Maggie MacKeever (14 page)

Nikki did not immediately repair to the E.O. stand, but strolled aimlessly through the rooms. Many of the revelers there were known to her, as was her host, with whom she engaged in a stimulating conversation concerning how he might most advantageously redecorate his house.

Even as she laughed and flirted, Lady Sweetbriar had not forgotten her escort. Through lowered lashes, she watched his progress. It struck her as ominous that Duke refused to discuss Miss Clough. If he wished access to the Clough coffers, what better means of entry was there than Clytie herself? Nikki’s plans for that young lady’s future security were neatly laid out—or had been until Duke intervened, with what might have been the express intention of cutting the ground from beneath her feet.

Not one to brood silently over injustice, Nikki immediately made her way to the antechamber where Mr. Thorne was engaged in playing piquet, en route passing tables set up for whist and deep basset and macao. Having arrived behind Duke’s chair, Nikki leaned down and hissed: “I shan’t allow you to queer my game, you—you ingrate! That you should behave so callously after all we have been to one another—and we
were
a great deal to one another once, even if it was a long time ago. Nothing could be more provoking than your selfishness.”

Since Mr. Thorne’s own game was no way improved by the presence of an irate lady murmuring accusations in his ear, he gave up his place. “What the devil is all this, Nikki?” he inquired, as he led her away. “If you aren’t going to play—or let
me
play!—why did you insist I bring you here?”

“Why, indeed!” The suggestion that a lady with seldom scarce more than sixpence to scratch with should wager her slender resources caused Nikki to look even more put about. “You are a fine one to talk to me of a want of openness in one’s conduct. I do not hesitate to tell you, Duke, that your own behavior is open to unfavorable interpretations. I am hardly one to talk, you will remind me. And so I am not, and I
would
not, had you not tried to bamboozle me!”

Had anyone been bamboozled, Mr. Thorne suspected it had been himself, though he could not decide precisely how, nor to what end. Duke was in the grip of great confusion, and he thought he would not be, were he not victim of a proper take-in. Despite his general bewilderment, one thing remained clear. “Nikki,” he said sternly. “You are under the hatches again.”

Lady Sweetbriar looked indignant, then contrite. “I do not know why I am perennially short of funds,” she sighed. “I try very hard not to waste the ready, but my best efforts do not serve. Ah well, it is not for much longer now. Once Avery and I are wed, I shall never have to pinch another penny for the remainder of my life. Not even if he predeceases me, poor lamb. He has given me his word.” Guiltily, she clapped her hands to her mouth. “I do not
wish
Avery to predecease me, you understand.”

Mr. Thorne understood perfectly: Lady Sweetbriar would not reveal her financial woes. His knowledgeable gaze passed over her half dress of sea-green Italian crepe vandyked around the petticoat, her Norwich silk shawl; lingered on the topaz set which included bracelets and armlets, necklace and tiara, shoe knots set in gold filigree. “Let us talk of other things!” cried Nikki, fidgeting under his scrutiny.

“As you wish.” Mr. Thorne promptly, and perversely, obliged with an accounting of a mid-winter journey he had once undertaken between St. Petersburg and Moscow, a trek of four hundred miles across endless steppes and forests. The vehicle utilized for this adventure had been a kibitka
,
a comfortable sledge in which the passenger could stretch out full length on straw and pillows, burrowed under furs. Halfway between the two cities lay the town of Vyshniy-Volochek, notorious as a rendezvous of thieves and receivers of stolen goods. “But you would have no interest in such things.”

“In stolen goods?” Lady Sweetbriar clutched at her necklace. “I should think not! Unless you mean to hint that I have as good as stolen Sweetbriar’s jewels because I refuse to give them back? That is cruel. Duke! Especially after all—”

“—we have been to each other!” As the servant passed again, Marmaduke secured another glass of champagne. “I take your point.”

Lady Sweetbriar immediately appropriated the glass, glanced mischievously over its rim at her escort. “And all,” she suggested, “that we might be again.”

Accustomed as he was to being the focus of provocation, Lady Sweetbriar’s husky pronouncement caused Mr. Thorne to elevate both his brows. “Might we?” he countered. “Would your fiancé not mind that, Nikki?”

Briefly Lady Sweetbriar had forgotten the existence of an impediment. “Oh, blast!” said she. “I mean—”

“You mean to lead me up the garden path,” interrupted Mr. Thorne. “Yes, and I might be quite willing to follow, did you but tell me why.”

Potent as was Mr. Thorne’s charm, currently turned on full force, Lady Sweetbriar found it in herself to stand firm, an endeavor in which she was rendered assistance by the contents of the champagne glass. “I will lay my cards on the table only if you will do so first! And you needn’t bother to try and convince me you aren’t playing with a stacked deck! Otherwise you would never get up a flirtation with Lady Regina Foliot.”

“So we come back to that.” During their perambulations, Mr. Thorne and Lady Sweetbriar did not fail to pause and exchange compliments with fellow guests. “How did you know I had got up a flirtation, Nikki?”

“Lud!” Lady Sweetbriar’s glance was wicked. “Have you been away so long that you have forgotten how people talk? Considering how they used to talk about
you,
I should think you would not! I doubt there is anyone in all of London who does not know you and Lady Regina passed considerable time conversing in Hyde Park this afternoon—and you may be sure they are all wondering what you found to talk about at such length with a female who is generally accorded a dead bore.”

“Do you really think so?” At the notion of his business upon so many lips, Mr. Thorne suffered distaste.

“Think what?” Longingly, Nikki gazed upon the E.O. stand. If only she might recoup her failing fortunes with a few discreet wagers—but there was nothing left her to wager with. “That Lady Regina is a dead bore? Certainly! How could I do other than dislike her, Duke? She considers my ultimate vanquishment as merely a matter of time.” Suddenly Nikki brightened. “Regina can hardly vanquish me if she is being vanquished by
you!”

“By
me?”
This blithe assumption distracted Mr. Thorne from contemplation of the E.O. table, and the gyrations of the little ball. “You go too fast, Nikki. Lady Regina has no fondness for me.”

Lady Sweetbriar knew a clanker when she heard one, and this one was patently absurd. The female did not exist who could regard Marmaduke Thorne without some degree of delight. “Perhaps you have not taken into consideration Lady Regina’s natural reserve.” Nikki giggled. “Or mayhap you are not aware that
ladies
do not wear their hearts upon their sleeves.”

Mr. Thorne’s own lips twitched in response. “A palpable hit,” he acknowledged. “It is you who have not considered, Nikki. It is only to bring Rolf to heel that Lady Regina consented to flirt with me. By the bye, what was that mooncalf doing in your bedchamber?”

“What mooncalf?” Lady Sweetbriar was indignant. “You of all people should know that I do not—at least, I have not since
you
went away—Ah!” Nikki blushed and dimpled and looked so altogether adorable that several of those present wished very ardently that she
might.
“You mean Rolf? You should have said so! I think, though he would not admit it, that he meant to pinch my jewels.”

“It is very likely.” Mr. Thorne had been disarmed by Lady Sweetbriar’s reference to their shared past. “He promised them to Lady Regina as proof of his regard.”

“Promised? Proof?” Nikki’s adorable confusion gave way to flashing eyes and clenched fists.

Lest his companion create a scene, Mr. Thorne applied meaningful pressure to her arm. Absentmindedly, Nikki placed her hand over his own, patted it, and sighed. “What Rolf told me was that you are after Reuben’s fortune,” she confessed. “And I’m not certain but what he may have the right sow by the ear. You’re up to something, Duke, and I wish you would tell me what it is.”

“So that’s what the young cawker was raving about.” Mr. Thorne looked contemplative. “I wonder who put that particular flea in his ear.”

Lady Sweetbriar shook her head. “Not I. Although I would have warned Rolf, had I thought it of you. But there is no way you can get your hands on Reuben’s fortune without murdering Rolf, and I cannot think you would go so far as that.” She recalled the midnight invasion of her bedchamber. “Tempting as the notion may sometimes be. Doubtless it was Lady Regina who planted the idea in Rolf’s brain. First she suggests you are after Rolf’s money, and then she strikes up a flirtation! What a very odd sort of female she may be—but a diamond of the first water nonetheless!”

Lady Sweetbriar’s hasty praise of Lady Regina caused Marmaduke to smile. “She is very near perfection,” he agreed. “Perfection, however, has never especially appealed to me.”

“Wretch! I am repaid for twitting you about ladies, I think.” In the most charming of all imaginable fashions, Nikki wrinkled her nose. “Because I know very well that I did appeal to you once, and therefore must conclude that I am very far from the ideal. Not that I care a button for that. We dealt well together, Duke, did we not?”

“Excellently.” Mr. Thorne’s expression was wry. “Until Reuben intervened.”

“You have not forgiven me for my folly.” So mournful was Lady Sweetbriar’s countenance that it gave rise to comment. “I have already explained how it was I needed a fortune.” She looked annoyed. “For that matter—curse Reuben!—I still do.”

“The devil with Reuben,” Marmaduke said impatiently. “You know there is between us no question of forgiveness. All the same, I have not forgotten how you set about cutting a wheedle—and this determination of yours to cast Lady Regina at my head is too smoky by half.”

“But, Duke!” Being only as flirtatious as she considered suitable in an affianced female, Lady Sweetbriar trod a very fine line. “It is very simple. Lady Regina must cease dangling after Rolf so he may settle on Clytie.”

Mr. Thorne recalled his last glimpse of his nephew and Miss Clough. There had been little in either demeanor to denote budding romance, he thought. Perhaps ardor had been quenched by the intrusion of Lady Regina and himself? No, Rolf had sought them out, and very angry he had been. “Have you any basis for this conviction that Rolf and Miss Clough should suit?” he skeptically inquired.

“Oh, yes!” Nikki immediately responded. “Avery himself told me that Clytie mentioned Rolf in connection with matters of the heart. All that remains is for Rolf to be brought to realize that Clytie is far more suitable.” Her dark eyelashes fluttered. “Which is where you come in.”

Mr. Thorne’s response was immediate. “No!” he said. “I do
not
come in. I want no part of what promises to become a rare bumblebath! Rolf must have whom he chooses, and he had best choose Lady Regina, because any other choice would not accord with my plans. Spare your breath! No matter how you plague me, I will reveal no more.”

Nikki could almost be grateful for her escort’s sudden reticence; she had already heard enough to confirm her worst fears. Marmaduke sought to breach the Clough fortune through Clytie, and the Sweetbriar wealth by way of Lady Regina Foliot. Had there ever existed so thorough a rogue? And did there exist some means by which she might turn his connivance to her own good use?

Thinking furiously, Lady Sweetbriar sniffled. “Alas! That my first—er, friend!—should be discovered to have no heart. I did not mean to plague you, Duke. And even if I
had,
you would not have said so once. I suppose I am grown an antidote.”

“Once
I would have merely turned you over my knee.” Mr. Thorne’s voice was both exasperated and affectionate. “Do not look so stricken, Nikki; I did not mean to throw a damper on your spirits. You appeal to me as much as ever you did, I suppose—certainly more than the Foliot chit. No, no, don’t cry! I will engage to persuade Lady Regina that you should keep your jewels. Will that restore me in your good graces?”

It was obvious from the enthusiastic manner in which Lady Sweetbriar hugged her escort that his suggestion met with her support. Vastly relieved, Mr. Thorne dropped a chaste salute on the tip of her ladyship’s nose, quirked a quelling brow at those of their fellow gamblers so vulgar as to stare, and then led Nikki off to watch him try his luck at the bones.

“Merely!” repeated Clytie to her sire. “He said I was
merely
Miss Clough! And he allowed Lady Regina to fawn upon him in the most disgusting manner right in front of poor Rolf—who thinks his uncle nourishes fell designs regarding the Sweetbriar fortune, incidentally.”

On the sardonic features of Miss Clough’s parent, a faint amusement appeared. “Your Rolf sounds like a jingle-brain.”

By this observation, Clytie was put very much in charity with her papa.
“Not
my Rolf!” she protested. “That is all a hum to throw Nikki off the track—she dislikes the idea of Rolf marrying Lady Regina so intensely that she has convinced herself he would suit
me!
That was what gave Rolf the idea of turning the tables on Lady Regina, I imagine. He was furious with her for encouraging Mr. Thorne, and decided to repay her by pretending to prefer me.” Clytie looked morose. “I can’t see what will be accomplished, but Rolf says this muddle is partially my fault, and I can atone only by cooperating.”

Sir Avery awarded his daughter the look he more commonly bestowed upon some unusually bizarre exhibit. “I stand corrected. Sweetbriar isn’t a jingle-brain; he’s a shocking loose screw.”

“You are mistaken, Papa.” Reluctantly, Miss Clough took up the cudgels in Lord Sweetbriar’s defense. “Rolf is merely a very middling sort of person. It is Mr. Thorne who is the loose screw.”