Caprice: The Masqueraders Series - Book One (10 page)

Hadrian refused to release her. The feel of her arm, round and sleek under his fingers, made desire leap in him. She smelled of sandalwood and jasmine, the fragrances curling through his senses with the sensual devastation of a lover’s touch. Sparks be damned. The reality of her was incendiary!

He bent so close to her that a loosened tendril by her ear tickled his lips as he said, “Stay a moment, Princess. We are not strangers.”

Clarissa took a careful breath behind her veil. So he knew who she was, or was supposed to be. “Lady Arbuthnott would not, my lord, consider a chance word in Grosvenor Square to constitute a formal introduction.”

Hadrian felt the sudden urge to drag her into the glow of the firelight so that he might see her expression, for it had suddenly become important that he know how she was responding to his presence. “I must disagree.”

“As your lordship wishes,” Clarissa answered softly. She glanced toward the closed door only five feet away. Three steps, that was all it would take to reach it.

“Then why not remain and converse with me, for I am, as you so quaintly phrased it, a gentleman of ‘monumental consequence.’” He chuckled. “I was told you spoke but little English upon your arrival. My felicitations upon your rapid improvement.”

“If I speak but seldom, my lord, it is only because there seems little reason to prolong the encounter.” Clarissa resisted the urge to try to break their contact again, for the fingers embracing her arm seemed to have steel in them. She knew she was in no physical danger from him. She had spent years in the company of gentleman soldiers and country lads, and knew by his voice that he was simply enjoying himself at her expense. But he must not know that she knew it. “A lady can never be too careful, even in the company of the most august gentleman.”

“That is so,” he replied to assure her, for in reality she was in quite desperate danger, if only she knew it. The restraint required not to pull her into his arms was enormous.

“Then I cannot think why you would seek to detain me.”

“Can’t you?” Hadrian was more surprised than she that he released her. He had not meant to do it.

She slipped away from him at once, pausing when she reached the safety of the doorway. “Good night, my lord. I trust your reputation is such that you shan’t feel the need to further enhance it with tales from this library.”

“Minx!” he murmured to himself when she was gone. Lord, if she hadn’t dared him, by using his own consequence against him, to forgo any mention of their accidental meeting.

Strangely enough, he concurred with her wishes. The complex feelings she aroused in him were not the sort to be shared with members of his club. He knew nearly nothing about her, but he knew enough. She was not some shy foreigner with little English at her command, as others supposed. Nor was she shy or backward. More than ever, he was intrigued. Their exchange had left him with one clear realization. He wanted her, wanted her very badly. The ruthless adventurer in him was growing restless. And that was dangerous, for him, and more especially for her.

During the two weeks following Lady Chetham’s musical evening, the Arbuthnott town house was filled to overflowing with baskets and bouquets of every sort of flower available in London in May. A pile of cards and invitations four inches high lay at Clarissa’s elbow, many of them yet to be opened.

Instead she sat before her vanity dressed in yards of golden tissue silk, staring at her reflection in the mirror until her eyes began to water. This little ritual of revisualizing her features helped her put aside her own personality and assume the veneer of Princess Soltana El Djemal.

She had decided that the only way to carry out the charade was to completely separate herself from the foreign lady who had taken London society by storm. When she thought or spoke of Soltana, it was always in the third person.

“It’s all quite odious,” she said to Sarah, who was tidying up after helping her dress. “People are making such cakes of themselves, and all on account of a thin bit of colored silk.”

Sarah nodded and sneezed. “That’s as may be, my lady, but the posies stir up me hay fever.”

Clarissa sighed. What vexed her most about Princess Soltana was that the
ton
was finding her irresistible. People seemed equally dazzled whether Soltana bestowed her barbed wit upon them or refused to utter a word. While others jockeyed for introductions, invitations, and connections, Soltana remained aloof. She entertained no one, received no one; for every invitation she accepted, a dozen and more went begging. Thus, quite without any effort on her part, Princess Soltana was becoming the Toast of the Season. The whole affair left Clarissa with a growing contempt for society and a vague discomfort with her part in revealing its gullibility.

Only two things kept her from simply giving up. The first was the enjoyment her aunt was gaining from her stay in London. Their little deception was allowing Heloise to mingle with her old friends, and she seemed much the better because of it. She had not addressed Quentin’s portrait nor spoken of her husband as though he were still alive in more than a week. The second reason she remained was that nothing waited for her once she left London. Even though her mourning year would soon be up, there could be little social future for a widow without a generous income or the very highest connections. Why, an interloper like Princess Soltana was more likely to make a match than the Widow Willoughby!

“At least it shan’t be long now before that voucher arrives from Almack’s. Then we shall be done with this matter,” Clarissa said to the room at large.

Sarah replied, “Ye’ve not yet met a patroness. Until you have, there can be no voucher.”

Clarissa turned from the mirror. “I hear tonight’s Assembly guest list contains at least three of the patronesses’ names.”

“But will they attend, knowing that Princess Soltana is expected?”

Clarissa spun about, the skirts of her gown shimmering like sunshine caught in a spider’s web. “Is that what has Aunt Heloise in a pet? Then Soltana shan’t attend. Then, if the patronesses are not there, she cannot be slighted. However, if they are present, and Soltana is not …” She let her thought trail off. “ ’Tis a monstrous tangle, Sarah, and one I am heartily sick of.”

“Aye, so you say,” Sarah remarked dryly, “only I think you like the notice. I see you standing by the window to watch when Lord Ramsbury calls to leave his card. Tell me you care for naught to have such a fine gentleman cooling his heels by your front door?”

“Rot!” Clarissa quickly gathered up her fine openweave-crocheted shawl of silver thread with gold spangle stars, and her gloves. “If Lord Ramsbury occupies more than a moment’s thought, it is only because he has become a difficulty by his very existence.”

Because Soltana refused to be “at home” to anyone, she had not met the earl face-to-face since the Chetham musical evening, but that did not still the anxiety that she would have to confront him again. Nor did she feel in the least safe from those searching green eyes. She had not forgotten the corsair who had stolen a kiss from her. Beneath the civilized veneer of Lord Ramsbury beat the heart of a very dangerous man. The fact that he roused the Holton temperament in her could not matter. She was a widow. They could mean nothing to each other … unless she was willing to settle for an affair.

Her heart beating too quickly for comfort, she attached her veil to hide her trembling mouth.
Impossible! Impossible!

The only reason she had let it be known that she would be attending the Yiewsleys’ Assembly was so that she might have a choice in the time and place of her next meeting with the earl. To be taken again by surprise might prove fatal to her aunt’s plans to beat Lady Throckmorton at her own game.

Hadrian dressed for the Yiewsley Assembly with an anticipation bordering on agitation. His state of mind owed nothing to the hubbub created by the concerted efforts of a modiste, two maids, a hairdresser, and his mother to see that Lady Jane would not be left a wallflower on her first important social outing. His heightened alertness was that of a predator in sight of his prey.

Tonight he would beat Tibbitts at his own game.

His blue tailcoat with velvet collar had been ordered expressly for the event. Never a man to care overmuch for his appearance, he found himself pleased by the tailoring improvements made during his absence. The use of the new inch-tape measure made for glove-fit tailoring of his broad shoulders and narrow waist.

Though there had been other opportunities, he had waited for something as grand as the Yiewsley Assembly to set his trap. He had had to contrive to get Tibbitts an invitation, something the man would not have obtained any other way. Nor did he want any mistakes or false rumors flying about after the fact. A goodly portion of the
ton
would attend the evening’s function. He wanted as many witnesses as possible for his exposure of Tibbitts as the cheat he was.

When he was satisfied that his appearance would be enough to draw more than the usual number of eyes his way, Hadrian turned to his man. “That will be all, Melsham.”

“Very good, my lord.” The valet had scarcely bowed out when the door adjacent to the hall opened.

“Not now,
Maman.
I’m still dressing,” he said calmly, only to see Emory’s face appear above his right shoulder in the mirror. “Why, this is a surprise,” he added when he faced his brother.

“Heard you were here,” Emory said stiffly. His gaze widened as it moved over his brother’s expensive new finery, but he withheld comment.
“Maman
says you’ve let go your rented rooms.”

“Let’s just say Helene discovered the wages of a shrew are considerably less than those of a pleasant companion. Be warned, she possesses a temper.” He turned back to adjust the complicated folds of his neckcloth. “What brings you to me?”

Emory flung himself into a nearby chair. “You ever were one to come to the point.”

“Need we exchange civilities?” Hadrian asked, unaccountably annoyed that his brother had chosen this moment to end their mutual if unspoken deliberate avoidance of one another.

“Dandied up for Jane’s first Assembly, I see.”

“Mustn’t embarrass her,” Hadrian replied, unwilling to share the reason for his new garments with his brother.

“Must have cost a pretty penny.”

The sharpness in his brother’s voice brought Hadrian’s attention back to him. “Do you have a purpose, Emory, or are you on your way out?”

Emory smiled. “As it happens, I’m joining you.
Maman
requires an escort.”

“Haven’t seen you about town lately, not even at the club.”

“Your club and mine are different.”

Hadrian frowned, determined to be civil if it killed him. “I meant your club. I’ve been round on several occasions. Invited by Stanhope for a few hands of cards.”

“You don’t say?” Emory sat up for this was news to him. “Have you by any chance met Tibbitts?”

“I have,” Hadrian answered unhelpfully.

“And?”

“And, he cheats.”

Emory whistled, a deplorable habit he had picked up from whiling away his hours with the jockeys at Epsom Downs in the hope of gaining tips on the races. “What do you intend to do?”

“You may see for yourself, as you will be with us tonight.”

“You mean to call him out at the Assembly?”

“I mean to beat him at his own game,” Hadrian answered.

“The very thing! And here I thought to be bored with
Maman
hanging on my tails.” Emory’s brilliant grin appeared as he contemplated the evening ahead. “ ’Fraid my pockets are flat. What say you advance me the blunt?”

“Absolutely not!” Hadrian regretted the harsh tone the moment he spoke and sought to temper it. “Need all my wits about me to best him. Another hand might distract me. He must not suspect.”

Emory rose to his feet, which brought him to within a whisker’s height of his brother’s stature. “You refuse to stake me? Your own brother? I like that!”

“It’s not any amusement, Emory. It’s a dangerous game. Wouldn’t want Tibbitts to know you put me up to it.”

“I did no such thing,” Emory replied hotly. “ ’Twas you who decided he must be a sharper.”

“Very well. As I say, it’s my fight. He may think twice about calling out an officer who’s seen battle.”

Emory’s face flooded with color. “Oh, and I, a mere civilian, am no match for him, is that it?”

“I only wish to protect you, you young fool!”

“Didn’t know I needed protecting. Imagine I’d have got along well enough had you never returned.”

Hadrian’s jaw tensed as he struggled to maintain his temper. “ ’Tis for your sake I began this intrigue. Tibbitts would have had rolled you up in a trice had I not suspected a trap. As it is, I hear he holds enough credits to paper Kensington Palace, while not a one of his debtors seems to realize he’s being fleeced. I’ll not have the Blackburne name sacrificed to his villainy as well.”

His eyes flashing enmity and his voice strained with emotion, Emory cried, “So now we come to it. You don’t care a farthing for
my
shame. ’Tis the precious Blackburne honor that occupies your thoughts. You care only how would it look for Ramsbury’s brother, the Honorable Emory Blackburne, to be found a gull!”

“God give me patience!” Hadrian roared but it was too late. “To think I’ve put myself—damn you for an ass, Emory!”

“What is this? What is it?” Lady Ramsbury opened her elder son’s door without pausing to knock. “Mercy! ’Tis only you, Emory.” She flung a hand to her bosom. “I thought Hadrian had been set upon by blackguards.”

“Very nearly,” Hadrian muttered.

“What has happened?” She looked from one to the other of her handsome sons. “I demand to know the cause of your quarrel.”

The brothers eyed each other angrily, but the appearance of their mother effectively squelched their interest in the subject of their debate.

“It was nothing,
Maman,
a mere difference of opinion,” Hadrian ventured, the first to gain his self-control.

Lady Ramsbury turned to her younger son. “You have not been teasing Hadrian about his new suit of clothes, I hope. I think he looks very well turned out.”