Читать книгу Date with a Regency Rake - Marguerite Kaye - Страница 9

Kit, Earl of Rasenby, stared down into the limpid blue eyes of yet another eligible young lady, and tried to suppress a yawn as a wave of boredom washed over him. He should never have given in to his sister Letitia’s entreaties to escort her to the ball. He had planned a quiet dinner followed by a hand or two of whist at his club, instead of which, here he was at one of the society crushes he so abhorred. With the added, and completely pointless, inconvenience of having to sport a domino and a mask.

Lady Teasborough had thought to introduce a slightly risqué element with this masked ball, but Kit was finding it every bit as tedious as any other social event. The heat in the room was overpowering. The candles from the huge chandeliers, the fires lit—unnecessarily, in his view—in the enormous grates at either end of the ballroom, and the crush of too many people in too little space made Kit want to fight his way out into the relatively fresh air of the terrace. He was bored. He had no interest in the latest crim. con. story, nor in taking part in the speculation as to who had fathered his hostess’s latest brat. If his host—closeted, no doubt, in one of the card rooms—didn’t care, why should he? God, he was bored. Despite the concealing cloaks and masks, he recognised almost everyone here. Including Miss Pink Domino, being presented to him now by Letitia.

Kit sighed, bowed over Miss Pink Domino’s hand, and led her out reluctantly. His enthusiasm for fencing, which he practised regularly with the renowned Harry Angelo at his academy in the Haymarket, lent him an animal grace that singled him out on the dance floor. But his partner was, alas, unable to match him, and it would take a great effort on his part to ensure that they remained in step for the duration of the country dance.

As they worked their way down the set, Kit’s mind began to wander. He knew Letitia’s game only too well. His elder by some years, his sister had just successfully married off the first of his five nieces, and was once again turning her attentions to his own marital state. It was his own fault for bringing it up earlier—even though it had been in jest. Kit’s reputation was too bad for him to be a great catch, of course, as Letitia took pleasure in reminding him. So Louisa Haysham, with whom he was now dancing, fell into the second-best category. A pretty little thing with an adequate portion who will cause you no trouble. He could hear Letitia saying it, and he knew exactly what she meant. Louisa Haysham was a nice, inoffensive, malleable female for him to trample on. She’d raise a brood of nice insignificant children for him, and he’d be bored within a week. He was bored now, and he’d been in her company for barely ten minutes.

Over and over again, Kit had assured Letitia that he’d be happy for her son, Jeremy, to inherit his estates. At thirty-five, he was surely entitled to be treated as the confirmed bachelor he knew himself to be. Lord knew, he’d made his views clear to both Letitia and his mother often enough. Matrimony simply had no appeal for him. Rather, matrimony, in the accepted form these days, had no appeal. Fidelity, even if he could find a woman he wanted to be faithful to, seemed not to be valued. And he had seen no evidence, not in his family, nor amongst his friends or acquaintances, that marriage had any rewards other than a string of brats that no one really wanted, and endless recriminations about money. Even his sister, who claimed to be happy, was, he knew, no more than content. Content, Kit was sure, wasn’t a big enough reward for the sacrifice of his freedom.

Returning Miss Haysham with a curt bow to her mother, and neatly avoiding catching his sister’s eye—he couldn’t bear her inevitable interrogation as to whether Miss Insipid Haysham was to his liking—Kit headed instead for the group of gentlemen congregated at the back of the room. His tall figure in a plain black domino and mask was easily recognisable in a crowd that favoured colour and decoration. He was in fact, infamous for refusing to decorate his well-favoured person with any of the fobs, frills and furbelows of the day.

A slight man in a deep scarlet cloak standing on the fringes of the crowd noted Kit’s attendance at the ball with some surprise—it was very unlike Rasenby to turn out at these formal affairs. Kit was not aware of the depths of contempt in which Robert, Marquis of Alchester, held him. Brought up as children together, since the estates of their fathers ran parallel, Robert had been forced to play second fiddle to Kit from the start. Kit was the ringleader in all their childish pranks. Kit was the best shot in the area, the handiest with his fists, the most skilled with a sword. And it was Kit who had first call on all the females. To add insult to injury, Kit’s estates continued to flourish under his generous stewardship, whereas Robert’s dissolute lifestyle drained every penny from his land, now in sad want of repair. All this bitterness Robert had suppressed over the years, but it was slowly mouldering. And now, he had a card worth playing. It was Robert who had been informing the customs men as to Kit’s activities. One day soon, revenge would be his.

Blissfully unaware of this enmity, Kit took a reviving draught of claret, a drink he much preferred to the ice-cold champagne cup being offered to the rest of the guests. Mindful of his resolution to give up smuggling, he mulled over, once more, the notion of matrimony. Letitia had made her point of view perfectly clear when he had raised the subject before dinner. A slight frown marred the perfection of his countenance as he thought over his sister’s words from earlier tonight. His handsome features were, in fact, a major bone of contention with Letitia, and had been the trigger for her latest tirade, turning his attempt at light banter into a more serious discussion.

‘What would you say, Letitia, if I asked you to finally find me a suitable bride? One who met all my needs, I might add.’ He had said this with a wicked grin, deliberately intending to annoy her.

Letitia sighed. Why should Kit have it all, when she didn’t? Of course, she was perfectly happy with her husband, but life wasn’t exactly stimulating. So it shouldn’t be for Kit, either. That wasn’t what matrimony was about.

‘For goodness’ sake, must you always harp on about your needs. With your looks, I’m sure that sort of thing won’t be a problem—ever.’ It was positively painful to Letitia that Kit was so very perfectly good looking. ‘It’s your duty to the family to bestow yourself on one of my sex for reasons of lineage, not for—not for the reasons you’re implying.’

‘On the contrary, Letitia, I feel it my bounden duty to bestow myself on as many of your sex as I can. And I do my best, you know.’ This was said with a rueful smile, for Kit knew that Letitia, despite her perfect breeding, liked to consider herself risqué.

‘Kit!’ She feigned shock, anyway. ‘I mean bestow yourself properly. I’m not referring to your mistresses, for Heaven’s sake.’

‘Tut, tut, Letitia, what can you know of my mistresses?’

‘Why, no more nor less than the whole of London society, since you flaunt them so brazenly at every opportunity. Only yesterday I saw you in a carriage in Oxford Street with that shameless hussy Charlotte—harlot, more like—sitting at your side. Draped in the most gorgeous furs, too. No doubt paid for by you.’ Letitia couldn’t prevent the bitter note of envy entering her voice, thinking back to how stunning Charlotte du Pres had looked. Providing her husband with six children in quick succession had taken a heavy toll on what little looks she herself had once possessed.

‘Yes, she really is rather lovely, isn’t she? But alas, I fear, becoming rather tedious. Her demands are endless, you know, Letitia, and the rewards less attractive each time. I think that Charlotte is coming to the end of her usefulness.’

‘Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. She’s been with you two months now. Don’t you ever find a woman diverting for longer?’

‘Alas, no. At least, not yet. And since I’ve been trying for more years than either of us, sister dear, would care to count, I’m afraid you really must resign yourself to my bachelor state. And incidentally, please don’t go breaking your heart over Charlotte, she’ll be more than adequately compensated for her loss.’

‘Yes, you’re very generous in that way, I know. But really, Kit, you’re so hugely rich that it means nothing to you. Not, I assure you, that I’m complaining myself, for you’ve been exceeding good to me and my children over the years, particularly Jeremy, who scarce deserves it. He may be my only son and I love him dearly but it’s plain the lad is a wastrel. I just wish you took your duty to marry and produce your own son and heir as seriously.’

‘Enough of this. I have no desire to be leg-shackled, it was a jest. I have no wish to be presented to yet another eligible girl who will drive me back into the arms of someone who at least can attend properly to my physical needs. And spare me your blushes, Letty, for you know perfectly well what I mean.’

‘No, Kit, I do not. There is no reason why you shouldn’t continue to tend to your physical needs, as you put it, outside of the marriage bed. But you must marry for the sake of the family. Jeremy is no fit heir for you. You need the stability of a wife. You need someone to care for you in your old age.’

Kit threw back his head and laughed again, running his fingers through his cropped, glossy black hair. ‘For God’s sake Letitia, I’m thirty-five, I don’t need a nursemaid yet. I’ll tell you what, the minute I show the first signs of contracting gout, I’ll start looking out for a wife to tend to me.’

‘By then, you’ll be too old to father children, and it will be too late. Kit, do listen, since you brought the topic up. I know your reputation is bad—and indeed, well deserved—but you’re still eligible. I could still find you someone suitable.’

Kit was now deeply regretting raising the subject. ‘Letty, enough. You know my views on matrimony, they are not likely to change. There are but two types of women on this earth, and they live in worlds that don’t mix. There are those who provide pleasure for a man, and who require payment, and there are those who provide a family—and they require payment in a different way. And I’m happy to pay for the former, if I get something out of it. But why should I pay for a family when I don’t want one? Have done.’

Letitia, silenced temporarily by the stern tone of her brother’s voice, had done. Reflecting on what he had said, she had to accept the truth of it, for Kit had no experience of any respectable female wanting to give more than she took from him. Starting with their mother—and, she had to admit, herself too. But Letitia wasn’t one to give up so easily, either. Her brother must have an heir. He must make some sacrifices. ‘Kit, let me see what I can do. I’ll see if I can provide you with someone who is at least good to look at.’

‘Enough. Let us forgo any further discussion. I must change for this cursed party of yours.’

Shaking his head to banish the memory of that uncomfortable conversation, Kit took another draught of claret, and cast an idle eye over the ballroom. So far, he had danced only with Miss Haysham, but he knew that he’d have to choose at least one other partner soon, or the world would think he had singled the fair Miss Haysham out. And Kit did not want that to happen. Really, the idea of matrimony was ridiculous. Apart from anything else, he had no desire to make his poor wife—whoever she might be—totally miserable. And since he could in no way promise liking, never mind fidelity, miserable she would be, and quickly. Best to focus on this last run with the Sea Wolf first, then think to the future after. For now, he needed to find another dance partner.

A brief flash of black domino lined with emerald green caught his eye in the far corner, and roused his attention. It was highly unusual for a female to wear black—in fact, he was the only man to do so tonight. And while he could have sworn he knew everyone here—despite the masks—she was unfamiliar. She was standing by the open window, and for some reason she seemed to be watching him. Her stance was alert, giving the impression of one on the verge of flight. Kit was intrigued. Retrieving two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter, he made his way over to the stranger.

‘I fear you are somewhat warm, Miss Black Domino—can I offer you a cooling drink?’

Clarrie gave a start, then tried, rather unsuccessfully, to regain her poise. The black domino, the only other one here, had been pointed out to her as the Earl of Rasenby. He had made the first move. She couldn’t believe her luck. Nor could she flee now, as she had been contemplating only a moment before. Fate had decreed that she must go through with her plan.

‘Why, thank you, sir. It is rather hot.’ He was tall, much taller than Clarrie, and despite the domino she could see he was exceedingly well built. Somehow, she had expected him to be more dandified. But the Earl of Rasenby was obviously of athletic inclination, and favoured a simple elegance that relied on his physique and the quality of his tailoring, rather than decoration. For the first time in her life, Clarrie experienced a strong gust of sheer physical attraction that was both unexpected and unwelcome.

Looking up, she could see little of his features behind the mask, only a pair of piercing dark eyes, looking into hers assessingly. So this was the man who wanted to steal Amelia’s virtue. This was the man who intended to sweep her sister—and with her, Clarissa and her mama—into a world of vice and degradation. Well, she could certainly see his appeal. What she needed to find out was just how serious he was in his intentions, before she decided to act. Clarissa still nourished a hope that Amelia had exaggerated—though in the light of Lady Constance’s revelations, it was but a faint one.

‘Do you not find these masked affairs somewhat tedious, sir? Why, I swear I know everyone here. ‘Tis but an excuse to allow those who are so inclined to flirt a little more openly, is it not?’

Clarissa’s voice, usually so low and musical, had assumed a slightly breathless quality. The combination of the role she had to play, and the physical awareness of this surprisingly attractive man, were already taking their toll. But she wouldn’t fail at the first hurdle, there was too much at stake. Under no illusions about her own attractions, she had studied Amelia closely, and she knew how to flirt—even if she was about to try it out for the first time.

Kit looked down into those vibrant green eyes, surprised at the tone. He could have sworn she was nervous when he first approached her. ‘And do you know who I am, Miss Black Domino?’ Of course she did, else why flirt so obviously unless she knew her target?

‘I will hazard a guess, my lord. You are the Earl of Rasenby, are you not?’ Those green eyes looked up into his, a shadow of a doubt clouding them. What if she had been wrong? A flush of embarrassment swept over Clarissa, most of it mercifully hidden by the mask.

‘And if I am not, would you be disappointed?’

‘Of course I would be disappointed.’ Clarrie shook out her chicken-skin fan with a flourish, partly to hide her eyes, but more practically in an effort to hide her overheated countenance, and to give her time to pull herself together. ‘I’d be very disappointed, since I’ve heard so much about your lordship, and was counting on meeting you here.’

‘Were you, now? And may I ask, are you here at the invitation of Lady Teasborough, or have you taken a chance to come uninvited?’ Surely the only explanation was that she was some member of the demi-monde with an enterprising turn of mind?

Clarissa, forgetting her part, was indignant at the accusation. ‘Of course I was invited, why would I be here otherwise?’

The genuine flash of anger from those green eyes took Kit aback. Despite himself, he felt a faint trace of interest. He didn’t believe her for an instant, but any new ploy, after all, was at least a refreshing change. ‘I do beg your pardon. It’s just that you have the advantage of me. To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?’

‘That is not important for now. And besides …’ Clarrie allowed herself a peep above the fan into those dark blue-black eyes ‘… it’s so much more intriguing, is it not, to save a little something for later?’ Nothing Amelia had told her about Kit Rasenby had led her to believe that he was anything more than a rich provider. She hadn’t expected him to be quite so like the villains of her favourite romances—Clarrie always empathised more with the villain than the hero, although she never liked to ask herself why!

‘So, I’m not to know your name, then? Am I to know your purpose in seeking me out?’

‘Eventually, of course, my lord. But first, perhaps we should get to know each other a little. Tell me, the lady you were dancing with, what thought you of her charms? Did you not think she danced rather ill?’

‘You can do better than that, surely?’ He was sardonic. Praising or disparaging one female to another was not a sport that he enjoyed.

Closing her fan with a determined snap, Clarissa decided to go for the direct approach. The Earl was obviously not one for simpering females, and in truth, she didn’t do simpering very well. Perhaps if she played things her own way he would take her more seriously. ‘I know you not, Lord Rasenby, but you seem to me a man who prefers plain speaking. Mayhap we should dispense with the niceties and progress to my requirements from you?’

‘Much better.’ His tone remained sceptical, however. ‘Now you at least have my attention. Perhaps I should warn you, though, that if it’s money you’re after, I won’t be blackmailed. If you’ve come on behalf of one of your sisters in debauchery, you’ll find scant pickings here.’ Ignoring the gasp of indignation from Clarissa, he held his hand up to forestall interruption, and continued in the harsh voice of one used to seeing the worst in everyone. ‘I pay my debts direct. And there’s no use either, in trying to pretend that it’s you I owe—I may have sampled the wares of your like many times, but not enough to confuse me. I’d know you if I’d had you.’

‘Well, my lord! Well! Plain speaking indeed.’ Clarissa was completely unprepared for this turn in the conversation. He thought her a lightskirt. Well, that’s what she’d intended, but she hadn’t expected the flush of anger that such an assumption had caused. In fact, the more she thought about it, the angrier she became. The Earl of Rasenby was an arrogant pig, and he deserved to be put down.

Forgetting all about Amelia, Clarrie gave free reign to her feelings, her temper made worse by the need to continue the conversation, in the middle of the ball as they were, sotto voce. ‘I am amazed, sir, at your arrogance. And I am sorry, truly sorry, for any of my poor—sisters, as you call them—who would be reduced to pleading with you, for you are obviously a hard case. You tell me you pay your debts direct—well, I can only hope that you do, sir, and that you pay them fully!’

‘What on earth do you mean? I pay what is owed and am generous. I have a reputation of being generous. But I won’t be blackmailed, so whatever your pathetic plan, abandon it.’ Kit was now more angry than intrigued. He had little reputation, and all of it bad, but one thing he had always been proud of was that he compensated—generously—any woman who had provided her services to him. He ensured, too, that there were never any consequences. To his knowledge, he had no natural children. The irony of this—that he, who had the blackest of characters, had the cleanest of stables—contributed to his weariness of the world in which he lived. He was more fastidious in his habits, and more generous in his payments, than most of his peers. It struck him, suddenly, as a poor enough boast.

‘Has it never occurred to you that money may not be enough, Lord Rasenby? Has it never occurred to you that some of these poor creatures that you pay off may have feelings? That they may have hoped for more from you than a few jewels and furs?’

At this, Kit laughed. ‘It never occurs to me because there are no feelings in this world that cannot be compensated for financially. I should know.’ Looking down into those indignant green eyes, Kit felt a twinge of compassion. Perhaps, after all, there was some innocence there? But no, it was sure to be just another act—although a better one than he’d seen for some time. ‘I assure you, madam, the type of women I get involved with don’t have feelings. Simpering sentimentality appeals to me not. I trade in the more physical side of things, and that, if you don’t know already, is always short-lived. So, no, I don’t think I owe anything on account there to anyone.’

For some reason, this statement shocked Clarissa more than any other. More than the knowledge that her Aunt Constance had been right in her character assessment. More than Lord Rasenby’s outrageously blunt speaking. The man had no feelings at all. She wondered what had forged his deep cynicism. Through the mask, Clarissa’s green eyes hinted at tears. ‘I’m truly sorry for you, my lord, if you do feel like that.’ She touched her hand to his arm in a gesture of sympathy.

Kit shook her off, angry—unreasonably angry—at the gesture. Who was she to question his behaviour, and then to patronise him with her tears and sympathy? ‘Don’t waste your energy, madam. I fear that whatever it was you had planned to say to me is wasted, too, for we can have nothing in common. Now, I must go and dance with another partner, lest Miss Haysham—the lady in the pink domino, since you were so interested—has her hopes raised.’

‘Forgive me, Lord Rasenby, I spoke out of turn, it was not my intention to judge you. But please, do stay and hear me out.’ There was desperation in Clarissa’s voice as, emerging from her own anger, she realised he was walking away and she had found out next to nothing of his intentions towards Amelia. And she needed to know, in order to decide whether the risk was worth taking.

He turned at the appeal, unwillingly softened by it. There was something genuine about her, despite appearances, that still had him interested. ‘I don’t make a habit of ruining innocents, you know. I take only willing partners, who understand the game, and who don’t have any of these more tender feelings you refer to, I assure you. Come, what is it that you’re so determined I should hear, now that you’ve finished upbraiding me?’

‘Well, actually …’ Clarissa sniffed determinedly and took the plunge. ‘Well, I wanted to discuss a similar proposal with you myself.’ She glared at him through her mask, her expression anything but seductive. In fact, she was so far away from the flirtatious woman of the world that she had started out to be, she was questioning her own sanity. This was most definitely not going the way she had imagined it from the security of her bedchamber.

Kit stared at her speechlessly. This slim female, a complete stranger, had sneaked into a society ball and sought him out. First she had flirted with him, then she had launched into a tirade at him, had questioned his generosity and his feelings, to say nothing of upbraiding his morals—such as they were! And now she was telling him that she wanted to make him an indecent proposal. Of a certainty she was unhinged. No matter how attractive the form under the domino and mask—and what he could see he found extremely attractive, for though she was slender, she curved most appealingly in all the right places—it couldn’t be worth it.

And now she was glaring at him, as if it was he who had made the proposal to her. ‘I don’t think, madam, that you can have meant what you just said? Surely, you are not suggesting that you want to become another notch on my notorious bedpost yourself?’

‘I—well, yes, I suppose I am suggesting just that. But subject to my own conditions, of course.’ Clarissa flushed once more with embarrassment. This was not going at all to plan. For a start, her proposition was to have been later, once she’d found out a bit more about what he intended for Amelia, not something she should have blurted out at this first meeting. She hadn’t even thought it through properly.

‘Ah, your conditions. And what would they be, madam?’ He couldn’t help but be interested. This was all so very, very unexpected. Kit was glad, for once, that he’d come along to the ball. Mentally, he thanked Letitia—although he didn’t expect she’d be too thrilled if she ever found out.

‘Well, I’m not going to tell you right now, this is hardly the appropriate place. I thought we could discuss that on another occasion. I was supposed to get to know you a bit first.’

Kit gave a sharp laugh. She was unhinged, but she was amusing. ‘Were you now? And who said you were to get to know me first? Who set you up for this, my little intriguer?’

‘No one, no one set me up, I’m acting on my own.’ The stamp of a little foot and the quick flush betrayed Clarrie again. Her temper, did she but know it, went with the auburn hair, and had been her father’s undoing. Normally it was easy to control, but there was something about this man that got under her skin. ‘I merely meant, Lord Rasenby, that I wanted to know a little more about you before we have such an intimate discussion. For a start, I wouldn’t want to make you any proposal if I’m mistaken as to your current state of attachment.’

‘Come now, I feel sure that someone as bold as you are would have done your research. Surely you are perfectly aware of my current state, as you call it?’

‘Yes, my lord, I am aware that you have an attachment to Miss du Pres, but I was more concerned with your intentions as to your immediate future. I have heard that you have been paying court to a Miss Warrington?’

‘You have been digging, haven’t you? And what have you heard about Miss Warrington and my intentions towards her?’

‘I have heard that you have been marking her out, my lord. I have heard that she has been the object of your affections for the last few weeks. I have heard that you have even raised expectations of a more honourable kind.’

Kit gave another bark of laughter at this. ‘Whatever you have heard, I have nothing honourable in mind when it comes to Amelia Warrington. And I cannot believe that Miss Warrington imagines any such thing either. That girl is a chit who knows only the value of my purse, and aims to dig as deep into it as she can. Can it be that it is she who has set you on to me?’ Behind the mask, Kit’s eyes narrowed. ‘No, she does have a close companion, an insipid, simpering miss, but she bears no resemblance to you. Her name escapes me.’

‘Chloe.’ Clarissa realised her mistake immediately; the black brows opposite her snapped together with suspicion. ‘I believe that’s her name. Although I don’t really know Miss Warrington personally—at least, not very well.’ After today, that at least was true. Amelia was becoming a stranger to her. ‘I am merely repeating the latest gossip. And the rumours are that you intend marriage.’

‘I assure you, madam, I have no plans to marry. My intentions in that direction are not yet fixed. Miss Warrington is attractive, I’ll grant, and more than willing, that I know. I may have a proposal for her, but it would not be honourable.’ Kit smiled rakishly. Seeing Clarissa flinch at his words, he narrowed his eyes. ‘Did you think her one of those innocent victims you were throwing in my face earlier? Amelia Warrington knows exactly what is on offer, I have made that perfectly clear to her. And if she thinks to hold out on me in the hope of more, then she’ll quickly learn the better of it. If I ever deign to marry, it would certainly not be to someone as easy to touch as Miss Warrington.’

Clarissa absorbed this assassination of her sister’s character with sadness, but a weary resignation. It was, after all, no more than what her aunt had said earlier. Even, although she hated to admit it, what she was coming to believe herself. But if Amelia could be prevented from making a fatal mistake with the Earl of Rasenby, if she could be prevented from ruining herself now, there would still be time for Clarissa to try, one more time, to establish her more genteelly. She had to secure this chance for her sister, even if it meant risking her own virtue.

‘I see. Very well, my lord, then I feel that the way is clear for you and me to discuss terms.’

‘You are either very naïve or very stupid. It is for the gentleman, you know, to make terms. And for the lady to accept. You cannot expect me to take you seriously.’ Lord Rasenby was by now, against his will, thoroughly interested. It was a trap, he had no doubt about it, but it was a good one, and merited his attention—at least until he discovered what it was.

Clarrie, braced for rejection, was yet determined to prevent it. She had to give her sister a chance of escape. She had to get Lord Rasenby away from her for just a few days, a few weeks, enough to let him cool off, and for Amelia to have her sights pitched at a more achievable and more honourable target.

‘I realise that I am being a little unorthodox. But I thought you would appreciate both directness and a change. You are, as you admitted yourself, a little jaded in your taste. Perhaps a freshness of approach would restore your appetites?’ Clarrie smiled in what she hoped was a coy manner, although the effect was ruined somewhat by the pleading in her eyes.

It was the pleading that succeeded. ‘I’ll give you a chance then, for your boldness, if for nothing else. But you must rise to the challenge, and prove your good faith to me first.’

‘How?’

‘I’ll listen to your proposal in private. Tomorrow, not now. That will give you time to cool your temper, and to make sure that you really want to go through with this.’

‘I will be just as determined tomorrow, I know I will. Name the place, Lord Rasenby, and I will be there.’ With a toss of her head, and a determined point of her little chin, Clarrie glared into those deep blue eyes. She was anything but propitiating, but she was learning, and quickly, that Kit Rasenby responded badly to anything other than direct dealing.

‘Will you? I wonder?’ The soft tone sounded just a little threatening. ‘I don’t take kindly to being deceived, I’ll warn you now. I’ll have no truck with games and trickery. Come and dine with me tomorrow evening. At my house. On your own.’

‘Oh, no, I couldn’t. Why, that would be shocking. Oh, no. Can we not meet in the park, or perhaps take a drive? I couldn’t dine alone with you.’

‘Ah, ‘tis as I thought. You are not nearly so bold as you promise. It was pleasant, exchanging views—’ his tone was heavily ironic ‘—but I’m afraid our acquaintance is now at an end. I bid you good evening.’

‘No! Wait!’ Once again, Clarrie was forced to take a dramatic—nay, huge—step forward. ‘I’ll be there. I’ll dine with you.’

He was surprised at her agreeing, for it was a mad suggestion, even for him. No one could be under any illusion about a single lady dining alone in a gentleman’s house—he had never invited any before now. But he gave no sign of his surprise. ‘Very well, until tomorrow evening. I take it you know the address?’

She nodded, mute at her own daring.

‘And am I to have a glimpse of the face under the mask before tomorrow? Perhaps even something on account?’

But Clarissa shrank back at this, unable to comply, even for her sister. And she had achieved her objective for tonight, after all. ‘Wexford, my name is Wexford. As to my face—tomorrow will be soon enough. Unless, that is, you have more than one masked lady coming to dinner?’

He laughed. Her humour had the desperate touch of the gallows about it, but she was game. ‘No, only you. Until then.’

And before he could bid her good night, Clarrie fled, removing her mask with relief, oblivious to Lord Robert Alchester, following discreetly at her back. A small exchange of coins bought him the address the footman had given to the hackney driver.

Back in the ballroom, Kit realised, with a curse, that he would need to find another dance partner.