Читать книгу The Rake's Proposal - Sarah Elliott - Страница 10

“C ould you pay attention, please, Ben?”

Ben glanced up at his friend Frederick Northing, who was seated across from him at the table. The two men, as well as several other refugees, were seated in something Charlotte’s mother, the Countess of Tyndale, called the “Cerulean Room.” For the evening’s entertainment it had been given over to whist and brandy, much to her disgust.

Ben had hoped that the change of scenery would get his mind off Kate, but so far it wasn’t helping. He’d seated himself with his back to the door so that he wouldn’t have to see her as she twirled by in the arms of one suitor after another. His attempts were futile, however; he hadn’t taken into consideration the large, gilt-framed mirror that hung on the wall opposite him. It reflected everything that happened in the ballroom behind him, and each time Kate danced by—so striking, so tall, and her dress so delightfully revealing—his eyes were drawn to her.

It was that dress that had brought him out of the gaming room in the first place. He’d actually been at the party for hours, had simply decided that his best tactic would be to make a brief appearance to pacify Robert and then hide out in the gaming room until he could politely duck out.

Only it hadn’t happened that way. From the first moment that he’d noticed Kate, he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Even worse, he couldn’t keep his mind off her. That was the most unusual part—he was accustomed to being attracted to a pretty face, but not to having that pretty face invade his thoughts. He definitely hadn’t meant to seek her out….

But he had, and quite underhandedly at that. He’d known that he couldn’t approach her outright, so he’d shamelessly besieged Charlotte and asked her in no uncertain terms to introduce him. He hadn’t bothered to mention that he’d introduced himself just the night before.

“I know what you’re looking at. Or should I say who?”

“You should mind your own business, Fred.”

“Ah. But my friends are my business,” Frederick replied with a smile. “You know, he’ll kill you when he finds out.”

“Who will kill me when he finds out what?”

“Sutcliff will, when he hears the latest on dit about how you have eyes on his sister.”

“Are you blind, Fred? Every man here has his eyes on her.”

“No, I’m not blind. I saw the way you were looking at her.”

“And how was that?”

“Like she’s dinner.”

Ben burst out laughing and Fred grinned.

“Well, she is rather delectable.”

“Ben, I wasn’t the only one who noticed. Half the town will have your names linked by tomorrow.”

“Fred, if you don’t recall, half the town has talked about me plenty of times before.”

“Yes,” he said patiently, “and no one cares if they continue to do so. But Sutcliff is sure to care if his sister’s name starts getting bandied around at the club. I figured you’d be wise enough to stay clear of things like this. You’ve been friends for years and I’d hate to see anything come between you.”

Ben sighed and rose, stretching his arms and giving the impression of nonchalance. “Nothing will come between us. I don’t have designs on his sister. She’s just attractive, is all…habitual behavior is hard to change. Anyway, I’m about to leave, so never fear. I’ve reached my limit for dancing. Care to join me at White’s?”

“Tempting, old chap, but I haven’t suffered through this evening for naught. I’ve already made plans.”

“Oh? And who is the lucky lady?” Ben asked as he made his way to the door.

“Oh, no. You see, I—unlike you—am discreet.”

Ben snorted as he left the room. Fred had never valued public opinion highly enough to worry about discretion.

As he walked down the long hallway, he nodded to passing acquaintances. When he reached the antechamber, he retrieved his coat and shrugged it on as he stepped out into the cold spring air to find his carriage. To anyone watching, Ben appeared calm and collected.

But inside, he was completely on edge. His second meeting with Kate had left him feeling just as tense as the first had.

Damn. This would have to stop.

The situation was ridiculous, really, he thought as he climbed into his carriage and signaled for his driver to depart. Fred was right. He’d had more than enough experience with women to let any one woman turn him into a halfwit. Katherine Sutcliff was innocent and looking for a husband. He would be wise to stay away from her and she from him.

He sat back on the smooth leather seats, unsuccessfully trying to force himself to relax. The last thing he needed was to go to his club, where he’d only be surrounded by ornery old sots trying to drink and gamble themselves into oblivion. He still wouldn’t be able to remove her from his mind.

What he needed was a substitution.

As his carriage turned out of the Bannisters’ long drive, Ben called to his coachman. The carriage slowed to a stop.

“Yes, my lord?”

“I’ve changed my mind, Winters. Take me to Madame Dupont’s instead of White’s.”

“Very good, my lord.”

A quarter of an hour later, the carriage pulled up in front of a nondescript brownstone in a decent—but not too decent—part of town. Madame Dupont’s was a place rather than a person. Surely once, Ben mused as he stepped from his carriage and walked to the door, she had been a real person. But the establishment had been around for so long that the original proprietress was certainly deceased, whatever her name had been.

Currently, the proprietress was a short, round woman from Liverpool. Because she was English, everyone referred to her as Mrs. rather than Madame, although Ben doubted she’d ever experienced the respectability of marriage.

He yanked the bellpull.

The door opened, for a moment spilling yellow light and gay, female laughter onto the dark street. Ben entered, and the heavy door closed behind him. The street returned to darkness once again, and Winters tucked a blanket around his legs and settled in for a lengthy wait.

Kate was standing in the Bannisters’ antechamber, waiting for her carriage to pull up. It was almost two o’clock in the morning, not actually that late by society standards. She’d decided to go home early, although the party would last for another few hours. In fact, she’d been waiting to leave for quite a while because she had refused to depart until he had. To leave first would be to admit defeat. So she’d camped out in the ladies’ retiring room, avoiding the gossips and occasionally peeking out to see if the coast was clear.

As her carriage began to make its way through the crowded drive, she pulled her fur-lined pelisse tightly around her shoulders. Too impatient to wait for her carriage to reach the front steps, Kate stepped into the night and began to weave her way through the traffic. The moon was a mere sliver, and the only light was the brash, artificial glow of the coachmen’s oil lanterns. The driveway was cast in gloomy shadow, making her shiver as she maneuvered herself through the throng.

When she reached her carriage, the door was already open. Kate waited a moment for her driver to assist her entry, but by the time he finally made a move to alight, she was already halfway inside the cab. She waved him off, knowing she’d be faster on her own.

How strange. Owens was usually not so lax at his post.

She settled back into the deep seats as the carriage lurched into motion, reviewing the evening’s events in her mind.

Kate couldn’t believe her stupidity. She so wanted to make this whole process quick and easy but was afraid that particular goal might have been dashed that night, all in the span of a single dance.

She supposed that she was being a bit histrionic. It wasn’t as if Ben had whisked her from the ballroom and kissed her behind the curtains. Surely a waltz and a few heated glances wouldn’t ruin her completely.

Yet she’d already heard the gossip, little snippets here and there.

“The only girl he danced with all night…”

“He doesn’t usually flock to young innocents, now does he?”

“Oh, but my dear, she’s not that young…”

“Twenty-four, I hear. She’s been on the shelf for ages….”

“Ha! I heard she’s nearly thirty…innocent my foot, that’s what I say!”

Much as Kate tried to be optimistic, she was a realist at heart. Gossip like that could be very damaging, and she knew that her search for a husband had just become much more difficult.

She looked out the window, trying to gauge by her surroundings how much longer the ride would last. She was surprised to realize that she was traveling through a completely unfamiliar neighborhood.

“Owens? Have we taken a detour for some reason?”

There was no answer other than the carriage picking up speed.

“Owens? Owens? Stop this instant. Where are we going?” In desperation, Kate began pounding on the window at her side, hoping to attract the attention of any passersby. But it was too late and the night too cold and cloudy. There was no one on the street to hear her. Even screaming would do no good….

She screamed anyway. Loudly. And then she screamed once more for good measure.

The driver—who, she was now certain, was not Owens—increased his pace.

Kate began to panic. She wasn’t used to that emotion but didn’t have a clue what else she could do. There wasn’t a soul to help her, no one to notice anything amiss about the carriage. There wasn’t even anyone at Rob’s town house to notice that she was missing—Rob would be at the party for several more hours and none of the servants would be expecting her home this early. Most likely, no one would notice that she hadn’t arrived safely until morning. By that time, no end of horrible things could happen….

Kate tried to change the direction of her thoughts. If she started thinking about what might happen to her, she knew that panic would take over. She had to remain calm and focus on how she could escape.

Taking a deep breath, she squinted out the window, looking for any landmark that might tell her where the coach was headed. They were moving quickly—not conspicuously so, but as fast as possible without drawing attention. She barely had time to focus on anything long enough for it to become familiar, and since she didn’t know London very well anyway, everything she passed managed to look much the same.

The coach slowed slightly, and Kate realized that they were turning a corner. She sat up straighter, peering out the window even harder. Through the steamy glass she could make out the solid form of a row of town houses, all with shadowy doorways and black, empty windows. Surely the area was inhabited, but at this hour no one stirred.

Then she saw it—just the soft glimmer of candlelight shining from the windows of one of the narrow buildings ahead, but a sign of hope nonetheless. As the coach neared the building she could make out the form of a man climbing the steps to knock on the front door. She saw the door open, spilling light out onto the street.

Help.

It was either one of the bravest or one of the most foolhardy things that Kate had ever done. Shoving aside the possibly dangerous consequences—the man on the street might just as soon hurt her as help her—she let out a scream shrill enough to curdle the blood of a saint. Every resource she possessed went into attracting the attention of the people in the building. She leaned back across her seat, and with both legs kicked at the window. Her slippers were designed for dancing and did no damage to the glass, but they did make a solid thud.

As the carriage came abreast with the building, she rose from her seat and screamed one final time, a scream so deep that the very power of it abraded her throat.

The door of the town house opened and a woman looked out apprehensively. A man came running out behind her.

That was the last thing Kate saw before the carriage stopped abruptly, throwing her into a heap on the floor. She quickly resumed her seat, wanting to be prepared for whatever might happen next. She heard the driver quickly alight, heard heavy footsteps approach the carriage door. It opened.

Kate closed her eyes, seeking the fortitude to protect herself. She raised her reticule over her head, and with all of her might swung it down, connecting solidly with…she wasn’t sure what.

She opened her eyes. Standing in the doorway, framed by the light that filtered from the town house, stood Benjamin Sinclair, looking utterly bewildered. Without taking his eyes from her he reached up and rubbed his head.

What bloody luck.