Page 4 of Most Sought-After Scoundrel in London (Wicked Widows League #31)
Hadfield Soiree
S hards of glittering yellow and pink rained down upon the gaily dressed gentlemen and ladies waltzing about the dance floor.
Violet raised her fan a fraction as she slipped into the shadows, doing her best to skirt the perimeter of the room, fully focused on one man and one man only—Lord Hurlington.
The impeccably dressed gentleman was headed toward the terrace doors.
Violet had kept her target within sight all night.
Finally, after watching the man laugh, dance with more ladies that she had fingers, and converse with twice as many gentlemen, she had been ready to declare the evening a failure until she spied a footman slipping a missive discreetly into the palm of Lord Hurlington.
The scoundrel was finally living up to his moniker and was headed out to the darkened gardens, but to meet with whom?
That was the question that had plagued her all night.
The cool night air prickled her skin, and she rubbed her gloved hands over her arms in a futile attempt to ward off the cold.
While her heart raced with anticipation, her body shivered from fear or the sudden dip in temperature; she wasn’t entirely certain.
Rather than taking the graveled path through the gardens, Lord Hurlington traipsed through the bushes nimbly and impressively without sound.
Violet traced his footsteps, careful not to brush against the limbs that Lord Hurlington, who was easily twice her size, had managed to dodge without issue.
Bah. Why was she surprised? A man who could navigate his partner with ease through the throng of dancers would, of course, have no issue avoiding the greenery.
Recalling the way her fellow Wicked Widows, Lady Constance Fairchild and Mrs. Abigail Sinclair, had blushed and swayed in Lord Hurlington’s arms sent a surge of ire through her that had her breath catching in her chest. Good lord, she had recruited the pair to assist her in gaining information from the man not to become further enchanted by the gentleman’s scandalous ways.
Except neither Constance nor Abigail were able to steel themselves against Lord Hurlington’s charms. Her co-conspirators had only confirmed that the man was truly a rogue, flirting with every woman within sight.
Swearing to never let the man set her heart aflutter, Violet hastened her pace to close the gap between herself and her prey.
Lost in her thoughts, she mistook the wall of darkness before her and her forehead slammed into the soft material covering a very solid immovable chest. She looked up as Lord Hurlington’s hands wrapped about her arms and steadied her.
Her mouth fell agape, and he quickly covered her lips with his gloved palm and scowled down at her. “Lady Violet?”
There was a tinge of incredibility to his greeting, which had Violet wanting to bare her teeth.
Instead, she blinked up at him and pleaded with him with her eyes to release her.
As soon as the pressure of his palm against her eased, she whispered, “And your other hand, my lord.” She glanced down at her upper arm where his fingers remained tightly wrapped about her.
“Not before you explain why you are following me.”
Violet blinked once more at the rather authoritative tone he had adopted, a far cry from the flirtatious manner in which he’d conversed with her fellow widows earlier. “I was… I merely…”
“Lady Violet, your reputation for being a terrible liar is as well-known as my own for being…”
She couldn’t help but interject and complete his sentence. “A scoundrel.”
As quick as lightning, he let go of her and took a half step back as if she had slapped him hard. “I was about to say a steadfast bachelor.”
Squinting up at Lord Hurlington, she couldn’t tell if he was teasing her or if the twinkle of moonlight glinting in his eyes had her overactive imagination stirring once more.
Either way, she didn’t have time to respond before he continued, “Shall I escort you back to the ball or would you prefer to return on your own?”
Booted footfalls behind him had Lord Hurlington moving into action. Before Violet could react, he wrapped her up in his great coat and pushed her to the ground. In a tone that brooked no argument, Lord Hurlington ordered, “Stay put and don’t move.”
The scoundrel wasn’t meeting a woman, he was meeting another gentleman, and from his tone, a man who Violet wouldn’t want her own identity revealed to.
Crouched low, she didn’t dare to peek and see who Lord Hurlington was meeting.
She hadn’t heard Lord Hurlington leave but then again, she knew he could tread about in silence.
Holding her breath, she concentrated as she tried to eavesdrop on the conversation that was being uttered in hushed whispers.
“You want me to… Lady… tonight…” Violet recognized Lord Hurlington’s voice even though his words were muffled. Wanting to discover more, she shuffled an inch or two forward and managed to hear Lord Hurlington once more as he continued in a tone of disbelief, “...you’ve lost your…”
His companion, better skilled at muttering in a hushed manner replied, but Violet couldn’t make out what was said. It was only when Lord Hurlington sighed and responded, “I understand. I shall see to the lady’s safety.”
What lady? Why was it Lord Hurlington’s duty to see to the woman’s safety? Urgh. Her mind continued to race with questions only one man could answer and she could only hope he’d not forgotten about her.
As her leg began to cramp, Violet felt the weight of the coat being lifted. She peered up at Lord Hurlington, who raked his hand through his hair. “Well done, remaining undetected. It’s time for you to return to the festivities.” He placed a hand under her elbow and assisted her to her feet.
She grabbed Lord Hurlington by his lapels and demanded, “Who are you to escort and to where?”
“I’m sworn to secrecy, and I cannot answer your questions.
” He glanced down at her fisted hands at his chest. “Albeit I’m impressed you were able to decipher our conversation.
It appears I need more practice.” He leaned forward and spoke directly next to her ear, his lips lightly grazing her sensitive skin. “Promise never to follow me again.”
Heat rolled up to her cheeks, and Violet’s fingers tightened about the material fisted in her hands.
She could back down and agree to his promise, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to forget their exchange nor the jolt of energy that had every nerve in her body jingling.
She wanted to discover all the man’s secrets, even if it involved another woman.
Injecting steel into her voice that she’d not thought possible, she answered, “I shall make no such promise until you share with me what I want to know.”
He pressed closer until she could feel his cheek against hers. “Hmmm, I wonder what it is that you truly wish to discover?”
His devilish tone had her releasing him and taking a step back. It was her turn to take command. “Count to ten before leaving.” Violet turned and took a step toward the terrace, knowing it was time to return or she would be placing her freedom in jeopardy.
“Not so fast, Lady Violet.” Lord Hurlington moved with cat-like grace and stopped her in her tracks. “I’ll agree to answer one question for one promise in return.”
She searched his features for any telltale signs he might be attempting to trick her. “Agreed.”
“Very well, think fast, and tell me what is it that you wish to know most?”
“Share with me the name of the lady you are to protect, and I’ll promise not to follow you about.” At the sight of his satisfied smile she added in a mumble for her ears only, “...in broad daylight.”
“I trust you to keep your word.” Lord Hurlington scanned the gardens and then bent at the waist, cupped his hand about his mouth, and whispered into her ear, “The answer to your question is our dear hostess, the Countess of Hadfield.”
“Lady Bronwyn?” Violet squinted at the man standing before her. “Then you must be… Oh, my, you’re a member of the Network.” She pinched her lips together tight as soon as Lord Hurlington’s brows knitted.
He visibly forced his features to relax. With a lopsided fake grin, he replied, “Network? Certainly you don’t really believe in secret societies and gossip of that kind.”
He wasn’t fooling her, and she wasn’t in the mood to play word games.
Placing her hands on her hips, she shared, “I’ve gathered enough evidence to be certain that PORFs—the Protectors of the Royal Family and the secret Network symbolized by harped angels do in fact exist. However, I’m no fool to go about spreading such gossip nor do I have time at the present to share with you what I have learned over the years. ”
His relaxed facade vanished, and one of sheer panic appeared as Lord Hurlington's eyes scanned their surroundings. “You must tell me what you know.”
Violet shook her head slowly. “We agreed upon one answer for one promise.” She escaped from his arms that had loosened most likely due to shock, and she ducked out of his grasp.
“A good eve to you, Lord Hurlington.” She gave him a wink and a curtsy and then turned and ran.
She entered the bustling ballroom, where she hoped to find Lady Bertha ready to depart, for she desperately needed to escape to her rooms at Matron Manor and sort through her encounter with Lord Hurlington.
Stunned into immobility with his gaze firmly affixed on Lady Violet as she fled, Cameron muttered, “Blast the clever woman.”
What was he to do? He should inform the Council immediately, but what action would they take? Never having questioned the rules before, he was suddenly resistant to do what he’d been molded to do all his life for a woman. No, not merely any lady, but for the wickedly wonderful Lady Violet.
He began to pace around the tree that shielded him from others who might traverse the garden path.
If he reported Lady Violet, he’d wager that the Council would appoint someone to trail the lady and investigate into how much she really knew.
He pictured one of his counterparts getting better acquainted with Lady Violet by employing the most efficient and time-tested strategy to gain information from another.
Gain your target's trust and never let them discover the truth.
Turning on his heel, he began to pace in the opposite direction. Mayhap he should simply carry out the task himself and save the Council the trouble. With a broad smile, Cameron strode through the gardens and re-entered Hadfield Manor though the servants’ entrance.
A footman with a tray of empty glasses walked directly in front of Cameron. With agility only gained from years of training, he steadied both the man and the tray and said, “Apologies, dear chap.”
The footman blinked and then as recognition dawned upon him, he scowled back at Cameron. “Hurlington, one of these days…”
“Sorry, Horace, I’ve not the time to chat this eve.
” Cameron gave his childhood friend a wink and quickly made his way through the tight halls utilized by the servants to gain quick access to and from rooms. As he reentered the twinkling ballroom, he immediately scanned the shadowed corners Lady Violet was most likely to occupy. Where in the damnation was the woman?
Spying Lady Constance and recently widowed Mrs. Sinclair, two of Lady Violet’s close friends, huddled along the wall, he made his way across the room.
The pair’s conversation ceased as he stood before them.
“A good evening, Lady Constance. Mrs. Sinclair.” He bowed but kept his gaze locked on the women to see in which direction their gazes might flicker.
His chest tightened as soon as Mrs. Sinclair glanced over toward the terrace door.
Damnation, he was an imbecile for not ensuring Lady Violet’s safe return.
Half turned in the direction of the terrace, he caught a glimpse of a woman sneaking her way back into the room on the coat tails of a gaggle of gentlemen making their way over to the refreshments table.
Cameron couldn’t help but admire Lady Violet’s stealth and ability to move about without drawing attention to herself.
What other skills did the woman possess that would be of interest to the elders of the Council?
There was only one way to know and that was to test the woman.
With a rather duplicitous plan formulating in his mind, Cameron bowed once more and asked, “Shall I fetch you lovely ladies a refreshment?”
With pinkened cheeks, Lady Constance nodded. However, the rather observant Mrs. Sinclair rose to her feet and pulled her companion up as well. “I am rather parched, Lord Hurlington. Perhaps you could escort us over to fetch a glass of ratafia.”
Time to don the image of a rogue he had carefully cultivated over the years.
Cameron winged his arms out for the pair and, with a mischievous smile that he had perfected, he led the ladies over to the refreshments table.
With his original plan to corner Lady Violet and question her foiled by Mrs. Sinclair, Cameron’s mind raced for an alternative scheme to get the woman alone.
With a tug on his arm, Mrs. Sinclair whispered, “If I were you, Lord Hurlington, I would simply retire for the eve and resume your attempts early on the morrow… when a certain individual might be visiting the flower mart.”
If he wasn’t trained to mask his reactions, Mrs. Sinclair might have garnered a rather wide-eyed look of disbelief from him.
Instead, he swallowed a chuckle as he realized widows were not to be underestimated and answered, “A grand idea, one I greatly appreciate you sharing with me, Mrs. Sinclair. I am in your debt.”
“Oh, I shall indeed remember you owe me a favor, Lord Hurlington. A great boon at that.”
The smirk he received from Mrs. Sinclair combined with her words sent a shiver down his spine as the woman turned and led Lady Constance to join the gaggle of widows that were overtly watching their every move.
Shaking off the shroud of doom that had settled upon his shoulders, he strode through Hadfield Manor ready to return home to formulate a plan to confront the confounding Lady Violet.