‘Now,’ he said, when he had a cut-crystal glass of the amber liquid to match Herbert’s. He hadn’t wanted the drink particularly, but requesting it had given him time to gather his thoughts. It was a useful strategy, making Herbert wait and increasing his tension and uncertainty. His cousin was easily ruffled, easily persuaded—something Mabel Coop had most likely discovered. ‘What’s all this about? I suppose Miss Coop has spent the afternoon crying prettily on your shoulder, playing on your sympathy.’
Herbert grew red. ‘She was most distressed by your callous treatment at supper last night. I spent the afternoon comforting her.’
Darius could just imagine.
‘It made me realise it was time to speak up for myself. But it wasn’t Mabel who made me decide to stand up to you. It was Miss Fairmont.’
Darius choked on his whisky. ‘Miss Fairmont?’
Herbert nodded. ‘I’ve never seen anyone stand up to you like that, Darius. She has inspired me to do the same.’
Darius hid a groan behind his glass. ‘For goodness’ sake, Herbert. The woman is an actress. It was all part of a play.’
Herbert shook his head obstinately. ‘The woman was magnificent. It ought to have been I who stopped you insulting Mabel. I’ve been a coward, letting you run my whole life.’
‘You were grateful enough for my help at school,’ Darius reminded him. Besides Merrick, he’d fought more than one bully on Herbert’s behalf and had a few scars to show for it. Not that he’d ever begrudged his cousin the effort. He’d defend any Carlyle. ‘And I intervened with that barmaid at Oxford...’
Herbert set his chin determinedly. ‘I’m not a schoolboy any more, or such a stupid fellow. Mabel makes me feel like a man.’
‘Can’t you see she’s playing you for a fool?’ The words exploded from Darius’s mouth. In the drawing room, a few heads turned. He lowered his voice. ‘Actresses are all alike. You know our family history. They’ll say anything, do anything, to marry into the aristocracy.’
‘That’s not true,’ Herbert stammered. ‘Why, Miss Fairmont told you last night she’d never marry a duke.’
Darius gave a bark of derision. ‘That was acting at its finest! I promise you, she is a title-hunter like every other actress. I tell you, if I paid court to Miss Calista Fairmont, she’d accept my marriage proposal.’
He remembered she had said she would be his mistress before she’d be his wife. Darius slammed down his glass. A ridiculous assertion. Of course she wanted a coronet. He ought to know.
Herbert shook his head. ‘From what Mabel said today Miss Fairmont wouldn’t let you make her an apology, let alone a proposal. And you owe her one for what you said last night about actresses, you really do.’
Darius stared at his cousin, amazed. ‘What on earth has got into you?’
‘I told you. Miss Fairmont is my inspiration.’
He gritted his teeth. This Miss Fairmont was clearly an actress to be reckoned with. No wonder she had the lead role at the Prince’s Theatre. She’d certainly managed to hoodwink his cousin.
‘Have you proposed to Miss Coop yet?’ he demanded.
Herbert shook his head. ‘Not yet. I was hoping you’d allow me to choose a suitable ring from the family vault.’
The thought of an actress wearing the family diamonds made Darius drain his glass of whisky in one gulp. He’d seen enough Carlyle jewels on grasping fingers to last a lifetime.
He thought fast. He had to stop Herbert making a hasty decision and a disastrous mistake, falling prey to the Carlyle curse. All he needed was some time. This affair would soon fizzle out, he was certain of it.
Then it came to him.
The vision flashed again before his eyes.
Dark hair.
A long neck.
Darius leaned across the table. ‘Listen to me, Herbert. I’m right about these actresses. Let me prove it.’
‘How would you do that?’
He smiled with an unexpected sense of anticipation. ‘I’ll pay court to Miss Calista Fairmont.’
Herbert’s jaw fell open. ‘What?’
‘It will be a sham courtship, of course,’ Darius explained quickly. ‘She’s declared openly that she will never wed a duke, but if I can persuade her to accept a marriage proposal from me, surely you’ll have to agree that actresses only want one thing. A title.’
‘You can’t play fast and loose with Miss Fairmont’s affections that way!’ Herbert exclaimed.
He shrugged. ‘If she’s as good an actress as you claim she is, she’ll see through my play-acting efforts.’
‘Well, that’s impossible,’ said Herbert. ‘You’ll have no chance with her. Why, Merrick has been after her for months and even he hasn’t had any success. And you know what a way he has with the ladies.’
Darius glanced over towards the card table where the rogue seemed to be engaged in some debate over the winnings. He’d clearly had too much to drink.
‘Merrick is after Miss Fairmont?’
Herbert nodded. ‘He’s very keen on actresses, very keen indeed. He’s a regular at the stage door of the Prince’s Theatre. And Miss Fairmont’s the star of the stage, of course.’
Darius drummed his fingers on the table. So, Merrick had been unsuccessful. He had to admit that only added to her charms.
‘Quite the prize,’ he murmured. ‘Well, well.’
‘I tell you, you won’t get anywhere with Miss Fairmont,’ Herbert said stubbornly.
Darius sought his cousin’s gaze and held it. ‘Give me some time. If I fail, and you still to want to marry Miss Coop, I’ll not stand in your way. But if I persuade Miss Fairmont to marry me, you must promise to think again.’
Herbert averted his eyes. ‘Mabel won’t like waiting.’
‘Some time, that’s all I’m asking of you. Surely you owe me that much. I’ve never steered you wrongly before.’
Herbert’s eyes flickered towards the group playing cards. ‘I appreciate everything you’ve done on my behalf in the past.’
‘Waiting won’t make any difference to Miss Coop’s affection for you, surely?’
‘I suppose not,’ Herbert said a little doubtfully.
Darius raised his glass. ‘Miss Fairmont will consent to marry this duke. I’ll prove to you what actresses are.’
Yet mark me well, young lord; I think Calista
Too nice, too noble, and too great a soul,
To be the prey of such a thing as thou art.
Nicholas Rowe: The Fair Penitent (1703)
‘Another fine performance, Miss Fairmont.’
Calista spun around to see a tall shadow emerge from the dark laneway into the light of the stage door. The Duke of Albury.
Tonight, he appeared even taller than he had in the private dining room of the Coach and Horses. He wore a top hat and a coat made of broadcloth with wide lapels that emphasised the breadth of his chest. A paisley-patterned necktie was folded four-in-hand beneath his jaw. But his arrogant face with his winged eyebrows and the hard line of his mouth were the same.
The