Edith Layton (9 page)

Alasdair smiled. The other gentlemen exchanged glances. No wonder Sir Alasdair was interested in the chit, she had a sense of humor. And courage, to banter with the devil like this. They turned to hear St. Erth’s answer, glad, to a man, that they’d come there this morning. This was better than a night at the theater.

Alasdair inclined his head. “I’d be happy to waltz through the Park with you, Miss Corbet, but I imagine Lady Swanson wouldn’t be as pleased. Actually, it was a carriage ride to the Park I had in mind, with a walk once we got there.”

“I’d like that,” she said simply.

The other men looked cheated. They had been. It was so early into the morning call they hadn’t had the time to get to know the girl well enough to ask her out. That devil, Sir Alasdair, did know her, and knew their habits, too, and so in one bold move had stolen a march on them. But they couldn’t compete with him for her, and not just because they never had been able to.

She was respectable, and so their interest in her had to be as well. And it couldn’t be. They could call on her once or twice, of course, and ask for a dance the same number of times, but asking her out was drifting into dangerous territory. In their world marriage was a business undertaking for men who couldn’t go into business, a venture embarked on for profit and betterment. Most men only got the one opportunity at it and so had to take their best chance at improving or consolidating their holdings and positions. This woman had little to offer on the marriage market. She had scant money and no rank, everyone knew that. St. Erth didn’t care. But perhaps he wasn’t seeking her hand? The morning became even more fascinating.

“Now, shoo! Go away, Sir Alasdair,” one of the callers said with a wave of his hand to show Alasdair he was only joking. “You’ve got her for the afternoon, so let us poor creatures have at least this hour.”

Alasdair bowed and left to find Lady Swanson to get her permission. He was sure he’d have it. He kept his hands at his sides to keep from rubbing them together. The morning’s encounter would be through the polite world by the time luncheon was served. That, along with his appearance at Kate’s side last night, would double the talk. He’d see what he could do in the afternoon to triple it. He wouldn’t have to do much. Which meant he could just enjoy himself.

He looked back at Kate as she stood listening to various fools and fops trying to amuse her. She sensed he was watching, and cast a roguish conspiratorial grin toward him before she turned it into a laugh at something someone said. He corrected himself. No, that meant he could
really
enjoy himself. The thought bothered him for a moment before he dismissed it. Nothing wrong with finding pleasure in one’s work, after all.

“S
o cruel! But so true!” Kate laughed.

Alasdair looked down at her where she walked by his side. Her head came up to his shoulder, and when she turned her gleeful grin up at him he almost missed his step. She made him forget what he’d said to make her laugh, but he was very glad that he had.

“I’m having such fun!” she went on. “You’ve turned a walk in the Park into a party. It’s not so much what you say as how you say it—no, it is what you say. Outrageous! But so funny. Whatever your other plans are, whatever happens with them, know this, Sir Alasdair. You’re giving me the time of my life. I’m so glad I fell in with your mad scheme.”

He smiled, then had to hide a frown. His reaction to her genuine pleasure in his company surprised him, and he wasn’t comfortable with surprises. But she was right. It was such a simple diversion and yet so diverting. They were only walking through the Park. It was
more pleasant than most things he did, more amusing than most conversations he had, and the most exciting time he’d spent with a woman in a long time, and that included interludes in dim, perfumed boudoirs.

Kate and he just talked. Or rather, today she listened to his running commentary on things they saw, laughing in all the right places, and for a miracle, actually made him laugh, too.
Really
laugh, not just assume a knowing smile as he so often had to do. His pleasure in the day, and hers, was seen by everyone they passed. They looked as though they were having a wonderful time, and they were. She was a perfect accomplice.

Alasdair’s admittedly lax conscience was clear. Kate Corbet had no pretenses, but that didn’t mean she was naive. A well-informed mind saw the humor in life, just as a strong streak of practicality made her see nonsense for it was. She had a lively sense of fairness that sometimes made her chide him for being unkind, even as she struggled to restrain her laughter at whatever unkind thing he’d said. He congratulated himself on a well-conceived plan. Whatever the outcome of this adventure, she might profit even if he didn’t. Now that Society had noticed her, some real suitors might take an interest in her, too.

He ought to be content. It was a good day’s work. The fashionable in the Park noted his interest in Kate. That was the only difficult part of it for him. Not his interest—but letting others see it. That wasn’t his style.

It was a masterstroke that Sibyl Swanson was there, too, partnered by Leigh. The pair strolled along behind Alasdair and Kate, a maidservant pacing decorously after them. Few had even known of Sibyl’s existence, but now anyone could see she was the best-looking of that ill-favored lot, so she and Leigh attracted their share of stares and comment. There was a lot for idle
and active observers of society to notice, and more to feed the gossips. It was going very well.

But they only had the afternoon to show the world their courtship. He couldn’t take Kate out by day and night, at least not in the same day. They were playing an intricate game, and he had to leave her some reputation when they were done with it. That didn’t mean he couldn’t make the most of it. Laughter was all very well. They needed more to really make tongues wag.

He bent his head. “We have to go back soon,” he told her softly. “Our revels must soon be ended, or your uncle will be waiting for us with a preacher.”

“Go back? Already?” she asked in surprise.

“Too soon, I agree,” he said, lowering his voice, “But tomorrow we have the night. We’ll meet in public then, too, but the advantage is that not even the keenest eyes can see everything we do in the night.” The smile he bent on her was gentle, intimate, knowing.

Her eyes widened, her color rose. She lowered her eyelashes, and he knew she was searching for a comment to lighten the moment.

“…Which will help our charade enormously,” he went on smoothly, his smile becoming wider when he saw her reaction. It was relief, and chagrin, and possibly, regret.

“Good,” he whispered to her. “Laughter is good, but blushes are better. The world will certainly note that.”

Her chin rose, she looked him in the eye. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll look like a jilt when we’re done?” she asked with asperity.

He laughed. “But no, my dear Kate. You’ll be the jilt. It will enhance your reputation enormously.”

She bit her lip.

“And I’ll be pitied, which will help me, too,” he
added. He patted her hand where it lay on his arm. “Don’t worry, no one can lose by this, and I’ll be helped so much. Have I said thank you lately?”

“You’re welcome,” she murmured, still looking troubled.

So he made her laugh again, and then again.

But then it was night, and Alasdair found himself pacing his study, curiously edgy, anxious to do something, with no idea of what that was. He trusted his instincts, they’d always served him well. The damnable thing was that though he racked his brain, he couldn’t find a reason for his unease. Everything had gone as it ought, he should be relaxing now.

He threw himself into a chair and stared gloomily at the unlit hearth. What was troubling him? His plan was afoot, victory was near. He was too keyed up, that was it, he needed diversion. He wished he could see Kate, that would be amusing…but impossible. It was late, no gentleman went running to a woman’s house at this hour without a previous appointment, if she was respectable. But he wanted to be with her, see her, discuss things with her, see those amber eyes crinkle as that pretty pink mouth curled up in laughter, smell her perfume, touch her….

He threw his head back on the chair and let out a gusty sigh. What a dunce he was! Such a simple thing. It wasn’t Kate he wanted now, he just needed a woman. Since his attention was being focused on Kate, he thought she was what he wanted.
There
was a piece of nonsense he could never share with her!

No denying she attracted him, and vigorously. But half that attraction was because he wasn’t used to women like her. The other half was just as clear to him now that he thought about it. He didn’t belittle her
charms, he couldn’t. But they were obsessing him too much. For good reason. It had been a while since he’d enjoyed the favors of any woman. He’d come to London with a plan that had occupied his mind so much he’d forgotten about his body. Now his body was reminding him. He sprang from the chair.

Simple problems had simple remedies. And such simple remedies were easy to find in London. What a good idea! Relief from tension, if only for a few moments, would be welcome. He felt a surge of expectation as he strode to the door.

He paused halfway there.

Matters of the body had always been simple ones for him. Light affairs with adventurous women, temporary trysts with playful widows, money exchanged for services rendered by experienced courtesans, those sorts of liaison were easy outlets.

He suddenly realized none of them was possible now.

A call on any of his former playmates would be noticed—if indeed, those women were still free. He’d been abroad a long time. They might be married, or dead, by now. He never bothered keeping in touch with his casual paramours, and he had no other kind. He wasn’t about to roam London by night, knocking on doors, asking their whereabouts. And this certainly wasn’t the time to set up a new flirt.

He could go to a brothel. It wasn’t the best thing, but a jolly woman who could make it seem that she liked her work was acceptable on nights like this. But he stayed where he was, irresolute.

Sometimes anonymous sex was necessary.
If
it was safe. He wouldn’t go to an inferior brothel for the same reason he’d never take a woman who walked the streets. He’d no desire to end up raddled with the clap,
the disease of incautious pleasure. There was no cure for it, and it disregarded rank and fortune, leveling the rich and famous as well as the poor and unknown. The afflicted poor could be seen begging in the streets, gone crippled and disfigured with it, but Alasdair had seen too many of the mighty fallen with it, too. Ladies of a sportive nature who suddenly gave up dalliance, going veiled to hide the ruin of their skin. Gentlemen of interesting reputations who began to forget important things, like their names.

The wages of sin were too often slow wasting of the body and secret erosion of the brain. Alasdair wanted to have his body and his wits in his old age—if he was lucky enough to reach it.

Anyway, if he went to any of the better brothels, he’d be seen. That would put paid to any hope he had of convincing the world he was serious about Kate! A gentleman could dally and it might be winked at—but not if he was supposed to be in the throes of ardent longing for a particular woman. He felt desire ebb away.

So what to do? Impossible to sit still with a book. Ridiculous to drink until he fell asleep. He had to
do
something.

He reviewed his options. A gentleman’s club wasn’t the answer. Nothing they had to offer would do tonight. He wouldn’t wager—when he was restive like this he’d leap at any dare. Even political discussions might come to mayhem while this wild mood was on him. So he’d also have to avoid those friends he had. It would be too easy to alienate them with some misplaced word.

No play of any sort was available to him.

Alasdair felt caged and thwarted. It was too dark to ride, too late to stroll the streets looking for diversion, too late to reorder his life. But he could do business. His spirits rose. Yes, the business of his life, his re
venge. Yes. He’d see how his plan was doing, firsthand. Or, actually, secondhand, which was better, because that was the way his enemy saw it. He needed to know what the Scalbys were thinking.

Alasdair knew he’d made the right decision if only because of the way his heartbeat picked up when he bounded from his house and walked out into the night.

The Old Cat was an historic tavern on an old street near the river. Somehow it had escaped the Great Fire and weathered the centuries since, though the building was tilted with age and the front was still blackened by smoke and soot from the fire, as well as the accumulation of years. Travelers visited so they could mention the name in their journals, men of fashion dropped by, workers in the district met there, too. It was a place where the high and the low could meet without notice or comment. That was why the Honorable Frederick Loach was usually found there, because he did business with all kinds of men.

Alasdair’s restlessness had been somewhat cooled during the long walk to The Old Cat, so he was his usual self when he ducked his head under the low door and strolled into the taproom.

The place smelled of smoke and ale, but it wasn’t unpleasant. The light was dim and yellow, but not so much so that Alasdair couldn’t see the Honorable Frederick seated at his usual table.

Alasdair strolled to the table.

“Give you good evening, Sir Alasdair,” Frederick said easily, indicating a chair. “I hadn’t thought to see you so soon again.”

“I was out on the town and thought I’d drop by,” Alasdair answered lazily as he seated himself. “How are things going with you, Fred?”

The Honorable Frederick Loach was a slender gentleman with fair hair as thin as his smile, and a smile faint as his voice. Fred came from a good family and ran with bad sorts, his vices were many and his money soon parted from him. Fortunately for him, his morals were just as meager. He had entree to all the best places and insinuated himself everywhere else. He heard everything and sold what he heard to those who had a use for gossip: caricaturists and writers of scandal sheets who spun the dross of other people’s folly into their own gold, reselling it to an eager public. Frederick earned even more by selling specific gossip to anyone, for a price.

Alasdair reached into his pocket, extracted some coins and put them on the table. “I recall now that I lost that wager the other week. Never let it be said that I forget my debts.”

Frederick’s hand moved fast as a lizard’s tongue. He had the money in his pocket before the echo of Alasdair’s words faded. “Thank you. You are indeed a man of your word.”

Alasdair sat back, his eyes half-lidded to conceal the gleam in them. Pretense had been kept, proprieties observed. Now he’d get what he paid for.

“I hear you’ve been courting Miss Corbet, cousin to the Swansons,” Frederick said in his die-away voice, so softly that Alasdair had to listen closely to hear him above the general babble. “Everyone’s buzzing about it.
How
charming for you. I understand her cousins are in
alt
about it because it’s brought so many suitors to their doorstep. How pleasant for their youngest, the heretofore unknown Sibyl. The latest rhyme goes:

“Not inspired verse, but
ever
so amusing, don’t you think?”

“I’d hoped you’d heard something more to my taste,” Alasdair said with barely concealed impatience.

Frederick’s gaze sharpened. Alasdair wasn’t a man he wanted to trifle with. “Oh,
that
,” he said quickly. “
They’ve
heard, of course. Almost at once. I wasn’t the first to tell them either. They pay well to hear about you. But you’d want to know how they took it and what they thought. How can I tell you that? I had no intimation from their expressions, of course. Don’t be vexed with me, I am a veritable
fount
of information, sir. But I cannot crawl beneath their bed to know their true reaction, can I?”

Alasdair frowned. “They go nowhere? They see no one?”

“They do not
stir
from their house. But they have visitors. Not friends of mine although all of them are known to me and all serve the Scalbys in rather the same capacity that I do. So there they sit, and yet they’re in the thick of things, as it were. One bit of news, though.”

Frederick paused to take a sip at his tankard. Alasdair restrained himself from throttling the news out of him.