To Wed a Scandalous Spy (25 page)

Clara smiled. "Of course. I had it especially made for your debut as a hostess." She looked around them. "You were very clever to turn this into your ballroom, dear."

"Thank you," Kitty said smugly. Then she turned to Willa. "Aunt Clara, may I introduce Miss Trent?"

Willa dipped a formal curtsy. "My lady." She might be from a Northants village, but she would not display faulty manners before this woman.

Clara lit up still further. "You're Willa! And you're lovely, just as Nathaniel said. Welcome to Mayfair."

Willa wanted to say a very vulgar word. Clara was perfectly charming and friendly. Willa was going to have a very hard time hating her properly.

Perhaps she could convince Myrtle to hate the woman for her.

Across the room, Nathaniel stood alone, feeling like an exotic menagerie animal. No one approached to speak to him, yet everyone still managed to pass by close enough for a good look. He crossed his arms and watched as yet another pair of Society dams walked slowly by him, sliding their gazes sideways to inspect him without actually turning their heads. As soon as they passed, they rushed to a seating area with their heads together. Discussing the length of his horns, no doubt.

"Damn, I forgot to polish my forked tail," he muttered to himself.

"Do be careful not to knock over any vases with that thing," said a laconic voice behind him. "We just redecorated."

Nathaniel turned to see a dark man leaning against the column behind him. Although they'd never actually met, Nathaniel knew who he was. Alfred Theodious Knight, his host this evening.

Humor, not disdain, glinted from the man's eyes, so Nathaniel took a chance. "Nathaniel Stonewell, Lord Reardon," he said, sticking out his hand. "Infamous traitor."

The other man nodded easily, meeting his handshake. "Alfred Knight, scandalous husband of twins."

"That
is
scandalous." Nathaniel raised a brow. "Get many invitations?"

"A precious few. Kitty's hoping for more after tonight. You?"

"None at all. Thank you for tonight."

Knight shrugged. "Kitty wanted to do it."

Nathaniel smiled. "And what Kitty wants Kitty receives?"

Knight gazed across the room. "Oh yes," he said blissfully.

Nathaniel followed his gaze to where Kitty and Clara spoke to Willa. Willa did look fine tonight. The way her full breasts were pressed high and the way that one long ringlet of dark hair kept rolling into the tight valley between…

He pulled his gaze back. Knight was still lost in his new wife. Nathaniel snorted. "Are you always this besotted?"

Knight didn't even bother to look at him. "Every minute. You?"

Nathaniel flinched. "Me? What do you mean?"

Knight slid his gaze to Nathaniel. "I see. Well, you can answer that question later. I give you about three more days."

Nathaniel straightened. "I have no idea what you are speaking of."

Knight smiled slightly and turned his gaze back to his wife. "Make that two days."

Nathaniel cleared his throat. The man was mad, seeing love everywhere because of his own condition. He nodded shortly. "Excuse me, sir," he said, then turned on his heel and strode down the series of rooms to the other end.

Once there, he took up a similar arrogant stance near a potted palm, arms folded across his chest, eyes half-lidded, sneer faintly etched on his lips. Lord Treason was in fine form.

«
^
»

Willa watched Nathaniel walk by her and the other two ladies, feeling distressed. Clara laid a gentle hand on her arm. "He'll be fine. He wanted to come tonight."

Willa turned back to Clara with a half smile. "I knew it would be difficult for him, but… he isn't himself. He seems… hard." She toyed with her empty dance card. "I thought we were going to face everyone down together," she said softly.

"You thought he would storm the ball, daring any naysayer, and dance the night away with you?" Clara's voice was kind.

"Ouch," Willa laughed damply. "You have seen through me, I fear."

"Give him time, Miss Trent. After all, this is the first time he's appeared at a social event since his disgrace." Clara gazed down the room to where Nathaniel stood like a black mark against the wallpaper. "I, for one, am glad to see him out," she said softly. "For whatever reason."

Willa almost missed the reference in her disquiet, but then her attention caught. "What do you mean? His reason is solely to publicly brave the scorn." She looked down at Nathaniel. "For me."

Clara nodded. "Of course it is." She gave an easy smile, but Willa had the feeling that she had been talking about something else entirely.

Willa looked away. Of course Clara knew things about Nathaniel that she herself did not know. "Great friends," after all.

Friends
. All jealousy aside, Willa knew that Nathaniel needed all the friends he could find. Perhaps… perhaps if Lady Etheridge was indeed Nathaniel's friend, she would help Willa in her quest to change minds about "Lord Treason." As far as Willa was concerned, the first step to that end was the search for that so-called artist.

Impulsively she leaned forward. "My lady, I need your help. I want Sir Thorogood!"

Clara started violently. "Wh—what?"

Willa retreated, surprised. "I suppose I was a bit abrupt, but I did not mean to startle you so, my lady."

Clara pressed a hand to her breast. "No, of course not. So sorry. I was… I was miles away."

"To elaborate, today I saw the cartoon that condemned Nathaniel. I want to track down this Sir Thorogood character and make him state publicly that he was wrong about Nathaniel."

Clara gazed at her for a long moment. "Oh dear."

At the other end of the room, Nathaniel was growing weary of holding up the wall. Unfortunately, sitting was out of the question. One couldn't very well loom on a floral cushion. The entire effect would be lost.

So he stood there silent and unmoving, very much like the potted palm at his side.

"Reardon," the palm said.

Nathaniel closed his eyes. If he answered, then those watching him would be validated in their opinion of him. Only a complete raving madman would talk to a potted palm.

"Reardon !" the palm hissed.

Perhaps if he tried not to move his lips? "Go away, Etheridge."

"Has anyone approached you?"

"Yes, one man."

The palm rustled with excitement. "Who?"

"His name is Alfred Theodious Knight." Damn. Now the spectators were definitely watching him oddly. There was simply no way to say "Theodious" without moving one's lips.

"Oh. It isn't Knight. He's family."

Thinking of his own family, Nathaniel didn't see that as much of a recommendation of character. Nevertheless, he didn't suspect Knight, either. The man was only being a generous host.

"I don't think anyone will approach you openly. Too visible," the palm said thoughtfully. "Perhaps you could take a stroll in the gardens?"

"Why not?" Nathaniel said drily. "There may be some plants I haven't greeted yet."

He pushed himself off the wall and tugged his waistcoat straight.

"By the way," the palm said, "how did it go with the Bishop?"

Nathaniel couldn't suppress a rueful grin. "Willa essentially told the man to take a flying leap off Saint Paul's and that we would marry in our own time."

The palm laughed softly. "I like her."

Something rich and liquid pierced Nathaniel's chest at the thought of Willa's staunch loyalty. "So do I," he whispered as he set out for the gardens. "So do I."

Willa was deep in conversation with Clara when Nathaniel passed her on his way. It was just as well. His feelings toward her were a bit chancy at the moment. Damn Knight for putting those thoughts in his head.

After all, what could be more ridiculous? Even if real love existed—and he was willing to concede the possibility, considering the example of Etheridge and Clara—it didn't exist for him. No bond could withstand a lifetime of public condemnation, not even love.

Besides, it simply wasn't possible to fall in love in—

Five days. Had it only been five days? Nathaniel pressed the latch and opened the many-paned door to the terrace. Cool evening air washed over him. Shutting the door behind him made the ball go nearly silent, with only the music audible through the glass.

So much had changed in five short days. He had changed; he could feel it. He was lighter somehow. He breathed in the evening, smelling the shorn grass of the lawn around the terrace and the climbing flowers in the garden. The scent of the flowers pulled him closer. After wandering the knot work path for a while, he found them. The tiny star-shaped flowers put out a delicate sweet scent that reminded him of something. What was it?…

He tracked it down to the first night he'd been back. Willa, who bathed in the stuff.

The vine's scent took him back to when he'd been leaning over her, vowing to protect her from his life and himself.

The gardens were past their prime season, but the clever twisting pathways were lined with box hedges, making the journey through seem much longer than it was. Nathaniel envied it immensely and vowed to steal away Knight's gardener at the soonest opportunity.

Provided that the man would work for "Lord Treason," of course.

Although Nathaniel walked slowly and stopped by the cherub fountain in the center for a time, he saw no one else out of doors, for good or evil.

Deciding that he needed to make another caged-creature appearance in the ballroom, Nathaniel headed back to the house.

They were waiting for him on the terrace.

Willa wandered the ballroom looking for Nathaniel in the crush that had now arrived, but could find him nowhere. She spied Kitty, dancing proudly with Knight at the head of the dance form. Waiting along the wall for the dance to end so she could enlist Kitty's assistance, Willa felt eyes upon her.

She looked to her left to see several ladies eyeing her warily, discussing something in low voices. Unfortunately, Willa had excellent hearing.

"Who is she? Does anyone know where he found her?"

"I heard that she's a tavern maid from some tiny village up north."

That was not so terrible, Willa thought. Very close to the truth. She had poured her share of ale over the years.

"Well,
I
heard that they traveled all the way to London together.
Alone
."

Gleefully shocked whispers answered this. Willa looked away. Again, entirely true. She gripped the tiny pencil that hung from her dance card and assumed an expression of pleasant unconcern.

"There's more," said the red-haired woman who knew about the traveling. "The tale goes that she knocked him over the head with a rock and slept beside him all night to trap him into marriage."

The tiny pencil snapped in half. Willa gazed at the dancers before her with blurry eyes. How did they know so much, so soon? The only person she had told was Myrtle, whom she trusted entirely.

"Well, I for one feel sorry for her. She may have trapped him, but she couldn't have known who he was. No woman would be that desperate."

"Nnnoo," said the entirely too knowledgeable woman, "Unless perhaps she was…
desperate
."

This time the gasps were shocked indeed. "No!"

"Oh, heavens, I need my vinaigrette!"

"Then they well deserve each other, don't you think?"

Enough
. Willa turned to them with a sweet, deadly smile. "Why, thank you!" she said clearly. "You're so very kind."

She turned to go. Then she turned back. "When one day it is revealed that Lord Reardon is a good man, please do not be ashamed to call upon us. You'll find that while my memory is long, my nature is forgiving." She smiled again. "Usually."

When she had stalked away and rounded a column, she came face-to-face with Kitty and Knight. Kitty was smiling proudly. "Good for you, Lady Reardon."

Willa let out a breathy laugh, then curtsied deeply. "I am much obliged, Mrs. Knight."

Kitty tucked her arm through Knight's. "Darling, when next we host a ball, do let us remember who to strike off our guest list." She smiled fiercely at Willa. "My first ball is a rampaging success. And my memory is long as well."

Willa slid her gaze toward Knight. "Is her nature forgiving?"

"Ah." Knight thought for a moment. "I think the more appropriate word would be…
pitiless
?

"Why, thank you, my love!" Kitty went up on tiptoe to kiss her husband's cheek. Then she turned to Willa, her gaze somber. "Are you all right, Willa?"

Willa gave a little shake. "I'm perfectly well, thank you. Except that I cannot find Nathaniel. Have you seen him?"

Kitty looked thoughtful. "Not since he went into the gardens nearly an hour ago."

Finster and his cronies stood in a youthfully belligerent, slightly drunken line, blocking Nathaniel from the ballroom.

Well, this was a conundrum. The question was not so much "Could he trounce them?" as it was "Should he trounce them?" After all, Lord Treason was a snide wastrel—the most that could be claimed was perhaps a passing interest in boxing.

Lord Treason would
not
be able to trounce six strong young fellows. The Cobra could not only trounce them but also kill them silently and have their bodies disposed of inside an hour. Nathaniel Stonewell simply wasn't in the mood to fight.

There would be no help from anyone inside, of course, nor should there be. This could be a test. Finster was probably not a conspirator, but he was stupid enough to be used by one—aimed at Nathaniel like an arrow. Calling down the cavalry now would cost the battle.

As Finster led his minions down the terrace steps to the lawn, Nathaniel decided on bluster first, to be spiced with a dash of boxing and a hint of head butting. Crude but effective, and it wouldn't alert anyone to the fact that "Lord Treason" wasn't what he seemed.

"Well, if it isn't Lady Reardon," sneered Finster. "Where is your brave defender, my lady?"

Finster really was very young if he thought accusations of girlishness were going to work. Nathaniel decided to leave out the head butting. He couldn't do it to the poor boy.