“A ward? He won a ward at a gaming table?” Lady Kilsyth exclaimed with shocked concern. “Oh, what has Henry gotten himself into now? I’d thought his days of gaming hells and debauchery were behind him. And, between you and me, while the loss of my husband and oldest son were heartbreaking, I am grateful that it forced Henry to distance himself from those Devils of Dalston.”
Eve sucked in a breath. Kilsyth was affiliated with the most disreputable group of gentlemen to haunt society?
His mother must be mistaken. Those men were degenerates, drunkards, gamblers and every vice rolled into one group of gentlemen, all spares, who had nothing better to do but find enjoyment where they could. She’d even heard rumors, and read accounts in the newssheets that they participated in orgies. Eve wasn’t certain what those were, but she knew that it must be highly immoral because when she’d asked Brendan what it was, he’d turned red and stated that it was something that a gently bred woman need know nothing about.
The Kilsyth that Eve had come to know would never behave immorally, of that she was certain. Though he may have been friends with the degenerates, he couldn’t have done anything worse than gamble—and win a ward.
* * *
It had not been Henry’s intention to leave his home today, but being in close proximity to Miss Doyle became more difficult by the moment.
This morning she’d appeared in the breakfast room wearing a pale blue gown made of a light, soft fabric. The darker ribbon, tied beneath her breasts only emphasized her endowments. Lace and frills surrounded her neck and the hem of her gown, and even though Henry hated all the unnecessary embellishments, they were quite becoming on Miss Doyle, and the color of the gown somehow managed to make her eyes a deeper green.
Quite outstanding, really, as the two should not complement as they did.
After breakfast had concluded, Henry did everything in his power to forget her eyes, the color of her dress and most especially the cut of her bodice and put his mind to work. Unfortunately, his gaze strayed in her direction all too often, noting the tilt of her head as she read, and the way a blonde curl caressed her shoulder.
Damn and blast! He could get nothing done while she was in the room. As Eve was required to be there, to learn all that she could, it meant that Henry must be the one to leave.
Had he accomplished anything since she’d become his ward?
Some, he was confident, but not nearly as much as he’d like. He’d even employed her to write out his correspondence. With Miss Doyle behind his desk, he paced, not glancing at her and dictated his response. It was far better than reading correspondence, then unintentionally looking in her direction and forgetting what he’d read. Unfortunately, that had happened a few times last evening and his mind had gone blank for a moment.
The same occurred when he attempted to read a book. He’d lost count of the many times he’d taken a book from one of the shelves, determined to read a chapter or two to simply take his mind off his ward, only to not comprehend the words on the page so he abandoned the book.
Newssheets had begun to stack up as well. Pickmore had read them, but they hadn’t held Henry’s interest. However, he needed to know the news, even the ghastly gossip, if he was to continue to be a benefit to the Home Office. It was his job to find the spies amongst society and he couldn’t very well do so if he had no idea what was happening in the ballrooms in Town. Thankfully, it didn’t require him to take part since two of the Devils were quite comfortable making Society their home and determined the success of any night on how many dowager dragons were affronted by their presence.
The Fallen Angels!
Henry snorted at the name Society had given three agents of the crown—Michael Darton, the second son of the Earl of Wexbury, and Raphael Clarke, the second son of the Marquess of Claremont and Gabriel Westbrook, now the Earl of Norbright and no longer in Society. However, it was Darton and Clarke who continued to watch and wrote the most scintillating gossip rag available. Even if the column didn’t serve a purpose—to deliver coded messages to all of the Devils no matter where they may be—Henry suspected they’d still continue, as the two found far too much enjoyment in spreading tales of those who preferred to snub them. Their gossip column had also highly exaggerated the goings on at the house in Dalston.
Henry snorted again. Not exaggerated but entirely fabricated. Cyprian balls, orgies, the occult, virgin sacrifices, disorderly drunkenness and gambling. It used to be interesting to read what he’d apparently done the night before. Of course, his name was never mentioned, and he was only H.C., but it wasn’t difficult to determine the identities of any of the Devils and that had been done with purpose by the writers.
Debutants adored them, widows desired them, and mothers shielded their daughters. Oddly enough, while the three Angels had been at Eton, they had considered joining the church. Before they left Cambridge, however, they’d joined the Home Office.
As for the Devils, Henry supposed a meeting was in order. There’d not been one since before Pickmore had returned and it was necessary to meet on occasion to see where everyone was with regard to their investigations or if they were simply awaiting a new assignment. Further, they’d not had agatheringin some time and gossip must be fueled.
Henry felt out of touch with his fellow Devils, but this past week he’d been so distracted by Miss Doyle that he wasn’t certain he knew anything.
Damn and blast!
Even away from his home, she invaded his thoughts. What the bloody hell was he to do?
Well, he couldn’t kiss her, as had been his desire this morning. She was his ward and student, and why he’d fled the sanctity of his own library.
Perhaps it would be best if he hired a man of business or a secretary, then Miss Doyle could retire above-stairs while he worked in the evening.
Except, he didn’t want her anywhere else but in the library. She was almost like an addiction, but one that Henry had enough self-control not to touch.
He most certainly could not touch Miss Doyle again, no matter how innocent, like the brush of her fingers. He was already far too aware of his attraction to her and where it might lead. If he so much as brushed against her hand again, he might forget all purpose and simply wish to be with her.
Bloody hell! When had he become a smitten fool? It was certainly out of character and something he must bring under control. There was too much work to be done and too much at stake. Wanting more from his ward would never do and he must learn to put her from his mind and blind himself to her attractiveness, as well as ignore her intelligence, sharp wit and quick mind. If he did not, he might succumb to emotions far more damaging than admiration.
However, once she attended Ascot and appeared at his mother’s ball, he’d not need to spend any more time with her. If she discovered anything of note at any function, she’d know where to find him to relay such information.
The one matter that Henry was most confident in was that Miss Doyle, once introduced, would be become the most sought-after miss and bachelors and lords would flock to her like bees to honey, curious as to who she was.
Yes, she’d make an excellent agent for the crown and be able to work within the safety of Society.
