Joan Smith (10 page)

She was genteel-seeming. She really
did
know some Latin—how had she picked it up? And Peter was supposed to be swotting up his Latin. After considerable thought, he decided to present himself to her under his true guise, with his real aim out in the open. He had a mental picture of the two of them laughing over the misunderstanding. He supposed, on scanty evidence to be sure, that she had a fine sense of humor. She had a winning smile at least; also a hot temper, which charmed him in ladies. She would call him “an odious man,” in that sweet, slightly rustic, and very blunt way she had.

“I don’t see that there is anything to grin about,” Lady Clappet snorted as she pulled her furs about her broad shoulders. “But at least Peter is safe. When he returns from Newmarket, I shall apologize and ask him to come back home.”

“I was not grinning,” Luten pointed out, still grinning, in his sister’s opinion.

She returned to Berkeley Square immediately, missing Peter by no more than fifteen minutes. While she was still remonstrating with her servants for failing to detain him, Uxor appeared at the end of the hallway. He said nothing, but his face was capable of much mute intelligence.

“Uxor! You’re back. What have you to tell me?” she asked eagerly.

“Oh, nothing at all. The master has put an embargo of secrecy on his doings,” he said importantly, but she could see he was bursting to tell, and had soon got the secrets out of him.

“Petticoat dealings,” he teased, and waited for more urgings from her ladyship.

“Good God, what has happened? If you tell me he’s married, Uxor, I shall
...
” She could say no more, but her blanched cheeks and staring eyes, the white hand clutching her heart, implied that even death wasn’t beyond her.

“No, not married. Not
yet,”
he added mischievously. “He’s moved them into an apartment. ‘Look after them, Uxor. They are my special friends,’ he said. Bag and baggage they’ve moved in. A young strumpet and an older one, with two servants I never saw before in my life.”

“Where? When?” she managed to breathe.

‘‘Last night at midnight. The rooms are on Poland Street. He made me take his own things there the day before.”

“You should have told me!”

“I had an embargo on me,” Uxor reminded her.

“Send for Luten,” she moaned, and reeled to the sofa, propped up by Uxor and a footman. Her servants, wise in the ways of hysterical ladies, didn’t have to be told to run for hartshorn and feathers to be burned.

Luten was sent for and came like a good brother. Uxor took center stage with very little reluctance and repeated his tale. Having broken his embargo of silence, he now embroidered the story to the top of his bent. “I overheard the servants,” he said, making his audience fish for the details.

“What did they say?” Luten asked.

“Kent Street Ejection! That’s what happened to them. The lot of them were turfed out of Conduit Street and set up shop on the street corner. They came running straight to his lordship’s new place to tell him. I’ve no doubt the young one is still lying on his lordship’s pillow as she was when I left, though it was past time any decent Christian be up and about, as they no doubt would be if they hadn’t kept the master up till morning plying him with wine.”

Luten’s nostrils pinched into slits, and an icy gleam shone in his eyes. “Lord Clappet spent the night at this new apartment as well?”

“No,” Uxor admitted reluctantly, but pulled his chestnuts from the fire by adding ingeniously, “She wouldn’t let him stay, after it was
he
that was put to the expense of hiring the place. She turned him out of his own door.”

“Where did he go?”

“To Newmarket, he
said.”
Uxor’s tone implied that not even a swaddling babe would believe it.

Lady Clappet moaned, beyond words. Her white hands went out to her brother in a silent plea, which was ignored. Luten was already on his feet, swiftly striding to the door.

He had come in his crested carriage. He didn’t bother to change it for the dash to Poland Street. He ordered his groom to “spring ‘em” and sat with his arms folded in the comfort of his well-sprung chaise, plotting a revenge of some heinous but rather obscure nature.

When he approached the apartment, a cold, purposeful expression had taken possession of his face. His posture was not that of a wary whippet today but of a bulldog. There was a determined set to his shoulders and a pugnacious angle to his jaw. He lifted the brass knocker for one loud crash before turning the knob and entering the rooms. Mrs. Harrington was in the kitchen with Mrs. Bogman, determining whether the dressed leg of Iamb, surviving its trip, was edible. Bogman was in the pantry, rooting on high shelves for candles and other usable items possibly hidden away and forgotten by the former tenant. It was Trudie who got half-way down the hall to the door before it opened and Luten stormed in.

She took one unbelieving look at him and felt terribly like swooning. He was even more formidable than she had remembered. Fright drove the blood from her face. She said, “You!” in a faint squeal, and fell back a step.

“At your service, ma’am,” he answered, his voice laden with sarcasm. His bow was a low, sweeping, dramatic parody of obsequiousness, but all too soon his blighting eyes were scrutinizing her haphazard toilette. It angered him more than anything that she should look so demmed innocent, with her curls tied up in blue ribbons and a smudge of dust on the side of her nose.

The pause gave her time to realize which of them was the interloper. She gathered her shreds of courage and said, “Get out. Leave this place at once!” in quite a firm voice.

He paced forward. “I was about to offer you the same advice, miss. If you’re wise, you’ll take it.”

“How dare you! I have a right to be here.”

“No doubt
you
think so. There is, unfortunately, no law forbidding females of your sort from preying on credulous youngsters. In Lord Clappet’s case, however, there is a family to protect him. You chose your quarry ill, Miss Barten.”

“What have you to do with Peter?” she demanded.

“I am Lord Clappet’s uncle, and guardian.”

“Luten?”
She stared hard, with a frown on her brow.

“You were aware he was under my guardianship, I see. No doubt that’s why you removed him to Newmarket, for easier plucking.”

“But you said—you
lied
to me! You only came to Conduit Street to spy.”

“Precisely. I assure you my taste in females runs to quite another complexion than yours.”

“I know it very well,” she shot back. “Peter has often told me you choose the gaudiest birds of paradise to be had in London.”

Luten ignored the jibe. “Is he here?”

“No.”

“When will he be back?”

“He won’t, not today.”

“Very well, let’s get the gloves off and settle it between ourselves. I want you out of his life,” he said. The menacing glitter in his eyes and the hard set of his jaw
still
caused a tremble, but with Bogman in the pantry, Trudie wasn’t actually afraid for her physical safety. She was, however, very much aware of the insult implicit in his attack. The knowledge of it brought an angry flush to her cheeks.

“What is it you’re afraid of, that I’m angling to marry him? Is that it, or do you take me for no more than a light-skirt?” she demanded.

“They’re not mutually exclusive. Either is unacceptable to his family.”

“I see. Without bothering to inquire who I might be, you have decided I’m not fit to marry Peter!”

“Any female who sets herself up in hired rooms to purvey what she chooses to call Latin, to any hedgebird off the streets, is not fit to be Lady Clappet,’’ he informed her. And he also took note that it was marriage, no less, the chit had in mind.

“I
was
purveying Latin, nothing else! And
you
were the only hedgebird I made the ill decision to tutor. I’m sorry I ever let you inside the door.”

“A lady wouldn’t be put out of her apartment for teaching Latin,” he pointed out.

“So you were involved in that, were you? I thought as much.” Her anger reached new heights as she remembered the ignominy she and her aunt had been subjected to.

“That was entirely your own doing. I used a little subterfuge to gain admission, and I don’t apologize for it. Now let’s get this unpleasant business settled. It’s no more to my taste than your own. Any visions you entertain of rising to a countess are futile. If you’re reasonable, you’ll take what you can get and leave. Go and try your luck elsewhere. We both know the likeliest location, don’t we, Miss Barten?” he tossed in, with a sneer.

Her first flush of anger had burned itself out. The reeling indignity that had occupied her mind, robbing her of rational thought, was replaced by a cooler emotion, not untinged with scornful amusement. Being innocent of the charge, she was able to see the humor of it. “You are offering nothing other than advice and insults then, Lord Luten?” she asked pertly.

“If the truth is offensive, you mustn’t hold me accountable for it. We know you had Peter withdraw all his allowance, know he is trying for a loan at the bank. It will not be granted. All you stand to gain from him within the next three months is what he’s not already squandered on you. Between Conduit Street and this flat, the purse must be growing thin.”

“Not at all. I paid for Conduit Street myself. He has plenty left for me to get my greedy clutches on,” she cautioned. The charade was beginning to amuse her. It was the only revenge she’d ever have on Lord Luten, and she meant to milk it dry.

“We—Lady Clappet and I—are willing to give you one thousand clear, on the understanding that you not see him again. Take it or leave it.”

This offer was greeted with a scoffing laugh. “Only one thousand? Why, you must take me for a greenhead. Peter’s allowance is four thousand a year. And in a few years, when he’s twenty-one, he comes into a quarter of his money, if I am not mistaken.”

“You’ve done your homework well. It must be taken into consideration, however, that you can sell your lessons elsewhere after you’ve given up Clappet. A whole semester’s salary without ‘teaching,’ in fact.” He managed to imbue the word “teaching” with every manner of lechery.

Trudie looked at him, casting one bright, brief flash from her narrowed eyes. Luten had insulted and annoyed her once too often. Though he didn’t know it, he was about to be repaid. “Ah, but Peter is such a talented young boy, you know. One does not often encounter his ability and willingness to learn.” She saw his lips pull into an angry line, saw his hands jerk uncontrollably forward, as though he wanted to strike her. “He will not be easy to replace,” she said, and fluttered her lids at Luten in a meaningful way.

He swallowed his spleen and assumed a pose of interest in her invitation. “You were offered an equally precocious student not many days ago.”

“Precocious?” she asked, smiling doubtfully. “No, surely the word implies youth! You are too long in the tooth to be precocious, Lord Luten, though I make no doubt you’re well accomplished.” She thought his teeth would soon be ground down to a more youthful length, to judge by the way he was grating
them
together now. “You will not take offense, I know, when I tell you I prefer
young
gentlemen like your nephew.”

“It stands to reason an unlicked cub would be better for your purpose, but then your ultimate aim must be to feather your nest, and I am in a better position to do that than a boy who has not yet control of his fortune.”

“Do you know, I find it hard to believe you want to feather my nest?” she asked, holding back a laugh. “Destroy it, is more like it. Rip it right down from the branches and stamp on it.”

“On the contrary. I’m not averse to some liveliness and spirit in my women. My offer still stands,” he said. Luten was trying for an air of flirtation, but it was all he could do to keep his fingers from the girl’s neck, and she could see the strain he was under.

For one long moment they stood silent, each taking the other’s measure. He meant to buy her off, and she meant to turn it to her advantage in showing him a lesson. Luten was in dire need of a lesson.

“I don’t recall the terms of your offer. It was vague, if I am not mistaken. A dinner and a night at some play
...
”

“We didn’t get down to specifics.”

“How very remiss of us! Shall we do it now?”

All the while they stood in the front hall, Trudie feared to let him into the drawing room lest her aunt come and discover him. Listening for sounds from the apartment, she heard none but still kept Luten in the hall; it would be easy to shove him out the door from there, if anyone came.

“Name your price,” Luten said grandly.

“I see Lord Luten is ready to be as generous as Mr. Mandeville. Did you also make a killing on the market?”

“Have you got something against inherited money?” he demanded.

“Only that it breeds such self-satisfaction in the inheritors.” Luten swallowed this infamous remark without retort, and Trudie continued goading him. “I am very tired with having to leave my hired rooms every time a charge is laid against me. It would be so peaceful to have a little cottage of my own. A hired cottage,” she added hastily as she saw the look of denial settle on his countenance at such a large outlay.

“That could be arranged,” he agreed.

“Furnished, of course, for I have only my own plate and linens. I have two servants who must be paid, and will want some money for living. Four thousand a year should about do it,” she suggested, a smile peeping out at the familiar figure of Lord Clappet’s annual allowance.

“I made sure you would want to
better
your circumstances,” he retaliated.

“Oh, I am not grasping, Lord Luten. A lady has to live, and you said yourself you had no objection to a girl plying her trade if she must. All I ask is a decent living,” she said modestly, lifting her fingers to pat her hair as she looked at him from the corner of her eye.

“A cottage in the country,” Luten said pensively, while his mind raced to consider a likely spot. He wanted it close enough so he could go and chide her from time to time, without being so close as to make it likely she would pester him and, worse, Peter. She must vanish without a trace. He didn’t want Peter to get the idea he’d stolen his mistress from him.