Barbara Metzger (7 page)

“Of course, I’m sorry. You did say an assumed role.” Kathlyn was aghast at her actions. She’d never struck a gentleman before in her life. Now the impression of her hand was vivid on his cheek, right above the scar. “Oh dear, did I hurt you badly?”

“Nothing I didn’t deserve, Miss Partland, for putting my proposal to you so baldly. Truly, don’t give it another thought.” He took a bite of his scone to show he wasn’t permanently damaged, even though his jaw ached like the very devil. How could such a wispy wench pack such a wallop? “More tea?”

“Thank you.” Kathlyn managed to hide her mortification behind the teacup, where she didn’t have to say anything more. He really had been kind. Why could she not be civil in return? Perhaps because she sensed his disapproval of her. Lord Chase treated her like a misdelivered package, so of course he didn’t want her for his mistress. He didn’t even want her in his house. Furthermore, no man as handsome and well set up as the viscount would ever have to hire a mistress, pretend or otherwise. Women must be falling all over themselves to volunteer for the position.

 “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you need to hire someone to pretend to be your mistress? It makes no sense.”

“Life makes no sense.” He crumbled half a scone, to tempt the dog back to his side and to avoid meeting her curious blue gaze. “I do not have a mistress. I do not want a mistress. Yet for reasons of my own, I need to present one at an upcoming social event.”

“Can you not ask one of your friends’ sisters? A society miss?”

“No, the situation does not require a young lady, just a ladybird. An alluring, attractive female who would make every man in the room pant with desire and drool with jealousy.”

Kathlyn almost dropped her teacup. “Me?” He didn’t even like her!

“With a cloth over your face, naturally.” Courtney wasn’t about to tell the poker-backed governess that he found her exquisite. She was too skinny for his taste anyway. “And lots of gauzy stuff to hide your, ah, figure.”

Kathlyn scowled. So much for a crumb of approval. “So why won’t you find your
belle de nuit
among the demimonde? Surely one of those women would know how to—”

“That needn’t concern you. My reasons are none of your business.”

Kathlyn swirled the leaves in the bottom of her cup. “My business isn’t treading the boards either, in case you have forgotten. It’s teaching little children.”

“With my blunt you can start a school somewhere. You can’t want to be a servant in some rich man’s house.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“You don’t have a job either, do you? Nanny says you went out to an agency today, despite her advice, despite her generosity in offering you a home here for as long as you wish.”

“Mrs. Dawson has been everything kind, but I cannot accept her charity.”

“Charity? You’d be doing her a favor by staying while her daughter is confined.” He brushed that aside, with the crumbs from his fingers. “What luck did you have?”

“None, you must know.” She studied those tea leaves for inspiration. “I have no references.”

Now he studied his fingernails. “My mother might be able to write you a good character. She lives in Trowbridge but has a wide circle of friends and correspondents here in town and across the country. Surely one of them knows someone in need of an excellent governess.”

“But I do not know your mother. Why would she do that for me?”

“Actually she’d be doing it for me, if I asked her.”

“And you would ask her in exchange for... ?”

“One night.”

“That’s blackmail!”

“Not at all, I’m merely sweetening the pot.” She looked at him without comprehension. “Upping the ante, don’t you know, making my offer more attractive.”

Well, it was getting more attractive by the moment. A year’s worth of wages and a recommendation ... “Nanny would never approve.”

Nanny
didn’t
approve, but Miss Partland didn’t have to know that. “Nanny would gladly pardon our little deception if she thought it would help me win the affections of a blushing debutante. She’d do anything to see me married so she’ll have more babies to coddle.”

Kathlyn smiled at last. “Oh, I see. You’re trying to make some respectable female jealous! And of course you do not want to arouse expectations in some other girl.”

“Well, you might say so.” Miss Partland might say the moon was made of green cheese, if she agreed to his plan. If it made her happy to think this was some romantic subterfuge, fine. Then maybe she’d stop being so analytical, so inquisitive, so schoolmarmish.

But Kathlyn was a schoolmarm, or would like to be. “But why a mistress?” she asked to Courtney’s aggravation. This was already a devilish conversation to be having with a straitlaced spinster.

“Why not?”

“Because no girl is going to be impressed by a womanizer.”

Maybe she actually did think the moon was made of green cheese. “You are incredibly naive if you believe that. Miss Partland. Don’t you know that rakes are supposed to make the best husbands? Some young miss is dreaming this very moment of her evening at Almack’s and the libertine who will reform for love of her.”

“The poor girl.”

Kathlyn took another scone, but she did agree to think about the viscount’s proposal overnight. She owed him that much.

* * * *

“Mrs. Dawson, do you think it is terrible to do something wrong if you do it for good reasons?”

Nanny didn’t stop chopping the vegetables for dinner. “I suppose it depends on how right and how wrong.” Chop, chop. “Like if a man steals a loaf of bread to feed his starving children. The law says it’s a crime, but I say there’s nothing more sinful than children going hungry.” Chop, chop. “There, you can roll that dough a tad thinner, dearie. A’ course, if every hungry soul stole a loaf, then the baker’s children would have none.” Chop. “But if you’re thinking about his lordship’s mad notion of making you his convenient for one night, well, I can’t begin to comprehend his reasons, good or bad.” Whack. Whack. “It’s a male thing, and we females will never understand.” From the violence of Nanny’s chopping, it was a good thing Lord Chase and his male thing were not present. She slammed the oven door, rapped Little George’s knuckles for tasting the soup stock, and nudged the old dog out of her way with her foot. “Then again, if Master Courtney says no harm’11 come, I suppose he’s in the right of it.”

Then again, Kathlyn thought, Nanny Dawson believed his lordship could walk on water. He couldn’t, no more than he could make his reasons for this odd start seem logical. But he hadn’t given any reasons, Kathlyn recalled, he just hadn’t disagreed with her conclusions.

Making another woman jealous made no sense, no matter what Lord Chase said about reformed rakes. No woman could be foolish enough to think a gold band changed a tiger’s stripes. No, he had to have another reason for this proposed farce of dull Miss Partland playing the dasher, and Kathlyn was desperate to know it. If his lordship had the remotest semblance of an honorable motive, Kathlyn could accept his offer. She could accept his money, enough to start a school of her own somewhere, and she could accept his mother’s reference to attract students. In good conscience she could have a short respite here at Mrs. Dawson’s, helping around the house and entertaining the grandchildren. She wiped flour off her hands, thinking she’d never been so comfortable, so cozy, since her mother’s passing six years ago.

She wanted to stay, if only for the few weeks. And she was sorely tempted to get dressed up and attend her first fancy ball. It wouldn’t be quite the thing, of course, but the closest Kathlyn Partland was liable to get to high society in her lifetime. She wasn’t even worried about the viscount’s going beyond the line. If he didn’t hold her in aversion, he certainly didn’t give the appearance of a gentleman wanting to hold her, period.

Kathlyn was beginning to recognize that look. She’d seen it again this very morning, at her second foray to the employment agencies. A prospective footman in one of the waiting rooms gave her such a particular stare that the agency’s proprietress cancelled both of them from her appointments book.

The second agency had one position available, at a “difficult” household. Desperate, Kathlyn had gone on to be interviewed by the master of the house, to find the only difficulty was getting out of there with her clothing intact. Viscount Chase’s disreputable offer was better than that, or would be if she could only understand it.

The whole thing came down to his motives. If his lordship had been aboveboard and said, for instance, that he had a wager with some chums about bringing an Incognita to the ball, she might have understood. London gentlemen were known to bet on how many birds landed on a fence rail, or who could walk backwards faster. But he hadn’t been aboveboard, he hadn’t trusted her with his objectives, so she couldn’t trust him. If she couldn’t trust him, she couldn’t believe his promises about safeguarding her identity or providing for her future. But why? Always, why?

Why would an honorable gentleman—and Nanny Dawson swore the viscount was a decent man, a hero even—resort to such subterfuge? If there was a wager, a dare, or even a foolish young lady of his own circles, why didn’t Lord Chase simply hire himself a courtesan? With his money and address, he could have his pick of the muslin company. Kathlyn had heard about the ranks of the Fashionable Impure, the elegant, sophisticated women of the world who knew how to bat their eyelashes, wave their fans, and please a man. In Lord Chase’s wildest imagination, he could not think Kathlyn was one of them, in her brown bombazine and tight braids and one journey away from home. He didn’t think she had the sense God gave a duck, so why would he think she could flirt with his friends?

Why, with his good looks, didn’t he have a willing
cherie amour
of his  own? All he needed to do was flash his dimples and bright smile to have hearts flutter. The hearts of foolish women with romantical notions, Kathlyn amended, taking off her apron. Of which she was not one, of course. She shook her head. It must be, as Nanny said, one of those incomprehensible male things, like wearing shirt points so high, they could put one’s eyes out, or carrying canes for no reason. But Viscount Chase had a reason. It must be ... his war wound! Oh, the poor man!

* * * *

It was a male thing, Courtney acknowledged, like having the fastest Thoroughbred, the sleekest rig, the best aim at Manton’s shooting gallery. It was competitiveness, making the other chaps jealous. It was sheer masculine pride. He had to have that woman on his arm at the Cyprians’ Ball. He’d never felt this way, this burning need of possession, not even squiring Adelina Marlowe about before they were engaged. Hell, he hadn’t felt so possessive of Adelina even
while
they were engaged. He had to have Miss Partland—for that one night, he told himself. The female threatened his equilibrium, but not his self-imposed vows, of course.

So he had to raise the stakes even higher. Money did not seem to be the sticking point with the prickly female.

“Miss Partland, I have been rethinking my offer.” He was staring at the fire, carefully framing his terms.

“Yes.”

“That if you do accept, you’d find yourself at loose ends here in London for the time until the ball. And an intelligent female like yourself, hoping to educate other young minds, would like to visit some of the historic sights, the cathedrals and such, before you go. I would undertake to guide you to all the notable places recommended in the guide books, as part of our bargain, you must know, not that I would impose my company on you.”

“I understand. Yes, thank you.”

“And, ah, since it could only redound to my credit to have a beautiful woman in my escort well before our appearance at the ball, I would undertake the responsibility and expense of providing a suitable wardrobe.”

Kathlyn fingered the worn skirts of her shapeless gown. She shouldn’t let a gentleman pay for her clothing, but she couldn’t embarrass the poor viscount by looking like a washerwoman. Her funds wouldn’t extend so far as a new bonnet, so there was no choice, really. She nodded. “Of course. Thank you. Yes.”

“And you’ll need a maid, naturally, to help care for your belongings.”

A maid? Kathlyn had never had a servant to wait on her in her life. Her brow creased.

The viscount rushed on, “That way you’ll have more time to devote to Nanny’s grandchildren, when we’re not out sightseeing, rather than having to be ironing and mending. And the woman could be a help to Nanny betimes.”

“Why, how very thoughtful, my lord. Yes.”

“Yes? Then you accept? You’ll do it?”

“Yes, my lord, I said so.”

He wiped his brow. “You drive a hard bargain, Miss Partland, but I don’t regret it. And you won’t either. Don’t forget, it will be Kitty Parke the rumormongers gossip about.”

Kathlyn was distressed. “What, are you ruining another girl’s reputation?”

“No, silly, just changing your name so no one outside this house can identify you. Nanny would never tell and George cannot, so Miss Kathlyn Partland’s good name is preserved, and no one in all of London will recognize that she and Kitty Parke are one and the same.”

* * * *

No one except Bow Street’s finest investigator.

Chapter Eight

More snow, gorblimey. Inspector Dimm’s eyebrows had icicles hanging from them, and his nose nigh broke right off when he went to blow it. B’gad, wasn’t this winter ever going to end? He was too old for this tomfoolery, the Runner told himself, too old to trek his bunions across town looking for some woman as was no better’n she ought to be. Mostly, he thought, he was too old for the job if he let a prime suspect slip through his fingers just because she was a prime article. Taken in by a pretty face, b’gosh. At his age.

He should have known better than to boast to Ripken about understanding women. No man understood women. Illogical, emotional, tricky beings, females were, not straightforward like men. Even Inspector Dimm’s own dear Cora, God rest her soul, could be purring one minute and hissing the next. Of course, she’d never change her manners and her morals overnight, the way the Partland female seemed to have done. How could a man have figured that? Now Dimm was going to look no-account in the young trainee’s eyes. And the governor’s, if he didn’t solve this case.