But to do that, she had to save her from her sister and her mama. Lady Constance patted Clarissa’s hand reassuringly. She was four and twenty, but had seen so little of the world. ‘Of course I understand, my dear, you must know that you will always find a home here, no matter what.’
‘Thank you, Aunt Constance, that means a lot to me.’
‘But to return to the subject of Amelia, as unfortunately we must, I have to tell you, Clarissa, that I am very concerned.’ Lady Constance was brisk now. Straight talking was required, although she was loath to do it. ‘The Earl of Rasenby’s reputation is extremely bad, you know.’
‘I am aware of Lord Rasenby’s reputation, ma’am, but surely he cannot be as bad as they say?’
‘Child, I know not what you have heard, but believe me, whatever it is, Kit’s behaviour is worse. He has been one of the ton for nigh on fifteen years, and master of a huge fortune for longer, his papa having unfortunately died when he was still at school. His papa, such a very dreadful man, broke his neck when he was thrown from his horse riding to the hounds. He was a bruising rider by all accounts, but they say he was in his cups at the time. Mind you, there was rarely a day when he was ever anything else. Hardly a role model for his only son. Although, to be fair, Kit seems to be rather more sober and certainly more discriminating than his father. But there is no getting away from it Clarissa, his tastes are still very, very low!’
With pursed lips, Lady Constance poured herself another cup of coffee. ‘I will not sully your ears with the details, there is no need for that. But this I will say. It is not just the usual, opera dancers and mistresses. He is wild. Too quick to quarrel and too slow to make up. If you ask me, he has too little to occupy him. I have often thought he could make a most excellent politician.’
Lady Constance paused to sip her coffee, gazing into the fireplace. It was her one regret, not having a son. Not for an instant would she have wished a Kit Rasenby on herself, but a child in the image of her dear husband would have been a precious gift. Still, it had not happened. And here was Clarissa, someone who did need her help and protection. Lady Constance brought her attention firmly back to the matter in hand. ‘I beg your pardon, Clarissa, we were talking of Kit Rasenby. Despite all I have said, he is still seen as a good catch by some. Yet he has avoided matrimony until now, and is like to continue to do so. Letitia tells me he is happy for Jeremy, her son, to inherit, and cares naught for the line continuing from him. It is perhaps as well.’
Lady Constance paused, once again assessing the effect on her niece. Clarissa was looking thoughtful rather than shocked.
‘Aunt, I am aware of much of what you have told me, although I do truly find it hard to believe that anyone could be all bad.’ She held up her hand and gave her aunt a small smile to forestall any intervention. ‘I know, you think I’m naïve, but I do like to think there is some good in everyone. However, that is not the point, since I have never met Lord Rasenby.’
Clarissa thought over her next words carefully. ‘There is some truth in the rumours, I’m afraid. Amelia has been much in Lord Rasenby’s company, and I fear his intentions cannot be honourable, no matter what Amelia may believe. She has no love for him, but I think she is deeply flattered, and is fooling herself into thinking he may offer matrimony. I think that she must come to accept that it cannot be so.’
‘My dear Clarissa, you underrate your sister. She is, I have no doubt at all, fully aware that Kit Rasenby can intend only a carte blanche. Which she will accept, should no other more honourable offer come her way. Your sister, whether you want to believe it or not, is avaricious before anything else. There, plain speaking indeed, but you must be made to realise it.’
‘Aunt, I know you think no good of Amelia.’ Clarissa blinked, trying to quieten the little voice in her head that told her Lady Constance was articulating Clarissa’s own fears. Lady Constance had said only what she already knew. ‘Perhaps what you say is true. But I am certain that I can prevent her ruining herself with Lord Rasenby. She is a child, she is simply beguiled by his charm and his wealth.’
‘You’re not thinking of doing something foolish, Clarissa?’
‘No, no. No, of course I won’t be foolish.’ The slight laugh with which she attempted to carry off the denial fell rather flat, and Clarissa bit her lip. She could never lie. She had the makings of a plan which Aunt Constance would certainly call foolish, but she needed to think it through.
‘Enough of my imprudent sister, I have to tell you that I am not at all impressed with Udolpho.’ Clarissa rushed into a dissection of Mrs Radcliffe’s novel in an effort to distract her aunt from further enquiries. Lady Constance was, rather to her shame, an avid fan of Mrs Radcliffe, and allowed herself to be diverted into a spirited defence. The two parted on excellent terms.
Mulling over her aunt’s words later, however, confirmed Clarissa in her resolution. She must separate Amelia from Lord Rasenby, and that would require desperate action, for Amelia must not know that she was being thwarted. Amelia would accept a carte blanche from Lord Rasenby, Clarissa no longer doubted it. And she knew, in her heart, that whatever plan Amelia had to trap him into marriage would fail. Aunt Constance would not have been so blunt with Clarissa had she been less sure. So she had to prevent both Amelia’s plot and Lord Rasenby’s offer.
A flicker of excitement rippled through her at the thought of taking action. It was as if she was waking from sleep, preparing for the challenge to come. Telling herself that it was the thrill of rescuing her sister, and nothing to do with meeting so notorious a man, Clarissa started to formulate her plan. The first requirement was to meet with Lord Rasenby in order to determine for herself just how much danger Amelia was in. And Clarrie knew just how to effect that meeting.
With a fast-beating heart, she flicked through the pile of invitations on the desk in the morning room. Yes, there it was, discarded at the bottom of the pile. Lady Teasborough was a friend of Aunt Constance, and had no doubt sent the invite at her request. A masked ball. Clarrie would go—incognito, and on her own.
Chapter Two
Kit, Earl of Rasenby, stared down into the limpid blue eyes of yet another eligible young lady, and tried to suppress a yawn as a wave of boredom washed over him. He should never have given in to his sister Letitia’s entreaties to escort her to the ball. He had planned a quiet dinner followed by a hand or two of whist at his club, instead of which, here he was at one of the society crushes he so abhorred. With the added, and completely pointless, inconvenience of having to sport a domino and a mask.
Lady Teasborough had thought to introduce a slightly risqué element with this masked ball, but Kit was finding it every bit as tedious as any other social event. The heat in the room was overpowering. The candles from the huge chandeliers, the fires lit—unnecessarily, in his view—in the enormous grates at either end of the ballroom, and the crush of too many people in too little space made Kit want to fight his way out into the relatively fresh air of the terrace. He was bored. He had no interest in the latest crim. con. story, nor in taking part in the speculation as to who had fathered his hostess’s latest brat. If his host—closeted, no doubt, in one of the card rooms—didn’t care, why should he? God, he was bored. Despite the concealing cloaks and masks, he recognised almost everyone here. Including Miss Pink Domino, being presented to him now by Letitia.
Kit sighed, bowed over Miss Pink Domino’s hand, and led her out reluctantly. His enthusiasm for fencing, which he practised regularly with the renowned Harry Angelo at his academy in the Haymarket, lent him an animal grace that singled him out on the dance floor. But his partner was, alas, unable to match him, and it would take a great effort on his part to ensure that they remained in step