To Love a Wicked Lord (11 page)

“A brush of color on your cheeks will help too,” another sighed.

“And your lips touched with red,” Madame agreed. “Not heavy maquillage, but just a soupçon of color. Don't you agree, Lady Carstairs?”

“I do,” the lady said as solemnly as if she were being married. And then she added, as though she were a fixture of London Society, “It is what I myself do for grand affairs.”

“The gown suits her as it is, my lady,” Madame went on. “And with the right hairstyle, a rope of garnets, and a dab of color, no one at the ball can touch her.”

“Except for his lordship,” another model said with a giggle.

“Not garnets,” Lady Carstairs said, rising from the chair she'd been sitting in. “I have rubies for her.”

The models sighed.

“My own maid will know how to brighten up her face,” the lady went on. “And furthermore,” she sternly turned to the model who had dared mention Maxwell and touching, “the marquis will not touch her. He apologized for last time and said he wouldn't do that again.”

“Oh, my lady,” the model protested, as the other models looked at each other round-eyed, and Pippa bit her lip, “I only meant that not even he could be as fashionable as she will look.”

“That,” Lady Carstairs said grandly, “is debatable.”

Pippa gave up. Her grandmother's mind was set as though in stone. Though she acted strangely sometimes these days, that hadn't changed. The battle was lost. Pippa would have to be a scarlet lady tomorrow night. And yet deep down in her heart where she seldom dared look these days, there was a portion of her soul that was thrilled to have been defeated over all her protests. A part that was, she discovered, simply ecstatic about it.

 

A web of faceted rubies glanced occasional fire where they lay on Pippa's white breast. The dazzling scarlet gown tamed them to burning embers. Her fair hair was dressed high and coaxed into ringlets at the back of her head. She wore a light underdress but could still clearly see the swell of her breasts. She colored when she realized the chill of the room sent a chill up her spine, and when that happened she could clearly see the tips of her breasts rise and pucker. But when she protested, everyone insisted that was the style, so she vowed to try to stay warm tonight.

Her skin was white and clear at her neck and breast although she thought there was far too much of it on show. But her face wore dabs of this and
finger strokes of that. The cosmetics livened her looks just as much as Madame Berthon's models had vowed it would. When grandmother's maid was finally done, Pippa looked into the mirror and thought she looked like an illustration of Delilah from an old bible, or a religious tract warning against the ploys of wicked temptresses.

Curiously, she didn't feel embarrassed, mostly because she didn't recognize herself. It was like wearing a costume. She felt deliciously wicked, even excited, by the glamorous creature she saw in the glass.

“Well done,” her grandmother pronounced when she saw the result of the day's work.

“You look wonderfully well too,” Pippa said, and meant it. Her round little grandmamma seemed to have grown in stature. She certainly appeared to take up more space in the room, because of how she captured the eye. It would be harder to ignore the sun in a clear noonday sky. She glowed in golden swathes of silk, diamonds twinkled in her hair, there was gold at her ears, and a heavy gold necklace echoed the Midas look. Best of all for Pippa, the lady gleamed so much that she made Pippa look decidedly modest in her shade.

“Now,” Lady Carstairs said triumphantly, “we shall give them something to talk about at last.”

That made Pippa anxious again. But then she realized she wouldn't know anyone at the ball, except for her grandmother and Maxwell. She reveled in thinking about the look on his face when he beheld her tonight. And if Noel did turn up, she loved the thought of how chagrined and shocked he'd be at her magnificence. Because if he didn't have an excuse for his deserting her, and a magnificent one at that, he'd never forget how sure of herself she looked, how fashionable and exquisite she'd be as she broke their engagement and said farewell to him forever. She hoped it would break his heart. If, she reminded herself, his heart hadn't already broke, for her, during his time away.

They received a message that said that the marquis awaited them in the hotel's front salon.

Pippa snatched up her wrap and, behind her grandmother made her way majestically down the stairs.

Maxwell was immaculate in black and white, his hose was white, his pantaloons black, his jacket black, and his linen and neckcloth as white as the piratical smile he showed when he saw them. Pippa was sure that no man in London could look as severe and as handsome, as amused and as cool as he did. He bowed to them.

“Good evening, ladies,” he said with a crooked
smile, looking from one to the other. “Well done! No one can miss seeing you tonight.”

Then he saw them into the carriage he'd hired.

As Pippa got into the carriage, her skirts making whispery sounds as they slid around her ankles, she felt much less seductive and far less magnificent. In fact, she had to control an urge to rush back upstairs, wash her face, and put on a different gown. Because now she felt overdone, and more uncomfortable by the minute.

Doubt had lodged in her mind, splashing on her high spirits like a glass of punch spilled on her silken gown. She was still wondering if what he'd said was a compliment or not. It would only take a word from him to make her newfound grandeur seem tawdry. She wondered if he'd said that word.

I
t's impossible to be a wallflower in scarlet,” Pippa managed to say, laughing. She was short of breath from dancing so much; the exertion had turned her cheeks pinker than any cosmetic could have done, and her eyes sparkled and would have even without the dabs of kohl to make them seem brighter. “Why even a Gorgon would be asked to dance if she wore red,” she said, as the pattern of the dance whirled her away from Maxwell again.

It seemed she hadn't stopped prancing since she got to the ball. The thought of a grand London ball had daunted her, but from the moment she stepped down the grand gilded staircase and into the crowd of guests, she was sought after, and she danced set after set.

No one spoke about her engagement, no one whispered about her fiancé deserting her; there were no speculative, sad, or pitying looks sent her
way. It was as though no one knew her, and she thanked whatever had ensured that. Tonight she was just a lady in red, dancing the night away.

She danced a quadrille, a minuet, a few polkas because the many military gentlemen in attendance seemed to fancy them the most, and was asked into several sets of country dances as well. She couldn't count her partners. It seemed to her that every one of them was handsome, well dressed, charming, and polite. And yet, in spite of the impressive London mansion she found herself in, and the glorious clothing of the company, she was as comfortable as if she was at a party at home. And she'd never felt so wondrously pretty and absolutely dazzled.

Since no one knew who she was, she didn't doubt it was the scarlet gown that had given her such popularity. She saw many more beautiful and beautifully dressed ladies than herself, and some were without partners at the sidelines. And yet and still, she told herself, however eye-catching, it was only a gown. Still, here she was, feeling as though she was the belle of the ball.

She thought the fact that no one teased her about her aborted wedding or her abandonment might have been because of her grandmother's machinations. Pippa had been shocked at the evidence
of Lady Carstairs's popularity. It was just as she'd said, though Pippa never would have believed it. Grandmother did have dozens of friends here who obviously rejoiced at seeing her again. Lady Carstairs had been swept away by a crowd of her old friends the moment she set foot in the ballroom. No wonder she'd been so insistent on coming to London. She was gloriously at home here.

And, Pippa thought, her own present popularity could have been the influence of the lofty Lord Montrose who had disappeared when they came to the ball and had just reappeared again.

She didn't care. This was a time to remember. She suddenly understood why Grandmother had become so staid and sensible when she was at home, yet had passed all her time laughing since they'd left there. She wasn't losing her mind; she was regaining her joy in life. Grandmother had been terribly suppressed at home. Pippa had never suspected it and doubted that grandfather even noticed. This was the life her grandmother had obviously been secretly yearning for. And why not? Pippa understood at last. She too was rejoicing in it every bit as much as her grandmother was.

Or at least she was until Maxwell took her hand for the next turn of the dance and whispered,
“Come with me when the music stops. I've a surprise for you.”

She didn't know why she felt so much apprehension at his simple request. But she was suddenly very afraid. The surprises he'd given her before had always been unannounced. He'd never cautioned her about a sudden kiss or a breathtaking embrace. But now, he warned her. However much she might yearn for him to attempt lovemaking, she had to restrain him, and herself. He wanted to see her alone. It must be for something she had to steel herself for.

The music came to an end; Pippa bowed to her last partner and took Maxwell's arm as he came to her. There was grumbling from her other partners as she left the dance floor, and a few hoots at Maxwell for escaping with her.

“Spoilsport!” one of her dancing partners shouted at Maxwell.

“Old friend of the family,” he told them calmly.

“Lucky dog,” another fellow said. “Bring her back soon.”

That delighted Pippa. She held her head higher as she walked on. Whatever the surprise was, she felt she could face it. So much as she wanted Maxwell's kisses, she knew she could deny them and herself.

But when they got to a back chamber off the
dining room, an obviously unused salon in the great house, she looked at Maxwell in puzzlement. This room wasn't meant for a lover's meeting.

Three men stood there. Two looked like stolid older men from the working class. They stood on either side of a younger man, a gentleman dressed in finery for the ball. The young gentleman look terrified, and that might have been what made him look shrunken. But he wouldn't be very tall under any circumstances. He was in his third decade, Pippa guessed. He had dark curly hair and a terrified expression. That was the only thing that distinguished him, because otherwise he was unexceptional.

Pippa heard a stir and turned to see her grandmother being escorted into the room by a serious gentleman who bore the look of someone of importance. He looked from Lady Carstairs to Pippa.

“Well?” Maxwell finally said as he too gazed at Pippa.

“Well, what?” she asked in confusion.

“Do you know him?” Maxwell prodded. “Remember that disguises can be devilish to penetrate.”

She frowned at him. “Am I supposed to do that, and know him?”

“Is he, or is he not, your long lost Noel Nicholson?” the other gentleman asked impatiently.

Pippa's answer was a peal of relieved laughter.

“Absolutely not, Lord Talwin!” her grandmother thundered. “This fellow is younger, shorter, thinner. That cannot be changed so easily.”

“He's not Noel,” Pippa said, sobering. “What made you think he was?”

“He said so,” Maxwell said with a scowl.

Pippa gazed at the man, who quickly bowed, and holding his hands tightly in front of himself, said in a rush, “So I did Ma'am, but the gentleman I met gave me these clothes and some coins, and promised me more if I came to this ball on his card of invitation. I didn't mean any harm, but times have been hard and I looked forward to some gaiety. So I came, and before I could so much as show my nose to the company these fellows grabbed me and took me here.”

“Do you know the gentleman whose card you used?” Maxwell demanded.

“Not likely,” the young man said sadly. “I'm a clerk at Johnstone Brothers, fine fabrics. I never even see the customers. And he was a gent. We met in a tavern. I was surprised when he spoke to me, but he said as to there might be some money in it for me too, and that he'd pay me some right off, and the rest after if I'd did him a favor. He said as to how he had to leave Town immediately. And
because hosts and hostesses never get to see everyone they invite to a ball with such a crowd, and he didn't want to anger them by turning down their invitation, so if I went and gave his card, they'd see it after the ball and think he came.” He took in a deep breath, and fortified, added, “I never saw him before, or since, I swear to it.”

“And so how did you expect to get the rest of the money he promised?” Maxwell asked smoothly.

The fellow looked down at his clasped hands. “He said he'd send it to my rooming house.” He picked up his head and cried out in despair, “So he tricked me? And he a gentleman to the manner born?”

“Not a gentleman,” Maxwell corrected him, “to whatever manner born. And you don't know these ladies?”

The wretched-looking fellow glanced from Pippa to her grandmother. “How could I, sir? Never seen them before. I swear, I didn't think doing this would lead to any trouble. I'm a peaceable man.”

“We shall see,” Maxwell said ominously, all his foppish aspect gone. He turned to Pippa. “Please return to the ball with your grandmother and Lord Talwin. I'll speak with you later.”

Pippa nodded. “But what of this poor fellow?” she asked him in a soft voice. “It seems to me that
he was as taken in as I once was. Please be gentle with him.”

“Like you,” Maxwell said sternly, “if he's innocent, he has nothing to fear.”

Pippa thought about that on the way back to the ball. Did he now doubt her innocence in the matter of her missing fiancé? What had Noel been up to? When the music struck up for a new quadrille, she danced again, and laughed with her many partners, but her joy in the night had vanished.

There was a pause in the music as the musicians rested, and servants began to ready the guests' dinner in the dining chamber adjoining the ballroom. The scents of various delicacies being set out wafted through the air into the ballroom. Pippa went to the sidelines to pick up her shawl and look for her grandmother. Almost immediately a servant found her, bowed, and handed her a note. She read it, and crushed it in her hand. Then she strolled toward the lady's withdrawing room. She never got there. When she thought no one was watching, she nipped out to the terrace behind the great house.

She breathed easier when she was there, and looked around. She wasn't alone, far from it. That was comforting. It wouldn't look as though she'd gone out for a secret tryst. Half the attendees at the
ball seemed to have also gone out for a gulp of fresh air. But there was room for all. The terrace was long and ringed the back of the house, the gardens were deep, and the night profound, so everyone could find a private space if they wanted one.

Torches threw sporadic flares of light over the terrace, and lanterns bobbed in the garden, making little bright circles. The scents from the spring garden were more delicious to Pippa than the smells inside the house had been.

Pippa wasn't hungry. She was anxious.

“Ah, you are prompt,” a deep, familiar voice said.

Maxwell was leaning against a side of the house, completely covered in shadow. “Don't worry,” he said, a smile in his voice as she hesitated where she stood. “Scarlet looks black in the darkness. To be even safer, throw your shawl over your shoulders so your skin doesn't gleam in the light. Then come here, to me. We must talk. In fact, come with me. We may be interrupted where we stand, and I've important things to say.”

He took her hand and led her down the garden stairs. Down the garden path, fittingly enough, she thought, promising herself she wouldn't commit folly this time. If he was angling to kiss her, she could deal with that. Her newfound popularity
tonight had done wonders for her self-esteem. A young woman who fell into a gentleman's arms every time he opened them to her would be a fool. And she was never that. This fellow had too many women dancing favors on him as it was. She may have been dancing earlier this evening, but she hadn't been blind. He'd never lacked for adoring partners staring up into his dark eyes. The only thing worrying her now was what he'd found out about Noel. Had she been a fool there as well?

“I've found out some more things about your fiancé,” he told her in a soft voice as they strolled down the crushed shell garden path. “We've been on his trail, all right, but he eludes us every time. He's been traveling around the country, getting cash where he can and moving on as though the fiends of hell were pursuing him. I'm formidable, but I don't think that's why he's fleeing. Have you any idea of why he might fear a pursuer?”

She stopped and glowered at him. “Of course not!” she snapped. “I obviously had no idea he was…or rather, is whatever he's turning out to be, whatever that may be. I only knew Noel as a decent man, a scholar, honorable with me and sincere with my grandfather. If I'd a hint then of what's happening now I'd never have promised to marry him. And what's more, had my grandfather
any idea, he wouldn't have considered his suit for a minute.

“I don't know how we could have been so taken in by him,” she said slowly, taking a deep breath as they passed by a heavily flower-laden arbor. “In truth, although he was all kinds of good things, I suppose now, in looking back, that he wasn't that handsome or seductive or fascinating in any way. He was new to the area, but that couldn't have been all of it, could it? He must had had something, mustn't he have?” she asked plaintively, stopping to look at him again. “I mean, to take us all in the way he did. Oh. How selfish of me? What of the poor clerk? Is he in league with Noel, or only a poor dupe?”

“A dupe, and not so poor anymore. He's free, with the cash in pocket that Noel promised him. We aren't monsters. We paid him and let him go. Apart from being the decent thing to do, at least this way the poor fellow is more likely to send for us if Noel ever approaches him again.”

“How charitable,” Pippa commented.

“Tolerably so,” Maxwell answered. “He did help us, because one thing is made clearer. Your Noel is a practiced seducer, and I don't mean just of females. He has a way of convincing people that what he's doing, whatever it is, is the right thing to do.
That talent is a gift to a rascal, whether he's planning to steal your jewels, run off with your wife, or swindle you out of your legacy. He could be a spy, a lothario, a thief, or a bigamist,” he added. “He has all the talents he needed for any of those professions. It's what he actually is that interests the government, and where he is that influences your life. I mean to find out both things, and soon.”

Maxwell paused by another arbor, this one of white roses. He reached into a waistcoat pocket, took out a small silvery implement, and snipped off a rose. He sniffed it. “It contrasts with your gown; even here there's enough light to see that. You can wear it in the ballroom. It doesn't smell half so alluring as you do, though. But wait,” he said, applying the implement to the stem. “Roses have thorns, and you don't need any more. There,” he said, bowing and offering her the flower. “Coals to Newcastle, I suppose. But a gesture of my appreciation of how you look tonight. So then: beauty to the most beautiful.”