The Rake and the Wallflower (25 page)

She nodded. “The group is probably harmless. Its demonstrations attract young men looking for mystery and excitement. Garbled reports reached some of their sisters — which is where Laura heard of it. Miss Pepperidge and Miss Connors were giggling about them one day. Their leader calls himself Dr. Sparks. He has an electricity machine and makes a great show discharging Leyden jars and such.”

“That does not sound like something Laura would find interesting.” Blake frowned. “In fact, I cannot imagine her enjoying such things.”

“Not in the usual way, but Dr. Sparks’s partner is a spiritualist who calls herself Lady Spectre. Their current business is exorcising ghosts. That might well have caught her fancy.”

“Good God,” said Gray in disgust.

“She said nothing about leaving the house last evening.”

“The meeting was across the square. She took Frannie and one of the footmen to maintain propriety.”

“Then what is the problem?”

“The house’s owner. She was bursting with excitement when I returned from Almack’s. Now that Gray is out of reach, she has formed a new infatuation for Lord Roger Duncan.”

“Damnation,” muttered Gray.

“It will go no further,” vowed Blake, rising.

“Wait,” begged Mary. “Think before you approach her. She is beyond fey this time. In her present humor, she will do the opposite of what you demand.”

Blake slumped. “Again?”

Mary nodded.

“What?” asked Gray softly.

“Laura can be willful to a fault,” Mary replied. “In certain humors, she reacts very badly to suggestion.”

Blake sighed. “Yet I cannot let her see him. Merely speaking with him could ruin any chance society might welcome her back.”

“He would not stop with speech,” pointed out Gray. “Mary discovered that he seduced Miss Turner three years ago. I’ve a runner investigating his activities, and even the preliminary report makes horrific reading. Not only is he willing to ruin innocents, he actually enjoys it. In his twisted way, he sees it as retaliation against the society that rejected him.”

Blake swore. “I have to stop her.”

“Agreed. But how?” asked Mary. “This is her worst attachment yet. I asked Lady Beatrice about him last night. She can talk for hours about the man, all of it bad. But from her description, I fear he is bored.”

“Bored?” Gray stared at her.

“Think about it. He has been ostracized by his own class — not censured, as you were, but completely cut off, even from the clubs. Only two other scoundrels will even speak to him. Yet his birth prevents the lower classes from accepting him.” She leaned closer to his side. “He has no conscience, and breaking society’s rules does him no harm. So when Laura throws herself at him, he won’t refuse. And she will do just that, for she finds his aura of danger exciting. Unfortunately, while he knows exactly what he is doing, Laura does not. She believes that he is a powerful member of society, eschewing Marriage Mart events because he is engaged in more important matters and moves in higher circles.”

“My God! Has she lost her mind?” demanded Blake.

“Sometimes I think so,” admitted Mary.

“At least we can disprove that notion,” said Gray.

“Not easily.” Mary pinched her throbbing temples. “Laura never listens when in the throes of fantasy. If she decided the sky was green, she would ignore evidence to the contrary. She has already spent an evening in his house. What is to keep her from returning — and not in the company of her maid? If you post a guard, Lord Roger would relish the challenge. As would Laura.”

“Are you suggesting that she learn this lesson the hard way?” Blake demanded incredulously. “I cannot allow it. She is in my charge. By the time she admits the truth, her virtue would be gone.”

“Not if you control the circumstances,” said Gray slowly. “Let him start his seduction, but keep men close at hand to step in before it progresses too far.”

“Impossible,” snapped Blake.

“Is it? Suppose they arranged a clandestine meeting during Lady Wharburton’s masquerade tomorrow. When she joined him, you could discover them, then accuse him of seducing Miss Turner — a disaster that left her with child and led to her suicide. Finish by asking after his wife. He can hardly deny he has one.”

“I don’t like it,” put in Mary. “Too many people would be near at hand. You cannot expect Laura to behave reasonably when her plans go awry. Look what she did at Lady Cunningham’s. And Lord Roger would not care. He is safe from aught but a duel and would likely cheat at that. I doubt he even remembers Miss Turner, but he might create enough clamor to attract notice, thus ruining Laura forever and dragging the rest of us down with her.”

“Have you a better suggestion?” demanded Blake.

Mary nodded. “We cannot send her to the country. Lord Roger would follow her, and there are too many places they could meet unobserved. But exposing his affair with Miss Turner might work. Gossip would recall his other misdeeds, including his marriage. If Laura hears tales about him from people who do not suspect her acquaintance, she would be more likely to listen.”

“That would require that she remain in society,” said Gray.

“Private entertainments aren’t the only places to hear
on-dits
.”

Blake nodded, pursing his lips as he thought. Gray drew Mary’s hand between his palms, then kissed her fingers one by one. That treacherous weakness again settled in her legs.

“We will attend the theater tonight,” decided Blake at last. “And Lady Wharburton has not yet canceled Laura’s invitation — an oversight, I am sure, but I will prevail upon her to allow Laura’s attendance. If we keep her occupied, she cannot meet the rogue. Is your evidence compelling enough to convince Lady Beatrice?”

“No,” said Gray.

“It might be by tomorrow, for she is already half convinced,” countered Mary, turning to Gray. “Have you studied old newspapers yet? The society pages should show where you were. Since you avoided entertainments she attended, they should refute her claims.”

“I’ve not had time, but I have a friend who collects papers. I will bring them here this afternoon. We can read them together.”

Nodding, she left him to explain his own problem — or not.

Laura was heading for breakfast. “Who called so early?” she demanded, eyes shining at the murmur of voices from the library.

“Gray. He and Blake are discussing settlements.”

“Oh.” All excitement faded.

“Blake has devised a plan to put this unpleasantness behind us. He is taking us to the theater tonight, and Lady Wharburton agreed to welcome you to her masquerade tomorrow.”

“Theater.” Laura scowled. “I must decline. I promised to attend the Society’s meeting.”

Mary grimaced. “You had best tell Blake immediately, then. But he is in no mood to humor you. He was not happy about last night’s rumors. People are claiming you made up the tale about Miss Norton.”

Laura paled. “As you wish. Tell him I will attend the theater.” She swept into the breakfast room.

Mary frowned. Laura had refused to meet her eye. Very shifty. Was she planning to slip out after they returned home?

* * * *

Gray returned to Rockhurst House at two, his carriage crammed with newspapers. One of his odder friends was a scholar writing a history of England’s war with France, from the death of Louis XVI in 1792 to the end, whenever that occurred. To aid his research, he had accumulated more than twenty years’ worth of newspapers and journals. They filled his house, leaving him little room to maneuver, but this treasure trove was at Gray’s disposal.

“Heavens!” exclaimed Mary, pausing just inside the door. Stacks of newspapers littered the room.

“Your idea has merit, but it will not be easy,” said Gray, dropping a kiss on her cheek. “We must find every mention of Lord Roger, Miss Turner, or me. Are you sure you are up to such a task?”

“Stop teasing, Gray. It cannot be overwhelming. We need read only the society pages. Let’s hope that the attendance lists are extensive. And we already have one discrepancy. Miss Turner claimed a tryst with you in Lady Marchgate’s garden on the fifteenth of May, but Lady Sheffield knows you were at Watier’s that night. You won five hundred guineas from Lord Sheffield, jeopardizing his suit for her hand.”

“She blames me?”

“Of course not. It was Sheffield’s fault for risking so much.”

Her words warmed him. Never had he known a lady who was so adamant in his defense. Most demanded attention. If they didn’t get it, they resorted to megrims or pouting. But Mary cared more for his welfare than her own.

Or was she hoping redemption would cancel their betrothal? She had denied it, but despite her response to his kisses, she remained calm and aloof the rest of the time. Maybe they should stay with the original wedding date. If she wanted to be free of him, he would agree. He could not force her into marriage.

“You take the
Morning Post
,” he suggested. “I’ll start with the
Observer
. Then we can move on to the
Times
and
Life in London
.
La Belle Assemblee
and
Ackermann’s Repository
carry provincial news. We can check Yorkshire for any mention of the Turners.”

“Excellent plan.” She drew out paper and quills, then took her place on one side of a large library table. Gray sat on the other.

Two hours later, Mary closed the last copy of
Life in London
— the one reporting Miss Turner’s death — and switched to
La Belle Assemblee
. Gray’s name appeared often. As heir to an earldom, his presence was usually noted. It was harder to track down Miss Turner, for she was the undistinguished daughter of a minor baron. If she attended at all, she was one of the anonymous faces that qualified a gathering as a crush. But they had found six evenings in which Gray was clearly not with Miss Turner. And
Life in London
had noted his retreat to Shellcroft, wondering if Miss C— T—— had driven him from town. With luck, these incidents would contradict enough of her claims that Turner would admit she had lied about everything.

But so far they had found nothing about Lord Roger. After fifteen years of total ostracism, the papers no longer noted his activities.

“Here is another interesting note,” said Gray — he was still perusing the
Times
. “Under
New Arrivals
, they list me reaching London the day before Lady Debenham’s ball.”

“Wonderful. You cannot have met her until her condition was well advanced.”

He squeezed her hand. “I wish I had thought of this three years ago. It would have saved me much trouble.”

“Perhaps. But thinking is rarely clear in the heat of the moment. You were probably sunk in blue-devils.”

“True, though that shouldn’t have mattered.”

“But it does.” She pulled his hand between her own. “Serious blue-devils affect everyone who has suffered a severe shock — like Catherine after her first husband died, or me when Father was killed. Surviving each day is such a challenge that you have no energy left to analyze your troubles. By the time the blue-devils leave, you’ve accepted the explanations of others and no longer question anything.”

“Like whether I could prove my innocence?”

She nodded. “Or how Father really died.” She released his hand, then picked up the next
La Belle Assemblee
.

Gray had barely returned to the
Times
when Mary laughed.

“I found it. Look, Gray. I found it.” She thrust it into his hands. The words leaped from the page.

Yorkshire: 20 January. A pack of hounds decimated the poultry yard at Turner Hall, having been seduced from a scent trail by a disturbance involving two cocks. The dogs — mostly pups — were captured by their owner, the Earl of Rothmoor, ably assisted by Lord Shipley, Lord Turner, Lord Roger Duncan, Mr. Bridges of Parsing Downs, and Mr. Gillow of Upper Stoning. The victims included three dozen pullets, seventeen geese, and one cock.

“That’s it. Dear Lord, Turner was right. The culprit came from Rothmoor Park. Rothmoor always holds a house party when he starts training the next pack. It often lasts a month.”

“You are free, Gray. No one can ever blame you again.”

Gray couldn’t respond. Restoration of his honor left him speechless. He had never truly believed that redemption was possible. And it was all due to Mary.

Pulling her across the table, he kissed her. She consumed his senses, teasing his nose with the lightest of fragrances as she murmured his name over and over. With each new touch, the heat rose faster and higher. She was made for him, her skin soft as a rose petal, her breasts the perfect size for his hand.

His palm closed over one soft peak and gently squeezed. The nipple hardened, pressing against him, begging to be tasted. His shaft strained against her thigh, wanting the freedom to probe her yielding depths.

She was perfect. He could not have found a better wife had he searched England from end to end. And she returned his ardor with complete abandon. Excitement built. He wanted nothing more than to bear her to the floor and make her his.

But this was not the time. He was so close to restoring his honor that he could do nothing to jeopardize it. With a groan he pulled back and smiled. Discovery would pitch them both into the fire, casting new stains on their marriage. But honor was hard — very hard.

“We’ll finish this on Tuesday,” he panted, nipping her earlobe before releasing her.

“I will look forward to it.” Her eyes had gone hazy with desire, making it even more difficult to return to work. Her passion matched his own. Yet even as she opened the next paper, it was gone, leaving the aloof woman in its place.

He cursed, but this was no time to demand an explanation. He might consider their proof conclusive, but he wanted every scrap of evidence he could find. Turner was as stubborn as Laura when it came to admitting fault.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“Aren’t you ready yet?” Mary asked, rapping on Laura’s door.

“I’m coming!” yelled Laura.

“Not fast enough. Blake will fetch you himself if you don’t hurry. Lady Wharburton wishes to speak with you before the first act. If we are late, she may cancel your invitation for tomorrow.”