Regency High Society Vol 7: A Reputable Rake / The Heart's Wager / The Venetian's Mistress / The Gambler's Heart. Diane Gaston
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joined in her bantering. ‘And I am loathe to talk of others lest they talk of me, though I have never been successful at stopping them.’
She made her eyes big, but they were dancing with mischief. ‘Is there so much about you to be discussed?’
How unlike the frightened Miss Simpson, he thought, who needed protection from his disreputable self. Miss Hart was made of sterner stuff. But he’d known that from the first sight of her.
‘We are at a stand again.’ She laughed.
They went round and round with the music, in a companionable silence that did not entirely suit him.
His expression turned more serious. ‘I was surprised when my nephew approached me,’ he said. ‘He is the first of my family to have done so in years.’
She answered quietly, ‘I will not ask why, I promise you.’
Sloane’s smile was not mirthful. ‘Why he speaks to me? I cannot think why he should do so. Or did you mean why I am estranged? Why the respectable Earl of Dorton does not speak to his son? You will hear those stories soon enough, I am sure.’
She kept her gaze steady. ‘Shall I believe them?’
‘Some of them,’ he admitted.
She nodded gravely, but with something that almost smacked of understanding. He must be careful. She could be like some of the women he met during the war, who could be as understanding as necessary in order to worm out confidences and sell them to the highest bidder. He’d been that high bidder some of the time. He’d learned to keep his mouth shut and reveal only what he wished them to know.
This was not war, with the lives of thousands of soldiers at stake, but rather his own personal campaign to conquer the ton. No matter how intrigued he was by this woman, he dared show her only what he wished her to see.
‘You have not been in town long, Miss Hart?’ A change of subject was always a good tactic.
A fleeting smile crossed her face. ‘We are back to polite conversation, are we? Yes. Lately from Paris.’
‘And did you like Paris?’ he went on.
Faint lines creased her brow. ‘I confess, I could not like the gaiety, as if all the horror of the past twenty-five years had not emanated from that place.’
Another response to render him speechless. He’d had the same feeling when visiting the city, both during and after the war, but he’d thought his reaction personal. She did tempt him to let down his guard. That would be all he needed. To let slip one of the shocking events of his life, what he had sunk to in the name of King and country—and before—so that she might inform her uncle and ruin his well-laid plans.
By the time the set had ended they were a gloomy duo, but both plastered smiles on their faces when Lady Hannah, David Sloane in tow, rejoined them.
Morgana only half-listened to the conversation between her cousin and her two admirers.
What had happened? One minute during that glorious waltz with Sloane they had been bantering as friends. The next minute he had retreated from her entirely. She had only asked one impertinent question, but had withdrawn it almost as the words left her mouth.
Maybe it had been her frankness about Paris. Perhaps she ought to have gushed over the beauty of the city, the delicious food, the fashionable gowns and hats. That was what Hannah would have done, and it was Hannah who had captured his interest.
Hannah and Mr David Sloane took no notice when Morgana backed away, but she caught Sloane staring at her as she walked over to two young ladies Hannah had introduced her to before the ill-fated waltz. When the next set formed, one of the gentlemen in their group asked her to dance.
She thought Sloane’s eyes followed her as she stepped on to the floor.
Chapter Four
Two days later Sloane sat at his desk, gazing at the paper his secretary placed in his hand.
‘Culross Street?’ He glanced at the young man standing before him.
‘It is an ideal situation, sir.’ Mr Elliot spoke earnestly. ‘Completely furnished, and in a manner that is presentable—if not in the latest style. There are servants eager to retain employment, and the owner is done up and desperate for cash.’
Sloane read the paper again. ‘But Culross Street?’
Mr Elliot’s brow wrinkled. ‘I assure you, Mr Sloane, Culross Street is a very sought-after address. I took the liberty of making the agreement in your name—’
The young man stepped back as Sloane half-rose from his chair. ‘You made the agreement?’
‘As you gave me liberty to do, sir,’ Elliot reminded him, with an indignant lift of his chin. ‘If we had delayed, another buyer would have snapped it up, and I vow there were no other suitable properties in all of Mayfair. None that would allow you to move in directly.’
Sloane sat back down. Culross Street was a small one, to be sure, but there must be at least a dozen town houses on it. What were the odds of being too close to Miss Hart? He began to calculate the numbers, as if this were a game of cards, but caught himself and waved his hand in impatience.
Decidedly easier to ask. ‘Elliot, I am acquainted with a resident on that street. A Miss Hart. Can you tell me where this house of yours—I mean, mine—is situated in relation to hers?’
The young man beamed. ‘Oh, yes, Miss Hart. She would be right next door.’
Sloane groaned.
‘Is something amiss, sir?’ Elliot blinked, clearly baffled.
Sloane shook his head. ‘No. No.’
Nothing amiss. He was merely moving next door to a single lady, the cousin of the woman he intended to marry. What could be amiss? Only that someone was certain to attribute some lascivious meaning to the event and spread gossip. Why could Elliot not have put him next to some widowed viscountess or some such?
‘You gave me authority to make this decision,’ Elliot added defensively.
‘Yes, yes.’ Sloane rubbed his face and straightened in his chair. ‘Well, it is settled and I am sure you have done well. We did not foresee this peculiar circumstance.’
‘I have met the lady, sir, and she is perfectly respectable, I assure you.’
‘You met her?’
‘Quite by chance. I could not see any difficulty there.’
No, but Sloane could. He ought to have been wise enough to warn Elliot not to place him in any close proximity to a single lady of any age. But the cousin of his intended? Miss Hart, of all ladies.
Nothing could be done. He leaned back in his chair, balancing it on its back legs. ‘When do I take possession?’
Elliot brightened. ‘Today, if you like. The papers will be here for you to sign this morning.’
The chair nearly slipped out from under him. ‘Give me a day or so. You may take possession today, however, and make sure all is in order for me.’ Sloane needed a few days, if for nothing else, to alert the Cowdlins of his move. Would Lady Hannah dislike him living nearly in the pocket of her cousin? He was certain her father would.
‘Come with me, Lucy.’ Morgana practically had to drag the maid out of doors into the fine spring weather. She’d invented the excuse of desiring a walk in the park and needing a companion. Though it was not the fashionable hour, the park would be busy with other townspeople this fine day. A lady walking with her maid would not be remarked upon.
In some ways Morgana felt more kinship with her servants than with the few family members she possessed. The