Regency Rogues: A Winter's Night. Elizabeth Beacon
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the bill very nicely.’
‘Believe that and you’ll believe anything,’ her father said darkly and Eve wished she’d picked a better example than the Duke of Linaire’s whatever he was: secretary, librarian, man of business? Possibly only the Duke and Mr Carter knew the answer to that question.
She remembered how it felt to have Mr Carter’s gold-brown eyes focus intently on her when he forgot his false humility. No, he wasn’t a wooden soldier at all. Papa was quite right; there was a sharply intelligent and sensitive man under that quiet exterior and she would do well to remember it if they ever met again, which seemed very unlikely as he was the Duke of Linaire’s clerk and not part of the ton.
‘My one-day marriage and Mr Carter aside, what do you mean to do about the Hancourts, Papa?’
‘When I track them down, I shall make sure they know all I do. I don’t know if that will help much, since I don’t properly understand it myself.’
‘What does she say, then, Papa? You can’t hint at something that might be a clue, then refuse to tell me any more lest you offend my delicate sensibilities.’
Eventually he handed her a list he had copied out, and censored, from entries in Pamela’s diaries where she gloated over the fabulous jewels she had coaxed out of her lover one by one. Eve could hardly believe any woman could lust after cold gemstones so ruthlessly and it left her with an unpleasant taste in her mouth, despite all her assurances to her father that Pamela had done her worst as far as her daughter was concerned.
As she tried to go about her day as normal Eve was annoyed with herself for constantly drifting off into a reverie. She hoped her father wasn’t right to be uneasy about Mr Carter. No, of course he wasn’t. She was immune to love and passion; if she wasn’t she would have let it carry her away long ago. An unwanted image of Mr Carter waiting to lead his men into battle flitted into Eve’s mind all the same. He would exude confidence even if he was terrified and look unforgivably handsome in his Rifleman green uniform while he was about it. A silken voice whispered in her ear that was how a real man should look and never mind the marks of battle the great idiot thought wiped out any manly beauty he had—Mr Carter was more a man than the weak-willed and self-indulgent aristocrats he was supposedly inferior to.
Take Lord Christopher Hancourt, since he was in her thoughts as well today. That weak and overindulged man had never faced a moment of real hardship or danger until the very last seconds of his life, but Carter had defied both for nearly every day of the last eight years. How irritating if her father was right and he really had intrigued her too much for comfort. The one man she could never marry was the only one to make her think twice during this tedious time she had to spend away from her real life at Darkmere or Farenze Lodge near Bath.
Anyway, she had learnt long ago not to trust a man’s passion for a willing woman the hard way, hadn’t she? Her first real suitor seemed so earnest and naïve and in love she somehow fooled herself she loved him back. She doubted that spotty youth sat comfortably for a month after Papa and Uncle James thrashed him like a sniffling schoolboy, but she learnt a hard lesson that night. Her mother’s wicked reputation would descend on her if she wasn’t very careful indeed and she had been ever since. Too careful, perhaps, given how she was having to struggle to get not very humble and decidedly awkward Mr Carter out of her mind now.
It was probably the silly, rebellious part of it that once believed a boy’s lust was love whispering that Mr Carter was uniquely formed to understand her. He could see past the gloss Winterley money and prestige added to her unremarkable looks. He seemed to know about the true heart she’d learnt to keep so safe, even she had almost forgotten she had one. He might do any and all of that, but it wouldn’t do either of them any good. They were as divided from each other as the Ganges was from the Thames, or the icy poles at opposite ends of the earth. Made of the same substance, but thousands of miles apart in every way that really mattered.
Colm thought he would hear no more of the Winterley family, but it was only a few days after their last encounter that Miss Winterley confounded him all over again. He turned over the brief note an urchin had delivered to Derneley House before he ran off. No, the hastily scrawled words really were as brief and uninformative as he’d thought they were the first time.
Please come as fast as you can. I am waiting with a hackney at the corner of the mews. Do not tell anyone you are meeting me and try not to be seen. E.W.
One of the more innocent letters Colm’s father had sent to her mother years ago had fallen out of the sealed note to prove this wasn’t a hoax. It was ten o’clock on a dark autumn night, for heaven’s sake; even meeting him at this hour of the night would mean certain ruin if they were discovered. He shrugged into his dull coat and reached for his shabby hat, even as he told himself he was a fool to think of going anywhere with her. He still slipped into the garden through a side door and locked it after himself in the hope nobody would even notice he had gone.
‘Hurry,’ her low and deliberately gruff voice ordered as soon as he crept out of the garden gate. He saw a hackney doing its best to pretend it wasn’t there and finally had to believe this was really happening.
‘What the devil…?’ he began only to have her reach out and tug him into the carriage as if there wasn’t a moment to spare.
‘Take us to the place we agreed inside ten minutes and I’ll pay you twice the price,’ she ordered the hackney driver as coolly as if she kidnapped limping clerks every night of the week.
The coach shot forward so fast Colm was surprised they didn’t tumble out. There wasn’t even time to gasp out another question before they were clattering over cobbled streets as if their lives depended on it and she wouldn’t be able to hear him. Exclusive parts of Mayfair flashed past until they reached Oxford Street, crossed it at a reckless pace, then finally slowed as they neared Cavendish Square and stopped just short of it.
‘Shush!’ she whispered as Colm climbed down and stood on the cobbles, feeling like a mooncalf as he tried to make sense of the world and she handed two guineas to the jarvey, then grabbed Colm’s arm as if she owned him.
As soon as the shabby little carriage was out of sight he stood stock still, so she had to let him go, fall over, or cling to him like a limpet. Luckily she did the latter, but gave an irritated click of her tongue, as if all this was his fault and he decided he’d had enough.
‘Explain,’ he demanded abruptly.
‘Aren’t you supposed to be a man of action and not words?’ she muttered, as if she was having severe doubts about bringing him along after all.
‘Not any more,’ he replied gruffly.
‘Imagine you still are and simply use the brains officers in your regiment are supposed to possess, although I see little sign of them right now.’
‘Never mind trading insults with me; I’m not going a step further unless you give me a very good reason to do so.’
‘My cousin has been reckless and silly and I must get her away from here before it’s too late to remedy. You are here to help me do so—now will you hurry?’
‘Your parents are responsible for her, they ought to know what she’s been up to and make sure she never does it again.’
‘Believe me, she won’t. Now move, you great ox, before it’s too late.’
Cavendish Square, now why did that ring a bell? Colm let himself be prodded into motion while he reviewed a half-heard conversation between Derneley and his lady about their evening.
‘Lady Warlington’s masquerade,’ he murmured as it all fell into place.
‘That will turn into a drunken romp long before midnight. Lady Warlington’s