Edith Layton (7 page)

This time, the silence in the coach was profound. Alasdair eyed his friend’s rigid form. “I’ve never
showed you this side of me, have I? But it exists. It’s
why
I exist. I don’t usually get so carried away; I suppose I’m getting overanxious. As I said, the time is near. I could end it all for them right now if I chose. But the long wait has made me greedy. I want to draw them to their fate rather than bringing it to them. The Corbet woman is the bait. I’ll see that she doesn’t get swallowed up, I promise. Now,” he said in a lighter voice, “let’s forget it, shall we?”

Leigh sat silent, still looking troubled.

“Of course,” Alasdair said with another shrug, “if you’re having second thoughts, I’ll have the carriage turn around right now and take you home. But I will go on. I honestly don’t know what will happen when the truth is finally out, Leigh. It may all blow up in my face. You may not want to be associated with me then. A man must be careful of his place in Society, at least I’m not insensitive to the fact that other men must be. So if you want to be out of my plans now, I’ll let you off and make excuses to the Swansons for your absence.”

He gazed at Leigh as though trying to see more than the outline of his face in the flickering coach lamplight. “Leigh, I’ve known you a long time and kept up our friendship because even as a boy you were of unimpeachable honor. Our paths diverged after my father’s tragedy, but I made sure to maintain our association even so. Why
you
agreed still puzzles me. In fact, I never knew why you chose to be my friend in the first place; I suppose it’s a case of opposites attracting.”

Leigh didn’t join in with Alasdair’s forced laughter.

“And so, my friend?” Alasdair asked softly, “final chance. If you want to end our association now, I won’t pretend to be happy about it, but I will understand.”

Leigh made an exasperated sound. “Give me more credit than that. A conscience doesn’t make a man a
cad, I hope. What you want is reasonable, I suppose, even if the way you’re going about it disturbs me. But if this means an end to the business, then I certainly want to help you complete the job. Just be careful of Kate Corbet’s feelings. She’s clever, yes. And curious. But even the most clever woman can forget her wits when a fellow like you campaigns for her attention.”

“It’s her cousins’ attention I’m campaigning for,” Alasdair said. “She is clever and suspects something of the sort. But she’s only a lure, and won’t lose by being one. I’ll show her a good time in London. She won’t regret it.”

“And who knows?” Leigh mused. “In turn, she may help you find where you put your misplaced heart.”

Alasdair was still laughing when the coach pulled up to the Swansons’ house.

L
ady Swanson insisted Kate couldn’t go out wearing the same old things now that she’d attracted a gentleman’s notice, even though Kate’s gowns had been specifically made for her trip to London. So if Kate was going to appear in public with a famous man, especially with an infamous one, her hostess insisted she had to be properly dressed in the latest fashion so no one could say her cousins weren’t taking good care of her. Since even the best dressmaker in London couldn’t cobble together a new wardrobe in a matter of days, a seamstress was called in hurriedly to make over some of the Swanson daughters’ gowns for Kate until her new ones were ready. Kate protested almost as hard as Lady Swanson’s three elder daughters did.

In the end, though, Kate had to admit that what she’d imagined was the highest kick of fashion in London must have changed while she was on the coach driving there. After much arguing, Henrietta, Frances, and Chloe finally agreed to donate a gown apiece to
Kate. They watched jealously as their mother picked over their wardrobes to see what might suit their cousin. Though they constantly jockeyed for position with each other, none of them wanted to win the competition for most suitable gown to give away.

Kate hadn’t wanted to enter that contest but had to admit she was the one who won it. She had on the most expensive, elegant, and beautiful thing she’d ever worn. Clad in heavy
café au lait
–colored figured silk that gleamed and shone as she turned to see herself in the mirror, she felt like a different person. A privileged, sophisticated one. The silk felt heavenly against her skin and made her look and feel regal. The gown was extravagant, both demure and seductive. Kate didn’t know how it accomplished all that, but it did. High at the neck and waist, it nonetheless showed both to their best advantage. Long cream-colored sleeves emerged from little puffs at the shoulders to hug her arms, but not as much as the silk hugged her form. And what a form! The material seemed to know just where to cling, molding itself to her shape and flattering it. The silk sighed when she moved, but not so much as Kate did as she looked at herself.

“Whatever he’s up to, I think he’s getting more than he bargained for,” her cousin Sibyl commented, eyeing her. “Kate, you look absolutely beautiful.”

“Yes,” Kate agreed, gazing at herself, enthralled. “How I wish I could call in an artist and have him sketch me now! I’d love my family and friends at home to see how I look.”

Sibyl frowned. “They will. The gown’s yours, Kate. Chloe gave it up. Besides, she’d never fit into it now.”

“I don’t mean that. The thing is, I won’t fit into it again either, not in the same way. It won’t look like this at home. This is a
London
gown. It fits me,
here
.”

“And there and there,” Sibyl commented wryly. She looked down at her own dress and sighed more deeply than Kate had. Sibyl wore the correct color for a young girl and was all in white. The color seemed to have erased her—she fit into her gown the way a white rabbit fit into a snowdrift in January. She knew it and that made her fade even further away.

Kate had campaigned for a new wardrobe for Sibyl, too, but the three elder Swanson sisters had been adamant about that. Bad enough their infant sister got to accompany Kate and the most deliciously eligible men they’d clapped eyes on in years, the chit would not be able to outdo them in anything else while they had any say about it. Their voices were loud and angry enough to make that say the final word. So Sibyl wore her best gown, which looked exactly like her worst one.

“What a pity it will be so dark in the theater we won’t be seen!” Kate said, to make Sibyl feel better.

“It’s never that dark,” Sibyl said mournfully.

Kate’s eyes arrowed to Sir Alasdair St. Erth when she saw him waiting for her in the salon. She told herself any woman’s would.

He wore a black jacket, impeccable white linen, and slate gray pantaloons. Dressed to a shade, and such a somber one, he nevertheless commanded the eye. Though his friend Leigh, at his side, was dressed correctly, the bold strokes of St. Erth’s dark palette, as well as his stature, reduced the slender Leigh to a mere watercolor.

Few women could have missed the erotic speculation and slow admiration that sprang into Sir Alasdair’s dark and lingering gaze as he bowed to Kate. Few could have withstood the heat in that pensive yet
passionate regard. But it looked as if Kate could.

She rose from her curtsy with calm, sedate grace. No one guessed she was so stricken by Sir Alasdair’s appearance and terrified of showing it that she had to focus all her energy on breathing and standing upright.

Kate’s three older cousins glowered. They’d accepted an invitation to a ball just so they could be in their finery when the gentlemen came to call. But no one noticed them any more than they did the elderly Mrs. August, who’d been called on to be chaperone for Kate and Sibyl. That ancient lady was all in gray—gown, hair, and wrinkled face were all the same faded hue. That changed when Alasdair turned his attention to her.

“Though I’d like to stay and talk,” Alasdair said smoothly, “I fear the curtain may rise without us, and that would be a pity. Mrs. August?” He offered her his arm.

Faint color appearing in her wrinkled cheeks, she straightened as much as she could and placed her hand on his arm. Mrs. August glided from the room with the baronet like an empress off to give an audience to her subjects.

But she fell asleep minutes after she’d gotten settled in her chair at the theater. Kate didn’t know how she could, because it was noisy and as bright as noon in Piccadilly Square. She’d thought Sibyl had been exaggerating about how noticeable they’d be, but she’d never been to the theater in London before. Even before the play began the audience was busily and happily watching itself, and babbling about it until her ears rang.

The lobby had been confusing and crowded, such a mass of faces and pushing people that Kate got only a sense of pandemonium as theatergoers rushed in to
their seats. The long staircases to the loge were jammed, the corridors to the boxes packed. She’d been relieved when they finally filed into the box Alasdair had engaged for the night.

Snugged high into a tier of boxes on the right side of the theater, the private box was filled with gilt chairs. Kate looked down before she sat down, and felt as though she was in the crow’s nest of a mighty ship, looking out over a surging sea of glittering playgoers. It was a dizzying experience. She was less happy when she saw faces turned up to her and realized she’d be as much a part of the play as an observer of it. Then she sat quickly and huddled down, looking hunted.

“If you crouch any more, you’ll look like Mrs. August’s twin,” Alasdair whispered in her ear as he pulled a chair close and sat beside her.

“Well, I feel a bit—on display,” she murmured, darting another glance out at the audience.

“You are,” he said simply. “But if you shrink from the limelight, you’ll call even more attention to yourself. The audience is here for gossip as much as theater.”

“Gossip
is
theater,” Lord Leigh commented as he seated Sibyl and himself nearby.

“Exactly,” Alasdair agreed. “And often more entertaining than what’s onstage. Everyone here wants to know who’s with whom tonight so they can speculate about it. It’s part of the pleasure of theatergoing, but instead of a lively art, they make it a blood sport.” He smiled at Kate and explained. “Like any hunting pack, they bay when they get an interesting scent. If you run, they
will
pursue. If you stand your ground and meet their gaze, they’ll look for better sport.”

“Ohmygoodness,” Sibyl said in a small voice.

That made everyone laugh, except for Mrs. August, who was dozing. The moment lightened. Kate sat up
straight and dared to look down at the glittering assembly, so she didn’t see the tension in Alasdair’s face as he turned to look, too.

Nor did she see how his gaze swept over the crowd as he sought the two faces he’d come to find, or how his lips tightened when he failed to see them. His eyes sharpened when he recognized others in the throng. He gestured to a woman seated below, looking up at them.

“There’s an old friend of yours,” he told Kate, looking across to another box where a thin woman sat, her opera glasses raised in their direction, obviously focused on them. “Lady Eleanora. And her new fiancé, Mr. Jellicoe. He looks boggled, as he should be.”

“A sudden engagement, that,” Leigh commented dryly.

“So sudden poor Jellicoe is only now becoming aware of it, I imagine,” Alasdair agreed, gazing at the dazed-looking gentleman at Lady Eleanora’s side. “It just happened…precipitously, at a musicale at the lady’s home I hear. It was announced at the end of the evening, a great surprise to everyone, including Jellicoe, one surmises.”

“Oh my,” Sibyl gasped. “Did she snare him the same way…I mean,” she said, biting her lip at her slip, “did she…” Her voice dwindled as she realized she shouldn’t have mentioned Lady Eleanora’s foiled plot to snare Sir Alasdair.

“Oh, likely,” Alasdair answered, noting how nervous she looked. “And don’t worry, Leigh’s aware of the matter. If I forgot to offer you my thanks, Miss Sibyl, allow me to remedy that. I understand you got wind of the plan and took pity on me.”

“You’ve nothing to thank me for,” she said quickly. “It was all Kate’s doing!”

“And all forgotten now, right?” Leigh told Sibyl
with gentle censure. “Because though it was kind, and daring, it isn’t at all the thing to talk about.”

Alasdair smiled to himself at the way Leigh spoke to her, like a patient father might speak to a child.

“Oh,” Sibyl said in a small voice. Then she asked, “I forget. What
is
what’s not at all the thing to talk about?”

“Good girl,” Leigh said, making her blush rosily.

“Poor man,” Kate said, looking across at Lady Eleanora’s fiancé.

“Yes,” Alasdair said. “And poor Lady Eleanora, believe it or not. She’s well served. Jellicoe’s hers now, however she got him, but I wish her joy of him, he’ll lead her a merry dance. Best take care to avoid the lady in future, my dear, she isn’t the forgiving sort.”

Kate laughed. “I’ll avoid her here in London but I won’t have to worry after that. I’m bound for the countryside soon, remember?”

“A great pity,” he murmured, making her look away, pretending interest somewhere else.

Alasdair enjoyed flustering the practical Miss Corbet, but reminded himself not to flirt with her, since she wasn’t used to it. Conversation diverted her, laughter made her forget to be self-conscious, and that was better. There were too many people gaping at her for even his comfort now, and it was rumored he was so impervious to insult he could make Medusa blink. Besides, he found himself feeling strangely protective of her.

It was her air of fragility, he decided, studying her pretty profile as she looked out at the audience with interest again. Not her great beauty, because by no stretch of the imagination was she that. But he thought she was very attractive with her unusual almond-shaped eyes, straight nose, and the slight overbite that
emphasized her precisely etched upper lip, accentuating it, making it more tempting. Her halo of curls intensified an illusion of tender femininity, though she wasn’t at all frail. Her frame was slender, but her body was lush. Still, her features lent her a certain charming delicacy. Odd that he was so attracted, she wasn’t his type of female at all, he thought—and was brought up short.

His type?
That almost made him laugh aloud. His type was the sort of female who was important or expedient to make love to, or simply necessary to have sex with when the need was on him. His type was any woman who could amuse him, ease his boredom or his loneliness. Because there were times when it wasn’t diversion or lust he was seeking, times when he simply needed to feel close to the living skin of another human being, perhaps to reassure himself that he was still of their number.

Cleanliness and comeliness in any of his partners were extras his fastidious soul applauded but his vengeful spirit never found strictly necessary. Charm and wit had never been part of those requirements either, he realized, so no wonder he was reacting so strongly to this candid and friendly young woman.

He found himself wanting her for his purposes as well as others he hadn’t anticipated, yet wanting to save her from him at the same time.
Fine
, he thought with bitter humor.
Leigh’s got himself a charming young daughter to entertain tonight, and I seem to have gotten one that I desire.
But he didn’t feel fatherly toward Kate in any other way, and desire was the driving force of his life, so it was a situation he could deal with.

He looked over the crowd with satisfaction. The Scalbys weren’t in attendance, but they’d hear of his being there that night, as well as who had accompa
nied him. They kept up on his activities as carefully as he did on theirs, he never doubted it. They didn’t have friends but they had victims and toadies, those who feared them and those who tried to placate them. And many more they paid for information.

He’d be noticed. He had other enemies, too, and even more people simply found him good fodder for gossip. He’d give them that tonight. His guests were young ladies who hadn’t been seen on the town. Anyone interested would soon discover that he and Leigh were out with a Swanson chit, as well as an unknown, with a respectable old female playing chaperone. But they’d be intrigued by the fact that he was dancing attention on the unknown. She wouldn’t be that for long.

He could almost hear the gabble from where he sat.
St. Erth here with a new female? Who is she?
They’d find out.
Why, she’s a nobody from nowhere, but related to everyone,
they’d say. Cousin to the Swansons. Penniless, or so the gossip would run, since the only money gossips found interesting to talk about was either a fortune or none at all.

A country mouse. Charming,
they’d say,
but, my dear, no station and no money. What could Sir Alasdair be up to this time?