.
“Oh God,” Araby said, a sob catching in her throat. “What have I done?”
“Saved that bounder’s sister is what you did,” Katherine reminded her sharply. “I was the one who met her in the park the day she was abducted; you didn’t.” She rounded on Sarah next. “What did you think you were doing, calling attention to yourself like that? Kingsford is not a forgiving man and he’s not to be trifled with either. It’s bad enough he has a score to settle with Araby and I. At least we’ll exercise caution around the scoundrel, but you,” she made a sound of disgust, “you’re the proverbial lamb to the slaughter. Stay away from him. Don’t even look at him.”
Sarah shivered. “You don’t have to warn me twice. I thought he was going leap out of the carriage and throttle us on the spot.” Danvers called out to them from a distance and Katherine looked her companions over with a critical eye. “We’ll discuss this another time. Put your smiles in place and say nothing. She straightened her shoulders and followed her own advice, holding out a welcoming hand to Lord Danvers.
Araby remained in shocked silence, unable to so much move or even turn her head from the receding carriage. She didn’t know what frightened her more, the absolute hatred in Rafe Kingsford’s face, or the fact that Michael Lassiter had been there to witness it.
***
“Damn, me, Kingsford, what the devil was that about?” Arlington mopped his brow nervously, then shoved his handkerchief back into the breast pocket of his evening coat. “Teasing the little chits is one thing, man, but for all intents and purposes, you called those young ladies whores. That sort of thing isn’t done. No offense my dears,” he added belatedly to the demimondes in the carriage.
“None taken,” Nell Hargrave purred as she cuddled up against Michael. She was beautiful, sought after and very, very expensive. At the moment she left him completely unmoved. He was still thinking about Arabella Winston’s pale face. There had been nothing teasing in Kingsford’s regard of the three young ladies. Although the man cared less for convention than Michael himself did, Rafe Kingsford had never seemed to be the sort who enjoyed terrifying females. He enjoyed bedding them too much.
“I hate to think what will happen if Vivian, Lady Bellwood, hears how you insulted her daughter, not that Seaton will be any happier about Lady Arabella.”
Kingsford shrugged and pulled a flask out of his pocket. “Seaton knows my direction, if he cares to find it.”
Michael watched him closely. The other man was seething. Michael had ordered the driver to move on because he feared if they’d remained even a moment longer, Kingsford would have physically accosted Arabella Winslow. The question was, why? “You’ve taken exception to Lady Arabella. Care to explain, yourself?”
Kingsford gave him a dark look. “It’s a private matter, Lassiter, and best kept that way. Let’s say I’ve no stomach for any of those little bitches and leave it at that.”
“Now I recall,” Arlington nodded. “You’re sister, Damaris, debuted with the chits, didn’t she? Flirted a bit with someone they fancied, eh? I’ve heard they have a bite like an adder when they take a set against someone. Is that it, Kingsford? Did your sister run afoul of them?”
“I said, its a private matter,” Kingsford snapped, “and I’ll thank both of you not to bandy my sister’s name about.” The beauty seated next to him tried to sooth him but he shook her off. She took one look at his face and decided it would be a safer strategy to ease away.
“Steady on, Kingsford,” Arlington continued. “There’s no need to get upset. It was just an observation, that’s all. Besides, your sister had the last laugh, what? She married Arland and she’ll be a duchess one day, won’t she?” Arlington laughed loudly. “Damned if the joke’s not on those girls.”
Kingsford’s eyes narrowed. “True enough, Skeffy. The joke is most assuredly is on them.”
Michael felt his jungle instincts stir. Rafe Kingsford was not a man who let an injury go unanswered and if Araby and her friends had done something to his sister, he would make them regret it. As much as he tried to deny it, Araby Winston had aroused his protective instincts today. Judging from Ambrose’s remarks last week and Kingsford’s reaction today the chit had gotten herself into some fix and Michael was determined to find out what the hell it all meant.
Chapter Four
He watched her glide down the street with a bearing that rivaled Queen Victoria, herself. Lady Arabella clearly fancied herself the royalty of Bond Street this morning. Every now and then she
tipped her head with condescension as she acknowledged this or that person, her maid trailing along after her holding several small packages. Why the devil had he bothered following her, Michael thought irritably. He would have been better off seeking his own bed after last night’s wicked pursuits – or perhaps Nell Hargrave’s bed.
Unfortunately, after the impromptu carriage ride through Hyde Park two mornings ago, he’d made his excuses to the distinguished courtesan rather than accept her offer to join her for a private breakfast. He’d been a damned fool. La belle Hargrave had practically started negotiations for her exclusive services there and then, an opportunity for which most men in London would have given everything they owned, their wives included. Nell hadn’t been pleased with his tactful, but firm refusal. Michael’s demurs wounded her pride and he knew it would be a cold day in hell before she granted him so much as a waltz and all because he couldn’t get a pair of frightened, amber eyes out of his mind.
Lady Arabella was a spoiled little piece, granted. She was willful, petulant and very beautiful. She also held a touch of vulnerability that surfaced at odd times. Even when he'd forced her into dancing with him, her eyes had darted warily around the ballroom as though she feared who might be watching them. She’d made an enemy of Rafe Kingsford too, no doubt about it, and that was something most men weren’t brave enough to do. His brief conversation with Lord Ambrose and the blathering of that twit, Arlington made Michael realized that what had happened between the Furies and Rafe’s half-sister, Damaris, involved much more than mere cattiness. Kingsford set great store by his sister and from what Michael knew of her she was considered to be both lovely and gracious. She’d also been Araby’s rival – just the sort of victim into whom the Furies liked sinking their teeth.
A Terrible Beauty (Season of the Furies Book 1) Page 5
