The Wicked Lord Rasenby. Marguerite Kaye

I was more concerned with your intentions as to your immediate future. I have heard that you have been paying court to a Miss Warrington?’

      ‘You have been digging, haven’t you? And what have you heard about Miss Warrington and my intentions towards her?’

      ‘I have heard that you have been marking her out, my lord. I have heard that she has been the object of your affections for the last few weeks. I have heard that you have even raised expectations of a more honourable kind.’

      Kit gave another bark of laughter at this. ‘Whatever you have heard, I have nothing honourable in mind when it comes to Amelia Warrington. And I cannot believe that Miss Warrington imagines any such thing either. That girl is a chit who knows only the value of my purse, and aims to dig as deep into it as she can. Can it be that it is she who has set you on to me?’ Behind the mask, Kit’s eyes narrowed. ‘No, she does have a close companion, an insipid, simpering miss, but she bears no resemblance to you. Her name escapes me.’

      ‘Chloe.’ Clarissa realised her mistake immediately; the black brows opposite her snapped together with suspicion. ‘I believe that’s her name. Although I don’t really know Miss Warrington personally—at least, not very well.’ After today, that at least was true. Amelia was becoming a stranger to her. ‘I am merely repeating the latest gossip. And the rumours are that you intend marriage.’

      ‘I assure you, madam, I have no plans to marry. My intentions in that direction are not yet fixed. Miss Warrington is attractive, I’ll grant, and more than willing, that I know. I may have a proposal for her, but it would not be honourable.’ Kit smiled rakishly. Seeing Clarissa flinch at his words, he narrowed his eyes. ‘Did you think her one of those innocent victims you were throwing in my face earlier? Amelia Warrington knows exactly what is on offer, I have made that perfectly clear to her. And if she thinks to hold out on me in the hope of more, then she’ll quickly learn the better of it. If I ever deign to marry, it would certainly not be to someone as easy to touch as Miss Warrington.’

      Clarissa absorbed this assassination of her sister’s character with sadness, but a weary resignation. It was, after all, no more than what her aunt had said earlier. Even, although she hated to admit it, what she was coming to believe herself. But if Amelia could be prevented from making a fatal mistake with the Earl of Rasenby, if she could be prevented from ruining herself now, there would still be time for Clarissa to try, one more time, to establish her more genteelly. She had to secure this chance for her sister, even if it meant risking her own virtue.

      ‘I see. Very well, my lord, then I feel that the way is clear for you and me to discuss terms.’

      ‘You are either very naïve or very stupid. It is for the gentleman, you know, to make terms. And for the lady to accept. You cannot expect me to take you seriously.’ Lord Rasenby was by now, against his will, thoroughly interested. It was a trap, he had no doubt about it, but it was a good one, and merited his attention—at least until he discovered what it was.

      Clarrie, braced for rejection, was yet determined to prevent it. She had to give her sister a chance of escape. She had to get Lord Rasenby away from her for just a few days, a few weeks, enough to let him cool off, and for Amelia to have her sights pitched at a more achievable and more honourable target.

      ‘I realise that I am being a little unorthodox. But I thought you would appreciate both directness and a change. You are, as you admitted yourself, a little jaded in your taste. Perhaps a freshness of approach would restore your appetites?’ Clarrie smiled in what she hoped was a coy manner, although the effect was ruined somewhat by the pleading in her eyes.

      It was the pleading that succeeded. ‘I’ll give you a chance then, for your boldness, if for nothing else. But you must rise to the challenge, and prove your good faith to me first.’

      ‘How?’

      ‘I’ll listen to your proposal in private. Tomorrow, not now. That will give you time to cool your temper, and to make sure that you really want to go through with this.’

      ‘I will be just as determined tomorrow, I know I will. Name the place, Lord Rasenby, and I will be there.’ With a toss of her head, and a determined point of her little chin, Clarrie glared into those deep blue eyes. She was anything but propitiating, but she was learning, and quickly, that Kit Rasenby responded badly to anything other than direct dealing.

      ‘Will you? I wonder?’ The soft tone sounded just a little threatening. ‘I don’t take kindly to being deceived, I’ll warn you now. I’ll have no truck with games and trickery. Come and dine with me tomorrow evening. At my house. On your own.’

      ‘Oh, no, I couldn’t. Why, that would be shocking. Oh, no. Can we not meet in the park, or perhaps take a drive? I couldn’t dine alone with you.’

      ‘Ah,’ tis as I thought. You are not nearly so bold as you promise. It was pleasant, exchanging views—’ his tone was heavily ironic ‘—but I’m afraid our acquaintance is now at an end. I bid you good evening.’

      ‘No! Wait!’ Once again, Clarrie was forced to take a dramatic—nay, huge—step forward. ‘I’ll be there. I’ll dine with you.’

      He was surprised at her agreeing, for it was a mad suggestion, even for him. No one could be under any illusion about a single lady dining alone in a gentleman’s house—he had never invited any before now. But he gave no sign of his surprise. ‘Very well, until tomorrow evening. I take it you know the address?’

      She nodded, mute at her own daring.

      ‘And am I to have a glimpse of the face under the mask before tomorrow? Perhaps even something on account?’

      But Clarissa shrank back at this, unable to comply, even for her sister. And she had achieved her objective for tonight, after all. ‘Wexford, my name is Wexford. As to my face—tomorrow will be soon enough. Unless, that is, you have more than one masked lady coming to dinner?’

      He laughed. Her humour had the desperate touch of the gallows about it, but she was game. ‘No, only you. Until then.’

      And before he could bid her good night, Clarrie fled, removing her mask with relief, oblivious to Lord Robert Alchester, following discreetly at her back. A small exchange of coins bought him the address the footman had given to the hackney driver.

      Back in the ballroom, Kit realised, with a curse, that he would need to find another dance partner.