But Cecily only shrugged. “He’ll find out, all right. And then he’ll likely have a laugh over it.” She gritted her teeth together in a wince. “As long as we don’t get caught. Oh, but this is so exciting though! I absolutely adore Little Finn, you know, but it all can feel so tedious at times!”
“I’d imagine the theater would suffice.” Rhoda would not be attempting to do this if it hadn’t been absolutely necessary.
She took one last look in her glass and then stepped back. “Are you ready?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be!” Cecily was far too cheerful for this. Rhoda’s future, Justin’s future, lives were at stake here, for heaven’s sake.
Well, perhaps not lives. But reputations, and happiness, and whatnot.
Rhoda peeked out the door and the two women slipped down the back stairs to the servants’ exit. The true test as to the effectiveness of their disguises was yet to come.
“Oh, no, Rhoda!” Cecily said in her regular high-pitched feminine voice and then again, “Oh, no, Dorwich.” This time much deeper. “You mustn’t sway your hips. Walk like a man, like this.”
Rhoda burst out laughing as Cecily attempted to walk with her knees apart, as though she had to accommodate a masculine appendage between her legs. “Too much! And what shall I call you? Warwick? I rather like Warwick for you.” And then she took several steps in a less exaggerated manner than Cecily had. By the time they reached the street, both of them had found their rhythm.
An elderly gentleman glanced at them twice, causing Rhoda to pull her hat lower. It felt odd walking down the street without taking Cecily’s arm. She wished she’d thought of a walking stick for both of them. At least that way they’d have something to do with their hands.
White’s wasn’t far, and they both strode down the sidewalk with more haste than usual.
“A diversion,” Cecily confirmed in a low voice that only Rhoda would hear. “Sophia and I will create the diversion and you get that wager down. We’ll only have one opportunity.”
Rhoda felt faint.
She never felt faint.
“Justin’s going to kill me.”
Cecily grasped her arm reassuringly. “It’ll be fine. You are destined for happiness, just as I was, and Sophia, and even Emily.”
Rhoda nodded.
“Aye, mates.” A small man edged up behind them. “What’s yer business?”
Cecily glared over her shoulder with narrowed eyes that quickly opened wide in astonishment. Behind the mustache, pipe, and lowered hat peered an all too familiar blue gaze.
“Oh, my heavens, Sophia! How simply marvelous!” She eyed the duchess from head to toe.
But for the rounder bottom than most men, Sophia perfectly resembled an elderly gentleman. Of course, Sophia had thought to bring a walking stick. And a pipe. And how on earth had she managed to locate such a perfectly crafted beard and mustache?
Sophia grunted, not budging out of her character. “You two lads ready?” She flicked her gaze toward the doorway to White’s.
Rhoda’s stomach about dropped to her toes. A group of gregarious young gentlemen approached the club. They had the air of young lords about them. They looked quite similar to Rhoda and Cecily, in fact. Sophia would stand out simply in that she had taken on the disguise of an elderly gentleman.
“This way.” Cecily sidled along the walk with Sophia closely behind. Rhoda truly understood the meaning of the term cold feet at that moment, as hers seemed to have frozen to the ground.
“Dorwich!” Cecily’s scowl jolted Rhoda into motion.
“I’m coming, Warwick,” she responded in a deep voice. Oh, heavens, she sounded nothing at all like a gentleman. She hoped she wouldn’t be required to speak once inside.
With heads down, they casually fell into step with the lively group of lordlings. One of them even dropped his arm around Cecily’s shoulders. “Haven’t seen you in a long while, Huntly.”
It seemed Cecily would now be Huntly. Her new friend had obviously had a few too many drinks this morning. Perhaps he’d never quit the night before. Nonetheless, his manner and lack of ability to distinguish his old friend Huntly from Cecily worked rather well in their favor.
“It has indeed,” Cecily answered in her man voice.
“I want to up my wager today. My understanding is that Kensington is coming close. I’d hazard that’s what brings you around finally.” He stumbled slightly and seemed to be leaning heavily on poor Cecily.
The stench of his breath was strong enough to inebriate everyone within five feet of him.
Nobody questioned them when they stepped through the hallowed entrance.
The interior far surpassed the rather ordinary design of the outside of the building. Rhoda did her best not to gawk at the luxurious settees and grand tables. A gigantic fireplace took up one end of the room, and discreet waiters attended to the gentlemen guests. Rhoda wondered that nobody could hear her heart beating.
Even more so when a footman stepped forward to take their hats. She handed it over and quickly turned her back on the employee. If they were going to be caught, surely, now would be the time.
Being insignificant, in this situation, rather seemed to be something of a blessing. All attention was currently directed at Lord Kensington, who was drinking and boasting to another cluster of young gentlemen.
The one who’d latched onto Huntly, aka Cecily, wasn’t all that interested in the joviality surrounding Flavion. Instead, he proved to be of further assistance by leading them straight to the betting book.
“Got to get this down before it’s all over,” he explained with a wink in Cecily’s direction.
Fool.
Rhoda peered over his shoulder and watched the idiot add another thousand to his wager upon Lord Kensington. Sure enough, the wager on her was deserving of a leather-bound book all its own.
Another employee hovered nearby but recognized their newfound friend and didn’t question him as he made his notation in the book.
Cecily and Sophia moved toward a billiard table and Rhoda took some tentative steps backward in hopes of disappearing into the wall tapestry.
The employee, the one watching over the betting books, moved away from the book, on alert as another gentleman had approached Flavion.
Justin!
This was her perfect opportunity.
No one was watching the book, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to look away from her vicar-turned-earl. He appeared determined and solid as he faced the man who’d caused so much havoc for Cecily and now, her.
Whereas Lord Kensington’s complexion was powdery and pale, Justin glowed healthily. His thick head of golden hair standing tall above the rest. His shoulders seemed broader and the energy of his character crackled in the air.
“Stand down, Kensington. You think it noble to besmirch the reputation of an innocent young woman, a genteel lady?” His voice broached no argument, but Lord Kensington had never recognized the wisdom of walking away from one so determined.
A movement behind Justin revealed Prescott standing at her fiancé’s back.
“You’ve been cossetted in your little church for too long. If you hadn’t, you’d know for certain that Miss Mossant is no innocent.” A ripple of guffaws ran through Kensington’s entourage of hangers-on.
Rhoda glanced to her left. The book sat unattended just a few feet away. Now was her chance. And yet she was frozen in place, unable to tear her gaze away from the spectacle across the room.
Please don’t do this! Rhoda begged silently. She did not want bloodshed over her. She knew enough guilt to last a lifetime. She wanted to step between the two of them. No! No! If anything were to happen to Justin because of her stupid decision last year, it would kill her.
“You wouldn’t know innocence if it jumped up and bit that arrogant ass of yours.” Justin took a step closer. He now stood inches from Kensington.
“Or if I cut off half your bollocks.” The third voice sounded terrifyingly familiar.
&nb
sp; Oh, good God! Cecily! No!
A gentleman beside Prescott whipped his head around to see who’d dare to say anything so impudent, as did Kensington.
Justin was undeterred from his mission, however. “Hold your tongue, Kensington, or I’ll meet you at dawn.”
The gentleman who’d stared so hard at Cecily turned his attention back to Lord Kensington. “Flave. I’ve no control over your behavior, but I do hold the strings to the funds you’ve chosen to wager with.” Mr. Nottingham! Cecily’s husband! No wonder he’d stared at her so hard.
This was Rhoda’s chance. The pen had grown damp against her palm. She need only turn and carefully scrawl the signature she’d been practicing for three days now.
“She’s not worth it.” Lord Kensington’s voice raised an octave as he responded to Justin. Perhaps the earl’s confidence was dissipating at the memory of the last duel he’d participated in. “I’ll not speak of her again, but have my word, the winnings shall fall to me.”
Not if I have any say in the matter.
His bragging prodded her into action. She would save herself. She would make Justin the winner so that he could pay off the debts of his estate.
What was the name? Dorwich. Dorwich.
She set the tip of the pen to parchment but couldn’t make her fingers move.
The disappointment she’d seen on Justin’s face, when he’d learned of her and Emily’s machinations at Eden’s Court, froze her hand.
She’d betrayed him.
Would he trust her again if she did this?
Trust me?
She shivered as she remembered how his breath had stirred the wisps of hair at the nape of her neck.
Please.
He’d corrected his demand and turned it into a request.
Blast.
Rhoda stared at her hand as it hovered over the book. It was shaking. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears and a bead of sweat trickled down the back of her neck.
Please, he’d said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
What’s It Gonna Be?
Justin could not remember the last time he’d been so angry. He was a man who preferred to settle disputes with rational conversation, open-mindedness, and understanding.
He’d wanted to plow his fist through Kensington’s face.
Even now, marching through a small path he’d found himself on in the park, his blood boiled. He’d like nothing better than to use his sword to cut off what remained of that bastard’s manhood.
Damned if he even deserved to be called a man. Kensington possessed the mental capabilities of an adolescent but, due to his place in society, wielded power and influence. Both of which ought only ever be afforded to individuals who’d proven themselves deserving by exhibiting wisdom and character.
He swiped his walking stick at a branch that dared to dangle in his way. Each day that damn bet persisted dishonored her.
Endangered her.
He was not fool so much to believe men wouldn’t resort to violence over such a large sum of money. It seemed nearly every gentleman in London now had a stake in the outcome.
None that mattered so much as his own.
His head knew what needed to be done, but it hadn’t lined up with his heart, and with his soul.
If he were to participate, it would mean he approved of such behavior. Even worse, if he were to take any winnings from the wager, she’d always doubt his affection. It would stand between the two of them throughout their lives.
God knew his desire had absolutely nothing to do with winnings and could only be attributed to her allure and his own weaknesses.
Which beckoned altogether differing bouts of guilt.
He’d wanted her for so long that he questioned his motives for wanting to marry her.
Was it only lust or did his feelings amount to something more? Protection, yes. Compassion, of course.
“Carlisle! Wait up!”
Justin turned in time to see his cousin practically running to catch up with him.
He’d not wanted to speak to anyone. He’d needed time to himself. But this was Prescott. This was Dev, who’d always been there for him.
He waited until Dev was even before turning to march along the dirt path once again. He’d not make conversation unless Dev insisted.
“Why don’t you just marry her? Put an end to all of this?”
Ah, so Dev had something to say.
Justin swiped his stick at a perfectly innocent flower that dared to be blooming prettily this afternoon. “Damn them all to hell, you know why, Dev.” The mountain of bills he’d met with at Carlisle House came to mind, along with the leaking roofs and leaning walls that plagued the tenant dwellings he’d come across.
He remembered what it had felt like to be hungry. He remembered once again what the desperation had driven his mother to do.
“And yet you won’t allow me to assist you in any of this?”
Justin refused to acknowledge the question.
Dev persisted. “You have provided comfort and guidance for my family for as long as I’ve known you. You have always been a sort of spiritual touchstone. You’ve a strength we all lacked. And that has bolstered us. Nothing we’ve done for you has been charity.”
Justin appreciated the sentiments of his cousin, but he could not continue to depend upon others to meet his responsibilities. It made him feel less of a man somehow.
At that moment, he stopped suddenly, nearly causing Dev to barrel into him. “Would you do it, Dev? Would you allow another man to pay for your family’s needs?” Justin swiped his hat off his head and found himself wanting to pitch it into the trees and shrubs nearby. “Especially if there was something you, yourself could do to absorb the costs?”
Dev stared at him with narrowed eyes.
“I’d do whatever it took to take care of Sophia and our child. I’d lie. I’d steal. I’d kill.”
“Fuck you!” Justin exploded, sending his hat flying.
He had spent the last decade studying the word of God, teaching others the difference between right and wrong. How could he now disregard everything he valued?
“I’ve refused to wager upon her honor, not because I care for her so little, but because I care for her so much.”
Dev shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Does no good to care for her if you cannot be with her every night. If you cannot hold her in your arms, protect her from harm, make her smile.”
Justin had imagined all of those things and more. His eyes stung at the thought of giving her up. “I more than care for her. I love her.”
Prescott’s hand landed upon his shoulder. “Then do whatever it takes to keep her.” And just like that, Dev turned around and headed back in the direction from where he’d come.
“I love her,” Justin whispered in awe. Could the answer truly be so simple as that? He glanced down at his feet, at the flower he’d all but shattered with his temper.
Pink petals lay tender and exposed in the dirt. Without their stem, without their life source, they might just as well already be dead.
Until he’d obliterated it, the flower had been a rhododendron.
The three girls did not wait around after the altercation began to settle down. Rhoda had been the first to exit, forgetting to retrieve her hat or even give the signal to Sophia that they’d agreed upon earlier. The plan had been for them to leave separately and meet up later at Prescott House.
Rhoda broke into an unnatural sprint the moment White’s door closed behind her. She couldn’t face them yet. Her mind and heart forged an epic battle that she couldn’t control.
And so, she ran toward the park and didn’t stop until a stitch in her side prevented her from running any farther. Feeling faint, strangled almost, she tore at the cloth wound around her neck. Thank heavens no one else had chosen to walk along this section of the park this morning. If she were to be seen like this…
And then she let out a snort of hysterical laughter. Would it even matter? She was al
ready fodder for all of society. Would she? Wouldn’t she? Had she?
She’d long since passed the stage of mortification that came with knowing what others imagined about her.
At least she liked to believe she had.
A lady and her maid came into view. Despite the hopelessness of her scandal-ridden life, she truly did not wish to add to it.
She spied a dirt trail ahead and turned to enter the privacy it afforded.
She should not be in the park alone.
She should not be dressed as she was.
So many “should not’s” that she’d ignored in the past, one would have thought she would have learned.
Glints of sunlight danced on the leaves and flowers that lined the dirt-trodden path. In the past, she would have been grateful for such a beautiful day. She would have made plans to go to Gunter’s, or perhaps shopping on Bond Street. Life had once seemed so very simple.
Having loosened her cravat, she went one step further and unbuttoned the heavy coat she wore.
How did men outfit themselves thus in such warm weather? She’d always imagined that women had the worst of it.
“Rhoda?” An incredulous male voice had her jerking her gaze up from the ground.
“Justin.” The first thing she noticed was the absence of his hat and how his hair nearly looked on fire where the shafts of sunlight struck it.
The second thing she noticed was the empty, bleak look in his eyes.
“Is it really you? I was just thinking…” And then he shook his head in confusion.
He appeared so very lost. And tormented.
Rhoda stepped across the weeds in her path and into his arms.
It seemed the most natural thing in the world. His warmth, his scent, his very essence. She slid her hands up his chest and wound them around his neck.
He’d defended her to Flavion in front of all of White’s. He’d been willing to call the man out for his casual insults.
And now his arms held her tightly against his solid length. She tilted her head back so that his lips could find hers.
She belonged here. She’d belonged here all along.
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