by Allison Lane
Grinding his teeth, Blake shoved his way through the crowd. “My set, I believe,” he said when he reached her side.
“Wait your turn,” suggested the drunk. “We was here first.”
“Do you wish to postpone our dance?” he asked Catherine, shifting so he stood between her and the men.
“Of course not, my lord.” She emphasized the address, making one of the men blink.
“The lady has chosen.” He put steel in his tone, his look promising trouble if they persisted.
The drunk raised a fist to protest, but one of his friends grabbed his arm. “Let’s go, Jake. This ain’t your lucky night, after all.”
They headed for the door.
“Thank you.” Catherine managed a smile as they joined a set. “Now you understand why I wished to stay home.”
“Forgive me,” he begged. “I should not have stepped out.”
She moved into the first figure, relaxing now that the danger was past.
His own mind was less sanguine. The men had not been in the room when he’d left, so they must have come solely to find the harlot – which meant news of Catherine’s attendance was spreading. That was hardly a surprise, given that at least one girl had been ordered home to avoid her.
But the potential of outside trouble was not as important as the damage they had done inside. Expressions had hardened, putting glares on faces that earlier had seemed neutral.
“I met two ladies named Clara and Hortense,” he said when they came together. “Who are they?”
“The Peters sisters.”
Blake raised his brows in silent question as they separated.
“Spinsters who live in that cottage just outside of town,” she explained at their next meeting.
“With the roses over the door?”
She nodded.
Two patterns later, they reached the bottom of the set.
Blake waited a moment to catch his breath – the lead fiddler was picking up speed, making this dance unusually energetic. “I suspect that Hortense does not like Mrs. Telcor.”
“Nor does Clara, though she is less obvious about it. They grew up together and have long been rivals. Mrs. Telcor feels superior for having landed a husband, however short-lived, while the Peters sisters did not.”
“Her husband died young?”
“After barely six months of marriage. She miscarried a month later.”
No wonder she had turned her maternal urges on Jasper.
“Their most recent tiff is over Jasper,” Catherine continued as if reading his mind. “The Peters sisters dismissed his explanation of the Jones incident, informing Mrs. Telcor that he was too old for heedless destruction and juvenile pranks. She tolerates criticism of herself, but never of Jasper.”
“Perhaps we can use that rift,” he murmured as the dance reclaimed them. And just as well, for he had no real ideas how he could use them beyond what he’d already done.
When the set ended, he left Catherine with William, then turned toward Mary’s corner. But Mrs. Telcor pounced. “You haven’t met Miss Wyath, my lord.” She performed the introductions. “Her mother is granddaughter to Lord Seaton and cousin to the Duke of Everleigh.”
Tenth cousin, at best, he decided as he greeted her in a very bored tone. He doubted if either lord knew the Wyaths. Miss Wyath’s long nose and amber eyes reminded him of a hawk.
How had she wangled this introduction? Mrs. Telcor might be smiling now, but she’d been furious with him for escorting the Seabrooks. But perhaps she was also unhappy with Alicia. This might be her way of repaying both of them.
The hairs on his neck stiffened under his cravat. Alicia had reportedly made a bid for Jasper’s hand before turning to William, but Mrs. Telcor would never approve such a low connection for her favorite.
“I’ve always admired men who are active in politics,” Miss Wyath said, fluttering her lashes. “You must tell me about your plans for reform.”
“I doubt you would understand rotten boroughs or the rules of taxation,” he said untruthfully.
“Nonsense. My father often debates such matters with me.” She laid a hand on his arm.
“Lead the girl out,” suggested Mrs. Telcor. “You can talk during this cotillion.”
“Another time, perhaps,” he said, stepping back. “I promised this set to Miss Mary. Mrs. Telcor, Miss Wyath.” Bowing, he fled.
The last thing he wanted was to dance a cotillion with a fortune hunter. It was the one dance that would keep her at his side for most of the set. He had hoped to share it with Catherine, but that trio of drunkards had forced them into the country dance. Fortunately, Mary was free. And dancing a second time with these two should force Laura to recognize his disinterest.
An hour later, he wished that none of them had come. The crowd remained cool, though Catherine was the only one being actively shunned. William had danced every set since their talk, forcing a gaiety he did not feel. Blake hoped the gossips would attribute his strain to Catherine rather than dashed dreams. Laura was flirting with every man in the room. He’d refused to stand up with her a second time, even to avoid Miss Wyath, who was clearly stalking him. So far, he’d evaded her by asking strangers to dance, but he wasn’t sure how long he could escape her clutches.
Yet when deliverance finally came, it made Alicia’s stratagems seem benign.
Jasper arrived.
Blake held his breath, for Catherine and William were standing just inside the entrance. Even from across the room he could see the fire in William’s eyes. If Jasper cut Catherine or greeted her with the false familiarity he’d used in Exeter, William would attack.
The outcome hung in the balance for a long moment while Jasper examined Catherine from head to toe with an ornate quizzing glass. Then he greeted her civilly.
Blake cursed under his breath. He should have known Jasper would employ cunning. A brawl would terminate the evening and would allow Catherine to claim that Jasper was behind the rumors. She might also reveal his other crimes. To maintain his own façade, he provided no excuse to accuse him – not that he accepted her; his demeanor announced that he was overlooking her reputation to protect the other guests from William’s violence.
Clever like a fox, admitted Blake reluctantly, though he cringed at Jasper’s taste. His clothes would have made even a London tulip flinch – a yellow wasp-waisted coat with enormous buttons, blue pantaloons, and a red-striped waistcoat embroidered with lavender flowers. The fact that his friends hadn’t told him how ridiculous he looked indicated that they knew him well. It also proved that the infamous waistcoat must have been truly awful.
Five minutes later Blake pricked to attention, cold clutching his stomach. A new rumor was spreading as knots of gossips formed and reformed. Voices rose in agitation. “Scandalous … Lansbury affair … Parrish … they don’t even try to hide…”
“Lies! All lies!” shouted a man into the rising furor. “There’s not a word of truth to any of it.”
Blake couldn’t see the speaker through the shifting crowd, but it had to be Lansbury.
Catherine rushed up to clutch his arm, panic filling her eyes. “We have to leave.”
He covered her hand. “No. Leaving now will make it worse.”
“Tarradiddles, every one, I tell you!” shouted Lansbury, his face purple as he shook a fist at a matron. “Plumpers and clankers of the first order!”
Blake cursed. “His protests make him seem guilty.” Already the crowd was condemning Lansbury for ignoring indisputable evidence, though no one seemed to know what that evidence was.
“Poor man. We should get him away before his wife returns,” Catherine murmured. “She is in the retiring room.”
“Try to warn her—”
But it was too late. A screech drowned the music, pulling every eye to the door. Mrs. Lansbury clutched her heart, cried out once more, then collapsed on the floor.
“Fool!” Mrs. Telcor shook a fist in Lansbury’s face. “What were you thinking of to hurt
that dear lady? You should be transported.”
“I did nothing!” he protested, but a dozen others shouted him down.
“You should have turned that whore off months ago,” yelled a youth in the opposite corner.
“Don’t you dare insult my family,” snarled William in reply.
Damn! Blake jerked his head around in time to see William land a facer on a young dandy he suspected was Lansbury’s nephew.
“My God!” gasped Catherine as several men jumped into the fray. Two ladies shouted for hartshorn as another swooned. Furniture cracked when William bore his opponent to the floor.
Blake grabbed Catherine’s hand and headed for the fight, dodging people who were trying to escape.
“See what you’ve done!” cried a lady, shaking a fist as she blocked their path.
Clara Peters shoved her aside to spit in Catherine’s face. “And to think I’ve entertained you in my own drawing room!”
Blake slipped Catherine behind him. “She has done nothing wrong,” he swore. “Nor has Lansbury. Will you allow Mrs. Telcor to dictate your every thought? You are capable of thinking for yourself.”
“Hmph! I have eyes and ears and decent morals besides.” Clara glared at Catherine. “Stay away from Exeter. We don’t need your sort disrupting our lives and seducing decent men.” She stalked away to add her smelling salts to those already waving under Mrs. Lansbury’s nose.
“Steady,” Blake murmured to Catherine, sensing her fury. He offered a handkerchief. “Hysterics will play into Jasper’s hands. William’s temper is bad enough.”
“You expect me to do nothing after that?” she demanded.
“I expect you to control yourself. You are a dignified widow who is above these childish lies and above this low behavior.” He wanted to comfort her, but this was neither the time nor the place. “Hold your head high and remain calm.”
“Do you know what you are asking?” Yet she straightened her spine and unclenched her fists like the warrior she was.
“Yes, but you cannot succumb to fury just now. Find Laura and Mary. They were in the corner with Fester when Jasper arrived. I will fetch William.”
“Harlot!” Mrs. Lansbury screamed, overriding Catherine’s response. She was propped in a chair, glaring through a break in the surging crowd. “Jezebel! Fiend!” She tried to rise, but her knees wouldn’t support her, so she increased her invective.
Lansbury formed a counterpoint to his wife’s accusations as he accosted lady after lady to proclaim his innocence, making himself seem guiltier with each repetition.
Mothers hustled their daughters out of the room, some clamping hands over their darlings’ ears to block the increasingly graphic charges. Most cut Catherine as they left.
“Fetch the girls and meet me back here,” Blake ordered, nodding toward Fester’s corner. The thinning crowd revealed Laura in tears. Mary was trying to calm her. “I must keep William from hurting anyone.”
Catherine nodded.
The fight now involved a score of men. Blake doubted most knew whom they were hitting, though they seemed to be quarreling over Lansbury’s guilt. But the confusion made it all the more dangerous. He waded in, ducking fists and sidestepping feet until he finally spotted William and Brad Lansbury on the floor. A tangle of chairs separated them from the others.
“Stop this!” he demanded, deflecting William’s blow before it could land on Brad’s ear. “I mean it!” He rolled William off and pulled Brad to his feet, pinning the boy’s arms to his side when he tried to escape.
“Fighting will only make things worse.” He stepped on William’s arm, then shook Brad to get his attention. “The stories are lies from start to finish. You would be better served to get your uncle out of here before he makes enemies that will plague him for years. No one is in a mood to listen just now.”
The sound of breaking crockery cut through the noise. Someone was peppering Lansbury with plates and bottles. Wine soaked his coat, drawing new protestations of innocence. Jasper stood nearby, sheltering Mrs. Telcor from flying debris.
Brad broke away, shoving men aside as he rushed across the room. Mrs. Lansbury’s wails had progressed to full hysterics.
“Get up and control yourself,” Blake told William.
“He called Catherine—”
“I don’t care what he said. I’ve heard worse. But fighting will accomplish nothing. Now pull yourself together. You are a baron, not a brawler. Start acting like it.”
Brad’s efforts to calm Lansbury distracted men from the fight.
Blake grimaced. Now that tempers were cooling, Jasper stepped forward, making a great show of separating combatants. Satisfaction blazed in Jasper’s eyes.
Catherine was struggling to control her sisters. She had one hand clamped around Laura’s wrist and the other on Mary’s skirt. Laura was wailing at the top of her lungs. Mary must have seen Jasper’s triumph, for she was dragging the others in his direction, fists raised in fury.
Alicia stormed across the room. “Stop this caterwauling at once,” she snapped, slapping Laura in the face. “If you insist on living with a harlot, people will shun you.”
The blow penetrated Laura’s distress. “Hussy!” she screamed, slapping her back. “How dare you judge me when you are no better than a vulgar bawd?”
“Who are you calling vulgar?” Alicia landed a blow to Laura’s shoulder.
“We all saw you stalking Rockhurst.” Laura shook off Catherine’s hand, grabbed a hank of Alicia’s hair, and pulled. Strings snapped, scattering pearls across the floor.
Alicia shrieked, then waded in, both fists flying. A new melee erupted as people scrambled to recover the pearls.
Blake groaned. “Do something,” he ordered William. “Catherine can’t control both of them.” By now she had her hands full trying to prevent shy, docile Mary from attacking Mrs. Telcor, who was praising Jasper for his masterly action in quelling the first riot and urging him to stop this new fracas.
“We should have stayed home,” moaned William.
“Save the regrets,” Blake snapped. “Fetch the girls and meet me by the window. And no more fighting, no matter what the provocation.”
“Right.”
Blake didn’t completely trust him, but he had to do what he could to minimize the damage. He pushed through the crowd until he found Hortense. “The timing of this revelation is quite interesting,” he said, so only she could hear. “It began only moments after Jasper Rankin arrived. Three days ago, two boys overheard him threaten revenge on Lansbury for having the audacity to drive his wagon along a narrow lane at the precise moment Rankin wanted to use it.”
Hortense frowned, but she made no comment. He held her eyes a moment, then slipped away, hoping she would remember his suggestion once the dust settled.
William had routed Alicia and was dragging his sisters away. But the melee was growing. Three merchants’ wives were hacking up the floor, looking for pearls that had rolled down a knothole. Chairs flew as others scrambled into corners. This assembly would be remembered for generations.
William finally escaped the crowd. And just in time. Mr. Wyath arrived, fire in his eyes. Alicia burst into tears at his greeting.
When Blake reached the window, Catherine’s eyes glittered with unshed tears. “Now we know how Jasper will ruin Lansbury,” she murmured. “I should have considered his wife. Edna clings to him. Suspecting him of infidelity will destroy her, and seeing her pain might well kill him.”
“If she truly cares, she will let him explain. A lifetime of trust cannot be undone by one venal rumor.” He sighed. “Tempers are too high to do anything more tonight. We must concede this round to Jasper, but I am more determined than ever to defeat him.”
“Impossible.”
“We must leave,” William said, holding Laura and Mary so tightly that Laura could not throw herself against Blake’s chest.
Blake checked the room. More than half the guests were gone. The musicians had fled. So had the servants.
Someone was probably fetching the constable.
“Very well.” He let William lead the way, then whispered to Catherine, “Go with them and make sure William does not respond to taunts as he leaves. His temper is still precarious. I will join you shortly.”
“What are you doing?”
“Fulfilling that promise I made to Harry. Now go.”
She nodded, but she glanced back several times as she headed for the door.
Edna Lansbury had finally lapsed into silence. When everyone turned to watch the Seabrooks’ exit, Blake whispered in her ear. “The story is a lie concocted by Jasper Rankin to hurt your husband, though he did nothing to deserve such spite. Don’t let Jasper destroy your trust.”
Before she could respond, he slipped into the night.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Something halted Blake just outside the library. Maybe it was a sound or the slightly ajar door. Or perhaps it was merely instinct. But once he glanced through the crack, he fled.
Damnation! More explicit curses followed. Never had he been so furious.
He’d been set up. Thank heavens he’d been heading for the breakfast room when he’d received the summons. He’d arrived before Laura had finished arranging the scene. Was William positioned to jump out and cry compromise the moment he entered the room?
A new stream of invective tripped off his tongue. He should have expected this after the fiasco at the assembly last night. For the first time, Laura had experienced the same ostracism Catherine had suffered for weeks, and his disinterest must have finally penetrated her conceit. So she had taken matters into her own hands.
As soon as he found William indisputably alone, he would denounce them both, then move back to the White Hart. Leaving Seabrook would make it more difficult to fulfill his vow, but that was a price he must pay.
In the meantime, he would check on his horses. They, at least, offered undemanding company.
He was rounding the corner of the manor when he nearly ran William down. “Cad!” he snapped, unable to hold his temper. “I hadn’t believed you would stoop so low, though I should have expected it when I realized you brought me here under false pretenses. I should call you out – and would if it would not harm Catherine beyond repair.”
