Scandal's Reward (22 page)

George had been in an agitated state ever since his encounter with John Catchpole. It had never concerned him in the least that Dagonet had taken the blame over the Milly Trumble affair. He knew that his cousin maintained some old-fashioned sensibility about his honor and would never tell George’s role to anyone. He had been worried for a while that the girl’s sister, Mary, had suspected who had really been Milly’s lover, and that was why he had wanted to keep Dagonet from talking to her. It seemed, however, that Mary really knew nothing.

As to what had actually happened on the day Millicent drowned, he had never worried about it before. He was totally in the clear himself, thank God, having been with his mother all day. What was that Catchpole fellow insinuating? The drowning lay at Dagonet’s feet, not his!

Nevertheless, Catchpole may have known that George was the one who had won the girl’s favors, and that was dangerous knowledge. If Grandfather or Miss Ponsonby ever found out! And Miss Hunter was somehow involved, and Dagonet had married her. A vicar’s daughter without a penny!

What gave his cousin such confidence in the future? Did he plan to expose George, after all, and somehow claim Lion Court as a result? Sir George found his cravats tended to become uncomfortably tight whenever he thought about it.

* * * *

Amelia tried only once to gain her sister’s confidence and then gave up. Catherine treated the marriage as if it were a great joke and refused to say anything further.

She was not to escape so lightly.

“Cathy! Look at this!” Amelia was going through her correspondence. “It’s from old Lady Easthaven. Oh, no! She’s going to give a ball the week before Christmas. For you and Dagonet! As grande dame of the family, of course, she would see it as her right.”

Catherine leapt up. “Amy, this is dreadful! A formal ball? Whatever shall I do?”

“Put on your prettiest gown and give me the first waltz, of course.” Dagonet strolled into the room. “I showed myself in, Lady Brooke. Forgive your footmen, they are no match for me when I’m in such a black mood.”

His face looked anything but black. In fact he was laughing.

“Oh, how can you laugh, sir?” Catherine snapped. “To marry you was bad enough, but to have to act the blissful newlyweds in public! It’s too much.”

“I’m sorry that you find it beyond your powers, Kate dear, to behave toward me with even a semblance of affection. I shall do my best, however, to look the doting spouse, and perhaps my performance may be enough for both of us?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Can’t you persuade her not to do it?”

“What, deny an old lady the honor of celebrating our nuptials? You could not be so cruel, Kate. Besides if we are to convince the
beau monde
that there was nothing shady about our hurried union, we had better face down the world with panache. What better setting than a ball given by a staunch patroness of the
ton
?”

“My life seems to be a series of traps these days,” Catherine said. “Of course I can do it, but I shall not pretend that it will give me anything but discomfort.”

“Kate! My heart is broken.”

“You don’t have a heart to break, Mr. de Dagonet. So do not give me such fustian!”

“We are more in harmony at the piano, aren’t we, wife? Let us play a duet, or Lady Brooke will have me thrown from the house.”

“My footmen wouldn’t dare, sir,” Amelia said as Dagonet sat at the piano.

He turned expectantly to Catherine. “
Ne Jupiter quidem omnibus placet
, dear Kate.”

“Not even Jupiter may please everybody, sir, but at this moment you are pleasing nobody. I don’t care for your choice in music and . . .”

She was not to finish, since Annabella, hearing from one of the maids about the visitor burst into the room.

Thus it was not Catherine, but Annie, her face beaming, who ended up sitting at the piano with Dagonet. Catherine was thoroughly relieved. The mood became as merry as she could possibly wish, the laughter drowning out the insistent message that her heart was trying to give her.

* * * *

The ball was to be a splendid affair. Catherine had a new gown made up in white silk for the occasion. The bodice was cut lower than she had ever worn before, but the modiste insisted that as a married lady, she must not look like an ingénue. An overdress of finest gauze fell in classic folds past her shoulders and floated over the silk underskirt. The whole was caught up under her breasts with ivory ribbon.

Since she had no jewelry of her own, she tied a matching ribbon around her neck. One of her sister’s maids dressed her hair high on top of her head, leaving just a handful of ringlets to brush teasingly past her cheek. She could barely recognize herself in the mirror.

She went downstairs to join the party who were to travel together to Lady Easthaven’s mansion in the Brooke carriage. Since David had been forced to leave again on business, Dagonet was to escort both sisters. He awaited Catherine at the bottom of the stairs.

He swept her an elegant bow. His immaculate evening clothes set off his muscular figure to perfection. As a mark of respect to Lady Easthaven’s old-fashioned tastes, he wore silk breeches rather than trousers.

At least I have that satisfaction, thought Catherine ruefully. He will be the most distinguished-looking gentleman there.

“Sweet Catherine, you are breathtaking!” he said simply, causing a blush to spread over her cheeks. “There is but one thing lacking.”

He walked up to her, his eyes alight with mischief.

“What is that, sir?” Catherine asked defiantly. “Do I have mud on my cheek?”

“Hardly mud, my dear! Only the bloom of fresh spring roses.”

“Please don’t act the fool, Mr. de Dagonet! I shall never get through the evening if you make fun of me with exaggerated compliments.”

Taking her by the shoulders, he turned her so that she could see herself in the hall mirror. As she watched their reflection, he carefully untied the ribbon that she had placed around her neck. The touch of his fingers on her bare skin was a delicious torture.

“I do not exaggerate,” he said gently. “Close your eyes.”

“Why? May I trust you if I do?”

“Of course. When have I ever betrayed your trust?”

“Often,” she stated, but she closed her eyes.

Something cool and smooth settled around her neck. Her lids flew open. He was just fastening the catch of his mother’s diamond necklace. She had last seen the brilliant jewels slipping into his pocket in the drawing room at Lion Court, after he had taken them from Charlotte.

“Mr. de Dagonet! Whatever are you thinking of? I have no right to wear these.”

“Nonsense, you are my wife. Here are the earrings. Put them on!”

She could not read his expression, but there was something in his tone that told her not to remonstrate further.

“Now, if you can manage to make it through the evening without falling into a puddle, you will do me proud. Come, we had better make haste. The others are waiting.”

* * * *

The ballroom was a blaze of light. A throng of sumptuously dressed ladies and gentlemen milled about beneath a rococo effusion of flowers and greenery and great chandeliers full of candles.

Lady Easthaven immediately began to introduce Catherine to a succession of fashionable young people. Giving her a slight wink, Dagonet disappeared into the crowd, leaving her dance card to fill up with the names of strangers. In vain, she looked about for him, and was only able once or twice to catch a glimpse, through the crush, of his broad shoulders or dark hair.

Lord Kendal lead her into dinner and kept her laughing throughout the meal.

Whatever story Charlotte Clay and Lady Pander were spreading among their cronies, this ball was obviously going to be an effective antidote. Not once did Catherine lack for a partner. Not once was an eyebrow raised or a look given her askance. Had Dagonet not insisted on the marriage, she would have been an outcast. Even if she didn’t care for her own reputation, she must care for Amelia’s sake.

Her thoughts were interrupted.

“You have been the belle of the evening, my dear. I have watched in an agony of jealousy as every young blade trips up and down the floor with you. Am I not to have a dance with my own bride?”

“It is hardly the thing, sir, for husbands and wives to squire each other about the ballroom. Besides, I am promised to Lord Kendal for this dance.”

“Those may be the rules of the
beau monde
, but in spite of the glitter that surrounds us this evening, and the fawning flattery of those who mistakenly think Lady Easthaven makes me her protégé, I am still a renegade. Lord Kendal will not dare to challenge me. Come!”

Dagonet grasped her hand and led her from the ballroom into the quiet hallway. There was a small anteroom where the footmen had waited earlier. It now stood deserted, but the strains of the band could be heard quite clearly.

“Now I have you at my mercy,” Dagonet declared with a grin. “May I have the honor of this dance, ma’am?”

As the lilting notes of the waltz swept into the little room, he pulled her into his embrace and they swirled together into the steps of the dance. Catherine half closed her eyes. If only he meant it! She allowed herself to relax into his arms as they spun around together. When the music stopped, she opened them again to find him looking down at her. The green eyes were shadowed with an indefinable emotion. He did not release her. Instead, as the diamond necklace rose and fell with her breathing, he took her head gently in both hands and tilted her face up to his.

“The last time I danced alone with you, wife,” he murmured against her lips, “we were rudely interrupted. I think it’s time to finish what I began then.”

His kiss was questioning at first, and gentle, but as she began to respond, he became more demanding, until she caught fire in his embrace.

The blood pulsed in her veins. Strange, delicious sensations ran up and down her spine. His clever lips searched the sensitive tip of her tongue, before running sweet kisses across her ear and, exquisitely, down her neck. Then he sought her mouth again, until she was quivering in his hands like a bowstring.

When he released her at last, she felt her eyes fill with tears.

“You cannot help yourself, can you?” she said desperately. “You promised that our marriage would be in name only.”

“Damn it, Kate!” He tore away from her and stalked across the room. “I am only human.”

“And so am I, sir! But we mean nothing to each other, so such behavior is inexcusable.”

He had himself under control in an instant, though a storm still tossed in the depths of his eyes.

“You are right, of course, madam. What more could you expect from me, than that I should break my promise? It is only my idle boast that should I see you in diamonds, I should feel obliged to ravish you.”

“Then I had better not wear them!”

Catherine reached up with unsteady fingers and removed the gems from her neck and ears.

“Here, sir!” she said.

Laying the necklace and earrings on a side table, she turned to leave the room.

Amelia stood in the entry.

“Oh, Cathy!” she wailed. “A message has come from Brooke House. It’s Annie. She is nowhere to be found.”

The night of the ball seemed to Annie to be an ideal time to take her turn in the pursuit of the elusive Mr. Catchpole. She began by going out and accosting a cab driver.

“Please take me to Lower Hobb Lane in Whitechapel. I’m from Brooke House. You will be recompensed.”

“Now, then, missy! Hobb Lane? What would you want with such a place? Your folks don’t know you’re out alone, now, do they? I think you had better come with me and I’ll take you back home, instead.”

The friendly cabby began to dismount. The little girl was well dressed, no doubt he would be amply rewarded if he could return her to her privileged home.

Seeing his intent, Annie took to her heels and dodged behind a convenient stand of bushes. There was already someone there.

“Here! Look out, now! Cor blimey, what have we got here?”

She was looking into the grimy face of a street urchin, who couldn’t have been much older than herself. In one hand he held the handle of a homemade broom with which he could earn a farthing or two by sweeping the street in the path of a lady or gentleman who wished to cross.

“My name is Annabella Hunter,” Annie stated without prejudice. “Who are you?”

“Archibald Piggot, at your service!” The boy gave her an exaggerated bow and a huge grin. “You got pluck, ain’t you? Why was you wanting to go to Hobb Lane, then?”

“To find a man called John Catchpole.”

“Well, you won’t survive there looking like that! Cor, the girls would have the dress off your back in no time.”

“Then how am I to go there?”

“You’d have to look like me, see?” He indicated his own tattered rags. “No one notices Archibald Piggot. I goes where I likes.”

“Well, you could get me some clothes that would look right and take me there, couldn’t you?”

“Well, I could.” The boy gave her another saucy grin. “But it wouldn’t do you no good. John Catchpole ain’t there no more, no how.”

“Then where has he gone?”

“That’d be telling, wouldn’t it?”

But Archibald Piggot had not run into someone with quite Annie’s determination before. He was not sure why he agreed. It would cost him some skin if Catchpole knew that he’d done it, but he found himself offering to escort this fancy miss to the latest den of that highly sought-after ruffian.

In ten minutes Annie had shed her costly frock and matching pelisse, and pulled a filthy black dress over her petticoat. She shuddered a little at putting it on, but it was worth a great deal to uncover the proof of Mr. de Dagonet’s innocence. Besides, the evening promised to be a great adventure.

Master Mr. Piggot was good to his word, though the means of transportation that he adopted were a little unorthodox to his innocent companion. Annie found herself clinging to the back of a swaying carriage right underneath the feet of a tiger. She and her guide then dropped off and scurried between the hooves of innumerable horses, before catching hold of the undercarriage of a ponderous cart that was apparently going in the right direction.