“You, sir?” Tony said hopefully.
The duke stared for a moment, then burst into laughter. “Most amusing, St. Stephens. Best laugh I’ve had in a long while.” He sniffed back a chuckle. “My niece will not know that I have had even the slightest involvement in all of this, nor will anyone else in my family. No one is aware of my connection to the department, including my wife, my son and my brothers, and they never will. My wife thinks I am simply exceptionally knowledgeable. You, St. Stephens, are now one of a select few who do know of my work.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “You do understand what I’m saying?”
It wasn’t exactly a threat, but it was closer than Tony would ever like to come. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“My niece will not be told anything for the time being. You will continue in your position as her butler, but the department will arrange for additional staff, all our people, of course. I want this blasted notebook found and whoever is searching for it apprehended.” The duke met Tony’s gaze directly. “I too would prefer to think Wilmont dead than a traitor, but if he is alive, I want him caught as well.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Understand that I am not pleased with these arrangements. I think your charade is as absurd as Wilmont’s original plan. However, I can think of nothing better at the moment. When one is deeply mired in the muck of an untenable situation, one can do nothing more than to struggle onward. And understand as well, St. Stephens, I hold you personally responsible for Lady Wilmont’s safety.”
“I already hold myself responsible.”
“You do realize if anyone learns of your true identity, her reputation will be shattered.”
“Beg pardon, Your Grace, but isn’t that redundant? Hasn’t her reputation already been thoroughly shattered?”
“Has it?” He frowned. “I thought I had heard something about a love match. Reforming a rake, and all that. Quite romantic and tragic, I believe.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Regardless of the past, she will not be able to recover if it becomes known that the Viscount St. Stephens, under whatever guise, had resided in a house alone with her. I do not wish her to be the subject of scandal yet again. I assume, therefore, should it indeed become known, you will do the honorable thing.”
“The honorable thing, sir?”
The duke lifted his glass. A smug smile curved his lips and an odd gleam shone in his eye, as much wicked amusement as warning. “Welcome, my boy, to the game.”
Chapter 8
“I don’t believe I have ever felt quite so awkward in my life,” Delia said out of the corner of her mouth, keeping a pleasant smile affixed firmly on her face. “Everyone is staring at me.”
“Don’t be absurd,” Cassie said, wearing the exact same smile. “Not everyone.”
“I knew I shouldn’t have come,” Delia murmured. It had taken all of Delia’s determination to don the gown Cassie and her grandmother had ordered for her and to appear at the dowager’s ball. The black lace dress was modest but not overly so. Indeed, when she had looked in the mirror, she’d looked very much like, well, a woman of experience. Even the stark color didn’t make her appear quite as ghostly as usual. However, now that she was in public for the first time, she wasn’t entirely certain she had the courage required to start down that path to experience, beginning with the flouting of convention. It took all she had in her not to turn and flee from the room this very minute.
“Nonsense, my child, this is your family’s home and you have every right to be here,” her grandmother said firmly.
“I doubt that sentiment is widespread, Grandmother. I am officially still in mourning, with a husband dead barely half a year.”
“It’s not as if you are dancing on his grave. In truth, you have been a widow far longer than you were a wife. No one expects you to be a recluse as well.” Her grandmother smiled in a smug manner. “Besides, no one here or in London either, I suspect, would dare to question the propriety of your presence as long as I have given it my blessing, as indeed I have. Your period of mourning is not at an end, but in my home, the only rules that matter are my own.
“Besides, I have often thought the rules of mourning we drape about ourselves were instituted by men simply to make certain their wives do not do them in.”
“Grandmother!” Cassie’s eyes were wide with stunned amusement. “I can’t believe you would say such a thing.”
“Have I shocked you, Cassandra? Excellent.” Grandmother chuckled. “I quite like shocking young people. It makes me feel young. Or perhaps it simply makes me feel clever, which is every bit as nice. Now then, what was I saying?”
“Something about women doing in their husbands,” Delia said weakly.
“Indeed.” Grandmother nodded. “I think no woman in her right mind would eliminate a husband knowing she would be forced to wear black — not everyone wears it well, you know — and avoid any sort of enjoyable activity for a full year.”
“Looking dreadful would certainly dissuade me from killing a husband,” Cassie murmured.
“And I am certain somewhere there is a man who rests easier with that knowledge.” Grandmother nodded toward the dancers on the floor. “Why aren’t you dancing, Cassandra? You should be enjoying yourself rather than keeping us company.”
“I would be dancing if I had the chance.” Delia tried and failed to hide the wistful note in her voice. If she were truly intent on grand adventures and any scandalous behavior that might entail, dancing while still in mourning would be insignificant. Perhaps she wasn’t cut out for a life of adventure after all.
“But I quite enjoy keeping you company, Grandmother.” Cassie bent and brushed a kiss across her grandmother’s cheek. “You have a way of looking at the world that is always most interesting.”
“Indeed I do. And it is the reward for living as long as I have that I can say exactly what I think. It is the greatest, if not the only, benefit of advanced age.”
“You may well be the youngest person I know.” Delia cast her grandmother an affectionate smile.
“In spirit, my dear, I may well be.”
“And for that, the rest of us are eternally grateful,” Delia said. “However, I believe my own spirit has had more than enough for one night and I think I shall take my leave.”
“It is far too early for you to beg off from your first foray back into society, Philadelphia,” her grandmother said mildly. “Has your courage run out so soon?”
“Yes.” Delia shrugged. “It is more difficult than I imagined to pretend life is as it has always been.”
“It’s wearing black that does it.” Cassie’s gaze skimmed over her sister. “Although that dress does become you more than anything else I’ve seen you wear, the color still does not suit you.”
“She would look lovely in the color you’re wearing, Cassandra.” Grandmother looked at Cassie. “Don’t you think so?”
“Indeed, I do,” Cassie said firmly.
Cassie’s gown was a delicate green, the color of warm, shallow seas and cut in the first stare of fashion. The fabric seemed to shimmer with a life of its own. Delia sighed. “Perhaps someday.”
“If you’ll excuse us, Grandmother, I think I shall accompany my sister to our rooms,” Cassie said in an offhand manner. “I have just this minute remembered something I wished to show her.”
“And do you plan on returning?” Grandmother asked.
Cassie answered without pause. “Most certainly. There is a great deal of the evening left and I have not yet had my fill. Why, there are any number of gentlemen here who have yet to ask me to dance.” She grinned and her dimple flashed. “I would hate for their evening to be a disappointment.”
“As would we all.” Grandmother’s assessing gaze shifted from Cassie to Delia and back.
“I shall bid you good night, then.” Delia bent to kiss her grandmother’s cheek and whispered in her ear. “Thank you for everything.”
“My dear child, I wish I could do more. But perhaps
your sister…” Grandmother glanced at Cassie, who smiled in a too-innocent manner. The older woman pointedly looked away. “I refuse to condone or condemn tonight.”
“What on earth does that mean?” Delia drew her brows together in confusion.
“Never mind.” Grandmother waved them off. “Go on now and sleep well.”
The sisters murmured their farewells and made their way to the entry, nodding a greeting here, casting a smile of acknowledgment there. They left the ballroom and started up the stairs.
“What, exactly, do you wish to show me?” Delia slanted a glance at her sister.
“Patience, dear sister.” Cassie smiled a secret smile that never boded well. She refused to say another word until they were in her room, with the door closed firmly behind them.
“Now.” Delia crossed her arms over her chest. “What did you wish to show me?”
“Just this.” Cassie waved at the bed and grinned.
Delia took a step toward the bed and caught her breath. She stared in disbelief. “What is this?”
“This” — Cassie carefully picked up the gown of shimmering, delicate, sea-foam-green, an exact copy of the one she wore — “is for you.”
“What exactly do you mean?” Delia said slowly.
“You know full well exactly what I mean.”
Delia shook her head. “I couldn’t possibly.
“Oh” — Cassie held out the gown enticingly — “but you could.”
“I would never —”
“Oh, but you will.” Cassie moved closer as if offering a forbidden treat.
Delia reached out and tentatively touched the delicate fabric, soft and silken beneath her fingers. “It’s definitely not black and I am still expected to wear black…”
“But I’m not.” Cassie’s voice was seductive.
Delia’s gaze shot to her sister. “It would be something of an adventure, wouldn’t it?
Cassie nodded. “And didn’t you tell me that you wanted to live a life of grand adventure?”
“Yes, of course, but…” Delia’s gaze drifted back to the gown. The blasted thing was calling her.
“No one would know, Delia.”
“Even so…” Beckoning her.
“I shall stay right here until you return.” With her sister’s voice. “What would be —”
“Cassie.”
“No, wait.” Cassie’s brow furrowed. “I shall slip into the library instead. That way, if you encounter any problems —”
“What kind of problems?”
“Well, I certainly have not been the subject of scandal, but I have made any number of new acquaintances recently and, of course, one always renews old friendships during the season, and —”
“Anyone in particular I should be aware of?”
“Not really. The gentlemen I mentioned last night, perhaps, but I have engaged in nothing more than mild flirtations, for the most part. At least as far as I can recall.” Cassie thought for a moment, then shook her head. “No, I’m certain there is nothing to be concerned with.”
“You’ve never been especially good at remembering details.”
“Even so, I do tend to remember men. Of the two of us, I have always been the one more interested in marriage, and therefore the one more attuned to the relative merits and detriments of any particular gentleman. And if I don’t remember a man, he is not worth remembering.”
“Excellent point,” Delia murmured.
“However, if you find yourself in an awkward situation, simply tilt your head, widen your eyes and say, ‘Sir, you have me at a disadvantage.’
“And this works?”
“Always.”
“Why haven’t you told me this before?”
“You’ve never needed it before. Remember, before your Lord Wilmont, your suitors were also eminently respectable —”
“Boring,” Delia murmured.
“— and therefore you were never in an especially difficult position nor did you have the opportunity to develop the finer points of flirting. Now you are going to be me and you need to know how to proceed accordingly.” Cassie grinned. “This should indeed be an adventure.”
“I don’t know.” Delia shook her head. “This is so —”
“Honestly, Delia.” Cassie glared. “It’s been months since you wore anything but black or did anything that even remotely resembled fun. You’ve hidden yourself away and you’ve been the perfect little widow, but it’s absurd that you should be married for a few days and have to pay for it forever. Why, Grandmother as much as said the same —”
“That’s quite enough,” Delia said firmly.
“Not it’s not,” Cassie snapped. “It’s not nearly enough. And I daresay —”
“Cassie,” Delia said in a cool, level tone that belied the fluttering in her stomach. “If you don’t hold your tongue right now and help me into this gown” — Delia grinned — “I shall never get back to the ball.”
———
Welcome to the game.
Tony returned to the ballroom, the phrase lingering ominously in his mind.
Welcome to the game.
It scarcely mattered, of course; no one would ever discover his masquerade as Gordon. Still, would it be so bad to be forced to do the honorable thing when it came to Delia? Or would be…delightful?
He smiled at the thought of just how delightful it might be, then stepped into the ballroom and nearly collided with Delia’s sister.
“Oh, dear.” Wide blue eyes, the exact shade of her sister’s, stared up at him. How could two women possibly look so much alike? She even wore the same fragrance as Delia. “I do apologize. I fear I was not paying attention.”
“It is of no consequence, Miss Effington,” he said firmly. “Indeed, it is I who should apologize.”
“Whatever for?”
“For not knowing where the loveliest woman here is at any given moment.” He took her gloved hand and drew it to his lips.
She stared for a moment, then laughed. The sound rippled through his blood. “Your words are as polished as your manner, sir.” She withdrew her hand. “Now then, if you will excuse me —”
“But surely you are not leaving before we have had our dance?” The words were out before he could stop himself. Although, why shouldn’t he share a dance with Miss Effington? He might well learn something about her sister that could assist him.
“Our dance?” A touch of what might have been panic flashed in her eyes, replaced almost at once by a look of determination and a slight lift of her chin. “I would not dream of leaving before we have had our dance.” She cast him a brilliant smile and her dimple flashed. “But you must forgive me, I seem to have forgotten your name.”
“Anthony St. Stephens,” he said slowly. Of course she wouldn’t remember his name; they’d never met. “Or rather Viscount St. Stephens.” He shook his head. There was something here… “Now you must forgive me. I have only recently inherited my title and I fear I am not yet used to it.”
“I have always thought titles a bit difficult myself. There are so many rules regarding who we are, or rather what we are, and what we should be called. Were we not born to it, we should never be able to understand it at all and even now” — again the dimple in her right cheek appeared with her smile — “it can be most confusing.”
“Indeed it can, my la —” He caught himself, startled to note that somewhere in the back of his mind he had seen the truth. “Miss Effington.”
Except this was not Miss Cassandra Effington. The dimple told him that, as did the look in her eyes, the tilt of her chin and probably her fragrance as well.
He should be shocked by her ruse, her blatant disregard for propriety. Instead, the oddest feeling of anticipation surged through him. The opening strains of a waltz filled the air and his blood quickened at the thought of taking her in his arms.
“And I believe this is our dance.” He offered her his arm.
“So it is, my lord.” She smiled and laid her hand soft
ly on his arm.
They took their place among the dancers. She fit into his arms as if she were made for him, as if they were made for each other. He resisted the urge to pull her close against him.
They moved through the steps of the dance with a shocking ease. She was graceful and fluid; he had never been much more than adequate, or perhaps he had never had a partner as perfect for him until now. It was as if they had danced together before. As if they were meant to dance together. Tonight. Always.
She looked up at him with a curious smile. “You dance quite well, my lord.”
“We dance well together, Miss Effington.” He grinned down at her and couldn’t resist calling her bluff. “But then, we always have.”
Unease flickered in her eyes, but she didn’t hesitate. “Have we?”
“Indeed we have. And I grow more certain of it every time we take to the floor. I thought so again last week when we danced at Lady Locksley’s gala, and before that at Lord and Lady Chalmer’s ball and, of course, at Mrs. Huntly’s birthday celebration. In truth, I think we are fated to dance together.”
“Do you really think so my, my lord? Why, I should attribute it more to” — she smiled innocently — “sheer practice.”
He laughed. “You are as charming as ever, Miss Effington.”
“And you are as forward as ever.” There was a distinct challenge in her tone and abruptly he realized she enjoyed the charade. And why not? Didn’t she deserve a few minutes of enjoyment?
Didn’t he?
“It is entirely your fault, Miss Effington.” He heaved an exaggerated sigh. “You bring out the worst in me. I am usually most proper, and indeed have even been called stuffy and narrow-minded upon occasion.”
She laughed. “I can’t imagine that.”
“It’s true.” His gaze caught hers. “Although, I must say I quite like what you bring out in me.”
Her brow rose. “Do you?”
The Lady In Question Page 12