by Rakes Reward
There was something very strange about all this.
Marina bent to the paper.
The piece was short but devastating. A certain Mr S. had been seen to have an assignation with a mysterious tall lady. The scandal sheet, drawing on its private sources, was not in the least surprised to learn of that, since the gentleman’s ‘close friend,’ a foreign lady of exalted position, was known to have been seeking solace in other quarters of late. The mysterious lady was known to the editor (he said) but he would not injure her reputation by naming her at this stage. Her initials, however, were M.B.
Marina swallowed hard. She looked across at her employer. For a second, everything became hazy, as if she were about to faint, but then her vision cleared again. She did not dare to say a word. She was sure her voice would crack.
Lady Luce seemed to have noticed nothing. She was totally caught up in her enjoyment of the scandal to come. ‘I shall not drop any hints for a day or two,’ she said, ‘for I wish to see how many are astute enough to work it out for themselves. And to see how Kit Stratton will react. If he has an ounce of common sense, he will take himself off to Vienna again, before the axe falls. But then, he always was a stubborn, arrogant man. Thinks he can talk his way out of anything.’
She rose from her chair, chuckling, and made for the door. ‘I dare say it will be better than a play.’
Marina expelled a long breath as the door closed behind the Dowager. She must think! What was she to do? Should she warn Mr Stratton of what the Dowager was about? But how could she? She did not understand it herself. Besides, he would accept no advice from a mere female, especially one like Marina, whom he clearly despised.
The Dowager seemed to think that the axe was about to fall on Kit Stratton. If Marina had an ounce of sense, she, too, would simply stand by and watch.
The horse stumbled. Automatically, Kit gathered him up, mentally upbraiding himself for his failure to pay attention to his mount, or the terrain. The last thing he wanted was an injury to his favourite bay.
‘Sorry, Caesar, old fellow,’ he said soothingly. ‘Your master is not worthy of you today.’ He reined the huge stallion back to a gentle walk. At this pace, Caesar would now look out for himself, and, since they had the park to themselves at this early hour, Kit could indulge himself in a little reflection.
It was now two days since he had parted from Katharina. He had no regrets. Indeed, it was surprising how little impact her absence was having on his life. He had enjoyed her beautiful body—what man would not?—but he did not need her. He never had. It was unusual for him to be without a mistress, to be sure, but he was in no hurry to replace her.
In truth, none of the women in London Society attracted him in the least. They lacked beauty, they lacked wit, they lacked—
He shook his head. What on earth was the matter with him? The ladies in London were easily the equal of those in Vienna. Why was he suddenly so difficult to please? London offered mistresses a-plenty to choose from, married ladies who presented no threat to his independence, who would be more than willing to share his bed in return for an expensive bauble or two…and the chance to boast of having captured the handsomest rake in London. Kit grimaced a little at the thought. He knew only too well how Society spoke of him. Sometimes, his looks were a curse.
He began to review the potential candidates. Méchante, for example, would not hesitate, even now, in spite of the way he had insulted her. She had been an accomplished lover, once. And he could not deny that she was coldly beautiful. But, like all the rest, she cared only for herself. She had no redeeming qualities. There was absolutely nothing there to admire.
The same was true of all of them.
He frowned. All except—
Miss Beaumont was the only woman who had anything in the least admirable about her. She did not have looks, but she did have courage. It was a pity that she appeared to have duplicity, too. He should have taxed her with it, when he had the chance. At Emma’s party, for example. Why had he not?
Because he had been so bewitched by the way she sang that he had not been able to bring himself to shatter the spell. She was no beauty, it was true, but in that simple shimmering gown, with her chestnut hair falling in loose curls about her face, she had stirred something in him that had given him pause. What kind of woman could make music like a female Orpheus? He had wanted to begin to understand that—and other things about her, too. He had been quite incapable of taking her to task, no matter how justified his criticism might be.
But was it?
He tried to remember precisely what she had said on the landing of Lady Luce’s house. He could not. Something about his letter, but what exactly? He had been sure at the time that she was intending to insult him, but what if he was wrong? Women were sometimes so very difficult to read.
Except in bed, of course, he thought with a smile, remembering the many neglected, resentful wives who had come to purr under his hands. There, he had never had any difficulty at all.
‘Mama, I must speak to you.’
Lady Luce raised a questioning eyebrow. ‘Indeed, William? And what, pray, is so urgent?’
‘I have news about Kit Stratton, ma’am.’
‘Very well. I am listening.’
‘I think I should speak to you alone, Mama.’
Marina rose immediately.
‘Tush!’ said the Dowager. ‘Miss Beaumont is my companion and knows a great deal more than you give her credit for. Sit down at once, Marina. Anything that my son wishes to say to me, he may say in front of you.’
The Earl looked both uncomfortable and angry. His neck had turned an unbecoming shade of purple. ‘Very well,’ he said in a strained voice. ‘If that is what you wish, ma’am. But I warn you that what I have to say is not for the ears of a gently reared young lady.’
The Dowager threw him an eloquent look. It suggested that, in her opinion, her son’s views on what young ladies should and should not know left much to be desired. However, she said nothing. She merely nodded at him, impatiently.
He cleared his throat and began rather pompously, ‘You will know, I suppose, ma’am, that Mr Stratton has had a number of…er…liaisons.’ He glanced furtively towards Marina and then looked hurriedly away. ‘It is rumoured that his return to England was simply to follow his Austrian mis—er…his Austrian, when her husband was sent here. For all I know, it may be true. However, you will be interested to know that she has tired of him and that he—a man who has always prided himself on being the one to end these little…affairs—appears to be on the point of receiving his congé from the lady. It will be the first time, I dare swear.’ He smiled down at his mother. ‘I was sure you would relish the news.’
‘And I did relish it, William…the first time I heard it. That was several days ago. Where on earth have your wits been all this time? Or is it that you have been relying on Charlotte for your information? She is always the last to know.’
The Earl’s colour mounted once more. ‘If you are not interested in what I have to say, Mama, I shall take my leave.’
‘Stuff!’ said his mother sharply. ‘Stay where you are. Now, I shall tell you about Kit Stratton.’
Marina held her breath. What more did the Dowager know? She had been smiling to herself almost non-stop since the moment she had first read the scandal sheet’s wicked tale. It looked as if she believed every word of it. And she seemed to be firmly convinced that she alone knew the identity of Kit Stratton’s latest mistress, the elusive M.B. She was wrong, of course, but how was she to be set right? Did she really know another M.B.? So far, she had not chosen to share her secret with Marina. Would she reveal it now?
‘While it may suit the lady in question to put it about that she is giving Mr Stratton his congé, it is certainly not true.’
‘What? Mama, you—’
‘Allow me to finish, William. As I said, it is not true. Mr Stratton ended the relationship himself, as soon as he discovered her perfidy. That was several days ago, William. Can
’t say I blame him. Was there anything else you wished to tell me?’
Lord Luce seemed incapable of speech.
‘Then, since you do not appear to have seen it, I will give you a little light reading matter.’ She took the scandal sheet, now rather ragged, from her pocket and handed it to him. ‘I suggest you share it with your dear wife. Then you may puzzle together over the identity of M.B.’
Her son was rapidly scanning the sheet. His jaw had dropped open.
‘Interesting, ain’t it?’ said the Dowager with something approaching a gleeful cackle. ‘Let me give you a word of advice, William. Don’t look too far afield for the mysterious M.B.’
‘I beg your pardon, ma’am? I cannot think what on earth you can possibly mean.’
‘That is because you refuse to use what little sense you were born with.’ She was looking very hard at him. He seemed to be genuinely puzzled, as well as indignant. ‘Oh, very well. I am becoming tired of waiting, in any case. At this rate, I shall be carried out in my box before anyone else discovers who she is.’
Holding her breath, Marina began to study the toes of her slippers.
‘M.B.,’ said the Dowager. ‘It should not be so very difficult, especially for you, William. Think— No. Consider, if you will, the number of ladies of your acquaintance with surnames beginning with B. And then think, very carefully, about a family that is…allied with your own. That is where you will find M.B. Indeed, you yourself have been almost as close to the lady in question as Kit Stratton is rumoured to be.’
‘What? Mama, I—’
The Dowager rose angrily. ‘Do you never listen to a word I say, William? I told you to think, not to talk drivel. Oh, go away. Go away before I lose all patience with you.’
Patience was the last virtue that Marina would have attributed to the Dowager, but she was too full of anxiety to be able to appreciate the joke. The Dowager’s description could fit Marina—pretty well, at least—but she was almost sure now that she was not the intended target. Lord Luce had never been close to her, not in any way. So who?
The Earl had risen automatically with his mother, good manners overcoming his wrath. He was refusing to acknowledge Marina’s existence in any way, which was not surprising considering that she had just witnessed yet another humiliating scene between them. ‘I will take my leave, then, Mama,’ he said, bowing. ‘I’m afraid I can make nothing of your riddles. I cannot think of any family of my acquaintance that would permit such disgraceful behaviour. A young woman alone with Kit Stratton? It would be scandalous.’
The Dowager nodded, smiling maliciously.
‘I am sure no such person would be tolerated by my family. And as for your hints… Why, there is only one family that would fit your description, and the Blaines are quite above reproach—’
The Dowager snorted eloquently. ‘Are they, indeed? You, obviously, do not stop to wonder why her ladyship always wins when she holds the Faro bank. Tongues are starting to wag about your precious Blaines, William.’
The Blaines? Oh, good God, was that what the Dowager had meant? Why did all Marina’s problems seem to stem from the Blaines? Marina began to feel a little sick.
Her reaction was nothing to William’s, however. He was gasping like a stranded fish. And his colour was mounting, yet again. Marina had never seen an apoplexy, but she was beginning to wonder whether she might be about to.
The Dowager made for the door, ignoring her son’s plight. ‘Come, Marina,’ she said, beckoning. ‘We have matters to attend to. Remember what I have said, William,’ she added with affected geniality. ‘M.B. A lady that you, too, have held in your arms. Intriguing, ain’t it?’
In her haste to make up for her lateness, Marina did not really look where she was going. ‘Oh, I beg your pardon,’ she said quickly, automatically reaching out a hand to steady the young lady against whom she had stumbled. ‘How clumsy of me.’
The young lady smiled a little vacantly, but it animated her plain features. It was the eldest Miss Blaine. ‘No harm done,’ she said. ‘Why, you must be Miss Beaumont.’ She suddenly blushed bright red. ‘Forgive me,’ she continued, in a tumbling rush of words, ‘but since you are the only other young lady who is as tall as I am, I could not help but guess at your identity, even though we have not been introduced. We were both at…at Lady Stratton’s party, but Mama and I had to leave because…because I—’
‘Because you felt unwell,’ Marina improvised, automatically trying to put Miss Blaine at her ease. ‘It was not in the least surprising. I found it very hot myself.’ She glanced up the stairs towards Lady Stratton’s drawing room. ‘Have you been calling on Lady Stratton?’
‘Oh, yes. She is usually at home to visitors on Mondays. We called on Monday last, because Mama said I must apologise for…for making a scene. But Lady Stratton would not hear of it. She insisted we should call again. She is so kind and charming, do you not think? And so very elegant.’ There was no mistaking the envy in Miss Blaine’s voice.
‘Yes, indeed,’ Marina agreed, trying unsuccessfully to warm to the awkward young woman. ‘She has been immeasurably kind to a mere companion, too.’
‘But I thought…I understood that you were…related to Papa?’ There was something about her tone. It suggested that, if Marina had been a mere companion, Miss Blaine would not be prepared to converse with her at all.
‘Ye…es,’ replied Marina, a little hesitantly.
‘Well, in that case, I shall call you Marina. And you must call me Tilly.’ She gave an embarrassed giggle. ‘Dreadful name, is it not? But since “Mathilda” is even worse, I fear I have no choice in the matter. I often wish Mama had called me something more poetic—’
‘Tilly!’ Lady Blaine’s voice thundered from the landing above them. ‘Why on earth are you dawdling there? I expressly asked you to order the carriage. Do it immediately, if you please.’
‘I was just about to do so, Mama, but I encountered Marina, and—’
‘Miss Beaumont,’ said Lady Blaine, with emphasis, looking down at Marina with profound dislike. ‘No doubt she is here on an errand for her employer. Pray, do not let us keep you from your duties, Miss Beaumont. You will find Lady Stratton in her drawing room.’
Marina glanced at Tilly, but the girl was already hurrying off down to the hall to carry out her mother’s orders. And it was unlikely she would ever again dare to address Marina in Lady Blaine’s presence. The woman seemed to enjoy inflicting humiliation on others, even on her own daughter.
Picking up her skirts once more, Marina slowly mounted the rest of the stairs until she stood on the landing alongside Lady Blaine. From her greater height, she looked down into the older woman’s face, registering the depth of dislike and contempt in her hard eyes.
An imp of mischief prodded Marina into a pert little curtsy and an insolent speech. ‘How kind of you, Cousin. As it happens, I know my way.’ Then she hurried along the corridor before the astonished Viscountess had time to utter a single word in reply.
‘Miss Beaumont!’ Lady Stratton was alone. She rose from her chair as the door opened. ‘What a pity! Lady Blaine and her daughter have only just left.’
Taking a couple of deep breaths, Marina forced herself to behave as normally as she could. This was the wrong time, and the wrong place to turn her mind to—
‘Do sit down, my dear. You look a little flushed. Are you perfectly well?’
‘Perfectly, ma’am, I thank you. It was just that I was a little late and so I was hurrying.’
‘There was no need, I assure you. Do remove your bonnet. I will ring for some fresh tea. You look as though you need a cup.’
Marina watched her hostess move elegantly across to the bell. Everything seemed so very normal. She was a guest in a lady’s drawing room. They were about to take tea.
And Marina had at last discovered the identity of Lady Luce’s M.B.! After three days of racking her brains, the answer had been dropped into her lap.
She closed her eyes in horror for a moment
. There could be no doubt. The Dowager’s hints had been clearly directed at the Blaines, even though she had never actually pronounced the name. The Dowager’s M.B. was part of a family allied with her son’s. She must have been referring to the close friendship between Lady Blaine and William’s wife. It was just possible that, at some time, William had held the child Mathilda in his arms. The Dowager had probably been making mischief, as she so often did, by telling her son he had held the lady in his arms. She would enjoy taxing his rather weak intellect.
But could it really be true?
Yes. In the Dowager’s eyes, at least. She seemed to detest the Blaines almost as much as she detested her own son. And it had been the Dowager who had drawn everyone’s attention to Tilly Blaine’s obvious infatuation with Kit Stratton.
A hint or two more from Lady Luce—or from that wicked scandal sheet—and the whole of Society would quickly identify Tilly Blaine as the mysterious M.B., the woman who was reputed to be Kit Stratton’s new lover. Miss Blaine would be ruined.
It must not be allowed to happen.
It would be a monstrous injustice to an innocent girl whose only fault had been to betray her feelings for London’s foremost rake. And it would be Marina’s fault.
Something must be done to save Tilly Blaine, even if—
The door opened. She had not heard a knock.
Marina turned, expecting to see Lady Stratton’s butler with the tea tray.
‘Afternoon, Emma,’ drawled that well-known voice. ‘Have I arrived too late to greet your visitors? How very remiss of me.’
Chapter Sixteen
Marina was a mass of warring emotions. The sight of Kit Stratton’s handsome, elegant person made her heart race and her mouth go dry. But she knew that she had every reason to be furious with him. Was he not, ultimately, responsible for having betrayed her—or at least her initials—to the world at large? Was he not responsible, at least in part, for the potential disgrace that was hanging over poor Tilly Blaine?
