My Lady, My Lord (25 page)

She looked down at her sober morning dress, the gown she had donned carefully to begin her day by telling a decent man she could not marry him. She went past Gregory up the stairs to change.

I
AN DREW UP HIS MOUNT
before the Serpentine and waited for Jag to catch up. He’d come upon his friend earlier, though the hour was still too early to meet many other acquaintances in the park. Ian was glad of it. After his encounter with Corinna, and extracting Gregory from inebriated imprudence the previous night, he’d slept poorly and awoke in a foul humor. A ride seemed the only thing for it.

“Not too shabby,” Jag said, pulling up and casting an admiring eye at Ian’s horse, a long-legged bay colt. “But you could have beaten me by even more lengths on Blackie. What’s the trouble? Is he injured?”

“No injury. Just needed a change.” He couldn’t bear riding his favorite horse, not lately. It reminded him too much of Corinna. Damn blast foolishness for a grown man.

“It’s a bit early for Gregory to be awake, isn’t it?” Jag said skeptically. “Though not Lady Corinna, I’ll merit.” He gave Ian a curious look, then glanced across the green. Greg rode toward them. Beside him trotted a familiar little gray mare. Perched on its saddle was the most intoxicating woman Ian had ever known.

Today she wore a modest, high-necked habit of green, but it didn’t disguise her lovely figure. He couldn’t erase from his memory the vision of her body wrapped in white fabric so sheer it may as well have been mist. He’d come perilously close to removing that scrap of clothing in the middle of Lady Featherby’s masquerade ball and doing to her what he’d been longing to do for weeks. He’d spent the remainder of the night furious with himself for it. Corinna wasn’t a bit of muslin. She deserved considerably better than a romp in a dark corner.

He couldn’t fathom why she’d gone to the ball, or why he had, for that matter. Her costume hinted at the reason, perhaps. But before encountering her he’d had no purpose there. Still, he’d been drawn to go. It proved him to be a lunatic, but Ian suspected the goddess had a hand in it.

Damn blast female deity.

His heart beat roughly as Corinna rode toward him now, her gaze squarely upon him.

“Morning, Grace, Ian,” Gregory said a bit too heartily. Born of shame, no doubt. Ian hadn’t wrung a peal over his head or anything of the sort, but Gregory knew what he thought about overindulgence—at least in public. Ian had been doing plenty of overindulging in the bottle in his own house lately. It seemed the best way to wrest a chestnut-haired beauty from his thoughts. But it never sufficed. Invariably he awoke the following morning with a heavy head still full of her.

“Good day, Lady Corinna,” Jag said with a bow. “Greg, how do you have the fortune of escorting the loveliest lady in London through the park this morning?”

Corinna nodded. “Thank you, my lord. You flatter.”

“You’re too modest, my lady.” Jag bowed. Corinna smiled. Ian had the pressing urge to knock his friend off his horse.

“Actually, Grace,” Gregory said, a note of discomfort in his voice, “I need to speak with my brother for a moment. Do you mind?”

“On the contrary. Lady Corinna, may I beg the honor of taking a turn about the lake with you?”

“Thank you, Lord Grace.” She turned her mount to go abreast of him, then her gaze darted back to Ian. Her lips curved into a grin. “That is a fine horse, my lord. What have you named it? Brownie?”

He bowed, the knot in his chest loosening. “As you say, ma’am.” She was a handful. And an armful. An impudent, clever, passionate bundle of impossible dreams. Dreams he should have left behind at age nineteen, and that he had tried to leave behind again four years later. But he couldn’t seem to rid himself of them no matter how he tried. And lately he didn’t much care to try any longer.

“Cora’s a great gun,” Gregory said as Ian watched her and his friend ride away. “Passed Fitzhugh on my way into her parlor this morning. Fellow was there without a chaperone in sight.” Gregory whistled. “I suspect we’ll be hearing wedding bells for another member of our newly extended family soon. But that’s not why I’m here, Ian. I’ve got to tell you something, and I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

“What is it, Greg?” Ian couldn’t imagine anything he could like less than what his brother had already said. Fitzhugh paying a lone early morning call on Corinna? Gregory was right. It could only mean one thing. No wonder she’d drawn away from him in the garden the night before. And after that he had played upon her passionate nature, tempting her do what she did not wish to.

“Well, you see, I’m in a serious bind.” Gregory’s voice sounded choked.

Ian forced his attention to his brother. “What sort of bind?”

“It involves you. Patterson is putting the screws on me to do some dishonest shuffling of documents at the Office regarding that gaol project I’ve been working on for Peel. He wants me to gerrymander the funds allocations for his benefit.”

“Thomas, or his father?”

“Lord Patterson, but Thomas knows about it. Says he’s not supposed to be involved, but he’s pressing me to do it, too.”

“Both of them are loose screws, Greg.” Like father, like son. Scoundrels took after scoundrels, and they had nothing to recommend themselves. Especially not to women like Corinna Mowbray, except unwanted seduction. “Don’t give it another thought.”

“I’ve got to, though,” Gregory continued. “Sparks and Patterson are in league now, Ian, and they’re out to ruin you. Patterson says if I don’t cough up the promises, Sparks will prove you cheated in the game that night at Alverston House.”

Ian drew in his mount. “Sparks has no proof.”

“But he insists—”

“His insistence is false. You mustn’t pay it any attention.”

“Ian, I see that look in your eyes.”

“What look is that, little brother?”

“That look you used to get when men talked about our father around you, like you’re looking for somebody to murder.”

“I don’t have the foggiest notion of what you’re talking about, Greg.”

“Yes, you do. Don’t call him out, Ian. It would be a mistake. Not you. Not you at all. If anybody’s going to do it, it should be me.”

Ian turned an incredulous look upon his sibling. “No one is going to call out anyone, Gregory. You are ridiculous.”

“Abernathy said you were on the verge of it after that nasty incident with Corinna.”

“Abernathy is a cowardly fool.” He would have. Ian had never picked a quarrel with a man in his life, but that day in front of White’s he would have done damage to the marquess if he could have, for the sake of Corinna’s reputation. “I have no intention of calling out anyone over this.”

“Then what am I going to do? What are
we
going to do? Good God, Ian, I cannot do what they are asking.”

Corinna and Jag approached along the path. She was smiling, but when they drew near, her gaze shifted between Ian and his brother and sobered. Gregory must have told her about his troubles. She must believe she had caused it.

Ian turned to his brother. “Gregory, I will accompany you and Lady Corinna home.”

“Of course. G’day, Grace,” Gregory nodded and turned his mount about, Corinna following.

“What’s going on, Chance?” Jag asked. “Or would you rather not say?”

“Family business.”

“Family, hm?”

Ian met his friend’s gaze impassively.

Jag lifted a brow. “Family, it is then.” He tipped his hat.

Ian rode toward his brother and Corinna, and reined in before them. He spoke directly to Corinna. “Who is on the funding commission?”

She seemed surprised, but quickly aware. Astute woman. And blindingly lovely, even sitting so straight-backed on her little mare in her prim gown.

“Six lords,” she said. “St. George, Featherby, Jacobs—”

“That will do.” He turned to his brother. “Jacobs owes me a favor. I’ll speak with him.”

“You mean to prepare the commission for unusual requests from the Office so that they will know to block them,” Corinna said.

He nodded.

She smiled. “Is this how you arrange races, preparing the field to your advantage?”

“When it serves the purpose.”

“It will have to be quite a large favor Lord Jacobs owes you.”

“It is.”

She turned to his brother. “Gregory, I will speak to Sir Robert.”

“But—”

“A great many people share with me information that I assure them will go no further than my ears. I will tell him that I have heard rumor that a member of his Office is being encouraged to mutiny but does not wish to. I will recommend that he make it public knowledge that all decisions regarding funding allocations are fully in his hands.”

“Do you think that will suffice?”

“Given that Patterson and Sparks haven’t a leg to stand on between them,” Ian said, “it will.”

Corinna’s worried gaze flashed to him.

“Corinna, you didn’t cheat,” he said. “You couldn’t have. One does not do so accidentally and still win. It takes an expert to know how.” He allowed himself a grin. “Like me.”

“What on earth are you talking about, Ian? Of course Cora didn’t cheat. Or you. Against whom?”

Her brow remained furrowed. “I hope not.”

“I assure you.”

“What’s going on here?” Gregory said impatiently. “Are we still discussing my trouble or have you two moved on to some other imbroglio? Did my brother have you playing cards, Cora? I should have known it, after that day at your house, Ian, when you were up to no good teaching a lady to play like a sharp.”

“Something like that,” he murmured.

Her brow relaxed and a smile played upon her lips again.

“Well, I don’t like it.” Gregory spurred his horse into motion. “And I won’t hear of it again. Now that she’s to be our sister, we must look after her like we look after Callie and Evelina. Even more so, since she doesn’t have a husband to protect her. It’s our duty.”

“Of course it is, Greg.”

Her gaze slipped away. Ian watched her move along the path ahead, the woman who did not have a husband to protect her from scoundrels like him who would take advantage of her. Not yet, he hoped.

~o0o~

Corinna met with Sir Robert and told him her story. He listened attentively.

The following day she read in the
Times
that, given his interest in the matter, the Home Secretary was personally reviewing and approving all funds allocations made on behalf of the gaols project. His approach, he said, would be conservative, no room for high-risk ventures, only agriculture stocks, possibly coal. Corinna smiled over her cup of chocolate and sank back into her satin pillows.

Ian did not call on her. She was foolish to half-expect him to, but when he failed to appear she blamed her overly optimistic turn of mind and set out to distract herself from the unhappiness gnawing at her insides.

She sat down at her desk and created her most sparkling salon guest list yet. It failed to cheer her.

When Ladies Chance and Dare arrived to take her on a shopping trip for the countess’s wedding, Corinna accepted the distraction with relief. In a glove shop on Bond Street, Calista turned to her abruptly and said, “The oddest thing, Cora; Ian has gone up to Dashbourne and won’t be back until the wedding.”

Corinna blinked. “I’m sure he has a great deal to do there.”

“I cannot see what,” his sister replied, shaking her head over a pair of violently yellow kid gloves. “Harvest is long past, and it’s nearly a day’s drive there and another day’s return. He might have waited until after our parents are wed, don’t you think?”

She couldn’t think at all. Her hopeful imagination wanted to believe he would have come to see her if he hadn’t had business to attend to elsewhere. She needed to believe it. After he spoke to her so directly in front of Gregory, knowing without her saying how worried she was that she had put his reputation in danger, she wanted to believe the best of him.

“Good afternoon, ladies.”

Corinna looked up into the handsome face of the Baron of Grace. During their ride in the park three days earlier, he had been the portrait of gentlemanly courtesy. Even under the pressure of her concerns that morning, it had tickled her that she knew another side of him that no woman would ever see. But it wasn’t so very different from this side. He was a good man, despite his brandy and cards. Corinna wished she could tell Ian that, and everything else she’d been thinking since they’d met in the park.

“How delightful to see you, my lord,” Calista chirped. “Have you seen my brother?”

He bowed to Lady Chance who was across the shop, then returned his attention to the marchioness. “Which brother, my lady?”

“Ian, of course. Has he returned from the country yet?”

“I don’t believe so. Lady Corinna, may I trouble you for advice on a pair of gloves I’ve been considering for some time. I admire your taste in fashion and believe I could trust you to help me make the correct decision.”

“Of course.”

Calista gave her a curious look as she moved to a display case with the baron. He pointed within it.

“I hope I don’t overstep my bounds, my lady,” he said quietly, “to speak with you in this manner.”

“What manner is that, my lord?”

He studied her for a moment. “Chance told me of his brother’s trouble, and I lent a hand where I was able. Just as you did. Admirably, may I add?”

“I did only as I might for my own brother if I had one.”

“Hm. I daresay.” He glanced at the gloves before them, then again at her face. “I don’t know if you have yet heard from young Gregory. It is all settled. Patterson has withdrawn his threat and Sparks is routed. It seems Sparks is in fact now on his way to Paris to fleece unsuspecting Englishmen in exile rather than at home, and Patterson is suitably chastised, such that he will not attempt to blacken my friend’s name again.”

“Oh, I am relieved to hear it.” Corinna released a breath, then her brow puckered. “Lord Chance did not threaten Lord Patterson, did he?”

“Did he call him out? No.” He shook his head, lifting a dark golden brow. “Chance isn’t interested in that sort of cockerel show. Except on one occasion, of course.”

Abernathy.

Warmth stole into Corinna’s cheeks—ridiculous, since she had been the one to strike the Marquess of Abernathy. But Ian had countenanced it, and it was his idea to call out Abernathy in the first place. Even when he hated her he defended her and kissed her. He was thoroughly impossible, and he owned her heart.