Lord Mumford's Minx Page 13

  Lord Champford hastily grabbed Cassie’s hand to lift it to his lips.

  “Perhaps I may call on you tomorrow?”

  Conscious of Luke’s narrowed gaze, Cassie gave an encouraging nod.

  “But of course.”

  With a sudden tug, Luke turned her away and began marching her back toward the waiting carriage. Strangely, Cassie quite enjoyed the hint of annoyance that marred his noble features.

  “I must congratulate you, Miss Stanholte,” he said, at last breaking the silence. “Lord Champford is considered one of the finest catches in the marriage mart.”

  She gave a vague shrug. “He is very charming.”

  “He is also extremely wealthy and in line to become the fifth Earl of Wilthaven.”

  Lifting her head, she directly met his probing gaze. “What a pity that I did not think to twist my ankle or toss myself beneath his carriage.”

  Without warning, the irritation faded from his countenance and he laughed with rich appreciation of her tart reply.

  “Minx,” he softly chided, his hand reaching up to stroke the full curve of her bottom lip. “Come along, or I shall forget that a gentleman does not kiss a maiden in full view of a public park.”

  Cassie experienced a sharp, nearly painful desire that he would forget propriety and gather her into his arms. As difficult as it was to admit, she could not deny she longed to once again experience the sweet pleasure of his kiss.

  The treacherous weakness held her silent as Luke handed her into the carriage and they turned to make their way back to her town house.

  Lord Mumford chatted easily on the return trip, seemingly unaware of her air of distraction. It was only when he escorted her to the door and placed a lingering kiss on her slender fingers that she was at last roused from her brooding thoughts.

  “Thank you for a most delightful afternoon, Miss Stanholte,” he murmured.

  Waiting for him to demand that she join him for another ride the following day, she was disconcerted when he simply turned and walked back to the waiting carriage.

  Would she ever understand the unsettling gentleman?

  * * *

  Shortly arriving at his own town house, Luke discovered himself whistling softly as he vaulted out of the carriage and headed up the steps to the open door. What a perfectly delightful afternoon, he thought with a small grin. Who would have suspected that a simple drive with a young lady could be so satisfying?

  Entering the foyer of the lavish house, Luke allowed his butler to relieve him of his hat and gloves.

  “Lord Bidwell is waiting in the library, my lord,” the elderly servant informed Luke as he peered in an oval mirror to adjust his cravat.

  “Thank you, Gibson.”

  Rather curious at the unexpected visit, Luke made his way down the hallway to enter the private library. Although not a large room, it managed to contain an astonishing number of leather-bound books as well as a large Sheraton writing desk. Two comfortable wing chairs faced the black marble chimneypiece, and Luke was unsurprised to discover Biddles sprawled in one with a large glass of brandy and a cigar.

  “I see that Gibson has seen to your comfort,” Luke drawled as he crossed the patterned carpet to lean against the desk.

  “Devilish fine chap,” Biddles commended. “Bit of a tartar about sharing your private stash of brandy, however. ”

  Luke deliberately regarded the fine crystal decanter set on a table close to the chair.

  “I note you managed to corrupt his better judgment.”

  Biddles smiled with smug satisfaction. “I do have my little ways.”

  Luke couldn’t prevent a small chuckle. He was quite familiar with this gentleman’s devious ways.

  “So what brings you to my home, besides your appreciation for my cellar?”

  Biddles stretched out his legs as he puffed on his cigar.

  “I thought you would wish to know that this morning while I was taking a stroll I managed to turn my ankle in quite a nasty manner.”

  Luke blinked in mild surprise. “How unfortunate. Have you recovered?”

  “Yes. Thankfully, a kindhearted actress was just leaving her establishment and rushed to my aid.”

  Comprehension dawned, and Luke slowly smiled. “I do not suppose this actress possesses the name of Nell?”

  Biddles pretended to consider the question before giving a slow smile.

  “Why, now that I think upon it, I do believe you are correct. Such a caring soul.” He heaved a small sigh. “She insisted that I come inside until my ankle ceased its beastly throbbing.”

  Luke could only admire his friend’s cunning. It had been only a few hours since they had located the actress, and already he had managed to slip into her life.

  “Did she happen to mention her friend Liza?”

  Biddles lifted his hands in a rueful manner. “I could gather little information in the short time we were together. Perhaps after we meet this evening I will know more.”

  “This evening?” Luke widened his eyes in disbelief. “What of the faithful Herbie?”

  “Miss Maggert is clever enough to realize I am in a position to offer her far more than a mere baron’s son,” Biddles pointed out in contented tones.

  Luke’s smile was sardonic. “Naturally.”

  “And, of course, my charm is quite without comparison.”

  “Yes, for which I am eternally grateful.” With a smooth motion, Luke moved forward to pour himself a measure of brandy. Then he regarded Biddles with a stern gaze. “You will be careful, old chap?”

  Biddles squarely met his gaze before giving a firm nod of his head.

  “You have my word.”

  Although he disliked the notion of allowing his friend to place himself in such danger, Luke was well aware he could do little to convince the gentleman to leave the troubles to him. Besides, he needed the clever man’s invaluable help if he were to save Miss Stanholte.

  Lifting his glass, he sent up a silent prayer. “To success.”

  A wicked glint suddenly entered Biddles’s eyes as he lifted his own glass. “To love, the most daring adventure of all.”

  Luke hesitated, then slowly smiled in appreciation. “To love.”

  Eleven

  On awakening the next morning, Cassie was startled to discover a summons waiting for her from Lady Pembroke demanding that she call on her as soon as it was convenient. Her heart sank in dismay at the message as she conjured a dozen separate disasters that could have prompted the commanding missive.

  Had the lady discovered that Cassie had recently acquired an aunt of dubious character? Or, worse, had she discovered her earlier charade as Lady Greer?

  Knowing she could not ignore such a direct request, Cassie attired herself in a jonquil gown and collected Miss Stowe to make the short drive to the elegant town house.

  Once there, she was promptly led to a back salon where Lady Pembroke was reading her morning correspondence.

  “There you are, my dear.” The older woman smiled in satisfaction, waving her hand toward the dragon-clawed sofa.

  “Good morning, Lady Pembroke.” With a sense of wariness, Cassie moved to perch on the edge of the cushion. Miss Stowe quietly settled beside her. “Did you wish to speak with me?”

  “Yes, my dear, I have the most wonderful news.”

  Cassie’s wariness only deepened. “Oh?”

  “Lady Fenwell has invited you to her ball.”

  The expectant expression on Lady Pembroke’s face warned Cassie that this was a commendable feat, but for the moment she could only heave a sigh of relief. She hadn’t been discovered. At least not yet. Now she could do no more than smile in a feeble manner.

  “I see.”

  Lady Pembroke blinked in obvious surprise. “Do you not realize what this means?”

  “Not precisely,” Cassie confessed.

  Leaning forward, Lady Pembroke regarded her with a shrewd gaze.

  “It means, my dear, that you are an undeniable success.”


  “Oh.” With an effort, Cassie kept her smile intact. “I am certain you must be mistaken,” she murmured, wondering what the devil was going on.

  She was a country Miss without fortune or beauty. She had nothing to commend herself, unless one counted her thorough disregard for courting the favor of the ton. It was ludicrous to suggest she had somehow managed to become a success.

  Sitting back, Lady Pembroke gave a firm shake of her silver head.

  “I am never mistaken about anything of importance,” she assured Cassie, absently patting the string of pearls that lay against her deep plum gown. “Lady Fenwell personally requested your presence. Quite an accomplishment for a young debutante.”

  “Yes, indeed,” Miss Stowe was stirred to comment, a rare event indeed. “Lady Fenwell . . . just imagine.”

  Cassie had no desire to imagine, but with both ladies gazing at her, she gave a faint nod.

  “Yes.”

  There was a small silence as Lady Pembroke subjected her to a probing survey; then the older woman smiled in a worrisome manner.

  “Not that I am surprised. You have created a stir since your arrival. Especially among the gentlemen. Every hopeful mama is absolutely green with envy over your having stolen the march on the finest catch of the Season.”

  Cassie could not halt the sense of shock that jolted through her stiff frame.

  “What?”

  “Lord Champford, my dear,” Lady Pembroke clarified with a faint narrowing of her gaze. “Every beauty in Town has been angling for him for years, but he has refused to show a preference until now.”

  Cassie felt the color rise and fade in her face.

  “Whomever did you think I meant?” Lady Pembroke demanded.

  Fool, she silently chided herself. “No one of importance,” she breathed.

  Still regarding her closely, Lady Pembroke continued, “And, of course, Lord Westwood is determined to make a cake of himself. Not that I would expect you to settle for a mere viscount.”

  “Lord Westwood has been quite kind.”

  “He is a silly boy. No, what you need is a man worthy of your obvious spirit,” Lady Pembroke announced in firm tones; then that odd smile returned. “Tell me, what do you think of my nephew?”

  Feeling as if the clever woman was deliberately attempting to keep her off guard, Cassie struggled to maintain a cool composure.

  “He is quite . . . kind.”

  Lady Pembroke gave a sudden laugh. “He is arrogant, spoiled and far too charming for his own good. Still, he would make a fine husband for a lady clever enough to capture his heart.”

  Clever? Noddy was more like it, Cassie assured herself. Never had there been a more stubborn, perfectly annoying gentleman. A woman would have to be without sense to deliberately bind herself to him for a lifetime.

  Still, she couldn’t deny that he did possess the devil’s own charm. Why else would she spend night after night recalling the searing pleasure of his kiss?

  Lowering her all too revealing gaze, Cassie absently smoothed the muslin skirt.

  “I have no interest in acquiring a husband, Lady Pembroke. I am merely in London to see the sights.”

  “Rubbish. Every woman is in search of a husband. You just have yet to realize it,” Lady Pembroke announced in complacent tones, merely smiling when Cassie’s gaze abruptly rose in annoyance. “Now, tell me what you will wear to the ball.”

  “I have not decided if I will attend or not,” Cassie retorted in stiff tones.

  “But of course you will,” Her Ladyship crisply countered, appearing remarkably like her nephew. Cassie could only presume that sheer bloody arrogance was a prevalent trait of the Mumford clan. “It is the most sought after invitation of the Season. Really, my dear, I do not believe you fully realize just how fortunate you have been. There are any number of debutantes that would give their fortunes to be in your position.”

  As if sensing Cassie’s prickly reaction to the admonishment, Miss Stowe offered her a coaxing smile.

  “Sophia is quite right. It will be the crowning event of the Season.”

  “I am certain that it will be delightful—”

  “Delightful? Fah,” Lady Pembroke interrupted, a suspicious hint of amusement glinting in her eyes. “It will be a horrid squeeze with stale food and watered champagne. The only delight it offers is the opportunity to be seen. Still, only a fool would refuse to attend.”

  “I am certain my presence would not be missed.”

  “I assure you that it would. Lady Fenwell is a most conscientious hostess.” The older woman smiled in an arch fashion. “And, of course, Lord Champford would be quite distraught if you did not put in an appearance.”

  Cassie heaved a rueful sigh. She was a woman who was accustomed to doing precisely as she pleased. It was decidedly difficult to encounter anyone with a will as staunch as her own.

  “We shall see,” she at last conceded.

  Clearly satisfied she had won the skirmish, Lady Pembroke turned the conversation to the lovely spring weather and the latest scandal surrounding the prince. Still, Cassie was relieved when the prescribed twenty minutes had elapsed and she was free to make her escape.

  Promising to call later in the week, Cassie made her way out of the house and into the waiting carriage. Miss Stowe was close behind her, and soon they were comfortably settled and traveling back through the heavy traffic. They rode in silence for long moments before Miss Stowe slowly turned toward her.

  “You mustn’t mind Lady Pembroke,” she offered in tentative tones. “She has always been quite outspoken.”

  Cassie smiled with wry humor. Despite her annoyance at being forced to have a companion, she had slowly come to appreciate the older woman’s quiet presence and unwavering kindness.

  “Yes, I can imagine,” she said in dry tones.

  “But she means well.”

  There was another silence; then impulsively Cassie blurted out the question that had haunted her the past several days.

  “Do you regret not marrying, Miss Stowe?”

  The spinster blinked in surprise but did not hesitate in her reply.

  “Very much, but in my situation it was not my own but my brother’s decision that I not wed.”

  “What?”

  Miss Stowe smiled at Cassie’s startled tone. “The few offers I received were not deemed worthy of my position. My brother was quite adamant in his belief that it was more respectable not to wed than to risk the family name with a questionable connection.”

  Cassie’s already low opinion of Mr. Stowe sank another notch. Really, he was a bully of the worse sort.

  “Were you ever in love?”

  “Oh, yes.” The thin features suddenly softened as Miss Stowe remembered back to the pleasant follies of youth. “I fell in love my first Season with a dashing young gentleman in a uniform.”

  Curious, Cassie tilted her head to one side. “What was he like?”

  “Kind, patient and very, very honorable.”

  Easily able to imagine a handsome young soldier escorting the once pretty Miss Stowe, Cassie smiled.

  “He sounds quite wonderful.”

  Surprisingly, Miss Stowe merely grimaced. “Yes, I suppose.”

  “What is it?”

  The older woman gave a self-conscious laugh. “I suppose it is shocking, but in truth, I should have wished that he be less honorable.”

  Cassie arched her brows in surprise. “What do you mean?”

  Miss Stowe ducked her head as if embarrassed to have revealed such an unworthy thought. But beneath Cassie’s probing gaze she at last continued.

  “When my brother refused to consent to my marriage, I wished to elope,” she confessed in low tones. “It did not matter to me that I would be cut off from my family, or even that we would have to survive on his small salary. I only wanted to be his wife.”

  “But he refused?”

  “Yes. He said that it would not be honorable, and that as a gentleman he could not subject me to such
a scandal. So he left London, and I never saw him again. ”

  Cassie opened her mouth to insist that the young gentleman had been perfectly right to prevent a scandal. After all, it would have been quite difficult to be cut off from one’s family and even Society. He had only been thinking of her. Then she abruptly caught her breath.

  No.

  There were times when honor was not enough. Hadn’t Cassie’s own parents chosen love over honor and duty? And hadn’t her own determination to save her estate allowed her to behave in a less than commendable manner? Surely, if he had truly cared, this gentleman would have realized that he was condemning Miss Stowe to a life of misery with her brother. A life without love.

  What honor was in that?

  Without warning, the exquisitely handsome countenance of Lord Mumford rose to her mind. He would not stand aside if he were in love. He would sweep a woman into his arms and never allow her a moment of regret.

  Cassie hastily scrubbed the treacherous image from her mind.

  “I am so sorry,” she murmured softly.

  Miss Stowe slowly lifted her head and offered a sad smile.

  “Thank you, but it was all a very long time ago.”

  “Yes, I suppose . . .”

  Cassie’s doubtful words trailed to a halt as the carriage turned a particularly sharp corner and without warning the small door was jerked open. Miss Stowe screamed as a man leapt into the interior, his face hidden by a thick scarf. Cassie opened her mouth to protest when the man suddenly lifted his hand to reveal a pistol.

  Feeling as if she were in some horrible nightmare, Cassie could only watch in horror as the sun glinted off the evil gun pointed directly at her heart. With no space to move and little hope of shoving aside the intruder, there was nothing she could do but wait for the inevitable end.

  Squeezing her eyes shut, Cassie listened as Miss Stowe’s scream was punctuated by a resounding bang. Then a fierce, scalding pain scraped across her shoulder. She knew she should open her eyes, to fight the mad intruder. But the combination of shock and pain proved too much.

  Inwardly she cursed the realization that Lady Stanholte would win after all, as a blanket of darkness clouded her mind in blissful unconsciousness.