Maggie MacKeever (31 page)

Willets handed the Runner his hat. Pritchett handed the butler a coin. “The least hint of news, I expect to be informed.”

Said Willets, in tones never heard by Lady Georgiana, “Aye.”

Pritchett tucked his baton beneath his arm and descended the entry steps. None of his numerous sources of information had been able to provide him any clue to what the Cap’n was about, nor any indication of where Jules might be found. If Pritchett were a betting man, which he wasn’t, as result of having seen too many bad examples, he would wager that a certain earl had her tucked away somewhere.

In which case, good luck to them both. Pritchett’s own next stop was Russell Street, there to warn Rose matters were coming quickly to a head.

Chapter Thirty-Three

No cavalry or infantry has the gall to maneuver as coolly as a woman can
.
— Plautus

Everyone who was anybody, a couple thousand strong, jostled for invitations to the subscription ball being given by members of White’s Club in honor of the Royal Guests. Ticket-holders — some of whom
had paid eighty to one hundred guineas for the privilege — had queued in their carriages from five in the afternoon, in hope of arriving between nine and ten o’clock. People pushed and shoved each other to gain entrance to
rooms packed with four times as many bodies as the walls were meant to hold.

The Illustrious Visitors were present
en masse,
the Czar of Russia and the Emperor of Prussia and a bevy of lesser foreign princes, statesmen and generals. As well as, of course, the Grand Duchess of Oldenburg. The gentlemen were in full dress uniform or formal evening wear; the women in beautiful gowns of every color and fabric known under moon and sun. This would be remembered as one of the most handsome assemblies London had ever seen.

And one of the most gay. An estimated nine hundred pounds had been spent on wine alone.

Lord Dorset was among those few attendees who were not enchanted. Ned was impatient to return to Wakely Court, where he had left Clea teaching Julie to play marbles, after which Julie had promised to show Clea how to pick a lock, the both of them under Bates’ watchful eye.

Ned was keeping up appearances. If Cap’n Jack had eyes everywhere, those eyes would see the Earl of Dorset acting unconcerned with anything beyond procuring a glass of more potent beverage.

And acting, it was. Ned was worried half to death. He couldn’t imagine what Julie had done to bring the villain’s wrath down on her; if she had done anything at all. Kidnapping and imprisonment in a brothel seemed overly harsh retribution for a misstolen
codebook, especially when any error was due to the Cap’n’s miscalculation and not Julie’s lack of skill.

The Cap’n had known Ned had a codebook in his possession. Therefore he must also know about Ned’s clandestine career. There might have been grist for further blackmail in that knowledge, had Ned been a different man. Espionage agents were not held in high regard, the general feeling being that whereas it was noble to risk one’s neck on the field of battle, it was considerably less so to go skulking about behind enemy lines.

The Cap’n was interested in Sandoval’s statue. Why?

That statue, along with the knife Ned had given Julie, remained at Ashcroft House. Ned supposed he should make an effort to get them back. And if the Cap’n wasn’t responsible for Julie nearly being crushed beneath the wheels of an oncoming carriage, who was?

All this pondering had given Ned a headache, which was being compounded by the perfume of too many bodies, the din of countless conversations, the music of the orchestra. He wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep with Julie in the turret room again, this time without his clothes. Without
her
clothes. With the door locked against interference from friend and foe alike.

“Prussia is aggressive,” said Sabine, who had been talking throughout these reflections; “Russia perverse, and Austria devious. Each is in daily dread of being outmaneuvered by the others. Are you listening to me, Ned?”

“Hmm.”

“Then you’ll be interested to know that Prinny has stripped down to his drawers.”

Ned returned abruptly to his surroundings. The dance floor was as crowded as the reception rooms. Among the twirling throng he saw Kane waltzing with the Grand Duchess, and the Czar with Lady Jersey. He did
not
see Prinny exhibiting the royal underpinnings to his guests.

Sabine smiled. “Admit it. You haven’t heard a word I’ve said.”

Ned swung her into a
turn.
“I was thinking about our arch-rogue.
Wondering how he knows the things he does. He may be here tonight.”

“And he may not.” In pale grey silk and diamonds, Sabine was as elegant as any lady present. And as slender. Ned thought she had lost more weight.

“You look tired,” he said. “It’s all this racketing around. You should take better care of yourself.”

“Time enough to take care later. There are too many things going on just now. Miss Wynne is safe
for the moment. You care for her, I think.”

Ned did. The world would consider it a most unsuitable affection. If only he were not an earl
. . .

But he was. To his regret.

The waltz ended. Kane relinquished his partner to another of
her admirers, joined Ned and Sabine in a stroll through the crowded rooms. “Miss Wynne’s ‘Mother Yarwood’ is Mrs. Lilah Kingston. The
‘Mrs.’ is an unearned honorific, I expect. She manages a number of businesses, acting as a buffer between the real owner and the law. She was forced to pay several large bribes to avoid imprisonment as result of the recent incident.”

“Ah,” said Ned. Several things were beginning to make sense. “I hadn’t realized that Julie was taken to the Academy. Bates merely said the
brothel was in King’s Place. So when Julie said Mother Yarwood released her from her bonds, she meant that Lilah did.”

“Lilah?” echoed Sabine. “You know the woman?”

“Not well enough, apparently,” Kane observed, “to be aware of her various
noms de guerre
. Is there anything else you care to tell us, Ned?”

“That one should never underestimate the value of old friendships. Did Lilah tell you who her employer is?”

Kane removed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray. “Her loyalty to you does not extend that far. She did let drop an item of interest, however: in addition to her other enterprises, Mrs. Kingston is involved with an establishment dedicated solely to the gratification of gentlewomen whose sexual preferences are of an uncommon bent. She accepts no
responsibility regarding subsequent events, but Amélie Morel visited the premises more than once.”

Sabine’s fingers tightened on Ned’s arm. “The stained glove.”

“Also interesting is the fact that Julie didn’t come to Mrs. Kingston in the usual manner, but was brought to her. By whom, Mrs. Kingston couldn’t be persuaded to say, even under threat of imprisonment. She never heard the girl had a last name.”

A shadow flitted over Sabine’s face. “Poor child.”

Kane regarded Ned. “I’m aware you would have had it otherwise.”

“You’re the one who would have it otherwise,” retorted Ned.

“My primary concern—”

“Ned!” Hannah plowed through the crowd like a warship cresting ocean waves. She wore an Oriental turban and a gold-banded black velvet gown. “I have been searching for you. Come with me.”

Kane looked sardonic. Sabine removed her hand from Ned’s arm. “Our cue to exit, I believe.”

Ignoring them, Hannah grasped Ned’s sleeve and tugged. Resistance seeming futile, he followed in her wake.

“So your sister has a cold,” continued Hannah; Clea had sent that excuse to beg off from morning calls, music lessons, and the like. “Scant wonder. You should have that drafty house torn down.”

His cousin was in an excellent mood. Ned distrusted it, and her. “Clea likes Wakely Court. As do I.”

Hannah sniffed. “That old pile is well enough for a Wakely — or
was,
for your grandmother was the last of the line, which is just as well, for the Wakelys were a reckless, feckless lot — but not for the
earl of Dorset. However, that will soon change. Your wife will
require you to take up your rightful place at the Hall. I shall remain in residence, as my dear William wished it, but there is more than room enough for all.”

Ned shuddered at thought of sharing a roof with Hannah. He wondered how much his cousin’s high spirits had to do with her rival’s fall from grace. Lady Georgiana was the focus of spiteful speculation now that the second of her companions had apparently taken flight.

Gossip. The
ton’s
lifeblood. Ned was aware of the glances and whispers that followed in their wake.

Was Hannah up to further mischief, in spite of his warning? “I’ve told you I’m not going to marry Madalyn Tate.”

Hannah tittered. “Why should you think such a thing? You are
behind-hand with the news. It is no more than you deserve for ignoring your correspondence. Since it has given us a chance to further our acquaintance, however, I will not scold.”

What acquaintance had been furthered? Certainly not Ned’s. He thought of Julie, bundled up in nothing but a nightgown and a two-hundred-year-old cloak; and wished he might have unwrapped her like a pretty package, inch by tantalizing inch.

There
was
a pile of correspondence sitting unread on his desk, which Hannah was unlikely to realize unless she had stolen into his house. “Are you deliberately posing me a puzzle?” Ned asked.

Hannah whisked him down a hallway, paused in front of a closed door. “I have a surprise for you, although it wouldn’t
be
a surprise if you had been dwelling where you should, because Dorset Hall is where one might reasonably expect to find the earl! But all has worked out for the best, and I make no doubt you will be both astounded and pleased.” Without further ado, she opened the door.

Astounded? Unlikely. Ned was
equally doubtful about his pleasure, having learned during his acquaintance with his cousin that what pleased her and what
pleased him seldom marched apace. He let her nudge him into the room. Behind him, the door clicked firmly shut.

The small parlor was done up in shades of green and white, including the window curtains and the upholstery on the
sopha and chairs. The walls were wainscoted. On one hung a circular convex mirror topped by a carved eagle, on either side a girandole. A fitted carpet covered the floor.

A breath of movement, the hint of a sigh, and Ned swung round. He was not alone in the room. A young woman stepped out of the shadows. A beautiful young woman with porcelain skin and glossy dark hair and sleepy eyes. Her gown was fashioned from
white mull with silver embroidery all over it, most intensely at the hem, its sleeves set low to display her shoulders. The waist was high, the neckline low. Around her throat hung a simple cross.

That cross was deuced familiar. So was the young woman. Ned had never expected to see her again.

He certainly had never expected to see her looking so virginal. “Bianca. What are you doing here?”

She walked — swayed — toward him. “You left your heart in the Peninsula,
querido.
I have brought it back to you.”

Ned took a step backward. “What nonsense is this?”

“Nonsense? Dearest Ned, you need not pretend. We can be together now. All has changed.”

There had been a time when Ned wished more than anything to be with Bianca. That time, however, was long past. “I came into a title, you mean. I take it you attempted to contact me at Dorset Hall.”

“
Sim!
And spoke with your cousin. She and I have become great together, after talking you over by the hour.” Having backed
Ned into a corner, Bianca stroked a fingertip down his lapel. “
Papai
has reconsidered our union. He has come to London and is expecting you to call.”

Ned caught her caressing hand and set it firmly aside. “Why should I do that?”

“There are matters to be discussed. Dowries. Settlements. We must decide where we will reside after we are wed. From what your cousin tells me, I do not think I would care for where you are living now.”

“I couldn’t care less where you reside.” Ned edged away from her, skirted a rosewood revolving book stand with brass retaining bars. “You broke off our betrothal, as I recall.”

Bianca followed him. “It is understandable that I did so; you are a very aggravating man. But I have a great capacity for adjusting myself to facts, and the fact is that I wish to be
your countess. You might try and act happy to see me,
caro.
I have traveled a great distance to join you here.” She raised a graceful hand to her hair.

He had given her a ring; a ring that she had not returned. With something akin to horror, Ned saw the damned thing gleaming on her hand. “The religious differences remain.”

“They are no longer of significance.” Bianca pulled the pins from her hair. “Ah, you hesitate. Do not tell me I was merely an amusement. Surely the fifteenth Earl of Dorset is not a seducer of innocent females.”

“You were hardly innocent.” Ned doubted she had ever been. He experienced profound annoyance that Fate had seen fit to plop down another boulder in his path.

“
Como?
To be assured I was.” Bianca reached behind her back and unhooked her gown. It slipped over her shoulders, revealing a great deal of lovely fair flesh. She raised her hands to the ribbons of her chemise.

Ned placed himself prudently behind the sopha. “This will avail you nothing. You need not proceed.”

The chemise gaped open. Bianca tugged it lower as she advanced. “My poor darling, try not to look like you are facing a firing squad. It was always good between us. A delicately nurtured English lady would not do for you.”