“You don’t suppose he has a tendresse for her,” Honoria said doubtfully. “How are we supposed to discover anything when she carries no fan?”
“I should hope she doesn’t have a tendresse, for both their sakes,” Phil said. “The last Viscount Edrington drained the estate nearly dry. He hasn’t nearly enough income to satisfy her father’s expectations.”
“La, look at that! She tried to walk away, but he followed her. Should we go rescue her, do you think? It’s obvious she’s being accosted.”
At that moment, Katherine spotted Captain Warre and his brother striding purposefully toward Miss Holliswell and Lord Edrington. “I don’t think we’ll need to,” she said. “Look.”
The men hadn’t seen them, and the reason why was clear: Nicholas Warre had his entire attention focused on Miss Holliswell. As they watched, he broke away from Captain Warre and strode toward her and the viscount. Captain Warre’s thunderous expression was visible even from this distance.
“Good heavens, the poor girl is liable to faint dead away,” Honoria said. Just then, Captain Warre spotted them. Honoria waved. “Come—let’s go find out what’s going on.”
Katherine would have preferred not to, but yet another pair of men was strolling in their direction, so she followed Honoria and Phil. They met Captain Warre—whose heart she had absolutely not chained—beneath a tree.
“I know nothing more than that Nick had heard Miss Holliswell was in the park when I arrived,” he told them irritably, “and that if I wanted to speak to him, I had to come along.”
“Oh, what do you suppose he’s saying?” Honoria asked with frustration.
Whatever Nicholas Warre said to Viscount Edrington, it had the effect of causing the viscount to bow, mount his horse and ride away.
“Well, pooh,” Honoria said.
Phil’s lips twitched mischievously. “He could at least have challenged Edrington to a duel.”
Honoria’s eyes danced in Captain Warre’s direction. “Duels are all the rage these days, are they not?”
Katherine glared at her.
“Oh, look,” Phil exclaimed now, taking Honoria’s arm. “There’s Lady Pollard. Honoria, were you not just saying this very morning that you wished to speak with her about her pair of greyhounds?”
“Indeed!” Honoria said. “And there she is, with both of them on leads. What a remarkable coincidence! Quickly—we must catch her before they run off with her.”
They scurried off toward Lady Pollard and the two greyhounds Honoria had likely been unaware of until this moment, leaving Katherine alone with Captain Warre, who still scowled at his brother.
A duel. She looked at his profile, chiseled like the most perfect statue carved by the greatest master, and her blood pulsed a little faster. It was easy to imagine the way his eyes would have turned stony when he threatened those men at the theater, the way his voice would have iced over.
A flutter took wing in her belly.
“Illegal activity is beyond the scope of anything that might repay the debt you owe me,” she informed him.
“Sometimes I forget how quickly news spreads in London.”
“Do not call a man out on my behalf again.”
Now he turned and leveled those green eyes at her. “Rest assured, it was a momentary lapse of judgment.”
A tiny, irrational disappointment grabbed her. “As were the boats,” she said, when she should have thanked him. “I’ll not have Anne relying on you, only to have you forget all about her after your debt is repaid.”
Anger lit those eyes. “I would never abandon Anne.”
You’re my princess, Katie. Father had used to say that, too, but it was a lie. She hadn’t been a princess—just a naive young girl like every other naive young girl, nothing more nor less special than the rest, expendable in the end when something more fun came along.
“Do not back yourself into a corner, Captain. It is inevitable. You and I have an acquaintance by necessity—one that, by the grace of God, may end very soon.” Before she—not Anne—became the one in danger of relying on him.
Dear Sirs,
Observed Lady Dunscore at theater and Hyde Park. No sign of unlawful maritime activity, but recommend increasing naval budget to defend the Serpentine as a precaution.
In your humble service,
Croston
NICK WATCHED HOLLISWELL stuff a piece of bread half the size of a man’s fist into his mouth and fought to keep from curling his lip in disgust. The man had no bloody business being an earl—Scottish or otherwise. Nobody else at the table seemed to care, but then, every last one of them had reasons to curry Holliswell’s favor.
It was fitting company, considering Nick fell into that category himself.
Next to him, Clarissa poked at her stuffed pheasant and lifted three peas on her fork, casting him a quick, uncertain look from beneath long, dark lashes.
Bloody Christ. Holliswell could stuff an entire roast suckling into his mouth for all he cared—Clarissa was the one who mattered.
“Have you recovered from this afternoon?” he asked her under his breath.
“I have, Lord Taggart. Thank you.”
The sooner he could get her out from under Holliswell’s thumb, the better. She was so damned fragile. How in God’s name had she been allowed to go to the park with only her maid?
“I shall make sure Edrington doesn’t bother you again,” he told her.
Her hands faltered as she sliced a morsel of pheasant. She nudged it a little, sliced again.
He would have to teach her something of life or be driven to an early grave watching out for her. It would be easier to explain the dangers once she understood the intimate details of a marriage. But in order for that to happen—
God. He would have to be very, very careful on their wedding night. Incredibly, unbelievably careful. He could hardly stand to think of it. What a girl like Clarissa really needed was to be cloistered away in a convent somewhere on the Continent where no man’s hands could ever defile her.
He would bloody well need a mistress. Because aside from what was absolutely essential—if he could even bring himself to do that much—he could never expect Clarissa to endure—
Holy Christ.
He attacked his pheasant with new purpose.
“...cousin caused quite a stir at the theater last night,” a Mrs. Tinningsworth was saying to Holliswell across the table.
Holliswell reached for another hunk of bread. “I would imagine my cousin causes a stir everywhere she goes,” Holliswell said. “She is an oddity, after all.”
“I heard she removed all the furniture from her house and replaced it with Moorish cushions on the floor,” someone else said. “Could it be true?”
Nick imagined that it probably was. He was so bloody tired of hearing about Katherine Kinloch. He’d give his right testicle to see this whole damned business finished today.
“I meant what I said,” he murmured a little too sharply to Clarissa. He would find a way for them to marry even if the bill did not pass.
“Yes, I know.” Her eyes never left her plate.
“No matter what we have to do.”