She chuckled. ‘I expect most of their wives and daughters would readily take anything you were prepared to offer them.’
Her eyes were alight with humour. She had a mouth made for smiling, though he was willing to bet she hadn’t done much of that recently. And for kissing. It caught him unawares, the memory of her lips on his, the sweet floral scent of her, the silken softness of her glorious hair. He realised he was staring at her, and poured himself another cup of cold and unwanted coffee. She had changed, he thought. She was right, he didn’t really know her at all.
‘My sisters and I used to call your papa the Marquis of Ardhellow,’ Caro said, interrupting his thoughts. ‘We used to speculate about what the house was like. We were desperate to see inside. It is ironic that it took an overdose of opium for me to be granted my wish. From the little I have seen of the place, Crag Hall would live up to every one of the terrible tales we used to spin. It is quite Gothic in its state of neglect.’
She always did have a way of turning things on their head. That much had not changed. Sebastian pushed his full coffee cup out of reach. ‘The Marquis of Ardhellow. I suppose you think the title fits me even better than it did my father.’
She pursed her lips. ‘What I suppose is that you would like it to be so. You seem almost to relish your poor reputation.’
‘Why not? It was hard-earned.’
Caro looked at him appraisingly. ‘What a strange thing to say. And I suppose my being here can only help your cause. So, you really do intend to walk in your father’s shoes after all?’
‘What is that supposed to mean?’
‘Shut up here, never seeing anyone. Just as he did.’
‘I see people every day.’
‘Tenants. Villagers. Stable hands. Your bailiff. Servants. But you don’t have any friends to dinner. You don’t call on your neighbours.’
‘There is the small matter of your presence here. And the fact that my nearest neighbours happen to be your family.’
‘Sebastian, do not be obtuse. How could you have guests call on you here, in this room which is smaller than some of your tenants’ parlours? You don’t even employ a cook. Such a beautiful place this is, and so obviously unloved, it is a shame.’
‘I am not the one who neglected this damned pile.
‘Perhaps your father stopped caring because he knew you did not.’
Sebastian pushed his chair back angrily. ‘If I had known you would be so damned inquisitive about matters which do not concern you I would have...’
‘Left me to die.’
‘No! Caro, I did not mean that.’
‘I wouldn’t blame you if you did. I did not mean to poke my nose into your affairs. It is simply that—oh, you will think I am being melodramatic, but you saved my life. I wanted to help save yours.’
‘Thank you, but I do not require saving.’ She looked as if he had slapped her. He felt as if he had. Dammit, he would not let her get under his skin. ‘You will excuse me now, but I have important matters to attend to,’ Sebastian said. ‘My father may have neglected both me and the house but he never shirked his duty when it came to the estate, and nor shall I. Last year’s harvest was poor, and this year’s looks likely to be no better. Despite my lack of experience, I am very much aware of the impact this will have on the labourers.’ In fact, it was a problem which kept him awake at night, for the resulting unrest threatened to turn very nasty indeed. Sebastian was determined to do all he could to alleviate any suffering, but his lack of experience made it a difficult business, giving him ample cause to regret the ignorance he had so deliberately cultivated. ‘Like it or not, I am the Marquis of Ardhallow now.’ Nodding curtly, he left the room.
* * *
Alone at the table, Caro dropped her head into her hands. All the brightness of the new day seemed to have disappeared. The dark clouds which had enveloped her of late loomed large. She sat up, squaring her shoulders. She had problems enough of her own without trying to solve Sebastian’s. In fact, it was probably a desire to avoid thinking about her own problems which had made her turn on him as she had done.
She got to her feet and began to tidy the breakfast things. It was the least she could do, since Mrs Keith was so short-handed. Two years ago, he had finally destroyed her silly notion that she was in love with him. Two years ago, he had destroyed the last of her illusions about him. She had always laughed at the notion of his being the Heartless Heartbreaker, but perhaps after all that was exactly how it was. Like the Hall, Sebastian’s feelings on the subject were locked away and shuttered. His heart was as cold and empty as the house he inhabited.
Picking up a stack of plates, she made her way carefully across the untidy room. The problem was, if he really had wanted to live up to his name, he would surely have left her to die. What was it he’d called them? Two renegades. She smiled to herself, finding that she liked the idea very much. They had always been thus, back then. Cocking a snook at the world. That night at Crockford’s for example...
London—1824
A week had passed since Sebastian had left Caro outside her father’s house at Cavendish Square following the séance. A week, during which time he’d almost convinced himself that she would see sense and change her mind, until her note had arrived that morning. It had been terse and to the point. Her father was still abroad, her stepmother was temporarily confined to bed, her aunt was unavailable to act as duenna, Cressie had of a sudden come down with a head cold and was also confined to bed, and so Caro was free tonight to accompany Sebastian to Crockford’s. If this in any way inconveniences my lord, then be assured that I am perfectly capable of accompanying myself, it finished.
‘No, you most definitely are not,’ Sebastian had exclaimed aloud. ‘Why the devil I allowed you to persuade me in the first place...’
Why? Because she was different and he was bored. Because it would be nice to be of service to someone, even if she had virtually coerced him into it. Because if he ever spent any time at Crag Hall, they would be neighbours.
* * *
‘In fact, I have a duty to protect the chit from herself,’ he muttered under his breath later that day as he donned his evening clothes of black trousers, a silver waistcoat and a black coat.
Having thus reassured himself that his motives were entirely chivalrous, Sebastian arrived in his town coach at the corner of Cavendish Square at the appointed hour. It was late, after ten in the evening, when Caro slipped into the carriage beside him, wrapped once more in her voluminous evening cloak. He was aware of something large placed upon her head, but in the dim light could make out little. He was seriously beginning to doubt the sanity of the whole undertaking. He tried, for the bulk of the journey, to persuade her that the prudent thing to be done was to turn the coach around. He was entirely unsuccessful.
‘Hush Sebastian,’ Caro said, ‘pray do not lecture, for there is no point. Remember, I am doing this for Cressie. You would not wish me to let her down.’
‘She knows you’re here?’ he asked incredulously.
‘No, of course not, it is to be a surprise, but you would not wish me to deprive her of it, I am sure. Stop trying to persuade me to turn tail and tell me instead what to expect.’
Resigning himself to the inevitable, he decided that the only thing he could do was mitigate the damage. ‘I think you had best explain your sister’s precious theory to me.’
The system, as far as he could make out, played to the percentages. He could see how it might prove reasonably effective, were it not for the fact that the faro table would undoubtedly be fixed. He considered telling Caro this, but decided it would be best for her to discover it for herself. If she lost, she would be far less likely to attempt to repeat the exercise.
The folds of her cloak brushing his trousers, the alluring scent of her, something light and flowery, and the suppressed excitement in her v
oice, distracted him. He had the distinct feeling that he was caught in a net from which he should escape, but he had no idea how to fight free. ‘You do understand the rules of faro, I take it?’ he asked.
‘Cressie taught me. She has studied several games of chance in the name of mathematics. Cressie loves mathematics, though strangely enough, she’s not the least bit interested in gambling. She will be relieved not to have had to put her theory into practice herself.’
He couldn’t help but laugh at her enthusiasm. He was touched too, at her motives. Though it seemed the years had separated the various sisters, at some fundamental level it was obvious that they cared very much for each other. He wondered what it would be like to have a sibling, then dismissed the thought contemptuously. He would not wish his own experience on anyone. ‘That reminds me,’ he said, ‘you must endeavour not to speak while we are there. There are bound to be acquaintances of your father present tonight.’
‘And of your own?’
‘My father is a stickler for propriety. Were he to discover any of his acquaintance were in the habit of gambling, he would damn well drop them immediately.’
‘Do you always swear so much?’
‘I was not aware that I did. Do you always ask such personal questions?’
‘I expect swearing is another aspect of being a rake which you deliberately cultivate. I confess I find it shockingly attractive,’ Caro said.
Her remark made him uneasy. He was four-and-twenty and had been loose on the ton for four years, while she was but twenty and only just out. To his relief, the carriage began to slow as it eased its way along St James’s. ‘We are nearly there. Are you absolutely sure about this?’ he asked.
‘Absolutely certain,’ Caro replied firmly.
He, on the other hand, was now having serious qualms. Crockford’s may be one of the more respectable hells, but it was a hell none the less. If Caro was spotted here, her reputation would be in tatters. He should have made that clear. He was about to embark upon trying to do this when the carriage came to a halt and she handed him something. ‘Can you tie this for me, please?’
It was a mask, one of those silk affairs that covered the eyes only. He was both impressed and appalled at her level of foresight, for while the lightskirts who haunted such places made a point of showing every charm they had, the very few women who came to gamble made a point of keeping their faces covered in exactly this way. Some men too, wore hats, shades and masks, though they feared more that their expressions would expose the strength of their hand rather than that their true identity would expose them to scandal.
Sebastian tied the strings of Caro’s disguise as best he could, given the lack of light and the large creation she seemed to be sporting on her head. His fingers touched the bare skin at her nape, and a tiny quiver of awareness shot through him. It would not do, he reminded himself guiltily. The sooner they were out of the intimacy of the carriage the better. ‘Come,’ he said, leaning past her to open the carriage door, ‘let us go and see how your sister’s theory holds up.’
* * *
The impressive red-sandstone building with its portico front which constituted the latest in the erstwhile fishmonger’s long line of clubs, was one of a number of copper and silver hells on St James’s. William Crockford hired thugs to prevent any but his own sharps from entering its portals, and to ensure also that the clientele had at least the appearance of respectability—the ladies of the demi-monde excepted, of course. For this reason, Crockford’s was frequented by those females of the ton who wished to play deep, and Crockford had the business acumen to reward his employees well for their discretion in order to encourage such well-heeled patrons.
Sebastian had never understood the thrill of staking a fortune on the turn of a card. Helping Caro down from the carriage, he was struck afresh by the lunacy of this escapade as she emerged into the blaze of light which emanated from the beacons in the club’s entranceway. She looked preposterous, like a child playing dress-up. Headstrong, naïve, absurdly well meaning and utterly oblivious of the risk she was taking, she was actually smiling at him mischievously, inviting him to admire her outfit. The enormity of what they were doing, of the responsibility he was assuming for her, hit him with full force. ‘Devil take it, this is not a game,’ he exclaimed.
Caro’s face fell. ‘You think I shall be discovered?’
‘I doubt your own sisters would recognise you, which is not the point at all. Where on earth did you get that hat?’
She patted the monstrosity which adorned her head. ‘It is a turban, not a hat. I—er—liberated it from my stepmother’s wardrobe. I needed something big enough to cover my hair, you see. Red is most distinctive.’
‘Your hair is not red, it is copper.’ He shook his head, torn between amusement and trepidation. ‘Take my arm, keep that damned thing on your head, and stay close.’
Caro did so willingly, he was relieved—and a little surprised—to note. She wore black lace gloves, leaving her fingertips bare for the cards. Her attention to detail was second to none. ‘I confess I am suddenly rather nervous, she whispered. ‘I am very glad I have your lead to follow, and extremely grateful that you agreed to escort me. I doubt I would have managed on my own.’
‘Admit it, you would not have come on your own.’
‘Yes I—well, no, I would not, you are quite right. Only please, we are here now, do not say we have to leave.’
He knew he should do exactly that, but meeting her eyes, pleading with him from behind her mask, he realised what he wanted to do, despite her turban and her gloves, despite the fact that she had coerced him into this foolhardiness, was to kiss her. Dammit! She was not the kind of female he kissed. He was here simply to keep her safe and for no other reason.
But as he led her up the steps and into the garish reception hall and waited while she dispensed with her cloak, Sebastian found himself having to work very hard to stop himself grinning. She made him angry and she made him laugh and she made him want to shake her and yes, even to kiss her. The one emotion she did not provoke in him was boredom.
* * *
Having checked the looking glass in the room set aside for ladies and satisfied herself that none of her tell-tale hair was showing under the turban, Caro stood on the edge of the crowd in the reception hall. She had never in her life been so nervous. The enormity of what she was doing was only now beginning to sink in. She was surprised Sebastian hadn’t noticed her trembling when he tied the strings of her mask. Not that she could in all honesty attribute the trembling wholly to nerves. She was no longer sixteen, but she was still very much attracted to him.
I doubt any of the women I have had dealings with have a heart to break. She had neither the age nor the experience of the women Sebastian consorted with. She would be a fool to think he would look twice at her. What’s more, if he thought there was the least danger of her falling in love with him—not that she would be so very stupid—then he would make sure their paths never crossed again, something she would do very well indeed to bear in mind.
Holding her head straight in order not to upset the balance of the surprisingly weighty turban, Caro picked her way carefully across the bustling reception hall. The perfume from many and varied scents which had been applied liberally by the fastidious added a top-note to the sour smell of the sweating bodies in the throng of people making their way to the gaming rooms. The reception hall was a blaze of light, the proportions elegant, though the décor was rather too overwhelmingly gilded for Caro’s taste. She had expected it to be more subdued somehow, for gambling was a serious business, but there was a buzz of anticipation in the air. Voices were shrill, the laughter raucous.
When she finally reached Sebastian, she stifled the urge to give a little twirl, for she was really rather proud of her disguise, and the expression of utter astonishment on his face, though it was quickly hidden, was most grat
ifying. She was not altogether surprised, for the dress she had ‘borrowed’ from Bella was vulgar in the extreme. Turkey-red silk, embroidered with gold fleur-de-lis, it clashed horribly with the walls of the room in which they stood. Since the robe was far too large for her slim form, she had stuffed her corset with an assortment of stockings and gloves in order to fill out the revealing décolleté, achieving a matronly cleavage which she was forced to drape with a spangled fichu for fear that her padding might be detected. Working on the assumption that the more dazzling was her toilette, the less likely it was that anyone would pay attention to the person wearing it, Caro had tied another spangled scarf around her waist, and draped the brightly embroidered mantilla which her father had brought Bella back from Spain around her shoulders. A paste necklace which her Aunt Sophia, whose taste in jewellery was execrable, had given her as a birthday present, a pair of garnet earrings, another of Aunt Sophia’s presents, this time to Cressie, and a reticule of silver net, completed her rather extraordinary ensemble. ‘Do I pass muster, my lord?’ she asked, making her curtsy.
Sebastian’s eyes narrowed, but his mouth twitched. ‘As a gaudy peacock likely to draw both attention and comment then yes indeed, you pass muster. Since the circumstances require you to be both anonymous and incognito however, I am struggling to muster anything other than a headache. I fear you are not taking this seriously. You could at least have worn less ostentatious jewellery.’
‘This necklace was a gift from my father’s sister.’
‘Your aunt appears not to value you as she ought.’
Caro tucked her hand back into Sebastian’s arm. ‘On the contrary. Aunt Sophia thinks that I am a most dutiful niece. She herself is a stickler for propriety.’
‘Are you quite sure you’re related?’
She giggled. ‘There are times when I wish we were not. No, that is unkind of me. Aunt Sophia may look like an ill-tempered camel, but she has always been most—most conscientious in her care for my sisters and I.’
Rumors That Ruined a Lady Page 6