“I don’t care about his cursed family. I want to know why your friend is really in Spitalfields. Why he’s acting as a fence for stolen goods.”
He feigned surprise. “Captain Blakely? A fence? Surely you jest. He told me he was staying at your Home to protect you.”
“Nice try. But the Templemores already told me that you were supposedly the one to introduce Captain Blakely to me. You maintained the fiction, too. Which came as quite a surprise, since we both know you never introduced me to anyone. So find another lie.”
His lordship strolled to the rail and leaned on it. “I was merely trying to help my friend by supporting his tale. I had no idea he was involved in anything illegal.”
“Oh, stuff and nonsense!” She strode up to him. “I saw you and Captain Blakely conferring in Merrington’s library just now.”
She’d finally managed to startle him. His gaze shot to her in alarm. “You did?”
“Yes. And I know you told him that I reported him to the magistrate. Why would you do such a thing?”
A sudden warning gleamed in his eyes. “Lady Clara, you’re dabbling in matters beyond your purview. I suggest you go on about your business at your little Home and leave matters of this sort to me and my office.”
It was bad enough that Lord Winthrop referred to it as her “little Home,” but to have this duplicitous scoundrel do it was too much.
“You and your office seem to be consorting with the enemy.” Her eyes narrowed. “Perhaps I should speak to the Home Secretary about this. I’m sure he’d be interested to hear how you are covering up the activities of a known fence.”
“Now see here—”
“If that’s indeed what you’re doing. I suppose a good spy could come in handy in Spitalfields, too.”
He seemed to be restraining his temper, but only with great difficulty. “My lady,” he said after a moment, “the difficulties of running your Home have clearly taxed your strength, or else you’d never be indulging in such wild fantasies about me and my friends. But in the interests of lightening your load so that you aren’t tempted to…er…speak of these fantasies to unwitting strangers, I’m willing to offer you a donation. I’m sure you’d find a thousand pounds useful for your children.”
Good Lord, now he was resorting to bribery. But this must be enormously important if he’d offer her so high a sum for her silence. The trouble was, what did he want her to keep silent about? An illegal web of such insidious breadth that it involved even the Home Office? Or an official endeavor?
And if it was the latter, why didn’t he simply say so?
“I don’t respond well to bribery, sir.”
“Bribery? Who said anything about bribery?”
“Come now, Lord Ravenswood, I know a bribe when I hear one. But as it happens, I’ve just come into a rather large fortune, so I don’t need your thousand pounds. If you want my silence, you’ll have to offer me something I want more than money. Like the truth.”
Though his eyes glittered dangerously, he twisted around to lean against the rail with apparent nonchalance. “Why do you ask me for the truth? Why not ask Captain Blakely, since it is his activities that alarm you?”
“I’ve already tried that. But as you probably already know, he refuses to answer.”
“A pity. Because you won’t get anything from me. I don’t make a practice of revealing to civilians the particulars about matters that are none of their concern.”
“Civilians? You mean this is an activity sanctioned by the Home Office?”
He scowled at her. “I mean to say it’s none of your business. And before you threaten again to go to the Home Secretary, I should point out that any more of your interference could easily result in trouble for you. All I need do is speak to the magistrate about your precious institution. If Mr. Hornbuckle is told that some illegal activity is going on there, he will make your life hell, evidence or no. Especially if I ask him to.”
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“I’d dare a great deal to make you stop being an annoyance, I assure you. And if you’ll tell me what I can offer you to accomplish that amazing feat—other than answers I will not give—I’ll do my best to oblige you.”
They stood a moment in hostile silence. Lord Ravenswood wasn’t a man she’d ever felt easy with anyway, but at the moment, she could cheerfully wring his neck. How strange that she felt much more comfortable with a fence than with this well-placed lord of the realm.
If Morgan really was a fence.
Clearly Ravenswood wouldn’t tell her. She’d be better off coaxing Morgan to do so. At least he wasn’t a haughty official of the government. “All right, if you won’t tell me what’s going on, at least enlighten me about Captain Blakely himself.”
He eyed her warily. “Why?”
“Because I might be persuaded to keep silent about his present activities if you can convince me that he is an honorable man.”
He hesitated, then said, “All right. What do you want to know?”
“I remember hearing last year that he spent time aboard a pirate ship. Is that true?”
“Yes.”
“That doesn’t strike me as the act of an honorable man.”
Ravenswood sighed. “He wasn’t there by choice. When the pirates met up with him, he’d been marooned on an island for two years by a group of smugglers he’d been spying on. The Pirate Lord and his crew rescued him. He remained with them a few months before he could gain his freedom.”
“And what exactly did he do to gain his freedom?” she said dryly.
Ravenswood shrugged. “Showed them how to make the best use of the island. Kept out of their way. Taught them a thing or two about sailing.”
“No slicing people in half for their valuables?” she asked, only half joking.
He shot her a penetrating look. “Does Captain Blakely strike you as the sort of man to do such a thing?”
She shifted her gaze to the lantern-lit gardens. “No.”
“Then perhaps you should trust your instincts.”
“I do. And they’re telling me that you and Morgan are up to something.”
“‘Morgan’?”
Too late she realized she’d used his Christian name. “I-I meant to say ‘Captain Blakely.’”
“No, you didn’t. Take care, Lady Clara. Our mutual friend is not the sort of man to…well…”
“Don’t worry, my lord. I know Morgan isn’t an appropriate suitor for me, if that’s what you’re trying to say.”
He regarded her speculatively. “Actually, I didn’t think you’d gone so far as to think of him in that regard. Yet.”
She blushed, cursing herself for having given so much away. “It was a joke, that’s all. What were you trying to tell me?”
“That he’s not like other men you’ve known.”
A small smile touched her lips. “Which ‘other men’ do you mean? Those in Spitalfields? Or men like my father and Lord Winthrop and you?”
“Forgive me, I tend to forget that you don’t lead quite the sheltered life of other ladies. I meant the latter, of course. Despite Morgan’s family connections, he isn’t quite as civilized as he can seem.”
That was certainly an understatement. “I’ve figured that out for myself, thank you very much.”
“Please don’t mistake my meaning. I have enormous respect for him. But he doesn’t play by the same rules as the rest of us.”
“And you assume that I do? How odd.”
He broke into a smile. “I see your point. I only meant to warn you in case your discovery of his true station has given you the wrong impression. Made you think more…how shall I put this…fondly of him.”
“Don’t worry about me. I can…how shall I put this…handle Captain Blakely.”
He chuckled. “Funny, he said the same thing about you when he first met you. But I think he’s revised his opinion since then.”
She laughed. “I do believe he has.”
They fell into a more companionable
silence this time. At last he pushed away from the rail. “So have we reached an agreement, Lady Clara? You will mind your own business in this matter?”
No, she would not. But it didn’t seem particularly wise to tell him that. “I’ll do my best,” she said blithely.
“For some reason, I don’t find that reassuring,” he muttered.
But he let her lead the conversation to his new groom, one of her former charges. By the time they returned to the ballroom, he had her laughing about his stable-master’s adventures training the pickpocket to work with horses. She was still laughing when Morgan encountered them coming in.
He, however, was not laughing.
Chapter 14
With Carefulness watch
Each moment that flies,
To keep Peace at Home,
And ward off Surprize.
A Little pretty pocket-book, John Newbery
Morgan couldn’t believe it—Clara and Ravenswood coming in together from the balcony so chummy, looking as if they’d been friends all their lives.
Which they probably had. The thought provoked an unfamiliar tightness in his gut. “You two seem to be enjoying yourselves. I thought you’d gone off to dance.”
“We never made it there,” Ravenswood said calmly.
“That became readily apparent when I went looking for you.” Stepping up to Clara, Morgan laid his hand possessively in the small of her back. “I hope you won’t mind if I carry her off for a dance myself.”
Ravenswood looked suddenly amused. “I rather think that’s up to Lady Clara, don’t you?”
“Dance with me, Clara,” Morgan said curtly.
To his vast annoyance, she laughed. “Is that a request or a command, Captain?”
“Whichever you prefer, ma belle ange.”
Curiosity flickered in Ravenswood’s eyes at the endearment, but he merely tipped his head toward Clara. “I can see when I’m not wanted. Thank you for the discussion, my lady. It was most…enlightening.”
“Yes, it was, wasn’t it?” She held her hand out to Ravenswood. He took it, but instead of pressing it as was usual, he lifted it to his lips to kiss it. Then with a smile at Morgan, he left.
A fierce urge to throttle his friend seized Morgan, and he didn’t know how to handle it. Bon Dieu, what had come over him this evening? “So are you dancing with me or not, Clara?” he asked, hating how peevish he sounded, like a besotted idiot.
She faced him, eyes twinkling. “I do believe I shall, since Lord Ravenswood deprived me of the dance I apparently promised to him.”
With a scowl, he led her to the floor for the waltz. “You seemed to be having a grand time with Ravenswood.”
“I was. He’s quite an interesting gentleman.”
He gritted his teeth. He could easily see how a woman like Clara would find the viscount “interesting”…and titled and rich and very eligible. Everything that Morgan was not.
Taking her in his arms, he held her closer than was proper, feeling some primitive male urge to stake his claim on her, to remind her that she was his. Even though she wasn’t, not in any real sense of the word. Even though she never could be.
Yet she didn’t seem to mind his possessive hold. She danced easily with him, as light-footed and blithe as any winged angel. Her grace and self-assurance were that of a woman who knew her own mind, yet she yielded in his arms with all the sweetness she’d shown in the library. It was enough to make a man trip over his own feet.
And her scent…oh, God, the scent of jasmine in her hair made him want to howl at the moon, to carry her out into Merrington’s gardens and ravish her like the devil he was. He settled for stroking her satin-covered back, holding her close, running his thumb along her ribs where he held her at the waist.
Still, he couldn’t get Ravenswood out of his mind. “How is it that when you’re badgering me for answers, you rage and accuse and torment, but with Lord Ravenswood you’re the soul of amiability?”
Her startled gaze shot to him. “What makes you think I am?”
“The two of you were all smiles just now, as comfortable as two old friends.”
“We’ve known each other for some time, you know. It’s not as if we’re strangers.” An impish light crossed her face. “Not the way you and I are, in any case.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“When were you planning to tell me that you’re the Honorable Captain Morgan Blakely—brother to one baron, son to another, a notorious spy, and Lord knows what else?”
He didn’t know why, but it bothered him that she was so interested in his family connections. “Does it make a difference to you who I really am?”
“It makes a difference that I didn’t know. That you lied to me about your name and Geneva and the rest of it. That you won’t even tell me why you lied to me.”
The hint of hurt in her voice tore at him more effectively than the actual words. “I didn’t lie. Not really. I truly did go by the name of Morgan Pryce when I served in the navy. Most naval officers still know me by that name.”
“But why would you take a different name—”
“It’s a long story, Clara, too much to go into now.”
“Give me the short version,” she said tersely. “Or is that something else you and Ravenswood feel that I cannot know?”
He sighed but could think of no reason not to tell her. “My brother and I were raised apart. Shortly after Sebastian and I were born, my mother left my father and took me with her to Geneva. She gave me her maiden name for a surname. She summoned my uncle Llewelyn when she was dying, and Uncle Lew came and fetched me. I was thirteen. Sebastian didn’t know about me, and my uncle and the baron urged me to keep the secret to make matters less…complicated.”
“Less complicated for whom?” she asked, so softly that he almost didn’t hear her above the orchestra.
The sympathy in her face caught him by surprise. He squeezed her hand. “I didn’t mind, cherie. I understood. The baron and my uncle were concerned about claims to the title. Although Mother did assure them that Sebastian was the eldest, they thought it best to keep us apart until he inherited. They put me in school, and when I was of age they used their influence to start me as a midshipman in the navy, where I was presented as the baron’s ward. They took good care of me. I have nothing to reproach them for.”
“Except denying you the company of your brother.”
He glanced away. She read him so well it frightened him. “I have him now, and that’s all that matters. After the baron died, I saw no reason to keep the secret, and I sought Sebastian out. When he knew the truth, he insisted that I take my place with the family and use my birth name. That’s how I started out as Morgan Pryce and ended up Morgan Blakely.” His gaze swung back to her. “So you see, I really didn’t lie. I just…left some things out.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Indeed you did. Like the fact that you used to be a spy. That you spent time with pirates. That—”
“Ravenswood told you about the pirates?”
“Only because I asked. But he wouldn’t tell me much of anything else.”
He tightened his hand on her waist. “Yet you were out there with him a long time.”
A teasing grin played over her lips. “I suppose I was.”
He didn’t like this new coyness of hers. He hated it almost as much as the tightness in his gut that he was just beginning to recognize as jealousy.
Jealousy, for God’s sake! He’d never felt such a thing in his life. “What did you talk about, the two of you, while you were out on the balcony?”
She tossed back her head. “That’s between me and Lord Ravenswood, isn’t it?”
“Then I’ll just ask him myself,” he bit out.
“What makes you think he’ll tell you?”
“Because he has nothing to hide from me.” When she averted her gaze, he pulled her closer. “Or does he? He didn’t try to…kiss you or anything, did he?”
Her gaze shot back to him, full of am
usement. “Why would you think that?”
“That’s generally why men bring women out onto balconies at these affairs.” When she remained stubbornly silent, he snapped, “Well? Did he?”
“Did he what?”
“Try to kiss you, confound it!”
All the mischief drained from her face, and she eyed him with deep solemnity. “Would you mind if he did?”
He thought about lying, but there seemed no point to that. “The truth is, I would mind very much. Though I’m damned if I know why.”
That seemed to please her. “If it makes you feel any better, Lord Ravenswood didn’t attempt anything. Just because you try to kiss me whenever we’re alone doesn’t mean everyone does, you know.”
“Then they’re all either blind or fools or both.”
He regretted his honesty instantly. Her tender, hopeful smile made him want to cut loose and run, abandon her right here on the floor. Before she wrapped her web of soft, womanly caring tight about him and he couldn’t run.
Who was he fooling? She already had that web wrapped tight. All he could think of was getting her alone so he could kiss her again, so he could taste her and touch her. Madness, sheer madness.
Clara was experiencing her own sort of madness, thanks to Morgan’s sweet words. They made her feel all hot and bothered, and this intimate waltz didn’t help.
Until now, she’d never understood the outcry against the waltz when it first appeared in London. There had seemed nothing “shameful” or “outrageous” or “destructive to the moral fiber of decent people” to her.
But then she’d never waltzed with a man she cared for, a man who’d kissed her and caressed her in her most private places. That changed every movement into an erotic and sensual step toward seduction. The brush of his thigh against her skirts, the feel of his powerful hand guiding her at the waist, the intimate clasp of their hands…all of it, when combined with the breathless pace of the dance, made her weak in the knees.
And being weak in the knees was a decided impediment to dancing. As was the close way Morgan held her, as if afraid she might bolt.
Dance of Seduction Page 19