by Jenna Jaxon
“She thinks you’re being unreasonable because you won’t let Lady Letitia waltz. Seven of Clubs.” Ainsley dropped the card onto the court card.
“Four.” Marcus pounced on the trick. “I hardly think it any of Miss Locke’s concern. Ten of clubs. Five.” What the woman did not understand, she should not give her opinion on.
“Well, I think it has less to do with your sister and more to do with criticizing you.” Ainsley laid down a seven of diamonds. “Although, I do think you should allow the girl to waltz if she wants to. It’s truly not the scandal it was even five years ago.”
“Five.” Marcus gathered the trick, thinking about Miss Locke’s words as they’d danced. She’d obviously shared her opinions with her brother. “I have my own reasons for forbidding her the dance.”
“You do?” His friend cut his eyes toward him, an eyebrow raised.
“Do not worry about it,” Marcus said, with a grunt of laughter. “I am hardly attempting to suppress her.” He shook his head and played the nine of diamonds. “I actually feared I would never get her out of the house tonight. She was always timid, and Father’s death only made her more so. I’ve still to discover what threat Aunt Alexandra employed to make her leave her room this evening. Six.” He’d taken almost half the tricks. Perhaps he’d at least make thirty points in the hand. “Believe me, if she dances with anyone, I’ll be thrilled.”
“So you’re not trying to play the tyrant?” Ainsley pulled at his lower lip, staring into the fire.
“Why would I want to be a tyrant to my sister? Have you ever done so to yours?”
Ainsley barked a laugh so loud the ladies at the neighboring table all jumped. “Only if I wanted to find my throat cut with my own razor one morning. Kate’s more a tyrant than I’ll ever be.”
“I couldn’t disagree with that from what I’ve seen of her. Although I’m touched by her concern for Letitia.” The figure of Miss Locke during their earlier dance appeared in his memory, blue eyes snapping, her mouth pursed in disdain. Or in expectation of a kiss? A shiver shot down his spine. Where the devil had that idea come from? His mouth was suddenly so dry it was hard to say, “Your play.”
“Jack of Diamonds. Ninety-five.”
Marcus stared at the remaining low cards in his hands and sighed. It was certainly going to be a long night.
Chapter 3
“Bertie, if you step on my gown once more, I swear before God I will kick you.” Kate smiled as she spoke, but meant every word. The wretch was going to tear her gown if he didn’t watch where he stepped. Then she wouldn’t be able to dance the next set with Lord Finley.
He and Celinda were the first couple, currently dancing near the bottom of the line. She tried very hard not to stare at him and pay more attention to her own partner, yet Bertie Symmons was the dullest man in Christendom. Even Lord Haversham had more to recommend himself as a partner, and God knew she hated to admit that.
Kate picked up her skirt in readiness for the next part of the set. As second couple, they were currently not dancing, but waiting their turn. When it came, she didn’t intend to let Bertie’s inept dancing skills spoil it for her.
The first couple bowed, set to their partners—Celinda danced very prettily before him on her toes—then performed a double figure eight. Of course, Lord Finley danced excellently into the bargain. So unfair.
“I say, who’s that chap Celinda’s dancing with?” Bertie asked as they took hands to change through.
“Lord Finley.” Kate stole another glance at the couple, who laughed as they, too, wound down the line of dancers. “A new gentleman lately from America.”
“He’s American?” Bertie’s eyes opened wide. “I didn’t think they had titles in America.”
“No, idiot. He’s not American, he’s English, but he’s been over there for five years and is just now returned. Something to do with investments, I think.” Kate peered at her partner. “What investments might he have over there? I didn’t think it a very profitable place at all.”
“Oh, no, there’s money to be made, depending on what he’s been investing in.” Bertie nodded eagerly. “Banks, both the national Bank of the United States and various state banks. There are merchant investors he could be dabbling in. And there’s always land.”
Kat wrinkled her nose. “I’m sure Lord Finley wouldn’t concern himself with mere trade.”
“It can be quite lucrative, I hear.” They parted, and Bertie bowed as the dance ended. He took her hand and led her toward the edge of the dance floor. “Of course, the most lucrative investment in the States at the moment is the slave trade.”
“What?” Kate drew back, shocked. “Lord Finley is a gentleman. He would never take up such a filthy business. Besides, it’s illegal.”
“Not in America. And even if he’d invested in a company that owns slave ships, he wouldn’t be doing anything illegal here.” Bertie’s usual placid face transformed, now more animated than she’d ever seen it.
“How do you know all this?” Kate couldn’t fathom that someone like Bertie could truly know about such important things as investments. He’d always been rather flighty.
“My father’s got an interest in the Bank of New York. It’s made a huge difference in our fortunes over the past ten years.” He grasped her hand, jerking Kate’s attention back to him. “We don’t have a title, but Father assures me I’ll have 10,000 pounds or more a year.”
Kate stared at him, completely horrified, and yanked her hand free. Lord, the fool thought she was interested in money. “I’m happy for you, Bertie, however, what I need to know is where Lord Finley made his money. Can you find out for me?”
Bertie’s countenance fell, but he shrugged and smiled good-naturedly. He’d probably make some girl an excellent husband. Just not her. “I’ll ask Father. He’s always getting news from all over about his investments. I daresay he knows Lord Finley.”
“Thank you, Bertie.” She patted his arm. “And thank you for the dance.”
“Would you care to—”
“Once, I believe, is all I can claim in an evening.” She tapped her arm with her fan. “I must allow the other ladies a chance to stand up with you.”
“Oh, right. Very good.” Bertie looked around as if considering his options. “I say, here comes Celinda. I should ask her, don’t you think?” He turned expectantly toward her cousin. “Lady Celinda, would you care to—”
“Excuse me, Bertie,” Celinda interrupted him, startling both Kate and her escort. Her flushed face and sparkling blue eyes gave her a level of vivaciousness Kate had never seen before. “I simply must speak to Kate this instant.” She dragged Kate over to a secluded corner, dancing on her toes, unable to stand still. “Oh, Kate. He’s an absolute dream.”
Kate stared, unable to reconcile this Celinda with the cousin she’d always known. Her Celinda possessed a cool, reserved mien, quick to laugh, but always critical of the gentlemen of her acquaintance. This Celinda, with flashing eyes, a wide smile, and constant movement, seemed a stranger. She absolutely fizzed with excitement. Kate could only stare as her cousin flipped her fan open then snapped it closed, glancing up and down the dance floor.
“Dances well, does Lord Finley? I will look forward to our dance even more.” Kate put a hand on her cousin’s shoulder. Perhaps a touch would help calm her. It wouldn’t do at all for Celinda to show such partiality in public toward a man she’d only just met.
“Oh, so much more than that, but yes, he’s an excellent partner. You’ll enjoy your set with him so much.” Celinda snapped her fan open again and waved it frantically, sending her ringlets flying.
“Celinda, calm yourself.” Kate put her arm around the girl’s shoulders. “Goodness, I’ve never seen you like this before.” She didn’t know whether to laugh or pull a stern face.
“I’ve never felt like this before. Oh, my dear, I’m all goose flesh.” She bared her arm, and indeed every hair stood on quivering end. “I’ve never met anyone like him. So witty, so
kind. And oh, the most wonderful thing of all.” She grabbed her by the shoulders. “He didn’t ask me about my name!” She clamped her hand over her mouth and darted her gaze around the room.
“Yes, keep your voice down, if you please.” Kate peered about as well, dread settling in her chest. “No need to further call attention to yourself.”
“But, Kate, he didn’t ask me what Celinda meant, or if it was a family name, or how odd it was.”
Kate had to grab her to keep her from twirling about. Her cousin’s behavior did not bode at all well for her own prospects with Lord Finley.
“He just said it was a pretty name and went on talking about the ball.” Celinda sighed and clasped her hands together over her chest.
“Is that what’s got you all atwitter?”
“Says you with the unexceptional name of Katherine.” She sniffed, and the old Celinda returned. “You have no idea the cross it is to have everyone make mention of your name. To be asked over and over if it’s a family name, and what it means, and do I like it, until I want to pull my hair out.” She straightened a nonexistent out-of-place curl then pointed her fan at Kate. “You have no idea how tiresome it is.”
“I expect not.” No one had ever commented on her name. Kate took her cousin’s arm and began a sedate stroll round the crowded room. Perhaps the motion would soothe Celinda. “So Lord Finley is a wonderful dancer, and exceptionally incurious about your name. What other charms does he possess? I am engaged to him for the next, as you remember.” Walking did seem to temper Celinda’s agitation, so she kept her moving, threading them through the little clusters of people. “What else may I expect?”
“Well, he smiles a lot, with even teeth. And he did several very thoughtful things, like tying my fan when it came loose from my wrist. He was simply the most wonderful partner I’ve ever had.” She gave a breathless sigh and shivered.
“Then I will certainly look forward to my set with him.” Kate surveyed the room. They were all the way across the floor from the spot where Lord Finley stood talking to Bertie. “I must go back. The musicians are almost ready for the next set. Shall I leave you with your mother?”
“No, I’m going to sit in the retiring room in case Bertie comes looking for me. I simply could not endure a dance with anyone else at the moment.” Celinda brushed a kiss over Kate’s cheek. She had calmed sufficiently that Kate had fewer qualms about letting her go. “I will see you after your set. I’ll want to hear all about it,” she called as she all but skipped out of the doorway.
Dodging around chatting couples and clusters of gossiping matrons, Kate hurried as best she could back toward Lord Finley. The current set had almost finished, and she didn’t want to keep his lordship waiting.
“Not a feather to fly with, so Lord Cranston says. I pity his poor sister, just out this Season.”
The words caught her attention, and Kate slowed her headlong dash past a clutch of older ladies. Who might they be talking about?
“Let us hope his mother’s settlements are adequate for the girls. The estate may never recoup its losses.”
Heart beating fast, Kate shook off the comment and continued toward Lord Finley. Her first thought, of course, was Lord Haversham, but it might not have been him. They could have been talking about almost anyone, though he fit the description so perfectly, she doubted they spoke of someone else. Anyway, it was none of her concern, really. She didn’t even like the man. Still, the gossip didn’t sit well with her. Now she wished she hadn’t make that comment to Haversham about not working. That had been bad form.
She shook off the gloomy thoughts and put on her brightest smile as she approached Lord Finley and Bertie. “My lord, I believe we are promised for this set?”
“Indeed we are, Miss Locke.” Celinda had been truthful about the white teeth. “If you will excuse us, Mr. Symmons.” Lord Finley offered his arm, and Kate took it gratefully. He led her onto the floor, skillfully maneuvering through the throng of guests who seemed to have swelled in the past half hour.
They took their places for a quadrille, and the orchestra began a particularly lively rendition of “L’Horatia.”
Kate curtsied to her corner partner then to Lord Finley, trembling like a girl in her first Season. They chasséd down the square, took hands and, turning, chasséd back. In her concentration on the steps, she forgot to be nervous until they crossed arms around each other, and his arm brushed her waist. She expected a tingle, even stronger than when Lord Haversham had pulled her close to him. Lord Finley’s touch, however, seemed rather ordinary, although his hand had an uncomfortably moist feel, even through her gloves. Odd, and somewhat disappointing.
Lord Finley was quite the most attractive gentleman she’d met in three Seasons. With such broad shoulders, he cut a dashing figure in perfectly tailored evening clothes she couldn’t help but admire. He’d been pleasant to talk to and extremely courteous. So why didn’t he pique her interest more? Perhaps further conversation would remedy that.
“You are quite an excellent dancer, my lord,” she said, when it was the third and fourth couple’s turn to dance. “It seems difficult for some tall men, but not so with you.”
“Thank you, Miss Locke.” He flashed his smile again. “I do enjoy it, especially when my partner is as lovely and accomplished as you.”
She nodded at the compliment and would’ve thanked him, had it not been their turn on the floor once more. They passed through, and she linked hands with the second couple, dancing the steps together as a threesome. When they had finished their part, Lord Finley began his own solo performance, a series of steps made up by the male dancer to display his dancing prowess. He skipped, hopped, and twirled as the other dancers applauded. Then they joined hands in a circle and came back to their starting position.
“What an outstanding exhibition, my lord.” Kate stared into blue depths. “You must practice constantly.”
“I do.” He chuckled. “I have five younger sisters, and my mother insists that now I am home, I must dance with each one, even though only two are currently out and the youngest is ten.”
The other couples finished their part, and the music stopped. Kate applauded, struggling for something to say until the next dance began. “I understand you have returned to England but recently.”
“Indeed, I have been home scarcely a full month. Hence, lots of dancing practice.” He smiled, his face transforming from pleasant to dangerously charming. “And you are Lady Celinda’s cousin?” He changed the subject smoothly. Did he not want to talk about his travels?
“Yes, we grew up together in Somerset.”
“So she told me. That is a lovely part of the country, as I recall. Did you have much snow this past winter?”
Drat. Now they were off on the weather, she feared she’d never get any more information about the man. As they continued the sets of the quadrille, however, Kate was able to glean that his mother was giving a ball for his second eldest sister, who had come out this year.
“I will particularly ask that you and Lady Celinda be included in the guest list, Miss Locke. And I insist upon a dance with you.” That dangerously charming smile came out again, and Kate’s head whirled. No man should be that handsome.
“Oh, I assure you, Lord Finley, I will hold you to that promise.” Kate sent him a smile of her own. “A waltz perhaps, next time?”
“I will make sure of it.” He nodded, and they were off on the final figure of the quadrille. When it ended, she took his arm, satisfied, if not enthusiastic, at his response. Out of breath and with flushed cheeks, she let him lead her to Celinda, who stood near the doorway. “Miss Locke, Lady Celinda, it has been my pleasure.” He bowed, his gaze lingering a moment too long on her cousin. “If you will excuse me, ladies?” A final brilliant smile, and he headed toward a matronly woman in deep gold, with two young ladies at her side. Their faces lit up at his approach.
“His mother and sisters, I assume. We shall need to make their acquaintance as well,” Celinda mur
mured, not taking her gaze off the splendid figure of the retreating viscount.
“I expect we shall, as he’s invited us to his sister’s ball,” Kate said, her gaze just as firmly attached to Lord Finley.
“Excellent.” Celinda adjusted her dress and bit her lips, bringing more pink into them. “As I intend to marry Lord Finley, I suppose I should meet his family.”
* * * *
“King of Spades, thirty-one.” Ainsley drew the trick to him. All the tricks save two lay in front of him. “Seven of clubs, thirty-two.”
“Well, believe it or not,” Marcus leaned back in his chair, “ten of clubs. Eleven and twelve.” He gathered the cards to him and sighed. “Definitely your night, Ainsley.”
His friend smiled, tallying the last hand. “I believe you are correct, old chap. Shall we go again? Kate has yet to appear and drag me off home.”
“Lord, no. I must pay up and go off to lick my wounds.” He’d taken a drubbing for certain tonight. Hopefully the damage wasn’t as high as he feared. To his dismay, he had not kept track of his losses as well as he should have. For some Godforsaken reason, he’d spent much of the game brooding over Miss Locke’s invective about his lack of industry. The woman had no idea what he’d been up against when his father died suddenly. To assume the earldom years before he’d expected it had been a nightmare of a particularly horrible sort. His father had taught him how to manage the estate, of course. Still, having the sole responsibility for all the estates and his sisters’ welfare dropped upon him in the blink of an eye was daunting. Especially in the face of a crisis none of them had foreseen.
In the chaos that had reigned immediately after his father’s death, it was discovered that his steward had absconded with a substantial portion of the Haversham ancestral jewels and money. The theft might even have played a part in his father’s demise, for he had seemed to age greatly in the days before he died. It would take several years and a great deal of luck to recoup his losses, as there was little hope of recovery of the property. The last anyone had heard of Mr. Clemons, he’d been on a ship bound for America.