The pit boss nodded his head and three large men surrounded Catherine and grabbed her arms. “There is no cheating going on here,” he said. “Take him outside.”
Catherine began to squirm violently in their grasps, despite the painful pressure they applied to her arms. “Let go of me, you brutes,” she yelled, looking to Freddy, who had gone awfully pale at this development. Clearly, he didn’t have the slightest clue what to do next. Catherine was about to protest again when a voice interceded.
“Marlowe, tell your men to let my nephew go.” At Deverill’s command, the three brutes freed Catherine so quickly, she lost her balance and had to steady herself against the green baize table. “He is new to London and not quite familiar with our ways. I’m sorry that he made a scene.” The crowd, amazed by this turn of events, averted their eyes under Deverill’s steady gaze. “However, he may have handled the situation poorly, but he made no mistake. I suggest you sack the dealer and watch over them all more carefully if you want to maintain a decent reputation.”
Having said this, Deverill turned on his heels and walked to the door. Catherine and Freddy followed. Once outside, Catherine got a good look at Deverill, who seemed very angry indeed, but he didn’t say anything until they were in his carriage. Catherine, mindful of the good turn he had just done them but equally horrified that he should discover her ruse, said in her deep baritone, “Thank you, sir, for your help. I am—”
“Not now, Catherine,” he said through clenched teeth. “Don’t say a word.” He turned on poor Freddy. “What were you thinking, you irresponsible pup, to bring your sister to a place like that?”
She leaned forward in her seat to defend her brother, using her regular voice now that the masquerade had ended. “Freddy had no choice,” she said. “I made him do it.”
“I said, not a word out of you.” He pinned her with his eyes and dared her to speak again. Catherine sank back.
“You are right, sir,” said Freddy. “It is my fault. I should not have given in no matter what argument she used. I have learned my lesson and will never do so again.”
Deverill, seemingly satisfied that Freddy had learned a lesson, laughed. “That’s all right, pup. I’ve known your sister for scarcely two weeks now, but I am quite familiar with her outrageous behavior. I daresay that I myself went to the British Museum under similar circumstances.”
They rest of the journey passed in silence because that seemed to be the way the Marquess of Deverill wanted it. Catherine, who had quickly overcome her embarrassment at being found out, tried several times to defend herself, but Deverill kept shushing her with word or deed until she finally gave up and stared sullenly out the window. London was not as glittering on the ride home.
When the carriage arrived at the Fellinghams’ London residence, Deverill requested a moment alone with Catherine. Freddy, not anticipating this, was unsure how to respond. He had already behaved improperly enough this evening and thought that their mother would certainly not approve of his leaving Catherine alone with a man like Deverill, suitor or not.
Catherine could tell what thoughts were running through her brother’s mind because they were quite well reflected on his face. She knew that he was debating how to handle the situation. He couldn’t very well just abandon her to Deverill’s devices, but at the same time, he was still very much intimidated by the fashionable older peer who had just rescued them from an ugly scene. “It’s all right, Freddy, I won’t be a minute. And Deverill here promises to be the perfect gentleman.”
Looking uncomfortable, Freddy stammered, “Of course you do, sir. Would never imagine you could be anything else. But perhaps I should stay. We have had a frightfully improper evening already, and I should hate for it to grow even more improper.”
“Very good,” said his sister, laughing, “you’ve done your duty as my brother. Your concern has been registered and duly noted. Now, please let me have a moment with Lord Deverill. I swear I won’t be a minute.”
Freddy hesitated for a moment more before giving Lord Deverill one final glance and climbing out of the conveyance. When he was gone, Catherine turned to Deverill. “Well, what is it?” she asked impatiently. “I imagine you want to take me to task for my improper behavior. Please, do make it quick. I don’t want to worry Freddy and he has already been through enough this evening.”
“And whose fault is that?” he asked haughtily with an accompanying eyebrow raise that Catherine imagined could intimidate all the young misses on the marriage mart. It did nothing for her.
“I expect you mean for me to say it is my fault.” She let out a bored sigh. “It is not. If that dealer hadn’t been cheating, I would have been in and out of there with no one any the wiser.” Seeing the look on his face, she added. “Of course, I am not saying that we aren’t appreciative of your help. Because we are. We are very thankful indeed that you were there to smooth matters over. I shudder to imagine what those brutes would have done to me and Freddy. Still, my behavior was circumspect.”
Deverill, whose expression previous to this announcement had been positively stormy, broke out into amused laughter. His countenance lightened, and Catherine thought she detected dimples in his cheeks. Why, he’s absolutely beautiful when he laughs, she realized, amazed that a man whose looks were already so close to perfection could improve so dramatically.
After a few moments, Deverill’s outburst ended and he contemplated Catherine in a detached sort of way that made her uncomfortable. “You’re extraordinary, Miss Fellingham.”
Miss Fellingham, who had never been called extraordinary in the whole of her four-and-twenty years, blushed becomingly and lowered her eyes. It wouldn’t do for a woman of her age to have her head turned by meaningless flattery. “Surely you exaggerate, Lord Deverill. I am extremely common. Indeed, there’s nothing remarkable about me.”
“Come, my dear, don’t be so modest,” he said, amusement still evident in his tone. “You are sitting alone with me in my carriage, disguised as a man, wearing a cravat that is tied in the most wondrous fashion, after an evening of playing faro in one of the worst gaming hells in London, which you were almost forcefully ejected from, claiming that your behavior is above reproach. You can’t really think that there is nothing remarkable about you.”
“Is there something wrong with my cravat?” she asked, looking down at the confection that she and Freddy had cobbled together. “What is wrong with my cravat?”
Deverill considered the starched white linen. “An invention of yours, I suppose. What do you call it? The Roman Ruin?”
Despite her ire, Catherine laughed at his witticism. “No, you wretch, it’s the Windblown.”
He smiled but seemed disinclined to linger over the light moment. “Regardless, your behavior tonight was unacceptable. Whatever were you thinking? And how could that hapless pup have agreed?”
“Leave Freddy out of this. I used all sorts of persuasion to get his consent and won’t have you criticizing him. Tonight’s work was all my doing,” she said, taking full responsibility for the debacle before reiterating that it wasn’t her fault. “If that oafish dealer hadn’t tried to cheat me, neither you nor anybody else would have ever known the truth.”
Deverill, who had been sitting across from her, took that moment to switch sides. The carriage swayed a little with the movement, and Catherine jumped in surprise. “You do me an injustice, my dear,” he said softly, taking her hands. “I recognized you the minute you walked in wearing that ridiculous costume.”
This intelligence so shocked Catherine that she gave up trying to devise a way to free her hands from his. “You lie, sir. My own brother did not recognize me and, several times more impressive, neither did my butler.”
Deverill shrugged. “Mayhap I know you better than your own brother.”
“Bah. I haven’t known you for even a month.” She withdrew her hands from his. “What gave me away? Was it the hair? I know this style is exceedingly out of fashion but still.…”
“I
don’t know what it was.” He examined her carefully. “Suffice to say, I simply knew it was you from the moment you walked in. There is a certain quality about you that gentlemen’s breeches and a poorly tied cravat cannot hide, and you were with Freddy. It was an easy enough conclusion to arrive at.”
“Leave off ridiculing my cravat,” she ordered.
Deverill did not laugh as Catherine intended. Instead, he grew serious and said, “Come, tell me now why you have behaved so foolishly.”
She didn’t like the change in his demeanor. She liked him best when he was in a teasing mood and found his somber expression unsettled her. “I’m afraid, my lord, that must remain my secret. I cannot feel right discussing personal business with you.”
“You shall, regardless of how personal it is,” he insisted. “I lent you my assistance tonight. You must agree that gives me the right to know.”
“Virtue is its own reward, not the receipt of information that does not concern one,” Catherine said. She wished he would return to his side of the carriage. Having him so close, with his hands very nearly touching hers again, was playing havoc with her thoughts.
Deverill looked extremely annoyed with her, and Catherine shuddered as she wondered what he might do. It was all very well and good to assure Freddy that she would be safe alone with him, but with that expression on his face, she wasn’t sure of anything. “Considering my involvement, it does concern me and we will sit here until you realize that.”
Catherine stared at him in amazement. “I cannot believe, my lord, that you don’t have more pressing business somewhere else.”
“Other business, certainly. More pressing?” He shook his head dismissively. “I assure you, Catherine, that there is nothing more important than this conversation.”
Her hackles up, Catherine folded her arms in front of her and stubbornly refused to confide. Several minutes into the standoff, she realized he would be true to his word and barked, “Fine. It is nothing significant, I assure you. Merely a trifle. I am dressed like this in the company of my brother because I wanted to learn how to play faro. There,” she said like a petulant child, “may I go now?”
“Not yet. I figured that much out for myself. Before you leave, you must first explain why you wanted to learn faro.” He leaned back against the cushion, seemingly content to wait as long as necessary.
Catherine considered the obstinate set of his chin and wondered how she could have ever thought him attractive. He was too stubborn to be handsome. “It seemed to me that if my future is tied up in faro the only sensible thing I could do—and I have behaved sensibly this evening, despite what you think—was become acquainted with the game.”
“Your father?” he asked gently.
She wasn’t surprised that he knew—amongst the ton, her father’s gaming debts were common knowledge—but she was still unwilling to discuss the matter with him. “Please do not concern yourself with it, Deverill. It is a trifle, I assure you.” She reached for the door, deciding it was time she left. The quarters in the carriage were a little too close for her peace of mind. She needed to get away from Deverill. “Now, if that is all, I shall be going.”
She went to open the latch, but Deverill forestalled her. With one hand he reached over and gently pulled her away from the door; with the other, he raised her chin until her eyes met his. In a husky voice she had never heard before, he whispered. “There’s one more thing.” Then he slowly lowered his lips to hers and kissed her gently.
Catherine, who saw him draw closer, couldn’t figure out what was happening until his lips made contact with hers. Then she got it. Then she quite understood. The kiss was gentle and sweet and everything that Catherine, having never kissed a man before, thought a kiss should be. She closed her eyes and leaned into Deverill, who wrapped his arms around her.
How long the kiss lasted, Catherine didn’t know. Time seemed to stop for a while, which she didn’t mind at all. It was only when Deverill growled softly and increased the pressure on her lips that she became aware of the impropriety of the situation and her own indifference to it. She pulled away immediately, horrified by her passionate response. She had in a matter of moments been quite thoroughly and entirely swept away by a tide of feeling.
“My lord Deverill,” she gasped, hoping the shock she felt would also cover her own culpability. “How dare you! And after assuring my brother that you would be the perfect gentleman.”
“I did nothing of the sort. In fact, it was you who assured him.” He grinned, unrepentant. “Let this stand as another example of your rash behavior.”
Catherine moved her mouth several times but nothing came out. She was too amazed by his impertinence. “M-my r-rash behavior,” she finally stammered. “Why, I want to—” She didn’t know what she wanted to do, but she balled up her fists and waved them at him just in case something came to mind. She couldn’t remember ever being this angry before, not even when she found out her mother was selling commissions in the king’s army. Catherine realized she needed to get a grip on herself if she wanted to make a dignified exit, so she closed her eyes and counted to ten slowly. When she opened them again, her heartbeat had slowed somewhat, but Deverill still had that satisfied grin on his face, which overturned all her good work. She got angry again. “Lord Deverill, your behavior has been reprehensible and if I never see you again it would be far, far too soon.” She put her hand on the door and opened it. The cool night air touched her face. “Good night and goodbye.”
He laughed and followed her out. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
Catherine groaned and tried to remember that she was a gently bred lady. “Thank you for your help tonight.”
“You’re welcome, of course, but I didn’t mean that,” he said as he walked her to the door. He rapped on it and seconds before Caruthers came to answer he said, “Our waltz at Almack’s tomorrow night. I am greatly looking forward to it.” With that he bowed and left, and she went inside, wondering how she would explain her bizarre outfit to the butler.
CHAPTER EIGHT
By the time Betsy came to help her dress for Almack’s the next day, Catherine had already been through a violent range of emotions and was so exhausted that the thought of going to the assembly rooms and seeing the marquess made her want to hide under the bedcovers for the rest of her life.
At first she had been angry. How dare he think he could treat her like that, like an insignificant bit o’ muslin! He was but a confirmed rake, for who else would mistreat her so? Harassing her physically had certainly not been in his original agreement with Lady Courtland. He was to court her and show interest in her, not try to seduce her. It was insupportable that her mother’s friend had made her vulnerable to evil machinations such as these. Despite her advanced age, she was an inexperienced miss and could not begin to fathom the feelings Deverill aroused in her. The kiss had made her angry, yes, but it also made her head light and her heart pound and her blood rush. She had never imagined in all her wildest daydreams that anything, let alone a kiss, could be so powerful. Yet as giddy as it had made her feel, it saddened her as well, for she knew the experience to be a rare, wonderful thing. What if she never felt this way again? What if Deverill was the only man who could make her experience these sensations?
The idea was too terrible to contemplate.
It was a good thing she knew of his compact with Lady Courtland. She could only imagine how deeply embroiled her heart would be now if she were in complete ignorance of his game. As it was, the organ was more than a little bruised.
I must put an end to this, she thought, and the very idea of doing so made her Friday-faced. No matter what careless chatter her mother directed at her during nuncheon, she could not reciprocate. Her manner was so lifeless, she reminded herself of Evelyn, a prospect so troubling she decided to remedy her situation immediately by finding a new beau.
She began by taking out a sheet of paper and listing men she had recently met along with their strong points. The first name she
wrote down was Lord Constantine. She recalled talking with him at Lady Georgina’s rout. Since he had made her laugh, she wrote “funny” next to his name. She tried to think of other characteristics about him that she admired but nothing came to mind save his eye-catching pink topcoat. Determined to be positive in her outlook, she added “shopping” next to his name and thought they could purchase pink clothes together, for wasn’t that what a happy marriage was made of: mutual interests?
Next on the list, she put Mr. Robert Radnor, a gentleman she had met while riding in Hyde Park with Pearson. He had even teeth, as she did—there, a point in common!—and freckles along the side of his nose. She tried to recall what they talked about but drew a blank, which was disappointing. Nevertheless, they shared excellent teeth and could no doubt form a strong bond over good dental hygiene.
She went on in this manner for forty-five minutes, and when she was finished, she had a long list of names but few genuine prospects. As nice as the men she had met of late were, few excited her interest or held her attention. In fact, all of them seemed fairly dull and faceless in comparison with Deverill.
But no! She could not compare them with Deverill. To make him the standard against which she measured other men would not be fair to them or to her.
Frustrated, Catherine tore up her list and started writing another one. She was determined this time to be more open-minded and less ridiculous.
And she wouldn’t think of Deverill one single time.
During the carriage ride to Almack’s, Catherine marveled at Evelyn’s high spirits. Her excitement over the prospect of Almack’s overcame her ill will toward her sister. She prattled on, discussing gloves, hats, shoes and ribbons, completely unconcerned by Catherine’s half-hearted replies.
As they pulled onto King Street, Catherine’s stomach did a flip at the thought of seeing Deverill again. He must not know, she thought, how much that kiss disturbed her. He was an accomplished flirt, and she would treat him as such by keeping the conversation light and trivial.
Miss Fellingham's Rebellion Page 13