Knave's Wager

by Loretta Chase

  Her shoulder struck a muscular arm, her hip an equally hard limb. The shock of contact, brief though it was, caused Lilith to drop her book. She did not pause to retrieve it, but, palms perspiring and heart thumping, marched off in search of Cecily.

  He did not follow her.

  Chapter Four

  On the day Lord Brandon had reached Town, the Grand Duchess of Oldenburg had arrived as well. She put up at the Pulteney Hotel; or rather, was put up, for it was the Lievens who paid the two hundred ten guineas a week; or rather, was put up with, for the Czar’s sister was a difficult guest, having promptly declared her own private war upon the Prince Regent.

  On this same day, Czar Alexander and the King of Prussia had entered the French capital at the head of their triumphant troops. Immediately thereafter, the Czar and Talleyrand met to settle Buonaparte’s rate. Within five days, the news had burst upon London, to drive the populace into a frenzy of celebration.

  Nonetheless, these and other international sensations took second place one evening in early April to weightier issues: that is, the appearance—at an informal gathering of two or three hundred of the Countess Lieven’s dearest friends—of the Marquess of Brandon and his cousin, Lord Robert Downs.

  Lord Brandon’s notoriety had not at all dimmed in the seven years of his self-imposed exile. True, he had returned from time to time, but only briefly, and rarely to good company. He had become a shadowy figure, occasionally glimpsed among the more infamous of the demimonde, like a dark Lucifer among a host of lesser fiends.

  One might wonder then, on this particular evening, why the virtuous did not shrink from him in fear and revulsion. Instead, they crowded about his tall, athletic, black-coated figure as though he were Baal and they the idol worshippers. Perhaps virtue was a commodity in short supply in the ton, as Elise had hinted, or perhaps virtue was no match for an unimpeachable bloodline, a strikingly handsome face, a powerful masculine figure, a devastating charm, and an obscenely large income. In any case, there was scarce an individual at the gathering who did not talk either to or about the Marquess of Brandon.

  Lord Robert was a lesser light. Still, he had some claim on the company’s attention, for he had not been seen at a Society affair since he’d commenced one of his own with a French-born courtesan.

  Even the most jaded of the countess’s guests could not resist speculating what had brought these two elusive prizes back into the Great World.

  Lord Robert, at the moment, was equally perplexed.

  In the blaze of thousands of candles, the glitter and flash of jewels was nearly blinding. Dashing silks and satins of every tint mingled with fragile white muslins, like a bouquet of vivid summer blooms set off by delicate sprays of baby’s breath, amid the darker foliage of expertly tailored superfine and velvet. The affair, in short, was as insipid as every other.

  Lord Robert had rarely been in polite company in nearly two years, yet the faces were depressingly familiar. The few new ones belonged mainly to the latest crop of misses, who were, naturally, exact replicas of the previous crop. Lord Robert had arrived very late, scarcely half an hour ago, and already he was bored nearly frantic.

  He had agreed to accompany his cousin because he was curious as to what it was Julian said and did that drove women of every station and every shade of virtue to lose their hearts, minds, and—if they had them to lose—their morals.

  What Lord Robert had observed at Hookham’s only whetted his curiosity: the quiet conversation with the clerk, the glint of coins changing hands, the discreet positioning of both the steps and Julian himself. Robert had not been near enough to hear the exchange, unfortunately, or even to observe the widow’s expression, until, to his very great surprise, she had thrust his cousin out of her way. Even then, her face had appeared carved from stone.

  Julian, naturally, had not mentioned a word of the matter afterwards. He could be irritatingly inscrutable when he liked. Now, for instance, he conversed with Sidmouth and Eldon as though dreary politics were all he lived for.

  Since there was nothing at present of interest there, Robert looked about him for an acquaintance whose conversation would not put him to sleep.

  He spied two of his Mends, Lord Maddock and Mr. Reginald Ventcoeur, forming part of a court around the species of china doll who appeared every Season under different names. Lord Robert sighed and made for his friends.

  He was not sure afterwards how it had happened. He remembered being introduced to a pair of eyes the colour of a bright summer sky and a voice as clear and musical as the rippling of a country stream... and the next he knew, they were dancing.

  Miss Cecily Glenwood was fresh from the schoolroom and country-bred, as she was quick to confess.

  “Now, you must keep a sharp lookout,” she warned as the music commenced. “I have had ever so many lessons, but I haven’t yet danced in fine company very often, let alone with a sophisticated gentleman. It would be too mortifying for me to trample on your slippers—but even more painful for you, I promise. Rodger reminds me constantly I’m no featherweight.”

  “Two feathers,” said Robert, amused. “You can’t be more. Who is Rodger?”

  “My brother.”

  “That explains it. Only a sibling would tell such outrageous fibs.”

  That sounds like the voice of experience,” said Miss Glenwood.

  “I’m the youngest of four. I have two elder sisters who tormented me—and still do, even though they have handier victims these days in their husbands.’’

  “I’m fourth as well. I have a younger sister, but she can be just as provoking as the others. Are you all fair?”

  He nodded.

  “Is it not monotonous?” She coloured. “Oh, dear. I did not mean you were monotonous. You are not at all. At least your eyes are not blue—well, not very. They are more grey than blue.”

  Her earnest scrutiny nearly put him out of countenance, but she must have recollected herself, for in a moment her long lashes had lowered demurely over her own brilliant eyes.

  “I suppose you think me dreadfully forward,” she said after a moment. “Really, I am not. It is just ignorance. The hay yet sticks to my shoes, I daresay.”

  “Not at all, Miss Glenwood,” he answered smoothly. “You appear as elegant and sophisticated as any other young lady making her debut.”

  She laughed. “Which is to say, not very. But you say it so convincingly I must pretend to be reassured.”

  “You can’t possibly want reassurance,” he said, smiling in return. “When I approached, I thought you’d be smothered in the crowd of gentlemen pressing about you.”

  “Yes, and the whole time I was terrified of blurting out The Wrong Thing. My aunt,” she explained, “has warned me more than once about my alarming tendency to say precisely what is in my mind.”

  “Good heavens! You must never do that in Society. Not unless you mean to throw down civilisation as we know it.”

  “I know,” she said with a sigh. “Really, I begin to think a Season wasted on me.” She glanced quickly about her then added in an undertone, “You must promise to tell no one, because they will think me ridiculous, but the truth is I am very, very bored.”

  “At the start of your first Season? Miss Glenwood, you are more sophisticated than you pretend.”

  “Not at all. I am still a child, I’m afraid. I want to go to Astley’s,” she confided, as though this were a heinous depravity, “and to the Tower, and Madame Tussaud’s—oh, a hundred places. There is so much to see in London, but all I do is shop and dance and talk and dance and talk and shop.”

  She appeared so wistful that Lord Robert might have patted her on the head and promised her a sweetmeat if he had not had to mind his steps. As it was, he found himself soberly expressing sympathy and wondering what he could do to relieve the poor child’s boredom.

  Being occupied elsewhere, Lord Robert did not observe how his cousin closed in on his prey.

  Lord Brandon remained at a distance, seemingly engaged in
renewing old acquaintance. Nevertheless, there was not a moment he did not know precisely where one staid taupe gown was located.

  Thus, the instant Mrs. Davenant and the Countess Lieven moved apart from their neighbours to talk, Lord Brandon began making his roundabout yet speedy way across the room. Bexley, he had noted, had wandered out of the ballroom talking earnestly with Count Lieven a quarter hour before. Lady Enders was gossiping with Lady Shumway and a gawky girl with spots.

  Lord Brandon was careful to come up on the widow from behind, allowing her no opportunity to withdraw gracefully. Then he greeted the countess and asked for an introduction.

  Mrs. Davenant’s slate-blue eyes turned to ice, but she could not, he knew, decline the honour without insulting the haughty Madame de Lieven. Given your political aspirations, this would be most unwise.

  The widow did not decline. She even managed not to appear outraged, which he knew she must be. Lord Brandon pressed his advantage.

  “Now that we have proper leave to know each other, I wonder if we might dance together,” he said, his tones studiously polite. “Will you favour me with the waltz about to begin, Mrs. Davenant—if only to honour the delightful lady who first introduced it to Society at Almack’s?”

  The Countess Lieven acknowledged the compliment with a gracious nod. Mrs. Davenant’s lips tightened.

  “Thank you,” she said stiffly, “but—”

  “Ah, now we are in for a treat,” said the countess. “We have never yet seen Lord Brandon waltz. I am afraid only our allies—perhaps our foes as well—have had that privilege. We shall at last see for ourselves whether he is as accomplished in this as in so much else.”

  The marquess raised an eyebrow.

  “I referred to your skill in dancing, you teasing creature,” she said with a faint smile. “But go. The music begins and my own partner approaches.”

  Followed by many curious eyes, Lord Brandon led his unwilling partner out. Not that Mrs. Davenant appeared unwilling. Her face was perfectly composed. He felt her tense, though, the instant his hand clasped her waist. He suspected she would have wriggled away if she might have done so with dignity. His grip was quite firm, however.

  “You are displeased with me,” he said. “I placed you in a difficult position. I am very sorry for it, but you left me no choice. I could hardly continue invisible forever. It is undignified.”

  “And to make a nuisance of yourself is not?” Her tones were cold, but the gloved hand in his was very warm.

  “Once, perhaps, it might have been. But I have been a nuisance so many years now, it has become a part of my character. You may have noted that perseverance forms another part.”

  She did not respond.

  “I believe it is accounted a virtue,” he prodded.

  “When properly applied,” was the unencouraging reply. “Children are known to persevere in naughtiness. One wishes they applied the same industry to their lessons.”

  “If you were my tutor, I should listen very attentively. What would you teach me, Mrs. Davenant?” he asked, has tones softening.

  “How absurd. You are long past teaching.”

  “No one is past teaching. Not if the lessons are pleasant ones.”

  “Mine should bore you to extinction. You must have heard them a hundred times in your boyhood. Given the results, I collect you had been asleep most of the time.”

  “Which is to say you mean to read me sermons.”

  “Yes, I am very dull.”

  “If you think so, it is you who want a lesson.” He pressed her closer and drew her into a turn. In the process, his thigh brushed hers and he felt her recoil.

  “You are an excellent partner,” he said after a few moments’ throbbing silence. “You follow my lead instinctively. I feel as though we had been waltzing together all our lives. But then, I was certain it would be so. I have remarked more than once how graceful you are, even when you are furiously storming away. It is amazing how well acquainted I have become with your back.”

  “In that case, there should be no need to conduct a physical examination, my lord. You will please to keep your hand in one place.”

  “I beg your pardon,” he said. “My hands are unsteady. I seem to be nervous.”

  “I should say impudent, rather.”

  “Perhaps you’re right.” As though to prove it, he drew her into another perilous turn. He would have liked to keep whirling her until she grew too giddy to stand, and collapsed against him, but that was too crass. He had rather weaken her defences little by little.

  A barely perceptible film of moisture was forming on her smooth white brow.

  “You are breathless,” he said. “Ladies will fasten their stays so tightly.”

  “I do not—” She bit her lip.

  “No, I know you do not. I am acutely observant.”

  A faint colour singed her slender neck.

  “You do not require such artificial moulding,” he persisted. “Your waist is as slim and supple as a young girl’s.”

  The colour heightened. “You please to mock me, my lord. I should not be surprised. Your manner from the first has been nothing but mockery.”

  “You are hopelessly confused,” he said pityingly. “From the first I have admired everything about you, yet you insist upon being deaf, dumb, and blind to all my touching confessions.” He glanced down at her in sudden concern. “You aren’t deaf, are you? You were blind for a time, I realise, though assuredly not dumb—”

  “I do not understand,” she said, “how you can chatter incessantly while you waltz. Your lungs must be prodigious strong.”

  “When I am flirting, I have the strength of ten men. You will not flirt back, but that cannot stop me. The habit is too deeply ingrained. I find a stunning woman in my arms, and I must flirt with her.”

  “You have obviously confused me with some Incomparable. It is your lamentable eyesight, I daresay.”

  “I hope not. You have no idea the inconvenience I was put to in order to get you in my arms so that I should be compelled to flirt with you.”

  He saw the shadow of uneasiness flit across otherwise immobile features.

  “You must not be alarmed for my health, Mrs. Davenant,” he said comfortingly. “I promise to make up for the exertion by lying abed very late tomorrow.”

  Had Lilith suspected just how much the marquess learned about her during their one waltz, she would have been considerably more shaken than she was—and that was already too much.

  She had wanted every iota of her rigid training to maintain a semblance of composure. A semblance only. Good grief—she had practically announced she did not wear stays! Not, she reflected bitterly as she sought a quiet comer of the ballroom, that there had been any need to inform him.

  Before she could even begin to regain her equanimity, Lady Enders pounced upon her, canary ruffles jerking in agitation.

  “Everyone is talking,” Rachel said.

  “It is a social event. People are obliged to converse.”

  “They are talking about you and Brandon. If I had been you, I should have been put completely out of countenance, with everyone staring so. To dance with the man—and of all dances, a waltz. I really do not understand, Lilith.”

  What she meant was that she did not approve, though Rachel had not the audacity to tell her future sister-in-law that.

  “I am not a green girl, Rachel. I do not require the sanction of Almack’s patronesses to waltz. In any event, it was one of them obliged me to. I suppose you would prefer I had offended Dorothea?”

  “In your place, I should have pleaded a turned ankle.”

  “In that case, I should not have been able to dance with Thomas later.”

  “I am sure my brother would have been happy to support a necessary falsehood. A man in his position cannot wish his intended bride to be an object of speculation.”

  “If that is so, perhaps he might spare a moment to his intended, instead of hiding away in the library talking politics with his colle
agues,” Lilith snapped. “I was left to deal with an awkward situation quite on my own, and chose not to insult the Russian ambassador’s wife.”

  This was so unlike her cool, immovable self that Rachel stepped back a pace. “My dear Lilith,” she said placatingly, “I did not mean to question your judgement.”

  There was a brief pause.

  “I am sure you did not,” Lilith answered with something more like her customary chilly politeness. “Our Mends’ eagerness to make gossip of the most trivial matters distresses you, as it does me. All the same, I think we were wisest to disregard it.”

  Though a large circle of masculine admirers had already begun to make great demands upon Cecily’s attention, she had sufficient of that article remaining to cultivate several feminine friends as well. Among these, the most agreeable was Anne Cieveson, whose mama, Lady Rockridge, happened to be Lord Robert’s first cousin on his papa’s side.

  Lady Rockridge was a sensible, good-natured woman who presented daughters almost as continuously as Mrs. Davenant presented nieces. The two women were well-acquainted. They both respected and liked each other and had more than once traded chaperone duty. This was what Lady Rockridge was proposing on the day following Countess Lieven’s informal gathering, for Cecily was invited to join a small group of young people Lord and Lady Rockridge planned to escort to Astley’s.

  In any other case, Lilith would have instantly agreed. This time, however, there were problems. For one, she was out of sorts, having slept poorly. For another, Lord Robert was to be one of the party and Lilith much doubted he was suitable company for Cecily.

  His connexion with Lady Rockridge was a point in his favour. His mistress and his connexion with Lord Brandon were points against. Cecily’s behaviour the night of the opera must be considered as well—though Lilith was not entirely certain in what light to consider it, because the girl had offered no indication of infatuation since.

  While Lilith did not list aloud these points for and against, Lady Rockridge must have guessed some of them, because she promptly ordered Cecily and Anne to take a turn in the garden.