Читать книгу Regency Collection 2013 Part 1 - Хелен Диксон, Louise Allen, Хелен Диксон - Страница 13

‘Seduce you? No.’ Max’s mood of gentle sensuality seemed to have quite vanished. ‘I am getting you in a fluster and I am ensuring that I spend an acutely uncomfortable evening.’

‘Why?’ Bree demanded.

‘Why am I getting you in a fluster?’

‘No. I know the answer to that—you’re a man. Men flirt, and I was silly enough to come out here with you—I expect it is quite automatic on your part. No, why will you be uncomfortable?’

‘Um … my conscience will be troubling me,’ he said. Bree narrowed her eyes. That was not the truth, but he would refuse to tell her if she pressed. ‘May I call and take you driving?’

‘You are number three,’ Bee informed him, torn between smugness and exasperation. ‘Am I to go driving with all of the Nonesuch Whips while you take it in turns to try to persuade me to let you drive a stage? It is a deeply unflattering motive.’

‘But you may acquit me, for I have already driven your stage, have I not?’

Time to take the bull by the horns, my girl, Bree told herself. ‘Then what is your motive, my lord? You do not want to drive a stagecoach, you do not want to seduce me …’

‘I said I was not trying to, not that I did not want to.’

‘Now you are teasing me. I know perfectly well that you are too much the gentleman.’ He grimaced. In the flare of the torchlight his face looked stony. Bree blinked; it must be a trick of the light.

‘Perhaps I am amusing myself by bringing you into fashion, perhaps I enjoy flirting with you or perhaps I enjoy your company and would like to be your friend. What do you think, Bree?’

‘Perhaps all three?’

‘Clever girl.’

She slapped at him lightly with her fan. ‘Do not patronise me, my lord, or we will not be friends for long.’

Max stood and held out his hand to help her to her feet. ‘That would be a pity, Bree Mallory, because I think you will be very good for me.’

Max watched Bree take the hand of her next dance partner and walk gracefully on to the dance floor. Another of the Whips, he noted. He really should do something about that, but it was too tempting to let them lay siege to the Challenge Coach Company—nothing was more certain to drive Bree out of the office and into the life that was proper for her. Into his company.

‘Don’t you go hurting my about-to-be-sister-in-law,’ a voice at his elbow chided him, like the echo of his conscience.

He looked down and met the sparkling green eyes of Georgy Lucas. ‘What do you mean, Lady Georgiana?’

‘You know perfectly well what, and you know who, as well—don’t go getting all starchy with me, Max,’ she said, slipping her hand companionably under his elbow as they stood there. ‘I know what they say about you.’

‘And what is that, pray?’ Georgy’s challenging gaze was not at all shaken by his coolness.

‘That you gave your heart very unwisely when you were young, had it broken and now have no heart at all.’

Damn the woman! Max bit down a sharp retort. What does she know, really? Not the whole truth—very few people know that.

‘Oh, I have a heart, Georgy, just not one I care to hazard any more.’

‘You will have to marry one day, Dysart—think of the title.’

The title. And my heart—if anyone wants it.

‘And if you really choose to be unconventional, why, you have the standing to carry it off. Miss Mallory is not so very unsuitable after all—think of all the members of the House of Lords who have married actresses, for goodness’ sake. She is perfectly respectable, with some excellent, if distant, connections.’

‘I assume you are trying to matchmake as usual, Georgy. I hope you know what you are talking about, for I have no idea,’ Max lied. She was a disconcerting little minx, but talking to her had given him an idea.

He began to steer her down the edge of the floor. ‘Where is your husband? I feel the need to advise him to lock you up on his most remote estate until you learn better conduct.’

Georgy, whom he had known since she was in leading strings, pouted. ‘Darling Charles is in the card room, and he dotes upon me, so it is no use grumbling to him, Max.’

Darling Charles was Lord Lucas, not only an influential magistrate, but one with close ties both to Bow Street and in government.

‘I think I will have a little chat with your Charles,’ Max said meditatively, disentangling Georgy’s hand from his arm. ‘Go and flirt with your numerous admirers.’

She dimpled at him and strolled off in a swish of expensive French satin, leaving Max wondering how to broach his request to her husband. At the card room his luck was in; his quarry was just settling up after a game of piquet and was more than happy to join Max for a hand.

Max selected the table in the farthest corner, passing several empty ones on the way. Lord Lucas’s slightly raised eyebrow at this odd behaviour did not escape him, but the magistrate settled back in his chair without comment while Max summoned a waiter to fetch them claret.

Max looked into the shrewd grey eyes and wondered if the rumours about the baron being the government’s leading spy-master could possibly be true. If they were, it seemed an odd occupation for a man whose taste in wives ran to Georgy and all her frivolity.

‘This is an excuse,’ he said baldly, cutting the fresh pack and offering it to Lucas. ‘I wanted to ask your advice on a matter of some discretion. It is a problem upon which I have only just reached a decision.’

‘Indeed.’ Lucas shuffled the cards and dealt, his face blandly amiable. ‘I will be glad to help if I can, Dysart.’

‘It is a personal matter.’ Max picked up his cards, one part of his brain assessing the hand, even as he spoke. ‘It concerns an affair that very few people know of, and one I would wish to keep from being any more widely known.’ He laid down a club.

The baron merely nodded, played in his turn, then remarked, ‘I spend my life hearing things that must never be spoken of. I have the habit of secrecy. Why not tell me your problem? I will see what I can do to help.’

Max folded the cards in his hand and snapped them down on to the table. ‘It concerns my wife.’ He picked up the hand again, irritated to find himself so lacking in control. ‘I need to be certain that she is dead.’

Bree sat down next to Piers and fanned herself. ‘Phew! That was very energetic. You are a good dancer, my dear.’

‘I am, am I not?’ he observed smugly.

‘At least when you are dancing with me you are not being indiscreet with your new friends from the Nonesuch Club. Honestly, Piers—you almost blurted out that I was driving the stage that night! Can you imagine the scandal that would cause if it were known?’

‘I’m sorry. I will try to be very careful—but what can I do about them calling? They wanted to know our direction so they can visit—I could hardly refuse to say, could I?’

Bree nodded. ‘We cannot keep fobbing them off. I’ll have to think of something harmless for them to do that does not involve fare-paying passengers.

‘But as for calling, I’m afraid I am going to have to find myself a companion-cum-chaperon, and I do not think I can spend so much time working at the inn either. We need a business manager. Lord Penrith pointed out to me that now we are known widely as James’s relatives we are going to have to keep up this level of respectability. Or, at least, I am. I have to admit, I did not think this through at first, but he is quite correct. Our brother is marrying the daughter of a duke, for goodness’ sake! That is not going to be something that goes away after tonight, or even after the wedding.’

Her brother grimaced. ‘Isn’t it going to be expensive to hire these people? And won’t you miss it? Working at the Mermaid, I mean?’

‘Yes, I will, and I will miss my freedom as well, but it cannot be helped. Leaving James’s opinions to one side, I do not really want to figure as a hoyden, nor do I want to cut myself off from society altogether. Tomorrow I will try the agencies, see what I can find out about what rates of pay would be expected. We can afford it, Piers. The business is doing well, and I can still keep overall control from a safe distance.’

‘I could leave school,’ he suggested, with a sideways glance from under ridiculously long lashes.

‘And act as my chaperon, do you mean?’ Bree laughed at him. ‘I don’t think so!’

‘As our business manager, of course.’ Piers laughed back. ‘And I think you are quite right, it isn’t proper, and it is not fair that you have to do all that work.’ He bit his lip thoughtfully. ‘Won’t it be difficult at home, though, if you are going to employ a starched-up chaperon to live with us?’

‘Lord, yes! It would be ghastly,’ Bree agreed, taken aback by the thought. Really, the pitfalls of all this respectability stretched way beyond the cost of it. There would be a loss of privacy, the need to run a more regulated and formal household—and the fact that a chaperon would expect to … well, to chaperon her. ‘What I need,’ she said reflectively, ‘is the appearance of rigid respectability combined with the freedom to do whatever I like.’

‘Mmm.’ Piers raised an eyebrow, a skill Bree wished she could perfect. ‘I would love to be a fly on the wall when you explain that at the employment exchange.’

Lord Lucas’s hand froze in the moment of making a discard, then he recovered himself smoothly and laid down the card. His face did not betray any emotion beyond an interest in the fall of the cards. ‘Indeed? I assume that you do not mean to imply that you wish this lady found and then—how can I put it?—removed?’

‘No. Never that.’ Max fanned out his cards with steady fingers. The Queen of Spades, the Knave of Hearts, the King of Diamonds. It summed the whole wretched business up somehow.

‘Forgive me, Dysart, but I was not aware that you had a wife.’ The man opposite did not raise his eyes from his study of his hand.

‘Very few people are. A vicar somewhere in Dorset who may be dead, a certain adventurer who may also be dead—and will be if I ever find him—my grandmother, my man of business, my groom and some old, very loyal servants.

‘It is seven years since money was last drawn on the funds I set up for her. If she is still alive, I will divorce her. If she has died, then I need take no further action.’ How would it feel to see her again? Or to stand by her graveside? Will it still feel as though something is ripping into my heart, or will I still feel nothing, as I have taught myself to do these past years?

‘After seven years she may legally be presumed dead.’ Lord Lucas played a card. ‘My hand, I think.’

‘So my legal advisor tells me, but I wish for certainty. A presumption is not enough, should I wish to marry again.’

‘I see.’ The magistrate—if that was all he was—glanced towards the ballroom, then back at Max. He kept his face shuttered, willing himself to show no emotion. ‘Yes, I see. Despite what my dear wife believes, I do actually listen to what she says, and I begin to see your predicament. Young ladies do have a not unreasonable expectation that a man who courts them is free to do so.’ He hesitated. ‘You contemplate divorce if Lady Penrith should still be alive? You do understand what that would mean?’

‘Legally, emotionally or in terms of my reputation and honour?’ Max enquired, then answered his own question. ‘Yes, to all of those. I understand exactly what it would cost.’

‘Has it occurred to you that the other lady in the case may hesitate to commit herself in the face of such notoriety?’

Max picked up the pack and began to shuffle it. He moved the cards in his hand aimlessly, looking unseeing at the painted faces. ‘If I were to have a lady in mind—and we are speaking hypothetically, you understand—I would need to be very certain of my own feelings, and of hers also. Even then, I must decide whether I can square my conscience with placing her in that position, if I do find myself seeking a divorce.’

‘If there was someone,’ the older man responded carefully, ‘your sudden desire to discover the truth implies that it is a fairly recent acquaintance. Perhaps such a lady would not have the stomach for being at the centre of a scandal.’

‘Do you know, if her heart was engaged in something, I do not think anything would give her pause.’ Max smiled wryly. ‘Speaking hypothetically, of course.’ But one wife left me within weeks—why am I such an optimist as to believe I might find another who will love me? He realised, with a stab, almost of irritation, that he could no longer contemplate simply a suitable marriage. Now, all of a sudden, he was demanding a love match for himself. And that, surely, was an impossible dream.

‘This anxiety may not be necessary,’ Lord Lucas pointed out, cutting across his thoughts. ‘You may indeed be a widower. After seven years and no word of her, that is the most likely assumption.’

‘Yes, I may.’ Drusilla. Sweet, playful, lovely, innocent Drusilla, who had dismissed her responsibilities as Countess of Penrith as a tiresome bore, and himself for a stuffy tyrant, within days of that impetuous secret marriage, and who had set her desires higher than his honour when she found herself a lover within the month. She had not spurned his wealth though, not while it could support both her and the man she fled with. Yet, how could he wish her dead? Even asking these questions seemed perilously close to it. ‘How do I find out?’

‘You need an investigator of experience and discretion. I know a man who fits that description. If you will permit me to consult him, without mentioning names, naturally, I will discover if he is available and what his fee would be. If you decide to proceed, we can then arrange a meeting.’

‘Money is not an object,’ Max said harshly. ‘Speed and discretion are.’ For nine years he had done nothing. Now even nine days of uncertainty were intolerable to contemplate.

After he parted from Georgy’s husband Max made his way back to the edge of the dance floor. His nerves stretched raw by the conversation he had just had, and the memories it evoked, he stared out coldly at the noisy throng, the weaving lines of dancers, the nodding chaperons, the chattering girls, the dark elegance of their men folk. It was all a mask over—what? Did every face, serious or laughing, conceal some painful secret?

‘Are you well, my lord?’ A hand touched his arm and he looked down, startled. It was Bree, her long fingers in their elegant kid gloves startlingly white on his dark sleeve. ‘You look so—’ She wrestled for a word, frowning up into his eyes. ‘So bleak.’

‘I felt bleak,’ he confessed, feeling the blight lift as he looked at her. She seemed so right, standing by his side, as though some benevolent deity had created her, just for him. How long had he known her? All his life, it seemed. ‘What would you say if I told you that I had a secret that would scandalise society?’

‘I know you have.’ She dimpled a smile, lifting her hand to brush fleetingly over the right breast of his waistcoat. Desire hit him like a blow and he was conscious of his nipples hardening at her touch.

‘Not that, you minx.’ He found himself smiling at her and shook his head. ‘No, this is something far more serious.’

‘I see.’ Bree bit her lip, her eyes thoughtful. ‘I should say that I am very sorry it makes you so sad, and I would ask if there was anything I could do to help you.’

‘Why? Why would you do that?’

‘Because we are friends.’ She flattened her palm against his left lapel. He was conscious of his heart beating beneath the pressure—surely she could feel it too? ‘And because I am a little outside society and I am not easily scandalised.’ She took her hand away and Max realised he had not been breathing. He dragged the air into his lungs as she smiled mischievously. ‘And I am very intelligent, so perhaps I can think of something to help.’

‘Your company and your friendship already help,’ Max said seriously. ‘I hope that perhaps my secret may prove not to be too terrible after all.’

‘And if it is?’ The calm oval of her face tilted up as she looked deep into his eyes. ‘No, do not answer—you will still find me your friend, whatever the problem.’ He found he was watching her mouth, certain that it was as expressive as her lovely eyes. Now it went from composed, serious lines into a soft, tentative smile. ‘Would you wish to be left in peace?’

‘What, now?’ He met her eyes. ‘No, not by you, Bree. Why?’

‘We never had our dance,’ she pointed out.

‘Whose fault was that?’ He found he was already leading her on to the floor where the next set was forming.

‘Mine,’ she admitted with a twinkle. She moved in close to his side as the other couples shuffled and sorted themselves out. ‘Do you dance as well as you do other things?’

‘Such as?’ The bleak mood had lifted completely. Somewhere at the back of his mind was the shadow of it, the looming cloud of approaching scandal and old heartbreak, the wrenching decision whether to cease all contact with Bree now, before she could be embroiled in this, hurt by it. And under it the nagging uncertainty that any woman could truly love him, Max, just for himself. But that was like a storm gathering over distant mountains. Here it was as though he were in a sunlit valley.

‘Such as … driving.’ The tip of her tongue just touched the full pout of her lower lip. Max could have sworn it was a quite unconscious provocation, but her body was betraying her and he had a silent bet with himself that he knew what she was thinking about.

‘Not as well as driving,’ he admitted, low-voiced as the music started and he swept her a formal bow. ‘And definitely not as well as kissing.’

His daring words had caught her at the bottom of her curtsy. Bree gasped, stumbled, and he caught her up in his arms before she could fall. ‘Do take care, Miss Mallory,’ he said, loudly enough for the surrounding couples to hear. ‘The floor seems quite slippery here.’ He steadied her on her feet again and swung her into the first measure.

‘You are an unmitigated rake,’ she whispered as she pivoted elegantly beneath his raised hand.

Max caught the gleam in her eyes. ‘I fear you have led me astray, Miss Mallory.’ He swung her neatly round at the end of the turn and they came to the end of the line and were able to catch their breath while the next couple worked their way down the ranks of dancers. ‘May I call on you?’

‘For what purpose, my lord?’

‘To take you driving, as you promised. And possibly to practise my other skills.’

‘But of course, my lord. I would be delighted to go driving.’ Bree made her curtsy to the gentleman opposite them and prepared to step out to take his hand. ‘I do not, however, consider that you require any further practice in the exercise of that other talent you mentioned.’

Max found he was grinning broadly and hastily got his face back under control before the young lady opposite decided she was about to be partnered by a lunatic. Why was it that being chastised by Miss Mallory was as gratifying as any amount of admiration from any other woman?

He watched her as she turned, following the lead of her partner, moving away from him down the floor. Away. His heart contracted painfully. He should move away from her in real life, dissociate himself from her entirely until he was certain no stain of scandal attached to him and that there was no need for the public shame of a divorce.

But if he did, now she was out in society, who would move to claim her while he waited, silent, uncertain and unfree, in the wings? He had only just found her—must he let her go?