“Here you go.” Berston returned with a glass of arrack. “Ought to do the trick.”
James downed half the glass in one swallow.
“They all fit that bill when they’re marriageable,” Vincroft snorted. “Don’t find out the truth till afterward.”
“Ye gads,” Berston said. “Who’s getting married?”
“Croston here. Gone mad, if you ask me.”
Bloody hell. He should have kept his mouth shut.
“So sorry!” Berston offered an expression that was both resignation and pity. “Got to be done eventually, I suppose. Think about it myself if it wasn’t bad for my health. Hives and all that, every time I hear the word matrimony.”
James managed a laugh. At least Berston hadn’t changed. “You’ll suffer through the hives unless you want that pasty nephew of yours to inherit,” he said.
Berston took a drink and shook his head. “Just so, just so.”
“Who’s that?” James asked, nodding toward a youngish thing in an elegant yet subdued froth of beige. “Blond curls, pearls in her hair.”
Vincroft frowned. “No idea. Never seen her before.”
“Yes, you have,” Berston said. “Lady Maude. Been at every do the past five seasons. Linton’s daughter. You don’t want the likes of her, Croston. You’re probably the first one to notice the poor thing. Do better with Miss Greene—there she is, talking to Lady Trent and Lord Ponsby. In front of the supper boxes, to the left. Blue dress, full breasts.” Berston grinned.
Miss Greene’s false beauty mark stood out even from this distance, and her bold gaze fixed playfully on the men gathered around her. “Whoever is unfortunate enough to wed Miss Greene will be cuckolded within a week,” James said, and returned his attention to the unremarkable Lady Maude. Pale hair, passable face, polite smile... His mind transported her to a chair by the fireside at Croston—in one of the upstairs drawing rooms. It wasn’t a stretch to imagine her dozing off with a book in her lap and one of his hunting dogs at her feet.
“Ho, look there!” Berston suddenly pointed out. James followed his gaze through a break in the crowd, and his heart slammed into his gut.
Katherine shimmered 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
