Gayle Wilson – Regency High Society Vol 7: A Reputable Rake / The Heart's Wager / The Venetian's Mistress / The Gambler's Heart (страница 22)
But Sloane had no intention of discussing his place in the family—or lack of it. Instead, he asked David about his life. The boy’s course had been similar to his own. Sent to Eton at age nine, then on to Oxford. David continued at Oxford, reading law, whereas Sloane had escaped at eighteen, using his meagre inheritance from his mother to lose himself on the Continent. The similarities ended there.
After another glass of port, David said, ‘I thought it would be polite to call upon Miss Hart while I am in the neighbourhood, or at least leave my card if she is not receiving.’
Brilliant idea. Why had Sloane not thought of it?
Actually he had thought of it, but concluded it would cause talk if anyone saw him enter her house alone. With David it would not be remarked upon, however.
‘Perhaps I will join you,’ Sloane said.
‘Look what Mary found, Miss Hart.’ Rose handed her a small book. ‘She wanted to put it away again, but I said you would want to see it.’
Morgana opened the book to the title page.
‘It has names and their direction as well.’ Mary pointed on the page. ‘I thought you might find your tutor in there.’
This was exciting indeed. Morgana glanced at the date of publication. 1803, the year she had been sent to school and her father had come to London. This must have been his book.
The idea that her father might have used this information gave Morgana a rather sick feeling. She firmly set aside that thought and made herself consider what use the book might be in her present endeavours. She quickly leafed through to see if Harriette Wilson was listed.
She was not.
‘Thank you, Rose,’ Morgana said.
Morgana had had the pianoforte moved to the library, and Rose sat down at it, playing softly. Mary sat with Katy, showing her a book, and Miss Moore put Lucy through an elocution exercise. Morgana’s grandmother sat in a rocking chair where she could see everyone. She smiled and rocked and said everything was lovely to anyone who asked.
Cripps knocked on the door. ‘Two gentlemen to see you, Miss Hart.’ Morgana strained to see if there was any change in his manner towards her since the ‘nieces’ had arrived. She was unable to tell. ‘Mr Cyprian Sloane and Mr David Sloane.’
Mr Sloane? Even though she had convinced herself he could never care for her, her heart leapt. ‘Did you put them in the drawing room?’
‘Yes, miss.’
‘Oh, dear.’ Her glance darted around the room. ‘I suppose we should serve tea. Will you see to it, Mr Cripps.’
He bowed and left the room.
Morgana told herself she could see Sloane without him discovering her other guests. She walked over to her grandmother’s chair. ‘Grandmama, would you like to receive callers with me?’
Her grandmother smiled. ‘That would be lovely, my dear.’
Morgana shoved
The two gentlemen turned at their entrance and waited to be presented. Morgana’s eyes flew naturally to Sloane’s.
‘Grandmama, you recall our neighbour, Mr Cyprian Sloane?’ Morgana said.
‘Oh, yes,’ said her grandmother agreeably. ‘So lovely to see you, my dear.’
Morgana tried to ignore the knowing look in his eye as he took her grandmother’s bony hand in his large one and brought it to his lips for a gentle kiss. ‘It is my pleasure, Lady Hart.’
She presented David Sloane, and her grandmother responded to him in the same vague manner. He did not seem to notice anything amiss. Morgana prayed her grandmother would not say anything to reveal her infirmity of mind.
‘Please sit, gentlemen,’ Morgana said. ‘Cripps is bringing tea.’
She felt Sloane’s gaze boring into her as they chatted. He continued to examine her as she poured him tea and handed him the cup, and when they stood to leave fifteen correct minutes later. She left her grandmother in the drawing room and walked the gentlemen out.
When they had stepped into the hall, Sloane turned to her with a glint in his eye. ‘Forgive my impertinence, Miss Hart, but I am desirous to know if your house has the same configuration of rooms as my own.’
To her alarm he headed for the door of the back parlour, where soft piano music could be heard.
‘Is this the library?’ He put his hand on the knob.
‘Yes!’ she cried. ‘I mean, it is merely a small parlour my father used as a library.’
The voices of the girls inside the room were audible through the closed door. His brows rose.
‘Is it configured as my own?’ He turned the knob.
She put her hand on his, bare skin to bare skin. ‘I think this not a good time. The… the maids are cleaning.’
He seemed to peer all the way into her lying soul. ‘I see. They clean the pianoforte very melodiously. Perhaps some other time I shall beg a tour of your house.’
‘I will arrange it with Cripps.’ She turned sharply back towards the hall and the book fell from her pocket.
Sloane picked it up and read the spine. ‘Miss Hart—’ he whispered fiercely.
She merely extended her hand for the book.
‘Are we leaving, Uncle?’ called David from the hallway.
He was forced to give the book back to her, but his face looked like thunder. ‘Directly,’ he called to his nephew.
She led him back to the hall where Cripps waited with the gentlemen’s hats. David said his goodbye and headed out of the door. Sloane held back.
‘I will speak with you very soon.’ He gave her a meaningful look that filled her with trepidation.
Morgana closed the door behind him and leaned against it. She glanced at Cripps.
He hesitated a moment before asking, ‘Do you require anything further, miss?’
‘Nothing.’ She fled into the drawing room to collect her grandmother, knowing she’d not heard the last of this from Sloane.
David convinced Sloane they should also call upon Lady Hannah, and Lady Hannah begged the gentlemen to drive her through Hyde Park, where she waved happily to her friends, no doubt feeling triumphant at having two gentlemen to escort her. It was nearly two hours before Sloane could return to Culross Street. He drove the curricle to the stables himself and left the horses in the care of his tiger. Tommy would think it the most natural thing in the world for Sloane to cross the mews and enter from the back.
Once in his garden, Sloane crossed through the gap in the fence. Rain began to patter the stone of the garden with fat droplets, and he hurried to Morgana’s rear entrance. Finding the door unlocked, he slipped inside her house. He would bet his fortune she was in her back parlour, from where he’d heard the other female voices.
Sloane experienced the same surge of excitement that he used to feel whenever he risked discovery. He hurried up the servants’ stairs and stood in the shadows, but he was by no means hidden. Anyone who looked carefully would see him.
As he’d hoped, Morgana came out of the room.
He stepped out of the shadows. ‘Miss Hart.’
‘Oh!’ She jumped in surprise.
He grabbed her arm and drew her away from the parlour door. ‘Explain yourself,’ he demanded.
Her back was against the wall. ‘I, explain myself? You are the one invading my house!’
‘I needed to speak with you privately.’ He glared at her. ‘Unless you wish me to discuss
‘No.’ Red spots appeared on her cheeks.
The colour only brightened her countenance, but he must not allow himself to think of how lovely she was. ‘Now explain all. I will have no surprises.’
She expelled an angry breath. ‘I do not see why I must. This is none of your affair, Mr Sloane.’
He gave a throaty laugh, appreciating her spirit more than he ought. ‘Recall, Miss Hart, you manage to involve me at every turn.’
‘Mere chance, sir,’ she retorted. ‘I did not plan to involve you.’
‘Come now.’ He gave her a level stare. ‘You asked me about Harriette Wilson.’
‘Merely her direction,’ she said defensively.
‘You involved me.’ He gave her an emphatic shake. ‘Now tell me what is going on.’
She twisted out of his grasp. ‘Oh, very well! I shall tell you. Do not paw at me.’
He folded his arms across his chest. She looked everywhere but at his face. ‘Now,’ he demanded.