“If I believed otherwise, I would have helped her do it.” But Millie would try, anyway. There was little doubt of that. She might stay with her brother for a while, but then she would find her way back to Malta. What then? Any number of unpleasant answers flitted through Katherine’s mind. At the same time, she felt Miss Bunsby’s eyes on her. Waiting.
Katherine assessed her in return. Strawberry-blond hair in a simple chignon. Too-pretty blue eyes. Slender build. Chin raised a notch too far to suggest submission.
She’d already proved well enough that she did not understand the word. She almost reminded Katherine of India.
“Yesterday Anne asked about our friend William Jaxbury,” Katherine said, teetering on the edge of indecision. “Has there been no word from him this evening?”
“Not one, your ladyship.”
Perhaps Miss Bunsby had proved herself tonight. Just a little. “If he should arrive while I am out,” Katherine said, “he is to be denied nothing.”
Comprehension—satisfaction—settled over Miss Bunsby’s blue eyes, and she smiled.
Dear Sirs,
Encouraging lack of maritime activity at Lady Carroll’s. Reflecting pool perhaps too small a body of water. Lady Dunscore unused to land operations; likely impeded by presence of shrubbery. No gentleman engaged.
In your humble service,
Croston
“CHANGED? WHY SHOULD my cousin’s arrival have changed anything?” A blustering, early morning wind outside Westminster Hall might have threatened to take Holliswell’s peruke with it if the carefully rolled hair hadn’t been petrified with grease, and Nick would have watched with satisfaction as it rolled down the street like a ball across a lawn. “Katherine’s arrival only makes the situation more pressing,” Holliswell went on in an offensively mild tone, “especially considering the circumstances.”
The circumstances. That, of course, referred to James’s miraculous return. Nick’s throat tightened, but he quickly gained the upper hand of his emotions. “The story of my brother’s rescue is already on the lips of every porter and match-seller in London,” he said flatly, “and I doubt if there is a drawing room in all of London that doesn’t echo with the retelling as we speak. If the Lords decide she’s a heroine, the Virgin Mary herself won’t be able to convince them to pass that bill.”
Holliswell’s lips, chapped and pale, curved coldly. “The question will be put this afternoon, will it not?”
“Yes.”
“Then let us hope the second reading is approved.” He paused. “Lord Adkins has expressed an interest in Clarissa. I’m not sure they should suit, but then, what girl couldn’t suit herself to a viscount?”
Adkins.
Nick’s vision hazed over. Just last year Adkins had hosted practically the entire ton at a masquerade in celebration of his sixtieth birthday, but the real celebration had taken place a week later at Adkins’s country estate, where rumor had it the entertainment had included prostitutes playing a unique version of croquet.
His hands ached with the need to curl around Holliswell’s lapels and slam the man against the lamppost behind him. Instead, he tightened his lips. “Only the daughter of an earl, I would imagine.”
“I’m not sure I like what you’re suggesting, Taggart.”
“I think you like it a great deal.” It was no stretch of the imagination to think that once Holliswell had the title he coveted, he might decide his daughter could make a more advantageous match than either himself or Adkins—although how a marriage to Adkins could be considered advantageous for Clarissa was beyond comprehension.
“I can’t imagine the cause is lost,” Holliswell said. “There is plenty about Katherine to exploit. You know that as well as I do. God knows how many Moors she’s taken between her legs, and I hear she’s got a half-Moor whelp as proof. She can’t possibly imagine society will accept her this way. In fact, having her here may work to your advantage in gathering more votes.”
For God’s sake, Nick didn’t want to exploit anyone. He just wanted this bloody business over with. “If you believe that, you’re delusional. I’ve already heard of half a dozen men lining up to propose marriage.”
“Marriage.” Holliswell’s eyes narrowed, and Nick watched him consider how quickly such a turn of events could change everything. “It would have to be someone powerful enough that the Lords would not possibly consider divesting him of his newly acquired assets. She’ll not find anyone of that stature desperate enough to take on such a baggage.”
“Perhaps,” Nick said. “And perhaps not. I’ve heard she made a successful debut at Deal’s and again last night at Lady Carroll’s. She may find someone yet.”
“A successful debut indeed—with your brother, in the shadows of the shrubbery.”
“Watch what you’re implying, Holliswell.”
“I witnessed their intimacy with my own eyes,” he sneered.
It was a lie. Wasn’t it? “It’s nothing to me if he’s tupping her,” Nick said, though it was hardly the truth. If she was more to James than just a welcoming commodity—if James got it in mind to marry her—then this damned business with Holliswell would be for nothing.
“Isn’t it?” Holliswell said meanly. “If that’s the way the wind blows, you’ve got a bigger job ahead of you than either of us expected.”
He felt a little sick, both at the idea of Katherine Kinloch becoming connected to Croston and the prospect of working against James. It grated hard to go against his older brother, especially after believing him lost. From what he’d heard, James had been publicly acknowledging her as his savior. Much more of that, and the bill’s cause would be lost anyhow.
“I will do what I can,” Nick bit out. “But I fear the tide will soon turn, and no effort to stop it will be successful.” Especially if James was tupping her. But if the choice was Clarissa’s future or Katherine Kinloch’s, he would do what had to be done.
He reminded himself that such a woman had no business acceding to a title in her own right. But for chrissake, he was starting to wish he wasn’t the one leading the charge to strip it from her.
* * *
THE INVITATIONS BEGAN to arrive before Katherine got out of bed. By the time she was ready to dress, there were twelve.
Winston. Hardly a surprise.
Werrick. Cashen. Naturally.
The number of invitations might have been a sign of spectacular success, but...
Marston, Obbs, Abnersthwaite. Known for their bad luck at the gaming tables, Phil had said.
Blaine. Nicklesdale. Estates mortgaged to the hilt, Honoria had said.
Robert Prentiss? The greedy-eyed baronet?
And three more whose names she didn’t recognize, but the quality of the paper said everything she needed to know about the state of their finances. Good God. They actually believed she might subjugate herself to them in marriage and put Dunscore at their disposal.
Her maid appeared in the doorway to the bedchamber. “Which gown shall I prepare, your ladyship?”
Katherine tossed the invitations on the dressing table and went to her trunk. The only thing these men wanted more than her in their beds was Dunscore in their coffers.
“None, thank you.” She unlatched the lid and snatched up a pair of her old trousers. “I shall dress myself this morning.”