Lord Mumford's Minx by Alexandra Ivy (13)

The garden was a welcome relief after the smothering heat and noisy chatter of the ballroom. Sucking in the rose-scented air, Cassie moved through the maze of pathways, occasionally trailing a hand through a sparkling marble fountain or pausing to enjoy the scent of the spring blooms. She paid little heed to the direction she was taking. She only wished to regain the composure that had seemed so elusive since Lord Mumford had invaded her life.

Not that she held out much hope of success, she acknowledged with a sigh. Her composure seemed as elusive as her inheritance at the moment.

With every passing day, Lord Mumford inched his way further into her life. Every morning, she awoke and dressed with the knowledge he would be calling; every night she lay in her bed and recalled the moments he had held her in his arms. And more than once she had discovered herself forgetting the reason she had come to London when she was gazing into the depths of his blue eyes.

Lost in thought she wandered toward the tall hedge that marked the end of the garden, where she caught sight of a small body hidden in the bushes. Her gaze narrowed as she felt an instinctive flare of fear. Clearly, someone was spying on the garden. As she forced herself to move forward, her suspicions were suddenly eased when she noted the grimy face of a young lad.

Smothering the urge to smile at the charmingly ugly countenance, Cassie instead conjured a forbidding frown.

“You there,” she commanded in stern tones. “Come out at once.”

“I ain’t done nuthin’.”

“I said at once.”

There was the sound of snuffling; then with obvious reluctance the lad pushed his way out of the hedge and regarded her warily.

“You ain’t goin’ to hurt me?”

“Certainly not.” Cassie felt a pang at the bony frame and unkempt hair. Poor child. He did not appear to have had a decent meal in days. “What are you doing here?”

His expression became even more wary. “I have a note for a bloke inside.”

“A note? Then why did you not give it to the footman?”

“I am to give it meself. It be from his lady, Nell, upon a private matter.”

A sudden suspicion gripped Cassie as she gazed down at the urchin.

“Who is the note for?”

His bottom lip jutted outward. “I ain’t supposed to say.”

Cassie battled to make her voice as calm as possible. “I can hardly help you if you will not tell me whom you wish to speak with.”

He pondered her logic for a long moment, carefully studying her encouraging expression.

“Right enuf,” he at last conceded. “I was suppose to find a bloke named Bidwell.”

Cassie sucked in a sharp breath. A note for Lord Bidwell from Nell. It had to be Nell Maggert.

“Lord Bidwell?” she inquired with seeming innocence.

“That be the gent.”

Cassie bent down in a conspiratorial manner. “You know, it would be much more sensible if you simply give me the note to take in to Lord Bidwell.” She glanced through the hedge to the line of coaches waiting to be called. Clearly, the lad was keeping a guard on Lord Bidwell’s coach so he could know when to dart from his hiding place and pass along the folded paper. She also noted the uniformed servants keeping close eyes on the streets as well as the house. “After all, you do not wish to risk being run off by the servants.”

The boy’s eyes narrowed with innate cunning. “I don’t know.”

“Surely you do not wish to remain out here until Lord Bidwell departs? It could be hours.”

He glanced toward the town house, his resolve wavering. “I can keep the quid?”

“Yes, indeed.”

There was a brief pause; then with a startling quick motion he shoved the note into her hand and began burrowing his way back through the hedge.

“Can’t say I ain’t done me duty,” he called.

Glancing down at the now crumpled note, Cassie wrestled with her conscience. Common manners assured her that it was indecent to pry into private correspondence. But over the past weeks she had been forced to put aside more delicate sensibilities. Indeed, reading another’s correspondence was becoming more a habit than a sin. Pressing aside the image of her mother’s disapproving face, Cassie unfolded the note and tilted it toward a nearby lamp.

In the flickering light, it was difficult to translate the uneven writing. At last she managed to make sense of the scratchings.

Theater. Any lingering sense of guilt was doused as Cassie felt a flare of pure fury. They had found Nell Maggert. They had found her and not said a word to her.

The sheer arrogance made her long to sweep back into the ballroom and demand that Lord Mumford and his friend confess the truth. But the knowledge that they would only shrug aside her anger and blithely reassure her that they would take care of everything kept her in the shadowed garden.

Nell would be at a theater, tonight and Cassie was quite certain it was the same theater where the actress had once worked.

This was the perfect opportunity for Cassie to confront the woman and force her to confess the truth about Liza.

Without giving herself time to ponder the danger of her impulsive decision, Cassie moved back through the twisted paths, avoiding the large terrace and choosing instead a smaller path that led toward the side of the house. Within moments, she managed to catch sight of a uniformed footman who was no doubt eluding the stern eye of the housekeeper. Hearing her approach, the young man hastily straightened and attempted to appear as if he were supposed to be hiding in the shadows.

“Good evening, miss.”

“I need your assistance.”

“Yes?”

Drawing in a steadying breath, Cassie gathered her fraying courage.

“Please locate Miss Stowe and inform her that Miss Stanholte has acquired a headache and has gone home. She can ride with Lady Pembroke.”

“Very good.”

“And have my coachman meet me in the front.”

With a bow, the footman scurried to follow her commands. Cassie, on the other hand, waited several moments before ducking through a side door and cautiously making her way to the front entrance.

She was well aware that she needed to avoid Lord Mumford and the devious Lord Bidwell. They were bound to be suspicious of her sudden illness. And she had no desire to face their unnerving questions.

Thankfully, her carriage was swift to arrive, and hurrying down the staircase, she allowed the servant to help her into the cushioned seat. She gave the startled groom concise orders to drive to the theater before breathing a sigh of relief.

This time no one would stop her from speaking with Nell Maggert, she told herself sternly. She would at last have the truth she had been searching for.

Unconsciously twisting her fingers in her lap as they left the elegant neighborhoods behind and traveled to the narrow, cramped street in front of the theater, Cassie suddenly shuddered as they pulled to a halt. Regardless of Lord Mumford’s accusations that she possessed no sense, she had not forgotten her numerous frights over the past few weeks. She intended to be very careful on this occasion.

Allowing herself to be handed down, she quietly commanded the groom to remain with the carriage. She did not notice the older servant glancing up the street or his abrupt wave to a thin gentleman climbing out of his own carriage. She was far too occupied with controlling her racing heart as she approached the open doors to the theater.

Rancorous noise and off-key music spilled onto the street as Cassie approached, and she briefly hesitated. Would Nell be inside the theater? Or was she hidden nearby and waiting for the arrival of Lord Bidwell?

Cassie wavered; then, squaring her shoulders, she prepared herself to enter the theater. It could be no more dangerous than remaining in the dark streets. But even as she prepared to move forward, there was a sudden footstep behind her. Cassie froze; then a scream rose to her throat as a rough hand closed over her throat and an arm wrapped about her waist, pinning her arms to her sides.

Oh, Lord, not again, she thought with a surge of panic.

Would she never learn?

* * *

The young footman watched Lord Mumford pace across the salon with a wary gaze. Although he was commanded by the housekeeper to ensure the late night visitor’s comfort, he was wisely reluctant to call attention to his presence. The gentleman had been obviously shaken when he had arrived a quarter of an hour before to discover Miss Stanholte had not yet returned home. And the sharpening tension in his elegant features warned that his unease was edged with a mounting fury.

Still, the young man was well aware it was no more wise to stir the ire of the decidedly large housekeeper. His ears had been boxed on more than one occasion. So with an inward sigh, he reluctantly stepped forward.

“Can I offer you something to drink, my lord?”

With an effort, Luke forced himself to halt his restless pacing and turn toward the waiting servant.

“What?”

“I asked if you would like something to drink. Sherry or perhaps tea?”

“Brandy,” he demanded in clipped tones.

“Of course.”

“And I wish to speak with Miss Stanholte the moment she arrives.”

“Very good.”

With obvious haste, the servant gave a bow and backed from the room. Luke made a rueful grimace. He did not intend to punish hapless servants with his temper, but he was discovering it increasingly difficult to maintain command of his emotions.

The devil take Cassandra Stanholte.

When the servant had arrived with the message that Miss Stanholte had called for her carriage, he had been only faintly alarmed. Over the last few days, he had noted her antagonism toward him being slowly replaced by a bewildered awareness. He had also sensed that she was attempting to deny her unfamiliar reactions. He had presumed her flight tonight had been one of panic. Now he realized that she was up to something far more devious.

Or worse, that the scar-faced gentleman had once again struck.

His heart twisted with sharp fear, and he battled the urge to rush out of the house and search for the impossible woman. It would be foolish to stumble about London with no notion of where she might be.

Unconsciously clenching his hands, Luke resisted the urge to call for the servant. Had the fool been forced to travel to France for the brandy? Then he gave a shake of his head. The poor man was probably hiding in the cellar in the hopes that Luke would disappear before he would be forced to return. Suddenly the sound of a door closing, followed by the muffled sound of voices, had him stiffening in a combination of dread and anticipation.

He was barely aware that he was holding his breath as he turned to face the door. He breathed again in a rush of disappointment at the sight of the narrow countenance of Lord Bidwell.

“Good God. Biddies.”

With a sardonic smile, Biddles offered him an elaborate bow. “Good evening, Mumford.”

“What the devil are you doing here?”

“Returning something I believe you have misplaced.”

Stepping to one side of the door, the small gentleman waved to someone still in the hallway. Luke gave a startled exclamation as a hulking servant entered carrying a furious Miss Stanholte.

“Unhand me, you . . . beast,” she demanded, her small countenance red with fury.

A fierce surge of relief raced through Luke even as he regarded the uncontrollable minx with mounting anger.

This infuriating woman was going to land him in Bedlam.

“Where did you find her?” Luke demanded.

“Her groom possessed the good sense to leave word that Miss Stanholte had demanded her carriage, and my own groom came to warn me,” Biddles said. “We decided to follow.” He turned to meet the glittering gaze of Miss Stanholte. “Imagine my prise when we traveled directly to Toby’s nasty little theater.”

Her chin only tilted. “You had no right to interfere.”

With a shrug, Biddles returned his attention to Luke. “She unfortunately refused to be rescued without a struggle.”

Caught between the desire to throttle the young lady and kiss her senseless, Luke stabbed her with a narrowed gaze.

“You went to that neighborhood in the middle of the night? Alone?” He gave a disbelieving shake of his head. “Why do you not simply slit your own throat and save Toby the trouble?”

Predictably, she refused to show an ounce of remorse for her illogical behavior.

“I went to that theater because I caught a young boy in the garden tonight waiting with a note for Lord Bidwell,” she retorted in furious tones. “A note from Nell Maggert.”

“Egad, Miss Stanholte.” With a languid motion, Biddles lifted his quizzing glass. “Do you always go about reading private notes?”

“I suspected you were hiding information from me.” Her accusing gaze shifted from Biddles to Luke. “How long have you known where she lives?”

Luke was forced to smother a ridiculous prick of guilt. Why should he feel as if he were in the wrong when he was merely attempting to save her from her own stupidity? Tonight’s absurd performance had only proven he had been correct to keep the information to himself. This foolish chit could not be trusted not to get herself killed.

“Only a few days.”

“Why did you not tell me?”

“Because I suspected that you would behave in precisely this absurd fashion.”

Wrapping her arms about her waist, she regarded him with a condemning expression.

“I should have been told.”

His anger returned as he regarded the tiny frame and pale face surrounded by the golden curls that had tumbled free. Why couldn’t she understand? The mere thought of allowing her to place herself in danger was enough to keep him lying awake at night. He had to protect her, even if it was from herself.

“This is no game, Miss Stanholte, even if you are determined to treat it as if it is.”

“I am well aware this is no game, Lord Mumford. I am the one who has been forced from her home and in danger of losing everything I hold dear.”

“And you think risking your neck at every opportunity is going to change that?”

Her eyes widened with fury, but even as her mouth opened to slay him with her decidedly wicked tongue, Biddles was interrupting. A wise man, he realized that it was time to make a strategic retreat.

“Yes, this is all quite charming, but I believe I shall toddle off to my club. I limit myself to rescuing one damsel per evening, don’t you know.” He performed a deep bow. “Your servant.”

They watched in silence as the slender gentleman swept from the room closely guarded by the large servant. Then, with a jerky motion, Miss Stanholte turned to regard Luke with a frown.

“Why are you even here? I should think you would be at the ball.”

“When I discovered you had left, I feared that you had become ill,” he smoothly retorted, not bothering to mention his hope that it was her softening emotions toward him that had been responsible for her abrupt flight.

If she did possess a change of heart in regard to him, it was not evident in her rigid expression.

“So you risk a scandal by arriving at such an hour?”

“Hardly as scandalous as a young lady trotting about London at this hour,” he retorted, his frayed nerves not improved by the thought of what might have occurred if Biddles had not followed the carriage.

“I would not need to . . . trot about London at this hour if you had simply told me the truth.”

“Biddies is perfectly capable of discovering whatever information Nell might possess. Indeed, he has made remarkable progress with the actress. The last thing he needs is you rushing in and startling the nervous woman into flight. Did you ever think of that?”

Clearly unable to argue the logic of his argument, Cassandra abruptly turned away from his piercing scrutiny.

“I am in no mood to argue with you further. It is late and I am tired. So, if you will excuse me—”

“No.” Luke strode forward to grasp her elbow and turn her back to face him. Did she expect him to meekly stand aside while she courted danger with such blatant disregard? “We are not finished with this, Cassie.”

Not seeming to notice his familiar manner of speech, she met his burning gaze with stubborn courage. “It is, as far as I am concerned.”

“I will not allow you to place yourself at risk again. If you are too foolish to protect yourself, then I will.”

“Really? And how do you propose to do that?”

“I will lock you in a dungeon if necessary.”

“Indeed.” The gray eyes darkened with a dangerous light. “I should like to see you try.”

His gaze abruptly dropped to the stubborn line of her mouth. Lord, how he longed to press her against his body, to wrap her in his arms and never let her go.

“Or perhaps I will simply marry you,” he threatened in husky tones.

Cassandra’s soft gasp was muffled as a loud cry sounded in the doorway. With a sense of shock, Luke slowly raised his head to discover his Aunt Sophia and Miss Stowe standing just inside the room. And judging from the delighted expression on Sophia’s countenance, she had clearly heard the words intended only for Cassandra.

“Marriage. Did you hear that, Anne? Our two lovebirds have at last decided to wed. What glorious news. I must return to the carriage at once to tell Lord Pembroke.”

Uncertain why he felt nothing but satisfaction, Luke made no effort to halt the retreating form of his aunt. Indeed, he was quite certain a battalion of French soldiers could not have halted her at the moment. Instead, he glanced down at Cassandra’s horrified countenance with a slow smile.