Gayle Wilson – Regency High Society Vol 7: A Reputable Rake / The Heart's Wager / The Venetian's Mistress / The Gambler's Heart (страница 13)
Sloane leaned closer to her and spoke in a smooth, ironic voice. ‘Miss Hart, are you merely buffleheaded or must I consider you a
To her credit, she did not flinch from this query. If she blushed, it was obscured in gauze.
‘Why I am here is, as I have explained, a private matter. If I must walk down St James’s unescorted and unprotected, I will.’ She pointedly shifted her gaze from him to her companion, ‘Come, Lucy. Let us find a hack.’
With head held high, she strode off towards St James’s Street. Sloane hesitated a moment. It was not his responsibility to extricate Morgana Hart from every foolhardy bramble she trod into. Let her suffer the catcalls and whistles of the young dandies lounging on the corners. Let her identity be exposed when one of those young bucks mistook her for a fancy piece and pulled off her hat. He started off in the other direction, but took no more than two steps before he turned around.
Even with his long legs, he nearly had to run to catch up with her. ‘Miss Hart!’
She stopped and whirled around as if to confront an annoying pest.
He reached her side and pulled her by the arm to a doorway of a shop whose curtains were drawn. ‘Wait here, speak to no one, and I will procure the hack.’
‘Thank you, Mr Sloane,’ she said with exaggerated politeness. ‘That is very gentlemanly of you, but I do wish you would not call out my name in the street.’
He winced and looked about, fearing he’d exposed her, the very circumstance he hoped to prevent. Good fortune was with them. There was no one in sight.
‘I will be but a moment.’ He hurried off to where Jermyn Street met St James’s.
Morgana leaned against the locked shop door and moaned as Lucy took a peek out of their hiding place.
Lucy tucked herself back in the doorway. ‘I have caused you more trouble, haven’t I, Miss Hart? You should not have come here.’
Lucy need not blame herself for Morgana’s foolishness. Morgana patted the girl’s arm reassuringly. ‘Mr Sloane has saved us from trouble, hasn’t he? He will find us transport and we shall be home directly.’
Morgana resisted the impulse to lean out of the doorway to watch him striding towards the corner. She ought to be mortified that he had discovered her in this part of town. What must he think of her now? First her skirmish in the park. Now this—this parading where no respectable woman would dare set foot in the afternoon. But frankly, she had been so relieved to see him.
The interview with the madam had not gone well. The woman had the gall to threaten Morgana with violence if she ever darkened her door again. Mrs Rice, as the abbess of the establishment was named, believed Morgana to be setting up a fancy house of her own. How appalling! Mrs Rice, furthermore, went into high dudgeon at the prospect of competition. She also accused Morgana of stealing her newest referral, Lucy. After such a disagreeable interview, Morgana had feared Mrs Rice would make good her threat and send some hulking footpad after them.
When Sloane appeared, her fears fled. She knew she could trust him to see to their safe return and to not speak a word to anyone of the incident.
‘He’s that man from the park, that’s who he is. Isn’t he, miss?’
‘Yes, are we not lucky he has rescued us a second time?’
Lucy nodded in agreement. If the maid wondered why Morgana knew his name, she did not let on.
Sloane did not keep them waiting long. A black hackney pulled up in front of them, and he hopped down to assist them inside.
When they were seated on the hack’s cracked leather seats, Sloane rapped on the roof and the coach lurched into motion.
He faced Morgana, Lucy seated at her side.
‘I thank you again for coming to our assistance,’ Morgana said, sounding more genuine in her gratitude this time.
He peered at her from beneath the rim of his beaver hat. ‘It is becoming a habit of mine.’
She could not help but smile, but quickly wiped it off her face when his expression remained grim.
He leaned forward. ‘Do you have any idea what risk you took for your mysterious errand?’ His gaze shifted momentarily to Lucy, who shrank to the corner of the vehicle.
‘I protected my identity,’ Morgana protested.
He lifted the netting away from her face. ‘See how easy it is to expose you?’
She pulled it back in place and pretended to gaze out of the window at the passing parade of street hawkers and carriages.
She felt him shift position. ‘If you are into some havey-cavey business, Miss Hart, I wish to know of it.’ He gave a pause. ‘Since we are to be neighbours.’
Her gaze flew back to him. Even Lucy straightened in her seat. ‘Neighbours?’
He gave her the slow, lazy grin that made her heart do a flip. ‘I have purchased the property next to yours.’
Morgana stifled a gasp. So it was true. Seeing Sloane’s secretary two days in a row had raised her concerns—or was that her hopes?—that Sloane would move next door.
His eyes glittered with anger. ‘I will be taking residence within a day or two.’
So soon? Could he not wait for renovations or something equally time-consuming? No, he probably was in a rush to have a house to show off to a prospective young bride. Perhaps he would promise Hannah the pleasure of redecorating to her own tastes. Morgana closed her eyes and saw a horror of patterns, fringe and frills that no doubt her cousin would insist was all the rage.
She opened her eyes and gave a stiff smile. ‘How splendid for you.’
He laughed—not the pleasant, open laugh of the opera, but a mysterious one. He leaned forward so there was no more than an inch between their faces. His voice turned very low. ‘Does the prospect so displease you?’
Morgana’s heart accelerated. ‘I am certain you will make a tolerable neighbour.’ She meant it as a jest, but the words came out stiff and prim. Why could she not possess her cousin’s natural ability to bat eyes and to utter flirtatious nonsense?
His eyes became slits as he leaned back again. ‘I will refrain from orgies and other rakish activities—will that prove tolerable enough?’
She opened her mouth to respond, but he continued, ‘I merely ask the same of you. I would not much relish being blamed for whatever mischief you are planning in the future.’
Lucy gave a pained squeak.
‘You be blamed?’ Morgana cried. ‘I assure you my affairs do not involve you.’
One of his eyebrows rose. ‘Indeed? And is this not the second time I have pulled you out of a scrape?’
Morgana felt her face grow hot. At least he could not see her blush through the netting.
He gave her a level stare. ‘When there is trouble around me, I am usually blamed for it. I would not much relish being blamed for whatever wild scheme you are hatching at the moment.’
Morgana resented his low opinion of her, even as she conceded the truth in it. She gave him her frostiest glare, although he would be unable to see it through the netting of her hat. ‘I shall endeavour to please you, sir.’
That lazy smile slowly reappeared, and her heart lurched in spite of herself. ‘See that you do please me, Miss Hart,’ he murmured, his voice so low she felt it more than heard it.
She glanced towards Lucy, who was eyeing them both with a shocked expression. Morgana did not trouble herself to speak with him further, but she was aware of each breath he took, each move of his muscles.
When the hack pulled up to her town house, he jumped out to assist them from the vehicle. Lucy descended, mumbled, ‘Thank you, sir’, and hurried to the servants’ entrance below, leaving Morgana momentarily alone with Sloane.
He gave his hand, still as strong and firm as before. He gripped her fingers, but let go as soon as her feet touched the pavement, stepping back as he did so.
Morgana took a quick breath and composed her disordered emotions. No matter what he might think of her, he had been her rescuer once again.
She looked up at him, his face shaded by his hat and the waning light. ‘Thank you again, Mr Sloane,’ she said softly. ‘I am truly grateful for your assistance.’
He gave her a quizzical look, but eventually touched his hand to the brim of his hat and climbed back in the hackney coach.
Two days later Sloane stood at the door of the grey brick house, its exterior looking identical to those on either side. By God, he’d better not arrive home too addled from drink. He was liable to enter the wrong house. It would not help the awkward situation of living next to Morgana Hart if he barged into her home drunk as an emperor.
He glanced at her front door and pursed his lips, imagining stumbling up her stairway and flopping into her bed by mistake. No chance of that. He had long mastered control of vices such as gambling, womanising and drink. He might get foxed, but it would be in the privacy of his own home.
His own home. Now that made him feel like dancing a jig.
He wondered if the Earl had been informed that his scapegrace son had moved into Mayfair,
The more Sloane saw of his nephew, the more he liked him. He and David had engaged in a pleasant conversation the previous night at Lady Beltingham’s rout, where Lady Hannah and her parents had also been in attendance. And Miss Hart.