“According to your tailor, Monsieur Guillion, Miss Sarah Banks was seen in your company at the theater last evening. Whispering behind the curtains if the accounts are to be believed. Mr. Lyons-Scott, the barkeep at The Boar’s Head reported that apparently this Lord Something-wood, which it now appears is none other than the newly arrived Lord Haverwood, wagered with her father and won all of his holdings.” Giles rocked back on his heels.
A wager? Where in God’s name had the gossips garnered that nonsense from? “Is that all?”
“No, sir. Shall I continue?” The man’s moustache twitched, as if he were enjoying the drama.
Colin sank into his leather armchair and stared at the ceiling. “Go on.”
“I’ll paraphrase the four accounts; I know you’re a busy man. Mr. Banks struck a devil’s bargain with Lord Haverwood and bartered his lovely daughter to the black-hearted scoundrel—that’s you, sir—instead of his fortune. Last evening you were seen in the company of the lovely Miss Banks, although what exactly transpired is unknown to most, except for the parties involved, due to the blessed anonymity of the theater curtain that they chose to cavort behind.”
For a moment, Colin could only stare with open-mouthed amazement. The ticking of the clock, the wind whistling behind the panes, the silent refrain of Colin’s fears as he contemplated his mess. He should go to her. Apologize. An apology for what, though? Holding her hand? No, for his shameless thoughts. Imagining the feel of her pressed against him, being inside her. He’d never confess that to anyone. And after he apologized, then what would he do? What he had wanted to do from the moment he saw her. His mouth curled in disgust.
“Shall I get your coat, sir?”
Colin blinked and stared at Giles. “What?”
“I’m assuming that you will call on this young innocent immediately and convey your apologies. It is what a gentleman would do, sir.”
“I’m no gentleman, Giles. You know that.” He would do absolutely nothing. The gossip would wither away if he ignored the story.
“Sir—”
“No.” Colin cut him off before he could argue further. “I’m not going near Miss Banks. It’s for the best.” He changed the subject quickly, not wanting to think of Miss Banks any longer. His dreams last night had been much too vivid. “Did I receive anything else?”
“Invitations, for the most part.”
“Invitations?”
“Yes, sir. All arrived by messenger, just penned this morning. You’re now a very popular man, sir. It is the perfect time to strike. I have made a list of six suitable candidates for your wife. Should I add Miss Banks to the list?”
“No.” The word exploded like a shot.
“I see.”
Colin elected to guide the conversation to safer matters. “Who did you find for me to marry?”
“Miss Catherine Lambert, Miss—”
“Miss Lambert is a mild-mannered woman, not too fetching?”
“I believe she would satisfy your requirements, sir.”
“Then Miss Lambert will be fine.”
“Shouldn’t you meet the lady in question before you make your decision, sir? Perhaps you won’t suit.”
That’s exactly what he hoped for. He wanted a woman that would be safe with him. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Quite a slapdash method of matrimony, if I may say so, sir. Perhaps you might throw darts at the names instead. Or, you could pluck a name from your hat. The possibilities are endless.”
“Giles.”
“Sorry, sir. Shall I call the vicar, or do you just want to kidnap the woman and dash off to Gretna Green?”
“Find a party she’ll be attending and accept the invitation. It shouldn’t be difficult.”
Giles remained silent, his disapproval a tangible thing.
“Giles.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Was there anything else in the post?”
“There was one mysterious note, sir.
“What did it say?”
“I would not stoop to reading the post.” Giles looked horrified, but his moustache twitched suspiciously.
“Giles?”
“It didn’t say anything, sir. Just a picture.”
Odd. “A picture?”
“A small triangle with a star in the center.”
Etiénne. What the devil was he doing in London, of all places? Hadn’t anyone told the man the war was over, that he should be at home, in France? Etiénne often took the games of a spy one step too far, and surely this was no more than his idea of a prank. Colin stowed his quill and rubbed his eyes, wishing his mind was clearer. However, he was never one to take risks, and Etiénne wouldn’t really play such a joke. Knowing he had no choice but to answer the summons, Colin stood quickly. “Get my coat.”
“You’re going out, sir.”
“Yes.”
“To call on Miss Banks?”
Colin stared.
“I shall hold my tongue, sir. You have obviously chosen to ignore my dull-witted advice and go riding off to God only knows where in order to find some baseborn ruffian who cannot pen a literate sentence.” Giles went out the door, mumbling under his breath, and Colin only hoped the man wouldn’t forget to retrieve his coat.
Miss Sarah Banks’s town home was located in Grosvenor Square and was easy enough for Giles to find. The home looked quite tidy, with brown bricks and a small balcony that jutted out over the doorway. He appeared at her door precisely one hour after the young earl had departed on his mission to find the mystery missive writer. Today, Giles had a mission of his own. He knocked twice and the door was opened by a woman of dubious intellect, with dark curls that fell over her eyes in appalling disarray.
However, Giles was not dissuaded by such poor breeding, always believing it necessary to be courteous, and so he removed his cocked hat and nodded politely. “Good afternoon, madam. I am Mr. Timothy Giles, attendant to the Earl of Haverwood.”
“It certainly took him long enough.” The maid peered over his shoulder and then frowned.
“I have an urgent message for Miss Sarah Banks.”
She held out a grubby hand, as if she expected him to take it. “Well, why you standing there like a blind-eyed dubber? Hand it over.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The message. Although I must say, I’d hoped the earl himself would appear.” She fisted her hands on her ample hips, bouncing in a manner reminiscent of a backhouse hen.
Giles sniffed. “I’m to deliver it personally.”
“Oh.” The wench rolled her eyes in a cheeky manner. “Ain’t we the hoity-toity one today.” She opened the door wider and stepped back, permitting him entrance. “Please, come inside. I’ll see if Miss Banks is receiving callers.”
Giles followed her to the parlor, where serene landscapes dotted the walls. He sat down on the tapestry settee, noting the light coating of dust on the cherry-wood arms. He took out his handkerchief and dabbed at the wood, polishing until the fine luster was exposed once more. Obviously Miss Banks’s help somewhat lacked in the proper dictates of household order.
After a few moments, a young woman appeared in the doorway, and Giles was pleased to note she was quite fetching, not at all plain-faced, and judging by the angry flare in her eyes, he suspected her temperament was far from mild. The earl had chosen well. She would be perfect for the plans he had in mind for the young earl.
Mr. Giles stood quickly and bowed. “Miss Banks?”
“Yes?” Sarah watched the earl’s man suspiciously. Obviously Haverwood had chosen to send his servant, rather than lowering himself to darken her stoop. The one gesture spoke volumes about the earl’s position and Sarah’s lack thereof. However, her curiosity about the earl overcame her common sense, and so she found herself eager to swallow the meager crumb the earl had tossed her way. “You had a message for me, Mr. Giles.”
“Would you sit down, please?” The man bobbed up and down nervously. “I fear this may take some time for me to expl
ain in a properly compunctious manner.”
She tilted her head, wondering what the man was about. However, he did seem sincere, and so she sat in the armchair across from him. He sat down after her, his fingers smoothing the corners of his hat. “I don’t quite know where to begin.”
“Perhaps the beginning.”
His moustache twitched and he smiled. “Yes. Have you seen the papers today, Miss Banks?”
“Unfortunately, yes, I did.”
Mr. Giles winced. “The earl was quite unnerved by the accounts as well. He sends his most sincere apologies. He was devastated by the tawdry presumptions. Completely false, of course.” The man peered at her curiously.
Sarah sat even straighter, her hands grasping the wooden chair arms. A servant, no matter how lofty his employer, would not interrogate her. “Quite sporting of him to send his man to convey his regrets,” Sarah replied, her words dripping with sarcasm.
Thankfully, Mr. Giles did not mistake her tone. “The earl is a very busy man and was actually somewhat afraid that you might not look upon him in a welcoming manner after his reprehensible behavior.” The man looked down, studying his hat in some detail.
“Yes, I’m sure he was.” She smiled as if he were somewhat dim-witted. He must be if he thought she’d actually swallow such a far-fetched tale.
“Well, perhaps those weren’t the earl’s exact words, although—”
“Does the earl even know you’re here, Mr. Giles?” She meant to discover exactly what Lord Haverwood’s purpose might be. She might have been rather gullible concerning Lord Haverwood’s intentions last evening, but she was no longer the fool.
Mr. Giles puffed up, his cheeks flushed. “The earl is occupied with the many daily activities—”
“Mr. Giles, does the earl know you’re here?”
“In a day’s time, the earl will respond to thousands and thousands of urgent requests and may not—”
“Mr. Giles.”
The man knew when he was beaten. “No.”
“I think our business is at end.”
“Miss Banks, may I be frank with you?”
Sarah closed her eyes for a moment, trying to control her anger. The poor man was only a messenger. When she opened her eyes again, she had achieved some level of tranquility. “By all means.”
“The earl is in need of your assistance. Well, I am in need of your assistance.”
“I may regret asking this, but exactly what assistance are you looking for?”
“The earl has become, well, a target for the greedy, grasping women of London who have designs upon his wealth.” Mr. Giles raised one brow. “I’m sure you understand that there are women in the city who would do all in their power in order to garner such a fine matrimonial catch.”
Oh, she knew exactly where this conversation was leading. She was being warned away. Once again, she wasn’t good enough. The anger returned in red-hot waves, all semblance of tranquility now gone. She wanted no part of the earl, and when she spoke her voice quivered with rage. “Are you threatening me, Mr. Giles? I assure you I have no interest in your employer. None whatsoever.”
The man stared at her with horror. “Oh, you mistake my meaning. I was actually hoping that you would consider intervening between the earl and a rather avaricious young woman, Miss Catherine Lambert. She will stop at nothing to win him, and you are the earl’s last and only hope.”
Sarah looked at him in surprise. “Me?”
“Yes. I had completely dismissed the possibility that the earl would come to his senses, until I saw how his eyes softened so tenderly when he spoke your name this morning.”
It was plain that the man was dotty. Haverwood’s feelings had been painfully clear last evening. Even today, he didn’t deign to apologize, not even a simple note. He had nothing for her, not even what common courtesy demanded of a gentleman. Only his servant appeared to care. She snorted in quite an unladylike manner. “What exactly are you hoping that I might do? I assure you, the earl’s circles are far above what I could ever presume to see. I would never be invited to such discriminating functions.”
“Yes, I had considered that. But I believe that we can use the earl’s influence and the town’s penchant for tongue wagging to have the hostesses pounding at your door.”
“You are a very optimistic man.”
“I may not know you very well, Miss Banks, but I like you. The earl is a good man, and he doesn’t deserve to be pressed into marriage by a scheming Circe.”
Sarah disagreed. She thought it would be quite fitting if the heartless man were chained to some penny-scraping huntress for the rest of his aristocratic life. The scoundrel would be forced to live with the knowledge that he’d been wedded because of his wealth. It would be proof enough for her that there was some justice in the world. She just wished she could be there to see the earl earn his comeuppance. She smiled at the thought.
But why couldn’t she? Wasn’t Mr. Giles proposing that she dance attendance on the earl? But if she failed at the ill-conceived plan, if the earl saw Miss Lambert in a refined light, would Sarah be at fault? Of course not. Her fingers began to twitch. The idea that she could affect the Earl’s future in such a manner was preposterous to begin with. She stared at Giles and her smile grew.
She laid her hands primly in her lap. The Fates certainly seemed to be pressing her in that direction, and who was she to argue with them? “Mr. Giles, I’ve changed my mind. I would be more than happy to help.”
Chapter Three
It was half-past ten when Colin drove his cabriolet to see Mackenzie. He had no clue as to where to find Etiénne, and Stephen Mackenzie was a starting point at least.
The day was damp and gray, and he adjusted the collar of his greatcoat more to settle his nerves than to ward off the cold wind. The sound of the horses was soothing, the clatter of their hooves against the cobblestones a rhythmic constant in his precisely ordered life.
The notices in the paper had shaken him. Perhaps if he ignored them, the whole bloody nonsense would disappear. He needed it to go away; he needed her to go away.
She had been in his dreams last night, with her eyes sparkling like polished silver and copper hair so silken that it wrapped around his hand like a glove.
Last evening, he had left the theater immediately, ignoring the play and Mackenzie, determined to get home at once. To clear his head from the murky fog that made him forget who he was—what he was.
The remainder of the rather long night he spent quietly in his room. Trying—without success—to erase the vision that had occupied his dreams. He had attempted to sleep, tossing and turning restlessly, but she had been there, in his dreams, as if she were in his very bed. Small and sweet and extraordinarily giving. And while he lay there alone, his mind trapped by his desire, it was more than an innocent touch they shared. He had wanted so desperately to be gentle, yet when he felt her in his arms, when her soft thighs wrapped about him, he had driven into her without concern, and the echoes of her anguished screams had finally jerked him awake.
He scrubbed his face with the heel of his hand, wishing the dreams would stop. Just for once, couldn’t they stop?
He needed to think of other things. Anything else. There were more important things to consider. Keeping a firm hold on the charge of St. George. Securing a wife. And right now, he had to find one damnable Frenchman. Etiénne had always brought trouble with him of one kind or another, and Colin needed to find him in order to determine exactly what sort of trouble it was this time.
His nerves steadied, and his focus returned. A DragonSlayer must maintain control. These were difficult times for a man who needed to prove his own worth. For so many years, he had used the wars to prove himself, but now the wars were over and he felt lost.
However, if Napoleon did escape, Colin would be called back into service—one more chance to die a hero’s death. The old earl had often said Colin was destined for the gallows. Perhaps he would once again have the chance to prove the old man was
wrong.
The wind shifted and a chill ran down his back. Was the old earl really so wrong? A woman’s kiss had always been nothing more than a test for Colin. He could taste a woman’s lips, stare into her eyes, and then walk away. Over and over he had proven himself, proven the old man wrong. Last evening he hadn’t dared to taste Sarah’s lips. He knew he wouldn’t stop there. It didn’t matter where they were, it didn’t matter what her name was. He wanted nothing more than to press her against the velvet of the curtain, see the velvet of her flesh, and bury himself inside her. It was frightening to discover the control he had prided himself on for so long was little more than a rope of sand.
Colin cracked the whip, urging his horses faster. He had lived his whole life knowing a dragon lived within him. Now he knew the dragon was awake.
Mackenzie was not at home, but with the aid of a few well-placed coins, Colin finally tracked him down at the reading room in Alcyone’s, a rather exclusive gambling club on St. James Street.
“Haverwood, where the devil did you go to last evening? Or need I ask?” Stephen grinned, settling the newspaper in his lap, and then gestured at the chair next to him. “You devil, you fooled us all. Sarah Banks? You are the lucky dog today, my friend.”
Colin had always thought of himself as a patient man; however, at the moment, his only thought was of punching his friend and causing him great pain, if only for the purpose of shutting him up. In deference to their friendship, and to the other gentlemen in the room who were watching him with curious eyes, he yanked at his own cravat instead. “Mackenzie, do be quiet. You’re making an ass of yourself.”
“You must be joking. I have to read about your escapades in the papers, and you want me to maintain my silence? Preposterous.”
“Mackenzie . . .” Colin sank into the chair, the worn leather creaking under his weight. The heavy smell of tobacco filled his nose, a sharp reminder that he was back in the world of polite society.
“Oh, all right. No need to bluster about.” Mackenzie moved the paper aside, grinning with lascivious purpose. “Sarah Banks, though? I can’t be quiet. Tell me, what is she like?”
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