by Regan Walker
“To purchase all of the letters, it would be…ten thousand pounds.”
Reaching a hand to her throat, Grace drew in a sudden breath, sickened not only by the amount but by the way he’d announced the sum, as if stating the cost of a bonnet or a parasol.
“That is an exorbitant amount, sir! Indeed, even if I wanted to pay it, I could not raise the funds.”
“Well, then, you may pay me two hundred pounds per month, as your husband did. I am most amenable to continuing with that arrangement.”
Grace rose, struggling not to yell at the despicable man. “Good-day, sir.”
Lord Pickard stood and casually straightened his waistcoat. “I realize this will take a bit of time to digest, my lady. However, you may expect that I will be in touch, and soon.” He dipped his head and departed.
Grace heard the front door and Smithson’s words as the butler showed the man out, and she sank onto the sofa wondering what to do. David would be shattered to learn the truth of his father’s dalliance with another man. Grace had thought Charles’s only proclivity was his fondness for herbaceous plants with long names. She recalled her amusement when one day he’d been examining a rare leaf using his monocle. Forgetting he wore the lens, he’d turned to look at her and for a moment seemed to study her as if stumbling upon a rare species. She could see how easily he would have formed a bond with a man who shared his one passion.
Which reminded her. The day her husband’s body was laid out for mourners to pay their respects there had been a man she’d not known in attendance. Her friends had all come at once, and as she thanked them for their kindness the odd man entered the parlour to stand alone at one side, clearly fighting back tears while staring at Charles. Distracted by the well-wishers for several minutes, when she turned to address the man he was gone. Could that solemn man have been Professor Akerman?
What could she do? The discovery of Charles’s relationship with the professor would be the scandal of the year—perhaps the decade. Such an outrageous matter would not soon subside from the minds of the gossips that would savor a tale of so esteemed a peer guilty of such a crime. In whom might she confide?
She needed an ally capable of dealing with an unethical, reprehensible man.
***
Christopher finished his business at Tattersall’s in excellent humor. The matched pair of Yorkshire coach horses Richard Tattersall recommended for his new phaeton was precisely what he’d been looking for. Of course, he’d had to outbid Sir Alex and a few others, but after some haggling and a large bit of coin he’d finally gained his prize. The pair of bays would be just the right touch for the outing he had in mind for the lovely Lady Leisterfield.
Sir Alex was still glowering. “Dash it all, Eustace, must you always win? I find your consistency truly annoying.”
“Cease your sparking blows, my good fellow. If you’re kind, I’ll let you take my phaeton and the bays for a tour ’round the park.”
“All right, I shall refrain from acting the spoilsport. I would love to have a go at that fancy rig you’ve acquired. When shall I see it?” the man asked eagerly.
“I have in mind to take a lady for a ride. Then you shall have your turn.”
“Oh? And who would the favored object of your affections be?”
Thinking of the discretion he’d promised Ormond, and his own scruples, Christopher would not hint at the lady he had in mind. “There are so many to choose from, I daresay I will be hard pressed to make a selection.” Now he’d be forced to take another lady or two out before the one he wanted. There was that redhead he’d met last night, and Lady Picton might do as well. Their being seen with him would keep tongues wagging.
“Perhaps I’ll just see what name rises to my thoughts on a fair day for a jaunt down Rotten Row.”
“Not giving any clues as to the woman of the wager, I see.”
“Not a one,” Christopher said emphatically, “so you can pursue another line of inquiry.” He lighted his cheroot, deeply inhaled and let out a breath of satisfaction.
Soon they were speaking of other matters, and Sir Alex was droning on about his estate in Scotland, which he was apparently most anxious to visit. Christopher’s thoughts were taken up with the woman who had consumed his every waking moment since opening night at the theatre some days before. He had to admit this latest obsession energized him, his competitive spirit rising to the fore. The next step might be to send her a note expressing a desire to show her his new matched pair of bays.
There would always be the excuse of the weather for him to insist upon raising the hood so she would not be on parade for all to see.
* * *
“It’s been a long time since I’ve shopped for a new gown,” Grace confided to her friend Lady Ormond. “Well, except for the one my modiste created for the opening of the theatre season.”
“After we finish our tea,” replied Mary, “we’ll go first to Harding Howell’s, where they have some of the richest fabrics in all of London. You should have a new riding habit for Lord Hardwicke’s house party. Oh, and I must show you the shop my friend Elizabeth introduced to me a few years ago. They sell the most alluring underthings.”
Never had Grace associated the word alluring with underthings. She wore only the plainest muslin, albeit of good quality, and had never considered shopping for such anything other than a necessity.
“I can see by your face,” said Mary, “you have been deprived of the best London now offers. The French call it lingerie. The embroidery is most fine, and the garments, made of the sheerest cloth, are embellished with delicate silk ribbons and bows.”
“I have never acquired such things, not even when I married.”
“The old Lord Leisterfield may not have noticed, but you mustn’t judge all men by him, Grace. Ormond is very pleased with my wardrobe of diaphanous chemises, I can assure you. I credit them for having my second son, Philip, so soon after Henry’s birth. The two boys are barely a year apart, you know.”
Grace felt her cheeks warm both at Mary’s words and the thought of wearing such a transparent fabric, even if no one else saw. But Lady Claremont had encouraged her to embrace the future. Mary, who had once been a hoyden who’d kept half the ton talking, was just the one to guide her.
“I will be delighted to accompany you to the shops if you promise to join me afterward in my parlour for a glass of sherry.”
“Make that port and I will most gladly accept!”
Grace couldn’t stop the laughter from bubbling up at the thought of Mary indulging in her favorite drink, one most uncommon for ladies. She remembered fondly the first evening she’d joined Mary and her friend Elizabeth Lambeth in drinking the rich red wine. It felt good to be lighthearted again after being so long in mourning. Still, even while she shared the laughter with Mary, she could not forgot Lord Pickard’s visit or the black cloud that now hung over her.
The carriage wound its way through the streets splashing muddy water onto the unfortunates traveling by foot who came too close. When the vehicle stopped, the two women alighted into a crush of people on Bond Street.
The day was chilly as well as wet. Grace pulled her cloak tightly around her, grateful for the warm hooded garment as they hurried into the shop, but as they entered Harding Howell and Company she let her hood fall back. Tall shelves stacked with bolts of cloth rose behind long wooden counters on each side of the large store. Above her, set into the roof, was a great oval window that illuminated the shelves casting rays of light onto the brilliant colors of the fabric. Smells of dyes lingered in the air.
After the dark cloth and unadorned gowns of her year of mourning, Grace took great pleasure in selecting silks in a myriad of colors and trimmings to delight the eye. With Mary’s assistance, she’d found some good buys. The merchant’s reputation as the purveyor of fine cloth made the shop a necessary stop of many a lady when acquiring fabric for a new gown.
When they left Harding Howell’s, their next stop was the shop featuring the lovely unde
rgarments in which the marchioness encouraged her to indulge. Grace ordered two, one in the palest blue and one in a soft peach. The fabrics were so fine and so thin she could see her hand beneath them. She thought the garments wickedly sinful, but then no one would ever see them except Hawkins, who would only smile at her folly. Unless, of course, she was to marry again. But she had no current expectation of that.
Spending the money, albeit within her budget, reminded her of the blackmail she had to address. She could afford to pay the monthly sum of two hundred pounds, but what she wanted was those letters so they could never again be used against her or David.
Once their shopping for gowns and undergarments was complete, the pair set off to the Pantheon Bazaar where Mary purchased a toy and a few children’s books for her young son Henry. Though the young lord was only in his second year, Mary explained to Grace she was eager to teach him to read as soon as he was able to learn. Finally, having returned to Grace’s town house, the two women shed their cloaks and warmed themselves in front of the blazing fire that Smithson ordered in expectation of their return.
Grace poured herself a glass of sherry and Mary a glass of port. “It is good to be out of the rain,” she remarked.
“Yes, but I am warmed by my splendid purchases. Henry will be delighted with the wooden blocks I bought him.”
“Speaking of young men with toys,” Grace said, as she set down her sherry to nervously tug on a stray curl of hair. “Lord Eustace has invited me to join him for a ride in his new phaeton. What do you think? Should I go? His note was all praise for his new matched pair of bays.”
“Why not?” Mary took a sip of port.
“He’s only asking because of the wager.”
Mary smiled. “But, Grace, you are forewarned of his plan, and thus you can enjoy his attempts to charm you without succumbing. I should think it a delightful endeavor. I assume he will act the gentleman, notwithstanding he’s a rogue. Ormond would have his head if he were to force his attentions on you.”
“No, that would not be his way from what I have heard,” Grace agreed. “The silver-tongued rogue is less direct.”
“I give you permission to have a good time,” Mary said eagerly. “Surely you have earned it.”
“I suppose it would be good training for my return to social circles to be able to fence with him. And since he will be attending the Hardwicke affair, it will be practice for fending off his flirtations at Wimpole.”
“I’m not sure the word ‘flirtations’ is apt,” said her friend. “Seduction is more the like. But I have confidence you are up to his ploys.”
* * *
To be honest, Christopher was surprised when Lady Leisterfield accepted his invitation for a ride in Hyde Park. He had thought he might have to send more than one request. Even if she were unaware she was the object of the wager, the very proper young widow would know of his reputation and might wonder if such an association would be wise. As far as he knew, there was no other gentleman pursuing her at the moment, though he expected that would change as word got around she was out of mourning. Again, he congratulated himself on his perfect timing.
It was Monday, a week after Lady Claremont introduced them and a day after he’d taken another woman for a ride, when he let the stylish brass knocker fall on the door of Lady Leisterfield’s town house in Mayfair. The butler took his hat and escorted him into the parlour where a fire burned low in the hearth. Staring into the flames, Christopher wondered where to begin with the virtuous woman.
Feeling a presence, he turned to see her standing in the doorway. He had the sense she’d been watching him for some time. Their gazes held for a moment, and he was stunned once again by her beauty as the faint scent of orange blossoms wafted to his nose and his throat was suddenly dry. Her gown of Turkey red silk had a bodice of ivory satin that drew his eyes to the soft curves of her bosom. But the innocence in that blue gaze gave him pause.
“Lady Leisterfield, you overwhelm me with your loveliness.” Though the words sounded to his ears like mere flattery, and he had spoken them many times before to other ladies, Christopher had never meant them more sincerely.
“You are too kind, Lord Eustace, but I thank you if my meager attempts at dressing to rejoin society are having a positive effect.”
He closed the distance between them and took her offered hand, bowing briefly and brushing his lips over the soft skin of her knuckles. He wondered if all of her was as soft. Likely so. But it wouldn’t do to rush things. He would have liked to kiss her palm and then her neck where he hoped he would find her pulse throbbing from his touch. But he would have to be careful so as not to alarm her.
Of course, he was mindful his seduction must proceed apace if he was to succeed by Twelfth Night.
* * *
Grace allowed Lord Eustace to help her into his phaeton before, in a single athletic leap, he took the seat beside her. The morning brought with it a cold mist, and she was glad he’d put the hood up to shield them from the damp weather. The result was a very cozy space—perhaps too cozy, for it was much like sitting together on a small settee in a dark room.
His thigh pressing against her cloak was disconcerting, and she was suddenly aware of his scent. It filled the small space, earthy and masculine, the way she’d expected a man of horses who kept the company of other men to smell. It was such a contrast to her husband, who had typically smelled of musty books and plants.
As he reached for the reins, Eustace brushed his broad shoulder against hers. It felt strangely intimate, but perhaps that was because Grace was not indifferent to the man himself. He was very dashing in appearance, with his cinnamon coat a shade or two lighter than his hair and nankeen breeches that hugged his long legs. His cravat was simply tied, and his boots well tended. He wasn’t a dandy, but he dressed in a confident manner that said he well knew his effect upon women. Wasn’t her own heart suddenly racing?
Grace shivered. How could she be drawn to a man who sought her downfall? She vowed to be polite but on guard, for she was not immune to the rake’s charms.
“Do you mind if I tear along once we are on the Row?” Eustace asked. “It is one reason I selected this time for our jaunt, as the crowd in the afternoon allows only a sedate pace and I prefer a more vigorous ride. I have yet to see all that Castor and Pollux can do.”
“Castor and Pollux?”
“The bays, don’t you know? My matched geldings are brothers, just like the mythical twins. And I have been assured by Tattersall they love to run.”
It was a secret passion of Grace’s that she loved to ride fast, so his request excited her. “That would be fine with me, Lord Eustace. I would enjoy it.”
“You must call me simply Eustace, my lady, for we will be good friends.”
Good friends, indeed. Grace knew only too well his intentions. But since she already thought of him that way, it would be a small step to call him by the name he most used. “Very well. Eustace it shall be,” she said, smiling.
He smiled back, and for a moment his dark amber eyes, more copper than brown, held hers. It was no wonder half the women in the ton were after him. The man exuded sensuality. Though a decade older than she, he seemed very much the young man. It might be due to his physical pursuits, which left him strong and vibrant, or it might be those eyes, which continually sparkled with mirth as if he found the whole world amusing. She forced herself to sit more rigidly upon the seat, as if doing so could hold her emotions at bay. She would not join his other victims.
They rode into Hyde Park and soon were on the broad path of Rotten Row, the King’s Road. Ahead of them, the path was clear and the trees on either side shielded them from view. The bays picked up speed in response to Eustace’s commands. Grace observed how adroitly he handled the reins, expending little effort in controlling the powerful horses.
“You are very good at this. And the bays are performing wonderfully to your hand.”
He turned to look at her for only a moment. “Do you know something
about horses, my lady?”
“A little. Well, actually, I should say I love to ride. When he was alive, my father Sir Richard kept a good stable at our estate in Oxfordshire. Young David, the new Lord Leisterfield, or Leister, as his school chums call him, loves to visit Ashdown.”
“Do I detect a fondness for the lad in your voice?”
“You might,” she admitted. “Though he is my stepson, I care deeply for him and he has honored me with his affection. He’s such a splendid young man, and with so much promise.” A promise Grace wanted to see fulfilled untainted by scandal. For a moment she was tempted to confide in the man sitting beside her. He might have a thought as to what she could do about Lord Pickard. But her spirit urged caution. She did not know Eustace well and was reluctant to bring them closer by such a confession when he had in mind to seduce her.
Eustace began to drive the horses like the wind, racing down the path as if straining to gain a lead on some unseen competitor. He was definitely in his element. The horses, as if sensing a master, responded to his touch. Grace watched his gloved hands on the reins, powerfully gripping the leather, and there was something very masculine about them so that she shivered at the thought of them touching her.
As Eustace let the pair have their heads, she braced herself with one hand on the side of the carriage and one on the seat beside her to keep from being jostled. He was laughing, and Grace found herself laughing with him. This was exhilarating and so unlike her life in the last few years. She felt more alive being with this dangerous man and his fast ways; she was once again the young girl she had been racing over the hills of Oxfordshire with her long hair streaming out behind her. What had happened to that girl?
After some time, he slowed the horses and guided the phaeton to the side of the path. Holding the reins in one hand, he turned to face her. His eyes seemed to glow in the dim light. “I never would have thought the serene Lady Leisterfield would be so stimulated by a ride in the park. You are flushed and your eyes bright. I do think you enjoyed our dash through the Row.”
