Page 58

“No man is an island,

Entire of itself;

Every man is a piece of the continent,

A part of the main.”

—John Donne

T wo days later, Peregrine sat perched on the ledge of a window in uncharacteristically high spirits. It was remarkable, really, how much brighter the world looked once one was no longer living beneath the spectre of imminent death.

And also when it was the Duchess Atholl’s window he was sneaking into.

The woman of the house sat at her dressing table, her lady’s maid twisting the last strands of hair in place. The maid leapt backwards, her hand to her mouth, as a small shriek escaped from her lips.

“Fear not, Miller,” Charity said with amusement, laying a hand on her lady’s maid’s arm. “This visitor was expected. Will you give us a minute?”

Miller gave him the tiniest look and limited herself to an obedient nod before leaving the room.

Peregrine could not imagine Miller ever envisioned another man of his standing climbing in through the window of a woman’s bedroom. Out of a window, perhaps. But then again, given the past month, Miller likely already thought him rather singular.

He swung a leg over the ledge and ducked his head to avoid the frame before smoothly rising.

His polished boots had only the barest hint of dust on them, not enough to warrant a complaint from Charity.

Still, he arched an eyebrow at the woman who held his heart.

“Expected? What? No argument about me reopening my wound by scaling the trellis?”

She gave him a sly look. “I expect you used the ladder I asked my gardener to forget to put away so that you would do no such thing.”

He made a face. “Well, that rather takes the fun out of it, now that I know you were issuing an invitation to invade.” Peregrine crossed the room and pulled Charity up from her stool.

He slid his arms around her waist and gazed upon her perfect face.

“Are you hoping for a chance to play the role of damsel in distress?”

“More that of a siren of old,” she replied, batting her lashes. She bared her teeth and nipped at the bottom of his chin. “I shall use every one of my wiles to convince you to linger behind after our guests make their departure.”

Peregrine tipped her chin up and then sealed his mouth against hers, claiming her as his own. He would have continued his conquest had there not been a knock on her bedroom door.

“Sir Nathaniel has arrived,” Charity’s butler announced from the other side of the door.

“I suppose I should go down,” Peregrine said, turning Charity back to her dressing table. And then he pulled out one of her hairpins on purpose, even though she swatted at him for it. “If Miller is not too scandalised, she can finish pinning your hair up.”

“I reckon Miller has your measure. You’re in a rare mood tonight. Make sure you play nicely with Thorne,” Charity cautioned before letting him leave.

Of course, he was in a mood. He was actually happy . “Of course, I will be nice to Thorne. It is Maggie who you should worry will terrify the man into leaving.”

Despite his words, Peregrine was looking forward to seeing Lord Ravenscroft, and the others invited to the evening’s dinner. He whistled a jaunty tune as he hurried down the stairs to the front drawing room.

Percy’s tailor must have been given full licence to dress his brother, because Sir Nathaniel’s clothing was as immaculate as any man of the ton .

Yet the man stood awkwardly in his finery, shifting on his feet near the fireplace.

Peregrine resisted the urge to rib him, since the man did not have Ravenscroft’s imperviousness to banter.

Instead, Peregrine called for the footman’s attention and turned to Thorne.

“Well met, Sir Nathaniel. Join me for a drink?”

The other man narrowed his eyes, studying Peregrine as though he expected the offer hid some sort of trick. Peregrine stood tall, feigning nonchalance, until the man’s shoulders loosened.

“Port would be welcome.” Thorne offered an apologetic smile. “I’m still unused to being a guest at a fancy dinner.”

“You look the part, and that is half the effort,” Peregrine pointed out, taking a glass from the footman’s tray.

“Besides, this will be far from the usual society dinner. You’re among friends tonight—which means we get to gossip without worrying about who hears.

Charity tells me Roland is a father, twice over?

That man does nothing by half measures, apparently.

How did he take the news when he realised he had found himself with double the trouble? ”

“I once saw my brother, unarmed, wade into a line of French troops. I think he’d have preferred to relive that experience.” Thorne’s mouth twisted into a wider smile. “Still, I envy him for such a happy start for his family.”

“Nothing to envy,” Peregrine said. “You’re a handsome enough man for someone related to Roland Percy. Take a turn around a few ballrooms and you’ll be up to your eyeballs in marriage-minded mamas.”

Peregrine expected the man to blush, or at least chuckle at the thought, but instead he paled. “No.”

It was an uncharacteristically abrupt answer. “No? Why not?”

“I, er—I never learned to dance.”

Right. Peregrine could have kicked himself. It was unlikely that someone would have taught an unacknowledged bastard how to dance a quadrille. Fortunately Pritchard helped him remove the foot from his mouth when he gave a polite cough at the drawing room door. “Lord Ravenscroft, my lord.”

Ravenscroft gave a nod at the other men. “Where is our host?” His eyes landed on Peregrine and narrowed. “Is that a twig in your boot? Have you been frolicking in the hedgerows or simply fleeing another flaming ruin?”

“Hilarious, truly. You ought to take it on the stage.” Peregrine leaned over to pluck the wayward greenery from his shoe. He held it aloft, unsure what to do with it, until the footman strode over and offered his tray.

And then he was possessed of a terrible, wonderful idea. Charity was either going to kiss him or throttle him. Possibly both.

“But! If you are bored and in need of a new project, Maggie, might I suggest Sir Nathaniel?” Peregrine asked, clapping the man on the back.

“He has a house in London without servants, a half-empty dressing room in need of Antoine’s attention, and an entirely empty social calendar.

Not coincidentally, I have also been informed by the duchess that the Duke of Northumberland specially requested her assistance in getting him properly introduced to society.

Something about a season being an excellent cure for bachelorhood. ”

“Fitzroy!” Thorne growled, horrified.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. Ravenscroft is, er… Well, if he hasn’t exactly got a gift for navigating society, he certainly knows everyone worth knowing and also how to offend them just enough to be remembered.”

Ravenscroft ignored his backhanded compliment, already sizing Thorne with the excitement of a child on Christmas morning. Mischief made, assistance rendered, and the magpie off his back. Peregrine stifled the urge to rub his hands together in glee.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Charity said, coming through the door. She paused on the threshold, her hands loose by her side, waiting for their appraisal.

Now he saw why she had left out the ladder. He had been outfoxed by his duchess, who had changed gowns since he saw her before, abandoning her rose-coloured confection in favour of delicate, hand-tatted lace in colours that matched his.

His heart picked up speed, part in admiration, the rest in desire.

The creamy silk beneath her gown whispered of skin lit only by candlelight. Peregrine found himself caught between the urge to drape his coat over her shoulders like a gentleman—and the far less noble impulse to forget the dinner entirely and carry her upstairs.

He gave in to neither urge, though it was no easy battle. And she fully knew it.

Ravenscroft beat him to her side, taking her gloved hand and bending over to kiss it. “Our diamond looks spectacular this evening.”

“You old flatterer,” she huffed. “Stand tall, Lord Ravenscroft, so that I might see what magic Antoine has wrought with your cravat this evening. You must give him my regards.”

Charity ignored Peregrine and greeted Thorne, and by the time their final guests arrived, the knight had loosened enough to join Ravenscroft in gently needling Peregrine. So it was with some relief that Perry saw Selina and her partner for the evening come into the room.

“I believe most of you know Mr Xavier,” she said, introducing the man at her side.

Thorne’s brows raised at the lack of an honorific, but he was quick to offer a warm welcome. If Xavier felt out of place among so many members of the elite, he gave no sign of it. If anything, he kept his own council, nearly fading into the background while the others spoke.

Peregrine made a note to keep a close eye on the man. Anyone that was capable of such discreet observation was not someone to be treated lightly.

Charity had invited her guests for two reasons—first, to spend an evening in gratitude, and second to talk about what came next.

Over dinner, talk turned to what Prinny and Lord Sidmouth were doing to diffuse panic over the counterfeited exchequer bills.

No one wanted the government to be dissolved, handing Lady Fitzroy exactly the result she intended.

“After a brief conversation with Prinny, Chandros’s solicitor was all too happy to hand the duke’s written confession over to the Crown rather than to the papers. The Morning Post will run a somewhat revised version as an exclusive on the morrow. ”

“Might we have a preview?” Selina asked.

“Particularly if our names are anywhere included,” Charity added, giving Ravenscroft a hard look.