Regency: Rakes & Reputations (Mills & Boon M&B) (4 page)

He was thinking he’d take any Metcalfe at this point, and there, in answer to his prayer, was Stanley Metcalfe’s sister, Missy. Dressed in deceptive white, she was holding court in a circle of men. He wondered if she realized her popularity was attributable to the poorly kept secret that she granted certain…liberties, if one could get her alone in a garden.

He advanced on the group, knowing that most of the men would depart when the music stopped. The rest…well, he
would just have to be quicker. He greeted the men, took Missy’s hand and bowed over it.

“Miss Metcalfe, you are looking especially lovely tonight.”

She twinkled at him and giggled. “How kind of you to say, Mr. Hunter.”

“Just giving you your due, Miss Metcalfe.”

The orchestra finished the set and one young man stepped forward. “I say, Miss Metcalfe, would you do me the honor—”

Jamie smiled apologetically at the young man. “Taken. I shall return her to you directly after.” He took Missy’s hand and led her away as she muffled yet another giggle.

“How naughty of you, Mr. Hunter,” she said as the next dance, a sedate reel, began. “I have no recollection of granting you a dance.”

“Then I must thank you for not giving me away.” There would be an unavoidable risk in carrying on their conversation as they met between steps, so he led her into the dance, waited until they met for a turn, and then tugged her toward the terrace doors.

“Oh!” She pressed one dainty hand against her chest when they were outside and the terrace door closed behind them. Her eyes widened in feigned innocence. “We really shouldn’t …”

He really wouldn’t. But Missy needn’t know that. “You break a man’s heart, my dear.”

She gave him a pretty pout. “What else am I to do? You dance with a girl now and then, and ignore her the rest of the time. Is that fair?”

“Fair? Oh, my dear, more fair than you can know. If I were to subject myself to your charms too often, why there is no telling what I might do. Perhaps I ought to take my pleas to your brother.”

“No need for that, Mr. Hunter. He would likely just refuse you.”

“Or he could give me his blessing to call upon you. Is he here?”

“No. He…he is keeping to himself these days.”

“Do you know where I might find him? His club, perhaps?”

“You’d do better to petition my father, sir, but he is ill at the moment, and not receiving.”

How coincidental that all the males in her family were currently unavailable. And suspicious. Something was being covered up, of that he was sure. “Is there no recourse for me at all?”

She moved closer until her breasts were pressed against his chest, and looked up at him with a sloe-eyed heat. “You could take what you want. I like men who take what they want.”

He groaned. What was the harm in taking what was freely offered? He spanned her waist with his hands and held her still as he tilted his head down to hers. “You are too tempting, Miss Metcalfe,” he said against her lips. When he deepened the contact and she moaned, he waited for the excitement, the rush of pleasure and anticipation. In vain. All he could think was that the rosewater she had splashed on was rather overpowering, and not at all like the stirring scent of Miss O’Rourke’s skin.

Fortunately, he already had what he needed from Missy—she did not know where her brother was. And she was not what he wanted.

He stepped back from her. “We must get you back inside before anyone notices you’re gone. I would dislike people talking about you.”

She stamped her foot in frustration and was about to protest when the terrace doors opened and her erstwhile
swain appeared. Thank God they’d broken contact or Jamie suspected he’d be fighting a duel at dawn.

“Miss Metcalfe became overheated,” he explained. “Do keep her company whilst she cools down.”

He edged past the young man and into the ballroom. When he glanced back, Missy Metcalfe was watching him with consternation. He gave her a wink, thinking she could prove useful in the future.

Inside, he scanned the room before leaving, but stopped dead when he met deep hazel eyes at a distance. Could it be? Yes. Miss O’Rourke was standing between Hortense and Harriett Thayer, looking a bit bemused as one of the twins—he could not tell them apart—told a story. Eugenia was dressed in a pink confection that complemented her complexion perfectly. Her lustrous golden-brown hair was done up in a perfect cluster from which ringlets fell to dance below her shoulders. He tried to imagine how those ringlets would feel tangled between his fingers.

What the bloody hell was Miss O’Rourke doing here? Did she not realize she was at risk for as long as a single member of the brotherhood was on the loose? She was one of the few people left alive who could recognize them.

The sound of conversation was nearly deafening but Gina could barely hear it over the thundering of her own heartbeat. Even supported by the Thayer twins, she wondered what had ever made her think she was prepared for this.

Standing in the ballroom, she could not banish the thought that one of the men present may have been at the chapel that night. Someone who might have been a part of her abduction, had hoped to be a part of her ultimate shame and death.

She shuddered and forced the thoughts from her mind. She had known entering society would not be easy. She could not
let that stop her. She was running out of time if she meant to have her justice.

Just as she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, her fears materialized. She glimpsed James Hunter in a group of revelers. James, who
had
been there. Who had seen her as nature had made her. But he, at least, had not meant her ill.

“Oh, look! There’s Missy Metcalfe.” Hortense nudged Gina in the ribs as she leaned closer to her ear. “Quite the little flirt, that one.”

Gina shook off her vague misgiving and chuckled as she thought of the pot and the kettle. Missy Metcalfe, whoever she was, would surely fall far short of Hortense’s skills.

Harriett, though, was a bit more sedate. Only a bit. “She prefers the company of men, Hortense. That does not make her a flirt.”

“No, Harri. It makes her a—”

“Hush! Do you want someone to hear?” Harriett pasted a smile on her pretty face and waved to the young lady in question.

“She is quite lovely,” Gina allowed.

Hortense turned and swept Gina’s form head to toe in an assessing gaze. “You needn’t worry, Eugenia. She cannot hold a candle to you.”

“Oh, but she is fair and lively while I am—”

“Dark and mysterious,” Harriett finished. “I can well picture young men hanging on your every word. And that gown! Pink becomes you. You must make it your signature color.”

Gina smoothed the pale pink watered silk over her hips. The gown had been made for her not long after her arrival in London, and she had lost weight since then. It did not hang on her, but it gapped slightly at the scooped décolletage and Nancy had pinned a posy of violets there to fill the gap and save her modesty.

Hortense pinched her arm. “Upon my word! There is Mr.
Hunter heading our way. Mr.
James
Hunter. Are you not somehow related, Eugenia?”

“His brother is married to my sister,” she confessed, searching the crowd for a sign of him as she experienced a pang of panic.

“How divine,” Hortense declared with a wink. “What I wouldn’t give to have such a man going in and out of my house. Do you often manage to encounter him?”

“Rarely.” As rarely as she could manage.

“Pity,” Harriett ventured. “He has a reputation to be envied amongst the ladies of the ton. There is scarce one who has not contrived to elicit a walk in the gardens with him.”

“Why?” she asked.

The twins giggled and Hortense answered. “You cannot have missed how handsome he is. Oh, those eyes make my knees weak! And I have heard it whispered—no, I will not tell you by whom—that he kisses like a fallen angel. Heavenly and naughty at the same time. How I would love to know how that feels.”

Gina closed her eyes, remembering how she had felt when he had carried her from the altar. Comforted. Safe. Mortified. But what would it have been like to let him kiss her?

She raised her hand to her throat where her scar was hidden beneath a wide pink ribbon to which a cameo had been fastened. Heat flowed through her, warming her blood and firing her imagination.

“Ah, well,” Harriett continued, “I would make the most of your connection. If you are seen on his arm, your reputation as a ‘desirable’ is made.”

Gina shook her head, not wanting to disappoint the twins. “Mr. Hunter has far more important things to do than ‘make’ my reputation.” Her stomach fluttered when a crooked smile quirked his mouth as he met her eyes.

He arrived before them, bowed to Hortense and Harriett,
then turned his attention to her as the music began. “Our first waltz, Miss O’Rourke,” he murmured in a deep, intimate voice as he took her hand.

She was amazed that her knees did not give out as he led her onto the dance floor.

S
he detected an angry undercurrent in the way James Hunter took her hand and led her onto the dance floor. Was it not she who should be indignant at the way he’d claimed her and given her no room to demur? With the slightest tug, he spun her around and pulled her against his chest just as the music began.

“Fancy meeting you here, Miss O’Rourke,” he said as he led her into the first steps of the waltz.

Gina raised her eyebrows at his clipped tone. “I do not recall consenting to a dance, Mr. Hunter.”

He looked at her through those violet-blue eyes, rather wintery now instead of holding their usual warmth. His entire demeanor had changed since leading her away from the twins. “I wasn’t actually asking.”

Disappointment washed through her. She had wondered, if they waltzed, how it would feel to be in his arms, but not like this. Now she only wanted to escape. What had she done to provoke him? As she moved to draw away, his hand tightened at her waist.

“Careful, Miss O’Rourke, or everyone will know our business.”

She fought to keep her face impassive and her manner as cold as his, but his demeanor bothered her more than she dared let him know. “We have business? If so, I am unaware of it, sir. Indeed, I thought we had called a truce.”

“We have. Correct me if I am wrong, but I do not recall recklessness being a part of it.”

She collected her wits as he swung her in a wide circle. “I…reckless? I haven’t the faintest notion what you mean.”

“Have you not?” Their progress around the dance floor had brought them close to an open terrace door and he waltzed her outside without missing a step. “Then allow me to enlighten you.”

He stopped suddenly and released her in the dim glow of a hanging lantern, leaving her to catch her own balance. She had never seen him like this before—angry and challenging—and she did not like it. She lifted her chin and glared at him, daring him to berate her for anything.

But that did not stop him. “There are people around who…who could wish you harm. And here you are, flaunting yourself for all the world to see. Are you daring Henley to come after you, Miss O’Rourke?”

She blinked. He was right, of course, but she could hardly tell him that finding Henley had, in fact, been her goal. In his present mood, he was likely to throw her over his shoulder and carry her home. She lifted her chin a bit higher. “I fail to see how that is any concern of yours, Mr. Hunter.”

The expression on his face was stiff and brittle, as if it might crack at any moment and reveal his true feelings. “You don’t? Then allow me to count the ways. One—” he held up one finger “—you are my brother’s sister-in-law. Two—” another finger went up “—I have already pulled you from Henley’s reach once. Three, I am currently working to see
that Henley is punished, and four…” His voice trailed off, as if he had thought better of continuing.

“Four?” she challenged.

He laughed, but there was not the slightest hint of humor in it. “You would not want to hear that one, Miss O’Rourke, believe me. Shall we say that my reasons are legion, and that your presence is a distraction and a deterrent?”

What could be so dreadful she could not hear it? She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, regaining a small measure of composure. “Very well. But your reasons are not my concern. I am tired of being a prisoner in my home. I am tired of being punished for something that is not my fault. I have had enough of allowing fear to dictate my life. No more, Mr. Hunter. Do you hear me? No more.”

He gripped her upper arms and leaned toward her. His scent weakened her knees and for a moment the possibility of a kiss hovered in the air between them. She was breathless, torn by hope and fear. Then, in a very low voice, he said, “I hear you clearly, Miss O’Rourke, and as much as I admire your courage and determination, I abhor your foolhardiness in taunting a dangerous man.”

She finally inhaled, trying to find her voice. How could she tell him that she had doubts, too. At least a dozen times a day, and twice already tonight. “Nevertheless.”

He looked completely flummoxed by her refusal to see the matter his way. And her promise of utter confidentiality prevented her from mentioning that she had gained courage and support from his own sister and several of the most important ladies in the ton, so she merely held her ground.

He released her and stepped back. “Very well, Miss O’Rourke. Have it your way, then. But you cannot stop me from shadowing your footsteps.”

“You shall soon become very bored,” she warned. “Unless you have a secret
tendresse
for one of the Thayer twins.”

The hint of a smile twitched his lips. “Redheaded hoydens. Trouble, if ever there was any, and certainly incapable of keeping you out of it. That would be like setting the fox to guard the henhouse.”

“I do not need anyone to keep me out of trouble. I am quite capable of that, myself.”

His gaze swept her from head to toe. “Really?”

A flash of heat washed through her. Was he thinking of that night in the catacombs beneath the chapel? He was right—she had gotten herself in trouble before.

She drew herself up and spun on her heel to go back to the ballroom.
He will not humiliate me into doing as he wants, and he will not intimidate me, either!

Jamie watched her go, half wanting to go after her, and half wanting to lock her away in some safe place until this business with Henley was finished. Why had he never noticed that stubborn streak?

He plucked a rose from a bush climbing the arbor he passed on his way to the stables and held it to his nose. Sweet and blossoming, like Miss Eugenia, herself. His body stirred with the thought of her soft heated flesh beneath him, her dark hair spread upon his pillow and those lush lips parted with a sigh as he entered her. He groaned and shook his head. He had no right to be thinking of her in that way. She’d made it plain that she disliked him.

Happily, there were many who did, and he was not adverse to settling when his first choice was not available. He’d find Devlin, see if there was any news, and then go look for female companionship. Perhaps that would take the edge off his adolescent yearning for Miss O’Rourke. And Charlie? Well, Charlie would catch up when he could. Aye, Charlie always knew where to find him—some sort of brotherly instinct.

He tossed a coin to the stable boy who brought his horse,
then mounted, turning southeast toward Whitefriars and the Crown and Bear. If Devlin was not there, Jamie would have a drink or two and go find ease at Alice’s. Her girls were known for their enthusiasm and accommodating nature. God knows he could use a bit of that.

Clouds had gathered, obscuring the moon and bringing a chill. This was a night made for chicanery and it was early yet in Whitefriars. Anyone who made an honest living was home abed, and the others…well, the others never slept. As he arrived at the Crown and Bear, the place was alive with noise and laughter. Somewhere down an alley, voices raised in a quarrel carried to him as he left his horse in the stable yard behind the tavern and tossed another coin to Cox, the toothless and bald man who tended the stock.

A few faces turned to look when he entered, then went back to their tankards. A quick scan of the room told him that Farrell wasn’t there. He crossed to the bar and waited while Mick Haddon, the barkeeper, poured a measure of his favorite rye whiskey and brought it to him. Haddon was a good man fallen on hard times, and a cut above the usual trade in the Crown and Bear.

“Farrell in back?” he asked.

“Home. Rarely see him these days,” Haddon answered.

Jamie raised his glass. “To domestic bliss,” he said before he swallowed the contents.

Mick snorted in reply. “Anything I can do for you?”

“What has Farrell told you?”

“To keep an eye out for Henley, and an ear to the ground.”

“And?”

“Nothing, though this is the sort of place Henley would come if he were in a drinking mood. And had he not already crossed Farrell.”

Silently, Jamie agreed. Henley wouldn’t go to his club or
to any reputable tavern or gambling hell. He’d frequent only the dregs of London. Places where he’d be unlikely to run into any of his old friends or new enemies. But someone, somewhere, knew where he was and was helping him. Sooner or later, Jamie would find him. He was a very patient man.

“Any unusual activity? Rumors?” he asked.

“Just the usual sort,” Haddon said as he poured another measure for Jamie. “A woman turned up dead in an alley not far from here last night. The charleys were asking around, but it seems she and her husband had a row, and you can guess the rest. I believe the husband has been taken away.”

“Domestic bliss,” Jamie repeated as he finished his drink.

Haddon laughed this time and nodded.

Jamie left his glass on the bar and returned to the stable yard. Old Cox handed him the reins and ducked his head, as if avoiding Jamie’s eyes. His horse danced sideways, skittish about something. Rather than mount, he led his horse out of the yard to the cobblestones, an uneasy feeling raising the fine hairs on the back of his neck. Something wasn’t right.

He bent down to slip the dagger from his boot just as the report of a gunshot sounded close at hand. Brick and mortar scattered in a wide pattern behind him and his horse reared, frightened by the noise. He released the reins, knowing the well-trained animal would not bolt. He rolled to the side, coming up on his feet again near a doorway, his dagger in hand.

Suddenly the price on his head was not quite so amusing. He’d left his pocket pistol at home, not anticipating that he’d be visiting the rookeries tonight. The sound of running footsteps down an adjacent alley told him that the assassin had taken his best shot and was now making his escape.

He was in full pursuit down the alley, gaining on the culprit, when it occurred to him that this had all gone off too
smoothly. He knew these streets well enough to know the assassin was leading him toward a blind alley. An ambush? But who would be waiting for him? Henley? The Gibbons brothers? He was alone. Should he take the chance?

“Oh! I nearly swooned when I saw him waltz you out the terrace door!”

Gina gave Hortense a bland smile. “Nothing happened. He was merely inquiring as to my mother’s health.”

“Was he, indeed?” Harriett teased. “And why should your mother’s health be a concern of his?”

Gina laughed. “My mother’s health is everyone’s concern. She makes it so at every encounter.”

“Then you cannot confirm or deny the rumors concerning Mr. Hunter’s…skills?”

“Alas.”
Indeed.
The memory of that brief moment of promise brought a little smile to her lips.

“Ah! I see you are gaining confidence, Gina.” Harriett squeezed her hand and winked at her sister. “Our little protégé is blooming.”

Yes, she was gaining confidence but she was far from being at ease. She was acutely aware that there could be men present who had heard of her ordeal. Perhaps even a few who had been there, who had seen her. Though they were unlikely to mention it, she had felt the weight of clandestine eyes upon her.

She glanced around the ballroom as they strolled toward the punch bowl, wondering if James Hunter was still there, watching her. When her eye caught Miss Metcalfe dancing a lively reel with an eager young man, she was suddenly struck with a memory. Metcalfe! Was that not a name she’d heard before? A man who had been a friend of Mr. Henley and who had been at that scandalous tableau?

“Harriett, what can you tell me about Miss Metcalfe?” she asked. “Does she have family?”

“Goodness, yes! A handsome brother by the name of Stanley.”

“Is he here tonight?”

Hortense craned her neck to look about in one direction while Harriett scanned the other. “I do not see him. Come to think of it, Harri, have we seen him at all in the last few weeks?”

Harriett chortled. “No, but it does not matter. I do not think he would suit you, Gina.”

“Oh?”

“He is engaged to a dear friend of ours. Miss Christina Race. Have you met her?”

Gina shook her head. In truth, she’d met very few people since arriving in London.

“She and Missy have been almost inseparable since the engagement, have they not, Hortense?”

Hortense nodded. “Like peas in a pod. Would you like to meet them? The reel is almost over and I believe I saw Christina near the fireplace.”

Her heart beating harder, Gina donned an airy smile. “That would be lovely. The more people I meet, the less you will have to coddle me.”

“Pshaw!”
Harriett laughed. “We adore coddling you, Gina. Why, introducing a pretty newcomer lends us a certain mystery and importance we do not possess on our own.”

Gina laughed. She had noted how many heads the twins had turned, and not just because they were identical. They certainly did not need an unknown newcomer to gain attention.

The twins flanked her as they headed toward the fireplace at one end of the ballroom, nodding at acquaintances as they passed. Their progress was slow and perfectly timed to coincide with the end of the reel.

Gina had been watching the dancers and when they stopped she turned her attention back to the group at the fireplace. Surprise coupled with a twist of her stomach shot through her. There stood a lovely woman of average height with glossy black hair and eyes nearly as dark. Her fair complexion deepened with the pink of a blush as she recognized Gina’s face. The woman from the tableau—and she was engaged to Mr. Metcalfe!

Hortense performed the introduction. “Miss Eugenia O’Rourke, I am pleased to present our dearest friend, Miss Christina Race. Miss Race, please meet Miss O’Rourke.”

Gina noted the tiny plea in those eyes. Clearly the woman did not want to acknowledge their previous acquaintance. How could they ever explain that away? She took a deep breath. “Miss Race, how nice to make your acquaintance. I pray you will not hold these two against me,” she said with a nod toward the twins.

The woman smiled and squeezed Gina’s hand in gratitude. “If you will do the same, Miss O’Rourke.”

Harriett arched one elegant eyebrow. “Come now. Our reputations are not quite that bad.”