Читать книгу Regency High Society Vol 7: A Reputable Rake / The Heart's Wager / The Venetian's Mistress / The Gambler's Heart - Diane Gaston - Страница 18

Morgana stared at the note once again.

Dear Niece,

At my particular request, your neighbour, Mr Sloane, has agreed to escort you to our dinner party tonight. Mr Sloane has been gracious enough to offer the use of his own carriage. Do not neglect to bring your maid with you for propriety’s sake.

Yours, etc. W.C.

She let her hand fall into her lap, wondering if there was still time to pretend a headache and beg off. In truth, her head had been pounding all day, especially after she and Sloane had crossed swords.

Amy entered the drawing room. ‘I have your shawl, Miss Hart. We are quite prepared now.’

Morgana set the note aside on the table and picked up her gloves. ‘I hope this will not be too tedious for you, Amy, since you are obliged to accompany me.’

‘I expect to have a jolly time, miss. My mother’s cousin is housekeeper there, you know, and it will be a treat to visit her.’ Amy carefully draped the shawl, the same deep green silk as Morgana’s evening dress, over her arm.

Morgana pushed her fingers one by one into her glove before smoothing the rest of the white kid up to her elbow. ‘Remember, not a word about the courtesan school, and do not let slip that you have been helping fashion costumes for the masquerade.’

‘I will be very careful, miss. There is enough news from home to keep us talking.’ Amy then looked critically at Morgana, as one would a vase of flowers to arrange. She fussed with the long curled feather that she’d fashioned to frame Morgana’s face, another clever means she employed to disguise her lady’s stick-straight hair. This night, Amy had twisted strands of Morgana’s hair into loops artfully cascading from the crown of her head. ‘It is good of Mr Sloane to drive you, is it not, Miss Hart? What a gentleman. We have seen so little of him of late.’

It had not been so long ago that Amy described him as a pirate. Indeed, much had happened since their first encounter, not the least of which was Morgana falling quite despairingly in love with him.

With Harriette Wilson’s unexpected arrival and then a flurry to plan costumes for the masquerade, Morgana barely had time to think of Sloane and how he’d stalked out after they quarrelled. Then the note had come from her aunt, unnecessarily managing the transportation. Cripps could have procured a hack for her easily enough. Now she and Sloane would be trapped together.

The knocker sounded and Morgana jumped, her heart pounding against her chest. Sloane had arrived and she would sit with him in the confines of the carriage for perhaps ten full minutes.

‘Mr Sloane, miss,’ Cripps announced.

Morgana clasped her hand to her throat. ‘We are ready.’

She and Amy followed Cripps to the hall, where Sloane waited, his hat in his hand, his white breeches gleaming against the deep blue of his coat.

He did not smile, but bowed formally. ‘Good evening, Miss Hart.’

‘Mr Sloane.’ She dropped into a graceful curtsy.

Amy hurried to hand her the shawl, but Sloane took it from her and draped it over Morgana’s shoulders. But even though his strong hands brushed against her, he paid more attention to her maid.

‘I hope you are well, Miss Jenkins,’ he said.

Amy also bobbed into a curtsy. ‘Very well, indeed, thank you, sir.’

At the carriage, Amy allowed Sloane only a mere touch of her hand as she scrambled inside. For Morgana, however, he held her elbow and guided her with a hand to her back. After she sat down, she still felt his touch upon her, though he sat as far from her as possible.

The silence in the carriage made it difficult for Morgana to breathe. She resisted taking big gulps of air. Instead, she forced herself to converse with him.

‘It is kind of you to transport me, Mr Sloane. I expect you would have simply walked the distance otherwise.’

He turned his eyes on her. ‘That is so.’

She glanced out of the carriage window. It was still light out. ‘It is a fine evening.’

He did not respond, but when she turned back to him, he still watched her. She felt the impulse to squirm under his scrutiny.

Morgana lifted her eyes and stared directly into Sloane’s. He did not look away. It was as if each of them were loathe to be first to break the contact. As a little girl, she’d played a similar game with her cat. This seemed so different.

They arrived at her aunt’s house just a few minutes later. Sloane put his hand to her waist to assist her from the carriage. She held his arm while they walked the few steps to the front door. Once inside she supposed he would avoid her.

Amy hurried off in search of the housekeeper, and Morgana and Sloane entered the hall. The Cowdlin town house was a bit grander than Morgana’s and furnished in the very latest bright colours and varied designs. From the Prussian blue hall where they were announced, to the primrose yellow drawing room with its stencilled wallpaper and Brussels-weave carpet.

Her aunt bustled up to them. ‘Dear Mr Sloane, how good of you to escort my niece. Do come in. Cowdlin will see you have some nice claret before dinner.’ She spared Morgana a quick glance. ‘Morgana, dear, so good of you to come.’

While Lady Cowdlin took charge of Sloane, Morgana greeted some of the other guests, whom she had met many times during the Season. She made her way to the corner of the room where David Sloane and Hannah were looking into a small tube aimed directly at the nearby lamp.

‘Is it some sort of telescope?’ Morgana asked.

David Sloane leapt to his feet and Hannah looked up at her. ‘Oh, Morgana! It is the most wonderful contraption. Come, look in it!’

Morgana sat and peered into the glass optic. Sparkles of colour appeared in symmetrical shapes on the inside. ‘Oh, it is lovely!’

‘Here, turn it,’ David instructed, and the colours changed shape before her very eyes. ‘It is called a kaleidoscope.’

‘It is quite new,’ said Hannah. ‘Mr Sloane—Mr David Sloane—brought it to me.’

Morgana marvelled as the colours formed a new pattern.

‘What is this?’ a familiar voice said.

Morgana did not stop looking into the device, but suddenly the changing shapes and colours garnered less of her attention.

‘Good evening, Uncle,’ David said.

‘Hello, David.’ Sloane added, ‘Lady Hannah, I hope you are well.’

‘Very well, sir,’ Hannah replied.

Morgana moved away from the kaleidoscope and rose from the chair.

‘You must look, Mr Sloane,’ insisted Hannah. ‘It is called a kaleidoscope and your nephew has brought it to show me.’

Sloane took the chair Morgana had vacated and Morgana backed away, nodding politely to other guests and exchanging a few words with them. She was not certain what she said to them, however. All her senses were attuned to one man, his voice, his scent, every move he made. She strolled to the other side of the room, hoping more distance from him would help, making herself look anywhere but at him. She watched Athenia Poltrop and her parents greet her aunt and uncle. Athenia’s gaze riveted upon her cousin Varney and his upon her.

Morgana settled in a chair at the corner farthest away from where Sloane had ceded his place at the kaleidoscope. Hannah called to Athenia to come and look at her new curiosity. Lord Cowdlin signalled Sloane over and handed him a glass of claret.

Morgana forced herself to watch Hannah and Athenia. Athenia glanced towards Varney and quickly looked away. She glanced at him again and twirled a lock of her hair in her finger. Varney excused himself from the gentleman with whom he had been conversing and quickly came to Athenia’s side.

That morning, Harriette Wilson had taught those exact techniques—how to manipulate a man’s interest by mere glances and the simplest of gestures. Athenia performed the exact steps just as if she’d been present at the lesson, summoning Varney to her side as effectively as if she’d shouted his name. Morgana stifled a laugh. Harriette’s tactics had worked! Where had Athenia learned them? Was snaring a man’s attention really so easily achieved? Could even Morgana make a gentleman approach her side merely by employing a few coquettish tricks?

Morgana glanced at Sloane, the only man she wished to draw to her side. If she could make Sloane come to her, Sloane, who wanted nothing to do with her, it would indeed prove the power of Harriette’s techniques. She strained to remember them.

Sloane happened to glance in her direction. Morgana gazed at him pointedly, then quickly averted her gaze. She glanced back. He was looking at her! Her heart skipped a beat. She felt for the lock of hair that escaped Amy’s efforts and now tickled the nape of her neck. She twisted it in her fingers and quickly averted her gaze. A second later she dared peek through her lowered lashes.

Sloane found his gaze naturally wandering to where Morgana sat, even though he’d resolved to avoid her. She was tinder to his senses. One little spark and they’d both go up in flames.

Still, catching sight of her was vastly preferable to enduring the sudden hospitality of Lord Cowdlin. There was not enough the toadying hypocrite could do to see to his comfort. A glance at Morgana had become like a rope tossed to a drowning man.

Finally another guest arrived to snare Cowdlin’s attention, and Sloane scanned the room for a place to hide, his eyes lighting on Morgana. She sat alone in a corner of the room, her lively ginger eyes taking in everything, even taking in him. Her eyes were particularly captivating this evening, set off by the dark green of her dress and the feather in her hair.

Damn him. He craved her company. They were two of a kind, he and Morgana. Both too ready to cross the bounds of correct behaviour, just the reason he should stay away.

He forced his gaze elsewhere and Lady Cowdlin caught his eye, giving him a meaningful smile and inclining her head ever so deliberately towards her daughter.

Sloane inwardly groaned. He let his gaze travel past the woman, as if he had not noticed her blatant signal to dance attendance on Hannah. Coming to this dinner party only put him in deeper with the Cowdlins—as well as bringing him back in close company with Morgana.

He looked over to her again. Her eyes met his, looked away again, and very slowly glanced back. She again fingered that lock of loose hair that had been driving him to madness with how it caressed the soft ivory skin of her neck.

He might as well go mad in her company as by staring at her across the room. He walked over to her and sat in the chair next to hers.

‘Are you enjoying yourself, Morgana?’ Enjoying your torture of me, he meant.

She turned her magical eyes upon him. ‘Shall I be honest, Sloane, or do you wish me to say what is proper?’

The thought of how improper Morgana Hart could be put his senses on high alert, the very sort of reaction he needed to avoid. ‘I do not expect what is proper from you.’

Her smile froze on her face and he kicked himself for his illchosen words.

‘I will be proper, then, to spite you. I am having a delightful time. And you?’ Her eyes glittered with anger, which merely caused the blood to race faster through his veins.

He met her gaze. ‘I think it is a dead bore.’

She laughed, an unaffected sound that caused one or two of the company to look over at them. ‘Me, too,’ she whispered.

More guests were announced. ‘Lord and Lady Rawley.’

‘Deuce,’ muttered Sloane, as his brother and sister-in-law entered the room. He glanced at Morgana, ready to apologise for his profanity, but was taken aback by the sympathy in her eyes.

‘Tell me, Sloane,’ she said quickly. ‘What did you think of the kaleidoscope? Was it not remarkable?’

He peered at her, then realised she was trying to distract him and give him a reason to avoid his brother’s pointed glare of dislike. Such kindness surprised him in light of their hot words that morning.

‘Very remarkable, Miss Hart. I’ve rarely seen such beauty.’ But he spoke of her beauty, not the bits of coloured glass.

She fingered that stray lock of hair, and he longed to feel its silky texture between his own fingers. Putting her hands in her lap, she gave him an intent look. ‘Some day, Sloane, if you should ever need a friend’s ear, I would listen.’

There was no curiosity lurking in her offer. He examined her face and found only concern. When had anyone last been concerned about him, especially someone he’d so pointedly hurt with his sharp words?

‘Good evening, Sloane.’ His brother stood before him.

Sloane stood. ‘Rawley.’ He turned to Morgana. ‘Miss Hart, may I present Lord Rawley.’

Morgana offered her hand with a gracious expression. ‘We met at the musicale. Lord Rawley.’

Rawley shook her hand, barely grasping her fingers. He gave her a knowing leer. ‘You live next door to Cyprian.’

Sloane’s hand curled into a fist at the use of his given name and the insinuation towards Morgana in Rawley’s expression.

‘Yes.’ She managed to sound admirably ingenuous. ‘I do indeed. And where do you live, sir?’

Well done, Morgana, Sloane thought.

Dinner was announced and protocol separated them. Sloane wound up seated next to Lady Hannah, his nephew on Hannah’s other side. Rawley and his wife were above them, and Morgana was on the other side of the table, not quite across from him. Sometimes when he glanced at her, she quickly looked away. Sometimes she engaged in conversation with the gentlemen on either side of her, both husbands of Lady Cowdlin’s friends and not the best dinner companions for an eligible young lady. Lady Cowdlin ought to stand in place of Morgana’s mother, see her well situated, instead of neglecting her.

But the idea of Morgana with a serious suitor did not quite please Sloane. He stabbed at a piece of meat and glanced around the table at the two dozen guests as he chewed. His nephew and Morgana were the only two whose presence he could tolerate for more than half an hour. He ought to admit to himself that he found society a dead bore. Why the devil had he made that infernal bet with himself?

He caught his brother watching him. Rawley quickly averted his eyes, but Sloane had not missed the contemptuous expression on his face. It must rankle with Rawley indeed that this bastard brother was seated at the same table. And rankle with his father as well.

By God, that was reason enough to persist in his plans to make a place for himself among these tedious people.

‘Do you like the potatoes?’ Lady Hannah asked, bringing him back to the present.

‘Delicious,’ he muttered.

Hannah smiled. ‘My mother shall be so pleased.’

She turned back to her plate. Hannah was a sweet girl. The perfect bride, he thought, as he studied her profile for a moment.

But not for him.

He’d been bored with her after a fortnight, he realised. Think what would happen after years together. All her promise of becoming a warm and responsive woman would wither like a rosebud in early frost. She deserved better.

Heronvale might advocate the connection between them, but ruining Hannah’s life was too high a price to pay for a career in politics. Sloane would be better off marrying a woman like Morgana.

He dropped his fork and it clattered against his plate as it fell, causing a few heads to turn. He stared at Morgana. By God, why had he not realised it before? He did not have to act the rake towards her; he could be her husband. He could marry wild, unpredictable Morgana. Who cared if she leaped over the bounds of propriety? He’d jump with her and have a vastly better time than he’d had these past few months. He wanted her.

She looked over at him as well, her eyes lingering as she again fingered her hair. He wanted to tuck that lock up where it belonged before it drove him to complete distraction. She looked back down at her glass of wine and slowly brought it to her lips. Taking a sip, she glanced at him again, her pink tongue peeking out to lick a droplet of wine from her full, kissable lips. He would go mad indeed.

The footmen came to remove the dishes and the cloth. Sloane forced himself to chat with Hannah until the cakes, fruit and ices were served. He joined Lady Hannah in taking a glass of champagne, all the while on fire for the moment he could be alone with Morgana.

Soon dessert was over, and the ladies left the room. As Morgana passed his chair, he felt her hand graze his shoulder, a touch so light it was almost indiscernible. It acted upon him as if she’d raked her fingernails along his naked flesh.

He endured the dull conversation of the men while the Madeira, port and claret were circulated around the table. Lord Cowdlin pointedly included Sloane in the discussion. It was definitely time to make it clear he would not offer for Hannah. Whatever might happen to Cowdlin’s debts was none of his concern. There were other, more eligible young men for Hannah; one of them ought to be rich enough to suit her father.

Cowdlin announced it was time to rejoin the ladies, and Sloane lagged behind, hoping to contrive some time with Morgana. As the other gentlemen entered the drawing room, Lady Hannah appeared in the doorway of the room next to it.

‘Psst!’ She waved her hand for him to come to her.

Damn. He had no wish to be with Hannah, especially not alone. He walked over to her.

‘Mr Sloane, may I speak with you for a moment?’ She looked upset.

‘Alone, Hannah? I do not think so.’ He certainly did not want to be trapped in a compromising situation with her.

‘For a moment, please,’ she persisted. ‘We may leave the door open a crack.’

He stepped just inside the doorway of the Cowdlin library, leaving the door open wide enough for his back to be visible to anyone passing by. He hoped that would prevent any accusation that he was engaged in a private meeting. ‘What is it, Lady Hannah?’

The room was dimly lit by only one branch of candles, but the distress on her face was easily visible. ‘My mother has had words with me… a moment ago, but my father earlier today.’ She broke off.

‘And?’ He crossed his arms over his chest.

She picked at her fingers like a distressed child. ‘Will you offer for me, Mr Sloane? My father is in desperate need of money and he has so counted on you offering for me. I… I know you like me and we… we got along famously at first. So, will you?’

He gazed down at her, so sorry he had led her and her family to count on his suit. He’d selected Hannah primarily because her father was friends with his father, he now realised. Merely to vex his father, he had toyed with this young lady’s hopes and expectations. It had been very wrong of him.

He tried to make his voice sound as gentle as he could. ‘No, Lady Hannah. I will not offer for you.’

Her face crumbled and she grabbed at his arm. ‘But you must, Mr Sloane! My father—’

He put his hand over hers and slowly removed it. ‘Your father is wrong to solve his problems by saddling you with a man such as me.’

‘I am certain we will suit,’ she cried.

‘And I am certain we will not.’ He tried to sound sympathetic.

‘Then what am I to do?’ She began to shake and take quick breaths. ‘What am I to do?’

He steadied her with a hand on her arm. ‘You are to marry a man who would give you the regard you deserve, Hannah.’

She collapsed against him, sobbing. ‘If only I could! It is impossible, though. He thinks of you, for one thing. And his fortune, it is not his to offer.’ She sniffled loudly.

He set her away from him, holding her at arm’s length. ‘Of whom do you speak?’

She gave him a miserable look. ‘Of your nephew, sir!’

He nearly laughed. David and Hannah in the tortures of young love, impeded only by the wealthy uncle who was expected to marry her? It was a villain role he’d never expected to play.

He controlled his smile. ‘Do you wish to marry David?’

She straightened, suddenly in control of all the passion of youth. ‘What I wish is of no consequence. I must do my duty.’

He did laugh then. ‘Rubbish!’

She glared at him. ‘It is not a joke, sir! My father requires money and David, thanks to his grandfather—your father—has none until he is twenty-five.’

‘I repeat, Lady Hannah, your father’s problems are not yours to solve. Does David return your affection?’

‘He will not declare himself out of loyalty to you,’ she said, her face dreamy and, oh, so young.

He smiled again, feeling like Methuselah. But perhaps a new hand had been dealt him, one he might win by losing. ‘My dear Lady Hannah, you may tell David that I am no longer a suitor, and he has my full permission to court you. You may also tell him not to worry over his lack of funds, for I shall attend that as well.’

She gazed up at him, with hope dawning on her face. ‘You can do this for him?’

He smiled. It would give him great pleasure to manipulate his father into giving David his fortune early. ‘I will be delighted to accommodate you both.’

‘Oh, thank you, Mr Sloane!’ She flung her arms around his neck. ‘Wait until I tell David!’

‘Only David,’ he cautioned, extricating himself from her grasp. ‘Do not tell anyone else or I might not be able to manage the affair.’

She nodded, smiling brightly, and ran past him out of the room.

Sloane wandered into the library. He walked over to the globe and spun it absently, waiting a few discreet minutes so it would not be so apparent that he had been with Hannah. He spun the globe again, feeling as if he were Atlas relieved of its weight. Lord Cowdlin would be almost as delighted as Hannah that her marriage—and the rescue of his finances—would be with David Sloane rather than Cyprian.

Sloane turned his thoughts more happily to the golden-eyed woman who would share his carriage on the ride home. How might he contrive some time alone with Morgana? He had much to discuss with her.

He smiled in anticipation of holding her in his arms again.

Morgana happened to be standing by the drawing room door when Hannah walked in, her colour high and eyes bright.

‘Oh, Morgana!’ She gave her cousin’s hand a squeeze. ‘I am so happy. I cannot tell you, for it is a secret, but you shall know soon enough!’

Morgana smiled dutifully, but she could guess what had brought such excitement to her cousin’s face. It had not escaped her that Sloane and Hannah had been absent from the room at the same time. Sloane had caught Hannah alone, undoubtedly, and had finally made his offer.

Hannah skipped over to where Athenia stood with David Sloane sipping tea, but the others did not seem to notice that her usual liveliness was heightened. In contrast, Morgana’s spirits plummeted, though it was nonsensical for them to do so. She had always known he would offer for Hannah.

Still, it seemed as if a door had slammed in her face. All hope was gone that she and Sloane could recapture that intimacy they’d so briefly shared, the one that had led to her coming alive to her passion for him. How was she to bear it?

By the time Sloane walked in the room, Morgana had taken over the pouring of tea from her aunt. It helped for her to have a task to perform. When he walked over to her and she poured for him, knowing precisely how he desired his tea, she sensed the same pent-up excitement in him so evident in Hannah. She dared glance at his face as she handed him his cup. His grey eyes were as warm and soft as smoke.

Would that they could be that warm for her.