Bronwyn Scott's Sexy Regency Bundle. Bronwyn Scott
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no less. Eleanor should still be upset over his treatment of her on the verandah. Of course, there was always the possibility that Stockport would not bother to seek out a lowly spinster.
But this wasn’t London and the distinctions of class were more easily blurred. Within minutes of greeting his hostess, Stockport began the long walk to the cluster of chairs where she sat. It would take some time. Everyone was interested in making Stockport’s acquaintance. It wasn’t often an Earl mixed with such a bourgeois grouping of people. The opportunity was not to be missed.
If she was so inclined, Nora could remove herself from her group, but Stockport would find her wherever she went. There was no sense in delaying it. She reasoned it was far better to confront him with a group of others around instead of risking an encounter where he could get her alone and press his suspicions.
‘Ladies, may I present to you the Earl of Stockport and the Viscount Wainsbridge.’ The hostess made the introductions. The dreaded moment was upon her. Nora met it head on. She was putting too many constructions on the encounter. Stockport would attribute any awkward behaviour on her part to their encounter at the card party.
The interaction proceeded quite harmlessly until Nora realised it wasn’t Stockport who posed the threat. It was his dandified friend, Viscount Wainsbridge. There was an aura of oddness about the gentleman. His gaze was too penetrating when he looked at her. The hardness in his eyes belied his easy manners. His clothes were overly foppish for a man of his broad-shouldered physique.
Well, it took one to know one. Nora recognized the look of a disguise when she saw it. This man might not be masquerading as someone else like she was, but he was masquerading as something else. She didn’t have to think long to come up with motivations for such a show. Her own motivations served well enough. People confided the most amazing bits of information to those whom they believed had no brain and Viscount Wainsbridge was giving a very good impression that he had left his at home.
A man Nora recognised as one of the mill investors approached Stockport and drew him aside. Nora’s senses went on full alert. Her suspicions were justified when Stockport returned to the group and took his leave.
‘I regret I shall have to leave you. The investors and I are having a short meeting in the library. It seems there is a new plan to catch The Cat.’ Stockport looked straight at her, causing her to readjust her earlier thinking. What did Stockport know? Had he looked at her on purpose? Nora wished she could be The Cat tonight. The Cat would deal swiftly with Viscount Wainsbridge and ferret her way into the meeting to overhear the plan.
Stockport’s next words caught her by surprise. ‘I trust Wainsbridge will be safe in your company, Miss Habersham. If it is not too importunate, I was hoping you might honour him with a dance?’
It wasn’t really a question. In an instant, Viscount Wainsbridge was next to her, soliciting for the next dance just starting up on the floor. In front of the group, Nora had no choice but to accept. Nora smiled gamely at Stockport. Apparently, he wanted to play cat and mouse. She would remind him just who was the cat and who was the mouse. If Stockport thought he had her cornered, he would be disappointed. He had no idea just how poorly Eleanor Habersham danced.
Chapter Ten
Brandon eyed the five other gentlemen assembled in Flack’s walnut-panelled library over the rim of his brandy snifter with a certain amount of trepidation. Three weeks ago he would have thought this meeting to discuss further action against The Cat nothing more than due process.
That was before he met The Cat. Now, he was hard pressed to take an interest in any plan that might condemn her. Regardless, there still remained the issue of the mill. She had to be brought to heel before the mill failed, but he could not abide the image of her behind bars or, worse, hanging from a gibbet like a common thief. There was nothing common about her.
Tonight, Brandon found himself in the awkward position of trying to protect The Cat without tipping his hand, all the while trying to cope with the comments Jack had made earlier. How had he got in to such a deep game with her? He swallowed his brandy as Cecil Witherspoon, the mill’s leading investor, cleared his throat and called the meeting to order.
‘Gentlemen, I dislike having to interrupt the festivities with business, but the situation regarding The Cat cannot be allowed to continue. Since we are all together this evening, we can make the most of our time by discussing the issue.’
The men—Squire Bradley, Magnus St John, Stephen Livingston and Jonathan Flack—all nodded in accord. Brandon kept his nod minimal and slightly aloof. He heartily disliked Cecil Witherspoon.
By rights, the tall, slender, blond man should have garnered his respect. Witherspoon was an ambitious, self-made man in his late thirties with a shrewd eye towards investments, very much like himself. But Witherspoon’s pale blue eyes were icy windows into a glacier soul.
Brandon found that, throughout their brief business association, Witherspoon was ruthless and utterly lacking in compassion for his fellow humans. Witherspoon was cold blooded now as he laid out his plan for capturing The Cat.
‘St John and I have tracked The Cat’s circuit of break ins and we believe we have cracked the pattern. We feel confident that The Cat will stage a robbery of St John’s place next. We also have divined that the robberies take place on evenings the home’s residents are out at social functions.
‘This means The Cat will target St John’s home for a Wednesday night when he and his wife are regularly out playing cards at Squire Bradley’s.’ Witherspoon gestured pompously to St John, his crony in crime. ‘Magnus, take it from here.’
Magnus St John, dark, bearded and bluff of manner, coughed and began. ‘I propose we all meet at my home for a dinner, during which The Cat will show up and be mightily surprised by our presence.’
That was his brilliant plan? Brandon almost laughed out loud. Even more ridiculous was the blind acceptance of the other men in the room, who were nodding their heads sagely and chortling over the planned surprise.
‘My lord, is something amiss?’ Witherspoon gave him a cold stare. Apparently, he hadn’t disguised his amusement well enough.
‘Do you think The Cat will simply walk into a dining room blazing with lights or will you spend all night sitting in the dark waiting for the thief to show and then shout “surprise”?’ Brandon said. Surely that much was an obvious flaw?
‘We won’t light the chandelier. We’ll use candles. They wouldn’t be visible until it was too late,’ St John said staunchly and far too seriously for Brandon to mistake his answer for a humorous joke.
‘And the “trap” part?’ Brandon pressed.
Witherspoon suppressed a condescending sigh as if it was his lot in life to work with less intelligent persons. He tolerated the question only because it came from the Earl. It was no secret that Witherspoon had invested heavily because of Brandon’s involvement. Witherspoon was grasping for acceptance into high society. Brandon suspected he would pay any price to ingratiate himself to an Earl of good standing.
‘My lord, the trap is that The Cat is expecting no one to be home, but this time we’ll all be there, waiting to drag the insufferable bastard off to jail.’
Brandon left it at that. If they wanted to try their plan, they were welcome to it. Still, a trap was a trap and the element of surprise could not be underestimated. There was also the issue of numbers. One lone thief against five men was not the most favourable of situations.
Brandon gave him a thin smile. ‘I will be anxious to hear about your results.’
‘Oh, my lord, you must be present. You’ll dine with us that evening, of course,’ St John interjected. The man was no better than Witherspoon. St John would dine out for months among his Cit companions in London on the tale that he entertained an Earl.
‘Well, that’s settled then.’ Brandon inclined his head with a graciousness he did not feel. What was not settled was what he would do with his information. He could tell The Cat of the trap, assuming