“Good heavens, have some sense. There is no point in demanding more than I can ever lay my hands on.”
“I have been contemplating that conundrum. I have hit upon a way to ensure you can pay it.”
“I trust it is a fair solution.”
“Fair and generous, I believe. As I pondered the question, an idea came to mind. Your reputation for luck at gaming kept presenting itself to my thoughts. Combined with my own at magic tricks, we might make a good partnership.”
He meant that he and she could cheat in partnership. He would use sleight of hand to stack the decks, but she would win. No one would question if she did, since she always won. Almost always, she corrected herself.
“Not here, of course,” Trilby added. “One of the spa towns, I think. Buxton, for example. It is far enough from London, and not too fashionable. We will not be well-known there.”
His intentions revolted her. His clear delineation of his plan surprised her. He had thought it through with distressing thoroughness. Buxton’s wells and spa attracted the right sort of people. The sort who gambled after a day taking the waters. Being up in Derbyshire near the Peaks, it did not attract the same circles that spent most of their time in London, however.
She would not do this. She would find a way out of it. For now, however, she needed to appease him rather than anger him.
“If you are determined, I agree that Buxton would do,” she said.
“See how already our partnership is productive? We should each go there next week, I think. Why, in two days you should find your luck has created untold riches.”
“The week after would be better.”
His lids lowered. “You are the one who demanded a rapid settlement. Shall we agree to both be in Buxton by Thursday? We will spend a day discussing strategy and plans, then get to it right away.”
She agreed, then walked back to Sarah and dragged her maid away.
Whenever she thought she had found a resolution to Mr. Trilby’s threats, she only ended up in more trouble. She was supposed to go to the coast next week. Penthurst would be writing with the plans any day now.
She would just have to put Penthurst off again. My Lord Duke, I regret that my deflowering will have to be postponed another week or so. I need to help my blackmailer cheat innocent people out of thousands of pounds on the day you have in mind.
She might as well actually write that. It was so absurd he would never believe it, anyway.
• • •
Lydia had spent the last year restless, almost frantically so, and dissatisfied with her very ordinary life. Suddenly it had turned extraordinary in the most bizarre ways, and she rather longed for the old predictability and lack of even minimal drama.
So it was that the invitation to the theater appealed to her. A night surrounded by family and closest friends would be a respite.
Then she learned that Penthurst was coming too.
“Why is he going to be there?” She and Emma sat in Cassandra’s dressing room discussing the evening, and Cassandra had tacked on that unwelcomed name after rattling off the usual ones.
“The whole purpose of the party is to help Kendale and Marielle, by showing the world they have friends who accept Marielle despite her birth. If a duke is in the box with us, and that duke in particular— It will do more than the rest of us can hope to achieve in years of effort,” Cassandra said. “I coached Ambury for an hour on how to propose the evening in Penthurst’s presence and try to have him included.”
“But Kendale does not even approve of Penthurst.”
“Kendale did not object, so why should you?” Emma pointed out. “The duke might be doing it as a peace offering, or to at least put Kendale in a more friendly frame of mind.”
That left her with no alternative except to sulk. “It will not be as much fun as I anticipated. Now I regret putting off my visit to Crownhill.”
“Do not be a goose. Aunt Hortense said that she could not accompany you until Monday,” Emma said.
“I fully intended to travel to Crownhill by myself.”
Cassandra became engrossed in unsnarling a silver chain that lay on her dressing table. Emma chose that moment to pull over a footstool and prop up her feet.
“Without a chaperone,” Lydia added.
Her friends looked at each other. Cassandra sighed and let the silver chain drop to the table. “Lydia, the truth is most everyone worries what you will do if allowed to go about on your own.”
“For all we know, you would become a pirate,” Emma said. “Or a highwayman. You ride well enough for that.”
Cassandra swallowed a giggle. “That smuggler that Southwaite knows asked after you once, and Ambury told me your brother almost killed him. Ambury said he thought Southwaite suspected the fellow had a partner’s interest more than a lover’s. A peculiar notion for a brother to entertain, so he clearly fears what you are capable of.”
“Like going to gaming hells like Morgan’s,” Emma said.
Lydia groaned. “How does he know about that? Penthurst must have told him! He promised he would not. See? Penthurst is not a man to be trusted or admired and—”
“No one told him. If anyone had, I think you would be on your way to a convent in France, and damn the war,” Emma said. “I learned of it, but your brother did not.”
Cassandra’s guilty expression showed who had done the telling.
“Cassandra was with me,” Lydia pointed out. “I did not go alone. And that hardly means that if left to my own devices, I will become a pirate or a highwayman.”
“I speak metaphorically, Lydia,” Emma responded. “Replace pirate with anything thrilling, daring, romantic, and of questionable legality.”
Like being a sharper with Algernon Trilby.
Cassandra, instead of defending her, picked up the silver chain again. “So, it is settled. You will tolerate Penthurst, and he you, and we will all have a wonderful time while we help Marielle brave it out in that box.”
• • •
Penthurst found Lydia’s efforts to avoid him at the theater comical. He only needed to shift his weight to set her moving, seeking spots where at least two people served as a barrier from him.
On the few occasions they acknowledged each other, her color rose fast. That had just happened, and now Lydia spoke with Lady Kendale, keeping all of her attention on the bride, pretending the wall they stood beside were not less than fifteen feet from the wall where Penthurst stood.
Kendale’s wife probably was the loveliest woman in the box, if one judged by the strictest external qualities. Willowy, and blessed with delicate, elegant features and luxurious golden brown hair, Marielle made as good a viscountess as she had made a spy. Not that she had actually been a spy. Or so Kendale believed. Her French accent, long suppressed, still colored her inflections when she spoke, and French insouciance still touched her manner.
She had sought a few private words with Penthurst when he first arrived, and spoken with disarming honesty. “My husband, he tells me that he gave you a little book that I brought out of France, and that you made arrangements for it to go back, to men who are trustworthy. He tells me that you reported all worked as planned, and that the contents of the book were used to bring down he who threatened me. Thanks to you, I am safe now, forever.”
She had taken his hand then, in an unexpected gesture. Holding it in both of hers, she had kissed his ring.
Kendale, noticing, had stepped in and gently extricated hand from hand. “We do not do that here, Marielle. He isn’t a Catholic bishop.”
Marielle proved incapable of embarrassment. “However the gesture is made, you have my gratitude forever.”
“He simply saw that justice would be done,” Kendale said.
“A fine and fair justice it was,” she said, her eyes gleaming with gratitude.
“That is the only kind,” Kendale said, taking her away.
The look Marielle shot over her shoulder as she left indicated she knew justice often came with amb
iguities, even if her husband did not agree.
Now Lydia spoke with Marielle about something that animated them both. Yes, objectively Marielle was the lovelier, but he preferred Lydia’s appearance. Tonight her dark eyes did not stare like opaque disks but showed depths with lights and thought. Her pale skin did not appear ghostly, but fashionable and touched with healthy little flushes high on her cheeks. Her pale yellow dress flattered her height and, he realized, her figure. Her breasts swelled in perfect high mounds above the beribboned high waist and the soft fabric flowed around a lithe, long-legged womanly shape.
His imagination followed where these observations led, and soon Lydia stood there naked except for her headdress and hose. He liked what he saw. Enough that he watched while she moved again, walking to the front of the box to chat with the other ladies, her gently curved hips swaying just enough to be provocative, her bottom beautifully and erotically swelled.
He tore his gaze away, thinking it was a damned shame that honor demanded he let Lydia out of that debt. As he shifted his attention, he noticed that two pair of eyes had been watching him.
One pair belonged to Ambury who watched so blandly he might not have detected the thoughts behind that long gaze at Lydia. Except men always knew when other men were thinking such things, and Ambury surely had. He displayed no curiosity and no surprise as he returned his attention to his wife. Ambury more than most would know that carnal calculations enter men’s minds all the time, and often for little purpose.
The other pair of eyes, however, belonged to Southwaite. There had been surprise in Southwaite’s expression in that moment when Penthurst caught him watching. Confusion too, as if he had never considered his sister a potential object of lust. Then again, perhaps Southwaite merely wondered what if anything he should do, and how much trouble this might herald. Their world generally agreed that a man did not seduce a friend’s sister, aunt, or—heaven forbid—mother, but that did not mean it never happened.
Feeling guilty for his friend’s dismay but not for the reason, Penthurst walked to Lydia.
It was time to let her know that he would not hold her to the wager.
As he approached, he overheard her speaking to Emma.
“I will wait on Aunt Hortense until Monday, but not a day later. I will be at Crownhill by week’s end with or without her.”
Emma noticed him behind Lydia. Lydia turned with a start. Seeing no escape, she collected herself and greeted him, finally. Meanwhile Emma turned aside and became immersed in a conversation with Cassandra.
“The play is humorous, don’t you think?” Lydia asked, choosing to look at the stage rather than at him.
“I would not know. I have not heard a word the actors spoke thus far.”
“This playwright is known for humor, however.”
“Then humorous it must be.” Out of such inanities were conversations made. “I could not help but overhear that you intend a journey to the coast next week.”
She tried to become a sphinx, but the mask would not form. She flushed from hairline to neck, and sneaked worried glances at him. He was about to launch into a quick, merciful announcement of clemency, when she managed to collect herself.
“I do intend that journey,” she said, looking him straight in the eyes. “However, not for the reason you may assume. The purpose you have in mind will have to wait . . . due to this other engagement that I have. I am so sorry.”
His good intentions disappeared in a blink.
She displayed no sense of obligation even though the wager had been at her insistence. Instead of simply asking for his mercy, she meant to put him off indefinitely. It was damned well safe to say that if she had won instead of him, she would have demanded the ten thousand in gold bullion within the day. Having lost, however, she treated the entire matter as her prerogative to ignore.
So much for learning her lesson.
“I think not, Lydia.”
“You think not that you will have to wait? There can be no choice on that, I assure you.”
“I think not that you are sorry. I think not that you have another obligation. And, yes, I think not that I will wait.”
“You are calling me a liar on two counts.”
“I am calling you too sly by half. Had I known there would be all these delays, I would have demanded more consideration than I did.”
She glanced around, to see if anyone watched. He did not bother to check too. Should any of their friends notice this conversation, they would see a duke smiling graciously and a woman holding her own well enough.
“I cannot believe you speak of any of this here,” she hissed quietly.
“I will arrange to take you home after the play. Then we can speak of it in my carriage. When we are alone, you can explain this new obligation that interferes with your paying up in full.”
She just looked at him, her eyes wide and her lips parted in astonishment. She appeared much as she had after that kiss in his library. Enough so that he actually began calculating how he really could arrange that ride alone with her.
Her self-possession returned. “You will do no such thing. My brother will never allow it. I will return in his coach just as I came, of course. As for all this talk of paying up and considerations, I know that you are toying with me, just as you did that very first night at Mrs. Burton’s. You only seek to worry me, so that I will understand the foolishness of that wager. You can stop it now. You waste both of our times with this game.”
It was all he could do not to drag her away, and pull her outside the box. He moved enough to reposition them both, so she backed against the wall and he faced her. Neither of their expressions would be visible now.
“You give me too much credit now, after giving me so little when last we spoke. I am a man who would kill a friend over a minor matter, remember? Insisting that you pay up will be a very small thing after that, and no game. Your assumption that you will never settle that debt tells me that you are badly in need of some discipline, Lydia. I will enjoy providing it.”
That shocked the smugness out of her. She pressed the wall. Her gloved hand went to her mouth to stifle her gasp.
He stepped back. “I will see you at Crownhill, as planned originally.”
It was well past the start of the second act, so the party finally sat themselves to watch the play. He made it a point to sit behind Lydia. Quiet conversation continued, which gave him cause to lean forward and remark on this or that to Southwaite, who sat beside her. He always found a way to include Lydia in the exchange. She tried mightily to avoid that, to no avail.
“Heard from the coast yesterday,” Southwaite said over his shoulder. “Tarrington reports the French smugglers are getting bold, and going into Diehl. He wants to sink a few of their boats to protect his territory and was good enough to ask if it would interfere with any of our plans.”
The plans involved a network of watchers Southwaite, Ambury, and Kendale had helped establish on the coast, to be alert to any unwelcomed French visitors who slipped ashore with smuggled goods or refugees. The idea had been Penthurst’s several years ago, but the execution came during his estrangement, so had fallen to the others.
“Are you sending him a response through Lydia? Is that why she journeys there?”
Lydia, whose attention remained on the stage, shivered slightly, perhaps due to how his breath teased the hairs on her nape.
Southwaite looked at his sister. “I may, now that you have given me the idea. As to my sister’s grand scheme, I am, as always, ignorant.”
“Better to let me do it. I have some business nearby and will be there.”
Lydia’s crown rose a full inch as her body jolted with alarm.
“Besides,” Penthurst continued. “If Lydia meets up with smugglers, she may decide she wants to be one after she sees Tarrington’s lair.”
“I regret to say she has already seen his lair. Isn’t that so, Lydia?”
Her cool profile showed as she faced her brother. “You and I have know
n him and his family our whole lives. If I must repudiate everyone on the coast who has connections to smuggling, I must obliterate my past and present, I fear. As must you, dear brother, with more devastating results than I will ever know.”
Whatever she alluded to, Southwaite retreated on the point. “What takes you to the coast, Penthurst?”
“I need to collect on a gambling debt that has been lagging.”
“Hell of a thing when a gentleman’s debt is not paid. I hope if the fellow puts you off again that you will let the rest of us know his name.”
“I trust that honor will win out in this case.”
“Unless he is not good for it. That happens all the time.”
“This is a matter of property, not funds, so I am confident nothing was wagered that is unavailable.”
“Doubly dishonorable, then. Are you listening to this, Lydia? You think I lecture too often on gambling, but wagering more than one should in the excitement of the moment often leads to uncomfortable situations like this. Now Penthurst needs to travel to remind this man of his obligations, in the hopes of sparing the fellow’s reputation.”
Lydia’s head did not move an inch. Her dark tresses in their neat arrangement on her crown just stared at the man behind her.
“It is actually worse,” Penthurst said, angling close so his mouth almost touched her cheek. “Having first wagered and lost, the wager was then doubled, and lost again.”
“No!”
“Yes.”
“Was this man a fool, or drunk?”
“Too confident, I’d say. Although the second time, I think—I am not sure—that it entered that desperate mind to cheat.”
“No.”
“It did not happen, as I said.”
“Still, best you settle this soon, so the temptation does not overcome him next time around.”
“That is my thinking on the matter.”
“You will be doing him a favor. He will pay the wages of sin, and perhaps lose the taste for it entirely.” He looked meaningfully at his sister.
“Or you can forgive the debt, and be known as a generous man.” Her voice projected forward, not back, and was barely audible.
The Accidental Duchess Page 10