The notion of the two women conversing in the drawing room unsettled him. Frost should not have meddled in Dare’s affairs, but he silently admitted that Regan could be useful to him.
A discreet side glance revealed that the pity shimmering in Regan’s liquid blue eyes had faded. Good. He preferred the lady who wanted to skewer Charles for his misdeeds.
The Mordares’ butler, Maffy, rounded the corner and almost collided with them. “Good heavens, Lord Hugh! You gave me a fright.” Since the apron he was wearing seemed inappropriate attire when a guest was in the house, Maffy promptly began to untie the strings.
“Do not bother making a fuss, Maffy. Lady Regan is a friend, and our visit is informal in nature.” He rolled his eyes upward to the ceiling. “Is my mother still abed?”
The servant nodded wearily. “Yes, milord. Cook tried to tempt Her Grace with a tray laden with her favorites, but it was returned untouched. Lady Louise is visiting with her now.”
“Lady Louise?” Regan inquired politely.
“Louise is my niece,” Dare said as they strolled across the marble flooring of the front hall. “Maffy, you may return to your duties. Lady Regan and I shall pay our respects to my mother. Perhaps we can nudge her out of bed.” He paused, dreading the answer to his next question. “Where is Lady Pashley?”
“Here.”
The Marchioness of Pashley was elegantly poised at the top of the staircase. “You are late, Hugh,” she said, her gaze narrowing on Regan. “We were expecting you hours ago.”
“I had business that needed my attention,” Dare lied.
“Maffy, be so kind as to escort Lady Regan upstairs,” Allegra said, confirming that she had been eavesdropping from her lofty perch on the stairs. “I am certain Her Grace will welcome a fresh sympathetic ear while Hugh and I discuss private matters.”
It was just the type of imperial summons that usually chafed Dare. On the other hand, he was willing to endure the brief private meeting if his obedience would keep Regan away from Allegra.
* * *
The Duchess of Rhode told Maffy she was indeed receiving visitors when she learned that Regan had come to see her.
“Come closer, girl. Let me look at you,” Her Grace said, beckoning Regan to approach the tall bed.
It was an impressive throne of seventeen feet of cream-colored Mantua silk and crimson Chinese damask. Maffy had explained that the bed had been built for James II in the late 1660s, and was considered a prized possession in the Mordare family.
Regan reached the side of the bed and curtsied. “Good afternoon, Your Grace. I pray I am not intruding.”
“Little Regan,” the duchess said, taking both of Regan’s hands and giving them an affectionate squeeze before she released them. “Sit down … sit down. Oh, my, how you have grown! I believe the last time that I set my eyes on you, you were about our Louise’s age.” She clapped her hands to gain her granddaughter’s attention. “Louise, child, put down the book and greet our guest properly.”
Eleven-year-old Louise shut her book with all the enthusiasm of a condemned criminal. If one overlooked the sullen expression, she was a beautiful child. Wearing a white muslin dress with three scalloped flounces at the hem, Dare’s niece approached from the other side of the bed, her light blond ringlets bouncing merrily against rosy cheeks.
From her bed, the duchess took care of the introductions. “Louisa, Lady Regan is a friend of your uncle’s and Lord Chillingsworth’s sister. Lady Regan, this is my granddaughter, Lady Louise.”
Both Regan and Louise curtsied. When the girl glanced up, Regan was startled to see Dare’s blue-gray eyes set into her finely boned features.
“Why, you have your uncle’s eyes!” Regan blurted out.
The last time she had visited the Mordares’ town house, Lady Louise had been an infant, and much too sedate for an adventurous young girl.
“I have my father’s eyes,” Lady Louise corrected, glancing at her grandmother. “Is that not so, Grandmama?”
“Louise has inherited the Mordare eyes. They make an appearance at least once every generation.” The duchess sighed. “It is a pity that Allegra has not given us another grandchild. A grandson with my hazel eyes would be lovely.”
Lady Louise crossed in front of Regan and retrieved a pillow that had fallen onto the floor. “Papa says that Mama cannot produce his heir because she is barren.”
The duchess leaned forward so her granddaughter could add the pillow to the others. “Rubbish. Your mother is young and healthy. She will give Charles his heir.” She smiled affectionately at the girl. “There, there … you are so good to me, my sweet child. Why do you not take your book and read in the garden?”
Louise embraced the duchess. “Thank you, Grandmama!” The girl met Regan’s expectant gaze. She hesitated only long enough to dip into an abbreviated curtsy in Regan’s direction, retrieved her book, and dashed out of the bedchamber.
Once the door clicked shut, the duchess placed her palm on the bedding and leaned forward. “I would get my hazel-eyed grandchild if Charles would cease bedding his mistresses and spare some of his mettle for his poor wife. Why, just the other day, another one was pounding at the door demanding payment for the bastard in her belly!”
Slack-jawed, Regan dropped into the chair closest to the bed. She had a feeling that she was about to learn more about Dare’s family than he ever wanted anyone to know.
* * *
“So that is Lord Chillingsworth’s younger sister,” Allegra said, inviting Dare to join her on the settee. “I could hardly recognize her with her face freshly scrubbed and wearing a clean dress.”
Dare avoided the settee and sat down in one of the chairs. “Put your claws away, Allegra. Lady Regan does not deserve them.”
“I recall that she was always chasing after you and your friends.” Allegra brought her hand to her lips and softly laughed. “I believe your father told me that when she was a child, she wanted to be a member of your little club.”
“Enough. Allegra. Your jealousy is unattractive,” he said, trying to leash his temper.
Allegra’s lower lip quivered as she stared at him. “Why did you bring her with you?”
“Since Charles has the house in an uproar, and my mother has taken to her bed”—again was implied, but left unspoken—“I thought Lady Regan might be able to coax the duchess from her bedchamber.”
Dare’s explanation seemed to placate Allegra. With a breathy sigh, she said, “Your mother is the least of our problems.”
“Where is my father?”
Unshed tears filled his sister-in-law’s eyes. “Looking for Charles. My husband—he did not return home last evening.”
The tale was an old one, and Dare’s patience was being stretched beyond his endurance. “What set my brother off this time?”
Allegra shuddered delicately and rose from the cushion of the settee. “I have been remiss in my manners. Are you hungry? Should I ring Maffy? If you would rather have something to drink, I could have him bring you some brandy.”
Dare wondered if Regan was faring better with his mother. “I require nothing from you but answers.”
Flinching at his curtness, Allegra nodded. “Very well. A woman came to the house the other day. She demanded to see Charles, and when she was told that he was not at home, the woman asked for your father.”
“What did she want?”
“She would not speak to anyone but your father. When he came downstairs, the woman smoothed the fabric over her swollen belly and claimed that Charles was its sire.”
It was the one thing guaranteed to upset the entire household. His father had not hidden his concern about Charles and Allegra’s inability to produce the future Rhode heir. Allegra had suffered numerous miscarriages since Louise’s birth, with each pregnancy shorter than the last. To prove to the world that the fault lay with his barren wife, over the years Charles had impregnated several of his mistresses. Bastards were not heirs, but that did not prevent his brother fr
om spreading his seed throughout England.
Dare rubbed the tight muscles at the back of his neck. “What was my father’s response?”
Allegra retrieved the handkerchief she had tucked into the cuff of her sleeve. “Called the woman a liar and a whore.” She brought the embroidered linen up to her nose and delicately sniffed. “He sent her away, vowing to toss her in prison for trying to blackmail the family.”
Dare sensed that Allegra wanted comforting words from him. Unfortunately he had none to give her. “You and I both know that the poor woman was probably not lying about her relationship with Charles.”
“He promised!” Allegra said passionately. “He swore to his father that he was done with mistresses. That he—that he—”
Unable to finish, she collapsed at Dare’s feet, her tearstained face buried against his knee.
“Hugh, I do not know what to do,” Allegra cried, clutching the fabric of his trousers. “Charles is so furious. I am failing him, and the family.”
Dare thought he was impervious to Allegra’s tears, but her sobs seemed genuine. He touched her on the shoulder, causing her to cry even harder. As much as Dare hated to admit it, he pitied his sister-in-law. She had married the wrong brother, and both of them knew it.
* * *
“Should I apologize?”
Regan finished retying the ribbons of her bonnet and glanced at Dare. “For what exactly?”
When Dare had entered the duchess’s bedchamber thirty minutes later, Regan could almost smell the anger that crackled and popped around him as he kissed his mother.
Dare was not inclined to linger and listen to the duchess’s numerous complaints. With a curt farewell, he had firmly taken Regan by the arm and hurried her down the stairs. Once they were settled in the coach, he had lapsed into a thoughtful silence. Regan had been almost convinced that he had forgotten about her presence until he had deigned to speak to her.
“You seemed awfully friendly with my mother.” He hesitated. “I suppose that she told you about Charles.”
Regan was uncertain if Dare would be comfortable with the truth. She considered lying until she saw his expression. He was expecting her to lie to him, and that realization had made him furious.
“I know about Charles’s mistress … and the babe that she claims is his.”
“So my mother is as indiscreet as my brother.” Dare removed his hat as he cursed under his breath. “Fantastic!”
Regan glared at him. “I may be many things; however, I am not a gossip,” she informed him tartly. “Your family secrets are safe.”
Dare groaned and curled the fingers of his right hand around the nape of her neck. Regan stiffened; the brim of her bonnet was knocked askew as he pressed his forehead to hers.
“Forgive me.”
Regan would have nodded if she could have moved her head. “Wish you had ignored Lady Pashley’s summons?” she asked, his proximity making her light-headed.
He chuckled. “Frost was right to burn that damn note.” With a swift kiss to her forehead, he released her. Regan watched him as she straightened her bonnet.
Dare tapped his hat against the side of his knee. “It would not have mattered. My father would have eventually appeared at your brother’s door. In my family, all roads lead to Charles.”
“Because he is the heir?”
“In part,” Dare conceded; his expression was one of contemplation. “My brother has a knack for creating messes. He leaves it to the family to clean up after him.”
“What does Allegra expect you to do?”
Dare brushed his nose with his hand. “Everything … nothing. It doesn’t matter. Charles will not appreciate my interference.”
He lapsed into silence. After a few minutes, Dare said, “Allegra is barren.”
“I know,” she said, her confession drawing his full attention. “Louise told your mother.”
She had managed to surprise him. “How the devil does Louise know such a thing?”
Regan shrugged. “Apparently your brother told her. Your mother, on the other hand, vehemently disagrees. She suspects that if your brother would conserve his—uh—mettle, Lady Pashley would be able to produce his heir.”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” Dare exclaimed, clearly appalled by the conversation Regan had had with his mother. “I should have never involved you.”
“Nonsense,” Regan protested, annoyed that he thought she could not handle a frank discussion with the Duchess of Rhode. “I got along just fine with your mother.”
“Christ.”
Louise had not exactly warmed to her, but Regan sympathized. She recalled what it was like to be the only child in the house. “She has your eyes,” she mused aloud.
She had managed to startle him. “Who?”
“Louise. The blue-gray color is rather distinct.”
Dare’s gaze dropped to Regan’s hands before it slid away. “Not in my family. Mordare blue. The color surfaces in every generation.”
Neither Regan nor Dare spoke the rest of the drive back to the town house.
Chapter Ten
“What happened to our Thursday rule?” Dare asked in lieu of a greeting as he entered Nox’s private saloon, which the Lords of Vice used for billiards and other amusements. Frost was standing to the right of the table with one of Madame Venna’s girls. His friend had braced his hand and cue on her lovely round backside to position his shot. On the opposite side, Saint had his arm around the waist of a pretty red-headed wench. Hunter had an unknown blonde on his lap and was whispering something naughty in her ear, if her giggles were anything to go by, while her female companion watched.
Frost took his shot and gave Dare a disgruntled look. “When have any of us ever taken that rule seriously? Besides, this is not about our lovely companions, my friend.” Everyone was studiously ignoring the now drawn-out sighs coming from the sofa. “This is about billiards!”
“And a thousand guineas,” Saint added drily.
Dare poured himself a glass of brandy. “With bets like that, Frost will beggar you.”
“Oh, there are a few conditions,” Saint said, circling the table as he sized up his next maneuver. “First, our hands cannot touch the table.”
Which explains Madame V’s girls.
Even though Saint and Frost were unable to touch the table, their female companions were under no such restraint. Dare suspected his friends had come up with an amusing way to thwart the first rule.
“And second, the victor must trounce his opponent by more than five.” Saint patted his companion on the backside. “Now be a good girl, love, and admire those pretty ankles for me.”
The redhead sent a mischievous smile over her shoulder at Saint before she bent over and grabbed the front of her skirt for support. Saint shifted his stance, and placed his palm on the slender plane of her back as he positioned his cue.
“An inventive solution to your quandary, my friend,” Dare said, applauding the marquess’ ingenuity.
The blonde who had been watching Hunter dally with her friend sidled up to Dare, her gaze as intimate as a caress. “Ooo,” she cooed, sliding her hand up and down his arm. “Aren’t ye a fine one. It appears my luck ’as improved this evening.”
His hands instinctively reached for the woman as she plopped down into his lap. Dare gave Saint an exasperated look when he snickered at his friend’s awkward plight. He had not come to Nox for a willing woman, though there were plenty about the premises. After an afternoon of arguing with his father about Charles, he had craved an evening surrounded by his friends.
Dare closed his eyes as the blonde inspected his shoulders and upper arms. Thankfully he had not brought Regan with him this afternoon. He had had his hands full dealing with both his father and, later, his brother. There was no telling what mischief might have occurred if Allegra had pulled Regan aside and whispered in her ear. He had heard the unspoken question in Regan’s voice when she commented on the color of Louise’s eyes. It was not much of a leap for her
to conclude that he had sired the girl. Hell, there was a hellish moment in his life when he had wondered the same thing, when it amused Allegra to torment him with the possibility.
Dare leaned to the right and placed his brandy on the table. Once his hands were free, he gently stopped the woman from sliding her hands lower than his upper chest. “Not this evening, my sweet. You will have to look elsewhere if you want your luck to improve.”
“Oh, pooh!” the woman said, exhaling noisily as Dare helped her to her feet. She glared at Frost. “That is two guineas that I owe you.”
Frost grinned lecherously at the annoyed blonde. “Don’t fret. How I collect on the debt will leave us both satisfied.”
The seams of his black frock coat strained as Dare crossed his arms. “You know Madame V frowns on you fleecing her town petticoats, Frost.”
Madame Venna was the proprietress of the Golden Pearl. Proximity and mutual respect for the Lords of Vice had resulted in a profitable business arrangement for all of them.
“And you are dreadfully boring when you are inclined to lecture. Trust me, Dare. Hattie will not lose anything that she is willing to give freely,” Frost assured him, his gaze returning to the billiards table in front of him.
Dare took a sip of his brandy, noting that they were missing several members this evening. “Where are Sin and Vane?” Although no one would mistaken him for a monk, he usually counted on Vane to amuse the wenches whom Berus sent upstairs to entertain the Lords of Vice. With Sin and Reign now married, Nox’s saloon seemed to be overflowing in town petticoats. Even Frost had his limits.
Saint hooted at the satisfying sound of ivory balls colliding. “I suspect we will see Sin later after he has given his marchioness a proper evening on the town.”
“Vane is attending the Deightons’ ball,” Hunter volunteered from the sofa.
Dare sympathized with his absent friend. “His mother appears determined to marry the gent off this season.”
After Dark with a Scoundrel Page 7