Pursued by the Rake

by Lancaster, Mary

  He smiled without surprise or friendliness, yet somehow with a great deal of pleasure. And then Lady Sayle came between them; Barden was bowing, exchanging civil words with his hostess.

  Hazel shrank behind Roberta and Emma, trying to get her thoughts in order. Her body began to tremble with reaction. And then someone took her hand and placed it on his arm, and she knew without looking that it was Joe.

  She breathed again. The world seemed to right itself, and she was no longer afraid.

  “He isn’t surprised,” she murmured. “He knew I was here.”

  “Which is definitely interesting,” Joe said calmly.

  In front of them, Lady Sayle was saying, “You know my daughters, of course, and my son! And here is Miss Hazel…”

  Barden’s lips stretched into a smile. “Miss Hazel, is it?” he said, not bothering to hide his disbelief. Or his mockery. “Have we not met before, then?”

  “Don’t be silly, Barden,” Joe drawled. “A lady can’t be expected to remember every man who crosses her path. Hurry down for dinner, won’t you? I can promise you a most interesting evening.” And he strolled on toward the salon, drawing Hazel with him.

  “It was him,” she said intensely. “He arranged it all. He doesn’t even care that I know.”

  “He probably wants you to know,” Joe replied. “So that you fully realize his power over you. Men like him take pleasure in such power. The question is whether we are going to allow him it.”

  “But he will tell everyone who I am!”

  “We already know who you are, and telling tales to the other guests will merely make him look paltry and insulting to his hosts. A point I’ll make sure he understands. For the rest, we shall see if he wants more than your ruin, but under no circumstances meet him alone, Hazel.”

  She shuddered as they entered the salon. “I assure you, nothing would tempt me to do so. I must write to the others, just in case they don’t know what he’s done.”

  “I’ll see your letters are posted.”

  “Thank you.” She sat blindly in the chair he handed her into and watched him walk away.

  “Good evening,” said the girl on the sofa beside her. “I’m Agatha Renleigh.”

  Hazel smiled at her, relieved to turn the direction of her thoughts. “I know! Bart has told me so much about you.”

  “Oh! Are you Miss Hazel, then?”

  “I am.”

  “He thinks very highly of you,” Agatha said generously. “I’m not quite sure what it was you did for him, but he is very grateful, and therefore, so am I.”

  Hazel regarded her curiously. “You must be very good friends.”

  “Why, yes. I am not supposed to say so, but I don’t mind telling you that I would marry him if I could.”

  “And you can’t?”

  “Not until I am twenty-one, for my parents forbid it.”

  “Perhaps you will be able to talk them into it in a little while,” Hazel said. “After all, you and Bart haven’t known each other for very long.”

  “No, we haven’t,” Agatha agreed.

  “If you wait until Christmas, perhaps, and your wishes haven’t changed, they might be more amenable.”

  “That is true,” Agatha allowed.

  “Unless there is another gentleman they wish you to marry?”

  “My father has received three offers of marriage for me,” Agatha confided. “In fact, several, but they are the only three he is prepared to tolerate. He says I may choose between them. But I may not choose Bart.”

  “So, what will you do?” Hazel asked, fascinated.

  “Nothing. At the moment, no one bothers me because I’m supposed to be deciding.”

  “And between ourselves,” Hazel couldn’t resist asking, “of all of them, including Bart, who would you rather marry? And don’t worry, I won’t tell Bart what you say.”

  She laughed. “Why, Bart, of course. He loves me as I am.”

  It was an interesting answer, and as Hazel gave up her place to Bart, under pretense of going to join Emma, she let her attention stray frequently to the young couple. This was made easier by the fact that they were seated together at dinner. Mr. and Mrs. Renleigh did not look happy about the situation, but as guests, they could hardly question their hostess’s seating arrangements.

  By the time the ladies left the gentlemen to their wine, Hazel had decided there was something peculiarly right about the couple, almost as if they made up two parts of the same whole. It was odd because she was not normally in favor of youthful marriages, but she rather thought this one would work.

  Providing no one pushed Agatha too hard to marry someone else. And even there, after her comment about deciding between parentally approved suitors, Hazel suspected Agatha had her own ways of managing.

  Hazel smiled at her amiable table partner, who bowed as she left him. It was flattering, as well as surprising, to see a gleam of admiration in his eyes, even though she could not quite remember his name. Of course, by the time the gentlemen joined them in the drawing room, she fully expected Barden to have spread the word of who she was. The young man’s admiration would change then.

  As if her thoughts had conjured him, she had no sooner left the dining room than she glimpsed him at the door of an unlit anteroom. His eyebrows flew up, and he jerked his head in blatant if silent command. Come here.

  A quick glance showed her that the other ladies were too deep in conversation with each other to notice him. Or her.

  Hazel ignored him utterly and walked on with the rest of the ladies, her head held high. You’ve done all you can, nasty worm of a man. But who has the power now?

  Although somehow Hazel had managed not to be formally introduced to most of the guests, she was addressed by several as Miss Hazel. She did her best to be friendly and yet hold herself a little aloof, as though she truly were the governess, but the indecision began to bother her.

  She was amused, in a slightly painful kind of way, at the hastily changing posture of the younger ladies when the gentlemen finally returned to the room. Many female eyes focused in particular on Joe. It wasn’t surprising. He wasn’t just the handsomest man in the room; he was the most distinguished and carried with him the slightly exotic air of a man who had traveled to distant lands for his king.

  There had always been something about Joe. Even when he had strolled into the princess’s drawing room along with several important foreign dignitaries. Even when he had wandered out of the princess’s bedchamber. He drew attention to himself like a magnet, despite making no obvious effort to attract it.

  Several of the younger ladies were now invited to show off their accomplishments by playing the pianoforte. Hazel listened politely and clapped at the right moments. Although she never looked directly at Joe during the evening, she was always aware of his position in the room, exchanging pleasantries with acquaintances or compliments with ladies. The perfect host, pleasant, amusing, and solicitous.

  “Are you not playing for us this evening, Miss Hazel?”

  Her head snapped around to find Lord Barden leaning just a little too familiarly against the arm of her chair. Ignoring the lurch of discomfort, Hazel looked pointedly across the room at the piano, currently being played with reasonable accomplishment by Emma.

  “It would seem not,” she said coldly.

  “You did not come and talk privately with me after dinner.”

  “Of course, I did not.”

  “Why not?” he drawled, a sneer on his lips. He looked like a cat playing with a doomed mouse.

  “Because the last time I spoke privately with you, it was unpleasant.” She smiled faintly. “For both of us.”

  A spark of venom penetrated the smug sneer. “You had better grow used to it quickly. When I call, you come. Otherwise, there will be consequences.”

  She laughed. Fortunately, Emma had stopped playing, and Hazel could join in the polite applause. As she did so, she looked him directly in the eyes. “Do you really imagine there is anything else you ca
n do? I am ruined. What else is there?”

  “Meet me in the library tonight. Midnight seems an appropriate time.” He spoke abruptly, as though suddenly in a hurry, straightened, and walked away.

  She soon saw why. Joe was strolling toward her.

  “What did he want?” Joe asked.

  “To threaten and feel superior.”

  “I hope he doesn’t,” Joe murmured. “Feel superior, I mean.”

  “He won’t by half-past midnight,” Hazel replied, “when he realizes I shall not be meeting him in the library.”

  Joe smiled. “That’s my girl.”

  I wish I were…

  *

  As he made his way to the Sayles’ impressive library, Lord Barden alternately fumed—after such a brilliant beginning, he had to keep changing his plans—and gloated, because finally, he would have Hazel Curwen where he wanted her.

  Of course, thanks to his conversation with the person at the Red Lion in Essex, he had known she was with Sayle. But he had not quite expected to see her walking downstairs between Sayle’s sisters, one of whom was not even officially “out.” Perhaps the scandal had not yet reached rural areas. Well, he still had a newssheet folded in his pocket, which he planned to leave in the library to spread the word. But he was damned sure Sayle knew already.

  Clearly, Sayle wanted the girl for himself and was playing some deep game to win her affections. Barden had no such scruples. And if he was honest, snatching a prospective mistress from under Sayle’s arrogant nose certainly gave an added fillip to his inevitable victory.

  As he expected, everyone had retired by midnight, and the house was in darkness. But Barden had been here before. It was easy to find his way to the library with only a solitary candle to guide him. The door was ajar, and it opened silently to his wary push. He walked in, shining his candle around the room to see if she was here yet.

  The flame revealed no trembling, anxious female. In fact, it revealed no one at all, which irritated him. He had expected her to be early to make up for her last refusal. She must surely have understood the importance by now. He began to walk toward one of the comfortable chairs when a faint sound halted him in his tracks. A breath that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He couldn’t tell quite where it came from.

  And then the triumph hit him, and he smiled. “Why are you hiding? It is only I.”

  A definite movement came from the sofa by the window. It faced away from the room, so that in daylight, its occupants could enjoy the view over the gentle Downs. Now, its back served only to hide her from him. She must have been lying down, in fear of discovery by anyone else. Or just in fear of him. He liked that fear. He liked it a great deal.

  “We must talk, you and I,” he observed. Then he laughed. “Well, perhaps that is not strictly true. I shall talk, and you shall listen, and that is the way it shall be from now on. You understand a little better now the power I exert over those who cross me. You already know I have taken everything from you. You may have hidden the truth from poor Lady Sayle, but you may be sure Sayle himself knows exactly what you are. Your reputation is gone, my dear, and there is no getting it back. By tomorrow, everyone here will know who you really are and what you did. I cannot prevent that. But I can save you the humiliation of being turned out of the house.”

  Throughout his really rather impressive and restrained speech, there was no movement from the sofa.

  He took a step nearer, saying sharply, “Do you hear me?”

  The figure huddled on the sofa moved, as if irritated by his voice, and then stretched. She did seem to be much longer than she looked standing up. And altogether bigger, as though she’d wrapped herself in several blankets, which was bizarre.

  As he raised his candle in quick, impossible suspicion, the figure began to snore. And Barden gazed down at Sir Joseph Sayle, peacefully asleep.

  With a smothered exclamation, Barden backed away. Oh, dear God, what the devil did I say?

  Nothing that matters. The man was asleep, and even if he wasn’t, what does it matter? So, he would know he has a rival, but once I take her away, he’s far too lazy to pursue her.

  In fact, by the time he had stumbled out of the library and along the gallery to the staircase and climbed up to his bedchamber, he realized it would probably be a good thing if Sayle did know about him. His host would have to give up the pretense of “Miss Hazel,” and that could only add to the impossibility of her staying here.

  *

  Joe sat up as soon as Barden stumbled from the library. Rising, he lit the nearest lamp.

  He had taken up position on the sofa just in case Hazel had been somehow compelled to keep the assignation. Thank God she hadn’t, for Barden, clearly, was even more vile than he had imagined. Boasting that he had destroyed her reputation, gloating over the power he imagined he held over her! The snake thought he could thus force Hazel into becoming his mistress and complete her downfall.

  The very idea sickened Joe. He would do anything to protect her. Fortunately, Barden’s options were limited at Brightoaks. And Hazel was too strong a woman to fall for his tricks.

  But Joe would not forget. Or forgive.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Aware that Barden would be extremely miffed by her non-appearance in the library the previous night, Hazel made her way rather cautiously to the young Spriggs’ rooms. But although prepared to hide in cupboards and bolt down servants’ stairs and side passages, she saw only maids scuttling about their work.

  The children were as cheerful as always. Irene had made friends with the Sayles’ cook and was going to help her in the kitchen. The younger children had a new game to play on the grounds, which involved breaking a heroic highwayman out of the law’s custody.

  “Well, don’t tell anyone where you got that idea from,” Hazel advised.

  Edward grinned. “No point now he’s mooning over Agatha again. Our highwayman is not so soft. We thought we might let little Charles Standish play, too.”

  “That would be kind, but you should probably check first with his nurse, or Lady Standish, how far you are allowed to take him. And you would need to look after him very carefully, for he’s only two years old!”

  They promised on both counts, and she left shortly afterward with Bart, who had stuck his head in the door to check on his siblings’ welfare. It was certainly simpler going down to breakfast in his company than having to constantly look out for Lord Barden’s ambushes.

  “How do you like Agatha?” Bart asked with a hint of shyness. “Is she not the most beautiful creature you have ever seen?”

  “I should think she’s the most beautiful creature anyone has seen,” Hazel replied.

  “There is something angelic about her, is there not?”

  “There is,” Hazel allowed. “And I hope that fact will keep you on the straight and narrow, for you know she is very unlikely to disagree with whatever you propose. You must vet your own choices very carefully! Or discuss them with someone you trust.”

  “Like you and Sir Joe?”

  It was silly, but hearing their names coupled so casually caused a flutter in her heart. Ignoring it, she said, “Yes, like Sir Joe or me. At least until Amelia and Mr. Armitage return.”

  He was silent a moment, then he said, “It is a responsibility, looking after her as well as my family.”

  “It is,” Hazel agreed. “But if you want my opinion, I would say that Miss Renleigh is stronger than she seems. Keep asking her opinion, for I doubt anyone else does.”

  Bart looked thoughtful as the footman opened the breakfast room door for them.

  The table was not busy. Only Joe, Emma, and Roberta sat there, along with the middle-aged couple who had arrived at the same time as Lord Barden. And Barden himself, Hazel saw with relief, was absent.

  “We’re talking about going to Great Finglebury this morning,” Emma told them.

  “You are talking about it,” her sister corrected. “I have already said I would rather be with Mama to gree
t the guests arriving today. And Mr. and Mrs. Yardley prefer the peace of Brightoaks.”

  “I would go,” Bart said, heaping food on to his plate. “What about you, Miss Hazel?”

  “It will only be a small party,” Emma said. “No one else is up, and Joe insists we leave in half an hour.”

  “But I am prepared to stretch that to an hour,” Joe said, “to prevent you bolting your breakfast. We’ll just need the one coach when there are only four of us.”

  “I’m sure I can be ready in half an hour,” Hazel said, sitting down with her plate of toast and eggs. She did not look directly at Joe, for she did not wish to acknowledge that her decision was influenced as much by the prospect of his company than by her desire to avoid Barden for most of the day. She glanced at Bart. “If you don’t think the children will need me? I believe, Lady Standish, they want your permission to involve your elder son in their game.”

  “Oh, we can ask the servants to look out for them,” Emma said blithely. “In any case, we’ll be back before tea.”

  Barely forty minutes later, Hazel was handed into the carriage and took her seat beside Emma. Joe sat opposite her, so it was an effort not to look at him.

  “What is it you wish to buy?” she asked Emma as the carriage rolled down the drive.

  “Ribbons,” Emma pronounced. “Mama will only allow me to wear white and insipid jewelry to the ball, so I want a splash of bright color in my hair. Will you buy anything?”

  Hazel merely shook her head. She had no money whatsoever and already owed Joe more than she could repay before her father’s return.

  “Me neither,” Bart said cheerfully. “But I am happy to escort you ladies wherever you wish to go. What are your intentions, Sir Joe?”

  “I thought I might see if I could find this great friend of mine that Emma and my mother invited to the ball.”

  “Just to make sure he’s suitable?” Emma teased. “Do you really count so many ruffians among your friends?”

  “Men are different,” Bart said loftily. “One doesn’t introduce every acquaintance to the females of one’s family.”

  “Maybe one should,” Hazel said. “That way, men would be more careful about their friends.”