Lady Thief (12 page)

“You’re asking a woman about logic?” Her smile was wry.

“When the woman is you, yes I am. Well? Do you think you could bear to spend some time with me?”

Jenny began to understand how a cornered fox must feel. The duke was an excellent hunter. But she had a strange feeling that she would enjoy any time she could spend with the duke. “I might—possibly—be able to bear it,” she responded with a faint smile. “Provided, of course, that you don’t intend to talk about how I spend my spare time.”

He smiled at her. “I promise. Now—how would you like to come riding with me tomorrow?”

Throwing her fate to the winds, Jenny smiled back at him. “I would love to, Your Grace.”

The dance ended just then, and Spencer led her to a secluded corner of the ballroom, where they sat down on a small bench. Spencer smiled and said, “We can begin to get to know one another now—unless, of course, you are in dire need of a glass of lemonade.”

Jenny smiled reprovingly. “That was not very gallant of you. You made it sound as though I would be committing a crime if I admitted to thirst.”

He laughed. “Yes, but if you are thirsty, then I will have to go and fetch you a drink, and when I return, some buck will have taken my place.”

Amusement gleamed in her golden eyes. “In that case, you may rest at ease; I am not in the least thirsty.”

“Good. Now, tell me about yourself.”

“There isn’t much to tell. My home is in Kent—near the village of Maidenstone. I was an only child until my mother remarried six years ago.”

“And your father?”

“He died eight years ago.”

“I’m sorry. That must have been hard on you.”

For a moment, her eyes were clouded. “Yes,” she murmured. “Yes, it was.” The haunted look faded away. “But that was a long time ago. As I said, my mother remarried.”

She went on to tell him something of her life at Courtenay Manor and, encouraged by his obvious interest, lost all track of time.

The two were so engrossed in one another that they failed to notice that nearly every eye in the room was focused on them. Matrons who had tried every possible way of attaching their daughters to the highly eligible Duke of Spencer felt their bosoms swell with indignation as they watched Jennifer Courtenay capture His Grace’s attention with no trouble at all. They wondered what it was about her that had captivated the duke so thoroughly. It wasn’t beauty; the duke had met many a beauty in the past ten years. He had no need of her fortune, which was, if all accounts were true, quite large. What was so special about her?

Jenny suddenly noticed the attention they had attracted. With a slight flush staining her cheeks, she fell silent.

“Miss Courtenay?” Spencer frowned. “Is something wrong?”

She nodded slightly toward the crowded ballroom. “You may be accustomed to being the center of attention, but I am not,” she answered wryly.

He followed her gaze and swore beneath his breath. “All the privacy of a goldfish. Perhaps if we ignore them, they will go away.”

She smiled and rose to her feet. “I think not. In any case, I should return to my godmother. She will be wondering about me.”

Spencer smiled ruefully as he got to his feet. “I’m afraid I chose a rather bad time for us to get to know one another. We shall do better tomorrow.”

As they began to make their way across the room, Jenny said, “A gentle canter, Your Grace?”

He laughed softly. “Convention dictates, I’m afraid.”

There was a challenge in her smile. “Shall we challenge convention?”

He looked down at her, amusement in his eyes. “Why not?”

“Good.” She nodded, her eyes bright with mischief. “I have a gray that I’ve been anxious to try out. He’s a little on the wild side, and I’ve hesitated to ride him in the park—for fear that he would disgrace me. But with the Duke of Spencer at my side, I need no longer fear any loss of credit.”

“And what if my credit isn’t good enough to carry you off?”

“I have no fear of that.” Her smile was demure. “A duke may do as he chooses—and no one will say him nay.”

He chuckled, amused by her casual use of his consequence. “Do you care so much for your reputation?” He wasn’t surprised at her answer.

“Not at all,” she replied coolly. “But while I am living in my godmother’s house, I must contrive not to disgrace her. I owe her a great deal.”

They came up to Lady Beddington just then, and the duke smiled at the dowager and then bowed to Jenny. “At what time shall I call for you, Miss Courtenay?”

“Two o’clock?”

“Two o’clock it is.” He smiled again, nodded to Lady Beddington, and then moved away.

“Jenny?” Lady Beddington’s plump, cheerful face was avid with curiosity.

Jenny smiled at her godmother. “We’re going riding tomorrow.”

“Well!” The dowager wore a triumphant expression. “I’ve never seen him so taken with any of the young ladies. You mark my words, Jenny. You’ll be a duchess before the season is over.”

Jenny smiled wryly as she watched her godmother preen herself. She was under no illusions as to the reason for Spencer’s interest. He knew she was the Cat, and he was curious—nothing more.

She watched beneath her lashes as he led Lady Jersey onto the floor, and knew a flicker of regret that he was only interested in her because of her strange career.

Lady Jersey smiled archly up at Spencer. “I see you’ve discovered the new beauty, Nick. Tell me, what do you think of her?”

He smiled easily. “She’s very beautiful.”

“The man has eyes in his head,” she marveled. “That wasn’t what I meant—and well you know it.”

“I just met the girl, Sally. I don’t know what I think of her yet.”

There was a gleam of mischief in her eyes. “She’s quite out of the common way, you know. Intelligent as well as beautiful. But I daresay you wouldn’t let a little thing like that stand in your way.”

“Stop trying to marry me off, Sally,” he responded imperturbably.

“Well, someone has to! You’re—what?—thirty two, thirty-three?”

“Thirty-two.”

“Practically in your dotage. Your poor mother would like to see her grandchildren before she dies—she told me so the other day.”

“My mother,” he said calmly, “is as healthy as a horse. She isn’t likely to ‘depart this mortal coil’ for some time yet.”

Lady Jersey shook her head sadly. “Well, at any rate, if you mean to try for Jennifer Courtenay, you’d better hurry and get your bid in. In addition to her beauty, she’s also very wealthy. Half the bucks in town are after her. Including Rivenhall.”

Spencer frowned. “Planning on lining his pockets?”

“You can hardly blame him. The poor man’s been one jump ahead of his creditors for years.”

“If he wouldn’t spend his nights at cards,” Spencer responded unsympathetically, “he wouldn’t be so pressed for money. All the Rivenhalls are gamblers.”

Lady Jersey shrugged. “He may not have to worry much longer. Miss Courtenay seems to favor him. If she’s looking for a title, she may settle for an earl. The family is good—he can trace his lineage back to the Conquerer.”

Spencer smiled mockingly. “Half of England can trace its lineage back to the Conquerer.”

Lady Jersey smiled reluctantly. “True.” The dance ended and, as he led her back to her place, she said, “In any case, Miss Courtenay may not feel that she is good enough for a duke. Her father committed suicide, you know.”

He looked surprised. “I didn’t know, but I should like to know what that has to do with her.”

Lady Jersey resumed her seat and smiled up at him. “As far as I’m concerned—nothing. But the girl may be sensitive. Many girls would.”

“That’s nonsense.”

“Perhaps.” She tilted her head to one side inquisitively. “Mean to try your hand, Nick?”

His frown disappeared. “Don’t try matchmaking me, Sally. I can handle my own affairs.”

The lady smiled as she watched him move away. These confirmed bachelors, she thought. Sometimes it was necessary to stir their interest a bit.

Spencer made no attempt to talk to Jenny again. He had given the gossips of London enough to talk about by singling her out for his attention. He was anxious to spend more time with her, but he had no intention of allowing half of London to observe his courtship.

With that in mind, he danced with several other ladies, and even flirted a bit with some of the older ones. He was far too astute a bachelor to give any of the younger ladies cause to think he had serious intentions toward them.

The party began to break up around two A.M., and Spencer watched Jenny leave with a feeling of anticipation. Tomorrow he would begin to unravel the mystery of Jennifer Courtenay.

Chapter Twelve

Spencer called for Jenny promptly at two o’clock the next afternoon. He was admitted to Lady Beddington’s house by a stern-faced butler, and stepped inside just as Jenny came down the stairs.

Her riding habit was black velvet, trimmed with gold braid, and a gold scarf trailed from her hat. She looked beautiful.

Forgetting the servant’s presence, Spencer said impulsively, “How lovely you are.”

Jenny halted, confused, and then slowly descended the rest of the stairs. With a shy smile, she extended her hand. “Good afternoon, Your Grace—and thank you for the compliment.”

He bowed low over her hand. “My pleasure, Miss Courtenay. Shall we go?”

She smiled and nodded, making no attempt to withdraw her hand from his grasp.

The butler showed them out, his stern face having softened at the duke’s loverlike greeting. He sighed nostalgically as he watched them ride away.

The duke kept a watchful eye on Jenny’s horse for the first few minutes. He was a beautiful horse with a great deal of spirit, and not really suited for a lady. But Jenny obviously knew horses well, and had no trouble controlling his playful attempts to unseat her.

Spencer smiled at her. “I should have known you were an excellent horsewoman after seeing you on that black stallion of yours.”

She gave him a warning look. “You promised.”

“So I did.” He inclined his head slightly. “And I mean to keep that promise. But you must forgive a slip of the tongue now and then.”

“A slip of the tongue,” she responded dryly, “could put a noose round my neck.”

He started to speak, then apparently thought better of it. “Blast that promise!”

“I’m holding you to it.”

“Then, for heaven’s sake—don’t talk about hanging.”

Jenny laughed. “Very well. What shall we talk about?”

“You.”

“Oh, no. We talked about me last night—today it’s your turn.”

He grinned ruefully. “What would you like to know?”

“You were in Spain with Wellesley, weren’t you?”

He nodded. “For a year or so. I was wounded at Ciudad Rodrigo and sent home. My mother insisted that I stay—since I am the last of the Wares.”

“She was right.”

“Perhaps.” He shrugged. “But I’d like to go back.”

Jenny shook her head slowly. “I hate war.”

He studied her intently. “Why? I mean aside from the fact that it’s a bloody, unpleasant business.”

“Because,” she replied quietly, “war turns men into traitors.”

“You’re too intelligent to believe that,” he said gently. “Traitors are born, not made. War simply brings their innate tendencies to light.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” She sighed and tried to throw off her feeling of depression. “It’s too beautiful a day to talk of war and traitors.” She smiled at him. “I thought we were going to challenge convention.”

“So we were.” He grinned at her. “Shall we startle all of London by galloping through the park?”

By way of answering him, she pointed her whip at a stand of trees at the other end of the park. “Race you!” she cried and was off.

Pedestrians were treated to a startling sight as two horses came thundering through the park. First came a magnificent young woman on a gray and, just behind her, the Duke of Spencer on his chestnut.

Jenny arrived at the stand of trees first, and pulled her horse to a stop. With a breathless laugh, she said, “There! I won!”

The duke laughed. “I demand a rematch; you caught me by surprise.”

“Nonsense!” She smiled brilliantly. “You just won’t admit to defeat, that’s all.”

“Well of course not. We dukes never admit to defeat, you know.” There was a teasing glint in his eyes.

She laughed. “Ah—the truth will out. You depend on your consequence to pull you through.”

“
Blast
my consequence!” He burst out laughing. “Miss Courtenay—no, that will never do. May I call you Jenny?”

“Please do.” She smiled at him.

“Jenny, I assure you that dukes are no different from anyone else.”

“Of course not. It’s natural for people to be referred to as ‘Your Grace.’”

“Which reminds me—” He smiled at her, his eyes serious. “Please call me Nick.”

She nodded. “If you wish.”

“I do.”

“Very well then—Nick.” She nodded toward the carriageway. “Lady Jersey has been trying to attract your attention for the past five minutes. Don’t you think perhaps you’d better go over and talk to her? Or aren’t dukes obliged to be polite?”

“Jenny! Will you please stop throwing my title in my face.”

She smiled mischievously. “But, Nick, it’s such fun to see your expression when I do.”

He sighed. “Let us go over and talk to Lady Jersey.”

When the couple approached Lady Jersey’s barouche, she was greatly encouraged to see that they appeared to be on excellent terms. In fact, the duke had a definite gleam in his eye, and Miss Courtenay seemed highly amused.

With a laugh in her voice, Lady Jersey said, “Galloping in the park. Really, Nick, you should know better. And at your age, too.”

“Rules were made to be broken, Sally.”