Rules of Engagement (16 page)

Moulton scooted backward.

She took the step back down, and repeated, "Moulton, did Lord Kerrich take Beth for a ride this morning?"

Moulton's gaze fell away. "Yes, Miss Lockhart."

"Is she hurt?" she asked harshly. Kerrich had been a marvelous riding teacher for Beth, and while on horseback Kerrich and Beth thought as one. They talked about gait and size, breed and color, and Beth even argued with Kerrich, spiritedly quoting her papa. But both he and Beth had chafed at the sensible restrictions Pamela's presence had placed on them. She could only imagine what risks they had taken today.

"No!" Moulton took a difficult breath. "Miss Beth was hale and healthy last time I saw her."

From the doorway of Kerrich's study came Mr. Athersmith's voice. "Are you afraid of a woman, Moulton?"

When she had time to think on it, Pamela knew she would be startled by the look of venom Moulton shot toward Mr. Athersmith. "No, sir."

"But you're stalling." Mr. Athersmith drawled so slowly and so obnoxiously he must have imagined himself to be a patrician. "Go ahead and tell her."

She understood Moulton didn't want to be the bearer of bad news. She was a servant, too; she knew how frequently the messenger was crippled. So she said, "Mr. Athersmith,
you
will tell me where Lord Kerrich has taken my charge."

By his complacent smile, it was easy to see that was just what Mr. Athersmith wanted. "He took her to one of the most improper places a man can take a girl-child." His blond hair fell over his forehead in a well-trained, captivating curl. "He took her to the horse races."

"Excuse me, miss." A hunched and miserable Timothy had been sent to protect her from the more unsavory elements in the crowd. "It looks like rain. I don't know my way around the area, but if you permit me, I will take the umbrella and go look for his lordship and Miss Beth and—"

"And what?" Her eyes snapped with annoyance. "You will give His Lordship the upbraiding he deserves?"

"N-no, Miss Lockhart, but—"

"I'll
find them and bring them back." She marched off toward the sound of cheering coming from the tall mound, threading her way through the maze of carriages.

Timothy caught up with her, clutching his black footman's umbrella.

She was not afraid of Lord Kerrich. Last night, it was true, Lord Kerrich had kissed her. But that did not make her a stooge, or subjugate her good sense to any prank Kerrich chose to pull. He claimed he kissed her to test her moral fiber. Today he would face the very same, upright, ethical Miss Lockhart who had first marched into his study, and he would find himself at a loss.

At the gate a knowledgeable-looking blackguard clad in a top hat, a dirty gold waistcoat and the occasional tooth lingered outside, and she thought he might help her—for a price. In her sternest tone, she said, "Excuse me, sir. Where will I find the horse races?"

Her sternest tone failed to impress this individual. He looked her over from top to bottom, leered moistly and wiped the spittle off his chin with the back of his hand. "Th' 'orses are right over that 'ill, an' a pretty lady like yerself will be wantin' a toff-gennaman like me't' keep 'er company whilst she bets on th' fillies."

Timothy stepped up to her side, his fists balled.

"No," she declared, "I most definitely do not."

Timothy stepped back.

She took a breath and almost smothered from the stranger's rank odor of gin, tobacco and unwashed clothing.

"Unless you know your way around the track and know where the gentlemen gather."

The sharpie tucked his thumbs in the top of his trousers. " 'Deed I do."

"Miss Lockhart!" Timothy said.

She paid him and his shocked outcry no heed. From the look of the gathering clouds, a storm was rolling across the countryside, and she wanted this task done quickly, so she told Sharpie, "I want you to find Lord Kerrich."

"Lord Kerrich, is it? What's 'e got that I 'aven't, I'd like't' know?"

Sweeping him with a cool gaze, she said, "Cleanliness, for one thing. Can you find him or not?"

Sharpie's gaze shifted toward her reticule. "Can ye pay me or not?"

"When you find him."

"Two quid. 'Alf now, 'alf then."

"One quid, half now, half later."

He stuck out his hand, clad in black woolen gloves with the fingers worn out, and she carefully counted out her own coins. "Timothy," she said. "Make sure this gentleman doesn't run off with my money."

Timothy was a nice boy, but
he
earned less than a pound a week. Clapping his hand on Sharpie's shoulder, he said, "I'd take it badly if you ran."

"Won't be doin' that." Sharpie showed his meager mouthful of teeth. "Want me other coins, I do." He set off toward the entrance gate.

He leaned into the booth and chatted up the girl taking the money, then beckoned Pamela over. "As a favor fer me, Mary 'ere is goin''t' let ye in fer only one quid. Each."

Pamela turned to Timothy. "What is the standard admission to a horsetrack?"

"Ten shillings." He glared at Mary, who in turn glared at the sharpie.

Who clutched the cloth over his chest and said mournfully, "Can't trust nobody these days. Ye've broken me 'eart, Mary, dear, tryin''t' swindle me an' this fine lady. Now let us in fer free an' we'll not report ye't' th' authorities."

Men,
Pamela thought morosely as she followed him through the gate.
It mattered not what station in life they occupied. They all saw a woman as a pigeon to be plucked and then
—she sneered at the back of Sharpie's filthy neck—
to be kissed. Then they thought you wouldn't notice when they spoiled all your hard work by taking an innocent little girl to the racetrack.
Well, if that had been Lord Kerrich's plan all along, he was in for a rude awakening today.

Pamela and her two escorts climbed to the top of the hill. A gust of wind greeted them, and the scent of the storm off the Channel, but below them they found the racetrack, and the people—lots of people, all staring breathlessly at the oval cut in the grass at the foot. Horses pounded past on the track, rounded the curve, came toward them, then rounded the other curve—and it was over.

Her mouth pursed as if she were indeed the redoubtable Miss Lockhart, Pamela observed, "A very brief pleasure."

"But a pleasure indeedy," Sharpie assured her.

All around them, spectators cheered or wailed, depending on the outcome of their wagers. Stakeholders moved from group to group, collecting money and distributing it, and pocketing a little. Well-dressed gentlemen mingled with men like Sharpie, and Pamela could not see a lady anywhere. Except for… well, those were not ladies.

Sharpie stood craning his neck like a fledgling looking for its dinner. "Yer Lord Kerrich is likely't' be standin' wi' a crew o' noblemen just like 'im. Convenient. Makes it easy fer th' pickpockets't' find 'em, ye see."

Timothy grabbed his jacket just above the waist.

Sharpie glanced at him. "Aye. That'll 'elp 'em't' find yer stash, too." With a leap, he started down the hill.

Pamela wrapped her shawl more tightly around her to protect against the wind gusts and followed him into the crowd. Timothy panted at her heels.

"Come on, come on," Sharpie called. Then as suddenly as he started, he stopped.

Pamela looked around, expecting to see Lord Kerrich and Beth somewhere close. But surrounding her were men staring forward, straining to see… the scents of crushed grass and coming rain, of excitement and despair, rose in waves. In the deepening silence, she heard the pounding of hooves as another cluster of horses raced before them. Then it was over, the cheering and wailing began again, and as if she had caused the lapse in their search, Sharpie said, "Come
on."

The farther they descended, the more they moved among well-dressed gentlemen. Pamela's presence garnered several sharp looks, but she paid no heed. At last near the foot of the hill, they reached a wooden barrier, chest height, where gentlemen leaned to watch the races. That is where they saw Kerrich and Beth.

Sharpie waved a grandiose arm. "There ye are, miss. Lord Kerrich an' 'is little girl an' those gennamen…" He squinted.

Beth stood on a wooden box by the rail, flanked by the stableboy. Kerrich was off to the side, monocle in place, talking to three men in black suits with gray beaver hats. These gentlemen, even to Pamela's inexpert perception, seemed out of place in the raucous crowd.

As Sharpie's gaze rested on them, his black-toothed smile faded. He took a step back.

"Wait for your fee," Pamela commanded.

Instead, Sharpie started backing up more and more quickly. At last he turned tail and ran, occasionally glancing back as if the devil were on his heels.

Stunned, she watched him go, not knowing what he saw but recognizing his very real fright. She looked toward Kerrich and his friends again, and her ire rose. Kerrich paid Beth not a bit of attention, leaving her on her own except for the stableboy, who was no more than sixteen. And with a storm coming, too!

She started toward the culprits. "Lord Kerrich!" She injected her sternest tone into her voice.

Kerrich saw her bearing down on them, tipped his hat to the strange gentlemen, tucked his monocle in his pocket, and came toward her without a sign of guilt or dismay. Without a sign of affection. Certainly not as if he was the man who had kissed her after she had confessed her dreams, and implanted another, wilder fantasy in her mind.

That was fine with her. She didn't like him anyway.

"How could you?" She marched toward him until they were face to face. "How dare you?"

"I dare a lot of things. However, I'm fear I am unclear on what you're huffing about now." His upper-class accent positively crackled with consonants, and he viewed her with pointed disdain.

"You bring that baby here"—she pointed at Beth, who smiled and waved—"and abandon her so you can speak to some ne'er-do-well gamblers"—she gestured toward the black-frocked gentlemen—"and when I catch you you show not even a smidgen of shame."

"Bosh! That baby knows more about this horsetrack than I do, I was never more than ten feet away from her and those gentlemen are not ne'er-do-wells."

"That is why they have scurried off like the cockroaches they are?"

Kerrich glanced at the place where they had stood. They had disappeared into the crowd, although their path was obvious. The men through whom they passed leaped aside like sailors avoiding scurvy. "They had business elsewhere."

"Buffoon business."

He bared his teeth in a grin. "Watch yourself, woman. You may have kissed me, but that does not give you the right to be insolent."

She caught her breath. He could have slapped her and she wouldn't have been so shocked. "Lower your voice," she commanded, and in a furious whisper said, "Kiss
you.
I did not kiss you. You kissed me, and an awkward experience it was."

"Ultimately."

Good. He agreed with her. She was glad. She didn't want him to recall those kisses fondly.

"Nevertheless," he said, "I am your employer, an aristocrat and a man, and for all three of those reasons I deserve your respect."

She turned toward Beth, who had leaned her elbow on the railing and now viewed them as if they were street players performing for pennies. A few others in the crowd observed the scene unfolding before them, too, but most were looking toward the darkening sky.

Thanks be. She couldn't bear to provide a spectacle for these gamesters. Lowering her voice, she said, "For
those
reasons, you have it."

Into the sudden hush of a race, his voice was loud. "Miss Lockhart, the reason I'm here at the racetrack today is to speak to those gentlemen who, like me, are involved in banking and monetary pursuits. We had important business. I could scarcely dismiss them because I had a child with me."

The race ended, the gamblers began their clamorous pleasure and melancholic dramatics, so she enunciated clearly. "Then you shouldn't have brought the child."

With his hands on his hips and his feet apart, he glared down at Pamela. "I had to."

Contemptible man.
"Don't try and make me feel guilty for being derelict in my duties. Beth had her nursemaid to care for her, and I arranged with Moulton to have an alternate should something happen to Corliss."

"You misunderstand. You are welcome to your half-day off, and Corliss was on her post when last I saw her."

"Was Corliss weeping?"

"Corliss? Weeping?" He reared back as if offended by the very thought. "I don't know. Why would I notice
that?"

His complete indifference fired her resentment. "When I saw her, she was crying because she knew I would be angry with her."

"With her? Why would you be angry at her? When I decided to take Beth, she couldn't have stopped me."

"So I told her." Pamela heard another pounding of hooves and, surprised another race could occur so quickly, she glanced down toward the track. No horses rounded the oval. Then she realized—what she'd heard was the grumble of thunder. "But a simple nursemaid comprehends what you obviously do not."

"Miss Lockhart, this may come as a complete surprise to you, but I am a rake. A rogue. An extremely sought-after man, and I am tired of being treated like a child in need of discipline." He actually had the audacity to tap the bodice above her chest. "I know what is right. I know what is proper. I do not need you—or a nursemaid—to tell me."

"What you have done to Beth's reputation is what any thoughtless rake does to a single female's reputation—you have tarnished it by taking her to an inappropriate activity." Pamela gestured toward Beth, and found her standing right between them. "Now no one else will ever want to adopt her."

"It's not a poser, Miss Lockhart," Beth said soothingly. "Lord Kerrich's going to adopt me."

The two combatants paused and stared at the girl.

Kerrich's jaw dropped. Then he turned on Pamela and glared.