“He’s not worth it,” he said softly. “Do you love him?”
Her crystal blue eyes widened. “No--yes. I don’t know. I feel . . . betrayed,” she whispered.
The first strands of the waltz started, and Max whispered, “Our dance.” Possessively placing a hand at the small of her back, he led her out from behind the pillar onto the dance floor. As his eyes took in her silk apricot gown, he noted her creamy breast rising and falling in the low bodice, the slight flair of her hips and thought she looked perfect. He reached for her hand and, sliding his other arm around her, drew her in closer than the proper distance allowed.
But not as close as he wanted. As he glided with her around the room and her smile returned, Max was hit with an undeniable urge to caress her, to stroke her back comfortingly, to press tender kisses in her glorious chestnut curls, to kiss her pale lips until their color returned, to trail nibbling kisses down her slender neck . . . .
Bloody hell! This woman bewitched him!
The dance ended, and still Max was reluctant to let her go. So he kept his hand at the small of her back as he led her over to where Lady Lenwood sat with several other chaperones.
“Ride out with me tomorrow.” It was not a request. She hesitated, and Max took her hand, stoking it with his thumb. “Do you have a mount?” At her nod, he said, “I’ll come by at five.”
Then he kissed the back of her gloved hand before releasing it and quit the building.
~~~~~
Pensively, Penelope watched Max saunter out of Almack’s Great Room. She’d never met a kinder gentleman. When he’d wiped her tear away and then kissed it with her lips, she’d felt her heart flutter. And the tenderness displayed in his sherry eyes almost took her breath away. Somehow, it almost made up for Victor’s cruel indifference.
“I saw Mr. Bynes leave,” Lady Anne said, coming up beside her.
Penelope jumped, startled out of her reverie. “Leave?” She tried to school her countenance from showing her shock. Victor never told her he was leaving early, nor had he bid goodnight.
But Lady Anne wasn’t fooled as she took Penelope’s arm and led her toward the hall, which afforded them some measure of privacy. Giving Penelope a commiserating look, Lady Anne said, “I saw him dancing with Miss Myers-Smythe.” There was a note of censure in her voice. “He should have been paying you court, instead. Did he dance a second time with you?”
Penelope shook her head. “It does not matter. After all, we’ve been engaged for three years.”
“Maybe your father is right, Penelope. Going by Victor’s behavior tonight, you should consider breaking the engagement.” Lady Anne’s expression was grave.
“You are a good friend, Anne, and I thank you for your concern. But Victor is usually more attentive. I am sure he will have an explanation,” Penelope said, hoping that he would.
Still, later that evening as she and her partner danced to a quadrille, Penelope realized that her evening hadn’t been totally ruined. In fact, she’d felt like a fairy princess being rescued by her shining knight in armor when Aldwyn had pulled her out onto the dance floor. And the waltz with Aldwyn had been quite . . . invigorating and fun.
~~~~~
Late the next morning, Max met Lady Smith-Willis at her modiste in Bond Street and spent an enjoyable hour examining fabrics and discussing colors and discovered he did, indeed, have a flare as well as a keen interest in such things. Chuckling to himself as he left, he thought that Fenton would be pleased with his morning’s work.
His next stop was White’s. There, he perused two newspapers until Edric Kingston plopped down in a chair next to him and asked, “How much did you lose last night?”
“Several hundred. Hard going, to,” Max answered. “Had a couple of really great hands.”
As they shared a light lunch of mutton pie and ale, Max asked, “Ever write a poem to a female?”
“I’d sooner send her flowers.” Edric lifted an eyebrow mockingly. “Following the Barb writing sonnets, are you?”
Max laughed derisively. “No worry there. But I promised Lady Penelope I’d write an ode to her eyes.” Clearing his throat, he recited, “Your eyes shine like stars--”
“Original,” Edric snorted.
“Your sweet lips taste of morning dew--”
“Don’t think I’d like that.”
“Your slender hips sway like a willow tree--”
“Better give it up,” Edric shook his head, laughing. “No woman wants her hips compared to a tree.”
Seeing the wisdom in Edric’s words, Max turned the topic to the new hunters being offered at Tattersall’s. Soon after, they parted to go their separate ways, and Max strolled down Regent’s Street to his tailor’s. There, he placed an order for several new suits.
As it was almost tea time, Max ambled down Bond Street toward Berkeley Square, all the while ruminating the events at Almack’s last night. There seemed to be something about Penelope that brought out his protective instincts. No other explanation accounted for the ache in his heart as he remembered the lone tear streaking down her pale cheek as she’d stood behind the palms. By Jove, Victor Bynes should be drawn and quartered for causing her pain. The cad was engaged to Penelope, yet in front of her very eyes and that of her friends, he’d shown his partiality for another young woman. It was enough to make Max’s blood boil.
Proffering his beaver tophat to Hobbson, Max told the butler he’d see himself up to the drawing room where the Dowager Duchess warmly greeted him.
“What a lovely yellow coat,” she said, pouring him a cup of tea.
“Fenton calls it saffron, Grandmère,” he said, pulling on the velvet jacket’s deep ivory satin cuffs that matched wide and deeply notched lapels. “I saw you conversing with Mrs. Arnaud at the Earl of Lenwood’s dinner. How well do you know her?”
“Claudine Arnaud? Not well,” she said, making a face, “but a toadeater if I ever saw one. And what I hear is not complementary. It is said that she slaps her maid over the silliest thing, calling the poor woman a stupid imbecile and other vile names.”
Max raised one eyebrow and drawled, “Hobnobbing with gossipmongers, Grandmère? For shame.”
She laughed at his jest, then said, “Yes, however, my source is most reliable. Servants do talk to one another, and Louisa, Mrs. Arnaud’s maid, told my Millie that she does not want to return to France.”
“The Arnauds plan to return to their homeland?”
“Nothing so definite,” the Dowager Duchess said, waving her hand airily. “They talk of reestablishing themselves sometime after the war.” Leaning back on the settee, she crossed her arms and asked, “Now, tell me about your morning with Lady Smith-Willis.”
A short while later, as Max encountered Hobbson in the hall for his hat and gloves, the butler informed him that His Grace desired to see Max in the study before he left.
“Have a seat, Maxwell,” the Duke said, indicating an armchair in front of the desk as he leaned back in his chair. “Have you had any luck befriending Arnaud?”
“Somewhat,” Max said, then proceeded to fill Blackmoor in on Mrs. Doodles’s gambling parlor.
Knowing Max’s proficiency with cards, the Duke asked with a half smile, “Tough losing?”
Max snorted disgustedly. “Toughest part is making it look natural.”
After nodding, Blackmoor sat up and leaned his elbows on the desk. “More documents have gone missing, Maxwell. One, in particular, is troubling. It is a map that shows our troop movements.”
Chapter 4
“Still no idea who is taking them?” asked Max, noticing the dark circles under his father’s eyes.
The Duke shook his head. “No, but if the culprit follows his regular pattern, he’ll pass them to Pierre Arnaud. I need you to get closer with Arnaud. It’s imperative we find this mole and soon.”
After talking with his father, Max decided he needed to step up his campaign to get in Arnaud’s good graces. His father had told him that the Arnauds had been
invited to dinner at the Earl of Stanburke’s tonight. Max also knew that the Arnauds’ staff was small, which should work in his favor as he resolved to break into the townhouse and search for the missing map. But his first stop was Upper Brook Street to change into less conspicuous clothing.
“I need to up my game, Fenton,” Max said, shucking the saffron velvet jacket and new-leaf green trousers. “I need to appear more of a buffoon to throw off suspicions.”
“It won’t do to get too carried away, my lord,” Fenton said with asperity. “People’ll be making fun of you.”
“That’s precisely what needs to happen.” Max pulled on black breeches, vest, and jacket, and tied a black scarf around his neck.
“As you wish, my lord.” Fenton sounded pained.
The Arnauds rented a small townhouse on Crawford Street, a good address if not the most tonnish. Max took a hackney cab and had the driver let him off several blocks away. Close to midnight, the streets were quiet, with only the occasional carriage rumbling along. Walking by the Arnauds’ three story townhouse, Max saw that the drapes were closed and the front of the house was dark. He walked to the end of the block and turned into the back alley that separated the houses behind those on Crawford Street.
The quarter moon gave off little light. Still, Max stayed close to the shadows of the tall fences or brick walls that enclosed the miniscule rear gardens of the townhouses. A third of the way down the alley, he stopped and peered over the brick wall at the back of the Arnauds’ townhouse. No lights shone on the ground floor, but several windows on the top floor where servants lived were lit.
He retraced his steps down the alley and around to the front of the townhouse, then checked up and down the street. Seeing no one, he crouched beside a ground floor multi-paned window. It was probably a parlor, but he couldn’t see inside. He took a knife from his pocket and began to edge around the small windowpane under the lock until he pried it out. Reaching in, he unlocked the window and slid up the sash.
Poking his head between heavy damask drapes, he made sure the room was empty before climbing in to what looked like a parlor with two settees and several chairs. After quickly replacing the pane, wedging part of it behind the lock, he went to the door and peered out. It, too, was pitch dark. He slipped out into the hall and inched his way along, bumping into a table, before he felt a door. Carefully opening it, he saw the outline of a desk. He closed the door behind him and, making his way over to it, pulled a flint from his jacket pocket and lit it.
There was a lamp on the desk, which he quickly lit, then looked around. He was in a small library or study. The only other furniture was two covered chairs on either side of the fireplace. He closed the drapes before he began searching the desk. The bottom top right drawer was locked. Again he used his knife and popped the lock. Inside were French documents pertaining to Arnaud’s life in France and a few francs. No map.
Then Max heard a noise coming from the back of the house. Looking for a place to hide, his eyes flew around the room. On one side of the desk, embedded beside the floor to ceiling bookcase, was a small, narrow door. He closed the desk drawer, blew out the lamp, and went to the door. Opening it, he was forced to turn sideways to slip inside. It felt like a cloak closet, barely two feet wide, and had several garments hanging from pegs. Squeezing himself in, he shut the door--and not a moment too soon.
The study door opened, and Max heard Pierre Arnaud talking. “You should have thought of that before you wrote those vowels.”
“I’ve done what you’ve asked.” The voice was British and angry.
“Not nearly enough to cover your debts,” Arnaud shot back.
“Those papers have got to be returned before anyone notices they’re missing.”
Carefully, Max turned the doorknob and eased the door open a crack. In the weak lamp light, he saw Arnaud go toward a tall cabinet with glass doors and move some books around before pulling out a sheath of papers. “Here,” Arnaud said, shoving them toward the other man, who was on the other side of the closet door out of Max’s sight.
“Where’s the map?”
“I’m not through with it,” Arnaud said.
“I got to have the map. They’ll be looking for it.”
Arnaud grunted and walked over toward the man. He noticed the closet door and took another step with his hand reaching for the door.
Max pulled back his head and held his breath, preparing to duck his face and make a run for it. But the door closed as Arnaud said, “Come, I’ll get it.”
Hearing the click of the study door, Max slowly released a breath. He thought about trying to get a look at the other man, but light still shone under the closet’s door. He’d waited several minutes, and hearing nothing, eased out of the closet when he heard footsteps in the hall.
Quickly, he hopped back in the closet, quietly pulling the door toward him, just as the study door opened. He heard noises that sounded like someone tidying up, then the light grew dimmer before the study door clicked and all was dark.
Again Max waited until several minutes had passed before easing the closet door open. Moving soundlessly over to the study door, he put his ear against it and listened, but all was silent. Opening it, he crossed the dark hall to the parlor door. No light shone under it, so he cautiously opened it. Hurrying over to the window, Max peered through the drapes to check the street before he climbed through the window. He pulled up the sash, stepped out on the sidewalk, closed the sash, and headed for Berkeley Square to report to the Duke.
~~~~~
Penelope had looked forward all day to the dinner given by the Marquess of Donagail at their townhouse in Portman Place. It was rumored to be a grand and large affair. So, she had instructed Lucy to take special care fixing her chestnut locks, lacing a strand of white pearls through a most becoming upsweep. Waiting behind her parents to greet the Marquess and his Marchioness, she ran her gloved hand over the front of the cream satin gown trimmed with pale blue ribbons to cover her nervousness.
When her mother had told her at breakfast that Lord Aldwyn would be attending, Penelope was thrilled by the prospect of seeing Lord Aldwyn tonight. So much so, in fact, that she felt guilty about her apparent fascination with the dandy.
As she entered the drawing room, she spied Victor among the guests. He broke away from a group and came over, greeting her parents, then taking her hand to bestow a kiss. She met his indifferent pale blue stare when he lifted his sandy head and immediately thought of Aldwyn’s thick black curls and warm sherry eyes. Feeling guilty for making a comparison, she felt a hot blush sear her cheeks.
He gave a low chuckle, misreading her rosy hue, and said, “Your innocent confusion is most fetching, my dear.”
They chatted with her parents for a few moments, but soon Victor excused himself when the Arnauds arrived. Behind the French couple, Penelope saw Lord Aldwyn and suddenly smiled, thinking that his entrance resembled the soft colors of an approaching dawn.
His pink velvet clawhammer coat trimmed in silver braid had white satin, wide lapels and deep cuffs, and high collar. He wore a silver embroidered, white satin waistcoat over a silk shirt with a ruffled front and cuffs. White pantaloons hugged his lean, muscular thighs. The champagne shine of his black leather pumps with silver buckles reflected the shine of the drawing room’s chandelier. Sporting three fobs and a snowy white cravat with a large, ruby stick pin, Aldwyn’s eyes met hers and he grinned.
As he was late arriving, he sought out his hostess, who stood on the other side of Penelope’s mother, and spent several minutes complementing her. “You know the silvery-blue of your gown enhances the color of your eyes, Lady Donagail?” Max said, bowing over the Marchioness’s hand.
Lady Donagail gave Aldwyn a smug smile. “You do know how to flatter, Aldwyn,” she said, playfully slapping his arm with her fan. Leaning in closer to him, she said, “I do believe your father is looking for you.”
~~~~~
Looking in his father’s direction, Max drawled, “Ah, y
es, I see him beckoning me.” Then he turned to Penelope, who looked utterly angelic in a creamy satin gown with sky blue ribbons, and asked, “Would you care to join me, Lady Pen?” He took her elbow and together they strode across the room to where the Dowager Duchess of Blackmoor sat on a settee. Depositing Penelope beside her, he bowed over his Grandmère’s hand, bringing it to his lips.
“Have a care you don’t overdo it, Maxwell,” the Duke of Blackmoor said under his breath from where he stood by his mother. “I’d hoped to have a word with you, but I see the Arnauds are here. You’d better come by tomorrow instead.”
With a curt nod, Max met his eye, then moved to the other side of the settee and stood next to Penelope. “Grandmère, my ode to Lady Penelope is going nowhere,” he said, noticing the twinkle in her eye at his foolishness. “I can’t come up with a word that rhymes with orb.”
“Try fool,” jeered Victor Bynes as he stopped in front of Penelope.
Max frowned. He knew he shouldn’t bait Bynes but was unable to stop himself. “Don’t believe that will work, even if I force the rhyme.”
“A pink popinjay like you shouldn’t have much trouble rhyming words. Try oars.”
“Which reminds me,” Maxwell said, “you’re waistcoat is abominable. That dreadful color reminds me of driftwood. I’d be happy to give you one of mine that would complement your jacket.”
“Go to the devil, Aldwyn,” Bynes spat, squaring his shoulders.
“Maxwell, do mind your manners,” the Dowager Duchess said. “And give me your arm. I’d like to take a turn about the room.”
Max helped his grandmother up, then extended an arm to Lady Penelope. “Care to join us, my lady?”
Bynes stepped in front of Penelope. “She’s with me.”
Max waited until Penelope peeked around her fiancé to give him a small shake of her head and a weak smile before he moved off.
A Lady's Dilemma Or The Dandy and Lady Penelope Page 4
