Page 18 of How to Court a Rake
‘I have seen it before. It’s a farce, so I think intriguing might be overstating it a bit,’ Mary said coolly, casting a swift look towards the doors. She’d never wished so fervently for the butler to announce dinner. Surely, it would be any minute now.
These had been the longest fifteen minutes of her life and perhaps the most frightening.
‘My mistake,’ he said affably. ‘I can see I will need your guidance as I enter society.Iwill appreciateyourexpertise in this particular matter.’ This optimistic cheerfulness of his set her nerves on edge. While his words mightsoundcongenial, she sensed a darker message lurked beneath—the innuendo of a barter: that she might guide him in the matter of the play’s storyline and, in exchange, he would guide her in other more intimate pursuits, as a husband with experience might guide an untried bride. There was much not to like about the insinuation, not least of all the subjugation they implied. There was nowhere to run. She was trapped in her own home.
Panic began to well. She fought it back. She would not let Amesbury see her falter, see her fright. He would feed on it, use it to dominate her. She forced her mind to work. She had nowhere to run to, but perhaps there was someone to whom she could run? ‘If you would excuse me for a moment? I’d like to collect myself before supper.’ Lady Mary slipped away before he could protest. She’d only have a few minutes. Upstairs, she scribbled a note with a trembling hand and rang for her maid.
‘Minton, I need your utmost discretion.’ She folded the paper. ‘This must be delivered to Parkhurst House. Can you send a footman who won’t be missed while we’re at supper? And if not, can you manage to go yourself?’ She thought for a moment. ‘In fact, the latter would be best. I won’t need you for hours yet and you won’t be missed.’ The fewer who knew a note had left the house, the better. Secrets among many were hard to keep.
‘I can go, my lady.’ Minton looked worried. But there was no time to explain. Caine had suggested he’d stand as her friend. Tonight she needed an ally, perhaps someone to dissuade Amesbury’s interest. More than that, tonight she needed the presence of a friend. She was still reeling from the realisation that her father had sold her in marriage, that her home had become a prison where her wants held no sway and she sensed this was only the beginning. She’d not hit bottom yet.
Chapter Ten
‘Bottoms up!’ The old barman’s toast went around the drawing room of Parkhurst House in a raucous chorus of male voices followed by, ‘To Westin! To the bridegroom!’ Parkhurst House was bursting at the seams tonight, full of soon-to-be fully inebriated gentlemen giving Lord Westin a manly send off before his nuptials in the morning.
Someone slapped Caine on the back as he drank to the toast, slopping brandy on his coat. ‘Your place is better than White’s or Boodle’s combined, old chap.’ Caine reached for a handkerchief to mop up the spill. Thank goodness his coat was dark. He spied Kieran standing with Westin, a friendly arm draped about Westin’s shoulder, giving the man advice, no doubt. The thought of Kieran offering marital advice was almost as humorous as the thought of someone being desperate enough to take it. Once Westin was sober, he’d realise Kieran had no idea what he was talking about.
To the unsuspecting eye, it was business as usual at Parkhurst House, the drawing room acting as a de facto club for those who wanted something more private. It was only half past eight, but the card tables had been busy tonight, the liquor flowing. People had been in high spirits. Someone had even played the pianoforte. Soon, the crowd would thin. Men would move off to join their wives at the theatre, at a ball or a much tamer card party or musicale than what was on offer here. And he would have to hunt for his information elsewhere, Caine thought grimly. There’d been nothing of use gleaned from conversations over cards tonight or a private drink in the corner with those who would be most likely to let something noteworthy drop.
Noteworthy these days included any news of bodies washing up on the shores of the Thames, persons without their memories admitted to hospitals in the surrounding areas, anyone who might be Stepan in need of help. Caine had extended his net of surveillance into the villages and hamlets that lined the waterway of the Thames. Noteworthy also included any hint of who might have hired the explosives expert. If only the fellow hadn’t died before Caine could have extracted answers from him. It would have given him the next link in the chain.
Kieran left Westin to his friends and joined him. ‘Come drink with us. It looks like you’re sulking at your own party,’ he ribbed him, then Kieran dropped his voice. ‘It feels wrong to me, too, to be celebrating something, anything, without Stepan here, but we must keep up appearances. Come drink with us. Westin wants to thank you for the party.’
Movement at the drawing room door caught Caine’s eye. His brow furrowed as the footman accepted a piece of folded paper. ‘I’ll be there in a moment,’ he told Kieran. ‘Let me go see what this is about.’ Hope began to race as he crossed the room. Was this news at last?
Caine stepped into the hall where it was moderately quieter and less crowded, the guests there too busy with their coats to pay him much heed. He unfolded the note, scanning its short message, disappointment quickly warring with distress. This was not about Stepan. This was from Mary. He slipped down the hall leading to his study, wanting to take a closer look. Messages offered more than words to read if one took the time.
He spread the note on his desk and turned up the lamp, rereading the words:
The Royal Theatre, nine o’clock. I need a friend.
***
With any of his other women he’d know exactly what this was—an invitation to a little risky public dalliance. That was not what Lady Mary Kimber was after. The note was short. No explanation. The writing somewhat unsteady. It had been written in haste or in desperation or a bit of both. He folded the note and put it in the inner pocket of his evening jacket.
Mary was in trouble and she’d called on him, taken him up on his offer that night in the library. The trouble must be concerning indeed if she thought her best ally was a rake. He checked his pocket watch. He’d never make nine o’clock sharp, it was nearly that now. But he would go straight away. He’d be there in time to assist her at the intermission.
***
The need for assistance was obvious the moment Caine stepped into the Caryses’ box. Lady Mary’s attentions were being commandeered—there was no other word for it—by a tall, blond man who had her cornered in the front row without her permission. Could the man not see from the rigidness of her posture, or hear from the shortness of her responses, that she’d rather be anywhere but there, with anyone but him? Or did the man know and simply not care? That last made Caine’s blood boil. Where was her mother? Why didn’t someone come to her aid? But of course, there was no one. She’d known there wouldn’t be. That’s why she’d sent for him.
‘Lord Barrow.’ Lady Carys stepped into his path. ‘To what do we owe this honour? We were not expecting you tonight.’ Unspoken words crackled between them.
We did not expect you because you’ve already sent our daughter flowers and driven with her in the park. You’ve already done too much, none of it welcome.
‘I’ve come to see Lady Mary.’ Caine side-stepped around her with years of practice in eluding mamas. At the sound of his voice, Mary’s head turned towards him, relief flooding her features.
She rose and offered her hand when he reached her side. ‘Lord Barrow, howgoodto see you.’
‘How good to see you, my lady,’ Caine replied before introducing himself to this man who made Mary uncomfortable. He was a rake and a marquess now, he could break whatever rules he wanted. He was definitely not going to make her introduce this unwanted interloper to him as if the man was a valued acquaintance instead of what the man really was: someone importuning a young lady while society looked on and did nothing all in the name of keeping the marriage mart thriving.
‘I’m Barrow, who might you be?’ If the civility could have been more congenial, so be it. Best to let a man know where he stood with you from the start.
The abruptness did take the man by surprise. Breaking rules usually put someone on their backfoot. They didn’t know how to respond. ‘I’m Amesbury. The Duke of, in case you’re wondering.’
‘I wasn’t.’ Caine gave the man a cold, dismissive smile while his mind filtered through names. He couldn’t place the man, but the name was somewhat familiar. Where had he heard it? But that was a secondary consideration. Mary was the primary concern. He understood Mary’s cry for help. Carys was duke-hunting for his daughter again and she didn’t like it, perhaps because she knew this time she’d have no choice. Introductions achieved. Now for the next step: extrication. He needed a moment alone with Mary.
‘Lady Mary, you seem a bit pale. Please allow me to take you out for a breath of air.’ He offered his arm and she took it rapidly, held on tightly, as if he’d become an anchor.
