Matilda beamed and held out her hands to Helena, who hurried to meet her.
“How lovely to see you,” Helena exclaimed, looking beautiful in a gold silk gown with long white gloves. A gold and diamond necklace circled her elegant neck, with matching bracelet, earrings, and hair clips that sparkled among her thick tresses.
“Good heavens, Helena, you look stunning,” Matilda said, realising that Minerva had been right to worry.
Helena was always beautiful, but she’d gone to some lengths this evening and, if Mr Knight had a pulse, he’d have no choice but to notice her. If he was the rake that Alice believed him to be, there could be trouble in store.
Helena appeared pleased by this before looking Matilda up and down. “Well, I might say the same thing, darling. That blue is simply ravishing on you. A man could drown in the colour of your eyes.”
Matilda snorted and took Helena’s arm. “So long as I don’t tempt Mr Knight to come for a swim, I suppose,” she said, casting a sideways glance at her friend.
Helena flushed just a touch, narrowing her eyes and then sighed. “The little birds have been chattering merrily, I take it.”
“Of course,” Matilda said, giving Helena’s arm a gentle squeeze. “We worry for you. The man has a wicked reputation.”
Helena rolled her eyes. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
Matilda must have looked sceptical, for Helena laughed. “No, I mean there really isn’t. The provoking fellow won’t even look in my direction.”
Somehow, that didn’t soothe Matilda’s anxiety. No one could ignore Helena, which meant Mr Knight must be concerting a remarkable effort of will to do so. Why?
“Come,” Helena said. “Let me introduce you to our guests.”
Helena moved easily among the guests, and Matilda followed. She knew some of the people here, including Helena’s uncle, Baron Fitzwalter, who was charming and greeted her warmly.
“How lovely to see you again, Miss Hunt, and looking as lovely as ever. Theo, do let me introduce you,” he said, turning towards the man standing beside him.
He was of an age with the Baron, perhaps five and sixty with a merry twinkle in his eyes—eyes that seemed strangely familiar—and a kindly face. He turned to Matilda with obvious enthusiasm.
“Oh, I wish you would,” he said, beaming at Fitzwalter.
“Mr Theodore Brown, this lovely creature is Miss Matilda Hunt.”
Mr Brown bowed deeply, a courtly gesture that made Matilda smile.
“We will leave you two to talk,” the baron said, giving Mr Brown a significant look which Matilda did not understand, and drawing Helena away with him.
“I’m afraid that was a lie,” Mr Brown said, his gaze on Matilda steady. “My name is Barrington, not Brown.
Matilda’s heart raced as she realised who he must be. She stared into eyes which were a darker grey than the ones she dreamed about—and his hair was pure white, rather than white blond—but Mr Barrington could be nothing but a relation of Lucian Barrington, Marquess of Montagu. So why the subterfuge?
She’d believed all the male Barringtons dead, that only Montagu and his niece survived, so who was this man, why had he given a false name and then revealed it, and how would he treat her, considering how high in the instep the family had always been?
“Ah,” he said, a touch ruefully. “I see from the look in your eyes, you have made the connection.”
“I do not know if I have, or why you were introduced to me as Mr Brown, but… but you are related to Montagu?”
“His uncle, for my sins,” the man said, and an air of sadness swept over him like a wave, almost palpable.
Matilda frowned, wanting to ask a dozen questions at once, but knowing she could not voice a single one of them, for it would be vulgar to press for information. Oh, but how she burned to know more. His name, though… surely he could not expect her not to ask?
“Forgive me, Mr Barrington, but why would you hide the connection? Does everyone here believe you to be Mr Brown?”
“Come and take a turn about the room with me,” Mr Barrington said, holding out his arm to her. “I believe we have much to talk about.”
Though she couldn’t imagine what this man wanted to speak with her about, or what kind of game he was playing, Matilda took his arm, too curious to refuse.
“I know my nephew has treated you very ill, Miss Hunt,” he said, once they were out of earshot of anyone who might overhear.
She stared at him in shock, astonished that he should refer to the incident in which Montagu had ruined her in the first place, and speechless that he should openly criticise his nephew, the marquess.
He gave a rather bitter laugh. “Oh, I know, how disloyal of me to censure the head of our ancient line.” The genial face darkened suddenly. “You know, it is not surprising you were unaware of my existence, Miss Hunt. Polite society believes me dead. Indeed, I know Lucian would infinitely prefer it if I were. He did try his best.”
Overwhelmed by this revelation, Matilda didn’t know how to respond, so she said nothing, waiting for what came next, for surely there was more. She was not disappointed.
Mr Barrington turned to her, holding her gaze, his expression serious and full of regret. “I am sorry for the wrong my nephew did you, Miss Hunt. Sorry, but not surprised. The truth is, he is spoiled beyond measure, spoiled and cold-hearted and cruel, and it is all my fault. Much as I would like to deny that, to say he was born wicked and I had no hand in his corruption, I cannot pretend that is true. He saw so much tragedy in his young life that I indulged him far more than was prudent. His younger brother too, to some extent, but I confess Lucian was always my favourite.” He gave a wistful smile and shook his head. “My word, you should have seen him as a boy, the face of an angel. It was impossible to believe him capable of the slightest wrongdoing, or to refuse him anything, and so I didn’t, and now you suffer the results of my foolishness.”
Still Matilda said nothing. She had no idea what to say. Despite his words, his expression was open and kindly, and she could not mistake the hurt and regret in his eyes, or the sincerity. If she had heard such things about Montagu just a few short weeks ago, she would have had not struggled to believe them, she had believed them.
Now, though….
“I have shocked you,” he said, and Matilda did not contradict him. He sighed. “From what I have heard of you, I know you to be a generous and kind young woman, and I know what you must think, how faithless you must believe me. But the truth is, I am afraid of my nephew, of what he is capable of.” He paused and glanced about them, as if checking no one was paying them any mind. His voice lowered to a whisper and it was impossible not to hear the urgency and fear behind his words. “I beg you, do not mention to him that you have seen me here. I am only in the country for a short while, before I return to my exile in India. That is where he sent me—forcibly, I might add. I tremble to think what he would do if he discovered I had returned.”
“Why would you believe I should have any contact with him?” Matilda said, disturbed by this whole conversation as her opinion of Montagu was tested once more.
His face softened. His eyes were filled with compassion and understanding, and it was impossible not to feel sympathy for him. Matilda started as his hand covered hers, such an intimate gesture from a near stranger that she stiffened in surprise.
“My nephew was a beautiful boy, and he has become a very handsome man. Handsome, powerful, and wealthy. A heady combination for any young woman, is it not, Miss Hunt? He is the kind of man who can do something quite unforgivable and then beguile you into forgiving him. Believe me, I know, but it is just a game to him, a sick and twisted game. You mean nothing to him, no more than I did in the end, for if he can do his best to put an end to a beloved uncle, what chance does a young woman with an uncertain reputation stand?”
Matilda withdrew her hand from his, unsettled and shaken by this whole encounter.
“I’m sorry, Miss Hunt,” he said, distres
s making his grey eyes glitter a little too brightly. “I had no wish to upset you and I can see that I have, but I could not allow Lucian to destroy another life. Though he has already tried, I think. You are nothing but his latest plaything. You are not the first, and you will not be the last. Why do you suppose he went to such lengths to crush your Mr Burton, your only chance at a respectable life?”
Matilda felt the words as a physical blow, and it took every vestige of will to keep her face impassive as a wave of ice water seemed to cascade over her.
Mr Barrington nodded with satisfaction all the same, having seen his words hit home despite her efforts. “I can do nothing for poor little Phoebe. That poor child, kept like a prisoner in that vast mausoleum of a house, though she is too young to understand or chafe against her restrictions yet. She will, though, and it breaks my heart to be so helpless, but I can help you, warn you, and I swore I would do so, no matter the cost to my own safety.”
Matilda took a deep breath, striving for calm.
“You may consider me warned, Mr Barrington,” she said, her voice cool if a little unsteady. “And I shall say nothing of having met you.”
Barrington smiled, a sad smile that only highlighted the weariness in his grey eyes.
“Then I have done all that I can.”
He bowed to her and left her alone.
***
Gabe downed his drink and cursed inwardly. Hell and the devil, but he hated these bloody affairs. He had so much to do, and making polite small talk made him irritable at the best of times, but Montagu had advised him that if he wanted Bedwin on side, his best chance was to get his uncle, the baron, interested. Although Bedwin had asked for more information about the project, Gabe had heard no more about it and knew he must explain the matter to the man himself. On paper it just seemed too much of a risk, a dangerous and ill-advised venture, perhaps. If only Gabe could have a few moments to explain that this was the future. He could feel it in his bones, feel the gathering excitement in his gut, and his instincts rarely led him wrong.
The duke held a high opinion of Lord Fitzwalter’s business acumen and sought his advice as a matter of course. If Gabe could win him over, he had a good chance of meeting with Bedwin in person and bringing him on board. Gabe did not doubt the veracity of the advice. His dealings with the marquess were a delicate balance, a little like standing on a knife’s edge, but he had never had cause to doubt anything he’d been told. He’d even come to trust the man, up to a point. That Montagu stubbornly refused to even contemplate dirtying his hands with his railway venture rankled more than Gabe wanted to admit, but the snooty bastard wouldn’t even hear out his proposal. Bloody aristocrats made him furious. It would be easy to assume they were all stupid and vacuous, and Gabe had certainly had a bellyful of those that met the description perfectly. Montagu was not one of them. He was cold and ruthless, with a mind like a rapier, and God help you if you got on the wrong side of him. Gabe would not want to be on the wrong side of him, but their unlikely alliance had worked well enough these past few years. Not that anyone else knew about it, but Gabe could do things and go places the marquess could not, and vice versa. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement, but one that they both approached with extreme caution, aware of the danger. Like two lone wolves forming a pack to hunt down their prey, but ready to tear out each other’s throat the moment one of them put a foot wrong.
Yet this business with the mills had surprised Gabe, and confirmed something he had suspected for a long time, for the man had stepped in and got his hands dirty when he’d seen the conditions. Of course, there was another, less charitable, explanation. He might have done it to get his hands on Miss Hunt. Any fool could see the marquess had his sights set on having her, and a man like that might go to considerable lengths to get what he wanted. Ruining Mr Burton was one way to leave the field clear for him. Either way, it was none of Gabe’s affair, though he’d always despised Burton and was only too glad to see the man fall. He didn’t give a damn what the marquess’ motivation was, only that knowing it gave him insight into a man who held everyone at a distance. Knowing how his mind worked would help Gabe do business with him in the future.
So, here he was, doing the pretty to get Bedwin’s uncle on the hook, but the old fellow was too busy playing nursemaid to some old friend of his. The only time Gabe had managed to speak a word to him was when he left his Mr Brown in the company of Matilda Hunt. Seeing Mr Brown with Matilda jarred in his mind, but he couldn’t for the life of him grasp why, which did not help his temper. His instincts had driven his success, and rarely guided him wrong, and every sense told him that there was significance in those two speaking together. He was damned if he could figure out what it was, but something about Mr Brown nagged at him, and he didn’t like it a bit.
“All alone, Mr Knight? How tragic.”
Gabe sighed. Just to top off his evening, here was Lady Helena, temptation incarnate, come to plague him.
He turned an unfriendly gaze upon the young woman, the kind that made most grown men tremble, but she was made of sterner stuff and didn’t so much as flutter an eyelash. That’s what being the daughter of a duke gave you, he supposed: an unshakeable belief in your right to do or say exactly as you wished.
“Not in the least,” he replied, not bothering to bow or even pretend civility. “I enjoy my own company more than most people’s.”
He gave her a significant look which she either did not understand or chose to ignore. In other circumstances, he would have vastly enjoyed seducing her just for the fun of it. It never occurred to him to doubt that he could, but he had other fish to fry and she would only hinder his plans. A pity, as a duke’s daughter would have been the ideal candidate for the wife he’d been considering, but there you had it. There would be other opportunities to get himself leg shackled, but for the moment this railway line was of more importance. He knew when to get in fast, before anyone else had grasped how important an idea or invention would become, and this was it. This was his biggest venture yet, and he was damned if he’d get distracted by a pretty face.
“How fortunate for you,” she said, studying him.
Her gaze was unsettling. There was something about this woman, the epitome of the perfect aristocrat, that made his skin prickle. It was as if she peeled away the carefully wrought layers of the façade he’d constructed with one dainty fingernail. Not that anyone was fooled, or even that he wanted to fool anyone. He’d been born in the gutter and he’d made himself one of the richest men in the country. He didn’t care who knew it, he was proud of it. His factories had likely provided many of the buttons and buckles these people wore tonight. The bricks he made were rebuilding the face of the city. His efforts had already cleared vast areas of slum buildings, which were being redeveloped with shops and houses and yet another hotel to add to those lavish properties he already owned. No one could ignore him, whether they liked it or not—and that they did not was abundantly clear. Yet although he’d taught himself which fork to use, learned to dress properly, where to buy his shirts, and even had lessons to rid himself of his accent, he was not ashamed of what he was and where he’d come from. Not even a little. He’d done those things to pass among these people without making them uncomfortable, and he’d succeeded, up to a point. When this woman stared at him with those astonishing green eyes, though, she reminded him he didn’t belong. She was so beautiful, so pristine and unspoiled… spoiling her would be a great deal of fun.
It was sorely tempting, he’d admit that. No doubt she was just like the rest of her kind, an overindulged, spiteful creature he’d enjoy teaching a thing or two, and then leaving, preferably once her family realised what she’d done and scurried to hush it all up. Forcing the duke to allow them to wed once he’d ruined her also appealed, yet that was no better option for now. He needed Bedwin, if Montagu would insist on being a stubborn bastard, and he didn’t think seducing the man’s sister would help his cause. Perhaps when everything was signed and sealed, and the man cou
ld not back out, though….
“Your glass is empty,” she observed and, without the least effort, caught the attention of a servant.
A fresh glass of champagne was put in his hand a moment later. Ah, how lovely it must be, to grow up with everything handed to you with the slightest crook of one finger. Gabe glowered at the glass with distaste. He wanted a proper drink, not this sparkly nonsense. Still, he downed it in a couple of large swallows and had to try hard to resist the urge to belch. She made him want to act badly, to shock her and shake that cool, perfect exterior.
“My, you are thirsty.”
Once more she gestured, and another full glass was exchanged for the empty one. Gabe sighed. Well, if she would insist on pestering him, he may as well get some use out of her.
“I want to speak to your uncle,” he said, with no preamble. Either she’d arrange it, or she wouldn’t.
Her eyes narrowed, considering, and he suspected she was a deal shrewder than most people gave her credit for.
“Why?”
Well, at least she was direct. He appreciated that.
“I have a business proposition I wish to interest him in.”
Those emerald eyes scrutinised him and he stared back at her, unblinking. For once he kept any hint of flirtation from his gaze, just studied her as frankly as she did him. To her credit, she did not look away, nor falter in her perusal.
“It’s not my uncle you want to speak with, it’s my brother, but you think if Uncle Charles has an interest, he’ll get Bedwin to take you seriously.”
Gabe shrugged, a little surprised, both by her figuring out his motivation, and admitting to it. “I need someone with influence, a title, to open doors I cannot.”
Lady Helena considered this for a moment. “Perhaps I could arrange for you to meet with him. Tomorrow, though. It is vulgar to discuss business at an affair like this.”
He resisted the urge to say something that really was vulgar, just to see the look on her face and simply nodded. “I would appreciate that.”
To Bed the Baron (Girls Who Dare Book 9) Page 11