Amy was burning with indignation as she made her way up the narrow stairs to her tiny bedroom. She clenched her reticule so hard that the beaded workings scored her fingers. To find that her relatives had such a dubious view of morality and one that did not in the least accord with her own was quite a shock. She thought them too worldly and no doubt they thought her a principled fool, but she knew she had to discover the true owner of the thirty thousand pounds. Since Richard seemed unlikely to help her, she would just have to do it herself. She would have to speak to Bertie Hallam and Humphrey Dainty and she would have to seek out the Duke of Fleet and Joss Tallant. She felt quite shaky at the thought, but she knew it had to be done.
Sitting down on her bed, Amy pressed her fingers to her aching temples and tried to think straight. She could hardly go to visit any of the gentlemen privately if she had a care for her own reputation. What she needed was a social event at which she might casually approach them all and sort the matter out with the minimum of fuss. She frowned. The difficulty was that they so seldom received invitations these days. Ton society had practically forgotten that they existed, for although Richard had the entree to any number of events, his mother and sister lived quite retired.
Amy lay down on the bed and closed her eyes. After a moment she sat up, placed the reticule beneath her pillow and lay down again. It was not that she did not trust her mother and brother precisely, but until she could speak to Mr Churchward she simply would not feel safe.
She remembered the single invitation card on the mantelpiece in the dining room. Lady Moon’s ball was in four days and Richard had already agreed to escort them. Assuming that the other gentlemen were present, she could speak with them and ascertain the identity of the mystery winner. Amy started to relax. Her headache receded a little. Yes, she could see a strategy now. Soon all would be well.
It was not the sound of someone creeping into her room to steal the reticule that roused Amy later that night, but a rather loud crash outside the house, followed by the sound of the front door opening, hushed voices and something being dragged across the floor. Amy climbed out of bed, lit her candle and trod silently to the top of the stair. Down in the hall, Richard was sitting on the floor, his head lolling against the wainscot, his face a pale, waxy green in the candlelight. Marten was kneeling beside him on the carpet and Joss Tallant was just closing the door.
‘You will never get him upstairs on your own,’ Amy heard him say. ‘It was all I could do to get him into the carriage. Let me give you a hand, man—’
‘Oh!’ Amy’s candle wavered and some hot wax fell on her hand, and the men in the hall looked up and saw her standing there. A look of dismay passed quickly over Marten’s normally impassive face, but Amy was focussing on Joss Tallant and saw that he looked thoroughly exasperated to see her.
‘Miss Bainbridge.’ He gave her a punctilious bow. ‘Might I suggest that you return to your bed, ma’am? There is nothing you need do here—’
Ignoring him completely, Amy ran down the stairs and knelt at Marten’s side. Richard groaned and rolled his head against the panelling but he did not open his eyes.
‘Marten, is my brother ill?’ Amy touched Richard’s forehead gently but recoiled at the cold sweat beneath her fingers. ‘Ugh! I believe he must be suffering an ague—’
‘Sir Richard is jug-bitten, miss,’ the valet said unhappily. ‘Nothing for you to worry about, as Lord Tallant says. If you would like to go back upstairs, I will take care of Sir Richard.’
Amy frowned. She got slowly to her feet, vaguely aware that Joss Tallant had helped her up with a somewhat weary chivalry. ‘Jug-bitten, Marten? You mean that he is drunk? But he must have taken far too much…he looks so ill! Does this happen often?’
She saw a hint of a smile touch Joss Tallant’s mouth and turned on him swiftly. ‘You need not look so superior, my lord! I am perfectly aware that gentlemen—’ she invested the word with a heavy sarcasm ‘—drink far too much sometimes, but this…’ she gestured to Richard’s prone form ‘…this is beyond anything! I had no notion…’
‘I will take Sir Richard upstairs,’ Marten murmured, suiting actions to words by slinging Richard over his shoulder as though he were a lightweight. ‘Thank you, my lord…’
Amy, belatedly realising that Joss Tallant must have brought Richard home, looked at him a little uncertainly. ‘I suppose that I should also thank you, my lord…’
Joss favoured her with a slight smile. ‘Pray do not if you find it sticks in your throat, Miss Bainbridge! Now, may I urge you to retire? It is past three.’
Glancing at the long-case clock, Amy realised that this was true. ‘I suppose that you were all drinking and gambling heavily tonight? You and Fleet and Humphrey Dainty—’
‘Do I seem foxed to you?’ Joss sounded irritated. ‘Miss Bainbridge, it is bad enough you blaming me for your brother’s gambling, but I will not take responsibility for his drinking as well! Why, I could have left him to the mercies of the Club servants, but instead I thought to bring him home. I almost wish that I had not bothered!’
Amy sighed. ‘Did Richard lose very heavily tonight, my lord? Generally he only drinks himself insensible when his losses are great…’
‘He did not lose to me,’ Joss said drily. ‘Any questions about tonight should be addressed to your brother, and not to me.’ He pulled on his gloves and moved towards the door. ‘Good night, Miss Bainbridge—’
‘Oh, but—’ Amy started forward, determined that he should not escape without telling her more of what had happened. ‘I want to talk to you—’
Joss turned and looked at her. His amber gaze, mocking now and not in the least deferential, drifted over her with thoughtful appraisal. His gaze lingered on her unbound hair like a caress, slid down the length of her whole body, pausing briefly on the curve of her breast beneath her nightgown, and came to rest on her bare feet.
‘Do you really?’ he said slowly.
Amy abruptly forgot what she had been about to ask him. She felt as though she was rooted to the spot, vulnerable and shockingly aware. Then there was a thud from above as Marten deposited Richard on his bed, and Amy jumped, blushed scarlet and glared at Joss.
‘You have very pretty feet,’ he said, with a grin. ‘Goodnight, Miss Bainbridge.’
Chapter Six
‘Oh, Amy, I am so glad we were able to come tonight!’ Amanda clasped her friend’s arm with all the excitement of a child. ‘It is years since I have been to Vauxhall. How prodigiously exciting it all is!’
They were strolling down one of Vauxhall’s gravel walks towards the central square, where they were to take supper in one of the boxes and to hear a concert of Mr Handel’s music. Amanda had professed herself disappointed that they had missed the jugglers and acrobats who had been performing the previous night, but Amy thought that the gardens, with their lamplit grottoes and groves, were exciting enough.
She smiled. ‘It all looks very pretty, does it not? I do not think that I have been here since the year Papa died…’
Her voice faded away and Amanda gave her arm a sympathetic squeeze. ‘Your mother seems to be enjoying herself,’ she whispered. ‘She is looking most animated.’
Amy watched with amusement as her mother nodded regally to one of her acquaintances in passing.
‘There is something of the stately dowager about her this evening,’ she agreed. ‘I do believe that now we are to go out into society, she feels she has regained her place in the world.’
‘And all because of your winnings,’ Amanda said, with a sly, teasing look. ‘I knew that you would come round to the idea of re-entering the ton—and of spending the money on yourself! You look very fine tonight. You see what I mean about clothes making the woman!’
Amy smiled and thanked her. She had no intention of telling Amanda that she still intended to find the rightful owner of the thirty thousand pounds. After all, there were aspects of what Amanda had said that she could not deny. She had spent some of the money on herself
—and she had enjoyed it. She liked her new clothes and liked even more the sensation of looking elegant. She cast a glance at Amanda, who was wearing a raspberry pink silk dress cut daringly low. Amanda was truly beautiful, Amy thought, with a little repressed sigh of envy. Her hair gleamed corn-gold and her blue eyes were bright with excitement, and all the gentlemen were staring. Amy knew that she would never stop the carriages in Hyde Park, but still, she was looking better than she had done for years and that gave her a confidence she had previously lacked.
Amy stroked the cream sarsnet gown, with its bodice of emerald green and matching cream scarf. The sleeves of the dress were slashed for the color to show though and she had a green velvet ribbon holding her curls in place. Amy had ruthlessly refused to have any of the blonde lace that her mother had insisted should adorn the dress. Now that she could finally choose exactly what she wanted, she had no intention of being dressed up like the Christmas capon.
The lace had not been the only area of disagreement when the sarsnet dress had been purchased. At first Amy had been loath to spend any of the lottery money, until Lady Bainbridge had stated, not unreasonably, that she could not go to ton events in one of her four-year-old gowns. In the end, Amy had reluctantly accompanied her mother and Amanda to Bond Street, where she had agreed to buy two evening gowns. She had utterly refused all the other underclothes, day dresses, evening dresses, slippers, hats and shawls that her mother had accumulated hopefully whilst she had been trying on the sarsnet dress. They had left Madame Louise’s shop somewhat out of sorts, with Lady Bainbridge muttering under her breath about Amy’s lack of family loyalty and misplaced principles. Amy had been obliged to treat her mother to an ice cream at Gunter’s in order to restore her spirits. So now the lottery money was already a little diminished but Amy was certain that Mr Churchward would be able to help her find enough to make good the loss when she came to hand the winnings over.
A gentleman passed them, ogling the girls through his quizzing-glass. Amy blushed and looked away. Amanda giggled.
‘It is Mr Quarles, Stanton’s heir. Do you remember him from your come-out, Amy? He seemed to admire you, as I recall!’
Amy shuddered. ‘I remember. He was very full of his own importance.’
The gentleman had turned for a second look.
‘And he still admires you,’ Amanda commented. ‘He is still watching you! No, don’t look!’
Amy tried not to turn and stare. For some reason, being told not to look made her itch to do so, even though she was indifferent to Mr Quarles’s admiration. In an effort to look the other way, she scanned the supper boxes in the nearest colonnade. And forgot about Mr Quarles entirely.
The Earl of Tallant was leaning against the balustrade of the nearest box. Behind him, a number of ladies and gentlemen were partaking of a chicken-and-ham supper and there was much laughter and banter coming from the group. Joss Tallant’s gaze met Amy’s and he bowed slightly, and Amy looked away, annoyed at having been caught staring. Then, utterly unable to resist this time, she glanced back. To her horror, the Earl had left the box and was walking towards them across the floor. Amy shrank back.
She had not seen the Earl since their most improper exchange in the hallway at Curzon Street at three in the morning, yet when she had been buying the cream sarsnet dress, Amy had found herself wondering whether Joss would admire her in it. The thought had made her very cross with herself, for the answer was almost certainly no. It was only her feet that had excited his admiration, after all, and he should never have seen them in the first place.
‘Lord Tallant is coming over!’ Amanda said excitedly and superfluously. ‘Oh, I wonder if the Duke of Fleet will join us? I am not sure who the others are in his party, except that I think the lady in green is his sister and I do believe that the lady in the frumpish purple gown is Lady Parrish.’ She leaned closer to Amy’s ear. ‘It is the most monstrous scandal, you know. Lord Parrish is the most terrible rake,’ Amanda whispered happily, ‘just like Fleet and Joss Tallant. I pity his poor bride! They have only been married two months!’
Amy’s gaze moved on to Lord Parrish. He was very dark and wicked-looking in a thoroughly piratical manner. No doubt the ladies were swooning for him.
She grimaced. ‘Thoroughly bad company!’
‘And good evening to you too, Miss Bainbridge!’
Exactly on cue, Joss Tallant came to a halt before them. Amy, realising that he had heard Amanda’s last remark and her own rejoinder, sought to efface herself behind a group of statuary. Joss bowed to Lady Bainbridge and Amanda, then took Amy’s hand in his, drawing her a little to one side. Hard as she tried, Amy could not avoid a glance down at her feet, clad tonight in delicate slippers to match her dress. Joss saw the glance and smiled.
The Duke of Fleet had come over now to speak with Amanda and his sister was exchanging polite commonplaces with Lady Bainbridge, who looked delighted to be noticed.
‘How pleasant to see you again, Miss Bainbridge,’ Joss Tallant said, in his lazy drawl. He relinquished her hand with studied slowness. ‘I appreciate that it must be a trial for you to acknowledge such dangerous acquaintances as myself and Fleet, and I admire your fortitude!’
‘I do not believe that there is any likelihood of my being overset by the experience, my lord,’ Amy said coolly. ‘We will not be keeping you from your party for long, I am sure.’
Joss smiled faintly. ‘If you wished to keep me from my companions I should be delighted, Miss Bainbridge! They are at daggers’ drawn and it is most tiring! May I tempt you to a stroll down the Dark Walk instead?’
Amy gave him a very straight look. ‘No, my lord, you may not.’
‘A pity.’ Joss’s speculative expression made her face burn. He considered the cream-coloured gown and ribbons, and put out one gloved hand to touch the matching scarf lightly.
‘You look very pretty tonight, Miss Bainbridge. And I believe I must congratulate you—I have heard rumours that you have come into a fortune.’
Amy flicked the scarf out of his fingers. Despite the lightness of his words there was a very different expression in his eyes. It looked oddly like anger—or disappointment—and the set of his mouth was grim for a moment. Then he saw her watching him and relaxed.
‘It is only a temporary fortune,’ she said swiftly, wondering as she spoke why on earth she felt the need to justify herself to him. It was strange, but with Joss she always seemed to say more than she intended. Perhaps it was because he made her self-conscious and so she chattered to cover her discomfort. Whatever the cause, there was an uncomfortable awareness fizzing through her blood.
‘A temporary fortune?’ Joss raised his brows. ‘How original! Does it turn to dust and ashes at midnight?’
‘Pray do not be ridiculous, sir,’ Amy said, trying not to laugh. ‘The fortune itself is not temporary, merely my tenure of it! I am looking after it for someone…’
She stopped, wishing that she had said nothing. This was awkward, for although she knew she might have to speak to Joss about the ownership of the lottery money at some point, this was hardly the time or place to eliminate him from her enquiries.
‘And you have been spending some of it for them, by the looks of things,’ Joss said drily, his gaze skimming her gown again. ‘Indeed, how could you resist?’
Amy frowned a little. Given her previous misgivings about spending the money, this touched a nerve. ‘I do not know what business it is of yours,’ she said, a little sharply.
Joss took her hand again and held on when she tried to pull it from his grip. ‘I beg your pardon. It is none of my business indeed. Indulge my curiosity, Miss Bainbridge…Why did you purchase a beautiful new outfit and yet wear it with darned gloves?’
His thumb was smoothing the top of her glove as he spoke, the soft, repeated caress sending a tingle through her blood. Amy’s eyes jerked up to meet his, then she broke the contact equally swiftly. She felt very hot and bothered for such a cool evening.
‘They are only
tiny darns. I could not discard a pair of gloves for so trivial a reason—’
‘But you could have bought new ones—’
‘Extravagance!’ Amy said. ‘As I told you, the money is not mine.’ She would have sounded like Lady Bainbridge deploring wastefulness were it not for the fact that Joss’s touch was undermining her composure and her voice came out with a husky edge. She knew he had heard it too; she saw his gaze sharpen on her with all the predatory intent of a man who knew exactly the effect he could have on a woman. Their eyes locked, his bright and hard with an emotion that took her breath. Amy gave a little gasp as a shiver went through her. He felt it; she saw a slight smile touch his mouth as he held her gaze very deliberately with his.
‘Amy!’ Lady Bainbridge’s fluting tones brought her straight out of the dream. ‘Here is Mr Quarles asking to escort you to supper. Excuse me, my lord…’ She looked at Joss meaningfully, evidently hoping he would take himself off and leave the field clear for a genuine suitor.
Joss released Amy’s hand gently. ‘Then I shall relinquish you, Miss Bainbridge, but I shall hope to see you again soon.’
He gave her a bow, acknowledged the hovering Mr Quarles with the very slightest inclination of the head, and fell into step beside Fleet as they strolled back to their box. Amy let her breath out on a long sigh as she felt her body relax slightly. The blood was still singing through her veins and she felt shaken.
‘What a shame that the gentlemen are already engaged for supper,’ Lady Bainbridge said, clearly torn between enjoying the exalted company and disapproving of the gentlemen’s reputations. Quarles offered Amy his arm as they moved off to find their own box.
‘I do not believe that you should cultivate the company of such gentlemen, madam,’ he said, in the querulous, reedy voice that Amy remembered. ‘Tallant has an unsavoury reputation and Fleet is little better. Sadly unsteady, ma’am, sadly unsteady!’
Lady Bainbridge looked crushed and Amy thought that she heard Richard smother a guffaw. No doubt Mr Quarles was correct and she should prefer his steady presence to the more mercurial charm of the Earl of Tallant. Unfortunately, some perverse part of her, the part that could still feel the echo of Joss’s touch, persisted in thinking that the Earl was more exciting company. Not that that meant she would seek him out. Indeed, that would be a very foolish course. Joss was experienced and she was not, and Amy’s common sense told her that his attentions to her could have no real substance. It was a sophisticated game of flirtation that she had no intention of playing.
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