Anne Stuart (3 page)

If only it hadn’t involved working with someone like Josiah Clegg.

She turned away again, concentrating once more on the cards, dismissing the fop as a worthless fribble. But the man Lady Plumworthy referred to as Glenshiel wasn’t easily dismissed. Long after he left the room, and she knew immediately when he had, his presence lingered in her mind. Not a clear vision of him, just a sense of amused, elegant disdain.

Disdain was nothing new to her—there was no earthly reason she should be particularly incensed by his obvious contempt. If she had learned one thing in the few years since the Maitland family had fallen on such desperately hard times, it was that class and fortune were everything. And while the Maitlands, formerly of Maitland Hall, Landsheer, Northumberland, still possessed the requisite breeding, their complete destitution made them an embarrassment to all and sundry. They were shunned by former acquaintances, dear friends, and distant relatives, all of them, doubtless, terrified that either the
Maitlands’ ill fortune was contagious or that they might request a loan.

The result was that Mrs. Maitland and her two daughters lived in lonely poverty near the silk weavers in Spitalfields, and even that straitened existence had been in jeopardy before Jessamine had determined to save them. Before fate had been belatedly repentant enough to provide her with a way to use the doubtful gift that had haunted her since childhood. Her well-nurtured gift with a wicked pack of fortune-telling cards.

She was having difficulty focusing on the cards in front of her. She usually tried to ration her energy—most of these shallow people were interested in three things: fortune, power, and sex. The young women wished to learn how they would go about marrying it, the young men wished to learn to acquire it, the older men wanted to learn how to keep it. It was simple enough to tell them what they wanted to know.

But that man had upset her equilibrium. She was reading the cards too clearly now—she could see one young woman’s death in childbed, another at the hands of her deranged husband. She could see the madness of syphilis hovering over a young man’s future, and finally she could stand it no longer, pushing the cards away from her and closing her eyes.

“
I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I can do no more.” Her hands trembled slightly as she shuffled the pasteboard images back together, and from a seeming distance she heard grumbles of discontent. It was almost two in the morning, and she was exhausted. Most of these gilded creatures seemed eager to socialize all night long, but Jessamine had lost the knack for mindless frivolity. She needed quiet to soothe her aching head, and she needed her bed.

Lady Plumworthy’s guests had already dismissed her, returning to other amusements, when Jessamine made her way down the wide marble staircase, clinging to the banister, the
precious cards wrapped in velvet and tucked inside her reticule. The majordomo awaited her in the hallway, accompanied by two burly footmen, and she wondered if Lady Plumworthy had arranged for her to be escorted home.

She was shortsighted, and it wasn’t until she reached the bottom step that she recognized the smug hostility in the manservant’s face.

“
Her ladyship’s emeralds are missing,” he announced in accusing tones.

“
I’m not surprised,” Jessamine replied with deceptive calm.

“
No, I’d say you ain’t. And you won’t be surprised that her ladyship has insisted we search you before you get away with the jewels.”

He had a cruel, thin face with thick lips. Jessamine didn’t move. “It wouldn’t surprise me,” she said. “But you aren’t going to touch me.”

She’d already noticed that all of Lady Plumworthy’s servants were very large, healthy-looking men, something that filled her with unpleasant misgivings. The majordomo was not much above average height, but his shoulders were wide and hulking, and his hands were huge. “And who’s going to stop me in doing my duty, miss?” he said with a sneer.

“
I will.”

She must have been more frightened than she realized. She hadn’t even been aware of his approach. The man from the card room, Glenshiel, he of the elegant disdain, had come to her aid.

“
Your lordship, this creature...” the majordomo began in a whine.

“
... hasn’t left the card room all evening, Hawkins. There’s no way she could filch her ladyship’s jewels. And where do you suggest she’s carrying them?”

“
There are all sorts of places,” Hawkins muttered, glaring
at her. The two footmen had already retreated.

“
Hawkins, you shock me!” the man said, mocking. “I had no idea such depravity existed.”

Jessamine allowed herself to look at him, almost wishing she didn’t have to. Up close she could see his eyes—a clear light brown that was almost amber. He had a narrow, slightly beaked nose, high cheekbones, and a wide mouth curved in a mocking smile, as if he found the world both tiresome and amusing. He looked like a man who knew far too much about depravity, and Jessamine would have told him so except that he was, for whatever his reasons, coming to her rescue. It would behoove her to be gracious, at least for the moment.

Hawkins obviously knew he was defeated. He moved away from the door, grudgingly to be sure. “Very well, my lord. I’ll tell her ladyship you judged it prudent not to interfere with the young lady.”

“
Tattler,” the man said with a soft laugh. “And what about the money?”

“
Money, sir?”

“
Miss Brown was promised remuneration for her efforts tonight, was she not? And I imagine once you’d satisfied yourself that she hadn’t taken Lady Plumworthy’s jewel, you were planning to give it to her. Weren’t you?”

She must have imagined the faint hint of steel beneath that elegant drawl. “I’m not satisfied...” Hawkins started to say, but something in the man’s face must have stopped him, for he turned, picked up a small bag of coins, and tossed it at Jessamine’s feet.

She started to stoop down to pick it up, rejoicing in the very heavy chunk of coin as it had landed, but her cynical Galahad moved too quickly. He put his pale, hard, elegant hands on her forearm, holding her still.

“
The bag must have slipped,” Glenshiel said with great
pleasantness. “Fetch it, will you, Hawkins, and present it to the young lady.”

Jessamine half expected the majordomo to refuse, and she wanted that money in her hand quite desperately. But the deceptively light grip on her arm kept her from moving.

She could see him quite clearly now, and she realized he wasn’t as young as she’d first thought. There was a hardness in his amber eyes, in his full mouth, that suggested a wealth of less than innocent experience.

Hawkins crossed the room, sank down in front of her, and scooped up the sack of coins. She resisted the impulse to kick him while he was down, then accepted the agreeably heavy bag with a murmured thanks.

“
Well done, Hawkins,” the man said. “Now you can have one of the footmen call a sedan chair for the young lady while you and I go have a little discussion with your employer.”

He’d released her—dismissed her—and it took Jessamine a moment to realize she was alone in the vast hallway. She wanted desperately to take the time to see what the bag contained, but she didn’t dare hesitate. She wasn’t going home ensconced in the safety of a sedan chair. For one thing, she had no intention of spending her hard-earned money on such frivolity. For another, sedan chairs weren’t seen in the environs of Spitalfields, and she had too much sense to make herself conspicuous.

The night was cool, but she didn’t bother searching for her wrap. She simply wanted to escape, both from the overzealous Hawkins and the disturbing presence of the mysteriously mocking Glenshiel. She had learned how to keep herself safe on the nighttime streets of London, and most of the underworld were far too aware of her connection with Josiah Clegg to dare anything.

Like a shadow, she slipped into the night, thankful that
there were no eyes to watch her as she made her escape.

“
Naughty boy!” Isolde Plumworthy batted him with her ivory fan, almost breaking the delicate sticks with the force of her little tap. “Interfering with my servants! Why, I might almost think you were in collusion with that creature.”

Alistair managed a faint smile. “I’ve never seen the wench before in my life, Isolde. But I have a weakness for helpless infants, and I disliked seeing Hawkins put his meaty hands on her.”

“
So instead she escapes with my jewels! That is too bad of you, Alistair!”

“
You know perfectly well she didn’t steal your jewels, Isolde. The Cat did.”

“
There’s no certainty...”

“
Since when have you expected life to have any sort of certainty? Your choice is simple. You can let it be known that you were gulled by a slip of a girl who made up fortunes and stole your jewels, or...” He trailed off, and Isolde jumped to the bait.

“
Or?”

“
Or you could revel in your status as the Cat’s newest victim. He hasn’t been on the prowl in months—clearly your jewels were enough to coax him out of retirement. I would take that as a compliment if I were you, Isolde.”

Lady Plumworthy smiled a plump smile. “Very true.”

“
And on top of that, you have discovered a true gem, a fortune-teller who can truly predict the future. You’ll be the toast of society. Everyone will want to hear about your adventures with the Cat; everyone will want to know where you discovered Miss Brown.”

“
I don’t seek to better my position in society—I am completely secure,” Lady Plumworthy said with complete disregard for reality and her own somewhat tarnished lineage. “Still, you have a point, Alistair. Miss Brown has a real gift, hasn’t she? And those eyes of hers—quite deliciously unnerving. As if she could see through to one’s inner soul.”

Alistair frankly doubted that Isolde Plumworthy even possessed a soul, but he forced himself to take one plump, beringed hand in his, pressing it meaningfully. “You are a very generous woman,” he murmured without batting an eyelash.

Isolde smirked. “I never really liked those emeralds,” she confided. “Too paltry by half. This will give me the excuse of acquiring some new ones.”

Alistair thought of the ugly, oversized gems residing next to his skin and managed to keep his expression composed. “And Miss Brown?”

“
Oh, you’re absolutely right. I’ll have her at my next soiree. It will all be very mysterious—I’ll request all the guests wear black, there will be no gaming or music, and all will be very eerie and subdued.”

“
Wonderful,” he said. “The rest of society will follow your lead.”

“
Of course.”

“
But where did you find such a fascinating creature?” he murmured with just the right amount of casual interest. “I’ve never seen cards like the ones she used. And it’s rare to find an Englishwoman of common lineage so adept at the arcane arts.”

“
Common lineage?” Isolde echoed with a rough laugh. “That’s what you think, my boy. Her family... well, that’s none of your business. Nor is it any of your concern where I found her. She’s my little secret, and I intend to use her most wisely.”

“
You might not have realized what a treasure you had if I hadn’t pointed it out to you.” Alistair let none of his irritation
show through. He never let anyone be privy to his emotions. He even did his absolute best to avoid recognizing them himself. Emotions were foolish, weak, and tiresome. He disliked them intensely.

But Lady Plumworthy was a skilled reader of people. “There’s no use trying to cozen me. She’ll remain a secret. If you have some particular interest in her, then you’ll simply have to exercise patience, a trait you’re not overfamiliar with. You’ll see her soon enough.”

Alistair was not a man who believed in violence or in exerting himself unnecessarily. He simply stared at the smug, toadlike face of Lady Plumworthy and wished absently for a lightning bolt to strike her. But fate had always proven deaf to his desires.

He bowed low over her hand, brushing his lips against her diamond rings with true reverence. There was no chance in hell he could remove them—the flesh was swollen tightly over the gold bands. “Always the flirt, my lady,” he said gently.

“
I would do more than flirt, Alistair,” she said with an arch laugh.

“
And break young Calderwood’s heart? I couldn’t do it to him. He was looking for you in the gaming room.”

In actuality he was hiding from her in the gaming room, but Alistair had no mercy when it came to saving his own hide. Isolde was far more interested in a perfect twenty-year-old than a jaded thirty-two-year-old, for which Alistair could only thank God. He watched as she hastened in search of her young prey, then cast a mocking glance at Hawkins.

“
You see, Hawkins,” he murmured. “Your conscience is clear. Not only did you do your best to obey your mistress’s instructions, but you were saved the odious duty of hurting an innocent young lady.”

“
I rejoice, sir,” Hawkins said in a sullen voice.

Alistair strolled past him. “I suppose you’ll simply have to
find some other young woman to hurt, won’t you?”

“
Yes, sir,” Hawkins said, and his eyes shone with chilly malice. “It shouldn’t be too difficult, my lord.”

“
Ah, yes,” Alistair murmured, “but you might have to bed her as well, which wouldn’t be half the fun.”