Page 10 of Escape of the Scoundrel (Escape #1)

H e didn’t go , Harriet thought with ridiculously out-of-proportion relief as she entered the garden room and saw Lord Sanderly filling his plate with delicacies from the luncheon table.

“He didn’t go,” Bab exclaimed beside her. “Or at least, not yet.”

“You think he still might?” Harriet murmured.

“Well, he was packed and ready before eleven o’clock this morning, and my temper caused me to scold him rather than persuade him to stay. It was almost a relief to find he still has one too.”

“Has one what?” Harriet asked, bewildered.

“Temper. Are you looking forward to the afternoon’s treasure hunt? We are all to have partners, I believe, decided by Lady G. Which means I shan’t have my James.”

James, in fact, was seated with Mrs. Eldridge near the garden door. Sanderly strolled past them with his plate, appeared to notice them for the first time, and laughed. Which sparked a quite inappropriate mirth in Harriet.

“They’re probably trying to make you both jealous,” she whispered hastily to Bab.

“Well it’s working for me,” Bab said bleakly. “Snake says I should tell James the truth. What do you think?”

“It might be better than all this doubt.”

“What if it’s worse?”

Bab was not, Harriet reflected, the best of models to tempt her to marriage. Bab was miserable and so was James, and they began, apparently, as a love match. What chance of happiness did other couples stand?

“There are two vacant chairs at their table,” Harriet pointed out.

“I should be mortified,” Bab said, appalled.

“I rather think it is she who will be mortified.”

In fact, although she recovered quickly, Mrs. Eldridge did look momentarily disconcerted. And Bab played her part to perfection, making pleasant conversation with the utmost friendliness, as if she and her husband had decided together who they would sit with.

Harriet began to wish for the uncomplicated company of the children. Or at least some of Sanderly’s humour. Perhaps she would be paired with him for the treasure hunt...

She wasn’t, of course. Her godmother, aware of her liking, had given her Sir Ralph as her partner.

“We could probably win this,” Harriet said cheerfully, when they had found their third clue. “I wonder what the treasure is?”

“What would you like it to be?”

A couple came out of the orchard, crossing their path. The lady all but danced with excitement. The gentleman, who looked only too familiar, pointed toward the wood, and strolled on, apparently deaf to her clear urging to greater speed.

Harriet’s heart gave an odd little lurch. She cast a quick, surreptitious glance at Sir Ralph to be sure she had betrayed nothing and found him gazing still at the same couple. His expression was unreadable.

“You don’t like him,” Harriet said, guessing her companion had recognized Sanderly too.

“No one likes him. Or admits to it.”

“Why is that?”

“Fashion. The lake is this way.”

“Are earls not always fashionable?” She fell into step beside him.

Sir Ralph did not answer for several moments. “He is his own worst enemy. He was very popular at school. He arrived at Eton during my final year there and thrived almost immediately. Not just because Hugo looked out for him, either.”

“Who is Hugo?”

“The late earl, Snake’s older brother. Snake went into the army. Thrived there, too. Mentioned in dispatches.”

Was that a note of pride in his voice? “Is he your friend?” she blurted.

Sir Ralph’s smile was twisted. He shook his head. “No. We were never friends. But everyone was glad to follow his career in those days. Then it all changed.”

“When?”

“About eighteen months ago, when Sanderly—Hugo—died. Snake came home as the new earl, but under a cloud. Rumours flew that he had been cashiered, though whether for cheating at cards, for striking a fellow officer, or for treachery was hotly debated. Others declared he had resigned his commission to avoid being cashiered. His old commanding officers never defended him. His family turned against him. Hugo’s betrothed gave him a very public cut direct. He isn’t invited to many places. If he is, he doesn’t usually go. Several clubs have blackballed him. But there he is. Or at least, he’s in there somewhere. Maybe.”

“You care,” she said, frowning.

His eyes fell and he shrugged. “I am a student of human nature. I suspect you are, too.”

Harriet took his arm, an acknowledgement of their shared fascination. It was almost like a conspiracy as well as a new, warming friendship. And the ache of human tragedies. “There is the lake,” she said brightly. “What exactly did the clue say?”

***

I LLSWORTH WAS DELIGHTED that Lady Grandison had heeded his discreet request to be partnered with Bab Fforbes. He barely even thought of her by her husband’s name for the man was a nonentity. The fool, attending a dull debutante, did not even seem to notice as his wife went blithely off on Illsworth’s arm.

Neither did Sanderly, although somehow Illsworth doubted he was unaware of it. He had not expected Snake to intervene at all, so his visit last night to demand the return of Bab’s gift had taken him by surprise. Naturally this would not prevent Illsworth from pursuing the liaison. It even added an extra little thrill of danger. Not much, though, for although one remembered his youthful temper, his blows these days were merely verbal. Even Snake would not insult his own sister in public. And in any case, he would soon be gone from these shores.

Somewhere, Illsworth knew this was too comfortable an assessment. Unconsciously, he was touching his cravat, recalling the surprising strength of the fingers twisting the fabric until he genuinely feared being strangled. But of course it had not happened. Snake would never risk his own neck. Though he was a damned good actor.

But Bab was always amusing company, even though Illsworth’s favourite thing was merely to look at her, appreciating her beauty and the luscious, tempting curves he would soon caress and kiss and bend to his sensual will. The fact that she paid no attention to his secret touches and devoted if lustful looks, only encouraged his ardour.

Of course, following the clues—largely to Bab’s understanding since Illsworth’s focus was elsewhere—held a certain frustration, for there was nowhere in the grounds one was not liable to come across another couple or three. Just as he was about to take Bab in his arms, they would fall over people ferreting under hedges or garden seats, dipping hands—and sleeves—in the lake in search of clues. Inevitably Bab would make conversation with them while Illsworth, smiling amiably, wished them all to the devil.

Still, he made some use of the time for his other plans.

“You seem quite friendly with Lady Grandison’s goddaughter,” he remarked.

“Miss Cole? Yes, I like her. So unaffected and refreshing. She makes me laugh.”

“I’m sorry that is such a rarity in your life.”

Bab laughed, no doubt to disprove his words.

“Is she truly a great heiress, then?” he asked idly.

Bab cast him a quick glance that was not entirely friendly. “So I believe, though she sets no store by it if she is.”

Excellent. Bab was jealous. “A privilege of the extremely wealthy. Why has she had no Season then?”

Bab shrugged. “Mourning, I suppose. Her father died recently, I believe, so he was probably ill before that.”

“Ah. So there is nothing wrong with her birth, or her family?”

“Don’t be silly, Cedric. Do you take Lady Grandison for a fool?”

“I take her to be soft-hearted,” Illsworth said dryly. “Sir John, on the other hand, is fairly shrewd.”

“So you plan to join the throngs of other fortune hunters already snapping around the poor girl?”

“No, my dear, I plan to stand out from among said fortune hunters.”

“Well, if you hurt my friend, I shall be forced to cut you.”

“Never do that, Bab,” he said seriously, and she laughed.

“This is the third gate...Yes, there is a note nailed to it!”

There were also voices coming from the maze beyond. Illsworth sighed and bided his time.

Finally, when frustration was beginning to seriously wear down his temper, they came to the oak at the edge of the wood. Bab walked around it until it shielded her from most of the grounds. For once, no one else lurked nearby.

As Bab reached up to the branch and the note tied there with string, Illsworth pounced, closing his arms around her from behind.

“Bab, my divine angel. You truly are irresistible.” Since she jumped rather alarmingly at his touch, he tightened his grip, but to his delight, she showed no desire to flee. And God, she was a delectable armful, soft and scented. “One kiss,” he said huskily.

“Not from this angle,” she said, laughing, although she turned in his arms and brought one hand up to his cheek. He tried to kiss it, but somehow her fingers stayed in place with surprising firmness. He bent his head to claim her lips, but her grip had moved, holding his chin.

“Don’t be naughty, Cedric.”

“No one can see.”

“Not the point. You must not ruin a perfectly amusing friendship, you know.”

“I can be a much more amusing lover,” he said ardently, then wished he hadn’t, for it made her giggle instead of melt. He pushed against her grip of his chin, and since he was by far the stronger, he would have succeeded in his pursuit of her luscious lips—only quite suddenly he realized her hand was in his coat pocket.

At first, lust surged through him at such intimacy, such eagerness, until it came to him what she was about.

She was still looking for the damned cravat pin.

She must have seen the knowledge in his eyes, for her hand slipped out of his pocket and they stared at each other. Which was precisely the moment Martindale stepped out of the nearest thicket.

“Oh damn and blast you, Cedric,” Bab whispered, whisking herself out of his hold.

Illsworth began to laugh, mostly because Martindale was not doing the sensible thing of pretending not to see. He even ignored his partner, the plain debutante, to stride purposefully toward them with a face like thunder.

Bab strode away, clearly expecting Illsworth to follow and avoid the inevitable scene. He couldn’t make up his mind whether to do so and maintain his pursuit or give in to the mischievous part of his nature and rile Martindale. This was, after all, why he had refused to give back the pin and had truly meant to wear it in front of Bab’s husband.

On the other hand, Martindale did look unexpectedly furious with his blazing eyes and twisted mouth; and causing too much of a rumpus at the Grandisons’ party would be considered bad form. Illsworth made his decision and had just started after Bab when she all but ran into Sanderly, approaching from the right with Mrs. Ralston.

Although Snake did not look remotely angry, Illsworth knew that this arrival on the scene was much more dangerous. He had to remind himself that Sanderly was a coward and fought only with his tongue. And cravats twisted around his windpipe...

Bab should, of course, have walked straight past her brother before he could notice there was anything amiss, but either she still harboured some childness fondness for the man or he had some hold over her, for she stopped dead in her tracks and Illsworth could hardly walk on without her.

Snake’s hooded eyes flickered, but that was the only sign he gave of being remotely interested in the approaching drama.

“Bab in a hurry,” he remarked. “Which can only mean one thing. You are about to discover the treasure.”

“I am,” she said a little wildly. “So let me pass this instant.”

“I shouldn’t worry, you are clearly miles ahead and James seems to want a word.”

Bab’s eyes clearly spat Imbecile! at him. Or perhaps, Traitor !

Amused, Illsworth turned to face the storming Martindale, who was almost unrecognizable in his anger—or was it simple jealousy?

“Ah, Martindale,” he said, as though surprised. “How fares your treasure hunt?”

Unexpectedly, Sanderly inserted himself between them, just as Illsworth saw Martindale’s fists had clenched purposefully.

“Dear me,” Snake drawled. “A gentlemen’s confabulation is clearly in order. Perhaps the ladies would oblige us with a moment before Bab and Illsworth make their final charge and capture the treasure. There is a charming bench mere yards beyond you.”

Illsworth did not object. He was more entertained than anything else. Bab’s gaze flew from her brother to her husband, who was still ignoring her, though now in favour of Sanderly.

Her breath caught. “Come, ladies, let our partners confer while we enjoy a more comfortable rest upon the shady bench. I must admit my feet hurt...” She had enough force of character to sweep off the plain debutante and Mrs. Ralston.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Martindale spoke between his teeth. “I will not have your filthy hands upon my wife. Name—”

“Tut, tut, don’t be hasty,” Sanderly interrupted, at his most annoyingly urbane. “Ignore Illsworth’s filthy hands for one moment and consider that if you duel, the world will know exactly what—and who—is the cause of your quarrel.”

“I don’t mind,” Illsworth drawled. “If Martindale does not.”

“No, you probably don’t,” Sanderly agreed, lifting his eyelids just enough to reveal the unexpected steel in his blue eyes. “But then, you have always been something of a commoner.”

Illsworth straightened, startled. “Now, look here—”

“Bad form to paw any unwilling woman,” Snake said, sounding more bored than angry. But it was all studied insolence. “Even worse ton to do so in front of company and the lady’s husband. If it wasn’t for the lady’s fair name, I would quite happily walk away and leave James to beat you to a pulp.”

Illsworth laughed angrily. “If he thinks he could, he may try!”

“He may not,” Sanderly said softly. His gaze was not even on Illsworth, but on Martindale. “As he now understands the damage it would do to his wife. Challenge me, you execrable pile of abject cowardice.”

Illsworth laughed, thinking for an instant that Snake had lost his mind and meant to fight Martindale, who most certainly presented less of a threat. Then he saw the blue gaze had shifted once more to him.

Illsworth’s jaw dropped, even as furious heat surged through him at such insults.

Martindale said angrily, “You will not fight my battles for me, Sanderly!”

“I’m fighting my own and they take precedence over your quarrel. Well, going to run away rather than face me, Illsworth? That will make a fine tale to spread.”

“Stop it, Sanderly,” Martindale commanded, frowning in bewilderment. “I will fight him.”

“Wrong, but don’t feel too badly. You may be my second.”

“You’re serious,” Illsworth said, staring at him. “I think your brains are addled.”

“Does he fear the madman?” Sanderly asked Martindale. “Or will he decide it makes me easier to beat?”

Illsworth had had enough. “Damn you, I do call you out! Wolf will be my second.”

Sanderly sighed. “Be your age, Illsworth. We must keep the matter between us, which means you must choose someone with a motive to be discreet. Someone like...Sir John Grandison, perhaps.”

Martindale spoke, staring at his brother-in-law as though he had grown horns. “You want to involve Grandison? At his own party? What were you saying about bad ton?”

“What was I saying about discretion?”

It was clever, Illsworth admitted reluctantly. It was such bad form, Illsworth would never admit having done it. None of them would. If Illsworth went along with it. And quite suddenly, he thought he would. Sanderly was a thorn in his side where Bab was concerned, and he had seen the heiress Miss Cole watching him too. He should try not to kill Sanderly, of course, but having him out of the way while he recovered would most certainly work in Illsworth’s favour.

“Have everything your own way, dear boy. Tomorrow at dawn?”

Sanderly considered. “Too quick. We must give our seconds time to reconcile us.”

For the first time since he had known him, Martindale laughed.

Sanderly’s lip twitched, but he otherwise paid no attention. “Will you speak to Grandison? Or must I do that for you, too? Come, gentlemen, we must not keep the ladies waiting, and Bab is desperate to win the prize.”

“Oh she is,” Illsworth said softly, presenting his back to the incandescent husband.

“If only he knew,” Sanderly said in a voice of entirely false affection, “what the prize was.”

***

S EEING AT ONCE THAT they were too late to win the treasure hunt, Sanderly apologised to his partner, whom he abandoned at the first available opportunity, and strode off toward the house to think.

He knew exactly what Bab had been doing with Illsworth and her folly appalled him. Quite apart from the ruin of her marriage, she risked considerable physical danger from an entitled man like Illsworth whose only motives were mischief and money.

Sanderly had been forced to step in to prevent James from creating a huge scandal out of an indiscreet instant, but he rather looked forward to hurting Illsworth. No one would think twice about Snake Sanderly committing the solecism of a duel at his hostess’s party, and there could be any number of insulting reasons for it. James could only ever have had one reason—Bab—and the world would have known it.

Illsworth quite definitely had to be stopped in his tracks before Sanderly could shake the dust of England from his boots. Perhaps he should just kill him. After all, he was fleeing the country anyway. Though a murder charge might make it awkward to return, even for a peer of the realm...

No, he probably shouldn’t kill him.

Walking off his annoyance, he had already passed the garden door and the front door. He kept walking until he came across a small child sitting on the step from another side door onto a small terrace where a round table and several chairs had been set up. The child was crying.

“I want Lily if I can’t have Harry,” Orchid Cole wailed. “It’s not fair. Why can’t we have tea all together just for once?”

“Well it’s much better than at home,” Alex said bracingly from inside the house. “Where we barely got tea at all, let alone a slap up feast like this one.”

“Lily will come next time,” Rose said, sitting down on the step beside her. “And probably Harry too. But we knew she’d have to spend time with the grown-ups.”

“I want Lily now . Oh, Snake!” Orchid burst into fresh tears at the sight of him. “Can’t you fetch Lily for us? The footmen are all too busy with the adult tea on the big terrace.”

“I hesitate to suggest it,” Sanderly said, sauntering up to them, just glad that the child had temporarily stopped howling, “but why don’t you fetch her down?”

“It’s too far for her,” Rose said. “All those stairs and great long passages. She can only manage three times around the bedroom and then she wilts, and Harriet will be furious if we make her iller. Besides, we don’t want to.”

“No, I can see that,” Sanderly said gravely. “Should she be outside?”

“The doctor—and Harriet!—both said she could be if someone carried her down and she did not get cold. Only there’s no one to carry her down. She says she’s too big for Alex to carry on his back, and she might be, even though she’s so thin—”

“She’s not a giant, is she?” Sanderly asked.

They all laughed, even Orchid whose tears had magically disappeared.

“Well in that case, take me to her. I shall wait in the passage while you tell her the plan and make sure she has warm shawls. And if she wishes to join you, she shall.”

They all cheered at this. Orchid climbed up onto the waiting chair, and Alex told her to stop bouncing. Chattering constantly, Rose led him into the house and up the staircase to the family’s quarters. It did seem to be a very long way.

Rose burst into a bedchamber without knocking and Sanderly realized with inexplicable shock that this was Harriet’s bedroom as well as Lily’s.

A pale, thin girl of about fourteen summers drooped in an armchair. She was fully dressed with a shawl around her shoulders.

“Guess what, Lil?” Rose cried. “You’re coming to tea after all! I’ve brought Lord Snake, I mean Sanderly, to carry you down! Isn’t that wonderful?”

The girl brightened so suddenly that it was like an instant reward. He must be going soft.

Lily rose to her feet. Rose snatched up an extra shawl and a folded blanket from the foot of one bed, while Sanderly found his attention rivetted on the other. This was where Harriet slept, where she was alone with her thoughts and dreams and worries...and her sick sister.

Still, what did she dream of? What did such an unfailing if na?ve optimist want from the world? Or did she think only of what she could give? Who she could make better, make happy? Did she ever think of marriage, as girls were supposed to, of love and intimacy...?

Throwing a stern, silent word at himself, Sanderly said amiably, “I shan’t drop you, so don’t look so worried. May I?”

She smiled rather shyly and nodded, so he lifted her around the waist and placed his other forearm under her knees. She weighed very little.

“Shall we take the steps?” he asked. “Or slide down the banister?”

“Banister!” Rose demanded, while Lily giggled.

“Steps this time,” Sanderly said. “Just while you’re sick.”

By the time they reached the foot of the stairs, Lily had lost her shyness and Rose led the way across the hall and out to the small terrace beyond. They were greeted with a cheer, and Sanderly deposited his burden on the chair next to her smallest sister who was once more bouncing with pleasure. Sanderly bowed elaborately, and would have effaced himself, had he not suddenly seen the two figures emerging around the corner.