Regency Vows. Kasey Michaels

in the lamplight like a forbidden idol. Tonight she wore a gown of deep midnight-blue, veed at the waist to reveal a petticoat and stomacher decorated with silver embroidery, ribbons and beads. Her breasts threatened to spill from the top of her stays, and a few lengths of her dark hair played at her neck in artful curls.

      “Ye gads,” came Berston’s barely audible exclamation.

      Vincroft made a noise. “Heard she might be on the marriage market. No doubt you’ve got an advantage in that corner.”

      James clenched his jaw and raised his glass to his lips, only to remember it was empty. “Think I’ll go see if I can manage an introduction to Lady Maude.”

      Berston shook his head. “I’m going for another drink.”

      “Cracked,” was all Vincroft said.

      Within minutes the introductions had been made, and he had Lady Maude at his side strolling down the South Walk. She had large brown eyes, a graceful demeanor and a polite smile. A small hand, which had likely never touched a cutlass, was tucked into his elbow.

      Even better, he hadn’t the least inclination to drag her down one of the notorious lovers’ walks and ravish that serene little mouth.

      He asked whether she was enjoying the company this evening. She told him she was, but that she was much looking forward to a visit to her cousin in the country, where life was quieter.

      She asked whether he was happy to be home at last. He told her he was, but that he was looking forward to the excitement of his return dying down so he could spend his time with a peaceful read and perhaps a putter in his father’s old conservatory. She replied that both sounded like an improvement over the hustle-bustle of the Season, and that she had recently read a fascinating essay on the botany of Greece.

      Botany. Perfect. He double-checked the color of her eyes. Yes, brown—a solid, sensible brown, without any wild flecks that made them take on odd colors in sultry lights.

      “Forgive my forwardness, Captain,” she said as they came to the end of the walk and turned back, “but I don’t suppose...” She gripped her fan anxiously. “Well, I don’t suppose you would consider introducing me to Lady Dunscore.”

      Just like that, his hopes crashed.

      “I so long to meet her,” she continued, “but I know nobody with the right connections. And Mother is little help under the circumstances, naturally— Oh, dear. I see I’ve offended you.”

      He forced a smile. “Not at all.”

      Those sensible brown eyes came frighteningly alive. “She is such a fascination! How I would love to see her in action, holding a spyglass to her eye beneath great, billowing sails.”

      The image exploded unhelpfully into his mind. “Your mother will have my head on a platter for encouraging such imaginings. Tell me, Lady Maude, have you done any reading about pigeons?”

      “I doubt anyone could have your head on a platter, Captain. Pigeons? No, I daresay I haven’t.” They were nearly back to the grove and she was looking ahead, searching the crowd. “Do you see her? Lady Dunscore, I mean.”

      “Afraid not.” Seeing Lady Dunscore was the last thing he needed at the moment. “Would you care to stroll down the Grand Walk?”

      “Forgive me, Captain. How terribly rude of me. Indeed—let’s do see the Grand Walk.” They started through the crowd in the grove toward the other side. “If you don’t find a satisfactory treatise on pigeons, my lord, I highly recommend this botanical essay. Greece is so fascinating! Stories of exotic places are so diverting. No doubt you would agree, given that you’ve spent your life visiting— Oh!” Her grip tightened on his arm. “There she is.”

      Katherine was laughing up at some man who had his back turned. Marshwell? Adkins? Everyone looked the same in these bloody wigs. Katherine, however, was a goddess shimmering in torchlight, and her brilliant smile shot straight to his gut.

      “Oh, do let’s take the Grand Walk later,” Lady Maude begged. “Do you mind terribly? I promise I won’t let Mother cut off your head.”

      “You are too kind,” he said, and grimly crossed Lady Maude off his list.

      * * *

      THE NEXT MORNING at Westminster was a disaster.

      As James had expected, Ingraham’s tale of Katherine’s threats had made its rounds, which meant James was peppered with questions about her loyalty to the Crown and whether or not she had, in fact, turned renegade. He managed to deflect the more outrageous inquiries and tried to inject a bit of reason into the debate about her, but he gained little ground.

      He arrived at the theater that evening with renewed determination.

      It didn’t last.

      “I want a meeting with her, Croston,” Vincroft declared in a hush from the seat next to James, his eyes fixed across the balcony at Katherine’s box. “Tried to get an introduction last night, but there was no getting near her. Should have had you do it before you disappeared with that mouse. My God, she’s a magnificent creature!”

      James stretched his fingers, checking a driving desire to wrap them around Vincroft’s throat. But Vincroft was a lesser of evils, so he reached for a vaguely disinterested tone. “As a matter of fact—”

      “Can’t imagine her dressed like a Barbary pirate,” Vincroft interrupted. “Can’t imagine it at all.” James clenched his jaw, and Vincroft lowered his voice. “Fearsome sight to behold, eh?”

      “Terrifying.” James beheld her now as she half watched the performance, half chatted with Honoria and Philomena. Tonight she sparkled in a gown the color of the sea at dusk, with her hair frozen in a pile of curls decorated with jewels that winked at him in the stagelight. The baser part of his nature preferred her the way she’d been dressed yesterday morning. But then, the baser part of his nature would prefer her dressed in nothing at all.

      The sudden rumble of the theatrical thunder machine startled him. Just then she turned her head straight toward him, and a bolt of an entirely different kind shot through him.

      He had to find her a husband. And by God, she would marry the man if he had to hold a pistol to her head. And then he would wash his hands of this whole damned mess. He leaned toward Vincroft. “No doubt you are aware—”

      “Winston’s been staring at her for most of the first act,” Vincroft said through his teeth. “I demand that you take me there at once before he makes himself at home in her box. For God’s sake, Croston, have pity on me. You know how I—” He turned in his seat as someone entered their box. “Wenthurst! Good to see you! And Pinsbury!”

      “Don’t get up, don’t get up,” Wenny said, sliding into the chair on the other side of James and taking a pinch of snuff. The direction of his gaze told James exactly why Wenny was there.

      James got up, anyway, because Pinsbury was crowding into the box with three women—Lady Pinsbury and, James soon learned, Lady Pinsbury’s sister and niece.

      “Here from the country, you know,” Pinsbury explained. “Joys of the Season and all that. Not so many diversions in Sussex, are there, my dear?” he jovially asked his niece.

      Miss Underbridge offered her uncle what could only be termed a perfunctory smile. “Not of the sort to be found in London, Uncle.”

      “We thought some time in London would do her good,” Lady Pinsbury added. Would find her a husband, more like, James thought. Lady Pinsbury beamed at Miss Underbridge, whose perfunctory smile was now pasted to her lips. They were rather full lips, James noticed, set beneath a handsome-enough nose and sturdy cheekbones. The dim theater left the color of her eyes a mystery, but he could see enough to understand the source of Lady Pinsbury and Mrs. Underbridge’s pointed enthusiasm for her presence in London society: Miss Underbridge was quite clearly on the shelf.

      He took a closer look.

      “Such