Revealed (14 page)

“Phillippa—” Nora hissed, pulling at Phillippa’s sleeve, obviously stepping up her attempts to get her attention. Poor Bitsy nipped at Nora’s hand for unsettling his comfort.

“Bitsy, darling, be still. Nora, stop pulling; you’ll ruin the line of my cuff. Now what do you think of this deep blue color for the Ball? It looks sinister and luxurious, but is it sinister and luxurious
enough
?”

“No, Phillippa—Broughton! To your left!” Nora said in a rush of breath, her wide eyes glowing with the anticipation of encountering the man Phillippa had marked to conquer.

Phillippa coolly turned her head to where Nora indicated. Thirty yards up the street, strolling with ease of being and greater ease of living, was Broughton, surrounded by a small group of young men who all had humor, fashion, and wealth—and all obviously looked to Broughton as their leader. Phillippa and Nora watched as the group tipped their hats in greeting as they passed a group of tittering young nobodies, each girl staunchly held fast by their mothers. After they passed the girls, Broughton made a comment too low for Phillippa to hear, but the entire body of men burst out in laughter.

They were twenty yards away now, really nothing at all, and so Phillippa made her gaze direct and gave her slow, saucy smile, reserved for those occasions when meeting an interesting man on Bond Street. Broughton caught her smile and knew it was directed at him, as he raised an eyebrow in return.

“Oh, Phillippa,” Nora said breathlessly, “he’s headed this way!”

“Of course he is,” Phillippa replied. Although the group was proceeding at an annoyingly slow rate. “Totty, take Bitsy, please.”

“Does the Marquis not like dogs?” Nora asked, concerned.

“Hmph.” Totty replied, taking the fluff ball into her arms. “There ain’t a man alive who likes this dog.”

“Totty, shush. I have no notion as to Broughton’s opinion on dogs. I simply wish to spare Bitsy any censure if it’s negative.”

“I daresay the Marquis is walking very slowly,” Nora said, a frown crossing her brow. “Really, if he doesn’t get here before five minutes are out, you shall have to ignore him, so he’ll know he’s being punished.”

Fifteen yards now . . .

“Nora! How very cruel. You’re catching on well.” Phillippa smiled.

“Watch your back, ladies, looks as if we’re to be attacked from both sides.” Totty said, her eyes fixed in the opposite direction.

Phillippa risked a glance to their other side, and saw Mr. Marcus Worth strolling toward them, arm in arm with his sister-in-law, Lady Worth.

More accurately, Mr. Worth was being pulled down the street by a very determined Lady Worth, whose aim was directly for them.

“God save me,” Totty said, and gripped Bitsy tighter to herself, causing the poor pup to whimper. “That woman will talk about orphans and good deeds and
needlework.
I simply cannot take that much wholesomeness.”

“Now, Totty, be kind. Perhaps she has hidden vices that will make her far more likable.” Phillippa replied, her eyes unaccountably locked onto the form of Mr. Marcus Worth. She had not taken notice of him before, but ever since she had been pressed up against him in that sarcophagus—and wound around him in his brother’s library—she had to admit he was very well-formed. He was as strong as a boxer, certainly, but it was stretched out on his long frame, making him lean and—

“How dare she!” Nora exclaimed, drawing Phillippa’s attention back to her other side.

“You look away for three seconds,” Nora continued, “and that magpie sweeps in and tries to steal him away!”

For indeed, Lady Jane Cummings and a friend were now immersed within the group of young men, all of them smiles and laughs. She must have been lying in wait, Phillippa thought, in the shop the group had stopped in front of. Indeed, Phillippa saw a footman in Lady Jane’s livery loaded down with boxes emerge from said shop.

“Clever girl,” Phillippa said under her breath. Then, after a quick glance in the other direction, she leaned down to Nora.

“Isn’t that Thomas Hurston in Broughton’s group?”

“Why, yes!” Nora replied. “But oh, I’m supposed to be angry with him. He fetched me punch instead of champagne at last night’s fete. Can you imagine?”

“Oh, the horror,” Totty said with a shudder.

“See if you can bring him to you.”

“How?”

“Count to five,” Phillippa answered in a rush, glancing behind her to see Lady Worth and her companion bearing down on them, thirty yards away . . .

Nora obeyed instructions, and, catching Thomas Hurston’s gaze, held it for a count to five.

He started walking their way before she got to three.

“Marvelous. He’s coming over.”

“Good! Now go and meet him halfway.”

Twenty yards . . .

Nora’s brow puckered for a moment, then cleared. “Oh, I understand! You’ll join me, and then Broughton will be able to excuse himself from the group to fetch Thomas—and incidentally greet you.”

“Actually Nora, I’m going to speak to Mr. Worth for a moment.”

“Mr. Worth?” Nora exclaimed. “Why? Are you still peeved at Mrs. Hurston’s turban? Because I assure you, Thomas thinks it horrid, too—”

Ten yards . . . Lady Worth moved at a speed far more keen that Broughton did.

“Nora, please, Mr. Hurston’s almost halfway; go to him. You’ll seem to be forgiving and . . . just do it!”

Phillippa gave her friend a little shove and turned just in time to drop a curtsy and say, “Good afternoon, Lady Worth. Mr. Worth.”

If the pair was astonished by Phillippa’s quick and kind greeting (and her hasty removal of her friend) they made no comment on it and bowed and curtsied in return.

“Mrs. Benning,” Lady Worth gushed immediately, “I cannot tell you how delightful it is to run into you today. I have just come from the orphanage, and you will not believe what has occurred!”

“Indeed? I hope nothing tragic. Oh, I trust you remember Mrs. Tottendale?”

Lady Worth nodded quickly to Totty, who returned it. Mr. Worth silently reached over and tickled Bitsy’s chin in greeting. Bitsy leaned into his hand as Lady Worth continued.

“Yes, of course, Mrs. Tottendale. I’m sorry, I’m in such a state. And it’s nothing tragic! Far from it! Mrs. Benning, I don’t know what you did or how you did it, but my orphanage has received more donations in just the past week than it has since its inception!”

“I assure you, Lady Worth, I did very little.” Phillippa said, gently removing that good woman’s hand from her sleeve and just as gently transferring it to Totty’s free arm. “Mrs. Tottendale was just telling me about how much she admired your good works, weren’t you, Totty?” Totty looked stricken for a moment, but seeing Phillippa’s pointed look, forced herself to smile and nod. “Might I entreat you to tell her how you began your philanthropic endeavors?”

“Er, yes,” Totty added through her strained grin. “I . . . can’t imagine why—I mean
how
you did it.”

Lady Worth latched on to Totty with a mighty grip and began to stroll with her and Bitsy down the street. One last glaring look over her shoulder, and Totty found herself well ensconced in a conversation far more wholesome than she was accustomed to, and Phillippa found herself alone with Mr. Worth.

And for the first time in quite a while, she found herself without comment.

“You sell yourself very short, you know,” Marcus said, cocking an easy eyebrow.

“Do I? How so?” Phillippa replied, doing her best to not fidget. Really, what was wrong with her?

“Mariah claims you anonymously donated upwards of twenty thousand pounds. That’s enough to keep the orphans in coal, shoes, and schoolbooks for the next decade. And yet you claim to do very little.”

Phillippa brushed this off with a wave of her hand. “Mr. Worth, I assure you, my anonymous donation was no more than a thousand pounds.”

“A thousand?” he questioned. “But what of the other nineteen?”

“I fear my man of business was so moved by my generosity that he may have mentioned my anonymous donation to a friend or two. It must have gotten around.” She gave a little shrug. “This sometimes happens.”

“Ah. And people discover you’ve done something and simply . . . follow your lead?”

“More often than not,” she replied honestly. “Besides, a thousand pounds is nothing; so I shan’t purchase that diamond lavaliere I’ve had my eye on until next week. I’m certain Jackie, Jeffy, Michael, Rosie, Malcolm, Roger, Frederick, Lisel, oh, dear little Benjamin will make better use of the funds.”

Mr. Worth looked at her queerly for a moment but then shook his head. “Mrs. Benning, you plot your mischief like a field commander, but do good so casually, almost accidentally . . .” He let his voice drop off.

She blushed awkwardly, surprising herself. “Mr. Worth, it was nothing. And your sister-in-law’s intentions for the money are far more noble than mine would be, I assure you.”

“Yes,” he replied, looking askance. “Mariah is eager for improving the world. The world simply has to catch up with her.” He cleared his throat, obviously gathering his courage. Then he came out with it. “Mrs. Benning, the last time we met was . . . unconventional, to say the least.”

Phillippa was horrified to feel her face warm again, and it was turning not a lovely blush but what she was certain was an unbecoming red.

But Marcus, seeing her reaction, smiled self-consciously and looked at his shoes. “Uh, yes,” he said, scuffing his toe on the ground, “my actions, one action in particular, was highly out of character for me.”

“The action you are referring to being kissing me,” Phillippa said frankly. If he thought to make her blush, well, let us see if she could do the same.

But she was to be disappointed, because, instead of blushing an unnatural color as she expected, Marcus Worth’s gaze shot up and met hers, a challenging glimmer in his eyes.

“Yes. My kissing you. And your kissing me.”

“I did
not
—”

“But never fear, Mrs. Benning, now that I’m aware of your astonishing right hook, I can assure you that such an occurrence will not be repeated.”

“We . . . we were not boxing, sir. I have no right hook. I did not hit you!”

“I beg to differ. I recall quite well the imprint of your palm on my cheek.” Marcus replied, no longer attempting to suppress his smile.

“Aha!” Phillippa exclaimed, taking a step closer to him. “Impression of my
palm
! I struck you with an open hand, which is the definition of a slap, not a hit.”

“But most certainly a strike. Really, I had no idea that young ladies of fashion were so physically abusive. Do you take lessons at Jackson’s Saloon as well?”

“Mr. Worth, you are the only man of my acquaintance who has ever inspired me to violence.” Phillippa narrowed her eyes, stepping up to him, toe to toe. She stared into his eyes, and he stared right back.

And suddenly they both burst out laughing.

“All right, you win,” she said with a smile. “This time.”

“Forgive me, Mrs. Benning,” Marcus said, once his chuckles had subsided. “I couldn’t resist teasing you a bit, as you seemed so ready to goad me.”

“Yes, well . . .” Phillippa’s voice faded, her gaze lost in his face. He wore his spectacles again, but as unfashionable as they were, they seemed to suit him. Lent him gravity and hid his obviously cheeky sense of humor.

“Mrs. Benning?”

“Hm?” she replied, coming out of her reverie.

“You were staring. Do I have a smudge on my face?”

“What?” She blushed, startled. “You . . . your sideburns are uneven, do you realize?”

He self-consciously brought his hand to his right sideburn, then the left, feeling the difference of where they skimmed his jaw.

“How do you go through life with your sideburns uneven? I cannot countenance it. Your valet should be sacked.”

“I haven’t a valet.”

“No valet?” she burst out in disbelief. “My goodness, how do you manage to tie your neckcloth? Or press your clothes? It boggles the mind!”

“Mrs. Benning,” Marcus replied on a grin, “I, amazingly, can tie my own neckcloth. And as for pressing my clothes, you would be surprised at what one learns in the army. But never fear, I will do my best to be groomed appropriately during our association.”

Phillippa’s eyebrow shot up. “Our association?”

Marcus glanced over his shoulder and then over Phillippa’s. She followed his gaze. Lady Worth spoke at a rapid pace, gesticulating to a stricken and frozen Totty, as they strolled up the street, and to her other side, Nora was leaning most coyly on Thomas Hurston’s arm. Broughton had not yet left his group, but he kept shooting looks her way.

“I have been reviewing the bargain that you laid before me at our last meeting,” Marcus said, pitching his voice low and moving a step closer, keeping his eyes on passersby on crowded Bond Street. “Circumstances have changed and—can you really get me invited to all the events on my list?”

“Those and every other ball, card party, and musicale this Season,” Phillippa replied. She saw a black look cross his features, and suddenly a cold line of dread shot down her spine. “Something happened, didn’t it? You would not have come within ten feet of me otherwise.”

Marcus looked at her, shocked. “Mrs. Benning, yes, something happened. I would not have come within ten feet of your proposal otherwise. You are a different matter entirely.”

Her frame, unknowingly tense, relaxed.

He continued. “The first event, the Whitford Banquet, is tomorrow, I believe.”

“Plenty of time to wrangle you an invitation,” she shrugged but then regarded him speculatively. “You’ll agree to be the guest of honor at the Benning Ball?”

“Against every common sense I have, yes. But on a few conditions.”

“Conditions? Come, come now, Mr. Worth, surely you can trust my discretion. After all, I could have revealed you as the”—she pitched the next words at a whisper—“
Blue Raven
at any time to anyone since I first suspected you.”