Lady Thief (11 page)

“It is possible. From all accounts, the Cat seems to be ladylike in voice and manner. Nick could have taken a fancy to her.” After a moment, he went on slowly, “I wonder if Nick believes that the Cat takes off her mask and dons a ballgown? Lord, wouldn’t London be in an uproar if that were the case?”

The amusement in his voice did nothing for Jenny’s peace of mind.

Noticing her silence, Brummell tried to read her expression. He was unsuccessful; the carriage was too dim. “Miss Courtenay? Are you perfectly all right?”

Jenny was thankful for the darkness of the carriage. When she could command her voice, she murmured, “I beg your pardon, sir, but I feel rather faint. I cannot imagine what has come over me. I do not, in general, faint at the least provocation.”

“That I can well believe.”

Brummell’s remark was perfectly innocent, but to Jenny’s overworked imagination it seemed to have a decidedly sinister tone. If Brummell, of all people, should suspect—

The Beau reached to lower a window. “Perhaps some fresh air will help. I do believe,” he continued in a demure tone intended to cheer her, “that you require rest, Miss Courtenay.”

She uttered a somewhat shaken laugh. “You could be right, Mr. Brummell.” A sudden thought occurred to her. “Mr. Brummell—I have just realized that by tomorrow morning all of the
ton
will know that you escorted me home. That will never do, sir! They will be expecting an announcement, and I shall be horribly pitied when you do not come up to scratch.”

As he began to chuckle, she went on sternly, “And do not tell me that you make a habit of escorting young ladies home; you have not that reputation.”

He inclined his upper body in a half-bow. “Since you are so brutally honest, Miss Courtenay, I shall be frank and say that I do not care one jot for what people may say. I may not wish to marry you, but I
do
enjoy your company very much, and I mean to make the most of it before some young buck snatches you away and teaches you to be a lady.” He shook his head sorrowfully. “It would ruin you.”

Jenny gave a gasp and burst out laughing. When she could control her voice, she said in mock offense, “Mr. Brummell! Are you saying that I am
not
a lady?”

He appeared to consider the matter. “I would not go so far as to say
that
—however, you are decidedly unlike any other lady of my acquaintance.”

The carriage drew up at Lady Beddington’s town house just then, and Jenny silently congratulated herself on having survived an extremely difficult evening. Now, if she could only reach the door without betraying her secret. . . .

Brummell escorted her from the carriage to the door of Lady Beddington’s house. Halfway up the steps, he said suddenly, “I think that Nick knows who the Cat is.”

Jenny stumbled, and would have fallen without the Beau’s firm grip on her elbow. She murmured some excuse and wondered what, in God’s name, she had done to offend the Fates that they should torment her so.

Brummell looked concerned. “Miss Courtenay, I do hope you are feeling more the thing tomorrow.”

“I—am sure that I shall, Mr. Brummell.”

“Good night, Miss Courtenay.” He bowed.

“Good night, Mr. Brummell—and thank you.” She smiled at him, opened the door, and went inside. As soon as she had closed the door behind her, Jenny leaned back against it and wondered if she were going mad. In a detached manner, she considered the possibility. It wouldn’t surprise her a bit if she ended her days in Bedlam.

After a moment’s thought, she felt slightly cheered, however. Brummell, at least, had not guessed her secret. She smiled rather wearily to herself and headed toward the stairs—and a well-earned rest.

 

 

Brummell directed his coachman to take him to his rooms, climbed inside the carriage, and began to laugh softly. He felt no sense of compunction at having taken shameless advantage of Miss Courtenay’s nervous tension. The truth was that he had not enjoyed himself so much in years.

There were those among the
ton
who claimed, not without reason, that Beau Brummell’s sense of humor was more malicious than mischievous. He was famous—or infamous—for creating situations which became vilely uncomfortable for all involved, and then leaving his victims to shift for themselves. Needless to say, he had made many enemies.

However, such was his power that even his enemies dared not raise their voices against him. By the mere lift of an expressive eyebrow, he could forever blight the hopes of any aspirant to society. He was a close friend of the Regent, and since it was commonly believed that the old king could not last much longer, many people maintained that Brummell would soon become the power behind the throne.

There was, however, a side to the Beau that very few members of the
ton
had ever seen. To those he cared about, he was a good and loyal friend, who could be counted on not to make mischief when the case was serious.

Brummell had liked Jennifer Courtenay from the first moment he saw her, and he had neither the desire, nor the intention of disclosing his suspicions to society. He was well aware that the disclosure—even if he were wrong—would brand her as an outcast.

His plans for her were somewhat involved, but he had no desire to ruin her. In fact, he had every intention of helping her in whatever way he could. For one thing, he was certain that she and Spencer would be perfect for one another. But he had no intention of poking his finger into that particular pie. Spencer was well able to handle his own love life.

He could, however, make Jenny’s social appearances a little less trying. If he professed himself bored with the subject of the Cat, society would quickly follow his lead. Jenny would not be forced to endure another night like this one.

That, at least, he could do for her. Brummell frowned slightly as he realized that he would have to dance attendance on the Regent for the next day or two. He felt irritated as he realized also that he would most probably be absent when Jenny and Spencer first met.

Well, it could not be helped. He had no wish to offend the Prince; he might possibly need the royal goodwill at a later date. If Jennifer Courtenay
was
the Cat, her name would have to be cleared sooner or later.

He could be wrong, of course, but he did not think so. He was an excellent judge of people. Besides, there was no other logical reason to account for her extreme tension this evening, nor her deathly pallor at the mention of Spencer’s name. She certainly did not want to meet Spencer.

Brummell wondered about that. He had an odd feeling that the duke was probably the only one of the Cat’s victims who stood a good chance of being able to identify her without her mask.

Perhaps Spencer
had
taken a fancy to the Cat. The Duke of Spencer in love with a female footpad . . .

Brummell smiled to himself in unholy amusement. The next few weeks should be quite interesting—to say the least.

Chapter Eleven

Spencer had just resigned himself to an evening of boredom when, looking up from the dowager who had claimed his attention, he glanced across the room and saw the most beautiful girl he had ever seen in his life.

She was dressed all in gold, with golden ribbons threaded through her raven hair. She was smiling up at her dancing partner, and even from across the room, Spencer was struck by the brilliance of her eyes.

He felt a touch on his arm and turned to find the dowager regarding him with an indulgent smile. “I see you have noticed my goddaughter, Your Grace. A lovely girl, is she not?”

“Yes,” Spencer replied with a faint smile. “Yes, she is very lovely. I do not believe I have met her.”

The dowager lowered her voice significantly. “Poor little thing. That nasty stepfather of hers has been keeping her in the country all these years, but her mother managed to send her to me two weeks ago. I’d be delighted to present you, Your Grace.”

Spencer inclined his head and followed the dowager across the room. The dance had ended and, as they drew nearer to the girl, Spencer realized what his first impression had been—she was lovely.

Jenny heard Lady Beddington call her name, and turned to see her godmother bearing down on her—with the Duke of Spencer at her side. Jenny’s habitual calm served her well; she was able to smile easily.

Lady Beddington returned the smile, an imp of mischief in her bright blue eyes. “Jenny, I would like to present the Duke of Spencer. Your Grace, my goddaughter, Jennifer Courtenay.”

Jenny extended her hand to the duke, curtsying as she did so. “How do you do, Your Grace?”

The duke bowed low over her hand. “Miss Courtenay, I am delighted to meet you.” The music began, and he continued with a smile, “May I have this dance?”

Jenny responded just as her godmother had taught her. With laughter in her golden eyes, she said, “If you please, sir.”

Spencer led her out onto the floor, feeling oddly light-headed. As he took her into his arms for the waltz, he felt certain that he had met her before. Giving in to impulse, he said, “Miss Courtenay—have we met before?”

Jenny fought down a rising panic and concentrated on keeping her voice light and careless as she replied, “Why, no, Your Grace—I am certain that we have never met. I have only been in London for a week or so.” She gazed up into his eyes and felt absurdly startled to find them smiling down at her.
My, but he was big.

“I hesitate to contradict a lady,” he responded, “but, I feel certain that we have met before.”

Jenny called all her acting talents into play. With a brilliant smile, she said, “Perhaps you saw me riding in the park one morning.”

Giving in gracefully, Spencer replied, “Perhaps I did. Do you enjoy riding? I believe that Lady Beddington mentioned you are accustomed to living in the country.”

Jenny felt some of her tension ease. “Why, yes, I am used to riding every day, though I must admit that it seems a trifle tame to be obliged to hold my mount to a gentle canter.”

Spencer smiled sympathetically. “I feel the same way, I assure you. It is especially trying when one’s mount has not been out of the stables in several days.”

Jenny laughed. “Indeed it is. Do you hunt, Your Grace?”

He nodded. “My estate is in the heart of some of the best hunting country in England.” With a smile, he continued, “My mother used to complain that I spent more time on my hunters than I did with my books.”

“My mother used to say the same thing.” She smiled up at him. “I always liked horses better than people. Mama was in despair when I began to go out hunting with Papa. She insisted that ladies did not know how to handle guns.”

Spencer felt an odd little tingle somewhere near the back of his mind. He dismissed the feeling, telling himself that it was nothing. “I would venture to say, then, that you were something of a tomboy.”

“How astute of you.”

Again, the duke was conscious of that odd feeling. Her comment seemed to echo in his mind, as if he had heard it before. Then he remembered.

Jenny felt her hand nearly crushed suddenly, and looked up at him in protest. Her words died in her throat as she saw his eyes. They were strangely dazed, as though he had suddenly realized something.

“Your Grace.” He looked down at her as though he were seeing someone else. “My hand—you’re hurting my hand.”

He blinked and immediately loosened his grip. “I beg your pardon, Miss Courtenay,” he murmured.

Jenny had the uneasy suspicion that he had been thinking of her—or the Cat. She wanted to divert his thoughts, but found herself totally unable to say anything at all. She could only stare up at him, her heart pounding in her breast.

Spencer gazed down at her pale face and, seeing the fear in her golden eyes, knew that he had to reassure her—she knew that he had guessed her identity.

With a strangely gentle smile, he said softly, “I told you once that I would not betray you; I meant that. Your secret is safe with me.”

“Secret?” Jenny refused to admit defeat. “Why, Your Grace, whatever can you mean? I—I have no secrets.”

He continued to smile. In a meditative tone of voice, he said, “I remember meeting a certain young lady one dark night. She was a woman of fire and spirit, and possessed great courage. I admired that woman very much. I never thought that I would hear her play the fool.”

His words had the desired effect. Jenny’s eyes flashed with anger. Without considering her words, she said, “And you haven’t heard it yet. I may be many things, Your Grace, but I am not a fool.” She stopped, appalled by what she had said.

He was grinning openly, his eyes bright with laughter. “No, but you certainly have a temper,” he said quietly.

In a low voice she asked, “How did you know?”

“That first night you came to my house you made quite an impression on me. I remember everything you said to me. When I asked you what you were searching for, you said that it was ‘astute’ of me to have guessed that you were searching for a particular article of jewelry. When you used the same words just now, I suddenly realized that you were the Cat.”

“Hush!” She glanced around nervously. “Are you so anxious for me to hang that you mean to expose me here—now?”

“I don’t mean to expose you at all,” he replied quietly. “I told you that before.”

“Forgive me if I find that hard to believe.” Her voice was dry. “There’s quite a price on my head.”

He shook his head sadly. “You still don’t trust me, do you?”

She shot him an irritated look. “Well, what an absurd question! Of course I don’t trust you! I don’t enjoy having my life in the hands of a stranger.”

“There is a remedy for that, you know.”

She looked suspicious. “Oh? And what is that?”

He smiled. “You can become better acquainted with me, and then I won’t be a stranger any longer. Does that not sound logical?”