Lady Catherine's Secret: A Secrets and Seduction book (7 page)

From across the room, Lady Wilmot spoke a little more loudly and leaned forward to peer at them around the hothouse roses. “Catherine, I was informing your mother that I sent over an invitation for both of you to join us for dinner this evening. I know this is short notice, but I do hope you can attend.”

“Oh, yes, please do,” Elizabeth said, with such an enthusiastic nod that her mop of black curls bounced.

Mother smiled graciously. “Of course we’ll come. How delightful. Your evenings are always so entertaining, my dear. You manage to invite the most interesting guests.” Mother stood to leave. Apparently, her infallible internal clock had informed her that the proper duration for a social call had elapsed. “We really must be on our way.”

They made their goodbyes and were soon back in the carriage, heading out to make another afternoon call.

The disturbing news about Cynthia weighed upon Catherine. What if she married a man who tucked her away somewhere far from London and controlled her every movement? What if she could never fence again? What if she suffered the same fate as Cynthia?

A wheel of the carriage hit a broken spot in the road, and the resulting jolt shuddered through the carriage. Catherine glanced out the window to see a man sitting on the bench of a delivery cart that was stuck in the very same hole. As she watched, he lashed out with his whip, cursing his horse. The animal leapt forward to avoid the bite of the leather, straining against the weight of the cart, but the poor beast couldn’t break free. It was tied to its tormentor and its burden as surely as Cynthia was tied to her husband. Catherine gave a shudder as the cart disappeared behind them.

“Mother, promise me you’ll be more careful than Lord and Lady Larchmont were when they chose Cynthia’s husband. I understand she’s accumulated a surprising number of injuries since her marriage.”

Mother had been staring out the window, but at these words her head jerked around. She frowned at Catherine. “And you’re suggesting her new husband is at fault? But that can’t be right. He’s not some lowborn heathen. He’s from a distinguished family.”

“Being from a distinguished family has no bearing as to whether a man is a brute or not...” Catherine began, but her voice trailed off as her mother’s frown deepened.

“You should know better than to repeat something so malicious. There’s never even been a whisper of that sort of gossip about him.”

“Until now.” Catherine lifted her chin.

Mother continued to frown at her, not backing down from her stand. “Rest assured, things like that have a way of getting out.” Then her expression softened. “I can see how a story like that would worry you, what with our search for a suitable husband. We’d never marry you to such a brute.” She gave Catherine’s hand a brusque pat and then quickly withdrew. Mother’s mouth tightened in a thin line as she turned her head to stare out the window again. “I wonder if Cynthia could be unwell. That’s most troubling,” she murmured. “Poor girl.”

Catherine watched her mother for a moment, expecting something more, but was disappointed.

Again.

Mother had an astonishing ability to ignore reality when it didn’t fit into her plan. She obviously couldn’t conceive of the possibility that despite the Larchmont’s best efforts to choose a suitable husband, Cynthia was now married to an abusive cur.

Catherine straightened in her seat as she turned her head away from her mother to look outside at the now stark, gray winter sky. Determination welled within her as she latched onto the fencing tournament with a sense of renewed purpose. Mother might want to marry her off in two months, but that was
her
goal, not Catherine’s. The tournament had to be her first priority.

If she won it, nobody could ever take the accomplishment away from her, even if her new husband took her away from London and everything she held dear.

At least she could have that small amount of control over her own life.

6 - The Ambridge Club

Daniel sat with Wentworth in the Ambridge Club's open salon. They were comfortably seated a perfect distance away from one of the massive fireplaces. Having grown up in a falling-down mansion in Scotland, Daniel didn't think he would ever get used to the overheated rooms he continually encountered in London.

"I met an interesting man recently,” Wentworth said. “John Sharp. People say he's an influence peddler, whatever that means."

"That's an envious man's way of saying that Sharp is good at assembling all the necessary elements of a business deal,” Daniel replied. “He knows who to approach and how to convince them to work together. I've encountered Sharp a few times recently at various social events, and he recently brought me an interesting proposition."

Loud laughter from a group of men at the far side of the salon interrupted them, and Wentworth shot them an annoyed glare that was lost on them. "Will you pursue it?" he asked distractedly.

Daniel spied Lord Larchmont perched at the center of the gathering, surrounded by his sycophants. He was lounging in his regular spot amidst a cluster of leather chairs near one of the club’s many large fireplaces. The chair was perfectly situated to offer him a commanding view of the room.

"I haven't decided yet," Daniel replied, turning his attention back to his friend. "I've been investigating Sharp, and he's said to be honorable in his business dealings." He drummed his fingers against the leather armrest on his wingback-chair. "From what I've observed, he's realistic and demonstrates a broad perspective on the larger scheme of things. So far everything I've discovered about him holds up to scrutiny."

Wentworth nodded. "He seems to have an unlimited supply of patience. I wish I could claim that particular attribute." He continued glaring at the group across the room, but he seemed to focus on Larchmont.

Daniel grinned. "Patience is a necessity when dealing with men of power and influence." His gaze was drawn to the file of papers on the table next to him. He'd like to finish reviewing them, but didn't want to offend his friend. "I feel a certain kinship with him. We're both social outcasts. But at least I have my title to keep people from flinging their most deadly arrows. Sharp doesn’t have that luxury."

Daniel noticed a footman approaching them carrying a silver tray with a folded piece of paper in its center, and he gave the man a wary glance. "Who do you think that's for?” he asked Wentworth. “You or me?"

"I'll wager it's for you. No one knows I'm here," Wentworth replied. When the footman stopped next to Wentworth, he raised his eyebrows in surprise and then took the note with a frown. The footman scurried away as Wentworth opened the missive and skimmed it.

"Obviously someone knows you're here,” Daniel prompted.

"My brother. He has an annoying habit of tracking me down at the most inconvenient times." Wentworth folded the note as he rose to his feet. “Please excuse me," he said, tucking the note into the pocket of his coat. "It seems that Frederick needs my immediate assistance."

Daniel nodded. "Of course. I hope it isn't anything serious."

"So do I. He has the habit of attempting to embroil me in his work for the queen. I do my best to avoid it, but — blast it, he
is
my brother. He can make it difficult to say no." Wentworth gave him a regretful nod and then turned and hurried out the door.

Daniel picked up the folder of papers he'd set aside earlier and resumed his inspection of them. After only a moment, his concentration was broken by another loud burst of laughter from across the room. Apparently Lord Larchmont had said something amusing. Daniel studied Larchmont for a moment, taking in the man’s elegant coat that fit his tall, slim form to perfection. His dark hair showed just a touch of silver at his temples, and his patrician features were only marred by an overly long nose. He looked like the perfect aristocrat.

It was obvious by the way the other men deferred to Larchmont that he commanded their respect. The man wielded the kind of power that came from being well established in a community and forging many ties over the years. His influence came from being inextricably integrated with the weft and weave of London society.

Another man entered the room. His gaze passed over Daniel, studiously ignoring him. It was the kind of subtle snub Daniel experienced frequently. He could be in the same room with these other gentlemen, but they ignored him as though he didn’t exist.

The man crossed the room to join the group surrounding the earl. As Larchmont looked up to greet him, his gaze fell upon Daniel. Rather than ignoring him, however, Lord Larchmont rose to his feet and strode over, a broad smile on his face.

“Lord Huntley. It’s a pleasure to see you.” Larchmont glanced at the business papers Daniel held. A shadow of distaste flickered across his face and disappeared. He then ignored the papers, as though they were somehow unclean.

And of course, in a way, they were. No respectable peer would stoop to involving himself with something as crass as earning money. And because of that lapse, the loftier gentlemen of society kept their distance from Daniel.

But not Lord Larchmont.

Rumor had it that the earl was in debt. He’d already married off his eldest daughter, but things hadn’t turned out as he’d hoped. Hence his interest in Daniel.

“Would you care to join us? I just received a shipment of cigars and was about to share them.”

Daniel wondered if the cigars in question had been among those that had recently arrived at his warehouse. A few had already been sent on to customers. “That’s most generous,” he said, rising to his feet. “I understand you’re known for acquiring only the best.”

The men across the room watched them with guarded expressions. They must be quite confused at seeing Lord Larchmont with him.

“I know quality when I see it, even when others do not.” He glanced at his hangers-on. “Not everyone can be discerning. Most are content to follow another’s lead.

“I hear you’re searching for an estate near London again,” Lord Larchmont said as they approached the others. “What happened to the one you had your eye on? It sounded like the perfect opportunity for you.” He avoided looking at Daniel as he spoke.

“The owner had an unexpected change of heart,” Daniel said, his tone even. “It was all rather odd. We were at the point of finalizing the contract when he backed out with no explanation.”

“That
is
odd.” The corner of Lord Larchmont’s mouth twitched.

“I’m back to searching for the perfect residence.”

Lord Larchmont smiled. “If you’d like, I can offer my assistance. I might be able to say something that will induce the owner to reconsider.”

“He seemed resolute in his decision. I’m afraid you’d be wasting your time.”

“No bother, my boy. I’m always happy to help my
friends
.”

Once they reached Lord Larchmont’s retinue, he introduced Daniel all around. Men who would normally have avoided meeting him were forced to do so with smiles on their faces, their respect for Lord Larchmont overcoming their disdain.

Daniel selected a cigar from Larchmont’s small humidor and bit off the end, spitting it into the fireplace with practiced ease. He glanced up to see Lord Larchmont jerk back the cigar cutter he had been offering and slip it into his pocket. He mentally kicked himself for the
faux pas
. He needed to work on adhering to the social niceties if he wanted to be accepted by these people.

He would learn to blend in. He had no doubt of that. After all, he’d managed to adapt to living by his wits with the other street urchins in Edinburgh, and he’d only been twelve at the time.

How much of a challenge could London be for a grown man?

7 - A Measure of Whiskey

Daniel sat in his drawing room, reviewing the documents he’d brought back from the Ambridge Club. He only needed five more minutes to finish them.

And then the front bell rang. When he heard Wentworth’s voice, Daniel let out a sigh of resignation, collected his papers, and then tucked them away in a leather satchel. He’d review them in the morning.

A long shadow appeared in the doorway, followed immediately by Wentworth.

“You’re early,” Daniel said. He cast an annoyed glance at his friend as he sauntered into the drawing room.

Wentworth stopped short. “You don’t sound happy about it,” he said. “I can leave and come back if you like.”

“No, no. Sorry. That was a lousy way to greet you. Please stay. Have a drink.” He crossed to a tall side table, lifted a cut-glass decanter, and waved it temptingly. “I have Glenfarclas,” he said in a wheedling tone. It was Wentworth’s favorite Scotch whiskey. He didn’t bother to wait for a reply and poured a measure into a tumbler.

Wentworth accepted the glass of amber liquid and inhaled its heady scent, savoring it before taking a sip. A smile crossed his lips.

“Happy?” Daniel asked, taking in the contented look on his friend’s face.

“Quite. You should have some, too. You’re too tense.”

Daniel poured a second measure of scotch but didn’t sip it immediately. Instead, he stared into the tumbler, trying to banish some of that obvious tension from his body. He focused on the reflected light from the fireplace as it brought the liquid to life. The amber echoes of the flames moved and shifted inside his glass.