The Irredeemable Miss Renfield (Uncommon Courtships Book 3)

by Regina Scott

  Cutter led her next to the vingt-un table and played a round with her at his side. She seemed delighted to watch him play, leaning over to murmur questions. Their continued closeness made the alcohol burn in Leslie’s stomach even though he continued to refuse the wine offered him.

  He lost track of time. He lost track of the games they played. The only game he cared about was the one Cutter was playing with Cleo. When the major brought Cleo’s hand to his mouth, and she stared up at him, lips moist as if awaiting his kiss, Leslie felt the champagne curdle. His stomach roiled, rushing up into his throat. He was about to be sick! He stumbled for the door and stood beside the balustrade, sucking in the air. A moment more and he found Madam Zala at his side.

  “You are unwell, my lord,” she murmured, hand cool upon his brow. “Allow me to find you a room where you can lie down.”

  Leslie shook his head, and the landing titled crazily under his feet. He couldn’t cast up his accounts like some green youth fresh from the country. He refused to be drunk when he had to protect Cleo. And how could he be drunk anyway? Sure even he could handle a single glass of champagne.

  “I’m fine,” he gulped. “I just need a moment to myself.”

  She withdrew instantly, and he took a deep, fortifying breath. He could do this. He must, for Cleo’s sake. Slowly he straightened. The floor obliged him by remaining in its customary place and fairly steady too. With a nod of satisfaction, he strolled back into the card room.

  Only to find that Cleo and Cutter had vanished.

  *

  On the terrace outside the first floor landing, Cleo inhaled the warmth of the summer’s evening.

  “Better?” Major Cutter asked solicitously beside her.

  She nodded. “Much. It was simply too close in there.” She glanced hopefully around the little landing and out into the garden she could see below her. There was no sign of Leslie. She had been so sure that the major was correct that Leslie had only stepped out for a bit of air, being overcome as she was by the heat of the room. But she could see nothing of his lean figure, and there was no other logical reason to linger on the balcony. In the moonlight she could see that the garden was small and overgrown, certainly not the place to take a romantic walk. Besides, even in the warmth of the evening, her bare shoulders were pimpling with gooseflesh.

  “We don’t have to return immediately,” Major Cutter said, moving closer.

  Cleo stiffened. “Oh, I’m sure we should. Leslie, that is Lord Hastings, may already be looking for us.”

  He raised a hand to toy with the curl near her ear. Cleo’s pulse began to speed. “I’m sure he can find other amusements,” he assured her. “As can we.”

  He pulled her into his embrace. His mouth descended on hers, warm, wet, and insistent. She squeezed her eyes shut and counted to ten, willing herself to relax. But his tongue forced its way between her lips, and she gagged.

  He raised his head but did not release her. “What’s wrong?” he asked, and she was shocked to hear annoyance in his tone.

  “I think you better unhand me,” Cleo said. “I am not interested in your advances.”

  To her surprise, his grip only tightened. “Perhaps you don’t understand, my dear,” he replied. “Lord Hastings has lost interest in you. He practically begged me to take you off his hands. I assure you, I am more than ready to replace him in your affections. Allow me to demonstrate.”

  He smothered her in another kiss. Cleo wanted to cry out in vexation. Leslie was right. Cutter was a miscreant. As if to prove it, his hand slipped up to cup her breast. Cleo heaved herself back and struck him.

  “You,” she said, scrambling out of reach, “are much mistaken. If you insist on taking my virtue, you will not find it easy.”

  Even in the moonlight she could see the reddening mark of her hand on his cheek. He did not finger it, although it had to sting. Instead, he smiled.

  “Go ahead, scream.”

  Cleo stared at him, whole body cold. “I could. Leslie would come for me, even if the others refused.”

  Cutter’s smile grew. “I wouldn’t count on that. I suspect Lord Hastings isn’t feeling quite the thing right now. At least, I paid good money to make sure he wouldn’t be.”

  “What have you done to Leslie!” Cleo demanded.

  “Nothing permanent,” Cutter assured her. “At least it might not be permanent, if you cooperate. If he passes out without me there to protect him, I cannot promise that my compatriots will be kind. I suggest you do exactly as I say so that we can return to him quickly.”

  Though Cleo now had no doubts he could do something so wicked, she prayed for Leslie’s sake that he was lying. “What do you want from me? I won’t let you molest me.”

  “I do not need to. Though the idea has merit.” Cleo forced herself not to shiver as he continued. “I merely wish to confirm some information I have about you. I’ve heard gossip about how you lost your innocence in school.”

  “That’s a lie,” Cleo snapped.

  “I would be inclined to agree but there is evidence to support it. It is well known that your sisters cannot stand to be near you. Is it because of the disgrace?”

  “Do not judge me by my sisters’ actions,” she warned him. “They are entirely too busy to bother with me, nothing more.”

  “A pretty story,” he allowed, “but that doesn’t explain why only your godmother has been willing to squire you about.”

  Cleo tossed her head. “And do you truly believe Lady Agnes DeGuis would have a thing to do with me if I were ruined?”

  “Her devotion to you is commendable,” he agreed. “Unfortunately, it may be that she knows nothing of what happened. I understand that only a select few knew of your ruin.”

  “You think you understand a great deal, sir,” she informed him. “You understand nothing.”

  “On the contrary, I know all too well how easily a young girl’s head can be turned. I’ve turned a few myself. But you needn’t think I blame you. Lord Jareth Darby’s conquests are legendary.”

  “Lord Darby?” Cleo knew she had paled. He thought she was the girl who had been compromised in the hayloft that day. She wanted to shout her innocence to the stars, but she could not tell him the truth without betraying Eloise. “I never dallied with Lord Darby, or anyone else, for that matter,” she assured him.

  He shook his head. “I’m afraid I have the story from a rather reputable source. I did not believe it, at first, but your behavior of late has been rather convincing.”

  Her behavior. Her attempts to shock her sisters had confirmed the hideous lie in his warped mind. “You could not possibly understand,” she said, “but I had my reasons for behaving as I did.”

  “Perhaps,” he allowed. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. It would have been easier if you had a dark secret with which to blackmail the Carlisles. Your sister’s husband craves entrance to Society too much to lose it now. However, just having compromised you here should be sufficient. Particularly as I am so willing to marry you and make it all come out right.”

  Cleo stiffened. “I will never marry you.”

  “Yes, you will.” His confidence was so supreme she could cheerfully have struck him again. “Or I will drag you and your sisters’ reputations though the mud. I imagine they will pay a pretty penny to keep me quiet. And I will see that they keep on paying.”

  He was hideous. She imagined he had planned the same for Eloise, until the rumor and her own behavior had made her an easier target. She knew she was blameless. She had to convince Ellie and Annie to refuse him. But she needn’t let him know that.

  “Your plan is flawless,” she said. “Now may we go see whether Lord Hastings is all right?”

  He frowned at her as if not believing she would comply so easily. She tensed, afraid he would attack her again. He took a step toward her, and she brought up her fists the way the fighters had done, ready to protect if she must.

  Behind him, the door to the house clicked open as loudly as a shot from a rifl
e. Madam Zala floated onto the balcony.

  “Has she agreed?” she murmured, coming close enough to peer at Cleo in the moonlight.

  “A minute more,” Cutter snapped, and Cleo’s fists tightened.

  “You do not have a minute,” Madam Zala told him. “Hastings is fighting the drug I put in the champagne. He insists on searching the house for Miss Renfield. I cannot hold him off much longer.”

  Cleo thanked God silently that Leslie was safe. “Let me go to him,” she urged them both.

  Cutter hesitated for a moment more, then nodded. “But never fear, Miss Renfield. I shall see you tomorrow morning to confirm my undying devotion. And unless you agree to my suit, I will confess a great deal more.” He turned to Madame Zala. “Take her.”

  “Certainly,” the woman murmured, reaching out to her. Her touch on Cleo’s shoulder was gentle, but Cleo flinched back. Madam Zala’s look tightened as she turned. Cleo followed her back into the house.

  She hoped to see Leslie right away, but to her frustration, Madam Zala led her not to the card room but to a small sitting room at the front of the house. It was tastefully furnished; in fact, the furnishings were better coordinated and in better shape than the items with which Ellie had furnished the house she’d rented for Cleo and Lady Agnes. Wickedness, apparently, paid well.

  “Wait here,” Madam Zala advised.

  Cleo would have liked to tell the woman exactly what she thought of her, but that would hardly get her back to Leslie and safely out of this place. She sank onto a brocaded settee as her hostess slipped from the room. She wasn’t sure if she could wait calmly as this room seemed to demand for however long it took the woman to locate Leslie, but it was only a few minutes before the door opened again to admit him.

  Cleo rose to her feet. His hair was tousled, his eyes wild, and his cravat was in shambles. She ran to his outstretched arms, and he clasped her to him.

  “Are you all right?” he begged against her hair.

  For the first time, Cleo felt tears coming. “Oh, Leslie, it was awful! You were right; he is a monster! He plans to ruin me and blackmail Ellie to keep the secret.”

  The hand stroking her hair trembled. “I’ll kill him,” he raved. “I’ll see his craven carcass hung from Tyburn Gallows.”

  “I would be delighted to assist you,” Cleo promised, leaning back to gaze up into his face. Any fear she had felt vanished in his obvious concern. He was ashen, and dark circles rimmed his eyes. She hugged him tightly. “Leslie, it’s all right. I’m all right. We will not let him win. Please, will you take me home?”

  He stared down at her, and the anger seeped out of him to be replaced by a sadness she could feel. “Oh, Cleo, I’m sorry. I failed you.”

  “Nonsense! Major Cutter should be the one to apologize. Only a villain would take advantage of gossip. He chose me for his victim because he heard gossip that I had already lost my innocence.”

  “What?” Leslie’s voice turned angry once more. “Who’d have the gall to claim you as less than a lady?”

  Cleo had a fairly good idea, but she didn’t intend to compound the gossip with any of her own. “Never mind. Suffice it to say that my behavior of late only served to convince him that the gossip was correct. So, you were right, Les. I should be the one to apologize for not believing you.”

  Leslie’s embrace tightened, but unlike Cutter’s fierce hold, it didn’t frighten her. Indeed, she relished his closeness. “It isn’t your fault,” he told her sternly. “You did nothing wrong. Anyone with an ounce of intelligence would know you are a lady.”

  She hiccoughed a laugh. “Then we are doomed, Les, for Lady Agnes claims my sisters to be as dense as door jambs. We must pray that for once they listen to reason.”

  “We shall make them listen,” Leslie promised. “You will not marry Cutter, Cleo. If you marry anyone, it will be me.”

  Cleo started. Slowly she lifted her head to meet his gaze, and when she did her heart started racing again. Leslie kept his eyes locked with hers for a few moments, as if allowing her time to refuse him if she wished. She could not move, even to shake her head no or nod yes. He bent and caressed her lips with a kiss.

  And it was a caress. It was sweet and gentle and full of promise. Instead of fleeing or gasping against it, she wanted to sink into it, deepen it, prolong it. She leaned against him, and he granted her unspoken desire, pressing her even closer, moving his lips against hers. Small wonder Eloise cried to lose such closeness.

  Cleo clung to him again, but this time in joy. She’d never felt so alive! Leslie’s touch awakened a seed deep inside her. She could feel it growing, budding, blossoming until her desire matched his own. She gave herself over to his touch eagerly, unashamedly, and when he groaned aloud, she laughed against his mouth with delight.

  He broke the kiss then, pushing her back from him with a growl. “I’m a wretch. What kind of creature takes advantage of you at your weakest moment?”

  “You didn’t take advantage of me,” she scolded, cuddling against him even as she marveled at the sensations singing through her. “I rather think it’s the other way around. You’ve been drinking. I could taste the champagne.”

  He shuddered. “Forgive me, Cleo. I should never....”

  She put up a hand to stop him. “Don’t. Don’t you dare apologize for the loveliest moment of my life. I’ve never felt happier! But I promise to wait to hear a formal declaration from you, when you are sober.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  L

  eslie’s first thought was to protest that he was quite sober indeed. The shock of losing Cleo in the gaming house should have driven any remaining alcohol from his blood. If he acted drunk now, it was because of the feelings singing through his veins. Kissing Cleo had been unlike anything he could have imagined, and he knew he had a rather good imagination, as well as the experiences to back it up. He would have liked nothing better than to keep on kissing her. Gazing down at her, he could see that she had never looked lovelier. Her skin was suffused with a rosy glow; her lips were swollen from his kisses. It would have taken little for him to pull her back into his arms or to keep her there. He raked a hand back through his hair.

  Cleo giggled, rising as well. “You’re only making it worse. Let me.” She stood on tiptoe, reaching up to smooth down his hair. With her body so close to his, her hand touching him, he was nearly undone. He caught her hand between his.

  “Cleo, perhaps you are right. Perhaps I am intoxicated. But I meant what I said.”

  “As did I,” she explained. “The champagne was drugged. Believe me, your declaration will mean more when we have put all this behind us.”

  He could not argue with her in that regard. Together, they descended the stairs to where the footman waited with their cloaks. Leslie had half a mind to lay the fellow out for his knowing smile, but, after Cleo’s words, he could not be sure of his own abilities. Who could know how the drug might have affected him? He did feel a little unsteady as they settled into his carriage.

  “I should never have agreed to this charade,” he said as they started off.

  Cleo shook her head. “I would have insisted. You only saved us considerable time by agreeing. And do not think I regret a moment of it. I learned a great deal.”

  “I cannot regret you learned the truth about Cutter,” he acknowledged. “But I cannot help but blame myself for how you learned it.”

  “I wasn’t talking about Major Cutter,” she informed him with a grin. Leslie felt his face coloring. Why was it only Cleo and Lady Agnes could make him blush as an adult?

  She reached across and patted his hand. “Poor Leslie. I’ve led you a merry dance, haven’t I? Never fear. We will muddle through somehow. For now, let’s just go home.”

  She settled back against the squabs. Leslie was just as glad for her silence. He wasn’t sure what to say to her. He had had no right to kiss her the way he did, but, like her, he scarcely regretted it. She was sweet and fiery, her kisses melting in his mouth as deliciousl
y as fine chocolate. Obviously his attachment to Cleo had grown beyond mere friendship or even manly ardor. He had not been surprised to hear himself propose. He knew he would never survive seeing her wed to another.

  They were nearly back at the town house when Cleo started. “Oh, no, Mrs. Winston’s ball! Leslie, we promised!”

  Leslie shook his head. “You are in no condition to attend, and neither am I.”

  “But Lady Agnes’ reputation,” Cleo protested. “She went out of her way to get you invited. If we do not show up, her word will be suspect. Besides, with what Major Cutter claims to have heard about my reputation, I don’t want to hide away as if it were true!”

  Leslie sighed. “You have a point. Very well. We’ll make a brief appearance. Then you can plead a headache, and we’ll escape.”

  The plan agreed on, Leslie instructed his coachman to make for Curzon Street, where Mrs. Winston had her residence. Luckily, the ball was a tremendous crush, and, even though they were well over an hour late, they were able to slip onto the end of the line of people waiting to be received. Cleo had taken a moment to pin an intriguing piece of lace in place across her bosom and shoulders, which he had to own went a long way to taking the shocking delight out of the dress. Leslie had attempted to fix his cravat in the carriage, and, if it still looked a bit flat, it was no worse than those worn by other gentlemen who were wilting from the heat of three hundred closely packed bodies and five hundred beeswax candles.

  The dancing had already started by the time they reached the ballroom upstairs. He exchanged glances with Cleo. By the droop of her mouth, he knew she had no interest in displaying herself so prominently. He managed to find a chair partially obscured by a potted palm, only tripping twice on his way across the room to reach it. Cleo’s sigh of relief was audible as she sank onto the embroidered seat.

  “I had no idea it would be so warm,” she murmured, fanning herself with her hand. “It will be painfully easy to plead a headache. In the meantime, would it be too much to ask for you to fetch me a glass of lemonade?”