in ugly gowns, and the appearance of The Cat four months prior could not be ignored. The only way to confirm that would be to question Eleanor directly.
Eleanor might have routed him from her house, but she could not rout him from someone else’s home. The thought brought a smile to Brandon’s lips as he pulled into the stable yard. He didn’t know where The Cat would be tomorrow night, but he knew with a fair amount of certainty where Eleanor Habersham would be—Mrs Dalloway’s card party. The matron had mentioned it at the masquerade. He had not thought to attend, but circumstances had changed. Instead of wanting to avoid the boring card party, he was starting to look forward to it.
Mrs Dalloway’s card party was complicating her plans immensely, Nora groused, jabbing at a ripped hem with her needle as she sat in front of the Grange’s fireplace, turning over the dilemma in her head. Eleanor was expected at the party, but The Cat needed to return Stockport’s amethyst ring that evening or he’d think she’d welshed on their agreement.
Technically, Stockport was expendable. There wasn’t much Stockport could do if she didn’t return the ring, but it bothered her that Stockport might think the worst of her, especially after what they’d shared yesterday.
Nora pricked her finger and muttered a curse before sucking on the wounded digit. Her stitches were as unbalanced as her thoughts. Stockport was getting to be a hazardous distraction.
There was nothing for it. The Cat would have to return the ring herself. She would go after the card party. Nora’s heart sped up at the prospect of encountering Stockport. Already, she was anticipating the inevitable sharp-edged conversation. Perhaps they would sip brandy together as they had done before.
She might allow herself to kiss him again. After all, once the ring was returned, The Cat would have little reason to seek him out. The Cat must turn her attention in the New Year to other investors who could be more easily influenced to abandon the factory project. Yes, tonight would be The Cat’s farewell to Brandon Wycroft and it would be for the best.
Chapter Eight
Nora, dressed in her frumpiest Eleanor Habersham finery, concluded the evening was not going as planned a few hours later, after finding herself partnered at whist with none other than Brandon Wycroft himself.
‘What did we bid?’ Nora asked for the thousandth time that night in Miss Habersham’s nasally voice, hoping that her irritating mannerisms were enough to distract Stockport from the fact that they were on the brink of winning their second rubber.
She was certain a man like Stockport would never believe a silly woman like Miss Habersham could be so canny at cards. However, Nora could not bring herself to cheat at cards simply to live up—or down, as the case might be—to Stockport’s notions. If there were two things Nora could not abide, they were cheats and liars. She would not make herself both just to reinforce Stockport’s beliefs about the card-playing abilities of a spinster. So she spent the evening across from her self-sworn nemesis, tittering behind her hand of cards at Stockport’s polite conversation while soundly routing their opponents with astute play.
‘We bid spades,’ Stockport said with commendable patience while Nora made a production of peering at her hand through her thick lenses.
Nora tossed a card on the table, intensely aware of Stockport’s cobalt gaze fixed on her. ‘What is it, my lord? Have I misplayed?’
‘Quite the contrary, Miss Habersham, I think you want to fool us into underestimating you.’ Stockport smiled another of his drawing-room smiles, polite, charming and yet somehow slightly mocking—of who or what, Nora could not divine.
‘There is nothing to underestimate,’ Nora offered smoothly, playing a trump.
‘I think there is. You’ve shown yourself to be an outstanding card player this evening,’ Stockport complimented. He turned the conversation towards the woman seated to his left. ‘Mrs Tidewell, is Miss Habersham always so capable at card parties?’
The woman blushed and thought for a moment. ‘I suppose she is. Miss Habersham is always winning, but she’s so humble we forget how handily she plays.’
‘I am fortunate in my partners,’ Nora responded, gathering the last trick. ‘There, my lord. We’ve made our bid. You can speculate all you like about my card playing, but I say it is merely luck and good partners.’ Nora rose and stretched, grateful that the other two tables were finishing their hands and that the tea trolley had arrived.
Tables began to break up and guests milled around the tea service, Stockport among them. Nora was glad to be out from under his sharp eyes after enduring the evening under their scrutiny. Within the hour the party would reach its conclusion and she could get on with her business.
Nora took a seat on a nearby couch and tried to look unobtrusive. She failed completely. Within minutes, Stockport’s sharp eyes found her. Damn.
‘Miss Habersham, would you like some tea?’ She’d expected Stockport to join some of the male guests present but here he was, dancing attendance on the village spinster, a delicate tea cup in each hand and looking handsomely at ease with the difficult manoeuvre. How the London ladies must swoon over him, Nora mused, thanking her stars that she was made of sterner stuff.
‘Thank you.’ Nora took the tea he offered, trying to ignore the empty space on the couch next to her.
Stockport smiled gently. When she didn’t invite him to sit, he invited himself. ‘Miss Habersham, may I join you?’
‘Oh, certainly,’ Nora fluttered, covering up for her lack of manners. ‘Although I am surprised you are not seeking out the company of your friends.’
‘I already know them, Miss Habersham. I don’t know you. This is the perfect opportunity to get to know my newest neighbor. How long have you been at the Grange?’
Drat, the man could rise to every occasion. That spelled trouble. His benign question immediately aroused her suspicions. In her experience, there was nothing as perilous as seemingly harmless small talk, particularly coming from this man.
No matter how well cultivated his drawing-room manners were, nothing changed the fact that he was positively lethal, much more dangerous than any of her information made him out to be. She must tread carefully.
‘There’s not much to tell. I am a simple woman. You’ve already seen that I live a simple life.’ She tittered and stared into her tea cup. That would not be enough to put Stockport off, so Nora deflected his burgeoning inquisition with a tried-and-true trick. ‘I am sure it’s much more interesting to talk about you.’ In general, most men were always diverted by the opportunity to expound on themselves at large.
She’d forgotten Stockport was not most men. It was the second time in their association she’d made that mistake. The first time, she’d kissed him. She would do well to remember it. He wasn’t even half the men she knew. He had a category all his own.
He narrowed his remarkable eyes now and furrowed his brow, looking as if he struggled with an unseen puzzle. A frisson of alarm went through Nora. ‘What is it, my lord? Have I said something wrong? Oh dear, I’m always putting my foot in it.’ Nora wrung her hands dramatically, making a show of muttering her stupidity under her breath while her mind raced, trying to catch her error.
What had triggered Stockport’s reaction? He looked like a man who had heard or seen something familiar,
