Lord Mumford's Minx

by Alexandra Ivy

  Realizing that her attempts to remain unnoted amid the vast crowd had failed, Cassie gave a small smile.

  “Thank you, Lady Pembroke,” she murmured.

  “Come.” Firmly grasping Cassie’s arm, Lady Pembroke steered her behind a large marble pillar. “I must know how are you feeling.”

  Although it had been over a week since the attack, Cassie still felt her heart falter at the memory. She was not certain she would ever be able to shut her eyes again without seeing the barrel of a pistol pointed at her face.

  “Much improved, thank you,” she forced herself to say.

  “When Luke told me that you had been accosted by a thief in broad daylight, I was horrified, simply horrified.”

  Although Cassie had wanted to keep the incident a secret, Luke had convinced her that there would be unpleasant gossip unless they came up with some plausible story for the attack. It had been his decision to claim it was a desperate robber that had jumped into the carriage.

  “It was a shock.”

  Lady Pembroke shivered in sympathy. “Just to think, being attacked in a perfectly respectable neighborhood. Are we no longer safe in our own homes? It does not bear thinking of.”

  “Indeed.”

  As if sensing Cassie’s reluctance to discuss the incident, Lady Pembroke abruptly squared her shoulders.

  “But there is no sense in brooding on such unpleasant thoughts. Tonight we are here to enjoy ourselves.” She reached out to tap Cassie with her fan. “Indeed, Lord Champford has already arrived.”

  Cassie diligently smothered a grimace. It was a gentleman such as Lord Champford and Lord Westwood that had induced her into the shadowed corner in the first place.

  “Has he?”

  Lady Pembroke glared across the room. “Of course, Mrs. Hart pounced upon him the moment he entered. An interfering, self-serving woman. She is determined to marry off that pox-faced chit of hers to a title.”

  Cassie’s own gaze shifted to where the attractive lord was being held prisoner by a large, horse-faced woman in a puce gown.

  “I suppose Lord Champford is sought by many hopeful mamas.”

  “Yes.” Lady Pembroke allowed herself a preening smile. “But he has revealed little interest in any but you.”

  “A wise man,” a male voice suddenly drawled. Cassie felt a familiar tingle of excitement inch down her spine as she turned to discover Lord Mumford standing at her side. Attired in a crisply fitted black coat and formal pantaloons, he easily overshadowed every other gentleman in the room. “What gentleman of good sense could resist the charms of Miss Stanholte?”

  “Luke.” Lady Pembroke eyed her relative with a knowing smile. “I suppose there is no need to ask why you would choose to make an appearance this evening?”

  Cassie felt a blush warm her cheeks, but Luke merely laughed.

  “Why, Aunt Sophia, you know that I could not resist such a tempting gathering.”

  “Fah.” Lady Pembroke glanced slyly at the discomfited Cassie. “I fear you will have to excuse me. I promised Miss Stowe that I would introduce her to Lord Elgin. Such an intriguing gentleman.”

  Without waiting for a response, Lady Pembroke swept around the pillar and swiftly became lost in the crowd. Oddly, Cassie felt extraordinarily shy to be left with Lord Mumford. Over the past week he had become a familiar visitor to her town house, often sitting for hours to read a book or play at cards. She had come to depend upon his pleasurable companionship, quite often forgetting that she was supposed to resent his interfering presence. Indeed, she had discovered herself anxiously awaiting his arrival, as if she actually enjoyed his companionship.

  And it was that realization that had made her suddenly uneasy.

  “Aunt Sophia has never been overly subtle,” Lord Mumford remarked in dry tones. “Still, I commend her efforts. It is a rare opportunity I have to speak with you alone.”

  The absurd shyness only increased at the husky undercurrent in his voice.

  “We are hardly alone,” she breathed, glancing toward the hundreds of guests moving through the open rooms.

  “At least I have no dragon minding my every word.”

  A renegade smile twitched at her lips. Miss Stowe had proven to be a staunch companion, with a way of placing herself in locations such that Cassie’s visitors never forgot she was present.

  “Miss Stowe is a perfectly charming companion.”

  The blue gaze lingered on her traitorous mouth. “Perhaps, but I wish she were less diligent in her duties when I call,” he complained as he stepped close enough for her to feel the heat of his body. “I am terrified that a misspoken word might have me tossed from the establishment.”

  She struggled to keep her thoughts from straying to the enticing scent of his cologne.

  “You would only insist on being allowed back in.”

  He gave a low chuckle at her accusation.

  “You are no doubt correct.” His gaze shifted to her shoulder. “How do you feel?”

  “I am well, thank you.”

  “The doctor called today?” he demanded.

  Her expression became wry. She had no doubt who had insisted that the notable physician call on her. “As he has every day.”

  “There is no sign of infection?”

  “None whatsoever.”

  “No stiffness in your shoulder?”

  She felt a flutter of unease. She was unaccustomed to having anyone fussing over her in such a fashion. Not since her parents had been taken away. It was disconcerting, to say the least. With an awkward movement, she turned from his piercing regard.

  “I have said I am fine,” she insisted in low tones.

  There was a faint pause as Lord Mumford studied her averted profile.

  “Is there something troubling you?”

  Suddenly frightened of the strange sensations that trembled through her body, she attempted to laugh in a light manner.

  “A man attempted to kill me, a common actress has stolen my estate, and an arrogant lord is incessantly interfering in my life. What is not troubling me?”

  It was only with an effort that she resisted the need to watch his reaction to her ridiculous words.

  “Do not fear, Miss Stanholte,” he at last retorted in a carefully bland voice. “Soon enough you will be safely back in Devonshire. Far away from London and interfering lords.”

  The promise should have made her heart soar. It was all she had ever wanted. So why, then, did she feel the most absurd desire to cry?

  It was a decided relief when her clouded gaze caught sight of the elderly woman imperiously beckoning from across the room.

  “I believe that very determined lady is attempting to attract your attention.”

  Following her gaze, Lord Mumford muttered a low curse.

  “Damn. I fear there is little use in ignoring Lady Radford. She will only continue that vulgar waving until I join her.” His gaze shifted back in a warning manner. “I shall return in just a moment.”

  Cassie gave a vague nod, but even as Lord Mumford began to make his way toward the demanding Lady Radford, she was backing farther into the shadows and through the open French doors.

  The room was hot and crowded, but, more importantly, Cassie felt an overpowering need to be on her own.

  She had to control these ridiculous flights of fancy and recall precisely why she was in London.

  It certainly was not to waste her evenings fluttering at the side of Lord Mumford.

  Thirteen

  The garden was a welcome relief after the smothering heat and noisy chatter of the ballroom. Sucking in the rose-scented air, Cassie moved through the maze of pathways, occasionally trailing a hand through a sparkling marble fountain or pausing to enjoy the scent of the spring blooms. She paid little heed to the direction she was taking. She only wished to regain the composure that had seemed so elusive since Lord Mumford had invaded her life.

  Not that she held out much hope of success, she acknowledged with a sigh. Her composure seemed as
elusive as her inheritance at the moment.

  With every passing day, Lord Mumford inched his way further into her life. Every morning, she awoke and dressed with the knowledge he would be calling; every night she lay in her bed and recalled the moments he had held her in his arms. And more than once she had discovered herself forgetting the reason she had come to London when she was gazing into the depths of his blue eyes.

  Lost in thought she wandered toward the tall hedge that marked the end of the garden, where she caught sight of a small body hidden in the bushes. Her gaze narrowed as she felt an instinctive flare of fear. Clearly, someone was spying on the garden. As she forced herself to move forward, her suspicions were suddenly eased when she noted the grimy face of a young lad.

  Smothering the urge to smile at the charmingly ugly countenance, Cassie instead conjured a forbidding frown.

  “You there,” she commanded in stern tones. “Come out at once.”

  “I ain’t done nuthin’.”

  “I said at once.”

  There was the sound of snuffling; then with obvious reluctance the lad pushed his way out of the hedge and regarded her warily.

  “You ain’t goin’ to hurt me?”

  “Certainly not.” Cassie felt a pang at the bony frame and unkempt hair. Poor child. He did not appear to have had a decent meal in days. “What are you doing here?”

  His expression became even more wary. “I have a note for a bloke inside.”

  “A note? Then why did you not give it to the footman?”

  “I am to give it meself. It be from his lady, Nell, upon a private matter.”

  A sudden suspicion gripped Cassie as she gazed down at the urchin.

  “Who is the note for?”

  His bottom lip jutted outward. “I ain’t supposed to say.”

  Cassie battled to make her voice as calm as possible. “I can hardly help you if you will not tell me whom you wish to speak with.”

  He pondered her logic for a long moment, carefully studying her encouraging expression.

  “Right enuf,” he at last conceded. “I was suppose to find a bloke named Bidwell.”

  Cassie sucked in a sharp breath. A note for Lord Bidwell from Nell. It had to be Nell Maggert.

  “Lord Bidwell?” she inquired with seeming innocence.

  “That be the gent.”

  Cassie bent down in a conspiratorial manner. “You know, it would be much more sensible if you simply give me the note to take in to Lord Bidwell.” She glanced through the hedge to the line of coaches waiting to be called. Clearly, the lad was keeping a guard on Lord Bidwell’s coach so he could know when to dart from his hiding place and pass along the folded paper. She also noted the uniformed servants keeping close eyes on the streets as well as the house. “After all, you do not wish to risk being run off by the servants.”

  The boy’s eyes narrowed with innate cunning. “I don’t know.”

  “Surely you do not wish to remain out here until Lord Bidwell departs? It could be hours.”

  He glanced toward the town house, his resolve wavering. “I can keep the quid?”

  “Yes, indeed.”

  There was a brief pause; then with a startling quick motion he shoved the note into her hand and began burrowing his way back through the hedge.

  “Can’t say I ain’t done me duty,” he called.

  Glancing down at the now crumpled note, Cassie wrestled with her conscience. Common manners assured her that it was indecent to pry into private correspondence. But over the past weeks she had been forced to put aside more delicate sensibilities. Indeed, reading another’s correspondence was becoming more a habit than a sin. Pressing aside the image of her mother’s disapproving face, Cassie unfolded the note and tilted it toward a nearby lamp.

  In the flickering light, it was difficult to translate the uneven writing. At last she managed to make sense of the scratchings.

  I must meet with you tonight, but not at the house. I fear it is being watched.

  Come to the theater.

  Nell

  Theater. Any lingering sense of guilt was doused as Cassie felt a flare of pure fury. They had found Nell Maggert. They had found her and not said a word to her.

  The sheer arrogance made her long to sweep back into the ballroom and demand that Lord Mumford and his friend confess the truth. But the knowledge that they would only shrug aside her anger and blithely reassure her that they would take care of everything kept her in the shadowed garden.

  Nell would be at a theater, tonight and Cassie was quite certain it was the same theater where the actress had once worked.

  This was the perfect opportunity for Cassie to confront the woman and force her to confess the truth about Liza.

  Without giving herself time to ponder the danger of her impulsive decision, Cassie moved back through the twisted paths, avoiding the large terrace and choosing instead a smaller path that led toward the side of the house. Within moments, she managed to catch sight of a uniformed footman who was no doubt eluding the stern eye of the housekeeper. Hearing her approach, the young man hastily straightened and attempted to appear as if he were supposed to be hiding in the shadows.

  “Good evening, miss.”

  “I need your assistance.”

  “Yes?”

  Drawing in a steadying breath, Cassie gathered her fraying courage.

  “Please locate Miss Stowe and inform her that Miss Stanholte has acquired a headache and has gone home. She can ride with Lady Pembroke.”

  “Very good.”

  “And have my coachman meet me in the front.”

  With a bow, the footman scurried to follow her commands. Cassie, on the other hand, waited several moments before ducking through a side door and cautiously making her way to the front entrance.

  She was well aware that she needed to avoid Lord Mumford and the devious Lord Bidwell. They were bound to be suspicious of her sudden illness. And she had no desire to face their unnerving questions.

  Thankfully, her carriage was swift to arrive, and hurrying down the staircase, she allowed the servant to help her into the cushioned seat. She gave the startled groom concise orders to drive to the theater before breathing a sigh of relief.

  This time no one would stop her from speaking with Nell Maggert, she told herself sternly. She would at last have the truth she had been searching for.

  Unconsciously twisting her fingers in her lap as they left the elegant neighborhoods behind and traveled to the narrow, cramped street in front of the theater, Cassie suddenly shuddered as they pulled to a halt. Regardless of Lord Mumford’s accusations that she possessed no sense, she had not forgotten her numerous frights over the past few weeks. She intended to be very careful on this occasion.

  Allowing herself to be handed down, she quietly commanded the groom to remain with the carriage. She did not notice the older servant glancing up the street or his abrupt wave to a thin gentleman climbing out of his own carriage. She was far too occupied with controlling her racing heart as she approached the open doors to the theater.

  Rancorous noise and off-key music spilled onto the street as Cassie approached, and she briefly hesitated. Would Nell be inside the theater? Or was she hidden nearby and waiting for the arrival of Lord Bidwell?

  Cassie wavered; then, squaring her shoulders, she prepared herself to enter the theater. It could be no more dangerous than remaining in the dark streets. But even as she prepared to move forward, there was a sudden footstep behind her. Cassie froze; then a scream rose to her throat as a rough hand closed over her throat and an arm wrapped about her waist, pinning her arms to her sides.

  Oh, Lord, not again, she thought with a surge of panic.

  Would she never learn?

  * * *

  The young footman watched Lord Mumford pace across the salon with a wary gaze. Although he was commanded by the housekeeper to ensure the late night visitor’s comfort, he was wisely reluctant to call attention to his presence. The gentleman had been obviously shaken
when he had arrived a quarter of an hour before to discover Miss Stanholte had not yet returned home. And the sharpening tension in his elegant features warned that his unease was edged with a mounting fury.

  Still, the young man was well aware it was no more wise to stir the ire of the decidedly large housekeeper. His ears had been boxed on more than one occasion. So with an inward sigh, he reluctantly stepped forward.

  “Can I offer you something to drink, my lord?”

  With an effort, Luke forced himself to halt his restless pacing and turn toward the waiting servant.

  “What?”

  “I asked if you would like something to drink. Sherry or perhaps tea?”

  “Brandy,” he demanded in clipped tones.

  “Of course.”

  “And I wish to speak with Miss Stanholte the moment she arrives.”

  “Very good.”

  With obvious haste, the servant gave a bow and backed from the room. Luke made a rueful grimace. He did not intend to punish hapless servants with his temper, but he was discovering it increasingly difficult to maintain command of his emotions.

  The devil take Cassandra Stanholte.

  When the servant had arrived with the message that Miss Stanholte had called for her carriage, he had been only faintly alarmed. Over the last few days, he had noted her antagonism toward him being slowly replaced by a bewildered awareness. He had also sensed that she was attempting to deny her unfamiliar reactions. He had presumed her flight tonight had been one of panic. Now he realized that she was up to something far more devious.

  Or worse, that the scar-faced gentleman had once again struck.

  His heart twisted with sharp fear, and he battled the urge to rush out of the house and search for the impossible woman. It would be foolish to stumble about London with no notion of where she might be.

  Unconsciously clenching his hands, Luke resisted the urge to call for the servant. Had the fool been forced to travel to France for the brandy? Then he gave a shake of his head. The poor man was probably hiding in the cellar in the hopes that Luke would disappear before he would be forced to return. Suddenly the sound of a door closing, followed by the muffled sound of voices, had him stiffening in a combination of dread and anticipation.