Three Rogues and Their Ladies - A Regency Trilogy

by G. G. Vandagriff

  The little woman chuckled. “Society has its uses, dear girl. Do not assume the air of a jaded demimondaine just yet.”

  Her words annoyed Kate. “All the world knows you make your own rules!” she said, moving restlessly in the carriage.

  Lady Susannah patted her hand. “There, my girl, I did not mean to criticize. However, you cannot bend that great beast called the ton to your will so soon. I know you are used to being petted and indulged by your papa.” She looked up into Kate’s eyes, her own uncompromising. “Society is a brutal thing, and you must never forget it. When you are old and ugly like me, gossip and scandal will not harm you. But it can break you, child, if you are not awake on all suits.”

  Kate felt well and truly chastised. Perhaps for the first time in her life. Gulping down her indignation, she wished with all her might to be back in Devonshire, where she could walk along the cliffs alone in the moonlight and hear the crash of the waves against the rocks.

  You idiot! Just because things are not going according to your plans, you are ready to retreat. What if Field Marshall Wellesley and Admiral Nelson thought as you do? England would be ruled by Bonaparte!

  She prepared herself for the fact that Northbrooke was not going to be at the ball, and made up her mind that it was time to put another plan in train.

  Caro put a hand over her clutched fist. “Jack will be there tonight. I’m sure of it!”

  “Are you? Stop your worrying, Caro. I have quite given him up.”

  “Poor Jack, then.”

  * * *

  Lord Walsingham approached Kate when, after greeting her hostess, she descended the stairs onto the floor of the ballroom. It was the first she had seen of him since their chance meeting in the park. Again, he was all in black, save his white shirt. No doubt she was fanciful, but his black eyes were oddly fixed on her, as though he could read her thoughts. Once more, a black ribbon held his blond hair back close to his head. She noticed this time that he had a pronounced widow’s peak. Maybe this accounted for the sinister cast to his features.

  “Good evening, Lady Katherine. May I say that your gown is splendid? You are well on your way to becoming an Original, I see.”

  “I am not sure about that, my lord, but I do abhor lace and flounces.” She forced a smile.

  “May I write myself in on your dance card? I should like to reserve the two waltzes.”

  He was crowding her and she did not like it at all. With an artificial laugh, she dotted his wrist with her fan. “That would cause talk, my lord. I will allow you one. The Gorgons have only recently given me permission, you know.”

  “Gorgons?”

  “The patronesses of Almack’s. I am sure you have heard of them?”

  He smiled suddenly, and though his features appeared less bleak, his eyes burned with some emotion she could not read. Unease clenched into a knot below her breastbone.

  He turned to her companions. “Good evening, Lady Susannah, Miss Braithwaite. You look in fine fettle.”

  “What makes you think you can compare us to horses, my lord?” her ladyship inquired.

  “Forgive me. It was but a figure of speech. May I find a seat for you?” He offered his arm to Caro’s aunt.

  She took it, but said, “I should rather like to walk about the room to see who is here. I do not often attend balls, you know. I wonder if I shall find any of my particular friends?”

  Caro and Kate were left to follow in their train. Though she did not turn her head, she made good use of her peripheral vision to ascertain that, as yet, the Marquis of Northbrooke was not there. She felt a little like a horse herself. Prepared to gallop, but harshly restrained by her master. If only she were not so restless!

  Then, all at once, the marquis was there. Dressed in elegant evening clothes, a finely fitted jacket of gold-colored velvet with a gold satin waistcoat and black pantaloons, Lord Northbrooke presented himself to Caro first. The sight of his broad shoulders, deep chest, and fine legs excited Kate. When he took her hand, he fixed his sherry-colored eyes on hers, and then bowed, kissing her knuckles. Why should this same act, committed by Walsingham moments ago, bring such flutterings to her breast now?

  “Dare I hope you have a dance left for me? The supper dance, perhaps?”

  “That would be lovely, my lord.”

  “I have never seen you fitted out fine as fivepence,” Caro teased him.

  “You have only just come to Town, my dear.” He made his friend an exaggerated bow.

  “Coat by Weston, I presume?”

  “Of course.” Then, turning back to Kate, he said, “I apologize, my lady, for having been called out of town on the day of our planned outing. Would you do me the honor of riding with me tomorrow afternoon perhaps?”

  “If you promise you will let me take the ribbons,” Kate said, raising her eyes to his and fluttering her fan. The gold of his jacket played up eyes that were harboring a twinkle. In her debutante role, it was disturbingly easy to flirt. She had only to remember Joey’s misery at Eton. She had received a letter recounting that misery only today.

  “Only under close supervision. Value my cattle highly, you know.”

  “Now, that was rude, Jack!” Caro rapped him with her fan.

  “I suppose I might be persuaded to go out with you. If nothing better offers,” Kate said and simulated a yawn she covered delicately with her hand.

  “Yes. In your absence, Lord Walsingham has been quite attentive to Kate,” Caro told him.

  A sudden frown appeared on the marquis’ brow. “Walsingham?”

  Kate kept back the words she had almost uttered. You are not the only fish in the sea. Instead she said, “There he is, guiding Lady Susannah about the ballroom.”

  Northbrooke’s mouth looked so grim that Kate masked a smile with her fan.

  He said, “I am loath to curb any pleasure of yours, your ladyship, but you should know that Walsingham has a dashed smoky reputation.”

  “So my aunt tells me,” Kate said. Then, holding out her wrist, from which her dance card dangled with its little pencil, she continued, “I do have the supper dance free. It is a waltz, as it happens.”

  Staring at the little card, he said, “Hmm. Looks like you are dancing the only other one with Walsingham. Plague take it! He must know you are an heiress.”

  Now she was offended. “How very ungentlemanly of you! Can you not think of another reason for his interest?”

  “Not Walsingham. No. And if you were more discerning about character, you would realize that I am right.”

  “Jack!” Caro said, in a lowered, but emphatic voice. “Kate is a beautiful, alluring woman, in case you have not noticed! And I certainly hope you have not been telling people that she is an heiress. I told you, she does not want it known. I should never have mentioned it. Kate, forgive me.”

  Kate’s temper was mounting. Caro was a tittle-tattle! What kind of financial straits was Northbrooke in? Did he need her fortune? Was that what was behind his interest in her? He was certainly quick to give Walsingham that motive. Caro was right. He was exceedingly rude.

  In spite of her determination to make a marriage of convenience, she did not want to be married for her fortune. It was too lowering!

  All her lovely plans concerning the marquis fell to bits. No, he was not the least gallant. And her new friend seemed to have given him the idea that she was ripe for the plucking.

  She gave Caro a curt nod, ignored the marquis altogether, and said, “I’ve stepped in the hem of my gown. I must go pin it up.”

  Turning abruptly, she made her way through the crush to the ladies’ retiring room. Once there, she sat and fanned herself. Her ideas were crashing together in confusion.

  I must give up the marquis as a bad job. His address is appalling and insulting, he is most likely a fortune hunter, and we really have nothing in common.

  If she were Lady Susannah, she would curse Caro roundly for her loose tongue. What was she to do? She did not wish to waltz with either Northbrooke or W
alsingham. And she no longer wished to ride out with the former the following day. Twisting her delicate fan in her fury, she broke several of its sticks.

  At that moment, Caro entered the room, her face flushed and eyes darting about anxiously until she spotted Kate. She came to sit beside her on the daybed. Grasping her hand, she whispered, “Forgive me! And forgive Jack. He explained to me that Walsingham is not generally interested in females. Only in cards. But still! What Jack said was the outside of enough.”

  Kate said, “I particularly told you not to mention my financial prospects.”

  “I am so sorry. I am such a rattlepate. You must not think that Jack needs money. He needs a wife! As soon as he is married, he will come into his fortune. He has a very tiresome trust.”

  “Like mine, in fact,” Kate said.

  “That is the only reason I told him about your trust. Because it was like his.”

  “So he is interested in a speedy marriage.”

  “Well . . . yes.”

  “Kindly inform him that he may strike my name from his list.” Kate stood up before Caro could see how her words had angered her. He may not be a fortune hunter, but the interest she had read in the marquis’ eyes was only that of a man looking for a willing female who could facilitate the claiming of his fortune. He was a man of experience, and was probably only playing a role.

  Like me. But fury disallowed that thought.

  “I am striking his name from my dance card, as well. We would not suit. Now, I must go. It is probably time for my dance with Walsingham.”

  “But, Kate. Did you not determine you were going to marry Jack right after you met him for exactly the same reason? So you could have access to your money?”

  She would not reveal her heart to Caro, who obviously could not be trusted with confidences. “Did you tell the marquis that?”

  “Of course not!”

  Kate did not believe her.

  * * *

  The Earl’s smooth compliments repulsed her. She wondered if her emotions toward him were only the result of her jaundiced view toward the ton in general and the Marquis of Northbrooke in particular. For most of their waltz, she did not look into his face, but focused instead on his cravat. When she did happen to look up into his eyes, their expression was one of curiosity.

  “How are we going to get to know one another better?” he asked.

  Desiring nothing more than to strike at the marquis, she said, “We could ride out together tomorrow afternoon. Do you have a carriage in town?”

  “A curricle. Would that suit?”

  “Admirably,” she said, smiling up at him with assumed interest.

  He pulled her a bit closer than was strictly proper.

  Watch it, my girl. Your impetuosity is going to land you in the suds if you are not careful!

  “Are you certain, my dear, that you will not grant me the supper waltz?” He smiled again.

  Despite the warning to herself, she wished to be occupied when the marquis came to claim his dance. She could not even imagine herself in his arms, angry as she was. “You have persuaded me.”

  He pulled her closer still. A little thrill of danger traveled through Kate, but she disregarded it. What harm could come to her in a ballroom full of people?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  IN WHICH OUR HERO REAPS DISASTER

  Confound it! Why could the woman not have read the intent behind my words? What had rendered her so easily offended? Did Caro not tell me that she favored me? Here it is, my dance, and she is waltzing again with that no-good blackguard. I only meant to warn her.

  And now, Caro says Kate wants nothing more to do with me. The devil take it all. She is a troublesome minx, and no mistake. Is she in the way of falling for Walsingham?

  Well, there was the ride tomorrow afternoon in the park. For now, he would stop torturing himself by watching the woman he had tumbled into love with dancing with the last man on earth she should know. Was the earl now the recipient of her unusual charm and energy? He went to the card room and promptly lost fifty guineas.

  * * *

  The following day, he arrived at the Home Office for an appointment with the Home Secretary, a tall, slender individual whose deceptively handsome face and elegant manners masked a keen and suspicious mind. His office was hung with a fug of cigar smoke, and he sat ensconced behind a large mahogany desk in front of a sunny window that looked out over Westminster.

  “I’ve got a possible name for you, sir.”

  “That was fast. So your hunch about the smuggling operation in Devonshire bore fruit?”

  “In a manner of speaking. At least, I’m hoping so.”

  The Home Secretary’s eyes showed a speculative glint. “Are you going to tell me about it, or not?”

  Jack settled himself into the buttery brown leather of his wing chair and related the tale of his abortive attempt to intercept a spy on the beach the night of the smuggling incident.

  “Nevertheless, I determined to put up at the inn for a few days to see if anyone visited from London. The smugglers were a rough bunch and not likely to have access to the kind of information we are concerned with. I decided that if they were involved at all, it was only as intermediaries.” Pausing, he crossed his legs. The Secretary was leaning forward on his desk, eyes alight.

  “Out with it, man!”

  “Two days went by. Eventually, the innkeeper came to trust me, seeing as how I had let the free traders go without turning them over to the excise men. I gathered from him that there was a gentleman of Quality who visited on occasion, stayed in the district overnight, and then left, presumably to return to London. He kept to himself, and, as far as the innkeeper knew, had no association with anyone. He gave his name as Robinson, which you will recognize as a common-enough alias.”

  “Did this Robinson’s coming and going occur in conjunction with the smuggling operation in any way?”

  “Yes. That is what made me determined to stay on. Robinson customarily appeared no later than three days after a brandy drop.”

  “To collect his part of the payment from the French! So the smugglers are only middlemen. Well, I must say, that makes a deal more sense to me. All along, I have felt that access to the sort of information that is making its way to the French must come from here in the War Office.”

  “I imagine that the spy, as I suppose we must call him, also uses this opportunity to pass on any new information.”

  “Northbrooke, you’re worse than my great aunt. Tell me! Did you rumble the devil?”

  “Not entirely. Cursed bad luck, as you will see when I’ve finished my tale. You must have patience, Mr. Secretary.” Jack grinned.

  “On with it, and cease your cat-who-ate-the-cream stunt.”

  Jack was enjoying his tale. Though not completely successful, at least he had proven to himself that he was good at his work—welcome knowledge in light of his failure at the ball the night before. “The evening of the day I had the information from the innkeeper, the Quality turned up. Earl of Walsingham.”

  “By George! Always did think he was a dashed loose screw!”

  “Greeted me a little too heartily. Invited me to share supper. Tried to get me foxed.”

  “But you restrained yourself admirably.”

  “Of course. And went meekly to bed, right on his heels. Did I neglect to tell you my room had an excellent view of the staircase?”

  “Of course it did.”

  “Then you will deduce that, through a crack in the door, I saw the villain sneak down the stairs at half past one, completely enveloped in a black greatcoat.”

  “You followed him.”

  “Yes. But again, the night was overcast. No moon or stars. I regret to say that once we were away from the village, I lost him.”

  The Home Secretary smacked his desk with the palm of his hand. “The devil you did!”

  “He returned to the inn in the early morning. Near four a.m. Raised the landlord to fix him some breakfast and was away to London by si
x.”

  “Dashed strange behavior. He must be our man.”

  “That is what I think,”

  The secretary’s eyes gleamed. “Hmm. Bears looking into, certainly. I’ll have someone make discreet inquiries about the earl, his finances, and known associates. Shall you keep an eye on him from your place in Society?”

  “You can count on it, sir. I don’t trust the fellow an inch.”

  “Send a report to me immediately, should you happen on to something. And Northbrooke . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m certain I don’t need to remind you that this is not a race in your phaeton. Walsingham is risking hanging. If he thinks you are onto him, he has nothing to lose by adding murder to his sins.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And, don’t be so confounded long-winded next time! I’m a busy man.” Standing, he offered his hand across his desk. “Good work, man.”

  From there, the marquis went to Weston to be measured for another evening jacket (since he must needs court the infuriating Lady Kate), then on to his tailors to choose the fabric for a new waistcoat for evening wear. He would not yield to Walsingham again in the ballroom.

  * * *

  When he arrived at Blossom House later in the afternoon, it was to find not Lady Kate, but rather a note.

  Dear Lord Northbrooke:

  I am terribly sorry not to keep our date to ride out today. I am certain you will understand when I tell you that the ox is in the mire. I must not delay in pulling it out.

  Sincerely,

  Lady Katherine Derramore

  No doubt Lady Kate thought herself very witty, but he was aware of budding anger at her tactics. He was not acquainted with any other woman, excepting Caro, who would have employed such stratagems. Did she think this a game? Had she not felt the extraordinary attraction between them that he had felt at their first meeting? Perhaps she was merely a good actress. Perhaps she had no real feeling at all.

  What he needed was a good gallop to defuse his black temper and thwarted desire. Returning his phaeton to the mews, he saddled his finest horse—the chestnut stallion he had purchased the previous day at Tatt’s, should he find the need for another midnight foray into Devonshire.