A Reckless Encounter

by Rosemary Rogers

  Celia had confided her doubts about the afternoon she had spent with Lord Northington, revealing some details but not all, of course.

  How could she confess the sleepless nights, the way she had allowed him to coax a response from her? Perhaps she had not surrendered, but she had not expected the wild turbulence of her reaction to his touch, either. It was as mystifying as it was tantalizing. Oh, it was plain to see that he intended to seduce her if he could, that he only played a game that he was confident of winning. But there had been no mistaking his naked desire. She’d seen it in his eyes, felt it in his touch, tasted it in his kiss. He had been as affected as she. While Northington wasn’t the first man to kiss her, he was the first to ignite such restless yearnings, such a heated response that she was left tossing and turning in her bed at night.

  Now she said frankly, “I had the understanding that it was improper to be too forward, that here in England as in America men regard loose women with no respect and would never make a serious offer.”

  “Yes and no.” Jacqueline shrugged, laughing ruefully. “It is as I told you—one must balance upon the wall that separates eligible ladies from courtesans. It is a skilled woman who can be seductive and demure at the same time.”

  “That requires the ability to play a part, as a stage actress would do,” Celia said with some exasperation. “It is all so unnecessary.”

  “Ah, but it is a game, my love. Do you not recognize it now? Northington is oh so playful, but beneath his words lie a very real intent—he wishes to learn if you are agreeable to occupying his bed. You say ‘No no’ while you lean close to him and your eyes say ‘Yes yes,’ and he is confused and intrigued by it all. He must learn which you mean, the no on your lips, or the yes in your eyes. The trick is to keep him interested yet hold him at bay until he has made a commitment to you.”

  Celia laughed softly. “How do you make it seem so plausible when the entire thing sounds so ludicrous?”

  “Because it is true. Men in England are only as bold as they are allowed to be. It is the woman who must set the boundaries.” Jacqueline paused, lifted a deep china cup and sipped sweet, hot chocolate before saying over the rim, “It is not a game for the timid. Ladies are expected to be virgins on their wedding nights, yet seductive enough to lure a man to their bed. A contradiction. Arranged marriages are much safer, and once wed—ah, then can come the affairs of the heart, as long as one is discreet and has already provided the necessary heirs for her husband.”

  “A rather jaded view of marriage, I think.”

  “Because you are American in nature. I’ve noticed that Americans regard personal freedoms as their right instead of as a luxury. Yet in America, marriages are still arranged for daughters of distinction. After the marriage there can be no affairs of the heart without such dire consequences that I marvel at the restraint of the poor creatures trapped in those situations.”

  “What of you? Have you had an ‘affair of the heart’ since your marriage?”

  “Yes, but fortunately, it has been with my husband. My circumstances were so different—as were Léonie’s. We had nothing but aristocratic blood as our dowries, so we were able to wed men who sought us for reasons other than to increase their estates. If we had remained in France we would have wed men chosen for us by our parents, men who would have been wealthy, titled and able to add to the family fortunes in some way. So out of the Terror came small compensations for all that we lost. Both Léonie and I married for love. Perhaps it has not been such a terrible thing, though I shall always grieve for those who were taken from me.”

  “As do I,” Celia said quietly. Her hands knotted into fists in her lap, and she took a deep breath. Poor Maman. To have survived the terror of the Revolution and then die because of a man like Northington—no, Moreland now, a man who had received an earldom instead of true justice.

  And justice must be served. She was the only one capable of visiting it upon him, the only one who still cared that he walked freely in the world. Yet her options were limited, her power to affect the earl insignificant. Before coming to England she had thought the papers she brought would be sufficient to lodge a complaint. Now she realized just how naive she’d been. She had few choices left.

  But there is still one way to reach the earl, one way to make him face what he’s done.…

  Celia looked up at her cousin.

  “After our ride in the park, Lord Northington was quite angry, though he wouldn’t admit it. He may have lost interest. If I should wish to regain that interest…”

  Jacqueline smiled. “It requires a delicate balance, my dear. Lord Northington is a rake, a man who prefers mistresses to any kind of emotional entanglement. You must seduce him into making an offer using much more than social graces. He has had his fill of those through the years, even before he came into the title of viscount. Every mama in London pursued him for their daughters at one time, and it has only made them more determined now that he is in line to become earl upon his father’s death.”

  “He is the eldest son?”

  “No. There was another son, Anthony, who was the heir until he contracted a fever that took the old earl and his eldest son as well. Now Northington is the heir.”

  Setting her cup in its saucer on the table, Jacqueline leaned back against the cushions of the sofa to study Celia. Long pale fingers toyed with the fringe on a pillow. “There are certain rules of society that cannot be flaunted, petite, and there are rules that can be bent if not broken, I have observed. One must know which rules are which, however. A single misstep will see a young lady ruined, her reputation shattered and her aspirations doomed. It can be so trivial a violation as dancing too closely, or being seen out without a maid in attendance, or even being seen driving down St. James Street. Those who choose to flaunt the rules soon find, to their dismay, how unforgiving society can be.”

  Celia froze, incapable of immediate response, the memory of her mother’s shame and isolation in her final days a sharp reminder of how unforgiving society could be.

  “I see,” she finally said, and regarded her cousin quietly. Coal hissed in the grate and rain tickled glass windowpanes outside. It was risky to continue, but how could she live with herself if she allowed Moreland to go unpunished?

  Finally she leaned forward to say softly, “If Lord Northington seeks a new mistress instead of a wife, perhaps that is what he shall have.”

  Jacqueline looked at her, wide-eyed and horrified. “But no! You must not—”

  “Oh, I have no intention of yielding easily what he covets, but if I must give him the impression that he can attain his desires, then I shall gladly do so. Will you help me?”

  “Help? But how can I help you do something that may well ruin you! No, I cannot. Do not ask it of me, ma chèrie, for it is too wicked a thing to even consider. Oh, I cannot imagine how you could think I would help you ruin yourself!”

  “But you could, ma cousine, advise me how far I am able to go without breaking these rules you list. I wish to tantalize him but not antagonize him, lure him without ruining myself. Is it possible?”

  Jacqueline had risen to her feet, distress creasing her face, but now she turned to gaze thoughtfully at Celia. Finally a faint smile curved her mouth, and the lines of distress eased.

  “Yes, it is possible, of course. Wicked girl! What do you have in mind to lure this raffiné?”

  “There is another ball which we are to attend next week, is there not?”

  “Yes, Lady Stratton presents her youngest daughter, a rather plain girl in my opinion, but as she is so well connected, she has high hopes of making a good match. Her uncle is most influential—How does this matter?”

  “Did you not say earlier that Lord Northington may attend Lady Stratton’s ball, that he has accepted an invitation? I’m sure I heard you mention it to Caro—”

  Jacqueline’s smile widened, and her eyes gleamed with anticipation. “Clever girl, yes. Yes, I said that very thing and it is true. Northington sent his card
to signify that he will attend. What do you plan?”

  “I plan,” Celia said, “to seduce Lord Northington into a marriage proposal.”

  11

  Lady Cresswood had engineered his appearance at yet another ball, and Colter toyed with the idea of making her pay for it later.

  “Really darling,” she’d teased, “you have no choice but to accommodate me. I promised my husband an heir, and since I must somehow whet my appetite for his attentions, I chose you. Don’t be cruel enough to deny me.”

  “Dammit, Katherine, I’m in no mood for your tricks. I am not in a mood for another boring evening, either.”

  “The only trick will be finding a few minutes to be alone with you before I must apply myself to Cresswood.”

  She’d draped herself around him, pressed her body so close to him there was no need to hide his reaction. But he hadn’t taken what she so freely offered, and ignored her pouting face when he pushed her away.

  “How novel,” she murmured with an arch of her brow. “For the best, I suppose. How awkward it would be to present Cresswood with a blue-eyed, rake-hell heir.”

  “It’s been done by more than one titled lady. I’m sure you’d find a way around it.”

  Her laugh was throaty, her gaze speculative. “Yes, I can only imagine my dear husband’s chagrin should I be foolish enough to do so. However, back to the ball. The prince will be in attendance, and a certain Lord Mowry wishes to meet with you. Do say you’ll be there, Colter, for I should so hate to disappoint Mowry.”

  Mowry—Lord Liverpool’s hireling, a man far too comfortable with political intrigues for his liking. He had never quite trusted the man, but he was the prime minister’s agent and those who weren’t careful often found themselves suffering repercussions that were never successfully traced to the source.

  “So now you’re doing Mowry’s dirty work. I’ll attend the damn ball,” he’d said, “but when my business with Mowry is done, I’m leaving. A word of warning—you’re keeping bad company when you dally with Mowry.”

  Katherine was one of those completely amoral females who could be as entertaining as she was dangerous.

  “But of course you can leave, darling,” she’d said with a guileless smile that hadn’t fooled him at all. “And I fancy bad company, as you should well know.”

  Lady Stafford’s expansive home was in the heart of Mayfair, a regal dwelling that hosted affairs attended by kings and princes. Tonight was no exception. The regent was to appear with his usual retinue, sycophants and beleaguered officials of his realm trotting at his heels like well-trained dogs.

  Lord Mowry arrived well before the prince regent, as was his wont. A tall, thin man with a gaunt face and intense dark eyes, he moved casually through the crowd, pausing to speak to acquaintances.

  Colter watched Mowry approach; his air of geniality was deceptive. Beneath the ill-fitting coat and baggy breeches he wore, lurked the soul of a politician, glib and given to sharp, perceptive judgments. Mowry was ruthless in his goals, remorseless in his ambition.

  “My lord Northington,” he greeted him finally, “it is a pleasant surprise to see you here.”

  “Hardly a surprise, I would think, since you had Lady Cresswood summon me.” Colter eyed him over the rim of his half-empty glass.

  Mowry gave him a sharp glance. “Perhaps it is a surprise that you agreed to come. You have not always been so amenable.”

  “If I haven’t always been amenable, it may have something to do with the fact that you haven’t always been honest with me.”

  A negligent wave of his hand dismissed Colter’s reply as Mowry said, “Politics often breeds the necessity for a swift change of plans. It’s not always possible to notify those involved.”

  “That can be damned inconvenient for a man expecting an agreement to be honored.”

  “You refer to that Saint Peter’s Field business, I presume.”

  “Hardly a business, Mowry. It was a damned massacre.”

  Mowry regarded him blandly. “Only eleven were killed. It could have ended much worse.”

  “It could have been avoided entirely.”

  “Yes, but unfortunately, those idiotic rabble-rousers resisted the constable’s demands to disperse.”

  “It was a meeting, for Christ’s sake, and bloodshed could have been prevented if you’d listened to me in the first place. I warned you.”

  “You are not infallible, Northington, though you seem to think so. Hunt, Carlisle and the others incited a riot. They will be tried before the proper magistrates and duly sentenced. That will be an end to it.”

  “No reformers are welcome in England, I see. I find that view most unsurprising, but shortsighted.”

  “My dear lord Northington, I expect only cooperation from you. Your Whig notions are not my concern, nor of any interest to me.” Thin lips twitched in an imitation of a smile. “What is of interest to me is your expertise in certain areas. As you know, the king is very ill and not expected to live long. After the recent attempt on the regent’s life, we must always be prepared.”

  “Prepared for what? An insurrection?”

  Mowry’s lips tightened. “When the Six Acts are passed, as they surely will be, we expect rebellion from certain factions. Lord Sidmouth is most concerned, and has written a letter to Lord Liverpool regarding this matter.”

  “Christ, government creates resentment and then sets about suppressing any protest. Didn’t the American Revolution teach us anything?”

  “Ah, Whig sentiments running rife, my lord?”

  “I prefer to consider my views as Liberal instead of Whig. As does any man capable of free thought.”

  “Are you suggesting we allow the rabble to run the country?”

  “No. I’m suggesting we not alienate the citizens. The Six Acts Parliament proposes will only create rebellion. I promise you, there will be an unpleasant reaction.”

  “And that is what Liverpool wishes you to prevent, my lord. Either you work with us or against us.” Mowry’s gaze was darkly cold. “Your cooperation is required. Need I remind you of your duty?”

  “I know my duty. It does not require me to dance at your pleasure. If you’ll remember, for all intents and purposes, I’m nothing more than an idle buck concerned only with gambling and horses.”

  “Ah, yes, and of course, the occasional feminine conquest.” Mowry’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Never fear, Northington, your masquerade is not endangered. Nor is it far off the mark, in my opinion. We simply request that you use your talents to discover any rebellions that may occur in reaction to Parliament’s taking a stern stand on this matter.”

  “Christ, any yeoman with a pikestaff can do the same thing,” Colter said. “What do you really want from me.”

  “There has been talk. Henry Hunt, the Orator, is stirring up sedition. James Wroe described the incident at Saint Peter’s Field in the Manchester Observer as The Peterloo Massacre. We do not need another misstep.”

  Mowry used we as a reminder that he had the government behind him, an implication that the regent confided in him. It was more likely that Prinny was fairly oblivious to anything in regard to politics, and it was certain that his father was too caught up in his own fatal madness to care.

  “You,” Mowry continued, “have been seen too much lately and are in danger of coming under suspicion. It’s been suggested that you retire from public light for a short time. Tyler will make investigations and report to you what he learns. When you return to London, you’ll operate under the guise you’ve been using. It’s proven quite effective so far.” His mouth curled. “Whig sentiments have earned you a certain amount of trust from the radicals.”

  “And suspicion from the Tories.” Colter shrugged. “I’ll go to Kent, but when I return I intend to conduct matters my own way. No interference from you this time.”

  “My dear lord Northington, I wouldn’t dream of interfering with your plans. Do remember to keep us advised, however. It wouldn’t do to counteract y
our efforts or ours again.”

  Mowry drifted away, melding into the guests who were still arriving and queuing up in the receiving line to be graciously greeted and announced before descending into the ballroom.

  Restless now, Colter considered leaving. He’d had his meeting with Mowry. His reason for lingering was gone. The desire for fresh air increased with each passing moment, and he made his way toward the doors.

  “Northington, do come here. I believe you know Lady Leverton, do you not? Oh, of course you’ve met her daughter, Miss Carolyn Leverton, I’m certain. Have you been introduced to Miss St. Clair yet?”

  Katherine’s wickedly amused introduction was made with an expression so innocent, it would be difficult to believe she had any intention in mind but civility if he didn’t know better. He turned to face the inevitable.

  Lady Leverton and her daughter offered gracious replies to his greeting, but it was Celia St. Clair who caught his instant attention.

  No virginal white gown tonight, but a gown of a deep scarlet trimmed in gold, vivid in color and seductive in style as it clung to her curves more closely than fashion dictated. She was creating quite a sensation in it, too, as men craned to view this lovely creature who trod very close to the line between respectability and indecency.

  Her every movement made the gold-and-crimson silk shimmer with reflected light, giving the appearance of a flame. The little vixen had to be aware of the glances of admiration, the murmurs of appreciation cast her way, for she wore a small, satisfied smile as she met his gaze and held it, cool green eyes regarding him with speculation. Or was that anticipation?

  A gauntlet had been thrown down.

  “Miss St. Clair,” he drawled, “you do waltz, as I recall.”