by Amanda Quick
It was about time he left her alone tonight, Sophy told herself. She had finally managed an introduction and a dance with the first name on her list—the once-handsome, but now dissipated-looking, Utteridge—but it had been hard work. Ever since she had arrived at the party, Waycott had been hovering, just as he had hovered on several other occasions during the past two weeks.
It had been hard enough to discover Utteridge’s likely whereabouts this evening, Sophy thought, irritated—much more difficult than she and Anne and Jane had anticipated. She did not need Waycott getting in her way on top of everything else. Luckily Anne had been able to find out the pertinent information concerning the guest list at this rout at the last minute. Sophy certainly did not want to waste the time and effort that had been involved in getting herself on the same guest list.
The information available on Lord Utteridge had been minimal.
“I’m told he’s run through most of his fortune at the gaming tables and has now begun to look for a rich wife,” Anne had explained earlier that afternoon. “At the moment he’s trying to attract the interest of Cordelia Biddle and she’s scheduled to be at the Dallimores’ tonight.”
“Lady Fanny should be able to get me invited,” Sophy had decided and that assumption had turned out to be quite correct. Lady Fanny had been a bit startled that Sophy should want to attend a function that promised to be exceedingly dull, but she had obligingly had a word with the hostess.
“It was not the least bit difficult, my dear,” Fanny had said later with a knowing look in her eye. “You are considered a prize for any hostess these days.”
“The power of Julian’s title, I suppose,” Sophy had remarked dryly, thinking that if Anne was right she would be able to use that power to ultimately punish Amelia’s seducer.
“The Ravenwood title certainly helps,” Harriette had agreed, looking up from her book, “but you may as well know, my girl, that it is not entirely because you’re a Countess that you’re fast becoming quite the thing this season.”
Sophy was momentarily startled by the observation and then she grinned. “You need not go into detail, Harry. I am well aware that I owe whatever popularity I am presently enjoying to the simple fact that even the members of the ton suffer from the headache, digestive problems, and assorted bilious livers. I swear, whenever I attend a party I end up writing out as many medicinal recipes as an apothecary.”
Harriette had exchanged a smiling glance with Fanny and gone back to her book.
But the plan had worked and Sophy had found herself cordially welcomed that evening by a delighted hostess who had never dreamed she would be lucky enough to get the new Countess of Ravenwood to her rout. After that it had been a simple matter to track down Lord Utteridge. If it were not for Waycott’s persistent petitions for a dance, all would have been going quite well.
“I would venture to say that Ravenwood must be finding you quite a change from his first wife,” Utteridge murmured in a syrupy voice.
Sophy, who had been waiting anxiously for just such an opening, smiled encouragingly. “Did you know her well, my lord?”
Utteridge’s smile was unpleasant. “Let us say I had the pleasure of several intimate conversations with her. She was a most entrancing woman. Quite dazzling to the senses. Fascinating, mysterious, captivating. With just a smile she could leave a man bedeviled for days. She was also, I think, very dangerous.”
A succubus. Sophy remembered the strange design on the black ring. More than one man might have felt the need to protect himself from a woman such as Elizabeth even as he willingly fell under her spell.
“Did you visit frequently with my husband and his first wife at Ravenwood?” Sophy asked as casually as possible.
Utteridge chuckled dryly. “Ravenwood seldom entertained with his wife. At least not after the first few months of their marriage. Ah, those first few months were quite amusing for the rest of us, I must say.”
“Amusing?” Sophy felt a small chill.
“Yes, indeed,” Utteridge said with relish. “There were scenes and public displays aplenty during that first year, which provided endless entertainment for the ton. But after that Ravenwood and his wife began going their separate ways. Some say he was on the point of suing for separation and divorce when Elizabeth died.”
Julian must have hated those embarrassing public scenes. No wonder he was so adamant about his new wife not becoming the focus of gossip. Sophy tried to get back to her original question. “Have you ever been to Ravenwood Abbey, my lord?”
“Twice, as I recall,” Utteridge said casually. “Didn’t stay long either time, although Elizabeth could be quite charming. Don’t care for the country, myself. A man with my constitution does not enjoy ruralizing. I’m much more comfortable in the city.”
“I see.” Sophy listened carefully to Utteridge’s voice and the rhythms of his speech, trying to decide if he was the man in the black cape and mask who had warned her about the ring the night of the masquerade. She did not think so.
And if Utteridge spoke the truth, she did not think he could have been Amelia’s seducer. Whoever that man was he had stayed at Ravenwood on more than two occasions. Amelia had gone out to meet her lover several times over a three-month period. Of course, there was always the possibility Utteridge was lying about the frequency of his visits but Sophy could not think why he should bother to do so.
This whole business of trying to track down Amelia’s seducer was going to be extremely difficult, she acknowledged.
“Tell me, madam, do you intend to follow in your predecessor’s footsteps? If so, I hope you will include me in your plans. I might even consider another trip into Hampshire if you were proposing to be my hostess,” Utteridge said in a dangerously smooth voice.
The barely veiled insult snapped Sophy out of her reverie. She stopped in the middle of the floor, her head tilting angrily. “Exactly what are you implying, my lord?”
“Why nothing, my dear, I assure you. I was merely asking out of curiosity. You seemed interested in the activities of the previous Countess so I wondered if, perhaps, you had, um, aspirations to live the rather reckless life she favored.”
“Not at all,” Sophy said tightly. “I cannot think where you could have gotten that impression.”
“Calm yourself, madam. I intended no insult. I had heard a few rumors and I must admit they piqued my curiosity.”
“What rumors?” Sophy demanded, suddenly anxious. If word had gotten out about the attempted duel between herself and Charlotte Featherstone, Julian would be furious.
“Nothing important, I promise you.” Utteridge smiled with cold whimsy and casually adjusted the dangling artificial flower in Sophy’s hair. “Just a little chatter about the Ravenwood emeralds.”
“Oh, those.” Sophy hid her relief. “What about them, my lord?”
“A few people have wondered why you’ve never worn them in public,” Utteridge said silkily, but his eyes were piercing.
“How odd,” Sophy said. “Imagine anyone wasting a moment’s thought on such a mundane matter. I believe the dance is finished, my lord.”
“I wonder if you will excuse me, then, madam,” Utteridge said with a laconic bow as the dance ended. “I believe I am engaged for the next dance.”
“Of course.” Sophy inclined her head aloofly and watched as Utteridge moved off through the crowd toward a young blond, blue-eyed woman dressed in pale blue silk.
“Cordelia Biddle,” Waycott said, materializing just behind Sophy. “Not a brain in her head, but I’m told her inheritance more than compensates.”
“I was never led to believe men particularly valued brains in a woman.”
“It’s true that some men have not sufficient brains themselves to appreciate such a commodity in a female.” Waycott’s eyes were intent on her face. “I would venture to say that Ravenwood is one of those benighted males.”
“You are wrong, my lord,” Sophy said bluntly.
“Then I apologize,” Waycott sa
id. “It is just that I have seen little evidence of Ravenwood’s appreciation for his charming new wife and it gives a man pause.”
“What, pray tell, do you expect him to do to show his appreciation?” Sophy retorted. “Sprinkle rose petals outside our front door every morning?”
“Rose petals?” Waycott’s brows lifted. “I think not. Ravenwood’s not the type for romantic gestures. But I would have expected him to present you with the Ravenwood emeralds by now.”
“I cannot imagine why,” Sophy snapped. “My coloring is all wrong for emeralds. I look infinitely better in diamonds, don’t you think?” She moved her hand in a graceful gesture that drew attention to the bracelet Julian had given her. The stones glittered on her wrist.
“You are wrong, Sophy,” Waycott said. “You would look lovely in emeralds. But I wonder if Ravenwood will ever trust another woman with them? Those stones must hold many painful memories for him.”
“You must excuse me, my lord. I believe I see Lady Frampton over by the window. I really should see if my digestive aid helped her.”
Sophy swept off, deciding she really had had enough of the Viscount. He seemed to be at nearly every social function she was attending these days.
As she moved through the crowd it occurred to her that she should not have let Utteridge go so quickly. Even if he was not the man she wanted, he apparently knew a great deal about Elizabeth’s activities and was willing to talk about them. It struck her belatedly that he might be able to provide valuable information on the other two men whose names were on Charlotte’s list.
Across the room Cordelia Biddle was declining another dance with Utteridge. Utteridge, in turn, appeared about to exit into the gardens. Sophy started to weave a path toward the open doors.
“Forget Utteridge,” Waycott drawled from close behind Sophy. “You can do better than him. Even Elizabeth did not dally long in that direction.”
Sophy’s head came around very quickly, her eyes narrowing in anger. Waycott had obviously been following her. “I do not know what you are implying, my lord, nor do I wish to have you explain your meaning. But I think it would be wise of you to cease speculating on my associations.”
“Why? Because you’re afraid that if word gets back to Ravenwood he will drown you in that damn pond the way he did Elizabeth?”
Sophy stared at Waycott in shock for an instant before she turned her back on him and swept through the open doorway into the cool night air of the gardens.
* * *
“The next time you drag me off to a gaming hell as miserable as this place, I trust you will have the decency to see to it that I at least have a chance at winning.” Julian kept his voice to a low, annoyed growl as he turned to follow Daregate away from the table.
Behind him other players stepped forward with a studied casualness that did little to conceal the feverish excitement in their eyes. Dice clicked softly and a new game of hazard was begun. Fortunes would be won and lost tonight. Estates that had been in families for generations would fall into new hands this evening because of the luck of the toss. Julian could scarcely conceal his disgust. Lands and the privileges and responsibilities that went with them were not to be risked in a stupid dice game. He did not comprehend the mind of a man who could do such a thing.
“Stop complaining,” Daregate chided. “I told you it was easier to get information out of a cheerful winner than it is from a disgruntled loser. You got what you wanted, didn’t you?”
“Yes, damn it, but it cost me fifteen hundred pounds.”
“A pittance compared to what Crandon and Musgrove will lose tonight. The trouble with you, Ravenwood, is that you begrudge any money not spent directly on your estates.”
“You know your own attitude toward gaming would alter completely tomorrow if you inherited your uncle’s title and the lands that go with it. You’re no more a confirmed gamester than I am.” Julian signaled for his carriage as they stepped out into the chilly evening. It was nearly midnight.
“Don’t be too certain of that. At the moment I am rather devoted to the gaming tables. I fear I am rather dependent on them for my income.”
“It’s fortunate you have a talent for dice and cards.”
“One of the more useful skills I picked up at Eton,” Daregate said negligently. He leapt up into the carriage as it drew to a halt in front of the two men.
Julian followed Daregate and settled on the seat across from his friend. “Very well, it cost me enough. Let us examine precisely what I have got for my fifteen hundred pounds.”
“According to Eggers, who I must tell you, is usually quite knowledgeable in matters such as this, there are at least three or four men left who still wear the black rings,” Daregate said thoughtfully.
“But we only managed to get two names out of him. Utteridge and Varley.” Julian reflected on the man to whom he had just lost his money. The more Eggers had won, the more he had been willing to gossip to Daregate and Julian. “I wonder if one of them was the one who gave the ring to Sophy’s friend. Utteridge, I believe, spent time at the Abbey. And so did Varley, I’m almost certain.” Julian’s hand clenched at his side as he forced himself to recall Elizabeth’s seemingly endless list of conquests.
Daregate pretended to ignore the implications and stuck to the subject at hand. “We have a starting point, at least. Either Utteridge or Varley could be the man who gave your wife’s friend the ring.”
“Damn. I do not like this, Daregate. One thing is for certain, Sophy must never again wear that ring. I shall have to see to it that it is destroyed immediately.” And that action, he reflected with an inner wince, was going to cause more trouble between himself and Sophy. She was obviously very attached to the black ring.
“On that point, I agree wholeheartedly. She must not wear it now that we have ascertained its meaning. But she does not know just what the ring signifies, Ravenwood. To her it is merely a keepsake. Are you going to tell her the truth?”
Julian shook his head grimly. “That the original wearer belonged to a secret club whose members placed bets on who could cuckold the highest ranking members of the ton? Not bloody likely. She already has a sufficiently low opinion of men in general.”
“Does she really?” Daregate asked with amusement. “Then you and your lady are well matched, aren’t you, Ravenwood? Your opinion of women is not particularly high. Serves you right to be married to a woman who returns the compliment.”
“Enough, Daregate. I have more important matters to attend to tonight than sparring with a man whose opinions on women do not differ greatly from my own. In any event, Sophy is different from the common run of females.”
Daregate looked at him, smiling slightly in the shadows. “Yes, I know. I was beginning to wonder if you realized that fact, yourself. Guard her well, Ravenwood. There are wolves in our world who would take great delight in savaging her.”
“No one knows that better than I.” Julian stared out the window of the carriage. “Where do you wish to be set down?”
Daregate shrugged. “Brook’s I suppose. I am in the mood for a little civilized drinking after that hell we just left. Where are you going?”
“To find Sophy. She is attending Lady Dallimore’s rout tonight.”
Daregate grinned. “And no doubt reigning supreme. Your lady is quickly becoming the rage. Walk down Bond Street or into any drawing room these days and you will find that half the young females in the vicinity will be in a charming state of disarray. Ribbons dangling, hats askew, shawls trailing on the floor. It is all quite delightful but no one can carry it off the way Sophy does.”
Julian smiled to himself. “That is because she does not have to work at it. The style comes quite naturally to her.”
Fifteen minutes later Julian glided through the crush that filled Lady Dallimore’s ballroom, searching for Sophy. Daregate was right, he realized with mild amusement. Most of the young women in the room appeared to have something wrong with their attire. Hair ornaments were stuck into c
urls at precarious angles, ribbons trailed to the floor, and scarves fluttered in a deceptively haphazard manner. He almost crushed underfoot a fan that was dangling from a long string attached to its owner’s wrist.
“Hello, Ravenwood, looking for your Countess?”
Julian glanced over his shoulder and recognized a middle-aged Baron with whom he occasionally discussed the war news. “Evening, Tharp. As it happens, I am looking for Lady Ravenwood. Any sign of her?”
“Signs of her all over the place, my boy. Just take a look.” The portly Baron waved a hand to indicate the crowded ballroom. “Impossible to make a move without stepping on a ribbon or scarf or some such frippery. Had a chat with your lady, myself, a bit earlier. Gave me a recipe for a cordial she says will relieve my digestive problems. Don’t mind tellin’ you, you’re damn lucky to be married to that one. She’ll see to it you live to a ripe old age. Probably give you a dozen sons into the bargain.”
Julian’s mouth tightened at that last remark. He was not at all certain Sophy would give him those sons willingly. He remembered well that she had not wanted to be rushed into childbed. “Where did you see her last, Tharp?”
“Dancing with Utteridge, I believe.” Tharp’s good-natured brow creased in an abrupt frown. “Come to think of it, that ain’t a particularly good situation, lad. You know what Utteridge is. An out-and-out rake. If I were you, I’d put a stop to that association at once.”
Julian felt a cold feeling in the region of his stomach. How in hell had Utteridge arranged to meet Sophy? More importantly, why had he done so? “I will see to the matter at once. Thank you, Tharp.”
“Pleasure.” The baron’s expression brightened. “Thank your Countess again for that cordial recipe, will you? Anxious to give it a try. Lord knows I’m tired of subsisting on potatoes and bread. Want to be able to sink my teeth into a nice joint of beef again.”
“I’ll tell her.” Julian shifted direction, glancing around the room for Utteridge. He did not see the man but he did catch sight of Sophy. She was just leaving to go out into the gardens. Waycott was preparing to follow a short distance behind her.