“So much like my Victoria.” Her father smiled lovingly at her. He sighed in resignation, and Angel wondered how often her very proper mother broke with conventions. “You prevent future gossip by following the rules of courtship,” he said.
“I can act according to propriety,” she assured him, but her thoughts drifted to her dreams of the dark stranger. She wondered if she had permitted her mystery man to ruin her for all others. He remained the perfect romantic hero, but had she spent too much time with her nose in Gothic novels meant to strum the heartstrings of impressionable young women?
“Then all will be well,” her father insisted. “I never liked Arden,” he teased. “The man was not tall enough by my standards, especially not for a gentleman so full of his own consequence.”
Angel relaxed for her father would defend her decision. “Too short. Too much in debt. Too opinionated,” she added with a nervous laugh.
“The flaws are too numerous to count.”
* * *
Hunt parried his younger brother’s onslaught before catching Harrison McLaughlin’s chest at the rapier’s point.
“Nice match,” Harry remarked as he stepped away from the secure tip.
“You learned a few new moves.”
Hunt accepted the folded cloth from the waiting servant. He wiped his face and tossed the toweling on a nearby bench.
Harry placed the practice rapier in its holder. “You did not expect me to improve? I am a year older,” he declared in the tones of a youth wishing to no longer be known as the “baby” of the family.
With affection, Hunt slapped his brother’s shoulder. “I attempt to forget that each year you gain makes me more ancient.” It was the right answer for Harry stood taller. “Do you have time to share a meal with your decrepit older brother?”
Hunt’s footman assisted him with his coat.
Harry straightened his cravat. “Are you paying?”
“Can I afford it?” Hunt was well aware of his brother’s increasing appetite. Harry’s body was changing into that of a man.
Harry’s smile broadened. “We can add it to Father’s account.”
“You have the right of it.”
Three quarters of an hour later, Hunt looked on as his brother wolfed down the first of the three plates. “May I count on you to escort Etta to Devil’s Keep?”
Harry looked up from his meal. “Absolutely. Told our sister last evening we can depart the first of next week. I promised a few school chums we would take in a social or two before everyone leaves for their country estates.”
“As long as Henrietta is satisfied, then I hold no objections. I have business remaining in Town,” Hunt observed. Yet, before he could say more, a heated discussion drew his attention.
“She must be courting Bedlam,” Jonathan Arden, Lord Arden, proclaimed. “It is Dutch coins for the chit to refuse to become my baroness.”
“What was the woman’s reasoning?” Sir Thomas Ridge asked in what sounded of mocked sincerity.
From Hunt’s perspective Ridge found Arden’s remarks a bit absurd.
“Miss Lovelace required my undivided attention. Only an American would consider it proper to dictate to her future husband what he can and cannot do. I do not care how large might be her dowry, I will not capitulate to any female.”
“I heard the lady caught you scrutinizing Miss Dandridge,” Sir Thomas taunted.
“Your Miss Dandridge?” Harry whispered.
Hunt raised his hand to still his brother’s words. “Just listen,” he cautioned. He had perfected the art of listening since joining the Home Office.
“Why should I not enjoy looking at other women?” Arden defended his actions.
“Possibly Miss Lovelace thought you meant to do more than look,” Ridge observed.
Arden turned toward the gaming room. “Well, someone else can listen to the harpy. I will make myself known to Miss Planter instead.”
“Miss Planter?” Sir Thomas appeared genuinely surprised. “The lady has quite a large nose.”
Arden shrugged. “What do I care? I will have the woman’s dowry, and I can tolerate her in the dark long enough to produce an heir or two. After that, we can live apart.”
Ridge followed Arden into the adjoining room as the conversation died in the noisy din.
“Sounds as if Arden escaped being linked to a shrew,” Harry said as he moved on to his second plate.
“It sounds as if the lady wanted more from her marriage than to be Arden’s dupe,” Hunt corrected.
“You would never have tolerated a sharp-tongued woman,” Harry declared in admiration of Hunt’s well-earned reputation with women.
Hunt sipped his wine. “One never knows what he might tolerate in the name of love.” Of late, he had felt the tug of permanency pulling at his heart.
“What of Miss Dandridge? I am surprised you did not call out Arden for gawking at your mistress.” A disconcerting frown knitted his brother’s brow.
Harry’s hero worship amused Hunt. “First, as the norm is always to be observed with a beautiful woman on one’s arm, a gentleman does not issue invitations to a duel because another man desires said woman. A mistress is to be looked upon and desired by many. Why else would a man keep a woman who is not both? However, if the observer acts on his desires, such an issuance would be appropriate.”
“Then you do not mind Arden’s interest?” Harry persisted.
Hunt responded in dry tones. “As Miss Dandridge is now under Lord Cantwell’s protection, I would possess no objections to Arden’s attentions to the lady.”
* * *
The Lovelaces avoided the major squeezes for three days before returning to the Season’s offerings.
“I heard Arden called upon Miss Planter,” Angel’s cousin shared as they waited with several other families in the receiving line for the Hardaways.
Angel smiled at her cousin, Lady Elaine Whitmore. Elaine had made her Come Out the previous Season, and she held an understanding with Captain Whitaker Arlington, although the gentleman continued his service as a diplomat to Italy, and no official notice occurred.
“I pray Lord Arden finds happiness.”
“Even with Arden’s bitterness?” Elaine inquired. “You would practice magnanimity, despite the baron’s open disparagement of your character?”
“Lord Arden dealt honestly. I simply wanted more than the gentleman was willing to cede to his future mate.”
Elaine glanced around to assure privacy. “Lord Arden spoke of you in a most derogatory manner.”
“Then I shall simply prove him in error. Actions are more powerful than words.”
Later, as couples formed for the opening set, Angel waited beside her cousin as gentlemen sought introductions and secured promises of dances during the evening.
“Who is the dark-haired man standing with Lord Wendellton?” Angel whispered from behind her fan.
“Lord Harrison McLaughlin. Just come up from Cambridge. He is the spare, but has a substantial fortune bestowed upon him by his mother’s family. His father is the Duke of Devilfoard. They reside in Warwickshire at an estate called the Devil’s Keep. Only the remnants of the former castle remain, yet, the contrast between old and new is quite satisfying. The current duke is of Scottish descent, the title having removed itself to that particular branch of the family some five or six generations prior. Although it is not as pronounced as I am certain it once was, one occasionally hears the Scottish burr in the family’s speech patterns.” Her cousin paused to smile knowingly at Angel. “Does he interest you, Cousin?”
Angel blushed. She could not withdraw her eyes from the young man. She responded with an element of vagueness in her tone. “The gentleman simply reminds me of someone I know.”
“A former beau?” her cousin teased.
Angel thought of her dream man. Of his dark hair with streaks of russet dancing in the sunlight. Of his onyx colored eyes. Of his broad shoulders and trim waist. It was all before her in the young man laugh
ing with his friends. Yet, something remained lacking. This was a boy, not the man who haunted her sleeping hours.
“No, nothing of the sort. Just someone I have admired all my life. My best friend really,” she murmured.
“Shush,” Elaine warned. “Lord Harry is coming this way.”
Within seconds, Harrison McLaughlin bowed over her cousin’s hand. “Lady Elaine. It is pleasant to have your acquaintance again. You and your family have long remained from Fordham Hall.”
Elaine curtsied. “My father’s health precludes such pleasures.”
McLaughlin nodded. “And your captain?”
“The last I heard from Captain Arlington, the gentleman was in health,” she acknowledged.
McLaughlin’s smile warmed the evening. “Might I beg an introduction to your friend?”
“Certainly. Lord Harrison, may I present my cousin, Miss Lovelace? Angelica, Lord Harrison McLaughlin.”
Angel noted the rise of his eyebrow. The gentleman had evidently heard of Lord Arden’s complaints.
“Miss Lovelace. A pleasure,” he said with a practiced roguish grin. “If you are not previously engaged, may I seek your company for the first set?”
“I would be honored, Lord Harrison.”
Angel smiled at the young man, but she felt nothing but disappointment when he accepted her hand in greeting. Lord Harrison possessed a handsome countenance—very much so, but he was not her dream man. With an internal shrug, Angel acknowledged the fact she would never know the excitement her dreams promised. At least, Lord Harrison appeared genial.
* * *
Elaine sipped tea while Angel dispensed with the last of her gentlemen callers. She wished it the other way around. She would prefer to be waiting upon that one special person in her life rather than “entertaining” a horde of potential mates. “Well, horde is probably not the correct word,” she told her foolish heart as she half listened to Lord Newsome describing another tale of hunting, this one of his lordship’s dog cornering a fox on a neighbor’s land the previous October. Angel considered fox hunts brutal, but she kept her opinions to herself. She had offended enough of the haut ton.
“Old Copper would not break the scent,” Newsome bragged. “He’s one fine fox hound.”
Angel forced a smile to her lips. “I am confident the dog proves himself repeatedly, my lord.” She stood to end the conversation. “I must beg your forgiveness, Lord Newsome. Lady Elaine and I have fittings scheduled this afternoon.”
The viscount followed her to his feet. “Certainly, Miss Lovelace.” He bowed to both her and Elaine. “May I request the pleasure of your company for a tour of the museum tomorrow? I understand you enjoy Reynolds’s works.”
Angel fought the deep sigh pushing at her heart. “It is kind of you to consider my preferences, my lord. I would be honored to share your company.”
Newsome reached for his gloves. “Shall we say two of the clock?”
“I shall anticipate our outing.” Angel motioned a footman forward, and the viscount followed the servant from the room. Hearing his footsteps fade, Angel turned to her cousin. “Tomorrow’s outing shall be the third time I have experienced Reynolds’s works since coming to London,” she grumbled. “At least, it is a display worth viewing more than once.”
* * *
“You thought the lady a shrew only two days prior.” Hunt laughed as his brother’s spirited story grew in volume.
Harry grabbed another hot bun from the plate. “Arden is full of sour grapes. The lady is a bit rough around the edges, but so is the finest diamond. I found Miss Lovelace nothing but delightful.”
“Careful, Harry. Another time in the lady’s presence, and you will be professing your devotion to the woman.” Hunt refolded the newspaper.
His brother grinned. “I am not prepared for a commitment, but if I were, Miss Lovelace would be a prized candidate for my attentions.”
“And you obtained all this from one encounter with the girl?” Hunt chuckled again. He wondered if he was ever so green.
“Actually, I danced with the lady twice and was among her party for the supper hour,” Harry announced.
Hunt swallowed his smirk. “I stand corrected.”
* * *
“Lucifer? That is your name, is it not?”
She faced the man who sat upon an ornate throne. Dressed in black, except for the white of his elaborately tied cravat, he offered an imposing image.
“Why would you say as such?” His deep voice caressed her soul.
She sat at his feet and rested her head upon his knee. “I have never known your name,” she said with a deep sigh. “It never seemed important, but now...”
He stroked her hair. “Most certainly you know my name. You have always known it,” he comforted. “You must only think upon it.”
“But I cannot recall it,” she protested. “Of late, I attempted to do so repeatedly.”
He lifted her chin with his fingertips. “It will come in time. Everything good in the world arrives with time.”
* * *
Angel permitted Lord Newsome to escort her through the Royal Academy, and although the man misidentified three of the portraits, she smiled indulgently at him.
“Would you accompany me to the opera this evening?” Newsome asked as he guided his gig through the London streets.
Angel knew she should accept, but she had all of his lordship’s attentions she could tolerate for one day. He was not a bad man, but he was not her Lucifer or whatever her dream man chose to call himself. Of late, all she wanted was to ask her father for a “retreat” to her homeland. She doubted she possessed the wherewithal to follow her mother’s wishes. “My family holds other obligations this evening, my lord. I fear I must decline.”
“Then will you permit us to drive out together on the morrow?”
Angel wished to scream “No!” but she said, “I would be honored, my lord.”
The image of her father’s worried brow and the knowledge of his declining health drove her response. She must succeed in London’s Society for her father to know peace, and so she agreed to the Devil’s compact.
* * *
Hunt joined the Earl of Remmington at White’s for supper. They learned long ago it was best if they kept their relationship open to prying eyes. As far as London’s Society knew Hunt and Levison Davids were long-time chums. Little did anyone know Sir Alexander Chandler had brought the two together in service upon the Continent.
Although they did not always move within the same social circle, Hunt held a great admiration for the earl. Lord Remmington proved to be a man of honor and of intelligence, and Hunt knew pride in claiming the earl’s loyalty. Moreover, Sir Alexander devoted his years after university to public service, and some five years prior, the Home Office had commissioned Sir Alexander to organize an elite group of “spies” to address the multiple changes swarming English shores, following the Napoleonic War. Sir Alexander had been Hunt’s constant companion at Cambridge, while Remmington was two years their elder. However, most people accepted the farce, which depicted Hunt, the baronet, and the earl as long-standing associates.
“Any news upon who set the men upon your family?” Remmington asked as they shared a meal.
Hunt shot a quick look about the room. No one appeared to give them a second glance. “Not even a harsh whisper. It makes little sense. Other than the possibility of Lord Newsome, there are no irate debtors. No jealous suitors seeking revenge. Not even a political enemy for the duke.” He paused as he made a second scan of the room. “I must assume the invasion of my privacy has something to do with my work with Chandler. Yet, what bears the issue, I cannot say with any certainty. That is the most damnable part of this madness. Evidently, I know something of import, but I cannot name my offense.”
Remmington topped off Hunt’s wine glass. “What do you plan to do?”
“My family will make its retreat to Devil’s Keep next week for the duchess’s annual house party. It will be interesting to
observe whether those following my every move in London will venture into Warwickshire. It will be more difficult for my so-called enemies to blend into the local village, where strangers are welcomed with suspicion. If these men follow, I will deal with them upon home ground.”
“And if they do not follow?” the earl asked in all seriousness.
Hunt’s eyes narrowed. “Then I will make my excuses to my family and return to London to confront the villains. With my family safe in Warwickshire, I am more inclined to risk an encounter.”
“What do you require of me?” Remmington whispered.
As a dangerous glint filled his friend’s silver-gray eyes, Hunt’s mouth tilted upward in a dry smile. “I think it is time my constant companion joins the Duchess of Devilfoard at her annual summer house party. It is a grievous oversight that you have not attended previously.”
Remmington grinned. “I thought it was my political stance, which kept me from Devilfoard’s door.”
Hunt turned to offer Lord Remmington a challenging smile. “I have heard the duke speak of your confounding position on several of my father’s prized bills.”
The earl attempted a look of innocence, but failed. “Devilfoard turns the most brilliant shade of purple when things do not go his way.”
“My father is accustomed to much latitude,” Hunt admitted before he spared another sweep of the room for anything unusual. “I would not mind some interference upon your part in a personal matter. Devilfoard has it in his mind I should marry Lord Sandahl’s daughter. I hold other thoughts, but as you well know from your dealings with my father in the House of Lords, the duke is not easily persuaded.”
Remmington shot Hunt a grim smile. “So I am to protect your arse from possible assailants, as well as from Lady Mathild and the duke. You hold great confidence in me, Malvern.”
An uneasy feeling crossed Hunt’s mind. “I have no one else I can trust, Remmington. In many ways, my life rests in your hands.”
* * *
The following day, Lord Harry’s appearance at afternoon tea surprised both Hunt and his mother. Hunt raised a curious eyebrow, but his younger brother shook off Hunt’s unspoken question. He watched with amusement as Harry sidled up beside their mother to place a gentle kiss upon the duchess’s still smooth cheek.
Daring Lords and Ladies Page 44