Maggie MacKeever (24 page)

In dealing with Miss Lennox, however, Innis played against a stacked deck. “I would like it more,” she responded, “if it hadn’t been purchased with the proceeds of the sale of
my
betrothal ring. Anyway, I don’t take snuff.”

Innis was heard, distinctly, to gnash his teeth. “I didn’t buy it with that money. To do such a thing would be the act of a blackguard, and a bit much even for me!”

Jynx’s glance clearly indicated her opinion that nothing was too black an act for an Ashley. “Wasting the ready again?” she asked, rudely. “It strikes me as very odd that you should have money to fritter away while your sister is always under the hatches, and that one day you should be in the basket, and the next in clover. I don’t suppose you’d care to explain?” Patently, Innis did not. “Nor do I understand why you should be afraid of Eleazar Hyde.”

“Afraid?” Innis looked indignant. “I’m no such thing.”

“Poppycock!” Miss Lennox helped herself to fruit. “Of course you are. I’d be willing to wager that the only reason you’re here is that he’s below-stairs right now, looking for you.”

“You’d lose.” Innis was relieved to bring the conversation back into more profitable channels. “I’m here because I wished the pleasure of your company.”

“And I’m to count myself honored?” Miss Lennox inquired coolly. Innis expressed a devout wish that she might. He further declared a strong desire to put the unhappy past behind them and to start anew. “My
past
wasn’t unhappy!” retorted the unobliging Jynx. “It’s my present that makes me wish to scream. You’re looking burnt to the socket, Mr. Ashley. You’d do much better to tell me all about it.”

Innis was tempted. Even Miss Lennox, presented with the woeful tale of his ever-increasing tribulations, could not fail to understand how grievously he’d been misused. “I cannot,” he said, recalling that the daughter of a magistrate was not likely to look benevolently upon illegal activities, no matter how innocently his involvement had begun. “I wish I could! But I’ll see my way clear, damned if I don’t! And then no one will need to worry further about Eleazar Hyde.”

“You can’t owe him money,” Jynx said shrewdly.
“That
wouldn’t bother you. Nor would indiscretions, unless of an appalling nature, and no matter how feckless you may be, I can’t think you actually depraved. What then?”

But Innis would not say. His handsome countenance flushed, and his manner harried, he launched forth upon an eyewitness account of a cockfight he’d attended that very day. Miss Lennox paid little heed to the ignoble defeat of the black, and the thrilling victory of the gray, and Innis’s lament that he had backed the wrong bird. She worked her stolid way through a plate of trifle and thought of a gentleman who
was
depraved, namely, Lord Roxbury. Such was the perversity of human nature that the discovery of what Shannon did with his afternoons led her to wonder how he passed his nights. Perhaps he had yet another ladybird—perhaps a flock of them!—discreetly tucked away. Innis, meanwhile, continued with his tale of gore and blood. “And so!” he concluded. “Let’s have done with this! My darling, surely you do not regard me with indifference?”

Indifference? Miss Lennox ruminated. Anger, amusement, irritation—but indifference? “Well, no,” said she.

No need, then, to abandon his plans, which included the utilization of Miss Lennox, and Miss Lennox’s fortune, as an escape route. A pity that the Continent was out of bounds, owing to Napoleon’s quarrel with the English—but there were countless other places in the world that would prove hospitable to a well-heeled gentleman. “My darling, you have made me a very happy man.”

That she had was obvious from the triumphant expression on his face. “I don’t think,” ventured Jynx, “that you perfectly understand.”

“But I do! Sweetheart, you’ve no need to be coy.” Innis laughed aloud. “The cream of the jest is that Adorée’s scruples have served me a very good turn! I would’ve been content with Roxbury’s fortune, you know, but she refused to draw him in.”

It had looked very much to Jynx, that afternoon, like Shannon was most firmly hooked on Lady Bliss’s line. “You mean—” she began.

What Innis did
not
mean was to explain. Action being clearly called for, he kicked the table out of the way and hurled himself onto the bed. Miss Lennox whoofed, the breath knocked out of her by this assault. Then she tried to extricate herself from Innis, a task made very difficult by the fact that he had landed atop her and his weight held her virtually helpless.

It was at this moment, when Innis was kissing Jynx most fervently, and Jynx was trying her best to kick him, that Adorée burst into the room. She paused, aghast, on the threshold. A mere moment’s reflection, and Miss Lennox’s strenuous contortions convinced her that Miss Lennox was receiving no great pleasure from Innis’s embrace. Swiftly she crossed the room, grasped the vase of flowers, and smashed it over her brother’s head.

Chapter Nineteen

At the moment when Miss Lennox was suffering Innis Ashley’s advances, and Innis was suffering his sister’s assaults, and Lord Roxbury—contrary to the dire speculations of Miss Lennox—was suffering the barbed comments of the other four hundred and forty-nine members of the Gambling Club at Brook’s, Lord Erland was enduring an unpleasant interview of another variety.              

He was in the home of Lady Peverell in Clarges Street, lounging against the gray brick fireplace in Tansy’s sitting room. Clad in a gown of gossamer satin, with festooned trimming and slashed sleeves, the whole lavishly adorned with rouleaux of rose-pink satin, Tansy was walking up and down the room in great agitation. “I think I know you too well to stand upon ceremony with you, Nicky!” she said, after taking a deep breath. “It is long past time that you should settle down. I beg that you will seriously consider the matter that I am about to place before you.”

“Why?” Lord Erland made it a point to seldom oblige anyone. “I have an heir: Percy.” He looked thoughtful. “As well, I daresay, as a number of illegitimates.”

“I wish you would be serious,” Lady Peverell remarked, with a frown that indicated her dislike of levity. “You are not so old that you cannot start a family of your own.” Lord Erland took leave to remark that at five-and-forty, and with twice that many liaisons behind him, he saw little reason why anyone should doubt his virility.

“That is exactly what I mean!” cried Lady Peverell, with an anguished gesture. Lord Erland quirked a brow. “I mean, I don’t mean
that
exactly, but that you exhibit a sad lack of stability! All those immoral women that you, er, keep, and your lack of regard for what is due your name.”

“I thought,” remarked the Earl, unmoved, “that I was following the family tradition. In my father’s footsteps, one might say.”

“That old reprobate!” Lady Peverell recalled her cousin’s habit, in the midst of her tantrums, of walking out of the house. She adopted a calmer manner and clasped her hands to her bosom. “But you can’t be held to blame for his sins. You are, however, to blame for Percy’s, for he is obviously set on following in your footsteps, which is why you must change your ways.”

“Ah.” Lord Erland propped a foot on an andiron. “I begin to see the gist of this.”

Encouraged by his forbearance, Tansy dramatically flung out her arms. “I am a widow, Nicky, alone in the world except for my son, yet still in my prime!” Lord Erland had a look of irony on his face, but he did not comment. “Nicky, I am not a woman who
likes
to be alone. I was made for love, she romance——”

“Then rid yourself of that damned hartshorn and vinaigrette!” interrupted Dominic. “No man wants to leg-shackle himself to a female who’s a constant victim of intermittent ill-health.”

That Lady Peverell did not appreciate this sound advice was made evident by the thinning of her lips. “I would do anything for the gentleman who holds my affections—for my affections, Nicky, have become fixed! Even, I think, I might get well.”

“Generous of you.” Lord Erland yawned. “This is all well and good, and I’m sure I wish you every success, but I don’t see why you must be telling this to me. You must know that I’m no advocate of romance.”

Lady Peverell looked at him reproachfully. “In happier days, you were used to partake of all my sentiments! But now you hold me at arm’s length, and I think it very hard of you. Still, I do not mean to quarrel.” Lord Erland’s expression suggested that he might wish to do that very thing. “Consider the advantages!” she added, subtlety abandoned in her haste. “The Peverell and Erland fortunes combined—and the estates, which march together anyway. As Percy’s steppapa, you could guide him much more effectively! And aside from all that, you would gain the object of your dreams.”

“I would?” Lord Erland inquired skeptically. “Sometimes I think you have windmills in your head, Tansy.”

Lady Peverell ignored this poor-spirited remark. “I need a stronger hand to guide me, Nicky; every woman does. We aren’t meant to deal with such things as scheming hussies who set out to entrap our sons——”

“If that’s what’s bothering you,” interrupted the Earl, “It needn’t. I’ll deal with Adorée Blissington.”

“Hah!” ejaculated Lady Peverell, with a knowing and contemptuous glance. “So well are you dealing that Percy continues to haunt Blissington House and express his intention to marry that bawd!”

“Bawd?” Lord Erland laughed. “Your claws are showing, Tansy.”

“Marry me,” Lady Peverell snapped, “and you’ll no longer have need of vulgar mistresses. I flatter myself that I’m not an antidote!”

Since not even Tansy’s worst enemy could say that of her, Lord Erland offered no argument. “You seem to suffer a slight confusion as to whether Lady Bliss is Percy’s
petite amie
or my own. Battley’s Sedative is very useful, I understand, when one is overwrought.”

Tansy’s hands were clenched into fists, but she managed a smile. “Adorée Bliss could be the
petite amie
of the entire male population of London, and I shouldn’t be surprised. Do you not understand what I am telling you, Nicky? I know all! There is no longer need for you to pretend!” Lord Erland eyed the doorway, rather wistfully. “It was my awareness of your sentiments that prompted me to speak,” Tansy continued. “Since your conscience decreed that you should not. Well, Nicky, have you nothing to say to me? I did not think that by a little frank speaking
you
would be overcome!”

Lord Erland was not precisely overset, but he was distinctly taken aback. An acutely intelligent gentleman, he understood that his cousin had somehow conceived the extremely ill-founded notion that he held a longstanding
tendre
for her. Having more than a passing acquaintance with the fury of women scorned, Dominic thought it behooved him to tread warily. Therefore, he politely informed his cousin that though he might be one to go the pace, he had not yet overstepped the mark.

“Tiresome creature!” Lady Peverell smirked. “I’m sure that union with yourself is nothing to cavil at, Nicky. Will you see to the publishing of the banns?” She noted his stunned expression. “Perhaps you would wish to be more composed before we go into further detail.”

There could be no question that Dominic’s customary composure had deserted him, and Tansy congratulated herself that he could not preserve his usual indifference over
this
affair. Despite her claims, she knew that he had no love for her, and she didn’t require that he did. She didn’t even mind if Dominic had his occasional adventures with dashing females—always excluding one Adorée Blissington—so long as she had his name.

Have that highly coveted name. Tansy thought she would. Dominic was a gentleman, when all was said, and she had maneuvered him into a position from which he could not escape without acting like a coxcomb. “Dear Nicky,” she said softly, “you are overwhelmed. You need not be. Come, you may embrace me.”

Lord Erland, however, was so much the born aristocrat that he never considered whether his behavior was or was not suitable to his station and rank. He regarded his simpering cousin and answered her without the slightest hesitation. The answer was negative.

Lady Peverell’s eyes opened so wide that they threatened to pop right out of her head. “Nicky! You cannot mean——”

“I mean,” Lord Erland replied precisely, “that I do not mean to marry anyone. If I want a woman I can buy her; and when I’m tired of her, I can pay her off; and without weeping or recriminations or other wifely things.”

This was plain speaking with a vengeance, and Tansy blanched. The Earl, correctly adjudging her intention of hanging round his neck in tears, strode toward the door. “Nicky!” she wailed. “Don’t leave me like this. Where are you going, you brute?”

“To Blissington House and see what I may do for your bird-witted son.” He turned and regarded her, a touch of humor in his cold eye. “I’ll admit, Tansy, that I’ve seldom seen a more affecting scene.”

Thus he referred to her blatant exposure of her deepest emotions, her placing of her tender mother’s heart at—or, it seemed, beneath—his feet? It exceeded all belief. “I congratulate you,” spat Lady Peverell, whom disappointment turned shrewish, “that you’ve found so agreeable a way of passing your time.”

“And so you might,” the Earl replied cordially. “Consider, Tansy, whether you’d rather see Adorée Bliss in company with myself—or with your son.”

Frankly, Tansy preferred neither. Moaning, she sank down onto the couch and groped beneath a cushion for her smelling salts. With an ironic glance, Lord Erland took his departure, pausing only once to inform the butler that her ladyship, being on the verge of a spasm, was in sore need of her cordials and laudanum.

A scant time later, the earl was in another house, and in conversation with another butler. Tomkin led him up the staircase to the first floor, past the gaming saloons, and to the closed door of the book room. He indicated, with a dignified inclination of his head, that his mistress was within. Lord Erland was not a gentleman to stand on ceremony. He brushed past the butler and opened the door.

Lady Bliss sat at her writing desk, one hand propping up her brow, the other holding in a very indecisive manner her quill. She was looking far from her usual tidy self; the pale blue satin of her gown was water-splotched, and her dark hair was extremely disheveled. As the two men watched, she tugged viciously at her curls. Tomkin opened his mouth to announce the caller. Lord Erland shoved him aside and slammed the door.