Ten
It was a lovely afternoon. One of those rare spring days when the sky appeared a translucent blue and the air smelled of daffodils.
Not that Miss Stanholte took much notice of the beauty surrounding her. Seated next to Lord Mumford in the open carriage, she silently seethed at the endless flirtatious glances and bold attempts to claim the attention of the gentleman at her side.
Really, she thought as they threaded their way through the crowded park, one would think Lord Mumford was the only gentleman in all of London. They could not pass a carriage without some woman or other calling his name and pleading for a moment of his time.
She refused to admit that he was indeed the most splendidly handsome man about. Attired in a dark blue coat and leather breeches, he easily cast the less notable gentlemen in the shade. She only knew that she was becoming increasingly annoyed at being plagued by the bevy of eager females.
Sensing her escort’s curious regard, Cassie reluctantly turned to meet the narrowed blue gaze.
“Do you intend to sulk the entire afternoon?” he at last inquired with a quirk of his lips.
She felt heat fill her face as she realized he was well aware of her annoyance. For goodness sakes, he would begin to think she was jealous if she were not careful.
“I am not sulking,” she sternly denied.
He chuckled at her patent lie. “Very well. Tell me, did you enjoy Lord Westwood’s poetry?”
He was clearly in a mood to tease, and she determinedly suppressed a grimace. The poetry had been quite ghastly. For hours Lord Westwood had droned on about the colors of a sunset and the taste of a freshly caught salmon. And to make matters worse, he had composed several long verses dedicated to her and her supposed beauty. Cassie had been sunk in mortification as every eye had turned in her direction.
Her only consolation had been that Lord Mumford had not been there to witness her embarrassment. Now she sighed in resignation. Trust the wretched man to have somehow discovered her discomfiting ordeal.
“It was quite ... delightful,” she forced herself to say. “He is a most accomplished gentleman.”
His smile only widened. “Yes, indeed. My aunt informs me that he composed an ode to you. I believe he compared you to a dove.”
A hint of mockery in his tone made her arch a haughty brow.
“Do you find that amusing, my lord?”
“I find it ludicrous,” he corrected without hesitation, his gaze sweeping over her features to linger on the militant line of her full lips. “Any lady less like a dove I have yet to encounter.”
“You no doubt would have preferred that he likened me to a shrew?”
“You certainly possess your shrewish moments, but I prefer a swan,” he startled her by admitting in low tones. “Graceful, proud and independent.”
A sudden shyness had her ducking her head in an unconsciously coy manner. Just when she thought she was beginning to know Lord Mumford, he managed to catch her off guard.
“As you said, it was all quite ludicrous,” she muttered.
For a moment he was silent as he studied her fragile profile. Then, as they turned to a less crowded part of the park, he leaned forward.
“I am curious, Miss Stanholte. Is there a gentleman in Devonshire you intend to marry?”
She stiffened at his intimate questioning. She was unaccustomed to discussing her life or emotions with anyone, let alone a disturbingly attractive gentleman.
“Sir—”
“Yes, I know, I am impertinent.” He negligently waved aside his one of many faults. “Is there?”
“No.”
His gaze narrowed in a probing manner. “Perhaps you prefer to capture a London gentleman?”
He sounded almost as if he were accusing her, and Cassie bristled with indignation.
“I have no wish to capture any gentleman,” she retorted in sharp tones. “My only desire is to return to my estate and live there in peace.”
Strangely, this did not appear to satisfy him any more than the suspicion that she was stalking through London in search of gullible prey. Although the reason why he should be so interested in her marital state eluded her.
“Alone?”
“Certainly.” She eyed him squarely. “You reside on your own.”
He gave a small shrug. “For now.”
His response startled her, and she found herself frowning with disbelief. “Do you intend to wed?”
He appeared to carefully contemplate his answer, and Cassie discovered herself oddly holding her breath.
“It is not something I have given a great deal of thought until now,” he admitted, his expression thoughtful. “I suppose in due time I shall have need of an heir.”
Her breath rushed out at his words, almost as if she were relieved.
“A marriage of convenience.”
“Oh, no,” he swiftly denied. “I shall demand more than mere convenience from my marriage.”
Her gaze unknowingly narrowed. “And what is that?”
“Companionship, joy . . .” His voice lowered to a husky note. “Love.”
A wholly unexpected stab of pain lanced through her heart. It was certainly none of her concern if he wished to fall in love a dozen times a day. That didn’t, however, prevent her from envisioning him locked in the embrace of an exquisite beauty.
In an effort to hide her absurd reaction, she gave a forced laugh.
“Love?”
With a deliberate motion, he reached out to brush a small leaf that had fallen onto her bare shoulder. A blaze of heat rushed through her body at the brief touch.
“Just because I do not go about spouting ghastly poetry does not signify I have no heart.”
“I thought you considered debutantes a fate worse than the hangman’s noose.” Her voice was annoyingly uneven.
“Only those debutantes who regard me as the prize fox in their particular hunt,” he retorted, closely watching the color rise and fade in her cheeks. “I should like to think that someday I shall be as fortunate as my parents in their marriage.” His dark head tilted to one side. “Did your parents marry for convenience?”
As always, Cassie discovered herself retreating from the painful memories of her parents. Even after all this time, she found it difficult to think of the past.
How did anyone ever become accustomed to such a loss? The shock of their deaths had left her alone and all too aware of how easily happiness could be snatched away.
“No,” she at last breathed, her expression unconsciously vulnerable. “My mother was the youngest daughter of the local vicar and not at all suitable for my father’s family. They expected him to follow in the Stanholte tradition and marry an heiress. Eventually they eloped.”
It was a fairy-tale story that Cassie had demanded be told time and time again: her beautiful mother stealing the heart of the local lord, and he in turn romantically sweeping her into a secret wedding. Quite enchanting for a young, susceptible girl.
“And they were happy?” he asked softly.
“Very happy.”
The fine gray eyes darkened as she recalled the laughter and fun that had once filled the estate. She had never thought it would end.
But it did, and all she had was the estate. Now even that was being threatened.
A gentle hand softly brushed her cheek.
“I have made you sad,” Lord Mumford murmured with genuine regret.
“No . . .” She gave a small shake of her head, oddly disappointed when the comforting fingers moved away. “I simply miss them.”
“And yet you choose to be alone,” he pointed out.
Drawing in a deep breath, Cassie attempted to regain her composure. The past was gone. It was the future that concerned her now.
“I believe we came here to discuss what you have discovered?” she reminded him in stiff tones.
As if sensing her withdrawal, Lord Mumford smiled in a rueful manner and signaled to his groom to pull aside.
“Very well. Shall we take a stroll?” Waiting until the carriage came to a halt, he stepped down and turned to lift her out and gently place her on the path. The scent of warm male skin and tangy cologne made her head spin. It did nothing to help when he firmly placed her hand on his arm and began leading her through the sun-dappled park. They walked in silence until they were assured no one could overhear their conversation; then he gazed down at her face with a somber expression. “Do you know a tall, dark gentleman with a scar on his right cheek?”
She frowned in confusion. “Why?”
“Biddies and I tracked Toby to his favorite theater, and he was conversing with the rather dastardly gentleman.”
A faint, annoyingly elusive memory brushed the edges of her mind. A scar. She remembered .. a tall man standing in her father’s library. There had been a loud argument, all the more startling because her father never raised his voice. She had peeked through an open window and seen the man holding his cheek as if he had been struck.
“There is something,” she said, straining to capture the fuzzy image. “A man with a bleeding cheek . . . oh, I cannot remember.”
“Was he in Devonshire?”
“Yes, he was in our home,” she confirmed, her brow furrowed. “Do you think he might know Liza or Nell?”
He gave a decisive nod of his head. “I am certain of it. I am also certain that he is the villain who is determined to steal your estate.”
Her steps faltered as she gazed up at him in disbelief.
“Why did you not capture him?” she demanded.
His brows rose in mild protest. “Always presuming I would not be killed in such an absurd endeavor, what would you have me do with him?”
Was he being deliberately thick-skulled?
“Take him to the magistrate and reveal what you have learned.”
“Unfortunately I cannot simply accuse a man to get him locked in Newgate. I must have some proof of his crime.”
Her frown only deepened. She wanted to argue, but even she had to realize he was correct. Without some evidence of the man’s connection to Lady Stanholte, they could do nothing.
“Then we are no further than we were before,” she said, her frustration at the seemingly insurmountable difficulties bubbling to the fore. “I should have remained where I was. At least then I might have a hope of discovering Nell.”
Without warning, Lord Mumford came to a halt, and taking hold of her hands, pulled her to face him. Lifting her head, she encountered his simmering blue gaze.
“Can you not trust me?” he demanded in persuasive tones.
They were so close she could feel the heat from his body and see the darkening of his beard beneath smooth skin. For a crazed moment she was tempted to lift her hand and run her fingers along the strong line of his jaw.
With a wrench, she pulled her thoughts from the unsettling image.
“It is ... difficult,” she acknowledged with a shiver. “I am unaccustomed to depending upon anyone but myself.”
He looked deep into her eyes, as if he could see into the pain that had held her prisoner since her parents’ deaths.
“I will not fail you,” he promised as he gently squeezed her fingers.
Lost in the velvet blue eyes, Cassie might have remained gaping into his countenance for hours if they had not been interrupted by a gentleman attired in a fitted coat and glossed boots. Hearing the approaching footsteps, Cassie turned to regard the pleasant-featured gentleman with a thatch of blond curls.
“Miss Stanholte.” He bowed, his smile quite charming. “I had hoped I might see you today.” As an obvious afterthought, he nodded toward her companion. “Lord Mumford.”
Luke’s features hardened with displeasure. “Ghampford.”
His duty done, the young nobleman returned his attention to Cassie.
“Do you attend the theater this evening?”
Telling herself that she was relieved by the intrusion, Cassie managed a smile.
“Yes, indeed.”
“Then I shall make certain to attend as well,” Lord Champford promised, his gaze sweeping over her elegant muslin gown. “May I say you are looking remarkably lovely today? Quite as beautiful as spring itself.”
Hearing Lord Mumford’s exasperated grunt at the flowery compliment, Cassie deliberately fluttered her long lashes. After enduring the sickening number of females tossing themselves before Lord Mumford, it seemed only fair that she have at least one admirer.
“Thank you, my lord,” she simpered in the manner of the other debutantes. “I was particularly doubtful about this shade of violet.”
Lord Champford appeared gratifyingly enchanted. “It is absolutely splendid. Quite perfect.”
She lowered her gaze. “You are too kind.”
“It is so refreshing to meet a maiden who appreciates the charm of modesty,” he insisted in fervent tones. “So many young ladies are shockingly lacking in propriety these days, do you not agree?”
The irony was not lost on Lord Mumford, who gave a sudden laugh.
“Ah, yes, Miss Stanholte is a great believer in propriety,” he taunted as her face filled with heat. Then, clearly having enough of the nauseating flirtation, he took Cassie’s arm firmly in his grip. “Now I fear you will have to excuse us.”
Lord Champford hastily grabbed Cassie’s hand to lift it to his lips.
“Perhaps I may call on you tomorrow?”
Conscious of Luke’s narrowed gaze, Cassie gave an encouraging nod.
“But of course.”
With a sudden tug, Luke turned her away and began marching her back toward the waiting carriage. Strangely, Cassie quite enjoyed the hint of annoyance that marred his noble features.
“I must congratulate you, Miss Stanholte,” he said, at last breaking the silence. “Lord Champford is considered one of the finest catches in the marriage mart.”
She gave a vague shrug. “He is very charming.”
“He is also extremely wealthy and in line to become the fifth Earl of Wilthaven.”
Lifting her head, she directly met his probing gaze. “What a pity that I did not think to twist my ankle or toss myself beneath his carriage.”
Without warning, the irritation faded from his countenance and he laughed with rich appreciation of her tart reply.
“Minx,” he softly chided, his hand reaching up to stroke the full curve of her bottom lip. “Come along, or I shall forget that a gentleman does not kiss a maiden in full view of a public park.”
Cassie experienced a sharp, nearly painful desire that he would forget propriety and gather her into his arms. As difficult as it was to admit, she could not deny she longed to once again experience the sweet pleasure of his kiss.
The treacherous weakness held her silent as Luke handed her into the carriage and they turned to make their way back to her town house.
Lord Mumford chatted easily on the return trip, seemingly unaware of her air of distraction. It was only when he escorted her to the door and placed a lingering kiss on her slender fingers that she was at last roused from her brooding thoughts.
“Thank you for a most delightful afternoon, Miss Stanholte,” he murmured.
Waiting for him to demand that she join him for another ride the following day, she was disconcerted when he simply turned and walked back to the waiting carriage.
Would she ever understand the unsettling gentleman?
* * *
Shortly arriving at his own town house, Luke discovered himself whistling softly as he vaulted out of the carriage and headed up the steps to the open door. What a perfectly delightful afternoon, he thought with a small grin. Who would have suspected that a simple drive with a young lady could be so satisfying?
Entering the foyer of the lavish house, Luke allowed his butler to relieve him of his hat and gloves.
“Lord Bidwell is waiting in the library, my lord,” the elderly servant informed Luke as he peered in an oval mirror to adjust his cravat.
“Thank you, Gibson.”
Rather curious at the unexpected visit, Luke made his way down the hallway to enter the private library. Although not a large room, it managed to contain an astonishing number of leather-bound books as well as a large Sheraton writing desk. Two comfortable wing chairs faced the black marble chimneypiece, and Luke was unsurprised to discover Biddles sprawled in one with a large glass of brandy and a cigar.
“I see that Gibson has seen to your comfort,” Luke drawled as he crossed the patterned carpet to lean against the desk.
“Devilish fine chap,” Biddles commended. “Bit of a tartar about sharing your private stash of brandy, however. ”
Luke deliberately regarded the fine crystal decanter set on a table close to the chair.
“I note you managed to corrupt his better judgment.”
Biddles smiled with smug satisfaction. “I do have my little ways.”
Luke couldn’t prevent a small chuckle. He was quite familiar with this gentleman’s devious ways.
“So what brings you to my home, besides your appreciation for my cellar?”
Biddles stretched out his legs as he puffed on his cigar.
“I thought you would wish to know that this morning while I was taking a stroll I managed to turn my ankle in quite a nasty manner.”
Luke blinked in mild surprise. “How unfortunate. Have you recovered?”
“Yes. Thankfully, a kindhearted actress was just leaving her establishment and rushed to my aid.”
Comprehension dawned, and Luke slowly smiled. “I do not suppose this actress possesses the name of Nell?”
Biddles pretended to consider the question before giving a slow smile.
“Why, now that I think upon it, I do believe you are correct. Such a caring soul.” He heaved a small sigh. “She insisted that I come inside until my ankle ceased its beastly throbbing.”
Luke could only admire his friend’s cunning. It had been only a few hours since they had located the actress, and already he had managed to slip into her life.
“Did she happen to mention her friend Liza?”
Biddles lifted his hands in a rueful manner. “I could gather little information in the short time we were together. Perhaps after we meet this evening I will know more.”
“This evening?” Luke widened his eyes in disbelief. “What of the faithful Herbie?”
“Miss Maggert is clever enough to realize I am in a position to offer her far more than a mere baron’s son,” Biddles pointed out in contented tones.
Luke’s smile was sardonic. “Naturally.”
“And, of course, my charm is quite without comparison.”
“Yes, for which I am eternally grateful.” With a smooth motion, Luke moved forward to pour himself a measure of brandy. Then he regarded Biddles with a stern gaze. “You will be careful, old chap?”
Biddles squarely met his gaze before giving a firm nod of his head.
“You have my word.”
Although he disliked the notion of allowing his friend to place himself in such danger, Luke was well aware he could do little to convince the gentleman to leave the troubles to him. Besides, he needed the clever man’s invaluable help if he were to save Miss Stanholte.
Lifting his glass, he sent up a silent prayer. “To success.”
A wicked glint suddenly entered Biddles’s eyes as he lifted his own glass. “To love, the most daring adventure of all.”
Luke hesitated, then slowly smiled in appreciation. “To love.”