Regency Disguise. Gail Whitiker
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‘I doubt it would have come to that,’ Victoria said, trying for a convincing smile. ‘Even without his father’s sentiments, I knew there was very little chance of anything developing between Mr Devlin and myself. He is a man who demands honesty above all, and I have told him nothing but lies since the night we met.’
Her uncle’s dark brows drew together. ‘Why would you say that?’
‘Because he doesn’t know I’m Valentine Lawe. And I can’t tell him because I gave Mama my promise I would not.’ Victoria stared down at the stage, though it was Alistair’s face she saw. ‘I don’t need anyone to tell me there is no future for a woman like me, with a man like that.’
There were few enough reasons for a gentleman to be in the vicinity of the Gryphon Theatre at half past ten on a Tuesday morning. There were even less for a lady, and Alistair had to admit to a moment of surprise when he saw Victoria Bretton emerge from the building unaccompanied by either her brother or a maid. ‘Miss Bretton,’ he said, drawing his phaeton to a halt. ‘Good morning.’
She had been looking to the left, but turned upon hearing his voice. ‘Mr Devlin!’ Her dismay, momentarily obvious, was quickly concealed. ‘This is a surprise.’
‘It is indeed,’ Alistair said, aware that while her appearance was as correct as that of any lady strolling on Bond Street, the fact that they were nowhere near Bond Street was bound to raise questions. ‘Might I ask where you are bound?’
‘Home. I was about to hail a hackney.’
‘Then perhaps you would allow me to convey you in that direction.’
‘I would not wish to inconvenience you.’
‘It is no inconvenience,’ Alistair said truthfully. ‘I have a stop to make on the way, but if you do not mind waiting, I would be happy to see you home immediately thereafter.’
She hesitated for a moment, but obviously seeing no reason to hire a public carriage when a private one was offered, walked down the steps towards him. ‘Thank you. That would be most kind.’
He climbed down to assist her and within moments they set off again. Alistair kept his attention on the road, though he was conscious of the warmth of her thigh brushing against his, and the scent of her perfume sweetening the air around him. Something innocent, yet unknowingly provocative. ‘I was surprised to see you coming out of the Gryphon at this time of the day,’ he said, forcing his mind to more practical matters. ‘Have you been to see your uncle?’
‘Yes. I needed to speak to him.’ She glanced down at her hands. ‘About … a costume.’
‘A costume?’
‘Yes. For Lord and Lady Drake’s masquerade.’ Her eyes finally lifted to his. ‘You must have been invited.’
‘Of course. As was the rest of my family.’
‘You sound as though you would rather not go.’
‘In all honesty, I don’t enjoy dressing up and pretending to be someone else,’ Alistair admitted. ‘I have none of the actor’s spirit in me. However, as it is Isabelle’s first masked ball, I have agreed to take her along. More to the point, I have been asked to effect an introduction to Lord Drake’s youngest son, Lord Robert.’
‘I’ve heard Winifred speak of him,’ Victoria said, remembering her sister’s one-time hopes in that direction. ‘Do you think Miss Wright will like him?’
‘I have no idea. I don’t usually get involved in matchmaking, but I believe they have much in common and Isabelle could certainly do worse.’
‘She is a delightful young woman,’ Victoria said.
‘She is lively and spontaneous and my family doesn’t know what to make of her,’ Alistair said baldly. ‘They find her lacking in decorum when it comes to talking about the things she doesn’t like, and far too open in her enthusiasm of the things she does.’
‘Like Valentine Lawe?’
He slanted her a sidelong glance. ‘Indeed. Why women swoon over men like that is completely beyond me. Look what it did for Lady Caroline Lamb,’ he murmured. Then, breathing deeply, said, ‘What is that fragrance you’re wearing?’
He saw colour bloom in her cheeks. ‘It is … a special blend from a perfumer on Clifford Street. My aunt took me there when I first arrived in London.’
‘If it is the store with which I am familiar, the proprietor charges a hefty fee for his custom blends.’
‘Yes, but he also guarantees that no other woman in London will ever wear that same fragrance,’ Victoria said. ‘The exclusivity of the product appealed to my aunt.’
Her sudden burst of defiance made Alistair smile. ‘Your aunt is, I believe, something of an original.’
‘I have always admired her flair for the dramatic and her gift for plain speaking.’
‘Qualities shared by her niece, I am discovering.’
He didn’t turn his head, but he felt the weight of her gaze on him. ‘How is it, Mr Devlin,’ she said, ‘that on such short acquaintance, you feel you know me well enough to offer such opinions?’
‘There are certain women whose manners make them easy to identify, Miss Bretton. You and I have not spent a great deal of time in conversation, but what time we have has allowed me to form an opinion of your character. You spoke plainly at the Holcombes’ musicale and, by doing so, revealed much of yourself.’
‘Then I must remember to guard my tongue when I am around you.’
‘I’m glad to hear you say that.’ Finally, Alistair did turn to look at her. ‘At least you have given me hope that I am likely to see you again.’
He watched colour run hot and quick over her face, but he also saw a flicker of pain darken the brilliance of her gaze. ‘I told you the night we met that you would do well to avoid me, Mr Devlin,’ she said, ‘and nothing that’s happened since has induced me to change my mind. You were given proof of that at the Holcombes’ musicale, just as you were by your sister and brother-in-law’s reception of me at the King’s Theatre.’
‘Fortunately, I care little for my brother-in-law’s opinions and I am used to the pettiness of society,’ Alistair said. ‘Assumptions about other people’s characters are all too often made without the information necessary for such opinions. People see a beggar in the street and believing him to be without, see no reason to ask him what manner of man he is. He might be able to quote Plato and Aristotle, but he is assumed to be ignorant because of his appearance. The Archdeacon suffers from the same misconceptions. For all his being a man of the cloth, he is quick to dismiss based on what his eyes tell him. Your uncle owns a theatre and both he and your aunt have spent time upon the stage, but that doesn’t make you an actress or entitle people to treat you like one.’
‘No, but I am despaired of for reasons other than just my family connections, Mr Devlin.’ Victoria’s smile appeared briefly, but he saw what looked like resignation in her eyes. ‘I