The Regency Season: Passionate Promises
She looked at the glass he set in front of her with an expression of surprise.
‘You will find it to be the finest cognac,’ he said.
‘Smuggled, no doubt.’
He shrugged and sat down in the seat on the other side of the table. ‘Naturally. How else is one to obtain French brandy?’
Her shoulders relaxed. She sipped and nodded her approval. ‘Excellent.’
‘I am glad you approve.’
Her gaze shot to his face as if she suspected him of sarcasm. He was careful to show nothing of what he was feeling. Anger that she’d risked her reputation on a whim. The wish that she’d chosen some other club in which to play her games. No. He was glad she had come to Heaven. At least here she was safe. He took a mental inventory of those present in the subscription room who might know who she was and spread gossip. None sprang to mind.
‘What do you think Gabe will say?’ he asked. ‘Or your sister?’
His jab clearly hit home. Though she disguised her reaction well, the winding of the strings of her reticule around her fingers gave away her nervousness. She had small hands, neat and quick as they knotted and unknotted the delicate cord. Hands that would feel wonderful on his body, stroking and caressing— He cut the thought off, dragged his gaze from their restless twisting. He hated it that he’d made her nervous, but it was as he had intended.
‘Does Gabe know you own such a wicked place?’ she asked.
Wicked. His body tightened at the image of the sort of wickedness he’d like to engage in with this girl who had become a woman since they’d last met. A beautiful desirable woman he had no right to be near. But, of course, it was the gambling she was talking about, not the other vices rampant beneath his roof. He considered the other import of her words. ‘What makes you think I own it?’
‘Bah. I’m not a fool. The pugilist dressed as a maître d’ went to fetch you and stood back as if you were in charge.’
No, she wasn’t a fool. ‘I own a part share.’ He wondered what she’d think if she knew who owned the other share. Sceptre had thought it a grand joke.
Her head tilted. ‘An odd enterprise for a duke.’
He’d inherited his title a little over a year ago, six or seven months after he had invested in the Fools’ Paradise. He still had a nasty feeling in his gut it had been the last straw for his father. The last straw in a long line of them that had caused the apoplexy that had taken his life. He took a long pull at the warming liquid in his glass. ‘Why are you here, Minette? If you think I am fooled by that tale of a wager, you can think again.’
Women never did anything without an ulterior motive. Not the intelligent ones. And he had no illusions about the sharpness of her mind.
A crease formed between her straight brows as if she was trying to make up her mind about something. Probably whether she could trust him with the truth. She couldn’t, of course, but that was something he didn’t intend to point out.
‘Tell me,’ he said. ‘Or explain it to Gabe later. Your choice.’
Looking down at her hands, she slowly unravelled the twisted strings.
Not going to trust him. The hollow ache of disappointment in his gut was a surprise. Perhaps it was merely because he was left with no recourse but to force the issue. He tossed back the balance of his brandy and went to pull the bell.
‘Wait,’ she said. ‘I need to locate someone. I thought you might help me.’
Yet another surprise. His breath caught in his throat. She’d come to him for assistance. The cold inside him seemed to melt a little. As if he liked the idea she’d turned to him for aid. Not good. Not good at all. He was the wrong man to be offering his help to a woman with a reputation to protect. He strode back to the table and looked down at her. ‘Who?’
A defiant lift of her chin. ‘You must swear to say nothing of this to Gabe or Nicky.’
‘Not tell them verbally, or in writing, or both?’ Two could play at the game of cheating. She needed to understand that, unlike Granby, he was nobody’s fool.
She glared at him. ‘Not to tell them in any manner, shape or form through your own actions or that of any other person.’
Another bubble of laughter fought for escape. It was so long since he’d wanted to laugh, no wonder it hurt. But this was no laughing matter. ‘You would have made a good lawyer, I think.’
‘Women aren’t allowed to be lawyers. They are not allowed to do anything useful.’
Oh, was that was she thought? ‘Oh, believe me, they have lots of uses.’ He let the wicked ideas in his head show in his eyes, echo in his tone of voice.
Undisturbed by the innuendo, she lifted one shoulder in a very Gallic gesture of disdain. ‘Men.’
Not a blush in sight. His blood heated. Was it her boldness that attracted him, when most debutantes had him running for the hills? ‘So jaded?’
A flash of pain in her eyes, followed by an acceptance he didn’t understand, robbed him of amusement. He should not have resorted to idle teasing. They weren’t on those kinds of terms. ‘I beg your pardon, but that is the sort of male jocularity you exposed yourself to by coming here.’
‘Thank you for your concern, but I am perfectly able to take care of myself.’
‘Are you?’ He pulled her to her feet, tilting her chin with one hand to look down into a stormy gaze that reminded him of trees in autumn lashed by the wind, pulling her hard against his body with the other. Her sweet curves were an aphrodisiac in his blood. His body hardened as he took her mouth in a punishing kiss. Show me, sweetheart, he willed. Resist me. His heart thundered and blood roared in his ears.
For a satisfying moment he felt her tense, but even as he prepared to force himself to let her go, she melted sweetly, kissing him back with a passion that would have seared his soul. If he’d had one.
His mind blanked of everything except the sensations scorching through his body, the feel of her softness melding into him, the taste of brandy on her silken tongue sliding against his, the scent of her, jasmine and hot summer nights. Delicious. Tempting.
Luscious and...not for him. He pushed her away before he forgot himself entirely.
Twin spots of colour blazed on her cheekbones. Embarrassment. Shame.
Self-loathing burned like acid in his throat. ‘See how vulnerable you are?’ he said harshly, all too aware of his raging desire and uneven breathing. ‘No woman has the strength to prevent a determined man from taking what he wants. Dressed as you are, you told every man in the establishment that you are available and willing.’
Her eyes widened as if he’d wounded her feelings. Good. Perhaps she had learned her lesson. He’d certainly learned his. Keep his distance. ‘Give me your word you won’t try anything like this again and I’ll take you home.’
He reached out to take her arm.
She jerked away. ‘If you promise not to tell Gabe about this evening, I will not tell him of your insult to my person.’
Though he showed nothing on his face, he was surprised to discover her words hurt more than a slap would have done. Yet she was right. It had been an insult. Deliberately so. Outcast by the more respectable members of the ton, his attentions should be unwelcome. He’d used his reputation for vice to gain the trust of the dregs of society, the informants, the spies, and earned the scorn of his peers. He raised a brow. ‘Blackmail. How unworthy. And what do you think Gabe would do? Call me out? He’d be more likely to insist we marry.’
A strange look came to her face. Yet another one he couldn’t read. She shook her head. ‘No, thank you.’
He did not bother to keep the bitter edge from his tone. ‘My sentiments exactly.’ He intended never to marry, and certainly wasn’t going to let a little chit like her change his mind.
‘I wouldn’t have had to come here,’ she shot back, ‘had you responded to my notes.’
Notes he should have returned unopened, instead of stuffing them in his desk drawer. ‘A young lady doesn’t demand a gentlemen wait on her. It is not good ton.’
‘Oh, and I suppose you are good ton,’ she muttered, then lifted her gaze to meet his face. ‘You avoided me on purpose.’
He’d been avoiding her like a man avoided the hangman’s noose. She was too damnably attractive. ‘Well, here I am now.’ He poured chill into his voice. No easy task when his body burned with lust. ‘Tell me who it is you want found and then I’ll take you home.’
‘You’ve no doubt heard that Moreau is back in England.’ Clear, velvet-brown eyes met his in challenge.
A spy placed in England by Fouché, Moreau had very nearly succeeded in a plan to assassinate King George. He had used Minette to lure her sister Nicky, now Gabe’s wife, into helping him. He’d almost captured Gabe into the bargain. It had been a near-run thing, but ultimately Nicky and Gabe had outwitted him. Moreau’s spectacular failure had resulted in him being relocated to Madrid, where he must have helped Napoleon’s brother gain the throne of Spain. No doubt back in favour, he was once more assigned to help in the downfall of the only country stopping Napoleon from ruling the whole of Europe. Britain.
‘Nothing I didn’t already know,’ Freddy said. ‘And not your concern.’
Her eyes darkened. ‘Is it not?’ She took a deep breath. ‘What if he goes after Nicky? After the way she tricked him...’ The slight gesture of her hands encompassed the enormity of what a man like Moreau could do to an enemy.
Admiration caused something in his chest to expand. She looked like such a fragile creature, with her glowing skin and fine bones, while the blood of a Valkyrie ran in her veins. The understanding shook him to the core. He forced himself to focus on the very real danger within her words.
‘He will be found and dealt with.’
‘Like you dealt with him before? You don’t even know what he looks like. I do. And if you won’t help me, I will find him by myself.’
The challenge in her voice, her manner, raised his hackles. The Frenchman had a network of informants all over England. One hint that he was at risk of discovery and he wouldn’t hesitate to kill.
Anger at her bravado chilled him to the bone. He kept his voice was calm. ‘What have you heard?’
‘You have to let me help in his capture.’
He almost laughed. But that would have hurt her feelings. And, besides, it wasn’t the least bit humorous. ‘Do not be ridiculous.’
Her chin went up. ‘Someone I know has seen him. I thought you would want to know. If you won’t let me be part of it, I will seek his aid.’
His blood ran cold. Moreau was a dangerous man. A killer when cornered.
‘Why this renewed interest in Moreau?’ he asked.
Shadows skittered across her face. ‘He tried to use me to harm Nicky. I need to know first-hand he is no longer a threat.’
Sincerity shone in her gaze. She’d given him the truth, but only part of it. He’d spent too long working for Sceptre not to recognise a half-truth. ‘Trust me to do my job and I will let you know when he is taken care of. Come, I will take you home.’ And in the meantime he’d have to discover what she was hiding.
When she hesitated, he gave her a glare that would have turned Granby to a pillar of salt. On Minette, it had no effect.
She glared right back. ‘You always did treat me like a child.’
To stop himself from treating her like a desirable woman. Not something she needed to know. ‘My carriage awaits us at the back.’
‘Would you mind dropping me off in the mews?’ she said airily. ‘I left the gate open before I left, since no one knew I went out this evening.’
Thus embroiling him deeper in her scheme. He bit back a curse.
Chapter Two
Seated in his curricle, Minette watched Freddy leap nimbly aboard to take the reins. He showed no sign of discomfort or awkwardness. She’d noticed that, although he limped, he did not seem to find whatever ailed his leg an impediment. Except when people offered him a seat as if he were some sort of invalid. Then he looked ready for murder.
The horses’ hooves ringing on the cobbles, they turned onto Broad Street. The roads were quiet at this time of night and, in this quarter of Town, ill lit. Ruffians lurked in shadows, watching their passing with keen eyes. It said something about the dangerous air of the man beside her that their carriage suffered no interference and they soon reached the well-kept streets of Mayfair.
‘Why do you never come to see Gabe and Nicky?’ Minette asked. ‘Are you too good for us now you are a duke?’
The streetlight caught his grim expression in stark relief. ‘Gabe has moved on. It is better if no one knows of our prior...association.’
Gabe had once worked as a spy, too. ‘He saved the King’s life.’ The attempted assassination had never been mentioned in the newspapers, and Moreau remained at large. The sound of his name in her head left a bitter taste on her tongue. A vile concoction of betrayal, regret and guilt.
‘If you would accept my help, I am sure we could find him more quickly,’ she said.
‘You need someone to put you over a knee and give you a spanking,’ he muttered.
She swivelled in her seat to face him and traced a fingertip along the length of his thigh. ‘Is that your idea of fun with a woman?’
He turned a choke into a cough, and she smiled innocently up at him as the next streetlamp caught her full in the face.
‘You little minx,’ he said, when he finally caught his breath. ‘You should know better.’
Since Gabe had first warned her and Nicky that Moreau had been recalled to France, she’d been expecting him to show up in England. He wasn’t one to leave unfinished business. She’d had her French maid, Christine, ask discreetly among the émigrés. Moreau, as he’d called himself in England, had destroyed more lives than the English could even guess at. The families of those people had long memories. ‘I have a contact who will give us the name of someone who has seen him.’
‘Us.’
He made a sound of scorn, the kind one’s elders made when one said something stupid. Apparently her kiss—she resisted the urge to touch her lips where the heat of his mouth on hers still lingered—hadn’t convinced him he was dealing with a woman grown. If he knew, if any of them knew what she’d done...
She should never have allowed Nicky to bring her out, as they called it here in London. They all thought her so sweet and innocent. How could she reveal the truth when Nicky had given up her own dreams to protect her little sister? Nicky had married the brutal Count Vilandry to keep Minette safe and she had thrown that sacrifice away. So now she faced the prospect of refusing any and all perfectly acceptable offers of marriage. And there would be offers. She wasn’t an antidote, as Gabe called ladies lacking in charms, and the dowry Gabe had so generously bestowed on her made her a very eligible parti.
But that was mostly her problem. Worse was the weapon she had given Moreau. He could, whenever he wished, destroy her and Gabe and Nicky with the gift she had given him. He would have no hesitation to use it against them. It did not bear thinking about. ‘I won’t get in your way. I would help identify him and ask him one question. Nothing more.’
‘No.’
Men. They never listened. ‘As you please.’ She folded her hands in her lap in a parody of innocence.
Freddy shot her an exasperated glance mingled with something she could not quite read. ‘If there was any possibility at all of you being able to accomplish the matter alone, you would not have come to me for help.’
The man had a brain. Gabe had said he’d been brilliant at university. Too clever by half, she’d always thought, when she’d tried to cheat him at cards. And he knew it, which was worse. ‘It needs money to get my informant to give up what they know.’
He pulled the carriage into the alley behind the mews in Grosvenor Square. Relief shot through her. Until that moment she’d half expected he would give her away to Gabe. At least he wasn’t going to give her up tonight. Perhaps she was making some headway.
‘You want money.’ He sounded aggrieved, as if she should have wanted something different. ‘Who is this contact you speak of?’
‘Why would I tell you when you won’t help me?’ Her maid, an émigrée, had been given only a titbit of information. ‘Please, Freddy.’
‘You picked the wrong man for your games. Tomorrow I will have the truth. Or I will reveal the whole to Gabe.’
He tied off the horses’ reins, jumped clear and helped her down. He gazed at the garden gate she’d left ajar. ‘Bolt that behind you.’
She stepped inside and then turned to look up at him, put her hand on his arm and felt him tense. ‘I don’t care how much you and Gabe badger me, I will tell you nothing unless you involve me in the plan for Moreau’s capture. It is of the utmost importance.’ It was the most she dared say and she was surprised she was trusting him this much. Except that he had never made her feel unsafe. Irritated, yes. Annoyed, yes. But never in any danger.
He put his hand on the brick wall and loomed over her. ‘Why?’
‘I told you. I was his victim. I need to know he can never harm me or Nicky again, even if it means killing him.’ She held her breath.
His eyes widened. ‘You will not approach him.’
‘Not if you agree to my involvement.’
A frustrated growl issued from his throat.
‘Don’t call in the morning,’ she said. ‘I will know more tomorrow night. Meet me at Gosport’s ball and we can talk again.’ She whisked inside and shut and bolted the gate behind her.
A fist slammed against the wood.
‘Hush,’ she whispered. ‘You’ll wake someone.’
She fled down the garden path in case he should decide to break his way in, but as she slid through the French doors into the breakfast room she heard the sound of his carriage moving off.
Everything depended on the slim chance she’d told him enough to stop him from exposing her visit to Gabe in the morning.
Nicky’s future depended on it.
She touched a finger to her lips, remembering their kiss. How quickly she had responded, how good it had felt. The intensity, almost as if he, too, had felt something deeper between them than passing lust.
Ridiculous. It was his attempt to scare her, that was all. There had never been any doubt in her mind that he disliked her. Probably because she was French. His whole purpose in life was to defeat her countrymen.
* * *
‘Now, don’t you look as fine as fivepence? Bang up to the knocker, you might say.’
Freddy met Barker’s gaze in the mirror and grinned. ‘Sartorial elegance are the words you are seeking.’
Barker liked to pretend he came from the stews rather than a respectable merchant family. ‘Unlikely.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘Pity you can’t do something about your expression. You look like a man walking up the steps to the nubbin’ cheat.’
The gallows would be preferable to what he had planned for tonight. ‘Are you sure no one has seen him?’
‘Nary a peep, but we’ll find him, given time.’
Freddy cursed. With Minette on the rampage, he didn’t have time. Neither did he want to play foolish games with manipulating little baggages like Minette Rideau. He should have gone to see Gabe this morning, but that would have finished any hope he’d have of getting her to talk. He’d recognised the signs. He certainly didn’t want her going off half-cocked and ruining any chance they had of finding Moreau before he did any damage. She was as stubborn as she was beautiful. He closed his eyes briefly as the recollection of their kiss flooded his mind. The feel of her soft body pressed against his own. His blood heated. Damn it all, that was the last thing he needed.
He gave one more twitch to his neckcloth and turned from the mirror.
Barker held up his coat, fingering the cloth. ‘As fine a bit of yardage as I’ve ever seen. Weston, did you say?’
‘Yes.’ He slid his arms into the sleeves, and Barker eased the coat over his shoulders.
It was like slipping into a disguise. The persona of aristocrat, rather than that of owner of a hell-cum-brothel. It was the latter part that stuck in the craw of the ton. A gentleman might not mind enjoying its offerings but they didn’t want their wives near the owner of a bawdy house. Not that a truly ambitious mama would care if she thought she had a chance at the title.
The main reason he never went to balls and such.
Hopefully, the Gosports wouldn’t throw their uninvited guest out on his ear. While the ducal title trumped a mere baron any day of the week, likely his host wouldn’t be pleased at such a disgraceful duke darkening his doors.
Freddy grinned at the alliteration. It would make a good title for one of the romances the ladies like to read.
‘Is the carriage ready?’ he asked.
He’d had his mother’s town carriage dragged out and dusted off. Lord, his father must be turning in his grave right now, given the path his heir had decided to follow. As if he wasn’t disappointing enough as it was.
‘Ready and waiting, guv. Er...I mean, Your Grace.’
‘No need to stand on ceremony, Barker. You know me too well for that.’ Barker had dragged him home half-seas over too many times after long nights of talking to his eyes and ears in London’s lowest taverns to scrape and bow to his title.
Barker grinned. ‘Right you are, then, guv. Time we were off.’
Freddy grinned back. Whatever happened, tonight was going to be unpleasant, but at least it wouldn’t be boring. Minette Rideau was never dull.
When he arrived at Gosports’ house he saw that he had timed his arrival to perfection. The receiving line had already abandoned its post at the head of the stairs, his host and hostess off enjoying their party. He slipped the butler a coach wheel. The man closed his fist over the silver coin and agreed there was no need to announce a latecomer, particularly since he’d come at the behest of another guest.
Following the sound of music, Freddy ascended the stairs to the first floor and located the ballroom. A large drawing room with the furniture removed and a three-man orchestra at one end.
Minette, in proper debutante white, looked glorious, her face flushed, her eyes sparkling as she pirouetted beneath the arm of a fresh-faced youth. This was what a girl like her should be doing. Dancing. Flirting. Establishing herself in society. It would be a shame to spoil all that, but if he had to he would tell Gabe what she’d been up to and have her sent to rusticate at his country house until they had Moreau firmly in their grasp.
Her glance met his across the room. He stilled. Caught by the laughing brightness of her face. His chest tightened. She wouldn’t be smiling at him by the end of the evening. Most likely she’d hate him. The thought made him feel colder than usual. He scanned the room, found Gabe and Nicky standing with a group of friends. He took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders.
‘Freddy. I didn’t know you would be here tonight.’ Arthur Stone’s cheerful greeting at his back had him spinning around.
Arthur, his cousin, put out a hand to steady him. Freddy gritted his teeth, avoided the clutching hand and smiled. ‘A surprise to me, too.’
The slow-top frowned his puzzlement. ‘It is good to see you, Freddy.’ He winced. ‘I suppose I should be calling you Duke now or Falconwood.’
‘Freddy will do, cuz. Falconwood sounds too much like Father to me.’
His cousin’s open countenance cleared of worry. He had a naturally cheerful disposition and a dullness of intellect Freddy found hard work, but he was a nice enough chap. ‘It’s hard to believe the old fellow’s been gone more than a year, isn’t it?’ His cousin glanced about him, pity in his eyes. ‘There are some chairs over there by the wall if you need to sit down. I’d be more than happy sit and keep you company.’
Pity for Freddy’s lame leg. Along with the unease people generally felt around someone less than whole. Not to mention a man whose mother had accused him of making a play for the dukedom. A charge levelled behind his back but never laid to his face. Fratricide. The unspoken word lingered in the air like the smell of rotten eggs.