“No doubt you know his trial is next month,” his father added. “I told Pitt that it was nonsense, that he had been challenged by Lakewood and the duel was a point of honor and everyone knew it. Important that there be no special treatment, he said, so the lords will take it up.” He made a face of disapproval, but it dissolved, and he shrugged. “There is no danger, so you are not to worry for him. Gentlemen understand these things, but the people must have their shows.”
The effort at reassurance touched him, even as he reacted badly to the assumptions his father made about another friend. But then the earl had never liked the man who had died in that duel for which Penthurst would answer to his fellow peers.
This was how their arguments started in years past. He swallowed his reaction so one would not start now.
His father seemed to drift off. Yates was beginning to ease out of the chair when the earl’s eyes opened again. His pale hand gestured to the papers. “What questions?”
How minor these details seemed now. Hairpins, his mother had called them.
“There is this property on the coast. I have not been there yet. However, it is apparent from the records that no rents have come from it in years, if ever. Prebles cannot account for it. I thought perhaps you can.”
The earl held out an unsteady hand. He took the deed. Angling the vellum so the window light washed it, he squinted.
“Ah, this one.” He nodded, as if remembering an old puzzle. “There is said to be another deed that challenges this one.”
“Have you seen the other deed?”
He shook his head. “The tenants send rents to him who holds it, however. Not much income from there. Half of the land is swamp.”
“I should tell Prebles to address it. So you know what is what.”
An exhausted sigh issued from his father. Yet his eyes appeared less filmed and distant for a moment, even as that sound hung in the air. The mind was being engaged, and the sight of it raised Yates’s spirits.
While he watched his father consider the question and had a glimpse of the man he had once battled and defied, a profound emotion filled his heart. He wished there were a pact with the Creator that the current Earl of Highburton would not die until every tiny question were answered, and that there would be years of questions to settle.
“It would cost thousands to claim this property,” his father said, handing the vellum back. “Not worth it. I left it be. When you inherit, you can reconsider, but I think you will decide as I did.”
It was an odd response from a man who did not favor ambiguity on any matter, least of all the honor of Highburton. A measured one, and probably financially sound, but it disheartened Yates anyway. He had rather hoped settling the challenge to this property would become a crusade. They would spend hours plotting strategy, and he would see alertness and life in those eyes again and again.
“Open the window a little, Yates. Damned physicians worry that a fever will kill me. That is a joke. They have no idea how feeling the sun and the breeze—it is a comfort and a treasure. Perhaps it is also a preparation. A way of calling one home.”
Yates opened the window so the breeze could enter. His father turned his face to it and smiled with private pleasure.
“Have you learned anything about those jewels?” he asked in a voice half asleep.
“A little. Not how they left their box here.”
“Stolen,” his father muttered. “Sure of it. No other possible explanation that makes sense. Hell of a thing. Who would have guessed it?” Slowly, his body sank as sleep robbed him of alertness to his posture.
Yates did not leave at once. He stayed and shared the breeze for a while.
Chapter 8
There is not much for a man-about-town to do in London in August. Especially a man looking for distraction from a heaviness of the spirit. Yates therefore went for a walk after spending more hours with the deeds and accounts. Even a long respite making music had not relieved the mood that had overtaken him that afternoon while visiting his father.
While he strolled, he allowed himself to dwell on the memory of kissing Cassandra Vernham. He wondered how she would react if he called on her now. At this hour, there could be no mistake why he had done so. Nothing about their business together required a meeting at eleven o’clock at night.
He wanted to believe she would debate sending him away for at least a few minutes before doing so, but he was sure she would not receive him. She had responded to the kisses. She was not immune, but as a woman of the world she knew better than to yield quickly, should she yield at all.
He spent some time plotting a strategy to that end. It distracted him as even the cool night and exercise could not. Feeling more himself, but still in need of some society, he turned his direction toward a house where he knew some friends would undoubtedly be in attendance.
He mounted the steps of the building with something like a light heart. That was what contemplating the seduction of a lovely woman could do for a man.
She was still much on his mind when he entered the drawing room that served as Mrs. Burton’s discreet and elite gaming salon. Enough that when he spied her standing near a table, it did not surprise him. Then he remembered that Cassandra Vernham had not been gambling of late. He hoped his delay in paying for the earrings had not driven her to it again.
He walked toward her. While he did, he admired the dress she wore. Its barely pink fabric and its narrow skirt skimmed around her curves. Her dark lashes appeared very thick in the candlelight, and her eyes were sapphire pools gazing down at the table.
The other patrons moved enough for him to see the Duke of Penthurst standing on the other side of her, also watching the card play. With occasional smiles, she acknowledged His Grace’s presence.
Seeing them together ruined his mood. Cassandra’s name had never been connected to Penthurst’s in any romantic sense, but the trial Penthurst would soon endure might change that. Hell, for all he knew, she had been Penthurst’s mistress for years now.
She frowned deeply and squeezed the shoulder of the woman sitting in front of her. That shoulder shrugged off her touch as if it were an insect. Cassandra’s hand went back, rather decidedly. The other woman turned her head to complain.
It was Southwaite’s sister Lydia. She did not appear her normal distant, soulful self tonight. Rather she looked half mad.
He knew that look. It meant only one thing in such a place.
Cassandra turned her head away from her friend’s giddy excitement. She saw him. Rather than pretend he was not there, she made a desperate face and gestured for him to come over.
She stepped back just as he arrived, so they were not right on Lydia’s back. Bodies filled in the hole, obscuring Penthurst.
“It is always a happy day when I see you, Lady Cassandra. Even a happier one when you don’t mind seeing me.”
“As it happens, I am relieved to see you. You must help me with Lydia.”
His smug satisfaction that she turned to him for help instead of Penthurst did not entirely conquer the dark resentments resurrected on seeing them together. “Lady Lydia appears to be enjoying herself. I hope so, since her brother will lock her away for a year if he learns of this. As for you, and your leading her down the path to ruin, I have no idea what he will do.”
“She was determined. Either I brought her here, or she would ask some hackney driver to bring her anywhere with gaming and end up in the worst hell. I decided it could not hurt for a few hours. We would come, she would lose, that would discourage her, and it would all be over.”
“Only it is not over?”
She bit her bottom lip and looked adorably distraught. “None of it has gone according to my plan. For one thing, she is winning.”
“A lot?”
“A ridiculous amount. At least seven hundred thus far, even with the small amounts I insist she restrict herself to. She can’t lose, Ambury. She makes the stupidest choices, she plays badly, and wins. I have even whispered deliberately wron
g advice, and when she takes it, she still wins.”
A squeal came from the table. Lydia’s arms rose into the air. She looked over her shoulder at Cassandra. “I risked rather more this time.” Her big smile said it had gone well too.
“Do you see what I mean? I need to remove her from here before her luck turns, or she will go down deeper than she was up, I fear. Only I have given her the signal several times, and she ignores me.”
“Is that how you played? Unable to quit when you were losing?”
She did not appreciate the query. “She is drunk on it. I never was that bad.”
“Yet you lost big, did you not? Perhaps she will prove more disciplined.”
“I did not lose for lack of discipline. Are you going to help me with her or not? Her brother is your good friend. I think he would expect you to stop her.”
“I was not the person who introduced her to Mrs. Burton’s drawing room, so do not pretend she is my responsibility. As for helping you, what do you propose?”
“Go over there, look at her severely and tell her it is time to stop.”
He laughed out loud. “Would that stop you if you were winning hundreds?”
“Of course not. But Lydia is accustomed to obeying orders from her brother, and she may obey you as his surrogate.”
Right now Lydia did not look like a woman inclined to obey anyone who interfered with her triumph. Yates rather wished Southwaite could see her. Darius worried that his sister had turned remote and emotionless. It was questionable whether he would appreciate just how alive she seemed right now, of course.
Yates made his way around the table so that he watched Lydia from the side and could catch her eye. She beamed with pride and gestured to her winnings. “It appears I am brilliant at this, Ambury. Who would have ever guessed?”
“It is called luck, and it turns easily. It is wise to quit while you are ahead.”
“I think it is wiser to ride with luck while it favors you,” she replied with a laugh.
“Allow me to call for a carriage and take you home.”
“Oh, tosh. The night is young, and I am having a wonderful time. Mrs. Burton’s is much more fun than the parties my aunts insist I attend.”
He looked at Cassandra, who rolled her eyes. She took her place behind Lydia and firmly squeezed her friend’s shoulder. “It is time to go. I am very tired.”
Lydia shook off that hand yet again. “Then go if you must. I am sure I will be safe.” She gestured for the dealer to give her another card.
The player beside Lydia left then. Yates waited to see if Cassandra would take the chair. Instead a man moved from the edge of the circle of watchers and sat himself down. Lydia took no note of him, but Yates did. So did Cassandra. So did the other three people sitting in the other chairs.
Penthurst stood out from the others by his dress and manner. The dark queue that had not been cropped marked him, as did the brocade waistcoat that was far richer and more old-fashioned than the other garments worn tonight by the men. The distinctions sat on him well. He managed to make others feel out of place. His demeanor said it could never be the other way around.
Yates had to admire the aplomb with which he carried it off. The antiquated appearance was an affectation, of course. A way of saying some men were slaves to fashion and the opinions of others but the very best do not concern themselves with such trivialities.
The dealer bowed to the newcomer. “Your Grace.”
Lydia turned her head and stared at the noble, handsome man whose shoulder brushed her own. Her color rose.
The Duke of Penthurst favored the dealer with acknowledgment by barely nodding his head. Another nod went to Lydia and the other players. Then the gaze of his golden-brown eyes stayed on the table.
Another round was played. Lydia won again. She happily took her winnings and added them to her stack.
“Luck seems to favor you tonight,” Penthurst said, his deep, quiet voice carrying surprisingly well in the noise of the drawing room.
“So it seems.”
“You should not waste such good fortune on small stakes like this.” He gestured to the dealer. “A deck, if you do not mind.”
The dealer handed over a deck of cards, then stood back. No more vingt-et-un would be dealt now, it appeared. As if dismissed by a king, the other players left their chairs.
Penthurst set the stack on the table in front of him. “Do you enjoy risk, Lady Lydia? Do you find gambling exciting?”
“About as much as most people, I suppose.”
“You have just shy of eight hundred there. What if I wagered you ten thousand against it, decided by the chance draw of cards? Would you take the wager?”
“My eight hundred against your ten thousand? You stand to lose much more than you stand to gain. That is a very odd wager.”
“I think that your eight hundred means more to you than my ten thousand means to me, so the greater risk, and the greater excitement, is still yours.”
“I would be a fool not to take the wager, since I stand to win so much.”
“That is what gamblers always think. However, I require that you risk something in addition to the eight hundred in order to win my ten thousand, so we each play for a worthwhile prize.” He leaned over an inch and spoke again, too quietly for anyone but Lydia to hear.
Lydia frowned at what he said, as if puzzling out a foreign language. Then her eyes widened. She glanced at him, aghast. Her old detachment fell like a curtain over her face. She stood abruptly and walked away from the table.
Cassandra watched her go, then stared at the table. All Lydia’s winnings still sat there. She began scooping them up.
Penthurst helped her push it all into her reticule. “Her presence here was your doing, wasn’t it?” he asked.
“Believe what you like, Your Grace, but she is not a child and is capable of making her own decisions.” With that, Cassandra hurried off to look for her friend.
Penthurst looked over at Yates. “She will let you take her home soon, Ambury. You might tell Southwaite to keep an eye on her. That is a restless woman looking for ruinous adventure, and I have at best delayed her finding it by a fortnight.”
“What did he say to you?” Cassandra demanded.
“I do not want to speak of it. Oh, dear, I left all the money.”
“I have it here.” Cassandra patted her reticule. She resented the way Penthurst had so quickly blamed her for Lydia’s behavior. Ambury did too. So would Southwaite. It was not fair, since Lydia had all but blackmailed her into it.
“He has ruined my night, and it appears he is going to remain,” Lydia said. “I never liked him when he was friends with my brother. He always lorded it over everyone, and spoke to me like I was a child.”
“Is that what he did tonight? Speak to you that way, and scold?”
Lydia’s face reddened. “No.”
Ambury was pushing his way toward them. His expression said that he expected Cassandra to stay put until he got to her.
“I walked here,” he said when he reached them. “However, I have told the footman at the door to get a hackney. I will see you both home.”
“I do not want to leave immediately,” Lydia said. “If I do, Penthurst will think he chased me away, and I refuse to allow that. I am going to watch the hazard play for a while. Then I will leave.”
“Oh, Lydia, please—”
“I will not play, Cassandra. I promise. I am only going to watch.”
Before she or Ambury could object further, Lydia marched away, aiming for the hazard tables. Over at the vingt-et-un, Penthurst noted her progress.
“We will give her a quarter hour so she can save her pride, Ambury. I will meet you at those tables then. I will drag her out by her hair if I must after that,” Cassandra said.
She excused herself and retreated from the chamber, in order to seek less noise and some fresh air. The crowd at Mrs. Burton’s had made the drawing room uncomfortably warm.
She tried the library,
but a clutch of ladies gossiped there. She found a small sitting room that was deserted. She threw open the window and lifted the curls on her neck so she might cool off.
A hand took the curls from her. Another removed the fan from her other hand. A wonderful breeze bathed her neck as the fan flicked behind her.
“We could go down to the terrace,” Ambury said. “It is very pleasant outside.”
“I am not such a fool as to go to a dark terrace with you.” Being alone with him in this chamber was no smarter. She could hear the murmur of the women gossiping in the nearby library.
“Are you afraid that I will kiss you again?”
She turned to face him. She took the fan. “You do not frighten me.”
“Not at all? How insulting.”
He made it a joke, but she could see in the moonlight that he did not believe her. Nor was she telling the truth. His kisses had lured her too well, and she was in danger of doing something stupid if she permitted that again. Worse, however, he frightened her for reasons that had nothing to do with pleasure and embraces.
He was up to something with those earrings. She was almost sure of it now. She had begun to suspect the information was all that really mattered, and that he did not care about the jewels at all.
“My aunt and I will be going abroad soon,” she said, turning back to the window. “She thinks the Continent is too unsettled. I have proposed America. What do you think?”
“I think that you will not be happy either place.” His voice was right behind her. His head all but touched her own. She felt him there, very close to her, looking out as she did at the city square bathed in moonlight.
“I have been to the Continent before, and was happy enough. I traveled there with my aunt after my first Season.” She had gone after she had refused to marry Lakewood. That sorry episode had caused enough scandal that there would be no second Season. There had been no reason to remain in England, so she had journeyed with Sophie to Vienna and Saint Petersburg and other capitals. She had returned as a woman, not a girl. A woman of the world, as Ambury called her.
The Conquest of Lady Cassandra Page 9