That thought made her smile even broader.
HARRIS WAS FURIOUS. MARKLAND WAS STILL HOVERING over Miss Rastmoor, fawning as if he’d never seen a female before. Miss Rastmoor was grinning ear to ear, as if she’d never received hollow flattery from a man before. Damn, but why did she have to look so blasted lovely tonight? Had she expected to run across the man here?
It was all he could do to keep his mind on the dance. He forced himself to pay attention to Miss Bradley and her thinly veiled inquisition as they danced up and down the row of happy revelers. His smile was far from sincere, but he hoped it was enough to fool anyone around them who might be noticing.
“So, Lord Harry, I’ve heard nothing of a wedding date yet,” Miss Bradley was saying. “Can we expect this to be a long engagement?”
He’d give her credit for choosing her words carefully, yet he wished she’d rather chosen none at all. They were hardly the only couple out here on the dance floor, despite the fact that he felt very alone. What if someone should hear her and realize the engagement was a sham? He was not prepared for that; not yet. Miss Rastmoor would be damaged by the scandal that would result, and he would lose his tenuous connection there.
Although, he had to admit playing along with this charade had not exactly been helpful to him so far. Aside from Rastmoor’s extravagant gift, Harris had gotten little out of it. That, however, was mostly due to his own lack of action. He’d been too cautious thus far. All that would change tonight. Just as soon as he could escape this interrogation and get Miss Rastmoor alone.
If he could get her alone. Another quick glance in her direction showed her laughing with that damned Markland, enjoying his company as if they’d been old friends. Perhaps that was her motive for sending Harris out here to be closely examined by her best inquisitor. And just where was the little hussy’s mother during all this? By God, he needed to get away from his promenading auditor and get back to Penelope simply to keep the chit out of trouble.
But trouble seemed a welcome delight for Miss Rastmoor. What was she doing now? Leaning in toward Markland to allow the man a more careful look at her scarab! And everything in its general vicinity. Good God, she might as well be disrobing and throwing herself at the man’s feet.
Harris practically tripped over the woman to his left and got a stern warning to watch himself from the lady’s thick-browed partner. He mumbled an apology and made a halfhearted attempt to keep up with the steps, but his attention was still fully on Miss Rastmoor and her shocking display.
“Who is that gentleman with Miss Rastmoor?” Miss Bradley asked, noticing it herself.
“Markland. George Markland.” At least that would be the man’s name until Harris deposited his body in the Thames.
“Ah, so that is Miss Rastmoor’s rescuer,” Miss Bradley said with a too-knowing smile. “He is even more dashing than her earlier description of him.”
“She described him as dashing?”
Miss Bradley wrinkled her nose and considered this. “Or was it attractive? I cannot be quite sure. Perhaps she used both words.”
“Dashing and attractive?”
“And she would be right on both counts, of course. Mr. Markland is quite dashing and attractive. How fortunate that he was nearby to assist her while you were…now, let’s see. What is it you were doing while she was very nearly killed today?”
The final steps of the dance were completed as the musicians finished the song with a rousing chord. Harris missed all of it, fumbling over his own feet and trying not to let his anger show. How dare this Miss Nobody-Bradley accuse him of endangering Miss Rastmoor!
“Although the ordeal might have been frightening for Miss Rastmoor,” he said sharply when he should have been bowing politely and complimenting his partner, “I can assure you, at no time was she truly in any grave danger.”
“Because Mr. Markland was there,” Miss Bradley finished for him, then had the nerve to continue without allowing him chance for rebuttal. “Come, Lord Harry. I should very much like to meet this Mr. Markland. Is he here alone, do you suppose, or does he attend with friends?”
“How do I know who he bloody travels with?” Harris grumbled.
Miss Bradley actually tsk-tsked at his bad language.
But at least the dance was over. He offered his snippy partner his arm and led her through the throng—he could have sworn people were standing in his way on purpose—toward where Miss Rastmoor still entertained a very smiling Markland. Harris had hopes of remedying that quickly.
He was not encouraged when his fiancée gave a bright smile as he and Miss Bradley joined her and the rotted Markland. Harris recognized feigned innocence when he saw it. Miss Rastmoor pretended to smile and be happy to see them, but he knew she was not. She was covering her guilt, hiding the fact that she’d rather have been left alone with her dashing and attractive new hero.
“Why, Lord Harry, look who it is,” she said, as if he did not have eyes in his head to notice the blackguard standing—no, leering—over her.
“Markland. How pleasant.”
“Good evening, Chesterton,”
It was obvious Markland was as glad to see him as he was. The would-be rescuer glared daggers at him, so Harris glared right back. One tiny hint of instigation was all he needed and he’d plant that scoundrel a facer that would rearrange his nose. His own mother wouldn’t recognize him afterward.
Oh yes, he’d forgotten. Being motherless was just one of the things he and Markland had in common.
Chapter Eleven
“Your dancing was divine,” Miss Rastmoor was saying, gushing over her friend in some big show for Markland.
Harris found it more than distasteful. Had the girl completely forgotten she was supposed to be his fiancée? She’d not had one word of encouragement for his own dancing abilities, yet now she went on and on about her friend’s. True, Harris hadn’t exactly set the pattern for all other dancers to aspire to; still the girl ought to realize how ignoring him might appear. It might make it appear her devotion to him was not complete; that she might still be interested in attentions from other gentlemen. From Markland, for instance.
Well, he would not have that. As long as he was supposed to be her fiancé, she would not be allowed to continue this way. It was high time he stop lounging about and take control of things. He had a task to complete and he was determined to do it. Now.
“Miss Bradley is indeed a most excellent dancer,” he said, interrupting Miss Rastmoor’s gushing. “In fact, now that you’ve done such a fine job of introducing her to Mr. Markland—and informing her of the man’s many admirable points—perhaps she would very much like to dance with him?”
Markland did a fair job of hiding his disinclination for this. Miss Bradley blushed, and the gentleman made her a courtly bow. The ass.
“Miss Bradley, that is a marvelous notion. Would you please step up to dance with me?” Markland asked. His cultured and gracious tone was clearly due to years of training by his stiff-rumped family and certainly not to his willingness to leave Miss Rastmoor.
Miss Bradley, it seemed, was of a mind to accept, and soon they were off to the dance. At last Harris was left alone with Miss Rastmoor. He, however, was not of a mind to enjoy it.
“What was all that about, dangling after the man like a moonstruck puppy?” he asked.
She blinked those huge eyes at him. “What?”
“Don’t play innocent for me. I saw you letting Markland paw all over you.”
“He was looking at my scarab,” she said, a defiant little tilt to her jaw and her eyes suddenly blazing.
“He was looking at more than just your scarab, and you liked it!”
“How dare you! He was asking after my necklace so I was showing it to him. Apparently the man is a lover of Egyptology.”
“Oh, he’d like to be a lover, I’m sure.”
“He was a perfect gentleman; there’s no need for you to go pretending to be jealous. Besides, as you can see, he’s rather interested
in Miss Bradley.”
He glanced out at the dancers taking their positions. Markland was looking directly back at them. Harris saw nothing at all that might convince him the man was in any way interested in Miss Bradley outside of simply being polite. His interest, as far as Harris could tell, was firmly on Miss Rastmoor.
Which meant, of course, that Harris had best be careful to keep his own apparent interest in Miss Rastmoor quite visible. He carefully adopted a more pleasant expression and took a step closer to her. She wrinkled her brow at him.
“We should not be seen quarreling, my dear,” he reminded her. “Smile. Pretend you find me fascinating.”
She did smile. A bit too much to be quite believable. “I’m not certain I am capable of that much pretending, sir.”
“You seem to be capable of anything you wish. I wonder why you wished Mr. Markland to inspect your scarab so very closely?”
“I told you, he asked after it. He seems to have a good understanding of such things.”
Likely the man simply had a good understanding of ways to flatter and impress gullible young ladies. “I happen to know for a fact Markland has only the barest knowledge of antiquities. If he told you he had an interest, it was merely to keep you engaged in conversation.”
“Because he was hoping to be casually presented to Miss Bradley. Just look at her out there; does she not seem quite happy?”
“I daresay she’s a sight happier with Markland than she was with me, yes. But come, let us take a turn in the garden. I believe we have things to discuss.”
“In the garden? Do you think that is wise?”
“I thought you were interested in giving your brother reason to regret our betrothal.”
“But being found alone in the garden…I don’t know if that would accomplish that goal. I’m tempted to think it might be more likely to cause Anthony to insist on a hasty wedding.”
Damn, how was he going to get the chit alone? He had to get that scarab, and learn where she had come by it.
“Very well, we shall remain here, safely on public display. And I suppose pleasant conversation is required, as well.”
“If you are capable of that.”
“I’m at least as capable as Markland. So why don’t you tell me about your lovely scarab, Miss Rastmoor? You seemed to enjoy the topic when he brought it up.”
“Because he was interested in it.”
“As am I, of course. Where did you get it?”
“Haven’t you asked me that before?”
“Perhaps, but as I don’t believe you answered, then it’s hardly a redundant conversation for us, is it?”
“It’s hardly a relevant conversation for us, but if you insist on pursuing it, then I see no reason not to—”
Damn damn damn. She broke off her sentence just when he was about to get that all-important piece of information. His bloody cousin had slid up beside them.
“Good evening, Harry,” Ferrel said sweetly. “Miss Rastmoor.”
“How nice to see you, Mr. Chesterton,” she replied, nodding pleasantly.
“Yes, so very nice,” Harris said, not as pleasantly.
“Say, have either of you seen my friend Markland? I had hoped to drag him off into the card room with me for—”
His eyes seemed to catch on Markland even as he was asking after the man. He paused in midspeech and seemed quite perplexed to find the man dancing. Why he should be so confused to find his friend dancing at a ball, Harris could have no clue.
“Indeed, Mr. Markland is dancing just now,” Miss Rastmoor informed him. “He was so kind to stand up with my friend, Miss Bradley. You recall Miss Bradley, don’t you?”
“Er, yes, I believe I recall her,” Ferrel said. “I didn’t know Markland was acquainted with her. Well, it would seem his time is quite thoroughly spoken for just now.”
“Yes, Miss Bradley was pleased when he invited her to dance,” Miss Rastmoor said, obviously quite pleased with herself for facilitating that arrangement, for some reason.
“It appears they are one couple short, Ferrel,” Harris pointed out, grabbing at this opportunity to get rid of their unwanted third party. “Perhaps you should go find yourself a partner and join in.”
Ferrel appeared to be going to reject this suggestion, but then he cocked his head to one side. “Not a bad idea, Chesterton. That is exactly what I should do. I’ll stand up with the prettiest lady in the room.”
“Excellent notion,” Harris said. “You just go on and find her.”
“But the prettiest lady in the room is right here, Cousin. Miss Rastmoor, as your lazy fiancé seems to be reticent in his endeavors to entertain you, may I prevail upon you to join me in this dance?”
Harris could scarce believe his ears. His simpering little cousin had the nerve to try and steal away his companion? And one look at Miss Rastmoor showed she was quite flattered by the offer. What the devil…Was she actually going to accept the man?
“How kind of you, Mr. Chesterton. Very well, I’d love to dance with you.” She smiled brightly at him, then turned to Harris. “I’m sure Lord Harry won’t mind, will you, my dear?”
His jaw clenched so tightly his teeth ground. “No. Of course not.”
“Good. I would hate to think you might be jealous, or cause a scene,” she said, batting her eyes at him. “You know how my brother would hate such a thing.”
“By all means, go have your dance. Enjoy. Kick up your heels. I’ll simply wait here,” he said, hoping she recognized his lack of sincerity.
“Indeed I shall,” she said simply, taking Ferrel’s arm and letting him lead her to the dance floor.
Hellfire. It was as if the very universe were against him lately. When was he going to get his chance to take what he needed from Miss Rastmoor?
“Left you for another already, did she?” a voice purred at his side.
He turned to find Lady Burlington there, smiling coyly and toying with her fan. Dear God, this was all he needed right now.
“She’s a silly little flirt, that one is,” the lady continued. “I can’t imagine what you see in her. A man like you, Chesterton, should be more discerning. Don’t waste your time on little girls when you can have a grown woman.”
“Oh? A grown woman is what I need? I don’t suppose you might have one in mind for me?”
“I think you felt the same thing I did that night at our previous ball.”
Hell. He’d been trying to forget that night.
“I know your uncle expects you to find a wife,” she went on, “but surely that has nothing to do with what you want. I can help you with that.”
“You know, your husband seemed to feel something that night, too. He felt like murdering me.”
“That was unfortunate. In the future I will be more discreet.”
“I think it requires a bit more than mere discretion. Why don’t we agree not to tempt fate and simply forget we ever had that brief interaction? And this conversation.”
“Oh, but this conversation is not over yet. Perhaps I might end up saying something to entice you into tempting fate again.”
“Hmm, I doubt that will happen.”
“Pity. I thought surely you would be interested in what I have to show you, Lord Harry.”
“Perhaps some things are better left to the imagination.”
“Even if they might, shall we say, help out a friend?”
He was trying desperately to think up a way to discourage her obvious interest in him when he suddenly realized she was making a rather awkward show of her hand in front of his face. He could not help but notice the ring she wore. The Pharaoh’s Seal.
Oldham had unearthed that ring last year and so named it due to the cryptic glyphs carved into the heavy gold and surrounded by soapstone and tiny glass beads. It had been among some of the first articles that had been stolen from their collection. Now, it seemed, it had found its way onto Lady Burlington’s finger.
She knew something.
“You have exquisite ta
ste in jewelry, Lady Burlington,” he said calmly.
“What, this little bauble? Oh, it’s just something I picked up for my collection. Perhaps you would like to see what I have to show you, after all?”
“Indeed, my lady, perhaps I would.”
She smiled, pleased with herself. He was not at all happy with this turn of events. What had the shifty matron meant about helping a friend? She could only have been referring to Professor Oldham and his situation. What did she know about that? Better yet, how many of the missing pieces did she hold in her so-called collection? Damn, but he was going to have to play things her way, wasn’t he?
“That’s what I was hoping to hear. I knew my, er, charms were not lost on you, Chesterton. Indeed, I have some magnificent pieces you’ve not yet seen.”
“I’ve seen quite a bit of your, uh, collection, if you recall, madame.”
“Not everything in my possession has been on display for you, Lord Harry,” she said with a smile that brought back more of the shuddering. “Perhaps I might have something to rival your lady’s pretty little scarab.”
“What do you know of her scarab?”
“I know where she got it. Do you?”
“That’s hardly any concern of mine.”
“Oh, don’t lie. I know exactly what you are doing, hunting all over London for some certain articles to ransom a certain person.”
“How do you know about—”
“Meet me tonight, after the ball.”
“What, tonight?”
“You have other plans already?”
“No,” he said, recognizing as well as she did that he could afford to give no other answer.
“Come to me later and I’ll see that your dear Miss Rastmoor hears nothing of it.”
“And Lord Burlington?”
“He will be otherwise occupied with things I pretend to know nothing about.”
“What a delightful recipe for domestic bliss.”
“Use the servants’ door, Harry,” she said, flicking her fan open and licking her painted lips. “I’ll be waiting.”
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