The Bridegroom (7 page)

And there were matters of character to be uncovered.
Would Carlisle take advantage of an innocent?
She could only know for sure by giving him an opportunity to seduce her in surroundings where they would not be fortuitously interrupted by her sister.

“You do not seem to be enjoying the play,” the earl said.

Reggie started at the feel of his warm breath in her ear. “But of course I am,” she protested.

“You are not laughing,” Carlisle pointed out.

Reggie looked around and saw that the audience in the pit had broken into raucous laughter. She could hear Becky giggling like a schoolgirl behind her. “I was not … I mean …”

“Perhaps if you share your troubles, I may be of some help,” Carlisle said.

Did one dare ask the fox to guard the hen coop?
“No, my lord. I do not believe that would fadge.”

“If the play bores you, perhaps you would prefer to engage in conversation,” he said. “But not here.”

He turned to her sister and said, “Reggie has a bit of the headache. We will walk in the hall for a while, where it is less noisy, and hope that helps.”

When her sister started to gather her shawl, Carlisle
laid a hand on her shoulder and said, “I see you are enjoying the play, Lady Penrith. Pray continue to do so. You may trust me with your sister.”

To Reggie’s astonishment, Becky sat back in her chair and said, “Very well, my lord. I shall.”

She and Carlisle made as unobtrusive an exit as they could through the rear of the box into the hallway beyond, which was indeed more quiet. Carlisle surprised her by stopping while they were still within sight, and easy calling distance, of her sister.

She turned and smiled at him. “Thank you.”

“For rescuing you from your thoughts? I doubt I have done much but delay your distress. Will you not share the problem with me?”

Reggie took a deep breath and braced herself, as though she were preparing to dive into the icy pond at Blackthorne Abbey. “If you must know the truth, I was wondering how I might manage to attend a gaming hell.”

He laughed. “Surely you jest.”

“No, my lord—”

“Clay.”

“No, Clay, I am not jesting,” she said. “It is a matter of … of curiosity, you see.”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Carlisle replied.

Well, Reggie thought wryly, the earl certainly had not pounced on the opportunity to draw her into flaunting convention. To be caught out in such a place could mean the ruin of her, but how else was she to discover what she needed to know. She had not heard any gossip about
the earl’s gaming habits, and she did not know anyone who knew him well enough to ask about them.

Reggie was not about to give up. Perhaps a little coaxing would do the job. She smiled prettily up at him, though she forbore batting her lashes. That was a coquette’s trick. She only wanted to convince him, not seduce him. “Surely it could be arranged if I were in disguise,” she suggested.

Before the earl could answer, a drunken fop laid a hand on her shoulder.

One minute the hand was there, the next it was gone, along with the castaway young man. He had been lifted bodily by his neck cloth and removed some distance down the hall by the earl, who said in a voice sharp enough to pierce even a drunken sensibility, “Kindly watch your step.”

At the same time, Carlisle managed to bow and smile at Lady Hornby, the
ton
’s most notorious gossip, as she passed by.

Lady Hornby paused and lifted the lorgnette that hung from a ribbon around her neck to stare pointedly at the pair of them. “What are you doing out here with that chit, Carlisle? The play is inside.”

“I might ask the same of you,” Carlisle said, arching a black brow. “Are you in need of any assistance, Lady Hornby?”

Reggie watched in awe, as Carlisle not only deflected Lady Hornby’s question, but left her flustered at the attention he paid her. It was difficult to tell, beneath all the powder and rouge, but Reggie would have sworn the old bat blushed!

“Enjoy your evening, Carlisle,” Lady Hornby said. The ostrich feathers sprouting from her turban bobbed with each step she took, so she looked like that massive bird as she strolled regally down the hall toward the theater.

Reggie suddenly found the earl’s eyes turned back to her, and she knew exactly how Lady Hornby had felt. There was nothing she could do to stop the rush of blood to her cheeks. If he was a rogue, he was certainly a charming and protective one.

“The answer is yes,” he said.

Reggie barely managed to avoid blurting, “What is the question?” She merely smiled. Brilliantly. “When shall we go? How shall we manage it?”

“Leave everything to me. How does tomorrow sound?”

Reggie gulped. “So soon?”

“Do you have some other engagement tomorrow evening?”

“My sister and her husband are promised for dinner with the Covingtons, but I made my excuses.” The last time she had dined with the Covingtons, their nineteen-year-old son Harvey had cornered her in a dark hallway, sworn his undying love for her, and tried to prove it by forcing himself on her.

“I will pick you up at nine tomorrow night,” Carlisle said.

“What costume shall I wear?” Reggie asked, both elated and terrified at the prospect of stealing away with the earl.

“The Smuggler’s Den supplies masks at the door for
the disguise of their patrons,” Carlisle said. “Be ready when I call. I will manage everything.”

Reggie laid a hand on Carlisle’s sleeve. “Thank you, Clay. I know I can trust you to take the best care of me.”

He lifted her gloved hand, turned it over, and pressed a kiss to her palm. “You are precious to me in more ways than you can possibly imagine, my dear.”

“Oh.” She felt the heat of his breath again, this time on her flesh beneath the glove. She stood frozen, unable to move, unable to retrieve her hand or to offer him her lips as she had the undeniable urge to do. She could not ask for a more perfect suitor.

But he could not possibly be perfect. No man was perfect. She noticed a flaw in his perfection—and reached out to brush back the stray lock of dark hair that had fallen onto his forehead.

Reggie suddenly realized what she was doing and jerked her hand away. “Please forgive me,” she said. “I don’t know why I did that.”

He stared at her, his dark eyes burning with some strong, frightening emotion she could not name. “There is nothing to forgive,” he said at last. “Shall we return to the box?”

Reggie did not want the interlude to end, but she knew it was perilous to stay where she was. It was too private, and there was a tension between them now that had not been there before. “Of course,” she agreed.

She tried to enjoy the rest of Sheridan’s comedy, but her thoughts kept straying to her engagement with the earl on the morrow. The evening’s entertainment at a gaming hell would offer her the opportunity to evaluate
Carlisle on more than one count, but it was also risky because she did not have a plan yet for how to save herself if the earl’s behavior was not all it should be.

Reggie glanced at Carlisle and saw a man whose tailoring was impeccable, whose demeanor was entirely proper, but who reminded her of nothing so much as a caged jungle cat. “I am an idiot,” she muttered under her breath. “Completely out of my mind. A fool on a fool’s errand.”

But it wasn’t foolish, not really. She wanted a home and a husband and children. Until she had met Clay Bannister, she had not believed she would ever find a man she could respect and admire who also respected and admired her. That brief episode in the hall had been more than a little revealing.

Carlisle had dealt courteously with the importuning fop, but the fellow could not have mistaken his message. More impressive was the way he had dealt with Lady Hornby. And then there was that kiss on her hand. And the look in his eyes. For the first time in a very long time, Reggie had a hope that she might find … love.

Reggie had never allowed herself to dwell on the subject of love. At the same time, it had never been far from her mind since she had become old enough for her father to agree to a match. To be honest, she feared the emotion. Love exerted some magical power, created some powerful inner turmoil that allowed men and women to overlook the worst of faults in each other. Becky had allowed love to propel her into a match with Penrith, and look how badly that had turned out.

Reggie was quite certain she had never experienced
love, at least, not the sort that would allow her to overlook a fatal flaw in a man’s character. She glanced at Carlisle from the corner of her eye, looking for the defect she was certain she would find. In his face and form she could find none. But physical assets—however pleasing to the eye they might be—were not what really mattered in a man, as she well knew. It was what was inside that counted. And that did not show at first glance.

She was determined to know the truth of Carlisle’s character because she saw in him the sort of perfection a lover sees in her beloved. And Reggie knew how illusory that sort of perfection could be.

On the ride home in Carlisle’s carriage, Reggie was so engrossed in her thoughts, and thus so quiet, that Becky asked, “Are you all right, Reggie? Has your headache passed?”

“What? Oh, yes, I am very well.”

Becky turned to Carlisle and said, “It was kind of you to allow me to see the rest of the play while you walked with my sister.”

“The pleasure was entirely mine, Lady Penrith,” Carlisle replied. “Ah. We have arrived at Penrith House.”

He stepped down from the carriage and helped Becky out first, then reached for Reggie’s hand. Carlisle was everything that was proper. He waited at the door until Hardy, the butler, had let them in before he turned and headed back toward his carriage.

Reggie stood in the doorway, unable to take her eyes off of Carlisle. She had the strangest desire to run after him, to beg him to take her with him.

“Come inside, Reggie, and close the door,” Becky
said, taking her by the arm and tugging her inside. “You are staring at Lord Carlisle as though he were a hot cross bun and you a starving child.”

Reggie made a face. “Don’t be silly. It was nothing of the sort. Although I do confess I like the man.”

“
Like
is too weak a word for what I saw on your face. Be careful, Reggie.”

“I thought the earl very well behaved tonight,” Reggie said as she followed Becky upstairs.

“Oh yes, very well behaved. But I believe the earl to be capable of dissembling,” Becky said.

Reggie hurried up two stairs to get in front of Becky and stop her. “Do you think he was? Dissembling, I mean?”

“His manners were not so nice at Viscount Raleigh’s ball. Could he have changed so much in such a short time?”

Reggie sat down in the middle of the staircase and grabbed Becky’s hand to tug her down onto the step beside her. “A man may have manners and yet not employ them,” Reggie mused.

“I suppose so,” Becky said. “But you must ask yourself what caused such a striking change.”

“I suppose he wanted to impress me,” Reggie said.

“Why?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why would a man as rich, as powerful, as determinedly unattached as Lord Carlisle, want to impress you?” Becky asked.

Reggie flushed. “He said he wishes to court me.”

Becky frowned. “He wishes to court the daughter of the man who had him transported?”

“You are forgetting Papa has made amends.”

“The earl is rich enough to attract a diamond of the first water from the current Season’s crop of young misses. Why would he choose you, a female practically on the shelf?”

Reggie laughed. “Only you could insult me so thoroughly in the name of concern for my person. Perhaps he enjoys my company.”

“I only pray that you will not make the same mistake I did,” Becky said quietly.

Reggie put her arms around her twin and hugged her tight. “Oh, I will not. I promise I will not.” She opened her mouth to explain her plan to expose any character flaws which Carlisle might possess but closed it again without speaking. If she included Becky in her plot, she might cause more trouble between Penrith and her sister.

“I understand there was a letter from Papa today,” she said, subtly changing the subject.

Becky disentangled herself from Reggie’s embrace and rose to continue up the stairs. “Papa promises he will send Mick to bring us the news when the child is born.”

“I can hardly wait until Mick arrives,” Reggie said, following after her.

“I wish he were not coming,” Becky said vehemently. “I don’t know how I will bear it!”

Reggie caught her sister’s elbow and urged her down the hall. “Come with me.”

“Where—”

“Not another word,” Reggie said firmly. Once they were inside Reggie’s bedroom, she closed the door and turned to confront her sister. “Has Mick said anything, done anything to hurt you? I will pummel him into mincemeat. I will tear him limb from limb. I will—”

Becky giggled. “Oh, Reggie, you ridiculous creature. Mick has done nothing.”

“Nothing?” Reggie asked suspiciously, crossing to the foot of the canopied bed where Becky stood and looking closely into her sister’s eyes. “Then why don’t you want him here?”

Becky sighed and levered herself up onto the foot of the bed. “You will think I am silly.”

“I often think that,” Reggie teased.

“He will know,” Becky said.

“Know what?”

“That my marriage is … not entirely happy.”

Reggie did not argue with her sister. Mick had always been good at reading faces, something he had learned in the orphanage in Dublin, where divining what someone was thinking might help him avoid a blow or manage an extra portion of gruel. And Reggie had to admit, Becky’s face spoke volumes about the state of her marriage.

The slight puffiness in her lip had not lasted beyond the morning after Penrith had struck her, but the wounded look had not left her eyes. Mick could not fail to see it.

Reggie reached for her sister’s hand and twined their fingers together. “I will not say a word about … about what I saw. I promise.”

She felt Becky squeeze her hand. “Thank you, Reggie. I could not bear it if Mick were to learn the truth.”