Lord Scoundrel Dies (15 page)

Harry blinked. Seriously, he was the most
conceited creature imaginable. ‘You really do think you’re quite
wonderful, don’t you?’

‘I never said that!’ He paused, then drew a
deep breath, obviously determined to rise above whatever base
emotions she was generating within him. Harry felt a twitch of
satisfaction. ‘Do you know, I think you must be the most
aggravating female I have ever met?’

He was not the first person to say those
words to her but she was certainly not going to tell him that. ‘You
just do not like it when people do not do what you wish. Let me say
– for the very last time, for it is growing tedious – that I am not
going to give up on my plan on returning the things that Lord
Sutton stole.’

‘I’m aware of that.’

She opened her mouth to
argue but then his words penetrated. ‘You’re… then
why
am I
here?’

‘I
will return the chits to de Veer. I think I can manage it
without him knowing where they came from.’

This unexpected offer made her stare at him
in astonishment. ‘You are going to help me?’

‘Is it so extraordinary?’ he said, clearly
taken aback by her reaction.

‘Well considering you have
been trying to dissuade me each and every time we’ve met to give up
on the whole idea, then yes, it is.’ She shook her head. ‘And you
think
I
am
aggravating.’

‘So very much. But that is neither here nor
there. Can we meet tomorrow? I suggest we go somewhere private as
you have such a distaste for being seen in my company.’

‘Yes, you would take it like that.’ Harry
shook her head, even more exasperated. It was perverse of her for
had he not offered to help? But she had come tonight sure that she
would have another battle on her hands and he had surprised her.
‘May I make a suggestion?’

A corner of his mouth quirked upwards. ‘Best
be quick. I see Lady Vickers approaching.’

This immediately distracted Harry. ‘Lady
Vickers? Where?’

‘Good God girl, don’t turn to look. She’ll
be on us like a falcon on a rabbit.’

An apt simile as Harry often felt a little
like a rabbit. She half turned and casually surveyed the room.
‘Which one is she? I have some letters with her name on them.’

‘In the peach satin.
Do
not
look.’

‘The female you were dancing with?’

‘Indeed. For heaven’s sake, make your
suggestion. I feel a little like I am holding back the tide with
the force of my will alone. There is only so much a raised eyebrow
can do.’

‘Very well,’ Harry said, speaking quickly.
He was quite right; they had been talking for nigh on ten minutes
which was far too long a time for a couple who were not well known
to each other to be left alone. ‘I like to ride and I have finally
convinced my aunt that riding one of the ridiculously sedate horses
in the stables will not kill me. I myself am not convinced. It’s
possible I might die of boredom. That aside, we could encounter
each other on horseback, could we not?’

‘I thought you had a distaste for being seen
in my company? Rotten Row is hardly the last word in discreet.’

Harry shook her head impatiently. ‘Naturally
I was thinking of somewhere a little less… exposed. If I take a
groom with me I believe I may be able to get away with riding
across the heath.’ She shot him a challenging look, wondering how
he would take this suggestion. She was keen to ride in London,
something she did most days at home but her desire to do so had met
with considerable resistance. It was only after Sarah had told her
mother that both Georgina Fleet and Lady Fletcher – who were both
considered dreadfully fashionable – enjoyed riding and could often
be seen cutting stylish figures around town had Harry’s aunt been
persuaded that there could be nothing wrong with such an
occupation. Harry did not believe that his lordship would think so,
however. ‘I have been out once since I have been here – there is a
tolerable area not two miles from my aunt’s house.’

‘I wouldn’t let you ride with only a groom
for company,’ he observed disapprovingly. ‘A riding party, perhaps
but usually such things should only be undertaken at a county
party. As a newcomer to London such behavior would be considered
very forward in a young woman.’

It was almost too much for Harry. ‘Good
Lord, you are annoying! You suggest somewhere then.’

‘The park?’

‘It is almost impossible to meet in the park
unless you do so practically at the crack of dawn.’ She had found
it hard enough having a discussion in private with Mr. Lampforth
that morning. They had almost been discovered on several occasions
and once she had been forced to dive behind a hedge to avoid
encountering somebody one of them knew. For a large, sprawling
city, it was quite difficult to avoid friends and acquaintances.
‘Do you wish to meet privately or not? It’s not exactly easy, you
know. Females are ringed around by chaperons like so many flocks of
sheep in London. I suppose to keep them safe from the prowling
wolves that are of the male variety. Do they expect the poor
debutantes to be waylaid and set upon if left to their own devices
for more than five minutes? It’s all quite ridiculous. ’

He opened his mouth, clearly intending to
challenge this but once again, he surprised her by pausing, then
speaking slowly, as if he were actually considering what she said.
‘I suppose it is not easy, being a female in Society. I had not
really considered the matter before.’

‘It is difficult for people like me,’ she
murmured, eyeing the woman that was approaching them, a gracious
smile on her round face. ‘I have never quite mastered the knack of
thinking before I speak. It has been a sad trial to my relatives
since I left the schoolroom.’

His lips twitched at this but he restrained
himself. ‘I would enjoy riding with you tomorrow, Miss Honeywood.
What time would suit?’

‘The morning, I think. I will meet you on
Hampstead Heath at ten.’

‘At ten, then.’

‘My dear Lord Talisker! What are you doing,
hiding yourself away with this pretty little thing, then?’ Lady
Vickers wagged a plump, playful finger at his lordship as she
dropped anchor beside them. ‘You’ll have tongues wagging, carrying
on this way.’

‘In a room full of people who have been
regarding us minutely for the past ten minutes?’ Lord Talisker
replied, voice pleasant. ‘I doubt an improper thought would have
dared form in my head, let alone be expressed.’

Other people might have
felt that they had been given a set down at this for his lordship
had laced his words with gentle sarcasm. Lady Vickers was made of
sterner stuff, however. If she felt the mild rebuke, she certainly
did not show it. Instead she made it her business to discover more
about
dear
Miss
Honeywood who had all the room agog.

What followed was fifteen
minutes of excessively uncomfortable conversation, the kind that
Harry did not shine at in the least. Lady Vickers was a
force majeure
, as
inescapable as she was relentless. She finally left them to go in
search of the supper table after making Harry promise to call on
her for ‘dear Miss Honeywood was
such
a breath of fresh air!’ Harry
decided she would take the first mail coach back to Shropshire
rather than expose herself to such intense interrogation
again.

‘I feel as if I have been
bludgeoned around the head repeatedly,’ she murmured, staring after
the woman dazedly ‘It almost makes one
wish
to be deaf.’

‘Not for nothing do they call the lady
Deafening Delilah. I must ask Celeste why the devil she invited
her,’ his lordship shook his head, as if dislodging a dozen stray
words that had been thrust ruthlessly into his ears. ‘And make it
clear that she never asks her again.’

‘She was very forceful. It is strange how
forceful some ladies become as they grow older.’

‘The word you are looking for is not so much
strange, as tragic.’

The overwhelming nature of the encounter had
made Harry momentarily forget that she had something that belonged
to the lady in the reticule on her wrist. Not that there would have
been any way to have given them to her during their conversation.
But she was hopeful of finding a way to do so before the evening
was done lest she be forced to seek the woman out elsewhere and
endure further verbal frenzies. One way or another, she would try
and ensure that Lady Vickers left the viscount’s house with her
embarrassingly personal missives back in her possession.

Lady Vickers’ departure opened the way to
others, who lost no time in approaching the pair and their privacy
was at an end. Not that it mattered, for they had done what was
required, setting up another, less public encounter.

Harry left the viscount to the other females
– single or otherwise – who had been observing their low voiced
conversation with unfriendly eyes. It was vaguely amusing to be the
subject of jealous speculation. That she, Harriett Honeywood,
should be considered some kind of force to be reckoned with among
the other young ladies could not be anything but enjoyable and she
rather regretted that certain people who knew her at home could not
see her, admittedly false, triumph in fixing the interest of such
an eligible man. As much as Harry did not want to admit it, Lord
Talisker was quite right. Being seen in his company could only
improve her worth in the eyes of others. Perhaps it might even help
secure her a better match than either her aunt or her own mother
might have considered possible.

Still speculating on how absurd the marriage
mart was that anybody should be interested in her love life, Harry
went in search of Miss Messingham, intent on returning her bracelet
and scratching another poor soul off her list.

Charlie had shunned the delights of dances
and balls in favor of the more masculine sport of drinking and
watching other men make fools of themselves with several of his
cronies. He was sitting contentedly in the Daffy Club, observing
two profoundly inebriated gentlemen windmill their fists wildly as
they lurched about the ring. So far, only one of the gentlemen had
landed a punch and that had been more good luck than good
management. It had drawn his opponent’s cork but the fellow was too
soused to know, or care, that he was running a river of red from
his nose.

‘Palfrey’s a game one,’ Monty Truelove
observed sleepily, referring to their bleeding acquaintance. He was
sitting next to Charlie, occasionally nodding off for he had
imbibed a good deal of ale for which he had no real head.

‘Not game,’ Charlie retorted, with a hiccup,
‘more up to the gills. Fool’s drunk half his body weight in heavy
wet and doesn’t know when to go down.’

‘Even so,’ Mr. Jocelyn Henning, on Charlie’s
other side, piped in. ‘Good job.’

The Daffy Club was a popular venue that
incorporated boxing and alcohol, two things that most gentlemen
thoroughly enjoyed. On Tuesday nights any fool could get into the
ring for a go round and a surprising number, having had their fill
of brandy or wine, did so with varying degrees of skill. Tuesday
nights were always popular as a great deal of amusement was to be
had from watching grown men behave like rowdy schoolboys. Charlie
himself had yet to feel the urge to climb onto the stained and
battered canvas for a match and he had resigned himself to the
knowledge that he was simply not manly enough to enjoy a good
beating by his contemporaries.

Feeling the last three pints of ale
beginning to pool unpleasantly in his nether regions, he let out a
discreet burp and rose to his feet. ‘Time to pay a visit.’

‘A visit where?’ Mr. Truelove demanded,
peering up at him blearily.

‘After the tankards I’ve swallowed, where
d’you think?’

‘Ah.’ Mr. Truelove tapped the side of his
nose and nodded sagely. ‘Just so.’

Charlie made his way through the crowd that
was lustily cheering the pair of fools who were still giving it
their all in the ring. The Daffy Club had two types of water
closets; those that could be found beneath its roof and those that
could be found in the alleyway outside. Charlie decided to eschew
the alley as, by this time, it would smell as rank as a stable
boy’s armpit. Instead he made his way to the facilities offered by
the club, only marginally less odiferous but at least he could see
if anybody’s aim was amiss in the lantern light. Standing
unsteadily at the trough, he heaved a sigh of relief as he let
loose the dam. His simple enjoyment was interrupted when something
sharp prodded him gently in the back. Charlie half turned then
remembered what he was about.

‘’
ullo guvnor.’ A voice
sounded beside his ear. It was not a cultured voice, but that of a
man who was used to a different kind of education, one that could
be found on the streets. A cloud of bad breath seemed to indicate
that those streets did not place much importance on personal
grooming.

‘What the devil?’ Charlie tried to turn his
head but whoever held the knife – for it could be nothing but a
knife, he decided – pressed delicately into the small of his back
stayed squarely behind him, just out of eyeshot.

‘Now, now, settle down. I just got somethin’
to say, orlright?’

Charlie sorted through all the reasons why
somebody would have something to say to him in such a manner but he
came up with a blank. He did not owe money. He had not had an
illicit tryst with anyone. Even his tailor had no reason to
complain about tardy payment of his account. There was only one
conclusion to be reached.

‘I think you have the wrong man. Is that a
knife you’ve got back there, incidentally?’ It was always good to
be sure about such things.