Chivalrous Rake, Scandalous Lady. Mary Brendan

but you can’t make her say her vows. Besides, Stephen Crabbe has his pockets to let. Have you settled on her a juicy portion?’ At Theo’s sullen silence he goaded slyly, ‘Come, tell me—perhaps if the price is right I might be interested in her too.’ His idle remark seemed to amuse him and he erupted in a guffaw. ‘’Spose you’d want me to lend you that cash, too, just so you could give it back to me to take the wench off your hands.’

      ‘I wouldn’t wish you on any female, let alone my own kin,’ Theo replied scathingly, ignoring the reference to the loans he’d chivvied out of Quick.

      Graham grinned. He revelled in his reputation as an insatiable libertine. He found Wyndham a tiresome dolt and a constant drain on his pocket. But Theo had got himself an odd notoriety and Graham liked to be in the thick of things, so had become chummy with him. Unwittingly Theo had managed to worm his way to prominence by creating a drama and casting himself as a central character. Once the debate in Mayfair’s clubs and salons over whether Wyndham had impertinently interfered, or sensibly intervened, in his ward’s life ceased, he would drop him like a hot brick.

      Theo was also aware that employing desperate measures to get the Bailey inheritance had turned up a wondrous benefit. He’d gained a little in popularity. He had realised the situation wouldn’t last, so was intending to milk his moment for as long as possible. With that in mind, he released the note advising him that Stephen would be happy to be re-introduced to his ward with a view to making an offer. It floated back to his desk to rest atop the one his ward had sent to him earlier in the week. That communication had arrived the day after Jemma had confronted him at home like a deranged harpy and contained no welcome news. She had not spared his feelings or her adjectives describing her disgust at his behaviour. She had also made it plain she had no intention of succumbing to any plot to get her wed. Theo frowned; Graham Quick had touched a raw nerve when he taunted him that he could not force the obstinate minx to marry against her will. But there was always a way, and he would set his mind to finding it in due course. For now a pleasant afternoon spent holding court at White’s beckoned.

      * * *

      It was no surprise to Jemma when her maid, Polly, announced that Miss Wyndham was pacing back and forth in her parlour awaiting an audience. Maura had been a visitor to Jemma’s home on Pereville Parade every day since the furore erupted over Theo contacting her spurned suitors. As far as Jemma was concerned the whole idiotic matter was unworthy of such attention, and she was becoming irritated that Maura would not let it wither naturally away.

      Jemma had been potting seedlings in the small conservatory set at the back of her neat town house. Now she wiped the soil from her fingers on to a cloth and with a sigh set off towards the parlour to see her cousin. Usually Jemma was pleased to have a visitor, but she suspected Maura would again want to hear the details of her meeting with Marcus Speer, and she had nothing new to tell her. Neither did Jemma want to be constantly reminded of that episode. Since it had occurred, every thought of Marcus made an ache of unbearable poignancy ripple through her. It was impossible not to remember their tense conversation without the memory of his lazy lustful look rushing heat and colour to stain her cheeks. It did so now and she put a cool palm instinctively to her skin to soothe it. Her mind darted to recall how, when a little less hostile to one another, they’d walked side by side as civil companions, if not friends, and she’d felt her uneasiness starting to evaporate. She’d been sure he’d believed her when she’d said she was unaware of Theo’s disgraceful behaviour. But, only a few minutes later, and without any warning or proper farewell, Marcus had abruptly walked away and not once looked back. The memory of having been so rudely abandoned still made her inwardly squirm in indignation.

      * * *

      Within five minutes of having joined Maura in the parlour Jemma’s ivory complexion had darkened in annoyance. Just as she was about to screw up the paper she’d scanned in disbelief her cousin deftly whipped the letter away from her quivering fingers.

      ‘No, you mustn’t do that!’ Maura gasped and thrust it back in her pocket. ‘I must put it back where I found it before Theo returns.’ She gave Jemma an apprehensive look. ‘I looked for him in his study to ask for my allowance, but he’d gone out. I lingered, thinking he might return. Then I saw this and on impulse took it to show you.’ She shot a look at Jemma that begged a comment on her selfless bravery.

      Jemma was still too distracted by what she’d read to remember to thank Maura for warning her that Stephen Crabbe was preparing to renew his offer to her.

      ‘I hope Theo’s gone to his club, then he’ll come back drunk and go straight to his chamber. I must put this back. If he realises it’s missing, there will be dreadful trouble.’

      * * *

      Maura led quite an uneventful life. She knew her gay society friends—apart from Deborah Cleveland, who was genuinely kind—tolerated her presence in their heady circle because their sweet looks and vivacity were heightened by her lack of such charming qualities. She had therefore found this family drama oddly exhilarating for, like her brother, she was enjoying a temporary elevation in status because of it. None the less, she was already regretting having impulsively taken the letter. The reason she’d gone to Theo’s study was not to speak to her brother—although she had planned to soon corner him about handing over her overdue allowance. She’d headed there hoping to see a very different gentleman.

      Earlier that day, from the top of the stairs, Maura had overheard a visitor arrive and state his name to Manwell. Immediately she had been scandalised. Her brother had few friends and Maura knew that this reputedly wicked philanderer was not one of Theo’s usual cronies. As one transfixed by a dangerous reptile, Maura had settled silently on to a high step to spy on devilish Graham Quick through the banisters. Of course she’d heard of him, but never actually seen him as he socialised, for the most part, in places and with people innocent young ladies knew nothing about.

      She’d observed a man of below medium height with an excessively spare frame, flamboyantly clothed, who was blessed with blond good looks. Being a young woman of plain appearance with no experience of stirring interest, let alone passion, in a gentleman, she’d found watching him, unobserved, whilst wondering, acutely thrilling. As she’d gazed down on the top of his flaxen head, she’d recalled hearing a whisper that even the members of the Hellfire Club couldn’t match Graham Quick for depravity.

      After a moment the object of Maura’s frenzied imagination had tipped back his blond head to inhale snuff and spotted her. With a sly smile he peremptorily beckoned her to come to him.

      From the moment he’d seen her Maura had been petrified. That thin, demanding finger had finally jerked her to her senses and she’d jumped up and fled in a jumble of skirts with her cheeks aflame and his rough chuckle following her along the corridor.

      The sanctuary of her room had done nothing to calm her; in fact, once a safe distance had been put between them, Maura had begun to relish her adventure and to find Mr Quick irresistibly interesting. He’d looked wonderfully handsome with his fair face and angelic curls and nothing like a wicked libertine. She’d known that Theo’s visitor, once received, would be shown to his study and had, after a while, boosted her courage sufficiently to decide to go there on the pretext of needing to speak to her brother on a matter. But she’d tarried too long and by the time she’d tiptoed with hammering heart to timidly tap on the door, they’d gone out.

      ‘I suppose I ought to go home now,’ Maura murmured morosely. She still felt disappointed at having missed the chance to satisfy her curiosity about Graham Quick by seeing, perhaps conversing with him, at close quarters. She also now felt quite miffed that, having sped here to warn Jemma that the plot to marry her off was progressing very fast, she’d not even been offered a cup of tea for her trouble.

      ‘Oh…I’m sorry, Maura. Will you take tea?’ Jemma belatedly recognised her cousin’s mood and offered her hospitality.

      ‘Yes, please,’ Maura said immediately and sat down.

      Having given the order to Polly for a tray of tea and cinnamon biscuits to be brought to the parlour, Jemma returned to giving the awful matter at hand her full attention. ‘I ought to write to Mr Crabbe and