by Regina Scott
She shook her head again, but this time more vehemently. “I don’t understand you, Leslie. I thought we agreed that my best course was to spend additional time getting to know Major Cutter. Surely that is the only way to tell whether he has my best interests at heart. Why not accept his offer to visit this gaming establishment?”
Why not indeed? The idea had merit. Give the girl some proximity to the infamous Major Cutter, and she’d soon see through him. But Leslie wasn’t sure he could stand to watch the process. He had nearly exploded watching Cutter’s practiced seduction in the carriage this afternoon. The fellow had all but put his hands on her! Each comment had been murmured with the heated purr of a lover, each phrase calculatingly couched in innuendo. Leslie had had to ball his hands into fists to keep from grabbing the villain by the too-perfect folds of his cravat and tossing him out of the coach.
“Did nothing Major Cutter do or say this afternoon concern you?” he challenged.
She blinked. “Concern me? I… I’m not sure what you mean.”
Her eyes were wide, but they did not quite meet his gaze. Had she, in fact, been discomposed by the major’s none-too-subtle flirting? He pressed his advantage. “Did you like how he talked to you? Did his choice of topics amuse you?”
He had obviously been mistaken in her concern, for she relaxed, shrugging. “He talked about the fight. As did you, as did I. I will grant you he isn’t the most original conversationalist, if that’s what you mean.”
“Indeed,” Leslie quipped. “I have seen it done far better with far more experienced ladies than you.”
“What are you talking about?” Cleo demanded. “Do not start with this odious accusation of Major Cutter’s opinion of me again. I will grant you there were moments when I thought him the least bit familiar, but that is not the same as mistaking me for your mistress.”
“Familiar, is it?” Leslie replied, determined that she understand. “Very well, Miss Innocent, you leave me no choice but to demonstrate what you must learn for your own safety. If you would kindly gaze out the window at the rapidly disbanding crowd.”
Her frown remained, but she did as he bid. Leslie sat for a moment, steeling himself, watching as his driver returned with their winnings and resumed his seat on the box. Under cover of the swaying of the coach, he slid closer to Cleo.
“See the people moving about, Miss Renfield,” he murmured near her ear. He was so close a dark curl teased his cheek like a silken finger. “There is such grace in moving limbs, swaying, joining.”
“Leslie,” she growled in warning.
“Watch the crowd, if you please,” he instructed. Then he gave into temptation and let his gloved fingers brush her hair as he inched closer.
“Fighting is such an exertion,” he murmured, inhaling her jasmine scent. “I much prefer other forms of exercise, something more entertaining for both partners, something more intimate.”
She stiffened but he could not stop himself, didn’t want to stop himself. He bent and brushed his lips against the nape of her neck, sighing against the sweetness of her skin. He could have sworn she tasted every bit as warm and honeyed as she looked. His heart pounding, he straightened and waited for her to slap his face.
She did not disappoint him. She whirled from the window, face blazing, hand up. But the blow never came. She merely glared at him. “Point taken,” she snapped. “It was annoying and flustering when he did it. When you do it, it feels like....”
“Betrayal?”
She nodded, swallowing, and he could see the anger leave her. “So, you are asking me to believe that Major Cutter is a miscreant who would also betray me. But I have never heard anyone say anything bad about him, never smelled the least whiff of scandal. If he is so awful, why hasn’t he shown it by now?”
She had him there. Until Cleo had taken an interest in the major, Leslie had always considered him the best of good fellows. Was he wrong in what he saw? He remembered the cunning words, the clever hands that had nearly driven him mad. No, Tony Cutter had definitely been set on seduction. But were his actions any worse than that of any other buck on the ton? Did his insinuations imply anything more devious than the urgent desire to make the lady his? Was Leslie simply a jealous fool?
“I have only my own experiences and my intuition to guide me,” he admitted. “Both tell me Tony Cutter is looking for a mistress, not a wife. Lady Agnes thinks he is after money.”
Cleo barked a laugh. “I have no money. You know that.” She paused with a frown. “Still, it would explain his interest in Eloise Watkin. Now she has money.”
“Either way, I would not see you harmed, Cleo.”
“I assure you, neither would I,” she replied fervently. “But you know our agreement with Lady Agnes, Leslie. I must find a husband in six weeks’ time. I refuse to compromise you on the altar of matrimony.”
He wanted to groan aloud at her choice of analogies. His brain continued to seize on them all too easily. He would have been only too delighted to have her compromise him anywhere she pleased. “We will find someone else, Sprout,” he maintained, reaching up to tap the panel and signal his driver to start for home.
Her look was thoughtful. “There must be a way to prove Major Cutter’s true colors.”
“I suppose,” he allowed as the coach set off. “If he sees fit to call on you in all propriety, I will rethink his intentions. But until he does, I want you to promise me never to be alone with him.”
Her eyes widened. “You don’t think he would accost me?”
Leslie shook his head, trying to hide the fact that his blood turned cold just considering the possibility. “I have no idea. I simply think it wise to take precautions.” He reached out and touched her cheek, wishing he could be so bold as to remove his glove and stroke the softness. “Don’t be afraid, Sprout. I don’t intend to let you out of my sight until the day you are safely wed.”
She sighed, rising to move to the opposite seat as if dismissing him. “I’m very much afraid, Leslie,” she said. “For if Major Cutter is not the man I hope him to be, that day may never arrive.”
*
Leslie drove her home and stayed for an early dinner. After he left, Ellie arrived and Cleo had to endure a ringing scold over the Almack’s contretemps before her sister quieted down enough to let Lady Agnes announce the fact that Leslie had proposed. Then Ellie was all knowing smiles. Indeed, she insisted that Lady Agnes leave them alone to explain the changes that would soon occur in Cleo’s maidenly status. Luckily, Lady Agnes protested.
“I’m her chaperone,” her godmother declared, shaking out the skirts of her black silk gown. “It’s therefore my responsibility to prepare her for her marriage bed.”
“You?” Ellie thrust out the chest of her amethyst satin gown. “Need I remind you, madam, that you are a spinster?”
“What has that to say about anything?” Lady Agnes challenged. “I know how horses mate, and I’m certainly no mare.”
Cleo felt her cheeks heat in a blush, but in truth she was too curious about what her sister wanted to impart to stop the conversation.
“So you say,” Ellie replied to Lady Agnes. “But as Cleo’s oldest sister, I feel it my duty to pass along my experience, just in case.”
Lady Agnes leaned back in her chair. “If you have so much experience in the area, I’d like to hear it. Maybe I’ll learn something as well.”
Ellie glared at her for a moment before turning her gaze on Cleo. “Once a gentleman has committed himself to a lady,” she began, “he feels he has the right to touch her wherever he sees fit. It will be up to you to depress such notions.”
Cleo frowned. “I’m not quite sure what you mean,” she said, although the memory of Eloise in the hayloft intruded.
Ellie compressed her lips even as Lady Agnes leaned forward for an answer.
“Gentlemen are by nature more prone to give in to their base natures,” Ellie said with arch superiority. “They are only satisfied if they can indulge their senses. I am cert
ain Lord Hastings will be no exception. You must remember that a short embrace, a discrete touch on the shoulder, or perhaps a kindly kiss on the cheek is acceptable. Anything else should be discouraged.”
So, neither Major Cutter’s touch on her neck nor Leslie’s kiss had been acceptable, even if they had been engaged to her. Of course, Leslie’s had only been done in demonstration, even if the very thorough demonstration had served to send heat to the center of her being. Major Cutter’s had obviously been motivated by something else. The question remained as to what.
“I dare say,” Lady Agnes interrupted far more gently than was her wont, “that all that changes with marriage. When there is love and respect between husband and wife the, er, touching is more likely to be pleasurable to them both.”
Cleo smiled, even as Ellie rolled her eyes. Now that answer made sense. It fit with the warm, comfortable feeling she had sensed between her mother and father. It fit with the tension she’d felt between Jareth Darby and Eloise Watkin. Perhaps Eloise was right that some sort of love had been present, but respect seemed to have been missing. The answer even explained Cleo’s response to Major Cutter, who she had respected, but not loved. Small wonder his touches had made her feel faint.
Ellie had some other pointed advice about keeping her eyes shut and doing her duty for the good of England, but Cleo didn’t pay much attention. The events of the day seemed to crowd in on her, and she was glad when her sister dismissed her at last.
As she climbed into bed, however, Lady Agnes walked in. She leaned over the bed and pulled the coverlet up under Cleo’s chin.
“No one’s done that since my mother died,” Cleo told her with a fond smile.
Lady Agnes shook her head. “Your sisters never did know how to handle you. Did Electra’s disgustingly inadequate description tonight trouble you?”
“No,” Cleo replied. “But your clarification made a great deal of sense.”
Lady Agnes snorted. “Of course I make sense. Thank goodness you did not put much stock in your sister’s wisdom. I may never have had a lover, but I’ve seen how happy my friends and family are in their marriages. I find it hard to believe every one of them simply shuts their eyes and makes the best of things when the lamp is blown out. Look at Margaret and Thomas, for goodness sake–happy as grigs the pair of them, and she’s even been known to kiss him in public.”
If only she could find such a man.
Chapter Sixteen
L
eslie’s evening fared far worse. He had escorted Cleo home and eaten dinner with her and Lady Agnes, escaping the house as early as he could for the quiet of his club. White’s was hardly silent, if one counted the thrum of civilized conversation, the chime of fine crystal, or the shuffle of cards against green baize. But Leslie was long used to those noises. He was far less used to the sound of his own brain, furiously working. He could not seem to get Cleo’s problem off his mind.
Normally, he would have found little time to contemplate the issue. He was a well-known figure at the club and generally did not lack for invitations to dine, to play cards, to converse. Tonight, however, it was obvious that his presence was awkward. Gentlemen who could be counted on to stop and chat now barely nodded in passing. Fellows he had considered more than acquaintances suddenly found it expedient to be elsewhere. One set of lords actually stopped playing when he expressed interest in their game, and Robbie Newcomer, the lad who had stood up with Cleo before their now infamous waltz, went so far as to give him the cut direct. Sally Jersey’s edict was being enforced far beyond the bounds of Almack’s.
The censure was extreme, but he could not say it troubled him as much as he had expected. Cleo knew his motives had been pure. He resigned himself to a quiet night and retreated to an armchair near one of the fireplaces to ponder. He was therefore surprised when someone deigned to join him. And even more surprised when that someone proved to be Cutter.
“Lord Hastings,” he greeted. “Might I have a word with you?”
Leslie raised a brow. Cutter merely regarded him with a slight frown. Snapping a nod, Leslie motioned him to the opposite chair. Once safely ensconced, the major lost no time in explaining himself.
“I had no idea you had offered for Miss Renfield,” he said, hands braced on the thighs of his white breeches.
Leslie frowned. “Who told you that?”
“The betting books closed today when it became known that Lady Agnes DeGuis had sent the notice to the Society papers of your engagement. You must have been ready to call me out for my behavior this afternoon.”
Leslie clenched his teeth. He had not counted on his godmother to move so quickly. “I was,” he admitted. “I don’t mind telling you, Cutter, that your methods are a dash familiar.”
“My apologies,” Cutter replied humbly. “I promise you, I’m not the type to poach on another man’s territory.”
Drat his godmother! How was Cleo to get another man to show interest without making the engagement a lie and Lady Agnes a liar? A neater trap he had never seen. Cleo would simply have to invent a logical explanation as to why the banns were being read even as she sought a husband. Perhaps he and Cleo should come up with something together, so their stories matched. In the meantime, he supposed he should discourage the notion that the lady was taken.
“I’m not impressed by your actions,” Leslie told Cutter. “However, I think Miss Renfield highly regards you. I would be a fool to stand in the way of that regard.”
Cutter leaned forward. “Do I understand you correctly? Are you encouraging me to pursue Miss Renfield, even though you are now engaged to her?”
Leslie met his gaze. “I am encouraging you to be honest in your dealings with her. If you are interested, do not let my supposed engagement to the lady stand in your way.”
“I appreciate your candor, Hastings,” he said. “And I cannot help noticing that you are a bit friendless at the moment. Let me return your kindness. I would be happy to have you join me at Madam Zala’s gaming establishment. A gentleman with deep pockets is always welcome there. Say tomorrow evening?”
Leslie couldn’t see that kindness had anything to do with it. If Major Cutter wanted to pick Les’ pockets at the gaming table, a private establishment looked to be the only way he could do it as Leslie was clearly unwelcome at White’s. Still, there was something wrong about the whole affair. He simply couldn’t put his finger on it. “I shall consider it,” he replied.
Cutter stood and bowed, and Leslie nodded in farewell. As soon as the major strolled away, Leslie frowned. It seemed the best he could do was determine Cutter’s plans. For that, he needed decidedly more information.
Perhaps the best ear man in twelve counties could help.
*
Morning was always good for brightening Cleo’s outlook. She woke determined to find a way out of her predicament. The logical first step was to learn whether Major Cutter was the blackguard Leslie thought him. To do this, she clearly needed to spend time in the gentleman’s company. She could not sit around waiting for him to call. Yet, she certainly could not call on him. She hadn’t the foggiest notion where he lived, and ladies did not call on gentlemen, regardless. She could scarcely haunt the front steps of White’s, and she could not rely purely on the chance that they might attend the same balls. She had to think of something else.
The answer was dropped in her lap by the unlikely person of Eloise Watkin. Surprise could not describe Cleo’s emotions when Mr. Cowls announced the visitor and ushered the girl into the withdrawing room, where Cleo had been thinking. Eloise looked as lovely as ever in a green-sprigged muslin gown, but, as Cleo motioned her to a chair, Cleo could not help noticing that the girl’s green eyes were rimmed by red.
“I know you told me not to call again,” Eloise said as soon as they were alone. “But I had nowhere else to turn.”
“I apologize for speaking so harshly to you the last time you were here,” Cleo replied sincerely. “I wish you would believe me that the memory of that day i
s as unpleasant for me as it is for you.”
“It cannot be.” Eloise rose and wandered about the room, hands clenched before her. “I thought I loved him and he loved me. I would have given him anything and very nearly did. You would think I would have learned.” She stopped and regarded Cleo steadily, head high. “No, I have learned. I know you must think me a horrid flirt, Cleo, that I am forever bringing myself to a gentleman’s notice. It is my way of testing them. I will not let a gentleman close unless he has proven himself worthy.”
Cleo nodded in understanding. “I am not certain I would do the same, but I can see how you might have come to that. Why do you tell me this?”
Eloise returned to her seat. “Because I need your help. You are the only one who will understand how important this is to me.” She paused, swallowing, as if unsure of her reception. “I am interested in Major Cutter, and I need to know whether his intentions toward me are honorable.”
Cleo wanted to laugh at the irony, but she was afraid of hurting Eloise’s feelings. “I cannot help you, Eloise. I am also interested in the major and having no better luck determining his motives.”
Eloise stared at her, and Cleo thought she might spring up and depart that minute. Instead, her lips compressed in a determined line. “I’m sorry we’re rivals. If you remember, I did try to stop that in the beginning.”
“You tried to warn me away from him,” Cleo corrected her. “You should know better. I am far too stubborn for that tactic to work.”
Eloise shook her head with a wry smile. “Yes, I should have known better. But our problem remains. You must have seen how slippery he is about making commitments. I have hinted and postured as much as I can. He will say nothing that one can pin one’s hopes upon, yet he seems to expect complete devotion from the lady. How can either of us know his intentions?”
Cleo could not answer the question, but Eloise did not appear to expect an answer. “I tell you, Cleo, I will not be betrayed again. After seeing my fall, I would think you would feel the same.”