Читать книгу Lord Libertine - Gail Ranstrom - Страница 9

Chapter Three

Drew’s hand tightened around his glass as he watched Lady Lace wind through the crowds when she returned to the ballroom. He wished he could call her graceless or gauche, but she held her own with a quiet dignity that belied her apparent purpose—to kiss every eligible male in society. He eased his grip on the glass before he could break the stem, but his stomach began to tighten.

How many times had he pitied men who’d fallen victim to Cupid’s arrow? Who followed their ladylove’s every move and sigh? God save him that indignity. Lace was a slow burn in his blood, and as soon as he satisfied his need, he would be himself again. And now, to make matters worse, he’d have to find McPherson and make amends. He’d be damned if he’d lose a friend over a skirt.

“My! Such a dark look, Hunter.”

He turned and found Viscount Bryon Daschel and Percy Throckmorton standing behind him. “Then my look matches my thoughts.”

Daschel, whose good looks accounted for his nickname, “Dash,” followed the line of his gaze and nodded. “Ah, yes. Lady Lace. Quite the comer, that one.”

“You do not seriously believe she will be a force in society?”

“Male society, at least.” Daschel grinned. Throckmorton sniggered and nudged him.

For some unaccountable reason, Drew wanted to put his fist down Daschel’s throat. Lace was his new obsession, and his interest had become proprietary. He took a deep breath and assumed a look of unconcern. “She is trouble, Dash. You’d do well to stay away from her.”

“No doubt.” Daschel gave him a rakish grin. “But when has that ever stopped me? And why do I have the feeling that you intend to disregard your own advice?”

“You know me, Dash. As a…connoisseur of beautiful women, I am immune to her charms. My interest in the woman is…shall we say, more cerebral.”

Daschel laughed. “And here I was thinking it was located in another region entirely.”

Again Throckmorton sniggered. “I say, Hunter, we all ought to have a go at her. Only fair, wouldn’t you think?”

“No. I wouldn’t.” In fact, if Throckmorton wanted to have a go at Lace, he’d have to “go” through Drew.

“Come, now. Let’s not quarrel,” Daschel soothed. “Let Hunter indulge his fascination.’ Tisn’t as if the chit is in danger of losing her reputation, is it? That, I gather, is too far gone for retrieval, though I haven’t spoken to anyone who has made her a conquest yet. Give Hunter a chance to break her in for the rest of us, eh? I warrant he’ll do as good a job of it as he always does.”

Break her in? Lace might be unfettered, but he was beginning to suspect she was not quite a tart. There’d be no profit in debating the fine points with Daschel and Throckmorton, however. He decided a change of subject was the safest course of action. “Did you come to discuss the woman in question, or did you have other business with me?”

“Thought you might like to come along on a jaunt tonight,” Daschel said.

Jaunt. That was the word Daschel always used for an excursion into the opium dens near the wharves. Last year, when Drew had been searching for a solution to his ennui, and for a way to feel anything at all, he’d spent a considerable amount of time and money as a lotus eater. The only thing he’d gained was the knowledge that he did not like being in a helpless state and at the mercy of others.

“Thank you, but no, Dash. Not for me.”

“Last year—”

“Was last year. This year I prefer a different poison.”

“Do tell.”

Drew lifted his glass with a self-mocking smile. “Mundane, perhaps, but steadier. Easier to control.”

Daschel nodded. “As you will. But you must come with us tomorrow. Throckmorton has arranged a private tour of Bedlam. Should be quite amusing.”

“Amusing?” Drew doubted observing the unfortunate inmates of an asylum could provide entertainment. He shrugged. “Perhaps. Where and when?”

“Outside the entrance at midnight. Bring your ready. There’s bound to be wagering.”

“If I’m not there, do not wait for me.”

Daschel gave him a puzzled smile. “Sooner or later, Hunter, I shall think of something to pique your interest.”

“I hope you will, Dash,” he said honestly. “It is a sorry state of affairs when there is nothing remaining to engage my notice.”

Gazing at Lace, Daschel murmured, “I would not call her ‘nothing,’ Hunter. Finish with her quickly, will you? I fancy I’m next.”

Drew gave his friend a rueful smile. He doubted there’d be anything quick about Lace and, unless he was wrong, she’d be worth the wait.

He left Daschel and Throckmorton and moved to the perimeter of the room, keeping Lace in view. She wandered slowly through the crowds, and he saw her decline an invitation to dance with Lord Entwhistle, then move on. After a short conversation, she took the arm of a man Drew did not know and strolled toward an alcove. He knew what would happen there and fought the urge to interrupt them. And failed.

As it happened, he did not have time to interrupt. As soon as he edged closer, Lace pushed past the column and drapery that shielded the alcove from view. She passed him without realizing he was there, her head down and a dark look of consternation furrowing her brow.

Again he followed her through the crowds, to the foyer and down the steps to the street. He was surprised to see that no carriage or coach awaited her and that she simply drew her shawl up around her shoulders and turned toward the Mall.

The Mall? The bridle path after dark? Alone? That was foolhardy at best. At this time of night she could run afoul of brigands of all sorts—cutpurses, cutthroats, debauchers…. Satanists?

She’d just made a deucedly bad decision. He hurried after her, keeping at a distance. She had made it clear that she did not desire his company tonight but, to be perfectly honest, he was curious to see where she would go. Odd that he hadn’t wondered before where she lived, or how. This might well be an opportunity to discover her background. Heaven—or maybe hell—knew Drew was never one to pass up an opportunity.

Bella wrestled with her self-contempt as she turned into the Mall and hurried toward Wards Row. The evening had turned chilly and mist swirled around the hem of her gown, just beginning to rise. Fog would not be far behind.

Her evening had been a complete waste. Even Mr. McPherson’s behavior had been boorish, though she had to accept part of the blame for that. Had she never kissed him to begin with… And then she’d gone on to kiss yet another man. To no avail. All for naught.

No, that was not entirely true. There had been Mr. Andrew Hunter to teach her what a kiss should be. And to remind her of what she was becoming. She pushed that unhappy thought aside and took note of her surroundings.

Lamplight made her feel exposed in the middle of the inky night. Tall trees lined the bridle path and stirred in the light breeze. Shadows shifted through the leaves. A hint of malice pervaded the air tonight. A hint of something evil. She glanced over her shoulder, certain that she’d heard a footfall.

No. Only the breath of the wind.

The sudden image of Cora creeping out to meet her beau at night rose before her. Had she come here and sat on one of the benches in the light, waiting for him? Had he wooed her until she had willingly gone with him? Was it here that he had swept her away to her death?

Fear and fatigue, grief and guilt—all filled Bella to the bursting point. How had she been so blind to what her sister had been doing? Her eyes brimmed with tears, and she fumbled to fish a handkerchief from her reticule. As she dabbed at her eyes, a faint whisper carried on the breeze and raised the fine hairs on the back of her neck. Avenge me, Bella.

No.’ Twas just her imagination. She shivered, realizing for the first time that she’d be safer in the darkness than on the lighted path where she made an easy target. The shadows offered safety, anonymity. They would not frighten her if she became a part of them.

She veered off the bridle path and found sanctuary behind a row of oak trees. All she need do was follow the course of the path in the dimness until she could cut across St. James Park and thence home.

Clever girl! Andrew watched as Lace slipped seamlessly into the darkness. She had good instincts. It had not taken her long to realize the danger she had put herself in. With the slightest hiss of her hem against the grass, she was gone. If he tried to find her and follow her now, he’d give himself away, and he wasn’t ready to do that just yet. No, he couldn’t let her think she had the upper hand.

She must not have realized that in her haste, she had dropped her handkerchief. He went forward, all reason for stealth gone now, and bent to retrieve the item. The dainty square was of fine Irish linen with a tatted lace edging of the same sort that had been on her gown tonight and the domino the night before.

The little piece of linen was damp. From the dew, or from tears? Why the thought of her tears upset him, he couldn’t say. Women cried. It was a natural state of affairs. Nevertheless, he lifted the article to his face and inhaled the faint floral scent. Not quite the same as she’d worn tonight, but similar.

A corner thickened with embroidery threads drew his attention. The letters C O in an elaborate script were formed from pale-blue silk thread. CO? So, was Lace’s real name something as mundane at Caroline? Charlotte? Catherine?

Whatever her name was, she would be his. Once, for a week or a month, or until the novelty wore off—the length of time did not matter. The simple fact was that he would know her in the biblical sense. And she would know him. She might think she was in control of the situation. She might even think she had a choice. But she had no idea who she was dealing with.

Bella closed the door with a soft click and turned the lock. She leaned her forehead against the panel and sighed, vowing she’d take enough money to hire a carriage next time. She hadn’t been able to shake the feeling of being watched, and it had followed her all the way home.

She dropped her reticule and shawl on the foyer table before tiptoeing to the sitting room sideboard and pouring herself just the smallest amount of brandy.

“I thought that was you,” Gina said behind her.

She gasped in surprise and turned to see her sister rising from a chair in the corner of the room. “Must you wait up every night?” she sighed.

“What do you expect, Bella? I’ve already lost one sister, and my mother might as well be gone. You refuse to tell me what you are doing, where you are going or when you’ll return. You refuse my help. And then you wonder that I am waiting up? Please, Bella. Give me credit for common sense. Should something happen to you, I will be responsible for Mama and Lilly. I have a right to know what you are doing.”

Poor Gina. She was right. At least Mama and Lilly had the luxury of not knowing that she was sneaking out at night. She drank her brandy and sat on the brocade settee, patting the seat next to her. “You have always been sensible, Gina. I…I just thought it would be easier for you if you did not know the particulars.”

“Nothing about this has been easy.” She sniffed and swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I want to help. I want to be doing something. But, day after day, we just sit here with the curtains drawn, hushing our conversations so Mama can rest. Even Lilly is feeling the strain. We sigh and cry, and no one actually does anything. Except for you. Let me help, Bella. Please.”

She sighed. Should she tell her sister what she was doing and risk her scorn? Or lie to her and do even more damage to her conscience? If she could find some way for Gina to help—some way that would not put her at risk….

“Tell me, Bella. What is it you do every night when you go out? You say you are looking for Cora’s murderer, and yet you do not say how. Do you know him?”

“No,” she confessed. “I only know that he has dark hair and eyes.”

Gina gave her a disbelieving laugh. “Dark? Oh, that must make the search easy, indeed. I am certain you will find him anyday now.”

“There’s more,” Bella admitted, staring down at the floor, unwilling to meet Gina’s eyes. “Cora said he was taller than Papa, and that he…he licked his lips after he kissed her as if she were some tasty treat. And that he was a gentleman. A member of the ton. You know our Cora would never have dallied with someone beneath her.”

“Cora kissed him?” Gina’s green eyes widened, but she collected herself quickly. “A dark man above six feet tall? Well, that is a bit more to work with. But how would you ever discover if a man licks his lips…Bella! You are not kissing every dark man you meet?”

She took a deep breath and turned away. “What other choice do I have?”

“Oh! Then this is why you are so insistent that you haven’t a future in the ton? That your reputation is sullied? You poor thing! No wonder you are drinking.” Her sister jumped to her feet and began pacing. “We must think of another way. Even narrowing the possibilities to tall dark men, there must be more. Think, Bella. What else did Cora say?”

She shook her head. “That he tasted bitter, then nothing more before…”

Gina said, “I have wrestled the thought this way and that for the past week. Cora was beaten. Mutilated. What sort of man kills a woman he has vowed he loved? Further, what sort of man betrays that trust in such a foul, cruel manner? What sort of monster?”

“A man who is tall, dark, charming and cunning. One who cajoled and cozened our sister into trusting him. A man who is a part of society and yet keeps his true nature secret. A rake and a rogue of the very worst kind.”

“Barely human,” Gina agreed.

Bella nodded and went back to the sideboard. “You have not told Mama and Lilly the details of Cora’s murder, have you?”

Gina joined her and poured a very small dram of brandy for herself. “Never. That would surely be the end of Mama’s sanity.”

They raised their glasses in unison and drank. Gina grimaced and her eyes watered, but she sighed deeply when the liquor settled. “There is one thing you have not considered in your search, Bella. The killer is all those things Cora said but, most important, though he hides his true character, it must reveal itself on occasion. His closest friends will be like-minded. Rakes, rogues and villains.”

How had she overlooked that detail? She’d known enough to look in the ton, but she hadn’t narrowed her search to the very dregs of it. “So, to find him, I should kiss only rakes, rogues and scoundrels?” she mused. “Yes. They become apparent fairly quickly, and they tend to flock together. So in order to find him, I shall have to go where rogues and scoundrels go. G-gambling dens and other unsavory places.”

“No! That is too dangerous. You mustn’t imperil yourself.” Gina’s widened eyes filled with tears.

Bella sighed. “In the past week, I have forfeited something of my soul. But I have my promise to Cora to keep. If I do anything less, I will not be able to sleep at night. No, I intend to do whatever I must and I would advise you to keep out of my way.”

Gina opened her mouth as if she would argue, then closed it again and shook her head.

“Try to understand,” Bella pleaded. “The only other choice I have is to let our sister’s murderer go free.”

“Oh, I understand,” Gina said, determined lines settling around her narrowed eyes. “I feel the need for justice, too, and I know the getting of it can be dangerous. I am only trying to think how to help you.”

“I will not take you with me.”

“I did not expect that you would. But I can help ensure that Mama and Lilly will not find out. I can keep them occupied.”

“How? We are in mourning and will be for another six weeks. Social events are forbidden. They cannot call on neighbors or attend teas. We are trapped in this house until Mama is better and we can go home.”

“Lilly is becoming restless. She needs outings. I think short walks and a trip to Hatchard’s bookstore for reading materials might be in order. She has been asking for another of Miss Austen’s books. And a little shopping for mourning apparel would be appropriate. Yes, and a healthy glass of undiluted wine with supper will keep her soundly asleep at night. We needn’t worry much about Mama, yet. She is barely coherent from the laudanum she is taking in the evening. She is bound to make an effort soon, and when she does, I shall be ready.”

Amazed, Bella watched as Gina began pacing, tapping one finger against her right cheek in an attitude of thoughtfulness. “And we shall have to concoct some story about what keeps you out evenings, should they discover you gone. Companion to a dowager? Reading to a blind neighbor? Caring for an ill friend?”

“Gina, you are truly diabolical.”

“I know I cannot stop you, but I do not mean to lose another sister, Bella. You are about to enter a dragon’s den. And where you will be going, you will need all the help you can muster.”

A little shiver shot through her at the fierce expression on her sister’s face. Just how far would Gina go to help her?