Gayle Wilson – Regency High Society Vol 7: A Reputable Rake / The Heart's Wager / The Venetian's Mistress / The Gambler's Heart (страница 2)
‘Good.’ She handed Sloane his walking stick and he sheathed the sword.
He raised his eyes from the unconscious figure to look directly into her face. A smudge of dirt on her cheek marred a fair complexion, flushed becomingly pink. Her dark brown hair draped her shoulders like a silken veil. She returned his stare. Her eyes were not blue, but, in the waning light of the evening, he could not tell for certain what colour they might be.
He raised one eyebrow. ‘Miss Hart?’
There was a maturity about her that did not fit her youthful clear eyes and smooth, unlined face. He could not even ascertain her station in life by her attire and certainly not by her manner. She was not much like any other woman he’d ever met.
‘Are you injured, ma’am?’ he asked.
She shook her head and the veil of hair moved like waves on the sea. ‘Nothing to signify.’ She extended her hand. ‘Thank you, sir, for coming to our assistance.’
He accepted the surprisingly firm handshake, giving her an ironic smile. ‘I fear it is I who must thank you. You vanquished the fellow.’ His gaze reluctantly left her to glance at the other two women. ‘May I know what goes on here?’
‘You have rescued this young woman from ruin.’ Miss Hart swept her arm towards where the other two were still clustered.
Back to the melodrama, Sloane thought.
She referred to the young woman in the red dress. ‘He would surely have snatched her away.’
‘He did not snatch me, miss,’ the girl protested. ‘I made a bargain with him.’
Miss Hart turned to her, her voice incredulous. ‘You could not have wished to go with such a horrible man.’
The girl rubbed her arms. ‘But I did.’
‘No, it is nonsensical,’ piped up the maid. ‘You have respectable work, Lucy.’
The girl simply lowered her head.
‘Did he give you that horrid dress, Lucy?’ the maid went on. ‘You look like a harlot!’
This, Sloane thought, was probably just what she was… or intended to be.
Lucy merely responded with a mutinous look.
With a glance at Sloane, Miss Hart broke in, ‘We will discuss this later.’ She turned to Lucy. ‘And we will find some other resolution than… than going with that creature. Promise you will have patience.’
The girl glowered at her, but finally nodded.
Sloane cleared his throat. ‘I am delighted that is settled. Now, may I suggest we leave the park before the
Miss Hart gave a dignified toss of her head. ‘We must not trouble you further, sir. We have not far to go.’
Sloane frowned. ‘I will escort you all the same. I have no wish to repeat this performance with some other fellow lurking in the bushes. The park is no place for women alone, you know.’
‘Very well.’ As efficient as a governess and clearly the leader of the incongruous group, she gathered the other two like wayward chicks.
Sloane followed the trio back to the path. They made their way quickly out of the park, returning to the quiet Mayfair neighbourhood where he’d been strolling a short time ago.
She turned back to him. ‘There is no need for you to see us further.’
She did not wish him to know her direction. Perhaps he did not look as respectable as he thought. No matter. Something told him he was better off having as little as possible to do with this motley group.
All the same, a faint measure of disappointment teased at him. This ladylike virago, who scrapped as readily as the toughest rookery orphan, intrigued him.
‘I do thank you again for your chivalry.’ She extended her hand once more, and as he grasped it he looked into her eyes, the colour escaping him still.
He hesitated before releasing her hand. ‘Goodnight, Miss Hart.’
‘Goodnight,’ she said softly then turned back to the other two and herded them quickly away.
Morgana Hart hurried her two charges past the sedate town houses on Culross Street, so close to the most fashionable residences of Grosvenor Square.
‘We will discuss what to do in the morning, Lucy,’ she said as they walked at a quick clip. ‘When we reach home you must take a rest.’ In Lucy’s present mood, it made no sense to try to reason with her.
‘You did not have to come after me.’ The girl’s voice was petulant, but she avoided looking at Morgana.
Morgana’s maid stepped in front of her and brought them all to a halt. She leaned right into her sister’s face. ‘What would have happened to you if Miss Hart had not come after you? You ought to be grateful to her. I cannot understand you.’
Lucy folded her arms across the low bodice of her gaudy dress.
Morgana gave them each a push. ‘Let us be on our way.’
She ushered them into the house through the servants’ door. Tears stained Lucy’s cheeks and Morgana wrapped her arm around the girl and brushed the hair from her eyes. ‘Why don’t you take some time to get cleaned up? Then, if you like, you can come to my room while your sister helps me dress.’
As Lucy ran up the back stairs, the door from the hall opened. Cripps, the butler, with nose lifted, gazed first at Lucy’s retreating figure, then at Morgana.
Morgana stared back, but spoke to her maid. ‘Amy, please go to my room and set out a dressing gown for me. I shall be there directly.’
Amy gaped at Cripps with frightened eyes. ‘Yes, miss.’ She bobbed a quick curtsy and fled up the stairs after her sister.
Morgana felt a sinking chagrin. When she had hired Cripps and his almost-as-taciturn wife as butler and housekeeper a month ago, she had hoped to thaw some of that chilly reserve of his, but all her friendly smiles and solicitous questions as to the Cripps’ health or their contentment with her employment had been to no avail. The butler kept himself so contained, she’d been unable to take the measure of the man.
He would likely resent her interference in his responsibilities, but she could not risk him playing the strict upper servant and admonishing Lucy. The girl might run again. ‘I have handled this situation, Cripps, entirely to my satisfaction,’ she said in an even voice. ‘You need not be involved.’
‘Very good, miss.’ He bowed.
She tried a smile, hoping it would ease his sombre expression. ‘I suppose I have delayed dinner, haven’t I? Were Grandmama and Miss Moore served?’ Morgana had ordered a light supper to be sent up to the dowager Lady Hart and her companion in Lady Hart’s room.
‘Yes, miss,’ Cripps responded, his tone bland but, Morgana suspected, disapproving. ‘I ordered Cook to keep your dinner warm.’
She made herself keep smiling. ‘That was good of you, Cripps. You may have it sent up to my bedchamber.’
He bowed again and retreated towards the kitchen. Morgana sighed. Perhaps if she’d known more of the man behind Cripps’s austere exterior, she might have sought him out to chase after Lucy instead of going herself.
But then she would not have encountered the magnificent man who came to their aid. She could just see him, dark brows and eyes peering from under the brim of his hat, so at ease with the violence, moving as gracefully as a dancer and as lethally as a charging lion.
Placing a bracing hand against her chest, she stepped into the hall and climbed the staircase to her bedchamber on the upper floor. Amy was there, smoothing out her dressing gown.
Morgana walked to the wash stand and caught sight of herself in the mirror above it. ‘Oh, I look a fright!’ Her hair was completely out of its pins, falling on her shoulders straight as a stick and her face was smudged with dirt. She stifled the urge to laugh. What must Cripps have thought of her?
Or, more significantly, what had the gentleman in the park thought?
She poured water into the basin and took a cloth to scrub her face, then Amy helped her out of her dress.
Why could the excitement of this evening not have occurred during one of the many excruciatingly dull days she’d endured this last month while awaiting her new wardrobe? Tonight was her first chance to experience London’s many entertainments. She was to attend the opera in the company of her aunt, uncle and cousin, having been included in the invitation of the gentleman her cousin planned to snare as a husband. Certainly opera would seem tame after witnessing a man wield a swordstick as if it were an extension of his arm.
Amy worked at the strings of her corset. ‘I do not know what got into Lucy’s head, miss. I am sorry for troubling you with our problems, but what would we have done without you?’
Morgana looked over her shoulder at the girl. ‘The thanks belong to the gentleman who helped us.’ She smiled to herself. ‘If he was a gentleman.’
In the mirror she saw a dreamy look came over the maid’s face. ‘He looked like a pirate to me, miss. A handsome one.’
‘A very handsome one!’ Morgana laughed. ‘What a treat to be rescued by such a man.’
She made light of the incident for Amy’s benefit, but in truth it had deeply affected her. She was appalled by the man trying to take Lucy away and stunned by Lucy’s willingness to follow him. She was also stirred into a cauldron of excitement by the gentleman who had rushed in to help them. He was tall and dark-haired, like any good pirate should be, but in an impeccably tailored coat and fine linen. Like the stick he carried, he looked sleek and expensive on the outside, but, on the inside, hid a violence ready to be unleashed. She could barely catch her breath just thinking about him.