But if he could fetch it back, he might just help Windermere win the wager.
He looked up at the earl and considered whether to say something.
Lord Windermere was watching him closely. “What are you thinking, Wade?”
“What if it could be found, my lord? If I help you locate the object, would you be willing to help me, too?”
“Yes, I suppose I could offer a reward, but only if it is the genuine article. I have seen it, unfortunately for me, so no counterfeit copy will suffice.” Lord Windermere smiled slowly. “Lord Wilmot is hosting a dinner soon, and the owner of the object has returned to Town. He will be there, surely. If you discover it and bring it to me, I’ll give you the wagered amount there and then.”
Julian had been thinking more along the lines of obtaining Windermere’s help to sell the lease on the Townhouse but the money was a definite attraction to see the wager through too. Unfortunately, he’d have to use the hidden spare key to sneak into Portia’s uncle’s home to get his hands on it. There was no way he could ask permission. Perhaps before her engagement, but not now. Not when there was a chance she might run to Montrose and tell him what he wanted from the house, and what would be done with it, too. He did not know how close they’d become, but Montrose had absolutely no sense of humor. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Double.”
“What?”
Judging by the way Windermere nodded, he knew full well that Julian could get ahold of it if he tried. “I’ll give you double the wager just to see the smug prig’s face drain of color.”
Julian bit his lip. Considering the matter carefully.
He knew how to get into Oliver’s house undetected. He’d had to, once upon a time. Portia may not have given the key to her future husband yet or emptied the place, destroying what he sought. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to at least pass by the Soho Square property and determine if it were already empty before he made any sort of commitment. If he found the house still cluttered, then he could either consider asking or go round the back and look for the key.
He would be stealing. Sort of.
And he’d be paid to do so.
His cheeks warmed, and he shook his head. No, he could not take anything that did not belong to him, especially since he was not speaking to Portia anymore.
“We should be going.” Julian stood and held out his hand to Windermere, ready to depart without committing himself. Windermere might end up disappointed in him, but it was not as if the earl had ever imagined having his hands on the item again.
As soon as their hands connected, Julian felt the press of paper cut into his palm.
Windermere winked. “For that wager. Your share. It’s only fair; you played your part better than we dreamed.”
“Thank you,” he muttered quietly, disturbed at being paid to look out for his friends. This was money he did not deserve. But even as he considered giving it back, he realized this small amount would be a boon to his finances right now.
Sullivan was sure to want to enjoy London’s amusements, and Julian would prefer to pay his own way when he could. “Give my best to your wife,” he murmured. “Tell her I am always at her service.”
On the stairs, Sullivan turned to him. “You’ve some cheek, leading him on like that. Where did you imagine you might find a walnut phallus? No one can carve that fast, and remember it must match Lord Windermere’s memory. Did you notice he never said who it belonged to? I wonder what makes it so memorable?”
Julian shivered and shoved his hands in his pocket, hiding the money he’d been given. It would be best if Sullivan knew nothing of Julian’s brush with temptation. “I have no idea.”
Chapter 8
Portia had been at the Sandersons’ soiree for an hour before she finally saw Lord Wade leaning against the mantel on the far side of the drawing room. She couldn’t be happier to see him. It had been a few days since their awful conversation, and she’d missed him. Unfortunately, he seemed to have declined a few invitations unexpectedly this week. It wasn’t like him to be so hard to find.
If she’d not seen him tonight, Portia had been ready to call upon him at home, a scandalous thing for any unmarried lady to do, just to find out if he were ill or not. But he seemed more or less the same as he always did—his black hair too long for her taste, his skin perpetually pale across his lean cheeks.
She took a step in his direction, but a tall figure suddenly stepped directly into her path—blocking her way completely.
Portia glanced up in annoyance, and her eyes clashed with Lord Montrose’s steely gaze.
She blinked in shock at seeing him here, and then hastily dipped a curtsy. “Your grace,” she murmured in astonishment.
“Miss Hayes. Mrs. Hayes,” he murmured after a bow with a quick nod to where her mother lingered as chaperone. “I am glad to have finally found you in this godawful crush.”
She frowned. How had her betrothed somehow wrangled a last-minute invitation to this ball? She’d been sure he’d been engaged elsewhere this evening. She studied him, and noticed how he glanced at those nearby with a perpetual frown. It occurred to her that he didn’t want to be here, even though he was now.
“I’m surprised to see you here.”
A muscle in his jaw ticked. “It seemed prudent.”
“Surely you mean pleasurable. Do you like to dance, your grace?”
“Not particularly, but I will if required.”
There were plenty of dances to be had tonight, though Portia’s dance card was not yet full. She looked at the short list of gentlemen on her card discreetly. Now Montrose had come, she would have one less empty space. She had discovered during her time in London that, by this hour of the evening, gentlemen seldom forsook cards for a dance with an engaged lady.
It was not the first night since her engagement that Portia’s dance card had lacked completeness by this hour, either.
Across the room, Lord Stephens was talking with Lord Hector Stockwick. Lord Stephens was a fine dancer, but had not yet asked her to dance, which was a curious oversight on his part. He was usually one of the first, but they hadn’t even done more than acknowledge each other so far.
She’d heard all about the newly titled Viscount Stockwick, but they’d not been introduced as yet. From what she’d learned of him so far, it was probably unwise to rush to an introduction with the man. Stockwick had quickly gained a reputation for a fair degree of recklessness—both in his spending and in his romantic entanglements.
Her attention shifted back to Lord Wade, and she sighed because he was so far away still. Outwardly he seemed unchanged, but she thought the way he remained by the hearth was unusual for him. Usually he prowled these events, speaking to their mutual acquaintances. Perhaps he had been unwell and still felt fatigued.
She would have to seek him out as soon as she had the opportunity.
“Let me see your dance card,” Montrose demanded suddenly.
Portia showed him, surprised when he only claimed one dance, and at the very end of the night, before handing it back. That left her with two times that night she’d remain on the sidelines.
The sound of a throat clearing caught her attention, and she turned.
“Ah, Miss Hayes, is that you?” Sir John Singleton said as he drew closer to peer at her face.
Lord Montrose immediately moved slightly between them until Sir John moved back a step. She was surprised by his protective behavior, because Sir John was a very gentle man.
“Yes, indeed it is me, Sir John.” Portia stepped around Lord Montrose quickly and extended her hand to the newcomer.
Sir John was not wearing his glasses again tonight, which was a great pity, really. Portia thought he looked quite dashing wearing them, but Sir John foolishly resented needing them because he felt they made him appear old to the ladies. Without them on, he tended to stand too close to everyone when he talked.
Sir John was slightly older than most of the gentlemen Portia regularly danced with, but q
uite a favorite of hers. He looked her up and down, squinting a little at her gown. “How lovely you look tonight,” he murmured.
“Thank you, Sir John,” she said, smiling. “And how happy I am to see you here. Tell me, is your mother feeling any better than the last time we spoke?”
“Oh, indeed she is, and it is most gracious of you to inquire.” Sir John squinted at Portia’s silent betrothed, and then moved a little closer to Portia. His eyes sought hers, and he didn’t look away from her face as he spoke quietly for her ears alone. “She will be so pleased to learn you would remember her, especially now.”
“Of course I could not forget her,” Portia agreed, glancing toward her betrothed quickly and then away. She was still not sure which members of the ton Montrose was acquainted with, but he did not seem interested in Sir John. “Do give her my best wishes for continued good health.”
“She is here tonight and would be delighted to speak with you in person.” His brow arched. “Perhaps you would permit me to escort you to her for a brief conversation after our dance, if you happen to have one still free?”
Portia nodded and held out her card to be signed. “Shall it be a quadrille or the Danse Espagnole?”
They were practically the same dance, but Sir John was still having trouble remembering the difference.
“The latter.” Sir John blushed crimson. “I have been practicing since our last encounter. I am determined to master this once and for all.”
“I’m sure you will, too,” she whispered. If he wore glasses more often, Portia believed he would never have a problem on the dance floor. “Until later tonight, Sir John.”
Sir John bowed, cast one last puzzled glance at Lord Montrose, and then backed away.
Montrose moved to claim her arm immediately. “Pity has its place, but you need not please old acquaintances if you want to keep the connection once we are married.”
She looked up at his face but noticed Montrose’s gaze locked on a distant view. “Do you know Sir John?”
“I do not.”
She stared at Montrose until he looked down to acknowledge her. She smiled tightly. “Sir John is a dear friend, but quite shortsighted. Quite adept at a waltz, but terrible at recognizing anyone not immediately in front of him.”
“I see.”
So did Portia, unfortunately. Montrose had not liked the familiarity with which her friend had approached her, nor hers for Sir John. But Sir John was harmless. “Perhaps you will allow me to introduce you later? He is a good friend of mine, and I will dance with him whenever he asks, if my dance card has room for his name,” she insisted.
“An introduction will not be necessary.” Montrose nodded, and then he turned to her mother. “Madam, would you permit me to introduce your daughter to Lord Forbes? I see he has just arrived.
“Anything you say, your grace,” she quickly agreed.
Montrose led Portia down the room and presented her to an elderly man and his equally aged wife. Lord Forbes and his wife had to be sixty years each, and neither one smiled at Portia at first. She learned that they lived near Lord Montrose’s estate, and knew Montrose and his family very well indeed. They spoke of farming, sheep and wool, and the latest bill before parliament. Not once did the pair congratulate them on their upcoming marriage, though, which she felt was very disappointing.
When Portia realized she was in jeopardy of missing the first set, she had no choice but to interrupt their lengthy conversation. “Your grace, you must excuse me now.”
Lord Montrose glanced down at her, frowning.
“I have promised to dance with Lord Phillip for the next set. He is very likely waiting with my mother for my return.”
“Very well,” he said slowly, and then apologized to Lord and Lady Forbes for the inconvenience of leaving them. “I will escort you, Miss Hayes. Later, we must talk.”
Portia bid his friends goodbye quickly and started back up the large room with her betrothed at her side. As she drew level with the fireplace, she cast a sideways glance at Lord Wade.
He was watching her, glass in hand.
She smiled quickly and hurried down the room to Lord Phillips. Lord Phillips was a great tall fellow, and he accepted her apologies for her tardy return with an easy smile. “Given the news of your swift engagement, I would have understood if you had forgotten me,” he murmured as they left Lord Montrose behind.
“I made a promise to dance with you,” she chided. “And so we shall.”
They found a place in the set and Portia curtsied to her partner. When she rose, her betrothed was standing directly in her line of sight, staring at her.
She cast him a quick smile but concentrated on dancing her best with Lord Phillips.
As her partner took her hand and drew her closer, he whispered. “Are you all right?”
She blinked at him. “Of course. Why do you ask?”
“You seem unusually flustered. Normally you have something clever to say to me.”
“I’m sorry.”
They turned, and her gaze fell on Lord Wade. He was not watching her now—and that she found even more unsettling than her betrothed’s stare. “How is your sister?”
“Upset she had to stay at home tonight.”
“Why was that?”
“The babe is coming.”
“What? Now? Oh my!” Portia faltered but managed to contain her excitement. “But what are you doing here? Surely you should be at home waiting for news with the rest of your family.”
“I might have stayed but they kicked her husband out. I went with him to keep an eye on him.”
“Where is Lord Charles now?”
“Drinking over there with lords Wade and Sullivan. I cannot thank Wade enough for the distraction. For a while there, I feared Charles would bolt for home to meddle with the birthing.”
She glanced over. “Lord Charles hardly seems at all anxious. How exactly does Lord Wade distract your brother-in-law?”
Even as she asked, she saw Wade lure another gentleman into the conversation, and then another departed. Gentlemen seemed to come and go from the group in a steady stream. Drinks were plentiful all round, too.
“The soon-to-be father is in too much demand for him to even think of his wife’s struggle at home. With luck, he’ll be quite drunk soon.”
“It does seem a very lively group around the expectant father,” she noted before executing a turn that placed her far from Wade. However, she faced her betrothed again.
He stood with a lady now, a woman she’d never been introduced to but knew by reputation. The lady was not someone Portia wanted to meet. She had a reputation that put her on the outs with many of the highest sticklers. Montrose did not smile at the woman, and when he moved off without her, Portia was very pleased.
Portia yelped as Lord Phillips suddenly stomped on her toes. She hopped on one foot for a moment, wishing the pain would recede quickly so they could continue their dance.
“I am so sorry!” he exclaimed in horror.
“It is quite all right, my lord.” But it wasn’t. She found it hard to place any weight on her toes at all when she put her foot down. She held out her hand to him. “Could you help me from the dance floor?”
“I am so sorry, Miss Hayes. How terribly clumsy of me. Are you very hurt?”
She found a vacant chair in front of her suddenly, and she sat to clasp her stinging toes. She could move them but they really did hurt a lot. “I’ll be fine in a moment.”
Suddenly, Lord Wade was hunched down beside her. “You weren’t paying attention.”
“No,” she agreed. She really had not been giving the dance her full attention. She’d had two gentlemen on her mind—one of whom had been ignoring her until this moment. “How did you get to me so quickly? Last time I looked, you were on the other side of the room.”
Wade scowled at Lord Phillips. “You should be more careful with her.”
“It was an accident,” Portia promised, throwing a reassuring smile in Lord Phillip
s’ direction.
Wade made a grumbling sound that disagreed with her statement, and then moved to kneel in front of her. “May I?”
“Why?” She looked around her quickly, noticing they were oddly protected from view behind a wall of people that she was sure hadn’t been standing there a moment before. It was impossible to see the dance floor now, and no one could see them, either.
“I should like to determine if Phillips broke any of your toes before I consider whether to break his nose.”
Reluctantly, Portia moved her foot toward Lord Wade’s outstretched hand. “Quickly.”
Lord Wade gently grasped her ankle and eased her foot from her slipper.
When she saw red on her stocking, she quickly grasped Lord Wade’s shoulder. “Steady.”
“It is only my own blood that affects me,” he murmured. Wade carefully moved a few of her toes, those away from the blood first. He paused with his fingers beside the bloodspot. “Don’t scream.”
Then he took her bloody toe between his fingers and applied pressure.
Although it was dreadfully painful, all she did was hiss at the sting.
He looked up at her. “Well?”
“I do not think it broken.”
“Thank goodness,” he murmured. Lord Wade slid his palm back and forth along the underside of her foot. The gentleness of his touch caused her breath to catch, and the pain seemed to suddenly recede.
“He’s looking for her,” someone warned suddenly.
Lord Wade rushed to shove her poor foot back into her slipper. “You’ll be fine.”
Portia reached for Lord Wade’s shoulder again, intending to thank him, but his upper body slipped through her fingers. Her fingertips could only drag down his coat, coming to rest scandalously upon the top of his silk-clad thigh. He was quite warm there, too, and all lean muscle.
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