Let Sleeping Rogues Lie

by Sabrina Jeffries

  He slipped into the hall, then nearly tripped over a man sitting in the middle. It was his friend Dr. Roget, whose project of grouping words by their types absorbed his every hour these days. Anthony tried to sneak past, but no such luck.

  “Norcourt!” Roget said, the words slurred from inhaling the contents of the silk bag he held. “Didn’t know you were here.”

  “I’m not. You’re dreaming this.”

  “Ahh,” Roget answered, as if that explained everything. “Quite right.”

  As Anthony hurried off, he heard Roget mutter, “Don’t know why I had to dream about Norcourt. Much rather dream about some pretty filly.”

  Though Anthony doubted that Roget would remember the incident later, it served as a warning to him to be careful. And it left a bad taste in his mouth for other reasons that became apparent the moment he got a good view of the first room filled with guests.

  Usually by this time Anthony was well intoxicated himself. Unlike some, his experience of the gas tended to be mild and benign—a pleasant sense of well-being, some laughing, and thoughts that seemed brilliant until he came to his senses later. Still, it did distort his perceptions, so that he viewed the party through the same rosy lens as everyone else.

  The rosy lens was gone now, and for reasons he couldn’t quite fathom, it left him staring at a scene he found utterly unnerving. The laughter bore an unnatural quality, and the sight of so many intelligent gentlemen—and ladies—comporting themselves like fools made him wonder how he appeared when he indulged. Did he giggle idiotically like that man over there, whom he knew to be a well-respected barrister? Or twitch his legs, like the prominent headmaster in the corner?

  After a week teaching schoolgirls, Anthony found the headmaster’s behavior particularly disturbing. What if the man’s students were to see him acting like a fool? How much harder would it be for them to listen when their headmaster cautioned them against the ills of society?

  To his horror, he caught himself wanting to stride over and lecture the man on responsibility, something he’d never wanted to do in his entire life. Perhaps Stoneville was right. Perhaps he had turned into a prig.

  That was absurd. He was plotting Madeline’s seduction, wasn’t he? That wasn’t the behavior of a prig.

  Yet he couldn’t shake his uneasiness as he skirted the party looking for her and Stoneville. When he found them, he was relieved to see his friend soberly escorting her about the room. She was safe.

  Unexpectedly, he felt a desperate wish to join her. They would laugh at the others together, then leave before the nitrous oxide could taint them.

  He resisted the fanciful impulse, and not only because she’d be angry at him for cutting short her period of observation. He resisted it because it demonstrated just how thoroughly he craved her.

  And that would not do.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Dear Cousin,

  Lord Norcourt behaved more admirably than expected at Mr. Godwin’s. Although Lady Tarley took him off with her, he rebuffed her entirely, judging from her annoyance when she rejoined the group alone. I questioned Miss Prescott, who said she’d never seen them together. He returned a while later, which supported her assertion. And why would she lie, anyway? She’s as suspicious of the man as I am.

  Your anxious relation,

  Charlotte

  The party had been going on for two hours, and Madeline began to despair of ever finding Sir Humphry. He must be here somewhere—the few names she had managed to learn belonged either to his friends or members of the Royal Society.

  Clearly this wasn’t the first time most had attended such an event. As if it were their everyday practice, they took their silk bags off the trays and sucked the wooden mouthpieces with cool aplomb. Most sat in chairs or reclined on the many cushions strewn about. Early on, Lord Stoneville had explained that the gas could make one insensible of one’s body, so the safest way to inhale it was while seated.

  She’d read Sir Humphry’s book and the different accounts his friends had given of their experiences with nitrous oxide, but that still hadn’t prepared her for the wide variety of reactions. Some guests lapsed into a near swoon, their faces spread in beatific smiles. Others seemed unable to stop laughing. A few even danced, capering into walls. It was like observing a madhouse peopled with well-dressed gentry.

  The few females present appeared to be wives of other guests, but their experiences seemed no different from the men’s. One lapsed into a fit of giggles. Another exclaimed about the “music, the glorious music.”

  Normally, Madeline would be rapidly scribbling notes, asking questions, recording what she witnessed. But scientific observation wasn’t her aim tonight.

  Unfortunately, Lord Stoneville was making it very difficult for her to achieve her aim. He hadn’t left her side after fetching her from the kitchen. Worse yet, he’d taken very seriously Anthony’s admonition not to introduce her to anyone, and the rules of society meant that people couldn’t introduce themselves.

  Under normal circumstances, anyone curious about her would simply beg an introduction from the marquess, but the guests were too single-minded in their desire to imbibe the gas to pay her much mind. And if anyone did venture near, Lord Stoneville’s frigid manner put them off.

  By now they probably assumed she was his paramour. She didn’t really care, since the likelihood of her seeing these people again was remote. But she did care that she hadn’t reached her goal.

  So she took a different tack. If she couldn’t meet the guests, she could at least find out who they were. Then, once she discovered Sir Humphry, she would introduce herself, society’s rules be damned.

  She began questioning the marquess about the guests, careful not to sound too nosy. Since she had to intersperse her queries with polite conversation, it was a painfully slow process. It took another half an hour to identify only six men.

  “That fellow looks interesting,” Madeline said casually to her too-attentive escort. “Is he a good friend of yours?” She nodded toward a gray-haired fellow who could be Sir Humphry’s age. Soberly dressed, the man with the pointed chin and full lips was sprawled on a settee, where he kept up a conversation with a thin, red-faced gentleman between shallow puffs from their silk nitrous oxide bags.

  “I know him well enough.”

  Drat it, why wouldn’t he give her a name? “Is he famous?” she said in a breathy voice meant to sound like that of a typical provincial visitor to London. “Would I have heard of him?”

  Lord Stoneville cast her a searching glance. “Perhaps. That is Mr. Coleridge and his friend Sir Josiah Wedgwood. As a woman of learning, you might have heard of Mr. Coleridge—he writes poetry. And Sir Josiah—”

  “Is a potter. Yes, I know.” Although they’d participated in Sir Humphry’s initial experiments, they could hardly help her with Papa’s problem. The opinions of a poet and a potter wouldn’t sway Sir Randolph and the vicar.

  “Shall I introduce you?” Lord Stoneville asked.

  Her gaze shot to him, the unexpected question making her wary. Why offer to introduce these particular men and why now?

  The marquess was clearly up to something. She’d best proceed with caution. “Lord Norcourt thinks meeting people would be dangerous for my reputation.”

  “Ah, there is that. Norcourt doesn’t want the parson to hear any gossip. Wouldn’t want your husband finding out how exciting your trip really was.”

  “Exactly. My cousin knows Mr. Brayham wouldn’t approve.”

  They wandered into a smaller room, where the light was so dim that some guests had nodded off. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw someone pass a nearby doorway, but when she glanced over, he—or she—was gone.

  It was probably a footman. They were everywhere, waiting to replace the guests’ empty bags.

  “Your poor husband,” Lord Stoneville said as they strolled the room. “He must hate being left alone in—Where did you say you were from?”

  “I didn’t say.”
/>   “Oh yes, I forgot—it was Norcourt who said you hail from Kent,” Stoneville remarked in a deceptively casual tone.

  She tensed. She didn’t know what Anthony had told his friend, but she doubted he’d have invented something so specific. “I can’t imagine why he would say that. He knows perfectly well where I live.”

  Lord Stoneville searched her face. “I must have misunderstood.”

  She forced a smile. “You must have.”

  “Or perhaps I simply forgot what he told me. He brings so many beautiful women into our circle, you know. It’s hard to keep them straight.”

  Though her heart raced madly, she fixed him with a cold glance. “I’m sure that’s true. But I’m his cousin, not one of those women. That should make it easy.”

  “Oh, don’t worry, Mrs. Brayham. I shan’t forget you for quite some time.”

  What did that mean? Did Lord Stoneville even believe Anthony’s story? She began to think he might not.

  Shifting her gaze to the reclining guests, she said casually, “I notice you aren’t partaking of the gas yourself. I should hate to think that squiring me around is preventing you from enjoying your party.”

  “Hardly. Your presence is intoxicating enough to satisfy me.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Spare me your flatteries, sir. I’m no green girl.”

  “Odd, then, that Norcourt thinks he must protect you from everyone.”

  “He’s only behaving like a cousin.”

  “A kissing cousin, perhaps.”

  Her blood slowed to sludge in her veins. She leveled him with a chastening glance. “Why on earth would you say such a thing about a parson’s wife?”

  The marquess looked decidedly unrepentant. “Because I’ve never seen Norcourt want to throttle me just for flirting with a woman. It smacks of jealousy, and one isn’t generally jealous of one’s cousin, is one?”

  She fought to keep her voice even. “He’s protective, that’s all.”

  “Yet he brought you to a nitrous oxide party and left you to me.”

  “Because I begged him to.”

  “And he complied, even though he has sworn off such things. Even though he refuses to attend himself. Very strange behavior, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Not at all. He’s merely trying to please me.”

  “I’m sure he is. But no one tries that hard to please a relation, and certainly not Norcourt. He’s behaving like a man being forced to a woman’s will.”

  The comment hit too close to comfort. “Pray tell me, how on earth would I force a man of Lord Norcourt’s position to my will?”

  “I haven’t yet figured that out. But I would guess it has something to do with his determination to have you in his bed.”

  She released his arm, the sudden clamor in her chest making it hard for her to breathe. “For shame, sir,” she said, trying to sound outraged instead of defensive. “I know such shocking talk is de rigueur in your circles, but I shan’t tolerate it.”

  His expression was as stony as his name. “Nicely done, madam.” He leaned close. “You almost sound like a parson’s wife. Just not enough to convince me.”

  “I was unaware that I had to convince you of anything. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d prefer the company of complete strangers to that of a man who apparently thinks me a deceiver.” With that, she walked away, hoping that her affronted mien would keep him from following.

  It was a foolish hope. As she picked her way through the murmuring, half-slumbering guests lying or sitting on the floor, the marquess followed her at a leisurely pace. “Does Norcourt know that you’re looking for someone here?”

  Her heart skipped a beat.

  “I’ve been watching you all night. You scan every face, take note of every name spoken. And your questions aren’t those of a disinterested observer.”

  “I know no one in this area,” she said, fighting for calm. “Who could I possibly be looking for?”

  “It’s just a theory.”

  “A ridiculous theory.” And if she didn’t squelch it, she would get no more information out of him. “Why don’t you talk to your chemist? He’ll tell you how many questions I asked him about the properties of nitrous oxide.”

  “Yet you’ve shown no interest in trying it yourself.”

  She blinked. “What?”

  “The nitrous. You have yet to ask for a bag.”

  “Neither have you.”

  His black devil’s eyes glittered. “I’m the host. I must keep my wits about me. But you’ve no need to do so. And I would think your keen interest in scientific matters would make you eager to inhale some.”

  The truth was, she’d inhaled nitrous oxide years ago under the careful supervision of her father, who’d always been willing to further her store of knowledge. The effects had been minimal. But she could hardly tell Lord Stoneville that, because it would unleash a whole slew of questions about who she was. Nitrous oxide wasn’t that easy to come by, after all.

  “I can witness its effects in your guests,” she hedged. “I don’t need to experience them for myself.”

  “But it does seem a shame for you to go to so much trouble to attend a nitrous oxide party and then not have the main experience. Wouldn’t you say?”

  He had a point, and the more she denied him, the more suspicious he would become. She had to allay his suspicions before he voiced them to Anthony.

  Perhaps she should inhale some. Given her experience last time, it shouldn’t cause any harm. And since the effects were notoriously short in duration, a few puffs should satisfy him. Indeed, if she pretended to be under the influence longer than she was, she might question him about the guests with impunity.

  And this time she’d ask about Sir Humphry. “You’re right.” She smiled sweetly at her tormentor. “I really should try it if I’m to form any reasonable opinion. But only if you try it with me.” Yes, that would be even better. Then he might not remember her questions at all.

  The smile playing about his lips was decidedly unnerving. “Very well.” He offered her his arm. “Let’s go to the library. Nitrous tends to amplify sounds—it can be uncomfortable in too noisy a room.”

  True, but his reason for wanting to go to the library probably had more to do with privacy than noise. And given her own aims, privacy might be wise for her as well. She didn’t need anyone overhearing her questions about his friends.

  She tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow. “Lead on, sir.”

  Lord Stoneville snagged two bags as they passed a footman. Moments later, they left the crowded drawing room to head down a long gallery. When they reached the end, he ushered her into a dimly lit room lined with bookcases.

  He started to close the door, but she said firmly, “No, leave it open. I’m a married woman, remember?”

  Though annoyance flicked in his eyes, he shrugged and led her to a couch. After they were seated, he handed her a bag, then took the stopper off, holding his finger over the opening. “Start with a few shallow puffs to get yourself used to it.”

  She did, making sure he put his bag to his lips as well. Like last time, she felt nothing, no strange visions, none of the “thrill” to the “extremities” that Sir Humphry had described in his book. She might have been disappointed…if not for the fact that she needed to keep her mind clear.

  “Well?” he asked after her fourth small puff.

  “It’s interesting,” she said evasively.

  “Interesting? Try it again.”

  She put the mouthpiece to her lips. Without warning, he squeezed the bag, forcing her to inhale a larger amount.

  “Now tell me what you think.”

  “I…I think it’s fine.” The word ended on a giggle. That was most strange.

  She glanced over to see how he reacted to the gas, but he wasn’t taking in any nitrous. Or she didn’t think he was. It was hard to think when a strange warmth was spreading through her limbs, down her belly, into her mons, which felt hot, very hot. Her chest seemed to expand, grow heavy,
as if filling up with the gas.

  Wait, was she still breathing it in? She hadn’t meant to. Had she?

  White spots appeared before her eyes, beautiful, glorious white spots. They danced like little fairies, making her giggle.

  Then the white spots formed a face, which loomed closer. “Tell me, Mrs. Brayham,” Lord Stoneville asked, “are you really married to a parson?”

  A parson! She laughed. Why would she marry a parson? They were dull fellows, who often disapproved of science. “I…I don’t recall. But I don’t think so.” Was she supposed to say that aloud? It seemed wrong somehow.

  The looming face smiled broadly. “His cousin, eh? You’re Norcourt’s new mistress. I knew he couldn’t keep up his façade. He’s a rakehell to the bone.”

  “Oh, yes,” she agreed, thinking of how Anthony had made her feel in the garden pavilion. It was rather like she felt now—warm and tingly. Very, very warm and tingly. Although she didn’t like that her head tingled. That was odd.

  She splayed her free hand through her curls in an attempt to stop the tingling, but that only dislodged her pins, making her hair tumble down. “Oops!” She giggled, and then, fascinated by the sound of it, giggled again.

  “All that rot he spun me about preserving your reputation,” Lord Stoneville said. “You probably wheedled this party out of him by promising to do something naughty.”

  “No. No-o-o-o.” The long, low sound of the drawn-out word fascinated her, so she kept repeating it. “No no no no. No thing naughty. No thing. Nothing.” Why, no thing and nothing were the same words. What an important realization!

  Apparently its huge significance didn’t occur to her new friend. “Nothing naughty, eh?” he murmured. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”

  When had he moved up next to her?

  “And why did you persuade Norcourt to give you this party in the first place?” Lord Stoneville continued. “Who are you looking for? Who are you using him to get to?”

  She was looking for someone, wasn’t she? “The chemist!” she said cheerily. No, the chemist had a name. Hummy? Sir Humph? Didn’t seem quite right.