A Lady's Luck Page 2

  Henrietta sighed as she set her teacup down. She supposed it was up to her to help the girl. At least it would give her something to focus on this season other than scandalous gossip and her brother’s latest drunken foible.

  As if on cue, her brother stumbled into the drawing room, out of breath and with eyes wide and anxious. As usual, his panic made her own composure harden. It had always been this way. He was quick to react, with emotions and little intelligence, and it fell on her to be the stable one.

  “Come, have a seat, Rodrick,” she said. “And tell us what is wrong.”

  He made it as far as the sideboard before stopping to pour himself a drink, which he sloshed on the floor in his haste to down it. “He knows.”

  That was the excessively dramatic proclamation that came out of his mouth once he’d swallowed his whiskey. Henrietta stared at him before meeting Mary’s curious gaze. She turned back to Rodrick. “He who, darling? And what, exactly, does he know?”

  “The Earl of Colefax,” he said, his eyes wild and flitting about like a spooked pony’s. “You know, Alistair Merrywether.”

  She recognized the name despite her brother’s drunken spurt of words, of course, and what he knew was instantly obvious to her. “Ah,” she said.

  Rodrick’s eyes widened further. “Ah, you say? What shall we do?”

  She lifted her shoulders and let them fall. Rodrick always overreacted. It was best to remain calm for his sake, if for nothing else. However, even with the knowledge the earl knew Rodrick was behind the wager they’d placed on his bastard child, she saw no reason to do anything other than remain unaffected. It was not quite enough to make her worry. She could not work up a proper anxiety over the matter. “I suppose he was displeased?” she asked, her tone politely inquisitive as she avoided Mary’s curious stare.

  It was best for Mary if she were left out of the more nefarious goings-on within the household. The girl was an heiress, and she might not understand what Henri needed to do when it came to acquiring money.

  “Displeased?” Rodrick shook his head. “He’s here!”

  Henri blinked as a shot of alarm made her shift in her seat. “Here?” She looked toward the door.

  “He’s on his way,” Rodrick said with a hiss, his panic reaching a drastic, fevered pitch. She wondered if perhaps alcohol had the opposite effect on him than it did on most, because she’d heard it could be used to calm anxiety, not enhance it.

  “Relax, dear,” she said in as gentle a voice as she could manage. Really, at a time like this, did she have to play nursemaid as well as handle a no-doubt irate earl?

  Rodrick came toward her and fell to his knees. “He knows it’s you,” he said, his drunken tongue stumbling on his words. It seemed he’d just then realized Mary was in the room with him and perhaps he thought it would be less odd if he knelt at her feet and whispered, rather than continue to shout at her from across the room.

  Cocking her head to the side, she considered Rodrick and what he’d told her. She could have asked, “How does he know?” but she did not. The answer was obvious. Her brother was loyal, yes, but he was a disgraceful ninny under any form of pressure. She sighed as quietly as possible to hide her disappointment. His ensuing guilt would do no one any good.

  “I didn’t mean to,” he started to say.

  They were interrupted by their butler’s arrival in the doorway. “Lord Colefax is here to see Lord Braxton.”

  Rodrick stared up at her with wide, fearful eyes and she forced a smile. Heavens, but he was prompt. She turned her smile to the butler. “Send him in.”

  In the few moments it took for him to be led into the drawing room, she had prepared herself to meet him. It was quickly apparent, however, he had not prepared to meet her. Tall and forbidding, he towered over them all from where he hovered in the doorway. His glower faltered and fell as he took in the sight of her and Mary.

  Surprise crossed his rugged, handsome features before he got hold of himself. “I beg your pardon,” he said quickly. “I came to see Lord Braxton and his, er…”

  She arched one brow, enjoying his discomfort immensely.

  “His…Henry,” he said with hesitation in his voice.

  Mary, God bless her, snickered into her hand. Her irrepressible sense of humor was one of many reasons why Henrietta enjoyed having her around. Now, that hint of laughter warmed her and eased some of the tension in the room. Though, she imagined, it only heightened this pompous man’s embarrassment.

  It was for the best, really. At first glance, it was clear he was a proud man, almost too proud. She’d seen him before, about town, at parties, and though they had been introduced, that had long been the extent of their acquaintance.

  While titled, she and her brother hardly moved in the same circles as this boor of a man with his vast fortunes. To be more precise, she and her brother moved in circles, while Lord Colefax did not.

  She and her brother were creatures of society, but Colefax was known to be a stuffed-shirt prig. The general consensus of the ton and her interactions with him had done little to alter that common opinion. He had a way of peering down his nose that made her want to stick her tongue out at him.

  Immature, to be sure, but it would be satisfying. Though not nearly as satisfying as this. Finding him in her home, lingering uncomfortably in her doorway, looking like he would rather be anywhere else. Though both Rodrick and this man were earls and thus equals in a social setting, the vast wealth of the Earl of Colefax put him head and shoulders above the Braxton household, and everyone knew it.

  “Please, do come in,” she said, gesturing toward the settee across from her, which was empty. Mary shifted on the chair beside hers as though preparing to be entertained by a theater performance.

  Rodrick…well, Rodrick seemed to be entranced by some document or another lying on the desk in the corner. If she guessed correctly, it was a bit of correspondence from their cousin in Brighton. She knew it was hardly entertaining, and certainly not important enough to ignore the earl in their midst.

  “How may we help you, my lord?” she asked politely, after introducing him to Mary.

  He sat down and fidgeted on the settee, his gaze moving over each of them, alert and all-seeing. “Again, my apologies. I was under the impression…that is…” He glanced over at the otherwise occupied Rodrick. “Braxton mentioned a Henry at home.” He gave her a smile she assumed was intended to be charming. She found it patronizing. “Is there a Henry about?” he asked, his tone light and inquisitive. He had not forgotten his manners, apparently.

  Oh yes, she could see why so many of the unmarried ladies of the ton had set their caps for this one. He was the epitome of the perfect gentleman. Boring, simple, and incapable of seeing what was right in front of his face. “I am afraid Miss Beaucraft, my brother, and I are the only ones at home,” she said politely.

  “I see,” he said. While he said the words pleasantly enough, his gaze was fixed on her brother, and it was far from pleasant. There in his eyes appeared a murderous gleam which caught her interest and thoroughly excited her.

  Oh, not that she wanted to see Rodrick attacked. She was not much for violence at all, let alone toward her beloved brother. No, it was the discovery that he possessed such an intensity of emotion which had her heart pounding as excitement stirred in her belly. Who knew the great, cold, unflappable earl had such a passion inside him?

  But for the better, more pertinent question…why? Certainly it could not have been pleasant for such an upstanding gentleman to find his name linked with an actress and an illegitimate child, but she would have bet—indeed, she had bet—he would never sink so low as to address the rumors. His reputation would not have suffered unduly were he to merely ignore it, or better yet, never learn about the gossip in the first place.

  She found herself frowning. How had he learned of the gossip? The type of gambling she partook in via Rodrick was the type stodgy prigs like him never went near. It was the stuff of drunken humor and ridiculous goss
ip. His gaze shot to her quickly and she forced her smile back in return.

  “So no Henry lives here,” he said again, frustration evident in his tone.

  She blinked in a distinctly dim manner befitting his patronizing tone. “My father’s name is Henry.”

  He straightened, his nostrils flaring and his eyes flashing in a manner that had her belly tightening with an entirely different sort of excitement. “Indeed. And where is your father now?”

  “He passed away three years ago, I am afraid.”

  The earl’s jaw clenched with irritation and it took every ounce of her willpower not to laugh aloud. The sound that escaped Mary’s lips could have been excused as a sniffle, but Henrietta knew it to be a snort of smothered laughter. Their lovely guest might not know the details of their wagers and their manipulations, but she knew enough. She certainly knew who Henri was in this household.

  The earl flicked a glance at Rodrick, then Mary, and when it returned to her his eyes held a glow of suspicion that made her breath catch. It wasn’t a fear of being caught, necessarily, but mere anticipation, or perhaps excitement. She met his gaze evenly. She was definitely intrigued. That intrigue grew by leaps and bounds when he leaned toward her, a spark of intellect in his gaze. “And you, Lady Henrietta? Were you named after your father?”

  Henri grinned at the subtle way he stressed the first half of her name. “I was, yes.” She watched the emotions in his eyes. He suspected it, but couldn’t quite bring himself to believe it. He’d rather go on thinking poor Rodrick was the mastermind behind this little plan than believe a well-dressed lady such as herself could be the culprit. Lord, but men were so reliably predictable.

  He leaned forward slightly, his gaze never leaving hers. “I do not suppose you had anything to do with a certain bet?”

  Mary gasped at the accusation, but Henrietta smiled. Miracle of miracles, Alistair Merrywether, the Earl of Colefax, had done the unthinkable. He’d surprised her. Her smile grew as she met his wickedly alert gaze.

  How very intriguing.

  Chapter Two

  Lady Henrietta. Henrietta. He’d recognized the pretty blonde instantly and was well aware of her name. He ought to have pieced two and two together just as quickly. But who in their right mind would leap to such a conclusion? Even knowing her name and now her connection to Lord Braxton, he sat there in shocked awe at his own boldness.

  Had he really accused a gently bred lady of gambling?

  Yes, yes he had.

  The silence in the room was insufferable as Braxton and the other young lady gaped at him. However, Lady Henrietta smiled. Alistair found himself staring at her lips, mesmerized by their fullness, the way the simple curve upward could transform her so completely.

  Lady Henrietta was a beautiful woman, he had always known that. He may not have known her well, but he had seen her at parties, talked to her briefly about the sort of mundane topics that made up the conversation at a typical dinner party. He had seen her smile countless times, but never like this. Her blue eyes gleamed with pleasure, as if the core of her being came alive before him.

  “Why, Lord Colefax,” she said with a rapid batting of her eyelashes that would have put Cleopatra to shame. “I have never been to a gentleman’s club or a gaming hell.” She widened her eyes in feigned shock. “The idea is inconceivable.”

  She had not answered the question, he noted. That in and of itself was his answer. He should leave. He now knew who his enemy was, and it was a woman—a lady. A harmless, unmarried lady who likely had grown bored and sought to meddle. He studied her unflinching gaze. He should be relieved, but he was not. If anything, her gaze unsettled him. The way she met his eyes without so much of a hint of embarrassment must have been what made him uneasy.

  And angry. The original anger that had driven him to seek out Lord Braxton earlier today was back. Why had she done it? Why choose him to slander, and why this particular charge? Had she any way of knowing how closely this accusation would wound him?

  He straightened. “My apologies, my lady,” he said, his voice stiff and cold. “Of course you would never enter a gaming hell. I merely meant to inquire if you had heard these salacious rumors linking me to an actress by the name of Sarah Bale.”

  The other two gasped audibly at his audacity. He might even admit he’d surprised himself with this lack of decorum. In polite society he was known for being correct and proper. But this, he thought as he regarded the woman before him, this was not polite society. This was a lady who had, for whatever reason, gone to great lengths to tarnish his upstanding reputation. Anger flared to life once more. Did she have any idea with whom she’d toyed? Judging by the flicker of surprise he’d caught in her eyes, he suspected not.

  “Indeed I have heard the rumors,” she said, her gaze never wavering, her cheeks the same creamy pale color. Any proper woman would have blushed at the mention of such a scandalous rumor, would she not? Bloody hell, his sister would have called for smelling salts, though her shock would have been all for show. This woman did not bother to pretend to be scandalized. Her gall was infuriating…and a bit intriguing, he had to admit. What was she thinking? And why on earth was she giving him that dazzling smile?

  She shook her head and emitted a tsk sound. “Such a dirty business, these baseless accusations.”

  He heard the words but had a difficult time thinking of a response. Was she trying to bewitch him? If so, it was working. His mind felt muddled and his heart raced at the sight of such beauty. He’d had any number of women gaze at him with varying degrees of infatuation and even lust, but this? This was something different altogether.

  He was not a great game hunter himself, but he now knew exactly what it felt like to be prey. Her gaze was fixed and determined, yet smug and calculating. He had the most delightful sensation he was one of the few to see this side of her.

  This was an entirely different woman from the demure, elegant lady he’d seen in society, and he had no idea what to make of her. Nor did he know what to do with her. She had all but admitted she was behind the bet that had put his reputation at stake, and yet she showed no sign of remorse whatsoever. He did not know whether to laugh or lecture her until she saw the error of her ways.

  As he debated, she sipped her tea, calmly and without a hint of anxiety to indicate she was facing her accuser. She set her tea to the side with slow, deliberate movements, and then folded her hands in her lap. Her smile had faded, but it was still there. If he wasn’t mistaken, that small curve of her lips held something like pity in some enigmatic, mysterious way.

  “It was rather silly of this actress, don’t you think?” she asked.

  “It was more than silly,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. Was that how she saw it? This woman had smeared his good name, for no good reason, and she thought it a silly caper? This was all a mere whim for her, a bored spinster in the making with a lazy brother who wasn’t strong enough to keep her in control.

  He turned his glare to Braxton, who was watching his sister with big, saucer-like eyes as though looking to her to save him. When he turned back to Lady Henrietta she was still smiling, her eyes sparkling with mischief and something more. “Yes,” she said sweetly. “Of course it was horribly wrong of that woman to speak ill of such a fine and upstanding gentleman such as yourself.” He frowned. She was mocking him, he was certain of it.

  She continued, blithely. “What I meant was, she chose the wrong man to accuse falsely. Everyone knows you were nowhere near London last season, when she…” She waved one hand in the air in a vague gesture which he had to assume meant ‘when she was tupped by some wanker who left her with child.’

  He stared at her, the meaning of her words registering a bit belatedly. He tried to reconcile his current predicament, having this conversation in a drawing room in London’s Mayfair district surrounded by tapestries, lords, and ladies. This was a conversation better suited to a pub or a brothel. Her arched brows prompted him, as though she were trying to get across som
e meaning.

  He blinked, feeling remarkably like a dullard as the reason behind his visit momentarily eluded him. He’d been after Braxton, or after whoever was behind the rumors swirling about his name. Alistair sought whoever had paid that actress to claim him to be the father. How on earth was he sitting in a drawing room, conversing with a fine lady about actresses and illegitimate births? The world had gone topsy-turvy in the course of one morning.

  “You were away, were you not?” she asked. The expectant smile made his breath catch. Lord but he wanted to kiss her until she melted in his arms. He wanted to make her smile and to make her breath hitch with desire. He wanted to see that brilliant light in her eyes turn into dazed pleasure.

  “Yes,” he managed to say in a hoarse voice, because she seemed to be waiting for confirmation. What had she said? Last summer when the woman had this unseemly affair, where had he been? She was right, he hadn’t been in London. “I was in Oxford last summer.”

  The light reflecting in her eyes sparked. He caught the way her lips twitched slightly. How could he not, he’d been obsessively watching those lips ever since he’d walked in the door.

  “You were in Oxford?” she said. Another man might have missed the way she’d stopped breathing for a heartbeat as she reached for her tea. “Your sister told me you were traveling extensively on the continent.”

  Oh hell. Was that the lie he’d told? He told so many these days it was hard to keep track. “Yes, well,” he started to say, his mind racing to remember where he’d supposedly been nearly a year ago. Damn, she was right. “Of course, I meant to say France.”

  She blinked once, and he had the odd notion she was storing his words away, cataloguing them for future use. “Of course,” she murmured. Any amusement he might have felt over this unusual female and her absurd pastime disappeared in a heartbeat. This woman could be dangerous. Very dangerous. He doubted she knew what damage she could do to a man like him—a man who lived a double life.