The Fortune Hunter (9 page)

“He is your brother. Lord Windham should have sought his pardon as well as yours for what has happened.”

“Nonsense!” She reached for the pink hatbox and lifted the top to remove the beautiful hat.

Frye glanced over Nerissa's shoulder and gasped, “Where did you get that?”

“It was a gift. A get-well gift,” she added when Nerissa heard her abigail gasp in horror. “Actually, Lord Windham purchased it to replace the one ruined in the accident.”

As she cautiously set the hat on her hair, she noticed again how the sides dipped down from the brim to conceal her upper cheeks. While Frye rearranged the ribbons under her chin—for the abigail always had to fiddle with Nerissa's clothes in some way—Nerissa smiled. The silk ribbons around the brim ended with a profusion of bows at the square crown. They would steal anyone's attention from the shadowed contusions on her face.

The rattle of carriage wheels slowing to a stop in front of the house urged her to open the dark blue curtains and peek out. Again Frye chastised her, but Nerissa just laughed lightly. This was the first time she had been invited to a gathering in Bath without being considered an appendage of the Ehrlich family. She would not let her aching arm steal her excitement.

When the housekeeper came to announce that the gentlemen were arriving, Mrs. Carroll's broad smile added to the flutter in Nerissa's center, but she remembered to be cautious as she walked down the stairs with Frye following close behind.

“Mr. Pilcher is in his book room, of course,” Mrs. Carroll said in answer to Nerissa's question. “If you wish me to ask Hadfield to get him—I own to not wishing to interrupt Mr. Pilcher myself when he left such specific instructions about not being bothered—I can—”

“No, no,” Nerissa said hastily. “If Cole asks where I am, please inform him. I should be home early. I understand this is an informal gathering.”

“Of course.” The housekeeper looked relieved.

As they reached the foyer, a knock sounded on the door. Mrs. Carroll hurried to pull it open, grumbling about the butler who never seemed about his post. Agreeing with her mutely, Nerissa promised herself to do something about the matter … tomorrow.

The least bit of irritation at Hadfield oozed away into silence when Lord Windham entered the wreath of candlelight from the brass light in the middle of the foyer ceiling. The glow gave an auburn glow to his dark hair and brightened the white of his immaculate cravat and breeches. As he reached for her hand and bowed over it politely, she noticed how the navy velvet of his coat was decorated with buttons as bright as his gold vest. His shoes shone with what must have been hours of attention.

“Good evening, my lord,” Nerissa said softly, for the quiver in her center had become a tempest of some sensation that was halfway between pleasure and uneasy anticipation.

When he released her hand, she wished she could think of an excuse to offer it to him again. His gentle grip had sent warm rivers of delight up her arm.

Lord Windham stepped aside and smiled. For the first time, she noticed his brother had entered the house as well. She greeted Mr. Windham warmly.

“Were
you
waiting for us, Miss Dufresne?” asked Lord Windham. “This is a rare pleasure.”

“If you wish me to keep you waiting—as apparently you see as the obligation of your acquaintances—you need only to sit and cool your heels by the hearth.”

Lord Windham laughed, but Frye frowned at the unseemly words. Nerissa clamped her lips closed. Even her mishap, which had left her bruised and aching, did not give her the excuse of speaking before she thought. She was about to apologize, but her gaze was swallowed by the unexplored depths of Lord Windham's grey eyes. Every thought … reasonable or otherwise … became jumbled.

“Miss Dufresne,” the viscount said with another rumble of laughter, “you are refreshing at the end of this long summer. Don't you think so, Philip?”

The younger man's mouth was twisted, and she knew he was struggling not to embarrass himself with a laugh. A touch of it escaped as he said, “I have said that since the first.”

“Then, as we all are in agreement—a most uncommon circumstance, I suspect—shall we be on our way?” The viscount accepted Nerissa's cape from Mrs. Carroll and settled it on her shoulders, taking care not to jostle her left arm. “May I say also that I am pleased you have chosen to wear this bonnet?”

She let him draw her fingers into his arm and was suffused anew with pleasure. To cover her disquiet with the sensations, she said to Mrs. Carroll, who was standing by the door, “Please ask Cole not to wait up for me. I know he prefers to seek his bed early.”

“Yes, Miss Dufresne,” she answered dutifully, but Nerissa noted the door did not close immediately as they walked down the steps to the street with Frye in tow. She guessed Mrs. Carroll was enjoying the opportunity to be the first beneath the stairs to have a bit of gossip about Miss Dufresne's life, which had been decidedly boring, up until the past few days.

Only when they were comfortable in the crested carriage—with Frye and Nerissa facing the two men, who politely rode backwards—did Lord Windham say, “I assume Cole is your brother, Miss Dufresne.”

“Yes,” Nerissa said as she ran her fingers clandestinely along the royal-blue velvet of the carriage's thick seats. Thinking of the uncomfortable cart she had ridden in during the trip from Hill's End, she tried to imagine having this luxury about her all the time. It was impossible. “I came to Bath to manage my brother's household upon the death of our parents.”

“Your brother has a reputation for being a recluse.”

“He has immersed himself in a project that is very dear to his heart. I respect him for his diligence.” She was aware of Frye gauging every word she spoke. No doubt from listening to the same rumors Nerissa had heard, the abigail was not pleased with this evening's plans. After the many times Frye had lambasted her for choosing to sit home instead of taking part in the whirl of Bath's society, Nerissa was astonished at her abigail's disapproval of the viscount and his brother.

Mr. Windham interjected, “May I say, Miss Dufresne, that your color looks much better this evening than even this afternoon? I trust you are feeling more hale.”

“As your brother intimated to me today, if purple is a shade signalling high health,” she said more sharply than she had intended, for Frye's odd silence was vexing, “then I have it in abundance.”

The young man flushed until his brother slapped him companionably on the arm and urged, “Philip, she is funning you. You must learn to tell the difference between Miss Dufresne's jests and the piercing comments that are meant to wound. She seems to favor you only with the former.”

“And you, my lord?” she dared to ask.

“I prefer an adder's-tongue to one who would grease my boots with false compliments. Because of that, Miss Dufresne, I suspect you and I shall become good friends.”

“I trust so as well.”

“Then, yet again, we are in agreement.”

Although Lord Windham had told Nerissa the gathering would be a small one, more than forty people crowded the elegant parlor as he escorted her to meet their host. Kirby Rowland was as perfectly groomed as his house, although he was a herring-gutted man, standing a half a head even above Lord Windham. Each movement of his gangly limbs sugggested a masterless marionette. As he adjusted his spectacles on his nose, the gold frames glistened in the lights from the lamps along the friezed wall.

“How kind of you to join us, Miss Dufresne!” he gushed, dipping his balding head over her hand. His bright eyes twinkled merrily behind the lenses. “I believe we met at a
soirée
at Mrs. Ehrlich's house several months ago.”

“That is possible,” Nerissa answered, then offered an apologetic smile. “I fear I was so nervous that evening I do not recall a single name or face.”

“You must feel at ease here. That is the rule of the house. Do find her something to drink, Windham, and introduce her about. I hear Seely coming, and that prattle-bag will soon have my ears ringing.”

Lord Windham chuckled under his breath as he led Nerissa toward a table where glasses of wine upon a gold damask cloth awaited the guests. His laugh faded into silence when he looked past her.

Curious what had changed his visage so abruptly, Nerissa turned to see Mr. Windham rushing toward them. The redhead's face was flushed with excitement.

“Hamilton, I was just speaking with Oakley. He heard from a friend, who has an acquaintance highly placed in the War Office, that the casualties at Albuera on the Peninsula were higher than we have been led to believe.”

“I am sure the figures have been exaggerated,” Lord Windham answered quietly.

“I must ask Rowland to excuse me. I trust you will as well, Miss Dufresne,” he added as an afterthought.

Mr. Windham gave her no time to answer before he scurried away like a fox seeking its hole in the hedge. With a quick apology, Lord Windham followed, leaving Nerissa to stand in the middle of the room of strangers and wonder what was amiss.

Nerissa had scant chance to concern herself with the problems of the Windhams, for a plump man, who introduced himself as Sir Delwyn Seely, quickly included her in a conversation in which he played the sole part. She was required to do no more than smile and nod at the appropriate places. As a half hour, then another passed, she began to fume at Lord Windham who had invited her to this
soirée
, then abandoned her to this man who buffeted her ears with nothing-sayings about places and people she did not know.

Just when she was about to ask the baronet to find a carriage to take her and Frye back to Laura Place, Lord Windham reappeared. He was smiling, but tension made his expression brittle. Instead of an apology, he offered her a glass of ratafia. Curiosity taunted her, but she said nothing as he greeted the pudgy man.

“I am astounded,” Sir Delwyn said, unable to let a moment pass in silence, “that Miss Dufresne, who has been treated so horribly by you, Windham, would agree to accompany you here this evening.”

“I own that my brain is all jumbled from the accident,” Nerissa retorted with a smile as detached as Lord Windham's.

Sir Delwyn laughed, his belly bouncing like a child's ball. “Well said, Miss Dufresne. Your brain may have been jounced, but not your wits. You will need them when you play with us this evening. Why don't you partner with Windham tonight, Miss Dufresne? You are his guest, and you should be witness to his downfall from the good fortune he has been enjoying recently.”

“That is unwise of you, Seely,” returned the viscount. “I daresay we shall pluck you and Rowland clean of every copper you have.”

“Or we shall win the lot.” He chuckled again. “We play only for pony, Miss Dufresne, so you need not worry that three gentlemen will take advantage of your gentler ways.”

“For pony?” Nerissa gasped, discovering that these men truly did play for more than the halfpence she and her mother had wagered on sunny winter afternoons.

“Nothing more than fifty pounds, Miss Dufresne.”

Her face must have drained of color, for the rotund man harrumphed and asked them to excuse him.

Nerissa turned to Lord Windham. “My lord, although you did mention this
fête
would include playing cards, you failed to mention certain aspects of your plans this evening to me.”

“I assumed you play whist. Was I mistaken?”

“I know the game, of course, but do you mean to suggest that you wish me to join you gentlemen at your table?”

He smiled. “Philip and I had plans to play with our host and the good baronet this evening. However, Philip has seen fit to leave to tend to …” His smile wavered, then returned even cooler than before. “… to a private matter. I had hoped you might consider taking his place, although I would as lief have asked you instead of having Seely put it to you as a
fait accompli
. If you prefer not to play, or feel that your skills are not appropriate for our table, you need only say that you are not interested.”

Nerissa hesitated. Not only did her head ache from the baronet's bibble-babble, but a pain had settled in her shoulder where the scarf cut into it. Her injuries were the perfect excuse to leave early and return to the quiet of the house on Laura Place.

The
too quiet
house, where her brother would be entombed in his book room, and she would have to listen to Hadfield's cruel comments. She had hoped for a night away from that sedentary life, and she had found it tonight. Letting the evening end before it must would be silly.

When she did not answer, Lord Windham took her hand and led her to a table. He drew out a chair. “Do join us. I need a partner, and, if you wish, I shall stake you a few pounds to begin. Then if fortune smiles on us, and we are successful, you may pay me back at the end of the evening.”

“And if I lose?”

“If you lose, it is because I, too, have failed to play well. Don't worry. I do not intend to lose.”

Nerissa smiled as she sat and watched him take the chair opposite her. “You are quite cocksure, my lord.”

“I have found that luck is mostly skill.” His smile became wicked as their host and Seely hurried to the table. When they had greeted Nerissa, he continued, “You will not call a revoke against Miss Dufresne for not shuffling tonight. As you can see, that is quite the impossibility for her tonight.”

“Do you feel well enough to play?” asked Mr. Rowland.

As she answered, she felt Lord Windham's gaze on her. “This bruised wrist may offer me the very excuse for any other bad luck that might befall me.”

Nerissa was given no more sympathy as the evening progressed rapidly to the rhythm of cards being shuffled and dealt and played and shuffled again. She ignored the growing discomfort of her arm as she tried to balance her cards in her right hand. Concentrating on bidding and which suit was trump, she did not realize how much time had passed until Sir Delwyn tossed his cards into the middle of the table.