A Pair of Rogues (6 page)

But she wagered to herself that Ned had never been forced to attend the dull assemblies. Rakes were never forced.

She would give anything, she realized, to see Ned made to suffer the boredom of Almack’s.

Robert agreed with his wife, but grudgingly. “I daresay you’re right. Almack’s should pose no problem, but I will not have Sally Jersey spreading it about that my sister is receiving attentions from Lord Windermere. Nothing could be more prejudicial to her prospects.”

Christina bristled, but again she hid her feelings.
Hang her prospects!
She had no fears that a match would not be found for her. The sister of a duke, with a handsome dowry, would always be sought for her money. She might break every rule society cherished, and still her suitors would flock to the door.

No one would be put off by the fact that she had ridden in an open carriage with Lord Windermere. No one, at least, who would not be put off by her own antics once he had learned of them.

And, besides, Robert acted as if his friend could not be trusted, when Ned had been the perfect gentleman in the park.

Well . . . perhaps not the perfect gentleman, but he had not done anything to risk her reputation. On the contrary, it was he who had cautioned her about her behavior.

A sudden pang of guilt assailed her. If either gentleman they’d seen should start a rumor about her, it would be her fault, not Ned’s. But she could not say this to Robert.

The baby’s wet nurse came into the room, a plump, rosy-cheeked woman from Yorkshire.

“Does tha’ want me to take his little lordship now, your Grace?” she asked Louisa.

“Yes, Dobbs. Lady Christina will be growing tired. We have imposed upon her long enough.”

Christina did not protest, although she wanted to. She missed the comfort of the baby’s body as soon as Nurse took him away.

So Ned had held the baby, had he? She tried to imagine such a tiny mite in his strong arms, and found the picture made her smile. How would he quieten Little Ned? Would he twirl him round and round as he had done her? Or sing “Onward Christian Soldiers”? Somehow, she imagined Ned’s lullaby to be naughtier than hers.

But how curious that a rake would take the time to coddle an infant. Perhaps Ned wished he were a father. For the first time in her life, Christina wondered what it would be like to be a mother.

She was expected to marry. Almack’s was known as “The Marriage Mart.” Somehow, she knew she would find any gentleman she met there as weak as an infant’s legs, but try as she might, there would be no avoiding tomorrow’s visit from the patronesses.

*    *    *

If Ned had had the slightest inkling of the company he would encounter at Broughton House the next day, he would have arranged to postpone his visit. But duty called him. Duty as a godfather—for he had forgotten to see whether Little Ned had survived his christening—and duty to his good friend Robert.

He doubted, somehow, that Lady Christina had recounted her adventures in the park with any accuracy. Most assuredly, the little brat would not have confessed to stealing his horses. And it was entirely possible that she had failed to mention to her brother her meeting with Levington.

Despite his appearance, Levington was not the sort of fellow a man would want his sister to know. Ned knew him well. They belonged to the same club, wagered at the same tables, and patronized the same race meetings. They also visited the same gambling hells and called on the same opera dancers. The only difference between them, as far as Ned could see, was that Ned always paid his debts of honor while Levington seldom did. That, and the fact that Ned was not hanging out for a rich wife.

Overnight, Ned had come to the conclusion that Christina, or at least Robert, should be warned to discourage the baron. And while he was at it, Ned thought grudgingly, he might apologize to Christina for his behavior. It was clear that he had somehow offended the chit, although he couldn’t imagine how. Why else would she have sprung his horses?

As a peace offering, he had decided to fetch the handkerchief she had dropped and both had forgotten. For his morning ride, he revisited the park and found it where it had blown into the ditch.

Dismounting, he retrieved it and held it up to see if it had come to any harm. What he discovered then made him curse rapidly aloud.

The kerchief was not damaged. No indeed. It was as free of soil as it was free of embroidery.

Her sainted grandmother, indeed!

Ned rode to Grosvenor Square in a darkening mood. The imp had made a fool out of him on purpose, and he would be confounded if she would get away with it!

When he reached the house, Robert’s footman showed surprise.

“Good morning, your lordship. I—”

“No need to announce me, Perkins. I’ll just have a word with the family. In the drawing room, are they?”

“No, your lordship. His Grace and her Grace have gone out. The Lady Christina is in, but you might prefer—”

Ned swept past him. “Thank you, Perkins, but I know what I am about. The Lady Christina will do very nicely for now.”

The footman seemed to be trying to direct him away from the drawing room, since Christina was in there alone. Well, Ned would just have a few words with the little brat while Louisa was not there to protect her.

But as soon as he opened the door, Ned saw what a ghastly mistake he’d made. He had always made it a practice to be on good terms with his friends’ servants, so that they might warn him of any situation he would wish to avoid. And here were the makings of the most abominable one he could imagine right now, two patronesses of Almack’s, sitting together, side by side on the couch.

Ned cursed himself for not paying more attention to the footman’s hints; however, caught by three widening pairs of female eyes, he could do nothing but hide his chagrin and make his leg to the two visitors.

The Countess de Lieven barely contained her dignity in her surprise on seeing him. She raised one long-fingered hand to be kissed. Sally Jersey made no effort to hide her voracious curiosity. Her gaze traveled back and forth from Christina’s face to his, as if she’d discovered a secret worth her weight in gold.

Christina herself made the picture of unblemished girlhood in her white muslin gown, her fair hair let down to her shoulders and confined with a blue satin ribbon. Her cheeks seemed a mite rosier under the ladies’ regard, but Ned suspected she might have raised the color herself on purpose.

Ned cursed his ill-luck, and the fit of arrogance that had made him ignore the footman’s cues.

“Ladies.” Recovering, Ned made them his most polite bow. “I had not thought to disturb you, but Broughton’s servant allowed that he was at home.”

A feeble lie—as he saw when Lady Jersey exchanged an amused glance with the Countess, and said, “How very odd, when Lord Broughton departed only a few moments ago, and through that same door.”

“Perhaps the servant had been called away from his post,” Ned improvised in an attempt to cover his blunder. “However” —he directed an evil glare Christina’s way— “as long as I am here, I should discharge my errand. I have retrieved your handkerchief, Lady Christina.”

“My handkerchief?” She gave a polite, puzzled smile.

Blast the girl! She had the effrontery to play ignorant, did she?

“Yes. The one your dear grandmama knitted for you. Surely you have not forgotten something to which you were so attached?”

“Attached? To a handkerchief?” The Countess de Lieven looked down her nose. “Is this a jest of yours, Windermere? If so, it seems in rather poor taste.”

Lady Jersey laughed and eyed Ned curiously. “Why do I have the feeling that there is more to this tale than meets the eye?”

“No such thing, my lady, I assure you,” Ned protested. He did not know which question to answer first, but his comment seemed to cover them both. “I have merely retrieved an object the Lady Christina was so careless as to drop in the park. She assured me it was irreplaceable.” He let a note of incredulity color his voice.

Christina’s lips were quivering rather suspiciously. He could not tell if she was amused or simmering deep in anger, but his own mouth tugged at the corners with her plight.

“Yes, Uncle Ned was so kind as to drive me to the park yesterday,” she explained to her visitors.

His amusement vanished. There was no need to tell these gossipmongers of their drive. They would have it all over town by nightfall that he was smitten, when of course he was not. And that “Uncle Ned” business again—

But the gentleman in him would not allow him to retort that Louisa had forced him to escort her young sister-in-law.

“I shall just return your property to you and go in search of Broughton. Ladies.”

He bowed again and tried to escape from the room, but Christina called him back. “Uncle Ned, these kind ladies have just brought me vouchers for Almack’s.”

Wincing at the name, Ned restricted his raptures. “How thrilled you must be.”

“Yes, and I was telling them” —Christina gave him her sweetest glance— “I was just about to tell them how much you yearned to attend the assemblies.”

“Yearned— ?”

“Yes. Remember how you were saying you had not been to Almack’s since you were a young man yourself, and how you would—what was it you said?—do a penance to be able to go?”

Ned choked on a protest, before he thought of the immediate consolation that a rake such as himself would never be admitted to that holiest of holies. But much to his dismay, both guests seemed eager to overlook his past. His sizable estate and elevated title would always inspire women to attempt his reform.

Lady Jersey exclaimed her delight and assured him of his welcome at the next assembly. The Countess de Lieven majestically inclined her head, the smugness she felt on finally luring him back to fold apparent in her thin, cold smile.

Ned could think of no way to disclaim Christina’s invention. He could not deny what she had said without offending two of the most powerful leaders of society. If he had only himself to consider, he might have done it without a backwards glance, but he could not make Christina out to be the liar she was.

As she, apparently, knew he would not.

He would have to wring the girl’s neck soon, before she tripped into a noose and hanged herself.

Lady Jersey questioned him with a speculative gleam in her eye, “Did you plan to accompany Lord Broughton’s party, my lord?”

Ned was happy to see that Christina had the grace to flush. She had intended merely to annoy him, not to trap him into being her escort. Clearly she had not envisioned this.

Perhaps, she had no wish for his company at all.

Well, if she was merely determined to make him miserable, he could do her the same favor.

“But of course,” he said, enjoying Christina’s visible discomfiture. “I promised.” Then, he smiled at her with his teeth. “And Uncle Ned never forgets a pledge, my dear.” The glance he directed her promised,
I am going to get you for this, you brat.

Christina saw the threat in his eyes, and a thrill tripped along her spine. When Ned bowed himself out, she had to stifle a nervous need to giggle. He had meant to disconcert her with that handkerchief, but she had bested the rogue again. Ned would think twice next time before trying to embarrass her.

But then the thought that he had committed himself to accompany her to Almack’s began to worry her. She only hoped he was not too angry. The martial look in his eyes had warned her to watch her flank.

Though her purpose had been otherwise, her maneuvers had resulted in his being forced to become her escort. Surely such conduct had gone beyond the pale.

This latter thought sobered her, until her visitors’ call came to an end. Christina saw the two ladies to the door, profusely thanking them for their kindness, and even meaning it, when she thought of how they had helped her to vex Ned.

But, after they left, she found she was too irked with herself over the result of the encounter to sit still for long. She tried to take up some needlework, but it proved useless. She wished she had one of her school chums here to laugh it off with, the way they had always done after one of her scrapes. The house seemed empty without Louisa, but even if Louisa had been there, Christina could not very well have gloated over how she had hoodwinked Robert’s friend.

Besides, Louisa might put a different interpretation on the whole business.

Lowered by this mortifying thought, and still feeling restless, Christina plopped her needlework back into its basket. She needed to talk to someone. Coming to London should have meant constant activity and crushes of company, a continuous stream of pleasure to take her mind off her discontent. But she had not yet been presented. The rounds of balls and soirees would soon begin, and she would be certain to run into old friends with whom to gossip, but meanwhile, she had no one in whom to confide.

The need to do something, to speak to someone, drove her out of the cavernous drawing room. The footman was gone from his post in the hall, or she might have struck up a chat with him. In her life, she had done stranger things to conquer her loneliness. The desperate nature of it sometimes chilled her and made her as fidgety as a wild bird in a cage.

Mounting the stairs, she suddenly thought of someone who could keep her company. He was a perfect listener, too, and had a unique way of soothing her. Cheered by the prospect, she skipped up the stairway to the second floor and tiptoed towards the nursery.

Christina fully expected to find Robert Edward’s nurse on duty, and was in the process of inventing some excuse for sending her away, when the sound of a gentleman’s voice came to her from behind the cracked nursery door. For a moment, she thought it must be her brother, and she wondered how Robert had returned without being heard. Disappointed, she started to retreat. Then, something familiar about the voice held her—its low timbre mixed with a hint of laughter underneath.

Hesitantly, and doubting the evidence of her own ears, she sneaked to the door and pushed it wide without a sound.

Ned was there, sitting wedged into an armchair that was much too small for him, with one booted ankle propped loosely on his knee. Swaddled in blankets, Lord Robert Edward was nestled in the crook of one bent leg, listening to his godfather talk, with the bemused expression of a myopic Oxford scholar. Nurse Dobbs was nowhere in sight.