Page 19

R obert returned home and slept off the uncustomary amount of alcohol he’d consumed with lunch, then he rose to wash and change for the evening’s entertainment. He had promised to escort his mother and sister to a recital that evening at Convent Garden, followed by supper at the Piazza.

His valet, Bridges, who had been with him for ten years, laid out his evening wear and handed him his neckcloth.

Some gentlemen allowed their valets to tie their cravats.

Robert wasn’t one of them. Bridges knew better than to interrupt him during the process, but when he was satisfied with it, Bridges held out his waistcoat of silver satin to slip over his white linen shirt and cleared his throat.

A sure sign he had something to say. Robert buttoned up his waistcoat and raised an eyebrow, as Em jumped up onto the dresser and began rubbing her face around the edge of the beveled mirror, tail lashing.

“Something on your mind, Bridges?”

“I’m not one to gossip, Your Grace, but something has come to my hearing that—” he flushed, looking uncomfortable.

“Out with it, man.” the duke frowned, thinking Bridges had got wind of one of Kenrick’s more outrageous pranks.

“Well, Your Grace, we couldn’t help but know about Miss Watson...”

Robert stiffened. “This concerns Miss Watson?” he said ominously.

“Aye, Your Grace,” said Bridges, looking rather wretched. “It was one of the footmen who brought the tale to the hall,” meaning the servants’ hall. “He had it from one of Lady Holbrook’s footmen, you understand. The two of them are friends from the same village.”

“Get to the point!” said the duke, sliding his arms into the coat of a navy silk so dark it was almost black.

“Well, it seems that James, that’s another of Lady Holbrook’s footmen, accompanies Miss Watson and her maid on a walk each morning to Hyde Park and back.”

“Yes?” Robert adjusted his sleeves, glaring at Bridges in the mirror as the man stood behind him.

“It seems that Miss Watson met Lord Lannister this morning in the park,” he said miserably.

Robert’s world tipped off its axis for a minute, and he actually had to reach out to the dresser to steady himself.

After a moment he said, “I see.” He cleared his throat and went on, “No doubt it was a chance encounter. Please make it clear below stairs that Miss Watson is not a suitable topic for gossip. On pain of dismissal. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“And if you hear anything further, bring it straight to me.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Thank you,” he frowned and then said, “I appreciate your candor, but there is nothing in it. Clear?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Robert turned on his heel and walked out the door and downstairs, trailed by Em. He was to meet Mama and Ava in the front parlor, but he went to the library first and poured himself a brandy and swallowed it in two gulps. Em settled herself in his favorite chair and blinked at him.

Nursing his glass, he said aloud to the cat, “I refuse to believe she is carrying on a clandestine affair with Lannister. She wouldn’t do such a thing... would she?”

Em made a mrrp noise and stuck out a leg, washing her flank.

“I’m glad you agree. So, the meeting was by chance?”

Em stopped licking to look at him and opened her mouth in a wide yawn.

“Thank you for your confidence,” he said, finishing off the brandy and setting down the glass. He scratched Em under her chin and left the library to find his mother and sister.

The queasy feeling of unease in his gut was not assuaged one bit.

Unless your affections are already engaged? His own words reverberated in his head and her response Yes! Yes, they are—so you see—I—cannot. I’m so sorry!

His mind thoroughly elsewhere, Robert conveyed his ladies to the theater and settled in the box for the opening of the performance, and it wasn’t until the curtains were about to rise that he looked across to the row of boxes on the other side of the theatre and saw that Ravenshaw had guests, just being seated.

The lights were beginning to dim as he recognized with a shock Lady Holbrook and Miss Watson.

His plan to circumnavigate the theatre at the first intermission and visit Ravenshaw’s box was stymied at the outset by the sheer number of visitors inundating his box, and the impropriety of leaving his ladies alone was borne in upon him.

Instead, he watched with gathering fury as a number of gentlemen entered Ravenshaw’s box and spoke with Miss Watson.

Miss Watson had been upset when he left her this morning, but there were no signs of that now.

Indeed, she seemed well amused by her other beaux and oblivious to him, despite his staring at her in the rudest way possible.

He should stop, but each time he dragged his eyes away, he found them creeping back.

He would be having a word later with Ravenshaw about what the hell he thought he was doing. Damn it, the man knew of Robert’s interest in Miss Watson. What was he playing at?

But watching the silent mummery of action in the box, for he could hear nothing of what was said at this distance and over the general hubbub of conversation in the theatre, he concluded that the reason for their presence wasn’t Miss Watson but Lady Holbrook.

It seemed the acquaintance struck up at Vauxhall had continued.

It was Ravenshaw’s business whom he chose to conduct affairs with, but damn it all, he could have chosen someone other than Miss Watson’s chaperone!

Halfway through the intermission, Lannister entered the box, much to Robert’s horror. Could this morning’s meeting have been to settle an assignation for tonight? Was it indeed Lannister who had secured her affections?

He watched in impotent frustration the array of emotions chasing themselves across Sarah’s face as she spoke with Lannister— Sarah!

When did I start thinking of her as Sarah and not Miss Watson?

— from smiles to the flirtatious waving of her fan to more serious looks exchanged between the two of them, and at the conclusion Lannister took her hand and kissed it.

The troubled look with which she watched him leave smote Robert to the heart.

Was it indeed Lannister who held her affection?

Why do women fall for wastrels and rakes?

*

Sarah spotted the duke the moment she entered the marquess’s box, and panic made her want to turn tail and run.

But of course, she couldn’t do that, so she did the next best thing: try to pretend he wasn’t there.

If she didn’t look at him, she could conduct herself with equanimity.

She certainly had plenty to distract her in the intermission, as she was besieged by half a dozen of her suitors, and she tried to be glad that the duke made no move to come and see her.

Of course he wouldn’t, and she was glad of it.

For it would be so mortifying to have to face him again after this morning.

When the Earl of Lannister entered the box and came straight to her side, she wasn’t sure what to feel. He looked a great deal better than he had that morning.

Bowing, he said with a droll smile, “Miss Watson, I came to beg your pardon for my disreputable appearance this morning. I hope you can overlook it, and I can assure you that I am not in the habit of falling asleep on park benches in the wee hours of the morning.”

His smile was so infectious and inviting her to share the joke on himself that she found herself smiling back. “Well, I should hope not, my lord. I daresay it is vastly uncomfortable.”

“It was,” he admitted. He moved his jaw. “My neck is still sore. May I?” he asked, indicating the seat beside her.

She waved him to it with her fan, and then plied it gently, for the theater was warm. “Are you fully recovered, my lord?”

“I am. Coffee is a wonderful restorative, as is several hours of sleep in a bed.”

“It is to be hoped that you don’t find yourself in such straits again.”

“I don’t intend to. It was a delight to wake and see your face, Miss Watson, and I cannot tell you how salutary a lesson it was to me. People have been trying to reform me for years. I think you may have done it with a simple look of concern for my welfare.”

“I have seen many lives ruined by an addiction to strong liquor, in my father’s parish, my lord,” she said quietly.

“Ah, then you are a ministering angel.”

She shook her head. “No such thing, merely a dutiful daughter helping her father.”

“You are in serious danger of bringing me undone, Miss Watson. I must say something flippant and droll to turn the conversation into lighter channels or I risk unmanning myself before a lady.”

His tone was light, and he smiled, but she saw a flicker in the back of his eyes that caught quite suddenly at her heartstrings. This man was dangerous precisely because he was broken, in a way that the duke was not.

As if her thought had communicated itself to him, he went on, “I cannot help but notice that His Grace is glaring at this box. Forgive me, it is none of my business, but that, coupled with the fact that you were fleeing from him the other night, makes me wonder if you are in need of protection?”

He did recognize her, yet he had said nothing? “From the duke? No indeed.”

“And yet he has upset you?”

She colored and plied her fan more vigorously. “It is, as you have already observed, the duke who is upset.”

“Indeed, he could never have made you an indecent proposal, for he is too upstanding for that. I wonder then, has he made you a decent one?”

“My lord, that really is none of your business!”

“Ah ha! He has, and you have refused him! What a set down for His Grace.”

She bore his scrutiny in silence, for what could she say? To confirm what he said as the truth would be the worst breach of etiquette, but to deny it would be to lie outright, and she was an appalling liar. He would see through her immediately.

“I shall not tease you further, for I can see that I have upset you, for which I beg your forgiveness. You may trust me not to betray your secret. As you have not betrayed mine.”

“I am not a gossip, my lord.”

“You are an angel, I think. Sent to tempt me into reform. Can you succeed, I wonder?”

“It is not up to me, my lord. Only you can reform your way of life.”

“True, but you could inspire me.”

“To what end, my lord?”

“That I might aspire to your hand?”

“And would I inspire you if I were penniless, my lord?”

“Ah, a direct hit! Yet if you refuse a duke, and one of upstanding character and considerable moral fiber, what could one such as I offer you? Nothing, I fear.” He shifted position and took her hand, the one not holding her fan.

With a wistful smile and fixing her gaze with his, he said, “Let me leave you with this thought. I would redeem my fortune and my character and lay both at your feet, Miss Watson, along with my heart, if you would have it.” On which he kissed her hand, rose, bowed, and left the box.

Sarah, much discomposed by this passage, sat through the next half of the recital with her mind in a whirl.

Her instinct was to dismiss the earl’s avowals as practiced lies to entrap her.

He was right, if she had refused a duke, what could he possibly offer to tempt her to take him instead?

Nothing. Yet he played upon the feminine desire to reform a rake.

She would not fall for it. She would have neither the duke nor the earl.