A Stolen Season (3 page)

Sarah’s gaze settled on her quarry, who regarded her with a quizzical brow from the back of the room. The lady hanging off his arm was chatting animatedly up at him. She was very pretty, probably his secret
chère-amie
.

Her eyes narrowed at the thought. The last thing Sarah needed was competition for this gentleman’s attention. She noted that although his suit was cut to perfection, he still had an air of ruggedness about him. Her attention strayed to his broad shoulders and up to his facial features. His mouth was sensual, his nose perfectly straight, but his eyes were dark and hooded and right at this moment locked on her.

Sarah swallowed but didn’t look away. Couldn’t, if she was truthful. Any wonder women of this era would fool around when an opportunity like this male specimen knocked on their doors. Sarah allowed her lips to spread into a shy smile and tried to hide her mortification when his lordship’s brow furrowed with what looked to be confusion and shock.

She tightened her grip on Richard’s arm. “I think I just made a faux-pas.”

Richard nodded to a passing couple, then turned his gaze on to Sarah. “Do I want to know what that is?”

Sarah noted out of the corner of her eye the earl cutting across the room toward them. “Let’s just say, I think I have his lordship’s attention. But perhaps not in a good way.”

Not until his lordship came to stand before them did Sarah look up and acknowledge his presence. He hadn’t looked as tall or as broad from a distance as he did now, hovering before her. Sarah’s stomach knotted, either from the nerves that assailed her or the desire he aroused within her. She supposed the answer depended on what came out of his mouth in the next moment.

“Pray, do I know you?” the earl asked.

It wasn’t desire.

Richard bowed. “I am Lord Richard Baxter, Baron Stanley, recently from Rome. This,” Richard said motioning toward her, “is my sister, Miss Sarah Baxter. We are new to town, arriving only yesterday in fact.”

“From Rome, you say.”

Sarah watched as the earl took in their clothing and Richard’s words. “I don’t recall your names on the invitation list. You understand this is a private ball.”

Richard blanched and laughed, the sound awkward even to Sarah’s ears. “I apologize, my lord, we did not know. We’ll leave immediately if you wish.”

Sarah noted the earl’s nod of agreement before Richard pulled her toward the closest exit. “Well, that went well,” Sarah said, trying to ignore the pointed stares of the haute ton around them.

Richard led her into a corridor, the entrance foyer just visible beyond the well-lit passage. “It did,” Richard replied, his steps sure.

“I was being sarcastic,” Sarah said, while she waited for her cloak.

“I know, but you’re wrong. The Earl of Earnston has seen you and duly taken note. He may have been indignant and annoyed by our uninvited presence at his ball, but I do believe he was quite the opposite when he took you in,” Richard said, thanking the footman.

“And will ensure I don’t grace any further balls this season, thus ending our search for the mapping device. How am I supposed to gain access to his homes, his friends’ homes, if he hates me? We should have made out I was your wife, looking to cuckold her husband.”

“Sarah, debutante or wife, you never intended to sleep with the guy.” Richard paused and met her gaze. “Did you?”

Their carriage pulled up before them, the horses stomping their feet in eagerness to be gone. Sarah climbed up and flopped onto the seat. “Of course not. But he doesn’t know that. It would have made my life a lot easier had he not thought me a pure little debutante out on her first season.”

“Well, either way, he knows of us, and his interest was piqued. And being told to leave a major ball of the season should work in our favor.”

Richard tapped the hood of the carriage and it started to rumble down the drive, the gravel loud under the wooden wheels.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Richard,” Sarah said.

“I imagine everyone will be talking of us and wishing to know who we are and why we were told to leave. Trust me when I say, come tomorrow, many a calling card and invitation will arrive on our door. And we’ll accept every outing until the Earl of Earnston is groveling at your feet and willing to bestow any gift for the honor of your presence.”

“The gift of a mapping device?” Sarah smiled and pulled off her gloves, not liking the strictures of nineteenth century fashion.

“Precisely. And then, my dear little sister, we can go home.”

“You have it all worked out, Richard dear. But you forget, the ton and their fickle ways will want nothing to do with us now that we’ve been slighted by a member of their set. For all your time traveling, I’m surprised I know something about this era that you do not.”

“You exaggerate. We will not be ostracized because we failed to be invited to a ball. People, for all their wealth, would not slight us for such a pathetic reason.”

Sarah shook her head. “They will, Richard, trust me on this. We may as well have given ourselves a case of the pox tonight. Nothing can help us now other than our wiles and ability to steal in the dead of night.”

“I don’t agree,” Richard said, a determined glint in his eye. “And we’ll not be doing any stealing, either. Look at how that turned out last time.”

Sarah beat back the cold shiver that ran down her spine. She needed no reminder.

• • •

Eric, Earl of Earnston, watched as the two uninvited visitors strolled through the multitude of guests and left his London establishment. He frowned and wondered how they’d gained entry since the footmen were supposed to check the invitations upon arrival.

He would have to have a word with his staff.

“She’s a handsome one. Why did you send her packing?”

Eric turned to Lord Mettleston, a boyhood friend and now his closest confidante since his brother’s passing. “They were not invited. Frankly, I have no idea who they are.”

Mettleston chuckled. “Rumor has it they’ve taken up residence in the old McKenzie place. You should know the London property as it’s the only one to rival your own in size.”

Eric ignored his friend’s smirk. It didn’t surprise him Mettleston knew of the couple and where they lived. He always knew the ins and outs of everyone’s business — what surprised Eric was that he did not. Since his brother’s early demise, London had become a frequent haunt, and not a lot got past him or his mother’s gossiping tongue. So to miss two new members of their set — supposedly — was quite unusual.

“Pray tell me where you received such news?”

Mettleston tapped his nose. “Ah, a gentleman never tells, my good man.”

“Lord Stanley, his name was,” Eric said, ignoring his friend’s goading. “A Baron from Rome.” Eric nodded to a passing acquaintance and sipped his whisky, a fine vintage from his Scottish estate. “Who ever heard of a Baron from Rome? Or for that matter, such a name?”

“Well, it seems they’re here to stay and looking for a foothold in society.” Mettleston paused. “Had you really not invited them? Perhaps your mother had without your knowing.”

“No, the final list passed my desk not a fortnight past. Their names were not on it.” Eric smiled as his favorite cousin Lady Anita strolled toward them. Dressed in a stunning silk gown of light blue, many an eye turned her way, the majority of them not female.

“Eric,” Lady Anita said, clasping his arm before tapping it with her fan. “I heard you sent a guest home. Is this true? Has my cousin lost all good manners on this wonderful eve?”

Eric inwardly groaned and glared at Mettleston’s chuckle. “Indeed I did. They were not invited, and I find their audacity highly disrespectful and vulgar.”

His cousin made an indelicate sound beside him. “Oh, come, you are too proud. I feel sorry for them being made to scuttle off like naughty schoolchildren. When I meet this mystery woman in the park tomorrow, I shall take her under my wing and prove you wrong about them. I’m sure they’re lovely, just not used to what’s ‘done’ in London society. Hidden away in Rome, it’s no small wonder their manners are a little lacking.”

“I forbid you to show a lack of manners to match those of that homebound couple, Anita.” Eric raised his brows at his cousin. “The Duke of Winters’s daughter should know better than to go galloping about Hyde Park introducing herself to strangers. Strangers who are not worthy of our acquaintance or trust. No one will invite them anywhere after their atrocious behavior tonight.”

“I shall, and nothing you say will deter me. The lady looked pleasant enough, and I’m sure I’ll be safe with Mama in the family carriage.”

Eric, knowing when he was defeated, sipped his whisky. When Anita was determined, there were few who could change the young woman’s mind. Stubborn as one of his Thoroughbreds.

“I believe there is a set after this waltz, Lady Anita. Tell me your card is not full and allow me the pleasure of the next two dances,” his friend chimed in.

Anita moved away from Eric’s side and curtsied before Lord Mettleston. “I would be honored, Lord Mettleston. You’ll find me with Mama beside the supper room doors.”

Eric’s lips twitched. The Duchess of Winters loved her food and seemed determined this night to make the supper room before anyone else. Not that he could blame her; the spread he had ordered for the ball was second to none.

Lord Mettleston sighed as Anita walked away, and Eric threw him a pitying glance. “Give it over, my friend. You know Anita has Lord Kentum in her sights, and he in hers. Would be a foolish notion to chase a woman destined for another.”

“True,” Mettleston said, still looking in Lady Anita’s direction. “But I can’t help but think I would suit much more agreeably than Kentum. For starters I’m a trusted family friend, practically family already.”

“Precisely,” Eric chuckled. “Which is the one reason she would never marry you. As much as Anita loves her family, she does not want to marry someone so closely connected to it. Kentum suits her. Leave her be, my good man.”

Mettleston pulled him toward the card room. “Any news from the Bow Street Runner? Any leads on William’s death?”

“No.” Eric reined in the anger and frustration the question triggered. A year had passed and nothing. Not one lead. It was impossible to comprehend. People did not just disappear from the face of the Earth. The thief had to go somewhere. But where?

“What was the latest report?” Mettleston stopped and handed him another glass of whisky before moving away from the other guests to ensure privacy.

“From what we know, the woman I fired upon arrived a short time later at Westerham Inn under the guise of Miss Phoebe Marshall. She met a man there, the innkeeper was unable to produce a name for him that led to any leads, but he remembered the girl. Miss Marshall, a beauty, wet and muddy from the storm and trying to hide her injury with little success. A maid informed us she met a Mr. Alastair Lynch upstairs, alone, before receiving clean water and something to eat. They left the next day, presumably for London. From there, we’ve lost track of them.”

“Lovers, one would assume, after something from your estate valuable enough for Will to hightail it after her on such a night to get it back.”

“Yes,” Eric said absently, stroking the device he carried with him every day in his coat pocket. A strange, silver metal casing that he’d not been able to open. “Something she will eventually come back to procure, and when she does, I’ll be ready. I will not rest until I watch her hang for the crime against my family and Will’s betrothed.”

Mettleston clapped him on the shoulder. “I am sorry for William’s death, you know, and I hope you have your justice.”

“Thank you,” Eric said, noting Anita looking about for Mettleston now that the waltz was over. “I think your dance partner awaits, my lord.”

Mettleston placed his crystal glass down and smiled. “That she does. I bid you adieu.”

Eric laughed as his friend walked into the throng. The time alone allowed his temper to cool; it always spiked when talking of his brother and the Bow Street Runners’ inability to track the culprits down. But he could bide his time, and wait for them to strike again.

This time, there’d be no escape. No disappearing into the night like a phantom on horseback. That woman would pay. Eric, Earl of Earnston, would ensure she did.

Hyde Park was a hive of activity on this summer’s afternoon. Sarah allowed the warmth to penetrate her skin before studying London’s society milling around them.

The carriages were so highly polished you could see your reflection in their paintwork. Some vehicles bore family emblems or coat of arms that signified the upper echelons of society, those who languished within their open equipages, peered down with an air of aloofness on the walking populace.

Groups of friends congregated upon the lawns and under leafed trees, shading themselves while no doubt discussing matters of great importance. Namely, what they would wear to tonight’s ball.

Sarah took in the array of fashion on show. Some women chose to dress as she did in a simple afternoon walking gown with a bonnet. Other women chose to ride, their smart green and blue riding suits profusely decorated with braids and frogging accentuating their lithe forms. Their tall hats were decorated with feathers and plumes.

What a difference two hundred years made. Sarah’s afternoon gown, although comfortable, was nothing like the clothes she usually wore when walking through Hyde Park. Joe’s Icon Jeans and a comfortable baby doll top was her normal style. Sarah adjusted her bodice, wondering when she’d get used to the feeling of nakedness the light, flowing material made her feel.

“You look fine.” Richard pulled her along, walking them beside the gravel path known as Ladies’ Mile, the lawn underfoot spongy and soft.

“After our hasty exit last night from Lord Earnston’s home, I do believe we’ve stuffed up our only means into this society.” Sarah smiled to a passing couple, but neither one ventured to speak.

“I don’t understand it. I was sure causing a scandal would ensure some invitations to arrive with this morning’s post.” Richard frowned.