Scandal in the Regency Ballroom

‘Have you been reading sensation novels, my lord?’ Bree enquired tartly. ‘I realise that many men find a dangerous image to be an attractive one to cultivate, but I do credit you with more sense than that.’

He laughed, a genuine snort of amusement. ‘You never answered my question about a dance.’

‘Certainly, my lord—I have an entire card full of country dances to fill!’ Without waiting for his response, she picked up her skirts and ran down the steps to the terrace. The allegory about riding tigers floated into her mind from nowhere. She was riding a tiger now, and very exhilarating it was. But how did one get off?

Bree studied her face in the mirror in the ladies’ retiring room while a maid valiantly brushed at the lichen clinging to her skirts. The effect on her face of being thoroughly kissed was startling. Her cheeks looked as though she had rouged them, and her mouth was bee-stung and rosy pink. Her eyes were wide, and something sparkled in them, try as she might to lecture herself for wanton behaviour.

‘Bree! There you are.’ It was Georgy, sweeping in. ‘Look at my hem! Oh, thank you.’ She smiled sweetly at a maid who came forward with a sewing basket.

‘I … I feel a little flushed,’ Bree admitted. ‘I came in here to cool down a trifle.’

‘You look fine to me. The colour suits you,’ Georgy assured her. ‘You mustn’t be shy—go on, they’ll be starting the dancing in a minute, and you’ll want to get your card filled up with all the most eligible men.’

That seemed unlikely to occur, but Bree was pleasantly surprised. The attentions of Viscount Lansdowne and the approval of his sister apparently gave her a certain cachet and, although her card was not full, it was gratifyingly almost three-quarters complete when she showed it to Piers.

‘Am I too late, ma’am?’ The deep voice made her jump, even though she had been tensed for Max’s appearance ever since she had come into the ballroom. ‘I apologise for addressing you before being introduced, but I am not acquainted with your chaperon.’ Bree narrowed her eyes at him and he smiled back with an air of perfect innocence. ‘Max Dysart, Ea—’

‘But, Bree, you must know Lord Penrith, he rescued yo—’ Piers’s clear, excited voice cut through the hum of conversation. Interested faces turned.

‘Lord Penrith? Why, of course, you came to the aid of young Hinkins, our driver, at Hounslow a few evenings back, did you not? Piers told me all about it—thank you so much.’ She directed a look of such quelling intensity at her brother that he shut his mouth with a snap and melted back into the crowd.

But the group of men he was with had heard more than enough to pique their interest and he found himself the centre of attention. ‘I say, Mallory, do you have anything to do with the stagecoach Penrith was driving?’ one gentleman demanded.

‘I own the company,’ Piers admitted. ‘Half of it, that is.’

‘I see your brother has fallen amongst the Nonesuch Whips,’ Max commented softly. ‘Tell me which dance I may have, and then I’ll go and distract them if I can. Otherwise you’ll have a yard full of bucks all wanting to drive a stage.’

‘The second cotillion?’ Bree asked distractedly. ‘And thank you, I would be grateful.’

Max bowed gracefully and strolled off to join the crowd around Piers. To her relief the focus of their attention switched immediately to him. For such a big man, he really looks surprisingly good in evening dress, Bree mused. I would have expected him to look his best in buckskins and boots, but he appears positively elegant. Good tailoring, of course, but—

‘What an extraordinary coincidence that Penrith should be sitting opposite you at dinner.’ Mr Latymer’s voice in her ear jerked her abruptly back from her contemplation of broad shoulders under well-fitting superfine.

‘Er … yes, it was, was it not? Naturally I am glad of the opportunity to thank him.’

‘Yet you did not mention the acquaintance earlier.’ Mr Latymer raised an eyebrow. ‘In fact, you denied it.’

‘Of course. I had not been introduced.’ Bree pulled herself together. ‘And, however grateful I was to his lordship—given that I understand it was his drag that caused the accident in the first place—the fact that he was able to assist one of Piers’s drivers is stretching an excuse to claim acquaintance to its limit.’

‘Hmm. Our dance, I believe.’

Almost half an hour spent executing intricate figures with a number of other couples was not the best situation in which to carry out a conversation, and Bree was grateful for it. But Mr Latymer obviously had something on his mind, and she was not surprised when, after the dance, while she was sitting fanning herself, he returned to her side with a glass of lemonade.

‘I would be fascinated to see around the headquarters of your coaching company, Miss Mallory. Might I call?’

‘Why, of course, but it is not my company—Piers can make arrangements for you to see behind the scenes.’

‘Then you have nothing to do with it?’

‘I occasionally assist with a little paperwork,’ Bree said airily. It would be just her luck to be there when Brice Latymer turned up.

‘What a good sister you are.’ There was warmth in his tone. Bree shot him a glance from under her lashes and was surprised to see warmth in his eyes also—the sort of warmth she had discerned in the gaze of another gentleman altogether. Goodness, she thought, flustered. Piers is right, I am going it!

‘I am very fond of Piers, and he intends to take over the running of the company full time when his education is finished. My uncle is the other owner, but he lives in the country, so I do what little I can to help,’ she added, hoping it sounded as though she occasionally glanced at the bill for candles.

‘But you could spare some time to drive with me?’

‘Drive?’ Bree, feeling herself going hot and cold all over, plied her fan energetically.

‘Yes. I have a new phaeton you might enjoy.’

‘Oh. Your phaeton. Of course.’ Of course, not a stagecoach … Of course, he doesn’t know … ‘Thank you.’

Bree shot a distracted glance in Piers’s direction, hoping he was being discreet. To her horror he was deep in conversation with the lanky young man she recognised as Max’s cousin. There was nothing for it, she would have to go and extract him before he did any more damage.

‘Miss Mallory, our dance, I believe?’ It was Lord Lansdowne.

‘Yes, of course.’ Bree flipped open her card. It was a country dance and immediately afterwards she had the cotillion with Max—all she could hope was that he had discouraged the Nonesuch Whips from a mass descent on the Mermaid.

She curtsied and took her place. At her side Lord Lansdowne waited while the first couple set off down the double line. ‘Would you care to drive with me some time this week?’ he enquired.

Another one! Really, this would be quite amusing if it were not so awkward. She could hardly abandon the business to its own devices until the Whips lost interest in the possibility of a whole stagecoach company to play with. Yet, on the other hand, if she was discovered to be the actual manager of the business, James would be mortified and the Dowager deeply disapproving. One look at the Lansdownes had left Bree very clear about who called the tune in that household. The old besom might well take it into her head to forbid the match.

‘Of course, my lord, I would be delighted.’ What else could one possibly say? The dance took them off down the line, into an intricate measure at the far end and left them separated by several couples. The necessity of keeping a smile plastered on her face for the length of the dance did nothing for Bree’s nerves, nor for her temper.

Lord Lansdowne, obviously impervious to her simmering state, swept her an extravagant bow and deposited her neatly in front of Lord Penrith.

‘Thank you so much, my lord.’ Bree curtsied, smile intact.

‘It was a pleasure. I will call at the earliest opportunity.’ Lansdowne made a mocking bow towards Max. ‘I yield to you, Dysart.’

‘Miss Mallory. Our cotillion.’

‘Oh, no, you don’t.’ Bree tucked one hand firmly into Max’s elbow and headed for the doors on to the terrace. ‘I want to talk to you.’

‘Really, ma’am, you have me all of a flutter. Alone with you on the terrace twice in one evening—people will begin to talk.’

‘They’ll have to see us first,’ Bree retorted, marching down the steps into the maze of clipped yew that framed the formal pool.

‘Your friends the Whips! You said you’d distract them, but two of them have asked me to drive with them and your dratted cousin is exchanging cards with Piers, and the rest are hanging around him like wasps round a honeypot and how am I to run the business not knowing which gentleman is about to appear in the yard and start poking about? I can hardly wear breeches and a false beard until they lose interest, can I? And stop laughing at me!’

Max had folded up on to an ornate bench and was clutching his sides in abandoned amusement. ‘Oh, please, try the false beard.…’

‘Wretch!’ Bree took a swipe at his elegant crop with her fan. ‘It is not funny.’

‘I can quite see that from your point of view it is not,’ Max agreed, getting his laughter under control with an effort. ‘But, Bree, this may be a blessing in disguise. At least now you are forewarned of the danger—after all, once your brother became betrothed to Lady Sophia your days of managing the yard were doomed. Sooner or later someone is going to find out, and then think of the kick-up there’d be.’

He looked up at her standing in front of him, and smiled. Bree took her hands off her hips and tried not to glower. ‘A chaperon, a business manager—what are you going to tell me I need next? James is costing us a great deal of money.

‘What is it with you men and stagecoaches? You’ve got drags, you’ve got much better bloodstock than we can afford—why do you want to play with my stagecoaches?’

‘It is not your company, when all is said and done. Don’t you want to get married, have a family of your own?’

‘I suppose so, but I am resigned to it. By the time Piers is old enough to take control, I will be too old to find a husband.’

‘So find a business manager, then find a husband,’ Max said. ‘And don’t frown at me, it creases your very nice forehead.’ He got up and smoothed the furrow between her brows with his thumb. ‘I fail to see why you cannot find a good man to manage your business.’

‘Piers would resent it.’ It was tempting and yet, what on earth would she do with herself all day without the company to run? Shopping and calls and parties until she found a husband? Then more of the same, plus children? The children were intriguing, the unknown husband and the daily social whirl were not. ‘I would die of boredom.’

‘Find a man with an estate you can become involved with, start a charity, play the ‘Change, take a lover …’

‘Max!’ He was altogether too close. She could smell the light, citrusy cologne he wore, the trace of soap, the exciting tang of masculinity overlaid with all the refinements of clean, well-groomed sophistication. He was showing an altogether commendable, if very disappointing, restraint about trying to kiss her again.

Perhaps he didn’t like it last time. I am very inexperienced after all. Completely inexperienced. Perhaps he doesn’t want to do it again. I shouldn’t want him to—this can’t possibly lead to anything.

‘You are a delicious innocent, Miss Mallory, and I should not be out here with you.’

‘That’s true. But you were in the carriage with me before, so I know I can trust you. But then I looked dreadful.’

‘You looked edible,’ Max said, reminiscently. He reached out and let one finger trail lazily up and down the column of her neck. It felt strong, hard, slightly rough against her soft skin.

‘You, my lord, must have a very strange taste in women, if you thought I looked better then than I do now,’ Bree observed as repressively as she could manage, given that her insides appeared to be hollow and her breathing was not working properly.

‘I did not say that.’ The finger was exploring the whorls of her ear now, rubbing the lobe, then drifting up behind it into the soft hair. ‘Now, I think you look utterly seductive.’

‘Are you trying to seduce me?’ Bree asked, swallowing hard.

Chapter Seven

‘Seduce you? No.’ Max’s mood of gentle sensuality seemed to have quite vanished. ‘I am getting you in a fluster and I am ensuring that I spend an acutely uncomfortable evening.’

‘Why?’ Bree demanded.

‘Why am I getting you in a fluster?’

‘No. I know the answer to that—you’re a man. Men flirt, and I was silly enough to come out here with you—I expect it is quite automatic on your part. No, why will you be uncomfortable?’

‘Um … my conscience will be troubling me,’ he said. Bree narrowed her eyes. That was not the truth, but he would refuse to tell her if she pressed. ‘May I call and take you driving?’

‘You are number three,’ Bee informed him, torn between smugness and exasperation. ‘Am I to go driving with all of the Nonesuch Whips while you take it in turns to try to persuade me to let you drive a stage? It is a deeply unflattering motive.’

‘But you may acquit me, for I have already driven your stage, have I not?’

Time to take the bull by the horns, my girl, Bree told herself. ‘Then what is your motive, my lord? You do not want to drive a stagecoach, you do not want to seduce me …’

‘I said I was not trying to, not that I did not want to.’

‘Now you are teasing me. I know perfectly well that you are too much the gentleman.’ He grimaced. In the flare of the torchlight his face looked stony. Bree blinked; it must be a trick of the light.

‘Perhaps I am amusing myself by bringing you into fashion, perhaps I enjoy flirting with you or perhaps I enjoy your company and would like to be your friend. What do you think, Bree?’

‘Perhaps all three?’

‘Clever girl.’

She slapped at him lightly with her fan. ‘Do not patronise me, my lord, or we will not be friends for long.’

Max stood and held out his hand to help her to her feet. ‘That would be a pity, Bree Mallory, because I think you will be very good for me.’

Max watched Bree take the hand of her next dance partner and walk gracefully on to the dance floor. Another of the Whips, he noted. He really should do something about that, but it was too tempting to let them lay siege to the Challenge Coach Company—nothing was more certain to drive Bree out of the office and into the life that was proper for her. Into his company.

‘Don’t you go hurting my about-to-be-sister-in-law,’ a voice at his elbow chided him, like the echo of his conscience.

He looked down and met the sparkling green eyes of Georgy Lucas. ‘What do you mean, Lady Georgiana?’

‘You know perfectly well what, and you know who, as well—don’t go getting all starchy with me, Max,’ she said, slipping her hand companionably under his elbow as they stood there. ‘I know what they say about you.’

‘And what is that, pray?’ Georgy’s challenging gaze was not at all shaken by his coolness.

‘That you gave your heart very unwisely when you were young, had it broken and now have no heart at all.’

Damn the woman! Max bit down a sharp retort. What does she know, really? Not the whole truth—very few people know that.

‘Oh, I have a heart, Georgy, just not one I care to hazard any more.’

‘You will have to marry one day, Dysart—think of the title.’

The title. And my heart—if anyone wants it.

‘And if you really choose to be unconventional, why, you have the standing to carry it off. Miss Mallory is not so very unsuitable after all—think of all the members of the House of Lords who have married actresses, for goodness’ sake. She is perfectly respectable, with some excellent, if distant, connections.’

‘I assume you are trying to matchmake as usual, Georgy. I hope you know what you are talking about, for I have no idea,’ Max lied. She was a disconcerting little minx, but talking to her had given him an idea.

He began to steer her down the edge of the floor. ‘Where is your husband? I feel the need to advise him to lock you up on his most remote estate until you learn better conduct.’

Georgy, whom he had known since she was in leading strings, pouted. ‘Darling Charles is in the card room, and he dotes upon me, so it is no use grumbling to him, Max.’

Darling Charles was Lord Lucas, not only an influential magistrate, but one with close ties both to Bow Street and in government.

‘I think I will have a little chat with your Charles,’ Max said meditatively, disentangling Georgy’s hand from his arm. ‘Go and flirt with your numerous admirers.’

She dimpled at him and strolled off in a swish of expensive French satin, leaving Max wondering how to broach his request to her husband. At the card room his luck was in; his quarry was just settling up after a game of piquet and was more than happy to join Max for a hand.

Max selected the table in the farthest corner, passing several empty ones on the way. Lord Lucas’s slightly raised eyebrow at this odd behaviour did not escape him, but the magistrate settled back in his chair without comment while Max summoned a waiter to fetch them claret.

Max looked into the shrewd grey eyes and wondered if the rumours about the baron being the government’s leading spy-master could possibly be true. If they were, it seemed an odd occupation for a man whose taste in wives ran to Georgy and all her frivolity.

‘This is an excuse,’ he said baldly, cutting the fresh pack and offering it to Lucas. ‘I wanted to ask your advice on a matter of some discretion. It is a problem upon which I have only just reached a decision.’

‘Indeed.’ Lucas shuffled the cards and dealt, his face blandly amiable. ‘I will be glad to help if I can, Dysart.’

‘It is a personal matter.’ Max picked up his cards, one part of his brain assessing the hand, even as he spoke. ‘It concerns an affair that very few people know of, and one I would wish to keep from being any more widely known.’ He laid down a club.

The baron merely nodded, played in his turn, then remarked, ‘I spend my life hearing things that must never be spoken of. I have the habit of secrecy. Why not tell me your problem? I will see what I can do to help.’

Max folded the cards in his hand and snapped them down on to the table. ‘It concerns my wife.’ He picked up the hand again, irritated to find himself so lacking in control. ‘I need to be certain that she is dead.’

Bree sat down next to Piers and fanned herself. ‘Phew! That was very energetic. You are a good dancer, my dear.’

‘I am, am I not?’ he observed smugly.

‘At least when you are dancing with me you are not being indiscreet with your new friends from the Nonesuch Club. Honestly, Piers—you almost blurted out that I was driving the stage that night! Can you imagine the scandal that would cause if it were known?’

‘I’m sorry. I will try to be very careful—but what can I do about them calling? They wanted to know our direction so they can visit—I could hardly refuse to say, could I?’

Bree nodded. ‘We cannot keep fobbing them off. I’ll have to think of something harmless for them to do that does not involve fare-paying passengers.

‘But as for calling, I’m afraid I am going to have to find myself a companion-cum-chaperon, and I do not think I can spend so much time working at the inn either. We need a business manager. Lord Penrith pointed out to me that now we are known widely as James’s relatives we are going to have to keep up this level of respectability. Or, at least, I am. I have to admit, I did not think this through at first, but he is quite correct. Our brother is marrying the daughter of a duke, for goodness’ sake! That is not going to be something that goes away after tonight, or even after the wedding.’

Her brother grimaced. ‘Isn’t it going to be expensive to hire these people? And won’t you miss it? Working at the Mermaid, I mean?’

‘Yes, I will, and I will miss my freedom as well, but it cannot be helped. Leaving James’s opinions to one side, I do not really want to figure as a hoyden, nor do I want to cut myself off from society altogether. Tomorrow I will try the agencies, see what I can find out about what rates of pay would be expected. We can afford it, Piers. The business is doing well, and I can still keep overall control from a safe distance.’

‘I could leave school,’ he suggested, with a sideways glance from under ridiculously long lashes.

‘And act as my chaperon, do you mean?’ Bree laughed at him. ‘I don’t think so!’

‘As our business manager, of course.’ Piers laughed back. ‘And I think you are quite right, it isn’t proper, and it is not fair that you have to do all that work.’ He bit his lip thoughtfully. ‘Won’t it be difficult at home, though, if you are going to employ a starched-up chaperon to live with us?’

‘Lord, yes! It would be ghastly,’ Bree agreed, taken aback by the thought. Really, the pitfalls of all this respectability stretched way beyond the cost of it. There would be a loss of privacy, the need to run a more regulated and formal household—and the fact that a chaperon would expect to … well, to chaperon her. ‘What I need,’ she said reflectively, ‘is the appearance of rigid respectability combined with the freedom to do whatever I like.’

‘Mmm.’ Piers raised an eyebrow, a skill Bree wished she could perfect. ‘I would love to be a fly on the wall when you explain that at the employment exchange.’

Lord Lucas’s hand froze in the moment of making a discard, then he recovered himself smoothly and laid down the card. His face did not betray any emotion beyond an interest in the fall of the cards. ‘Indeed? I assume that you do not mean to imply that you wish this lady found and then—how can I put it?—removed?’

‘No. Never that.’ Max fanned out his cards with steady fingers. The Queen of Spades, the Knave of Hearts, the King of Diamonds. It summed the whole wretched business up somehow.

‘Forgive me, Dysart, but I was not aware that you had a wife.’ The man opposite did not raise his eyes from his study of his hand.

‘Very few people are. A vicar somewhere in Dorset who may be dead, a certain adventurer who may also be dead—and will be if I ever find him—my grandmother, my man of business, my groom and some old, very loyal servants.

‘It is seven years since money was last drawn on the funds I set up for her. If she is still alive, I will divorce her. If she has died, then I need take no further action.’ How would it feel to see her again? Or to stand by her graveside? Will it still feel as though something is ripping into my heart, or will I still feel nothing, as I have taught myself to do these past years?

‘After seven years she may legally be presumed dead.’ Lord Lucas played a card. ‘My hand, I think.’

‘So my legal advisor tells me, but I wish for certainty. A presumption is not enough, should I wish to marry again.’

‘I see.’ The magistrate—if that was all he was—glanced towards the ballroom, then back at Max. He kept his face shuttered, willing himself to show no emotion. ‘Yes, I see. Despite what my dear wife believes, I do actually listen to what she says, and I begin to see your predicament. Young ladies do have a not unreasonable expectation that a man who courts them is free to do so.’ He hesitated. ‘You contemplate divorce if Lady Penrith should still be alive? You do understand what that would mean?’

‘Legally, emotionally or in terms of my reputation and honour?’ Max enquired, then answered his own question. ‘Yes, to all of those. I understand exactly what it would cost.’

‘Has it occurred to you that the other lady in the case may hesitate to commit herself in the face of such notoriety?’

Max picked up the pack and began to shuffle it. He moved the cards in his hand aimlessly, looking unseeing at the painted faces. ‘If I were to have a lady in mind—and we are speaking hypothetically, you understand—I would need to be very certain of my own feelings, and of hers also. Even then, I must decide whether I can square my conscience with placing her in that position, if I do find myself seeking a divorce.’