The Rake and the Wallflower (27 page)

If Turner presented the evidence, it would have a greater impact than if Nick did. London’s chief gossip would soon spread the news.

Gray doubted that Turner could discover Lord Roger’s guilt by himself. If Constance had mentioned the man, Turner would already have considered him a suspect.

Bidding Turner farewell, he dropped Nick at White’s, then headed for Albany to inspect the repairs. He’d had no trouble selling his rooms — the waiting list for Albany was always long. And Wendell had already left for the country. Jaynes could start moving his things into Berkley Square, starting with the hoopoe. It needed peace.

Trilling softly, he examined its wing and gently removed the splint. The hoopoe raised its crest, stretching the wing slowly at first, then flapping faster.

“Hoop-hoop-hoop,” it cried in obvious pleasure.

“A few more days, fellow,” promised Gray. “As soon as your strength returns.” But not until Mary met the bird. She would enjoy it.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Mary gasped at Lady Wharburton’s ballroom. Even tales of previous masquerades had not prepared her for such magnificent extravagance.

Lady Wharburton had transformed the room into a fantasy forest glade, with trees stretching lantern-bedecked boughs above the dancers, banks of flowers and shrubbery in the corners, and a brook babbling across a grassy alcove.

Mary was dressed as a Tudor lady, her wine-colored gown fitted with trailing sleeves trimmed in sable. She had chosen the costume before meeting Gray, and as recently as dinner it had seemed silly. But a single glance spotted half a dozen similarly clad ladies. In fact, most of the guests wore elaborate costumes. Cleopatra strolled past on the arm of a highwayman. Socrates bantered with Charles II. A monk flirted with a shepherdess. Others were anonymous in dominos that disguised all but height and breadth. Everyone wore elaborate masks, making recognition difficult.

Laura had been suspiciously demure this evening, chatting lightly with Blake and deferring to Mary. Yet her eyes glowed with suppressed excitement. Catherine attributed it to the anonymity that promised a pleasant evening after the hostility she’d faced at the theater. But Mary didn’t believe it. She’d seen that look before, and it always spelled trouble. She had already warned Blake.

Gray was waiting at the foot of the stairs. He bowed formally, then raised her hand to his lips. She trembled. He was dressed as an Elizabethan courtier, in a green velvet doublet with slashed sleeves, slashed gold and green trunk-hose, and thin stockings that displayed his well-formed legs even better than breeches or pantaloons.

“How elegant you are, my dear,” he murmured, sweeping her into a quadrille.

“It is you who are elegant,” she managed. He seemed different tonight, almost bursting with energy, as if he longed to romp through this forest like an ebullient child. One glance from those silvery eyes left her burning.

“I spoke with Turner this morning,” he reported as they completed the quadrille’s jetté figure. “He agrees that I had nothing to do with his sister’s fate.”

“Thank heaven.” And that explained his excitement. She glided through a figure with a dashing pirate, then returned to Gray’s side. “Will he tell society?”

“He already has. As satisfaction for his insults — one of which was attacking me disguised as a footpad — I demanded that he confess to Lady Beatrice. He must have done so, for Lady Wharburton welcomed me with unusual warmth, and Lady Horseley actually apologized. The tale is on half the lips in this ballroom — none of whom realized I was in their audience. A lesson if you are ever tempted to discuss secrets at a masquerade.”

“Gossip can be an asset as well as a curse,” she agreed, brushing against him on a pass. The contact burned through her gown. “Has Blake spoken with you today?” she added.

“Not since two. Is there a new problem?”

“There might be. Laura is excited, as though she knows some delicious secret. I told Blake to watch her carefully, but that will be difficult in this crowd.”

“Very. Do you fear something specific?”

“She knew about tonight before she sent that missive last evening. What if she arranged an assignation here?”

“Logical, for it would be easier to slip past Rockhurst’s guard here than at the house. She must know you told him where she’d been. My suggestion might play out after all.” He shook his head. “Willful and headstrong do not begin to describe her. It would be far too easy for Lord Roger to slip through the garden. Or he could try the front door. The porter inspects only half the cards.”

She nodded. “You will help watch her, I presume.”

“Of course.” The pattern separated them. When he returned, he smiled and squeezed her hand. “I can deny you nothing, my sweet.”

“Do not tease. I will endeavor to make you a good wife, but I know this was not your choice.”

“I wish you would cease denigrating yourself,” he grumbled. “I am content. Devil take it, I am more than content. If this betrothal vanished in a puff of smoke, I would take immediate steps to reinstate it.”

“You would?” She missed the next cue, throwing the set into disarray.

“Must be Miss Huntsley,” growled a domino-clad gentleman, naming a lady noted for her clumsiness.

“Yes, I would,” murmured Gray, picking up the pattern. “I had considered courting you even before you saved me from Laura’s scheming, but my reputation made it difficult. So no more groveling.”

Tears threatened, though Mary wasn’t sure why. They separated once again.

“I will collect you at eleven tomorrow morning,” said Gray when she returned to his side. “We will inspect the house so you can decide how you wish to decorate. It is on the west side of the square, three from the corner.”

“I know. I’ve often admired the stonework around the door. And the ironwork on the upper windows is delightful. You have marvelous taste.”

She floated through the rest of the set, hardly believing her luck. He claimed he would have courted her anyway. Could she believe him?

After the quadrille, she danced a reel with Gray’s friend Nick and a country dance with Lord Justin. Neither set was conducive to conversation, but both men welcomed her as their friend’s betrothed.

Several sets later, Mary was again on Gray’s arm, admiring the brook — or pretending to. It was nearly midnight, and the supper dance was starting. If Laura had arranged an assignation, now was the time she would slip away. So they watched her in a mirror. Laura had turned down three partners for this set — another sign that mischief was afoot. At least the white gown of her Helen of Troy costume made her easy to spot in this colorful throng.

Laura glanced around the ballroom, smiled, and slipped onto the terrace.

“Stay here,” ordered Gray.

“No. If you catch her with Lord Roger, she will need me to lend her countenance.”

Gray sighed. “Come along, then. But be quiet and do exactly as I say. We can’t draw attention.”

Blake was also headed for the door. As was Nick. But could they protect Laura from harm?

“Relax,” whispered Gray as they passed the fountain in the formal portion of the garden. “If Lord Roger is here, there will be two footmen nearby. Rockhurst assigned them to follow him in case Laura slipped out alone.”

“I must thank him. He can have no love for her after all the trouble she has caused.”

“That matters not. As long as she is under his care, he is honor-bound to protect her. Quiet, now. The folly is around the next corner. It is the most likely rendezvous.” He draped an arm over her shoulders, drawing her close as he left the path. They slipped along a hedge until a break offered a view of the folly.

It was a small Roman temple, open on three sides. Clipped shrubbery hugged the base. A statue of Diana stood on a short plinth against the back wall.

But darkness obscured most of the details. No torches burned so far from the house. Laura’s white gown shimmered like a ghost in the gathering fog.

Mary shivered.

Mask dangling from one hand, Laura traced the huntress’s bow. Most observers would assume that she sought a moment alone, but to Mary, Laura seethed with disappointment and temper. Whomever she had expected to meet was not here.

Mary relaxed against Gray’s side, absorbing his heat. Perhaps there was no cause for alarm. Just because Laura had demanded a tryst did not mean Lord Roger would comply. This would not be the first time Laura had suffered a rebuff.

Gray’s lips brushed her ear, distracting her. Trusting Blake to watch Laura, she slid her arm around Gray’s neck, pulling his lips to hers. It was the first time she had dared take the initiative, and his response left her breathless. Passion exploded so fast she had no time to think.

Fire flashed through her body. He swallowed her moan, his tongue twining with hers in a dance that made her want to rip away his doublet. She crowded closer, crushing his trunk-hose between them. His hands raced over her back and hips, pulling her close and closer yet.

He wanted her.

She moved against him, crushing her breasts against that masculine chest, wantonly seeking something she could not define. This time it was he who moaned and she who swallowed the sound.

Longing settled in the pit of her stomach.

“Mary,” he groaned, trailing kisses across her face. “How the devil am I to wait until Tuesday when I burn for you?”

“I don’t know. I wish—”

“You came, my lord.” Laura’s voice was gay with relief.

Gray froze.

Mary whipped her head around, irritated at the interruption. Yet her heart also broke for Laura. There would be tears before this night was through. “Is that him?” she whispered.

Gray nodded.

“Helen of Troy,” said Lord Roger, vaulting the steps to raise Laura’s hand to his lips. He wore no gloves and no costume. “The perfect choice. You put the original to shame. Had you been present at the judging, there would have been no war, for none could choose another above you.”

“You exaggerate,” she said with a light laugh.

“Never, my love. Your beauty smites men blind. Such a face. Such a form. And so natural.” The Grecian gown draped from one shoulder, skimming a body unconfined by a corset. Catherine had been appalled when she found out, but it had been too late. Laura’s cloak had hidden the fact until they arrived at the masquerade.

Laura simpered, her mask fluttering as it dropped to the floor.

Lord Roger expertly flicked open buttons on her glove. “My life will be rendered sterile unless I touch your alabaster skin, my beauty. A finger. A palm. Or perhaps a wrist.” The glove followed the mask.

“Flatterer,” she charged, rapping him lightly with her fan. But she let him strip her of the fan and the second glove, then stroke her palms. “I vow you are quite forward.”

“Oh, quite, my dear.” He drew her arms up and out, feasting his eyes on the bosom molded by her thin gown — a bosom already firm from cold and excitement. His voice sank into seduction. “But you enjoy my boldness, do you not? It satisfies your need for adventure.” His stroking thumbs smoothed her wrists. “For excitement.” He brought one hand to his mouth. “For love.” His lips sucked a finger inside.

Laura sighed.

His mouth trailed up her arm, the tongue laving the veins at her wrist and the sensitive skin inside the elbow. “So soft,” he murmured. “So delightfully lovely. But I knew we would suit from the moment I saw you. I appeal to your nature, my beautiful Helen of Troy, as you appeal to mine. Surely you feel it, too, this connection that draws us together.”

Mary tightened her grip on Gray’s hand. She could see why Lord Roger seduced so easily. He mesmerized his victims. But beneath that soothing voice was a man far more evil than Mr. Griffin.

“So what is my nature, my dear sir?” Laura asked, breathless as she swayed closer. Her tongue traced her lips.

“You are a seeker, my dear.” His voice thickened. “Of excitement. Of challenge. Of passion.” He drew her free hand to his cheek.

“I found excitement in your library.” She traced his brow. “Tell me what happened last evening. I hated missing the meeting.”

“It was flat without you.”

“And the spirit?”

“Nearly gone. Only the faintest wisp appeared. I’ve no doubt the second shock did the job. Which is why I was free to join you tonight.”

Laura shivered as he nibbled her shoulder. “I wish I could have seen it, but Blake insisted that we attend the theater. He is so very dull.”

“We will not waste these moments on regret, my love. They are short enough already, for you will soon be missed. You would not wish to be discovered out here in the fog.” His finger traced her neckline from shoulder to bosom. “I do adore Greek costume. So practical and free.” His hand cupped a breast.

She gasped, swaying closer. “So you will not host the society again?” But the question turned breathless as her fingers lost themselves in his hair. She pressed against him.

“Ah, my beauty. I knew it would be like this from the moment you fell so gracefully into my arms. You wish to learn. And I have much to teach.” He settled his mouth on hers, backing her against the statue.

“We must stop him,” whispered Mary. “Can’t you hear that undertone in his voice? He means to force her.”

“Of course he does, but she does not yet understand. She thinks they merely play.”

Gray’s husky voice revealed that he was as affected as she by the scene they were watching. She felt guilty for leaving Laura in danger, even for a moment. Yet she wished she and Gray were alone, free to act on the breathless desire stirring in her heart.

Gray tensed, stilling the hand that had been stroking her side. “He will abandon seduction very soon. She is trapped, and he is not known for patience. Listen. In his lust, he already forgets to play the suitor.” His hand rubbed the side of her breast.

“Then we must pay attention,” she murmured, covering his hand so she could think.

“Ah, my dear.” Lord Roger’s voice roughened as a twist on her gown freed a breast. “I’ve not had so lovely a morsel in many a day. Sweet. Tender. And mine.” His teeth closed over it.

“My lord!” Laura tried to draw back.