Jacquie D'Alessandro - [Regency Historical 04]

by Never A Lady

  “But—”

  “Now about that card reading…a fascinating offer. I’d very much like to speak to this Madame Larchmont, and I’ve no wish to keep you from your other guests.” He made her a quick bow. “If you’ll excuse me?”

  Without waiting for her answer, he moved into the sea of revelers. He deliberately took more than an hour to work his way across the room, stopping to chat with friends and renew acquaintances, many of whom then presented to him a marriage-minded daughter or sister or niece, or in one instance, aunt. Through all the conversations and introductions, Colin remained outwardly attentive and polite, chatting easily, interjecting smiles or thoughtful nods as the conversation called for, yet he remained constantly aware of Madame Larchmont. Knew every time she smiled, which she’d done three times while he spoke to Lady Miranda, and twice while he conversed with Lady Margaret, both of whom were very beautiful and clearly interested in him. Knew every time she frowned, which she’d done twice while he listened to Lord Paisler, whose daughters Lady Penelope and Lady Rachel laughed like hyenas and were also clearly interested in him. Noted every person who sat at her table. Who spoke to her. For investigative purposes only, of course.

  By the time he stood only a dozen feet from her table, he’d concluded that something was troubling the inscrutable fortune-teller. Whenever she believed herself unobserved, her gaze swept over the people standing near her. At first he’d thought that she perhaps might be looking for him, but abandoned the idea, scolding his own conceit, when he realized her quick, furtive peeks took in only the immediate area around her table—not the entire room. Also, her posture appeared extraordinarily alert. Rigid. Tense. Several times he’d noticed her imperceptibly straining forward, as if trying to hear the conversations buzzing around her. If he hadn’t been watching her so carefully, he wouldn’t have detected the nuances. But there was no denying them, or the fact that her nervousness was very…interesting.

  He was listening to Lady Whitemore and her very attractive daughter, Lady Alicia, who was in her second Season, pontificate on the shocking deaths with an enthusiasm Colin found very off-putting, when a low, throaty laugh captured his attention. His senses tingled, instantly recognizing the smoky sound as belonging to Madame Larchmont. His gaze swiveled toward her table.

  She was smiling at the man sitting opposite her, her dimples winking. The man leaned forward, as if to impart something he wanted no one else to hear. Colin’s gaze flicked over the man’s broad back, the perfect fit of his midnight blue jacket, and his well-cut dark hair. His jaw clenched. Who the hell was he? He craned his neck a bit to catch a glimpse of his profile. Whoever he was, Colin didn’t recognize him.

  Returning his attention to Madame Larchmont, he watched as she cast her gaze demurely downward and chuckled once again at the man’s obvious wit. His insides tightened in a way he neither liked nor wished to examine too closely. When she looked up, her eyes glittered with unmistakable mischief. She said something that made her companion laugh, and Colin cursed his inability to read lips. Possibly she felt the weight of his stare, for just then her gaze shifted and collided with his.

  Her eyes instantly lost their whiff of mischief, and she regarded him for several seconds with nothing more than a long, cool stare. She acknowledged him with a barely noticeable tilt of her head, then returned her attention to the man, at whom she smiled. Annoyance, and something else, which felt exactly like jealousy but couldn’t possibly be, coiled through him.

  “—don’t you agree, Lord Sutton?”

  Lady Whitemore’s imperious voice yanked him from his reverie and jerked his attention back to his companions, both of whom were staring at him with expectant looks. Bloody hell, he’d dropped the conversational ball. Before he could speak, Lady Whitemore snapped her quizzing glass to her eye and peered at him.

  “I say, Lord Sutton, are you all right? Your countenance resembles a thundercloud.”

  Colin instantly smoothed out his features and forced a smile. “I’m fine. Tell me, Lady Whitemore, who is the man having his fortune read?”

  Lady Whitemore glanced toward the corner, then leaned in closer to confide, “That’s Mr. Logan Jennsen. The American.” She wrinkled her nose. “Have you not met him?”

  “No.”

  “He arrived in England only about six months ago, but has already caused a bit of a stir.”

  “How so?”

  “Rich as Croesus,” Lady Whitemore stated, clearly relishing her role of informer, “but it’s new money, of course. Owns an entire fleet of ships and is looking to purchase more, as well as start some other sort of business. He’s very abrupt and brash in that manner of upstart Colonials. No one particularly likes him, but he’s so wealthy, no one is yet prepared to give him the cut direct.”

  “He’s quite handsome,” Lady Alicia offered in a rather breathless tone. At her mother’s fiercely disapproving scowl, she hastily added, “for someone who’s in trade.”

  “Yes, tradesmen are normally notoriously unattractive,” Colin said in a dust-dry tone. “Ah, it appears Mr. Jennsen is finished, which means it is my turn at the table. Please excuse me, ladies.”

  After a brief bow, he moved toward the fortune-telling table, watching as Jennsen rose. His jaw clenched when the man brought Madame Larchmont’s gloved hand to his lips and kissed her fingers.

  “Thank you for the delightful reading,” he heard Jennsen say in an unmistakable American accent as he approached. “And for your delightful company. I look forward to seeing you again tomorrow.”

  “And I you, Mr. Jennsen.”

  The man moved off, and Colin found himself staring down at Madame Larchmont, whose lips were parted and who gazed at Jennsen’s retreating back for several seconds with a rapt expression that set his teeth on edge. Then she turned toward Colin. And as it had earlier, a mask of cool indifference instantly fell over her features. Irritation prickled his skin, and he made a mental vow to somehow erase that lack of interest from her gaze.

  “Lord Sutton. Good evening.”

  “Madame Larchmont.” Without waiting for an invitation, he slid into the chair opposite her. And stared. Damn it, he felt as if the breath had been knocked from him. Golden candlelight cast from the overhead chandelier and the single votive glowing from a cut-glass bowl on the corner of her table glimmered on her dark hair and highlighted her unusual features with an intriguing array of dancing shadows. He detected none of the nervousness he’d observed over the past hour. No, she looked perfectly composed and…amazing. Beguiling and mysterious. And tempting in a way that he bloody well wished she didn’t.

  His gaze wandered downward, lingering on her mouth before continuing. Her emerald green bodice, while still modest in comparison to what most of the other women in the room wore, was cut lower than the one she’d worn last evening, exposing creamy skin and the generous curve of her breasts. His jaw clenched at the spectacular view—the same spectacular view that bastard Jennsen had just enjoyed.

  He tried to offer her a smile, but his facial muscles felt oddly stiff and puckered. As if he’d bitten into a lemon.

  “Are you all right, my lord?” she asked, not sounding as if she truly cared if he were or not. “You seem…tense.”

  “I’m fine. How did Jennsen’s reading go?”

  “You are acquainted with Mr. Jennsen?”

  “Isn’t everyone? Clearly you are.”

  “We were introduced at a party several weeks ago. He attends many Society functions.”

  Several weeks…Bloody hell, Jennsen had been enjoying her company all that time. “Didn’t appear as if you told him dire things such as you told me today.”

  “I don’t discuss a client’s reading with anyone else.”

  “Excellent. I wouldn’t want any potential brides scared off with the gloom and doom you predicted for me. You’re seeing Jennsen tomorrow?” Damn it, he hadn’t meant to blurt that out, especially in a tone that sounded far less casual as he’d have liked.

  She raised her
brows. “Are you normally in the habit of eavesdropping?”

  Actually, yes. “Actually, no. I am not, however, deaf.”

  “I fail to see how whether or not I’m seeing Mr. Jennsen tomorrow is any of your concern, Lord Sutton.”

  “And I fail to see why you’re so prickly about answering a simple question, Madame Larchmont.”

  She pursed her lips in obvious annoyance, and his gaze flicked down to her mouth. “Very well, yes, I have an appointment with him tomorrow for a private reading.”

  He forced a smile that he knew didn’t reach his eyes and managed not to ask if this was the first time she’d arranged such an appointment with the man. “There now. Was that so difficult? Tell me, is he the victim of the same exorbitant fees you’re charging me?”

  Instead of taking offense at his brusque question, amusement kindled in her eyes. “Now, Lord Sutton, how can I be expected to answer that question? If I say he is paying more, you will brag about the bargain you are receiving, and thus I risk Mr. Jennsen’s wrath. If I say you are paying more, I risk your wrath. As I find neither scenario appealing, I must decline to answer.”

  His heart performed the most ridiculous maneuver at the hint of a smile tugging at her lips. He moved his chair a bit closer to her and was rewarded with the barest whiff of oranges. “If he is paying more, I promise not to brag.”

  “A kind offer; however, it is my strict policy not to discuss a client’s fee with anyone other than that client.”

  “Your strict policy,” he repeated softly. “Do you have many of those?”

  “Strict policies? As a matter of fact, I do. Such as I don’t spend time at my fortune-telling table indulging in idle chatter.”

  “Excellent. Then let us begin.” He indicated her cards spread out on the table. “Shouldn’t you be shuffling or something?”

  “Another strict policy is that I don’t shuffle until my next inquirer is seated across from me.”

  He spread his arms. “And here I sit.”

  All traces of amusement left her eyes. She leaned forward slightly, and he found himself doing the same while taking a slow, deep breath, basking in the delicate scent of oranges that teased his senses. “Given the outcome of our reading this afternoon,” she said quietly, “I’d prefer not to read your cards in such a public forum.”

  “I see. You’d rather be alone with me.”

  “Yes.” Her brows jerked downward. “No. I mean—”

  “Ooooh, how exciting you’re about to have your cards read, Lord Sutton,” came Lady Newtrebble’s unmistakable voice from directly next to Colin. He turned and looked up at her. She waved her fan vigorously, setting her peacock feathers in motion, making her look as if her head were encircled by flapping wings. “My niece Lady Gwendolyn and I shall be very interested to hear Madame’s predictions regarding your future wife, my lord.” She waved her hand at Madame Larchmont. “Carry on. Do not mind me.”

  “Now, Lady Newtrebble, you know my strict policy,” she said with a smile that to Colin appeared forced. “I cannot read Lord Sutton’s cards with you standing right there—”

  “I have no objection,” Colin said.

  Lady Newtrebble beamed at him. “Excellent.” Then she frowned at Madame Larchmont. “Carry on.”

  “Although, before we begin,” Colin said, smiling at his hostess, “I’d dearly love another bit of your outstanding brandy. Could you possibly arrange that?” When she hesitated, he added solemnly, “We won’t begin without you.”

  “Very well,” Lady Newtrebble said, looking none too pleased. “Botheration, where on earth is a footman when you need him?”

  The instant she moved away, Colin leaned forward and said in an undertone, “I’ll pay you a half crown to say that the woman I’m to marry has dark hair.”

  She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “All right, fine. A crown. It will be worth it to squash her hopes of my choosing her blond niece for my bride.”

  “You do not like her niece? Lady Gwendolyn is very beautiful.”

  “Yes. However, I’m afraid I harbor a freakish intolerance for petulant, supercilious complainers, regardless of their hair color.”

  “I see.” Her lips twitched—very faintly, but enough to let him know she was amused. “But what if the cards predict that you are to marry a blond woman? You’ll be eliminating all other potential blondes as well as Lady Gwendolyn.”

  “Given my dubious belief in fortune-telling, it’s a chance I’m willing to take.”

  “Still, if the cards do indicate a blond woman”—she shook her head and sighed—“that would require me to lie.”

  “Are you implying that you’ve never told a lie, Madame Larchmont?”

  “Have you?”

  More than I can count. “Yes. You?”

  She hesitated, then said, “I don’t like to lie.”

  “Very admirable. Neither do I. However, sometimes circumstances force us to do things we don’t like.”

  “You sound as if you speak from experience, my lord.”

  “I do. And surely you have not reached the age of…?” His voice trailed off, waiting for her to provide her age.

  “Three-and-twenty.”

  “The age of three-and-twenty without doing something you haven’t particularly liked.”

  “Indeed. This conversation being a perfect example.” The glint of amusement twinkling in her eyes belied her words.

  He leaned closer and filled his head with her sweet, citrusy scent and upped his offer. “A half sovereign.”

  She heaved a sigh. “Lies, I fear, are…expensive.”

  “More expensive than a half sovereign?”

  “I’m afraid so. Especially lies that will most likely result in my losing a wealthy client such as Lady Newtrebble.”

  “If you think a renowned miser such as Lady Newtrebble would part with a half sovereign to have her cards read, you’ve gone mad.”

  For an answer she merely smiled.

  “There’s a word for what you’re doing, Madame Larchmont.”

  “Yes. It’s called payment.”

  “No. It’s called extortion.” For some insane reason, this exchange—which should have utterly aggravated him—inexplicably exhilarated him. In a manner he hadn’t experienced in a very long time. Heaving his own put-upon sigh, he asked, “Very well, what is your price for one small lie?”

  “A sovereign.”

  “You realize that’s utterly ridiculous.”

  She shrugged. “The decision is yours.”

  “An outrageous sum to charge a friend.”

  She raised an eloquent brow. “I hardly think our brief acquaintance could be described as friendship, my lord.”

  “I suppose that’s true.” Keeping his gaze steady on hers, he said, “A circumstance I’d like to remedy.”

  “In the next three seconds, I’m certain,” she said with a smile.

  He smiled in return. “Yes, that would be most helpful.”

  “Actually it wouldn’t. I charge friends the same rate as mere acquaintances.”

  “Ah. So it really does no good at all to know you.”

  “I’m afraid not.” She looked over his shoulder. “Lady Newtrebble is approaching with your brandy, my lord.”

  “Very well,” he grumbled. “A sovereign it is—but I’ll pay only if you give a convincing performance.”

  “Agreed. And fear not, my lord. I’m very good at what I do.”

  “Yes, I’m certain you are.”

  The question remains, however, what exactly is it that you’re doing?

  Seven

  Alex briskly shuffled the cards. As if she weren’t already distracted enough this evening with her attempts to detect the raspy whisper she’d heard in Lord Malloran’s study last night, now she was further unsettled by Lord Sutton’s nearness. Lady Newtrebble, who hovered nearby, all but quivering with anticipation, only added to her discomfort.

  Still shuffling, she asked, “What question would you like answ
ered, Lord Sutton?”

  “The one that is clearly on everyone’s mind. Who am I going to marry?”

  With a nod, she set the deck on the table. “Cut the deck, once, with your left hand.”

  As he did so, he asked, “Why my left hand?”

  “It helps impart your personal energy to the deck.” Without another word, she turned over the cards that would predict his immediate future. And caught her breath.

  Deceit. Betrayal. Treachery. Illness. Danger. Death. All the same things she’d seen during their reading that afternoon. And the last card, which denoted the single entity around which all the others revolved, indicated…

  A dark-haired woman.

  If she’d been capable of doing so, she would have laughed at the irony. At least she wouldn’t have to lie about seeing a blonde in his future. Of course, the bad news was that the brunette would most likely be the death of him.

  “What do you see?”

  Her first impulse was to immediately tell him, warn him, but given their lack of privacy, this was neither the time nor place. Especially since his skepticism regarding her reading’s veracity meant he’d require some convincing. But convince him she must, for based on this reading, she had no doubt danger awaited him.

  Later. She would tell him later. Right now she had that much-needed sovereign to earn.

  “I see a woman in your future,” she said.

  He spread his hands and smiled. “Well, that sounds promising. Can you tell me her name?”

  “The spirits, the cards, they are not indicating a name, but…” She paused for dramatic effect.

  “But what?” Lady Newtrebble interjected. “Who is the chit?”

  “She is considered beautiful—”

  “Of course she is,” Lady Newtrebble said in a triumphant tone.

  “—Intelligent—”

  “Naturally,” Lady Newtrebble said, making a rolling motion with her hand. “Continue.”