Captain Rakehell (10 page)

“Because he’s rigged out like a footman, just as he was at the Duchess of Braxton’s, and when he served me punch a while ago his eyes nearly popped out of his head. I’ve been looking for him ever since.”

“Has anyone said anything to you?”

“No-o-o, but I’ve been getting the oddest looks.” Her brow furrowing perplexedly, Amanda turned her back to him and peered over her left shoulder. “Does my petticoat show?”

“No,” Andrew replied, grateful that no one had given her the cut direct. “Where’s Earnshaw?”

“In the chair I left him in, I’m sure.” One corner of her mouth quirked distastefully. “I am not going to marry him, Andy. I’m telling you what I intend to tell Papa in the morning. He can beat me, starve me, disown me, I don’t care. I will not marry Lesley Earnshaw.”

“You’re damned right you won’t.” He took her arm, drew her further into the room and stopped. “Where is he?”

“Oh, Andy, you’re the most wonderful brother!” Amanda cried joyously and hugged him fiercely.

“Of course I am,” he agreed, unwrapping her arms from his ribcage, “now take me to Earnshaw.”

“Whatever for?”

“Because the megrim you had this morning has come upon you again, and I’m going to take you home.”

“And leave Smythe to rob Lady Cottingham blind? I think not.”

Indignantly, Amanda spun away from him, but Andrew pulled her back.

“Think on this. If you get yourself into another scrape, the Regent himself won’t be able to dissuade Papa from marrying you off to Earnshaw.”

“Hmmm, good point,” she granted pensively. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Which means more to you?”

“Need you ask? Come along then, and I’ll make my excuses.”

Leaning on Andrew’s arm and looking ill, Amanda steered him through the crowd toward the far side of the room. But when they reached the red cut velvet chair where she’d left Earnshaw, there was only his ebony stick leaning against it.

“How odd that he’d leave his cane.” Amanda frowned puzzledly and picked it up. “He can’t take a step without it.’

“Obviously he can or he wouldn’t have left it.” Andrew took her arm and the lead. “Come on, we’ll have to find him. And don’t forget you have the headache.”

Chapter Ten

And so did Lesley, as he combed Lady Cottingham’s house in search of Amanda. The cause was only partly the sickeningly sweet punch he’d been sipping all evening; mostly it was fury at being abandoned and irritation at his stupidity, for it had taken him a good half hour to connect Amanda’s sudden departure and lengthy absence from his side to the footman who’d served their last glass of punch.

Where in blazes was she? She’d been gone a devilishly long time, and worry was beginning to erode Lesley’s ire as he paused in the card room doorway to scan the tables. The four matrons seated closest to him cast a startled look in his direction and then lowered their eyes, two of them giggling girlishly. At the table next to theirs, Lord Cottingham winked at his partner, a white-haired peer unknown to Lesley, who turned toward him, guffawed, and then buried his nose in his cards.

What the devil, he wondered, and glanced over his shoulder. Behind him loomed Sir Alex Hawksley, his left arm in a white linen sling.

“Hullo, Alex. So it’s you they’re sniggering at.”

“No, I’m fairly certain it’s you,” Hawksley replied matter-of-factly. “Or perhaps it’s your reticule. Clashes rather badly with your waistcoat.”

Lesley glanced down and saw Amanda’s beaded bag clenched in his right fist. She’d left it hanging on the back of her chair when she’d gone off to speak to Lady Cottingham (or so she’d said). He’d been fingering the beads—the same shade of sapphire as her eyes and her gown, which had turned his mouth dry at first sight of her in it—wondering what was keeping her when he’d realized the significance of the startled expression that crossed her face when the footman had served them. Obviously, he’d snatched it up as he’d leaped to his feet and come looking for her, although he didn’t remember doing so.

“I’m trying to find the lady this belongs to,” he told Hawksley. “Do you know Amanda Gilbertson? Have you by any chance seen her?”

“I’ve not had the pleasure.” Sir Alex grinned and extended his hand. “Congratulations, Lesley. Quite a surprise, I must say. Hadn’t a clue you were in the petticoat line.”

“Neither did I,” he admitted, distractedly surveying the crowded corridor outside the card room while Hawksley pumped his hand. “Where in deuces is she?”

“What’s this?” Sir Alex laughed. “Left you at the gate already, has she? Clever chit.”

Lesley had pivoted away from him for a better view of the hallway but wheeled back at the remark. He was smiling, but his hazel eyes flashed.

“Have a care, Alex. I’d hate to see you end with both arms in a sling.”

Hawksley laughed again, a great, booming laugh in keeping with his size, which drew Amanda’s attention to him as she emerged on Andrew’s arm from a saloon a short distance down the corridor. At first glance she didn’t recognize the man facing him or the reticule he held. It wasn’t until she’d started in the opposite direction that she realized the bag was hers—and the gentleman was Captain Lord Earnshaw.

The realization gave her such a jolt she almost pulled Andrew off his feet as she spun around, agape. Lesley’s cane cut a circle in midair with her and whacked Andrew soundly behind the knee.

“Ouch! Damn it, Mandy, be careful with that thing!” He bent to rub his leg but straightened at the thunderstruck expression on his sister’s face. “What is it? Is it Smythe?”

“No!” Amanda breathed. “It’s Lord Earnshaw!”

“Where?”

“In the doorway with the man whose arm is in a sling.”

Andrew spotted Hawksley instantly—it would have been difficult to miss a man of his size, even without the sling—but there was no awful fop—no popinjay. He craned his neck but saw only an elegantly turned out gentleman holding a beaded blue reticule.

“I don’t see him.”

“How can you not? He’s holding my reticule!”

Andrew looked again, intently this time. The man’s shirt points were a bit on the high side, his brocade waistcoat somewhat vivid for evening, but other than that ...

“Mandy,” he said firmly, giving her a hard look. “If that’s Lord Earnshaw, then one of us desperately needs spectacles. Of all the words I might use to describe that particular gentleman, creature is not one of them.”

“I know, but I tell you, it’s him,” Amanda insisted.

But how did I overlook him, she marveled, watching Earnshaw clap his companion on his good shoulder and turn toward her. The movement brought him closer to a brace of candles, which gleamed his dark hair with blue highlights as he craned his neck in her direction. His jaw was set and his eyes flashed as brilliantly as the diamond stick pin in his cravat. Amanda felt herself shiver, and she realized suddenly that she hadn’t the faintest idea what color his eyes were.

“He’s looking for someone,” she said to Andrew.

“Dunce,” he replied shortly, and pulled her forward. “He’s looking for you.”

And obviously he’d seen her. The twitch of a muscle in Lord Earnshaw’s clenched jaw and the narrowing of his eyelids told Amanda so, but she had just a momentary glimpse of his slitted gaze before Andrew drew her into the crowd and her view of him was obscured. When they emerged from the throng seconds later, the large man with his arm in a sling had disappeared, and Lord Earnshaw was leaning against the doorframe.

His demeanor had changed so completely and so swiftly that Amanda came to an abrupt, openmouthed halt in front of him. The broad shoulders he’d squared as he’d turned toward her were slumped, his clenched jaw lax. Moments before he’d stood firmly on both feet, but now his left knee was bent, and he held his foot gingerly off the floor.

This was not the man she’d glimpsed through the crowd. This was the fop who sat on a pillow, the cavalry officer who crossed the leads. But which one, Amanda wondered, her suspicions aroused, was the real Captain Earnshaw?

“There you are, Amanda.” Lesley straightened from the slouch he’d fallen into when he’d seen her with his cane and realized that he had, in his anger and consternation, left the damned thing leaning against his chair. Raising his quizzing glass, he peered down his nose at Andrew. “And who is this?”

“My brother, Viscount Welsey,” she replied. “Andrew, may I present Captain Lord Lesley Earnshaw.”

“Ah, my soon-to-be brother-in-law,” Lesley said and limply offered his hand.

The same day cows fly, thought Andrew. “My congratulations,” he said, making quick work of the handshake.

“Bless you,” Lesley said to Amanda. “You’ve brought my cane.”

“And you’ve fetched my reticule,” she replied. “How thoughtful.”

The exchange of possessions was made, Lesley indulging the urge he’d felt all evening to touch her by deliberately tangling his fingers with hers. Much to his surprise, she colored very prettily and did not shrink from his touch.

“Not fetched, my dear, recovered,” he corrected, “from the footman who lifted it from the back of your chair.”

“Footman!” Amanda shot Andrew a wide-eyed look. “Did you catch him?”

“I did try,” Lesley replied petulantly, “but I lost him in the crowd. He knew I was on to him, though, for I found your reticule on the floor. He dropped it, I’m sure, rather than risk being caught with it.”

“Did you tell Lord Cottingham?” Andrew asked hopefully.

“Tell him what? I didn’t actually see the man take it, I merely noticed it missing a moment or so after he’d passed by, put two and two together, and gave chase.” Lesley ended the lie with a sniff and rubbed his leg. “Best as I could, of course.”

“You went after him without your cane?”

“I didn’t think of it.” Lesley shrugged indifferently, aware that Amanda was staring at him sharply and rather calculatingly. “I’m unused to infirmity.”

“Would you recognize him if you saw him again?” she asked,

“Possibly.” Lesley pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I couldn’t be sure unless I did, of course, but he could very well be the footman who last served us punch.”

Amanda shot Andrew a triumphant smile, which was all the confirmation Lesley needed to be sure that she had, indeed, recognized the thief. And it was, he decided abruptly, time for the man in the black mask to appear.

“We must tell Lord Cottingham at once,” Amanda said eagerly. “He can call the staff together, and—”

“In the midst of this?” Lesley interrupted, waving one hand at the guests chatting and laughing as they traversed the corridor.

“But the man is a thief!” Amanda declared vehemently.

A little too vehemently, thought Lesley. And so did Andrew, who frowned at his sister’s overbright eyes.

“An attempted thief,” he pointed out.

“Exactly so,” Lesley agreed. “Had I caught him with your reticule, then certainly charges could’ve been brought. Because I did not, there’s nothing his lordship can do.”

“Nothing he can do, perhaps, but I do not intend—”

“
A-man-da
.” Andrew made three terse syllables of her name and took a firm grasp on her elbow. “Do you recall the matter we thought to discuss with Papa in the morning?”

The reminder put a thorough period to whatever it was she’d been about to say. The charming flush drained from her cheeks and the sparkle went out of her eyes. Regretfully, perhaps even guiltily, Lesley thought, she glanced at him, then lowered her gaze.

“I suppose you’re right,” she acquiesced, but most unconvincingly.

“Of course we are,” said Andrew.

The relief in his voice passed as a fair imitation of condescension, which earned him an indignant glare from Amanda. There’s something afoot here, thought Lesley, regretting that he couldn’t stay to ferret it out.

“The thrill of the chase has badly overtaxed me,” he said, mopping his brow with a lace handkerchief withdrawn from his waistcoat. “I fear I must beg your leave, Amanda, and trust your brother to see you safely home.”

“Let us accompany you,” Andrew responded quickly, seizing the chance to remove Amanda from harm’s way.

“I won’t hear of it. I insist you stay and enjoy yourselves.”

“Oh, but—”

“Let’s please stay,” Amanda interrupted, casting Andrew a meaningful glance. “I haven’t danced all evening.”

“There you are, Welsey,” said Lesley, leaning on his cane to bow to Amanda. “How can you refuse?”

The dubious, distrustful gleam in her eyes as she offered her hand and he raised it to kiss touched a finger of unease to the nape of Lesley’s neck. If he hadn’t known better, he would’ve sworn he’d somehow given himself away.

“Perhaps,” he murmured, raising just his eyes to her face, “I should have danced with my cane after all.”

“Perhaps you should have,” Amanda agreed, shivering at the warm brush of his breath on her fingertips.

“You may have my waltz, Welsey.” He made Andrew a small bow and gently squeezed Amanda’s hand. “Good evening.”

Smiling, he loosed her fingers and turned away. Were his eyes blue, Amanda wondered, or were they green? Dazed and somewhat breathless, she watched him make his halting way through the crowd, until she noticed the irregularity of his step and her brows drew together speculatively.

“Andy,” she asked slowly, “which leg is Lord Earnshaw favoring?”

“Why—” Andrew paused to study his retreating figure “—his right, I believe.”

“I’d swear to you that yesterday he favored his left.”

“What? But that would mean—” His eyelids took a leap and he wheeled toward Amanda. “Are you sure?”

“I’m certain.”

“How dare he!” A fierce glint sprang into Andrew’s eyes and he started after Lesley.

“Don’t be a fool.” Amanda caught his sleeve. “Do you forget Lord Earnshaw has fought two duels?”

“That—that creature”—Andrew spluttered furiously—”couldn’t fight his way out of a badly tied cravat!”

“Yes,” Amanda agreed pensively, “or so it would appear. Why didn’t I tumble to that straight off?”

“Now that you mention it, why didn’t I?” Andrew frowned unhappily. “I should have this morning, when you were going on about how niminy-piminy he is. But what I can’t fathom is why he’s gone to such lengths.”