The Cinderella Debutante (3 page)

As his valet left, Sneyd considered grimly that the morning had not thrown a more favourable light on his losses. The news must have already reached his visitor downstairs.

“Damn you, Devlyn!” he muttered.

He recalled how the Viscount had slowly and inexorably relieved him of a pile of guineas plus several pledges. Even more humiliating was the way his ruin had been witnessed by almost every other club member as they had gathered to watch.

Perhaps he had been reckless in challenging Devlyn, but he had been drunk and desperate enough to believe his fortunes would change. They had not, and now, with the bitter taste of defeat still tangible, his fury was directed towards the impassive and self-possessed opponent who had, in one evening, brought his finances to crisis point.

That his opponent was wealthy only increased his resentment. Society demanded that debts of honour be settled as quickly as possible, but Lord Sneyd pushed this consideration aside – he had a more pressing problem to deal with. Resolving to avenge his humiliation at Devlyn’s hands soon, he went downstairs, schooled his features into an expression of indifference and opened the study door.

His visitor, a reed-thin man with a pair of piercing, hawk-like eyes, lounged at ease in the chair behind the desk. Greying hair brushed against a grubby shirt collar and his coat and neck cloth were worn and old-fashioned, but the confidence he exuded was strangely at odds with his shabby appearance.

Lord Sneyd wasted no time on pleasantries. “What are you doing here? I trust you were not foolish enough to let anyone see you enter.”

Mr Sylvester shook his head. “Most discreet I was, of course, but some alarming news has reached my ears and I am obliged to speak with you.”

“Well, out with it!” he replied, feigning ignorance. “I don’t want to spend too much time in your company.”

The older man’s demeanour altered. He leaned across the desk, his eyes narrowed almost to slits. “Very well – I will be brief. I hear your lordship sustained large losses last night. This is most disturbing news when you already owe me a
great deal of money
.” The last four words were sneeringly emphasized. He paused to let them sink in and then continued, “I have waited patiently for my repayments and now they are overdue. You will not want this information to reach some acquaintances of mine and suffer the consequences.”

A prickle of fear crept over Lord Sneyd. “Are you threatening me?”

The moneylender sat back, a chortle of laughter hissing past his stained teeth. “I’m protecting my considerable interests in your affairs. And I know this story is true so don’t insult me by suggesting otherwise.”

“I had no intention of denying it. In fact, I would have sent word today if you had given me the chance. Devlyn bled me dry last night but I shall come about. I intend to recoup my losses.”

Sylvester did not look reassured. “This is fine talk, but you have no capital and no assets. I cannot rely on your luck returning – I want something more substantial.”

“Perhaps we can discuss better terms—” began Lord Sneyd.

“Do not suggest it!” spat out his visitor. “I never renegotiate a loan once arranged.”

“But your interest is extortionate, damn you!”

“You had no choice and the deal was made. It shall stand and you will repay on the terms agreed,” drawled Sylvester.

“You will get your money as soon as my plans come to fruition. I require more time, that is all.”

“Ah, glad to hear that. Very glad.” Mr Sylvester wiped his palms on his greasy waistcoat. “Might I enquire as to the nature of your plans?”

“No, you may not—” he began, but as his visitor’s expression began to turn sour again, an idea occurred to Lord Sneyd which could extricate him from this uncomfortable interview, “except that you will shortly be seeing an announcement of my marriage.”

His countenance wreathed in smiles, Mr Sylvester rubbed his hands together. “Why didn’t you say so at first? This changes matters completely; no doubt the young lady is flush in the pocket and you can discharge your debt afterwards.”

Lord Sneyd made no answer, but Sylvester had drawn his own conclusions and looked happy with them. He helped himself to a glass of port and tossed it back with relish, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

“Now you have shared this news, there is no need to take up any more of your time,” added Sylvester. “Always a pleasure to do business with a gentleman like yourself. I look forward to hearing of your marriage and settlement of our contract.”

He stood up and straightened his grubby cravat before shuffling out, apparently satisfied with his morning’s work.

Lord Sneyd slumped into a chair, his careless manner gone and his shoulders sagging. Rising panic made his heart thump hard and fast. The moneylender would give no quarter. People who defaulted on their debts with Sylvester were usually found in a dark alley, dead from a mysteriously acquired broken neck. With a shaking hand, Lord Sneyd poured himself a drink and considered his next move.

His situation was desperate. His ready funds were exhausted, his property in Kent was mortgaged for as much as its dilapidated condition would allow and any valuable items had long ago been disposed of. An agreement with the man who had just left had been his only option, even though he had known the problems it would bring if he could not pay. That point had been reached and he could see no escape.

Then, the idea that had visited him so suddenly when speaking to Sylvester began to seem like a flash of inspiration. Why had he not thought of marriage as a way out before? His standing in society was still good, despite his lack of funds, and he should be able to find some young, innocent chit with a good dowry. Unfortunately, the unattached London heiresses were accompanied by watchful mamas. They were prepared to invite him to their social functions, but would never consider him a suitable husband for their daughters.

He needed someone from the country, perhaps the daughter of a wealthy squire or merchant who would be grateful to acquire a title in exchange for her fortune. With the Season beginning soon, he still had time to find a suitably moneyed girl new to the
ton
.

As he drained his second glass, Lord Sneyd began to hope he had found a way out. After the marriage, his new wife could do as she pleased as long as it did not interfere with him; his tastes ran to more depraved activities than an inexperienced miss could provide.

He resolved to make discreet enquiries.

Fate takes a hand

Alex drove his curricle away from Sinclair House. He had not enjoyed his afternoon. With good sense and prescience, Toby had refused to accompany him, declaring the visit dull work and he had no inclination to make polite conversation when there was sport to be had. He had then left for a spell of fishing in Devlyn’s lake.

Alex had wished several times that he too had been fishing instead of drinking tea at Sinclair House. It did not take long to realise Lady Sinclair was manipulative, conniving and determined to push her daughter forward at every opportunity. He met her invitations for him to call on them in London with a bland smile and an ambiguous reply.

Miss Belinda Sinclair, although exquisitely beautiful and an expert at coy, flirtatious looks, had left him unmoved. She was as shallow as she was lovely. She was also deadly dull. Her conversation was limited to the latest fashions and her forthcoming season. It was the same bland, pleasant, pointless conversation, littered with gossip, that he had heard a thousand times before and it bored him rigid.

Her confidence in making a brilliant debut matched that of her mama, her self-assurance bordering on conceit. Perhaps he was being uncharitable - she was very young - but he felt nothing.

No spark of interest, no stirring of desire.

Nothing at all.

His heart remained locked in ice.

He had noticed the quickly concealed look of shock when she had seen his scar, but had mentally shrugged his shoulders; he had expected it.

He had not met her step-sister. Lady Sinclair had informed him that Lucy had been called away to visit a sick tenant and was vague as to what time she was expected to return. Having delivered Lady Gainsford’s invitation, there was nothing more he could do. He left for his hunting lodge tomorrow so he would be unable to repeat his visit even if he had wanted to.

He felt no regret.

The elder Miss Sinclair could not be too dissimilar to the sister and mother and, having discharged his commission to the best of his ability, he could depart with a clear conscience.

As he drove his greys around a sharp bend in the lane, a curious sight met his eyes. A gig lay at a drunken angle in the ditch, clearly having thrown a wheel. A woman struggled to hold the bridle of the terrified horse which remained in the traces. The animal quivered, pawed at the ground and tossed his head while the girl spoke to him in soothing tones.

Alex hauled on his reins to bring his team to a halt. He ordered his tiger to hold their heads and jumped down. “There has obviously been some sort of accident. May I be of assistance? Are you hurt?”

She turned and he saw the glint of sunlight on dark hair, some of which had tumbled free from its pins. A pair of long-lashed and astonishingly direct eyes met his. She did not flinch from his appearance but studied him with genuine interest. Cheeks flushed with exertion, a straight nose with a dusting of freckles, and a gently erotic mouth completed the picture and he stood in silent admiration. He was not accustomed to such an intense reaction. This was a feeling, a sensation he had not been aware of for a long time. For an instant, it cut through the heavy, muffling numbness shrouding his soul. He recognized it as a sense of awe and only slowly did he realize he was staring and she was speaking.

“That would be most welcome, sir. I am not injured. Our gig tried to avoid an idiotic sheep that decided to cross the road as we rounded the corner. My groom has gone for help, but someone needed to stay with this creature, only I can’t remove him from the traces. Could you help me?”

“Of course.”

Stirring himself at last, he freed the agitated horse from the harness then led it to a patch of grass where it began to graze contentedly, apparently none the worse for the ordeal.

*

Meanwhile, Lucy tried to tidy her appearance.

Outwardly calm, she felt awkward and strangely breathless as he walked back towards her. Not five minutes earlier as she had waited for the groom, she had accepted she would not meet Lord Devlyn. He was sure to have left by the time she returned home.

She had wondered if her mother had sent her to visit Mrs Jennings on purpose so that she would be absent during his visit, but had been unable to find any reason to support this and even her mother could not have foreseen the accident. Resigned as she had been to not meeting Lord Devlyn, disappointment had simmered within her. Just as disappointment had begun to mingle with amusement at the thought of her mother and Belinda’s desperate efforts to impress, a curricle had rounded the bend and her heart had given a leap of recognition.

The irony of finally meeting Lord Devlyn in her current muddy and disheveled state was not lost on Lucy and she blushed under his intense gaze. She studied his angular features and that jagged scar, his personal relic of suffering and survival, slashed deep into his cheek. It added a frisson of danger to his appearance.

Despite this, he was an attractive man. He ought not to be. By the standards of the day, he was neither elegant nor graceful; instead, he was tall, with a muscular chest and shoulders and superbly fit. His mouth was firm and unsmiling, his expression guarded. Most notable of all was the melancholy and cynicism in his eyes and in the lines etched either side of his mouth.

An unexpected shudder of awareness racked her frame and her blood surged. She couldn’t drag her gaze away. She couldn’t think either. She stared, fascinated and bewildered by her reaction to him. She had never reacted in this way to any man before, let alone one she had only just met. It was absurd. Flustered and feeling faintly ridiculous, she retrieved her straw bonnet from the ditch. It was covered in mud and mangled out of shape.

“Oh, this hat is ruined,” she said, smiling.

Devlyn regarded her quizzically. “So it seems. That pleases you?”

“I was never particularly fond of this bonnet, although it was a gift and I was obliged to wear it. Now I will no longer have to.”

He gave a low, rich laugh. “Has your groom gone far for assistance?”

“Only a mile or so. I live quite nearby. My family may be anxious though as I am late returning from a visit to a tenant.”

He hesitated and then said, “Pardon me for any impertinence, but do you live at Sinclair House?”

Lucy was not surprised by his deduction. She had been travelling along one of only two roads that led from the Sinclair estate. “Why, yes. Pray let us dispense with the formalities in view of our situation.” She bobbed a curtsey, saying in a prim but amused voice, “May I introduce Miss Lucy Sinclair of Sinclair House, Hampshire.”

Eyes twinkling, Devlyn swept her a bow. “Viscount Devlyn. A pleasure to make your acquaintance. I have only just left Lady Sinclair and your sister, and you may know that I came here to convey my godmother’s respects. How fortunate that we have met before I leave tomorrow.”

Lucy agreed, although his nearness was causing her some unfamiliar sensations. She felt light-headed as she struggled to moderate her breathing and tried to calm the frantic beating of her heart. She forced herself to remember Lord Devlyn had met Belinda and would have been stunned by her beauty, just like every other man with a pulse was.

“May I take you home in my curricle?” he was asking. “I would be glad to be of service. Indeed, I would be terrified if Lady Gainsford discovered I had not helped you in these circumstances.”

The idea of this handsome but hard-bitten warrior of a man being terrified by anyone was laughable. Lucy was honest enough to admit that she would like to stay in his company for a little longer and there was no harm in him escorting her home. A sudden vision of Belinda’s petulant expression when she learned that her sister had already been for a drive with Lord Devlyn was too much to resist.