A Most Delicate Pursuit (29 page)

Unbeknownst to him at the time, she'd lied as easily as she'd breathed.

“Well, if you see Lady Evangeline, perhaps you can inform her I have no interest in pursuing any type of relationship with her.” He raised his glass. “In fact, you can tell her I'm soon to wed.”

“That could be a mistake. The beautiful young widow is now very wealthy. Her husband left her a large portion of his wealth.” Arend's words stung. “Money and beauty, a combination to lust after. Marry her for her money. That would teach her a lesson. Rather Evangeline than Claire—long lonely winter nights, remember?” Arend shrugged as he said the words.

“You obviously don't know the lady,” was Hadley's sarcastic reply. He wasn't petty enough to want to see Evangeline on a miserly widow's stipend, but it appeared her marriage had exceeded her expectations, for she'd got the money and title she craved. “She must be extremely happy, for that is why she married her viscount.”

“I see.” Arend refilled his glass, pouring the brandy all the way to the top. “It's as I have always suspected. A woman is madly in love as long as a purse is full. Love is only tested when the coffers run dry. Her viscount had a fatter purse.”

Hadley thought of the other four fellow Libertine Scholars, all happily married. “Tell that to Christian, Sebastian, Grayson, and now bloody Maitland. I tell you, it's as if the French have put something in the brandy. Men are succumbing to the shackles of matrimony far too often of late.”

Arend gave a mock shudder and raised his glass. “Here's to bachelorhood, brief as yours may now be.”

Marriage to Claire. For a brief moment, Hadley wondered if Evangeline regretted her choice. He shook his head. She had her money and title; that was all she had wanted. What was there for her to regret?

If she thought she could have her title and now also have him, she was very wrong. He'd rather marry a leprous whore—or marry Claire—than succumb to her allure again.

Once he'd drunk the contents of his glass he slammed it on the table. “Come, we should be on our way. We have”—he looked around the room before lowering his voice—“lists to compare, away from prying eyes and eager ears.”

The two men took their leave of White's and made their way to Christian's townhouse. On the carriage ride, the discussion turned to the fight at Gentleman Jack's next week and whom to wager on. An unknown Spaniard had recently arrived, and Arend favored the man. Hadley would be unwise to wager against anyone Arend took an interest in. Arend had the uncanny knack of spotting a fighter's ability, and he'd been to see the Spaniard practice.

Besides, it might be a way to make money quickly, something he could use right now.

Even the sporting talk could not completely banish Evangeline from his mind. Under his breath he cursed her anew. Right now it would be ideal to chase away the memory of her touch and taste in an excess of sensual indulgence. However, in three weeks he was about to propose to Lady Claire. Claire had no idea the proposal was coming; he had talked her brother into letting him make an offer directly to her, so that she would have no idea it had been arranged by his brother and her brother. If she heard he still had a mistress, she might not believe him sincere. He wanted her to believe he had chosen her of his own free will. At least one of them should be happy about this marriage. Her life would be irrevocably changed too. He did not want to hurt her.

As the two men had expected, when they were ushered into the Earl of Markham's drawing room, the family setting hummed with loving couples and children. For one fleeting moment a pang of regret consumed Hadley, until he remembered why he was going to marry Claire: to ensure that his heart remained protected.

He hid a smile at the quick flash of horror that passed over Arend's face as little Henry, Sebastian's ward, grabbed Arend's trouser leg with jam-covered fingers. But to Hadley's amazement, Arend swung the little boy up into his arms and pretended to drop him, swiftly catching him before he could fall far. Henry's squeals had the women giggling and the men putting their fingers in their ears.

Lady Portia, Grayson Devlin's obviously pregnant wife, relieved Arend of Henry, while the boy's nurse collected Christian's son and ushered all the children from the room. Once the door had closed on the departing servants and children, they could talk openly.

The women present—Lady Portia; Lady Beatrice, who was the wife of Sebastian Hawkestone, Marquess of Coldhurst; Lady Marisa, who was the new Duchess of Lyttleton, and her younger sister, Lady Helen; and finally Lady Serena, Christian's wife and their hostess, were sitting grinning like Cheshire cats with bellies full of milk. The hairs on Hadley's neck prickled. They appeared to be looking at him, which was not a good thing.

“Good evening, ladies. It's always delightful to be in the company of such beauties.” With that Hadley bowed to each and pressed a kiss to his hostess's knuckles.

These women were more than simply stunning beauties. They were intelligent, brave, and loyal to a fault. He doubted any of them would break her husband's heart. They would put their men first.

“And might I say you are looking very handsome tonight too, my lord.”

“Oh, God, Serena, leave the man alone. He's only just got here.”

Hadley looked across at Christian, who was still scowling at his wife, and the hairs at the back of his neck were now standing to attention. The ladies were definitely up to something.

He chose a seat as far from the ladies as he could, and found himself sitting next to Grayson on a chair that was definitely not made for a man. He felt as if it would break beneath him if he made one wrong move. He must look like a ninny.

Serena's smile indicated she knew he was retreating. It also seemed to scream, You cannot thwart us. Thwart them at what? he longed to know, or did he? These women were a force to reckon with. He'd seen them win the hearts of men who were confirmed rakes and then bravely take on their enemy, all with style and wit and determination.

Arend, who'd also greeted the ladies in his fancy French way, had taken a seat next to Serena on the settee. He stretched his arms along the top of the furniture and said, “As we have a guest coming to dinner, I suggest we discuss our investigations before Lady Isobel arrives.”

Serena sent Hadley a cheeky smile, “Guests, Arend. Isobel is bringing a friend.”

The way she looked at Hadley, he wished he could squirm in his chair, but he was too afraid to move in case it collapsed.

Why did his cravat suddenly feel too tight?

Arend sent her a quizzing look but merely continued, “I have only two names left on my list: the Earl of Northumberland and the Earl of Wentworth.”

Last month the Libertine Scholars had learned that the woman who was set upon destroying them had worked as a high-priced courtesan in Paris. Apparently she had caught the fancy of an English earl, left the life of prostitution in France, hidden her tracks well, and with her earl returned to England as a woman of quality he'd met on the continent. They had no idea if she was still with the earl or if he had married her, but they thought she'd hardly leave the successful business she'd built up in Paris for anything less than marriage, and they had no other leads.

They had drawn up a list of more than a hundred English earls and then had whittled it down to sixty who had wives in their mid-twenties, the age they thought their enemy now was. Over the past month, the men had been investigating all the names on the list and had cleared all but seventeen.

The discussion was loud and emotional. The other five Libertine Scholars shared the names on their lists. The women chimed in with comments, and with their help a further five earls were struck off the list when Beatrice commented that their wives had been at finishing school with her.

“That still leaves twelve names,” Maitland said. “I was hoping it would be smaller.”

Arend leaned sideways and helped himself to the decanter of brandy on the side table. “My money is still on the Earl of Northumberland's widow, Lady Isobel's stepmother.”

“You simply want it to be her because Lady Isobel vexes you so,” uttered Sebastian. “You want her to be in league with the villain so you can walk away with a clear conscience.”

All five ladies present swung their gaze to Arend. Hadley inwardly laughed. If they smelled the start of a romance, God help Arend. Hadley was pleased not to be the center of their attention for once.

“Clear conscience? I don't have a conscience,” was Arend's dry reply. “You tell me, then, why Isobel was kidnapped along with Marisa. It doesn't make sense. There has to be a connection.”

Last month Marisa had been drugged and kidnapped by their villainess. They had managed to rescue her only when the carriage they were abducting her in crashed. Unfortunately, Marisa had been very badly wounded, and Maitland had almost lost her. Isobel too had been in the carriage, but she had been kidnapped from a different location.

“Perhaps the villain had other plans for Isobel. Perhaps she was taken to extract revenge on another individual.”

Arend scoffed. “Her father is dead, so who would that be?”

“She is his only child. Perhaps it was to wipe his lineage from this earth. Something she has savored doing to my husband.” Marisa's quiet but venom-filled words hung in the air. The injuries Marisa had sustained meant she could never have children. Maitland, sitting beside her, took Marisa's hand and pressed it to his lips. “But I still have you,” he declared softly.

Hadley turned away from the private moment so filled with love and devotion. Once he'd thought he shared this with Evangeline, but he'd been a fool. Love was not to be for him. Sometimes that thought made him envy what these men had found with their wives.

Portia played with a string of pearls round her neck. “I think it's time we women took the lead. Now that we have a smaller list, we should be investigating the wives, not our husbands.”

Hadley returned his gaze to the ladies as Beatrice spoke.

“I agree, Portia. This needs a woman's touch. If the supposedly happily married Libertine Scholars start asking questions about other men's wives who knows what gossip will ensue.” Beatrice continued smoothly, “And we don't wish our villainess to understand just how close we may be.”

The men all started talking at once. The husbands proclaiming how dangerous it was to let the women become so involved, while Arend argued that it made perfect sense.

Hadley understood both sides. After everything that had happened, these men would lay down their lives to protect their women. It was inborn instinct to guard them from harm, much more than simple male pride. He had always felt a need to protect those weaker than himself. He hated bullying of any form, as he himself had once been its victim, and he had the scars on his buttocks to prove it. He'd been his father's whipping boy, always taking the punishment for his older brother, who was both weaker and smaller in size.

However, Arend's argument that catching the villain quickly would thereby protect everyone was valid.

He remained silent, waiting for a chance to offer his opinion, or to be asked for it.

His chance came after a heated barb from Sebastian. Hadley cleared his throat and spoke rather loudly. “I understand you wish to protect your wives, but there are others who need protection too.” He glanced across the room. “Helen, for one. And what about the children?” The men quieted and looked at him. “We are spread too thin to be sure everyone is safe all the time. We have no idea what she plans to do next. I for one don't want to wait to find out.” He nodded at Arend. “I believe Arend is correct when he says we are running out of time and that we need to unmask her sooner rather than later. We may find that it is more expedient to let the women—” He held up his hand at the growls already sounding in the men's throats. “To let the well-guarded women do a little investigating of their own.”

Portia clapped her hands. “Exactly, Hadley, well said. You know how skilled each of us can be at uncovering secrets. We uncovered all of yours.” The twinkle in her eyes was all for her husband, Viscount Blackwood.

“And it will be safe if we conduct the inquisitions, so to speak, in one place, with all of the men around us,” Marisa added.

Hadley let a smile of appreciation escape. “You have a plan, Duchess?”

“As it happens, I believe I do. We have twelve earls on our list. I propose that we hold four different house parties, one at a time, at each of our country estates and invite three of the earls on the list, along with other guests, to each one. Then we can observe and question the wives, with the men round us.”

Beatrice nodded. “If you look at the list, we can form groups of guests that would not raise any eyebrows when we extend an invitation.”

Before anyone could reply, there was a knock on the door and the additional guests were announced.

“Excuse me, my lord,” said the butler. “Lady Isobel Thompson, and Lady Evangeline Stuart.”

Hadley's head whipped around in the direction of the door as if an invisible rope were tugging it. He barely noticed Isobel's entrance, for his gaze was riveted on the tumble of auburn curls piled in an elegant array on top of a head he had thought he never wanted to see again. His mouth dried and his heart pounded in his chest.

If he were not under a spell, he would have looked away, but his eyes traveled down, soaking in the beauty of features so fine, so perfect, they made a man think of angels. Eyes the color of a clear summer sky searched the room until they found him. A stranger's smile hovered over her succulent lips, and a look of such longing entered those traitorous eyes that he almost believed the message they tried to convey: I'm here for you, my love.

However, he could not bring himself to believe anything those eyes or lips said. He'd believed once before, and it had left a hole where his heart once rested in his chest.