If only he’d been the one doing the ruining. But then, if the Earl had asked her to dance, there would have been no ruining at all. Damn and blast, it was all so ridiculous. Just because she’d been overheard doing the asking. Truly, she might as well have been found in his deuced bed.
Frowning, she stilled. If she was found in the Earl’s bed, he would have no choice but to marry her. She determinedly ignored the insistent voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like Charity declaring her completely bacon-brained for even thinking she could blackmail a man like Christian Stanhope. But what did she stand to lose? She was already in the suds. Her Season had ended before it had even begun. And for something she did in a room full of people. She ground her teeth in frustration. Bloody gossiping tabbies.
If Lord Cottesmore agreed to wed her, then the reason for their nuptials would very quickly be forgotten. Not so if another man had to be persuaded to take on damaged goods.
And if she waited for him in his bed… Well, at the very least she would get to talk to him. Alone.
That’s if he didn’t kill her first.
Jumping up, she began to pace the room. She’d overheard the kitchen staff talking of the Earl’s residence, so she knew where it was. And with the newly raised streetlights to guide her, she was persuaded it would take her less than ten minutes to walk. It was still early enough that she would be relatively safe. Especially if she wore her oldest cloak.
Charity’s voice was now screaming, ‘Idiot,’ at her, and she stopped pacing. Was she? Her plan was risky to be sure, but she was out of options. Somehow she had to persuade Christian Stanhope to offer for her, no matter the animosity from the Duke of Blackmore.
But his bed? Well, mayhap that was a bit extreme. She could start by simplyaskingfor an audience. At the front door. Like a normal person. If he refused to see her, wellthenshe could locate his bedchamber and wait for him there. What was the worst that could happen? He would be unlikely to actually do her any physical harm. And if he threw her out of his house, the servants would undoubtedly talk, and then hewouldhave to marry her.
Her mind shying away from the teeny tiny problem ofhowshe would actually locate and gain entry to his bedchamber without anybody spotting her, she determinedly picked up the discarded bed cushions, positioning them under the bedclothes to look as if someone was sleeping. Then she pulled her hair back, pinning it to the nape of her neck, pulled on her boots and sought out her old woollen cloak. Finally, blowing out the candles, she pulled open the door and peeped out onto the landing.
∞∞∞
‘The thing is, Percy, I’m not getting any younger,’ Reverend Shackleford declared, taking a sip of Nicholas’s excellent brandy. ‘My back feels as though I’ve been run over by a coach and four, I’ve got gout in me big toe and I can’t see my hand in front of me without me eyeglasses. It’s crucial I see Anthony take his rightful place in Society before I head upstairs to share a snifter with the Almighty. If I don’t, Agnes will never let me hear the last of it.’
‘Well, since you’ll be dead, Sir, there’s not a lot she can do,’ observed Percy.
‘If you think that, you don’t know my wife,’ muttered the Reverend darkly.
Percy frowned. His superior definitely had a point. He wouldn’t put anything past Agnes Shackleford. Though if she continued taking the many potions she purchased from Blackmore’s local pedlar, he suspected she’d be pushing up daisies well before the Reverend. Naturally, he didn’t say so out loud.
The two men were sitting in the small drawing room on the first floor. Apart from being the cosiest room in the house, it boasted two comfortable winged chairs and a roaring fire, the latter of which was most definitely appreciated by Freddy who was currently snoring loudly in front of it.
‘Tare an’ hounds, Percy,’ Reverend Shackleford went on sorrowfully. I was hoping we might even add another Duke to the family. I’ve been reliably informed that Chastity’s a tempting armful, and from the conversations we’ve had, she appears to have nothing between her ears other than fresh air. There’s the modest dowry from his grace. What more could any titled gentleman want?’
Unsure whether he was required to give an answer, the curate opted for nodding sagely instead.
‘But what do we get? A havey-cavey earl, who may or may not have put his shipmate to bed with a mallet … or in this case a knife according to Nicholas. And to top it all, it appears he hasn’t got sixpence to scratch with, or won’t have by the time he’s finished rebuilding his house.’ Reverend Shackleford shook his head gloomily. ‘Truly, Percy, I’ve said it before, but the Almighty’s got a deuced odd sense of humour.’
A sudden noise in the hall outside had Freddy lifting his head with a small growl. Frowning, the Reverend paused his tale of woe. After a second, the foxhound wagged his tail sleepily and lay back down with a doggy sigh.
In the silence, a muttered epithet drifted through the closed door. The Reverend glanced down at his fob watch. ‘Nearly half past ten,’ he murmured. ‘Who the deuce could be sneaking around at this time of night? The servants are likely all abed. The Duke don’t hold with keeping them awake all hours.’
‘Should we investigate, Sir,’ questioned Percy, notably making no move to vacate his spot by the fire.
‘I suppose I owe it to Nicholas to ensure his chattels aren’t being loaded into a waiting carriage as we speak,’ Augustus Shackleford grumbled. Climbing heavily to his feet, he made his way to the door throwing a, ‘Come, Freddy,’ over his shoulder. The comatose foxhound didn’t so much as twitch. Hmphing at the vagaries of man’s supposed best friend, the Reverend pulled open the door a crack and peeped through. Just in time to spot a cloaked figure tiptoeing down the stairs.
‘What the devil do you think you’re doing?’ he bellowed, stepping onto the landing.
A white, frightened face turned briefly towards him, then the figure fled down the remaining steps and hurried over to the town house’s main entrance. After a brief pause, the miscreant pulled open the front door and slipped through, slamming it shut behind them.
‘Right then, you varmint, if you think you’re getting away with robbing this household, you’re sadly mistaken. ‘Percy,bring my cassock,’ Reverend Shackleford yelled, followed a second later by, ‘Freddy,get your lazy arse away from the fire. It’s time you earned your keep.’
Without waiting, he hurried down the stairs, his mind awhirl with possibilities. The foremost being that whoever the thief was, he or she looked remarkably like his daughter Chastity. But then he wasn’t wearing his eyeglasses.
Chapter Six
‘Damn and blast,’ muttered Chastity to herself as she hobbled across the square wincing at the pain in her right foot. God save her from newly polished floors. Only Grace’s recently commissioned bust of her husband positioned in pride of place at the top of the stairs had saved her from ending up in a heap at the bottom of them. She found herself giggling almost hysterically at the thought of telling her sister that even asculptureof Nicholas was enough to save her from herself.
On reaching the corner, she stopped and bent down to examine her foot, moving it this way and that. It was a little painful, but nothing more, reassuring her that at least she hadn’t done any lasting damage. She glanced back at the townhouse, wondering how long it would be before her father roused the servants. She’d not given any thought to the possibility that he might not yet be abed. In Blackmore, he generally retired just after supper. She grimaced in frustration. Going back was no longer an option, so she had no choice but to continue on and hope that if anybody checked, they wouldn’t see through the makeshift body in her bed.
To her horror, across the square, the front door to the Duke’s townhouse opened to reveal her father, Percy and Freddy. ‘Botheration,’ she breathed. It was clear that her father hadn’t waited to rouse the servants. If they were all still abed, did that mean she could circle round and go back into the house from the garden? She was beginning to have serious misgivings about her plan. What had seemed like a good idea in her bedchamber was looking increasingly jingle brained outside in the dark and freezing cold.
