“I didn’t say that he would, but rather wouldn’t you be livid if he did? It’s the men who visit these places that fuel the enterprise. Don’t you think?” Caroline had thought a lot about this topic over the past few days since she had returned from rescuing Alice.
“We should not be talking about brothels at all,” whispered Danielle furiously.
“I agree,” said Lucy. “Let’s talk about something else.”
“Well, I also read that Lady Grendel is having an affair with her dance instructor,” Danielle said breathlessly.
“Honestly, Danielle, where are you reading such salacious tidbits?” Caroline laughed.
“InThe Spectator,of course. My mother has a subscription.”
“What isTheSpectator?”
“It’s a scandal rag is what it is,” interjected Elizabeth. Then she smiled wickedly. “But of the best kind. I also have looked through it a time or two.”
“That explains why I haven’t seen it. You know how my mother frowns on gossiping.”
The dinner bell gonged. “Speaking of, I better find my mother.”
****
Cage rubbed his hands together briskly as he came back inside after taking a piss. Damn, it was cold enough to freeze your bullocks off tonight. The spring weather was capricious. It had been so warm the other night. Just as he turned left, he heard a breathy “Hello Lord Wrotham.” Miss Tolbert of the low-cut dress stepped out of the shadows.
“Miss Tolbert, what do I owe this pleasure?” He asked politely. However, her intention was clear as glass.
“Lord Wrotham, I thought perhaps we could continue getting to know one another.” She ran a fingertip down the frontof his shirt. Then she reached behind her to open the door to what appeared to be an empty sitting room.
“Don’t you think people will notice if we are missing from the drawing room?”
“Who cares?” she pressed herself up against him, giving a little wiggle. Her tongue darted out to lick his jaw. This minx was far too forward for his tastes. A little harmless flirting had led to this surprise attack? No, thank you.
He grasped her arms firmly and peeled her off him. Setting her down at arm’s length, he said, “Miss Tolbert, I think you grossly overestimated my interest in you. I must bid you a good night.” Then he turned quickly on his heel and made his escape.
Returning to the drawing room, he found the guests milling about chatting. Exactly as they had been when he left the room to take a piss. He sighed; tonight was indeed one of the most boring evenings he’d ever spent. And he had spent many boring evenings in camp with nothing to do but polish his boots.
Gaylord, Hughes, Blyth, and Danville all still loitered on the far side of the room. All of the four men were on the list of jilted suitors. He had been “making friends,” as instructed by Lord Winters. His chief advised that the only way to find out anything about the suspects would be to infiltrate and be friendly. Winters had assessed the list of suspects, crossing off three of the men he knew personally were happily matched with wives since being turned down by the lovely Lady Caroline. That left nine for Cage to investigate.
Cage sauntered over to join the group. Gaylord and Blyth nodded at him. The talk was still about the horse race on Sunday, the merits of various mounts being heatedly debated.
Cage gazed around the room and quickly spotted Caroline Langdon’s dark head of hair. She was taller than the other ladies surrounding her. Her raven locks had purple ribbon woventhrough them, and a pair of amethyst earrings dangled from her earlobes. She looked cool and elegant tonight.
“Don’t even think about that one, Wrotham.” Gaylord leaned over to say.
“I don’t know who you mean.”
“Caroline Langdon, right? She’s one you could never land. She has turned down twelve offers of marriage.”
“Twelve?” Cage shook his head, pretending to be shocked.
“Blyth, Hughes, and I have all tried and failed.” His bitter tone caused Cage to glance over sharply.
Danville stepped closer. “Besides, Devonshire has offered for her.”
“Yes, yes. We’ve all heard.” Gaylord threw back his glass of wine.
“If anyone has the credentials to have a chance, it’s him.” Danville shrugged. “Can’t blame a bloke for trying. With her large dowry and pretty face, any man in Briton would be a fool not to try.”
Cage kept watching her as she made her way through the crowded room. He thought about the hauntingly sad look she had that night on the veranda—her face so pale in contrast to the dark mink of her hair. No, not haunted, hunted. Perhaps this is what she wanted to run from. Not that he blamed the gents for giving chase. Something about her had called out to him from the moment he saw her in the gardens. Perhaps she descended from some ancient siren, for he had never been drawn so quickly to a woman.
