Redeeming the Rogue (10 page)

Her blonde hair was bobbed, not like the rich chestnut of Lady Arianne’s hair, coiled with the promise of a lush curtain when let down in the company of a lover. The actress held herself well, though she lacked that defiant chin that epitomized Lady Arianne. This one was more diminutive, less of a challenge. From the low cut of her neckline, he guessed she wasn’t about to defy anyone. He smiled. Yes. He would guess from that neckline that she had a far more giving nature than Lady Arianne. What did Phineas call her? St. Claire? He almost laughed out loud. As he neared the waiting couple, he could see there was very little saintliness about Miss St. Claire.

“Miss St. Claire.” Phineas gestured toward Rafferty. “Allow me to present your husband, Mr. Michael Rafferty.”

“Delighted to meet you, Miss St. Claire.” Rafferty bowed over her extended hand.

“As am I, Mr. Rafferty.” Her calculating gaze slipped around his features like that of an experienced Fleet Street dove. What she saw apparently pleased, as her lips turned in an amused smile. “However, I haven’t accepted this role quite yet. I should like to get to know you better.”

“That can be remedied,” Rafferty said, offering his arm. Together the three of them walked back the way he had originally come.

“Were you in this evening’s performance?” Phineas asked. “It’s disappointing that
She Stoops to Conquer
has to close its run.”

She shook her head. “Not tonight.” She shifted her gaze to Rafferty. “I was the understudy for Miss Hardcastle
,
but I did manage three performances. Perhaps you had occasion to see me?”

She was an attractive miss with a sly charm that lacked Lady Arianne’s reserved polish. Was that something an actress could learn in time? He recalled Lady Arianne’s opinion that an actress would not suit. Could she be right? And what did that say about his abilities to pass as a proper British minister? Rafferty shook his head. “I’m afraid I haven’t had that pleasure.”

Phineas and she conversed about inconsequential topics, acting venues and playwrights, until they arrived at their destination. Rafferty waited until they were seated and the wine poured before he turned the conversation to more significant matters.

“Miss St. Claire. While I’m pleased my friend, Mr. Connor, was able to locate such a talented individual in a short time . . . you do understand that we will be traveling overseas?”

“Yes. In fact, I’m looking forward to it.” Her face brightened. “I do hope our travels will take us to New York. I’ve heard that there’s something afoot called ‘vaudeville’ and acts are auditioning—”

“If you accept this role,” Rafferty interrupted with a stern glower, “no one is to know that you’re an actress. There will be no auditions of any sort.” He glared at Phineas, questioning if Miss St. Claire understood exactly what would be demanded of her. Was this the best he could find? When Phineas didn’t meet his gaze, he turned toward Miss St. Claire. “You are aware of the role you’ll be expected to play?”

“You require someone to act the role of the British minister’s wife.” She offered a coquettish smile. “Your wife.” Beneath the table, Rafferty felt her hand slide down the length of his thigh. A smile spread across her face. “I can be very convincing as a wife.”

“A pretend wife,” Rafferty reminded her, gripping her exploring hand to halt its progress before she reached the inside of his thigh. “But there is more to this part than playing a wife.”

She tugged her hand free. “I have a knack for quickly learning my lines.”

“There’ll be no lines to memorize,” Phineas added with a quick apologetic glance toward Rafferty. “You will have to be . . . extemporaneous.”

She raised her brow and sipped at her wine.

Phineas filled Rafferty’s glass. “I think you’ll be pleased with Miss St. Claire’s stage presence once she understands her role. But she insisted on seeing you in person before she decided to accept.”

“The role of a wife is a delicate affair,” she explained with a practiced pout. “I wanted to be certain that the leading man was worthy of my best efforts.”

Rafferty smiled tightly. “Do I pass inspection, Miss St. Claire?”

Her smile smoldered with seduction. Rafferty recognized her experience ran more along the lines of mistress than wife. Given the jewels on her fingers and the tiny butterfly tattoo above her right breast, he suspected she was not lacking for men willing to offer favors.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked. “You do not strike me as a woman without means.”

She understood his implication. It appeared in her sly smile. “There is . . . an association that I would like to end. Distance would be advisable.”

“You’re afraid of him?” Rafferty’s jaw set. He saw Phineas tense as well. Neither felt mercy for a man that would raise a fist to a woman.

Miss St. Claire lowered her gaze and raised her glass. The liquid vibrated with a tremor. “I suppose I’m curious as to how it feels to be viewed with respect by the ladies of society.” She smiled tightly. “One could say this would be research for the stage.”

“Or for another life,” Rafferty said quietly.

“We’ve a tutor to help you learn the social responsibilities and mannerisms of the position,” Phineas added. “She’ll be traveling to America so as to offer instruction on the way.”

“Instruction?” Miss St. Claire sipped her wine, and a mischievous gleam replaced her earlier apprehension. “There are certain aspects that will not require—”

“Of course, you’ll be provided with a new wardrobe,” Phineas continued. “And steady pay for the time we’re away.”

She smiled. “And a handsome, wealthy husband to boot.”

“A pretend husband,” Rafferty amended, lifting his glass for a toast. “We won’t actually be married.”

“But we’ll have to be convincing, won’t we?” Her tongue moistened her lips. “You should start by calling me Eva.”

“Eva,” Rafferty repeated, a grin upon his face. Well, why not? She was offering him the sort of intimate knowledge a man would naturally have of a wife. The sort of knowledge, he was quite certain, that would not be available from the high-and-mighty Lady Arianne. She probably stopped at a church just to pray away her earlier brazen act of touching his chest.

He knew Lady Arianne would balk when she saw their mode of transportation. She was liable to make his days a living hell. Why not allow Miss St. Claire to provide his nights with a bit of heavenly delight? The ring of their wineglasses meeting signaled agreement. “Most definitely.” Rafferty caught her gaze. “Convincing we shall be.”

THE NEXT DAY, RAFFERTY AND HIS “WIFE” CALLED UPON Lady Arianne at her London town house. Hastings ushered them into the same blue salon as before.

“Look at this room!” Eva gushed. “Will our residence in America be like this?”

Rafferty supposed that her patrons had been careful not to invite her into their homes. The life of a kept mistress tended to be one of isolation.

Eva danced from one overstuffed chair to the next. “It’s Louis the Fifteenth!” She slid her hand over the blue silk fabric, then twirled about as if she were on a stage and not in a duke’s sitting room. Her delight in the opulence of the surroundings, not to mention the sight of her shapely ankles, brought a smile to Rafferty’s lips.

“I don’t know what our quarters will be like in America, but I doubt Lady Arianne will approve of dancing on her fine Persian carpets.” Rather than insist she stop, he leaned against the doorjamb and enjoyed more of Eva’s private performance.

“Why? Is she a dried-up, old hoity-toity whose idea of fun is a juicy piece of gossip?” Eva’s pose mimicked a dowager squinting through a quizzing glass.

He was contemplating an appropriate response when Lady Arianne spoke behind him. “I should like to hear the answer to that myself.”

Rafferty straightened in a snap, embarrassed that he’d been caught off guard but determined not to show it. Eva dropped her pantomime and turned toward the doorway.

“Lady Arianne Chambers.” Rafferty cleared his throat. “Allow me to present Miss St. Claire, the actress who will portray my wife.”

Eva dipped in a curtsy. Arianne simply nodded, then shifted her gaze to him. Waiting, he supposed, for his answer to Eva’s ill-framed question. He focused on Arianne. “As you can see, Eva, Lady Arianne is neither old nor is she dried-up.”

Arianne held his gaze, waiting, he supposed, for a denial of Eva’s “hoity-toity” charge. Well, she’d have to wait till her aristocratic blue blood turned decidedly red for that. He raised a brow, daring her to reply.

She shifted her attention to Eva. “You are quite the beauty,” she said, though her gracious smile did not seem to reach to her eyes. “I’m certain all eyes will be upon you and Mr. Rafferty at the parties in Washington. Now, let me take a good look at you.”

She walked around the girl, inspecting her the way Rafferty supposed her brother inspected a racehorse. “Good posture. We’ll need to get you some appropriate clothing. My maid should be able to adjust some of my gowns.” She glanced at Rafferty. “That should save us some time.”

He smiled to himself, pleased that she had referred to them as “us.” Perhaps she wasn’t the adversary she pretended regarding this venture.

Arianne took Eva’s hands in hers. “I’m certain Mr. Rafferty has impressed upon you that no one can know about this role.” She searched the girl’s face. “This is not a stage performance.” She paused. “The consequences could be severe if anyone were to discover that you and Mr. Rafferty were not married. The worst sort of scandal would result.”

Eva stiffened. “I’m well acquainted with both the precautions and the consequences of scandal.”

Arianne’s gaze softened. She nodded as if in reply to some silent communication between the two. She even smiled her acceptance. Bloody hell! Rafferty wished she’d smiled that way at him.

Eva turned toward Rafferty. “Perhaps I won’t be playacting his wife. I’ve been told the captain has the right to marry passengers on these kind of trips.”

“Not my captain,” Rafferty grumbled beneath his breath, dusting imaginary lint off his hat.

“Did you say something, Mr. Rafferty?” Arianne inquired innocently.

He cleared his throat. “I was saying that I should leave you ladies to become better acquainted. Now that we have someone who can act as my hostess in Washington, I need to make a few arrangements so we can depart as soon as possible.”

Arianne glanced at Eva. “We have a great deal to accomplish in a short time. Fittings for some”—her glance slipped to Eva’s low-cut bodice before returning to her face—“appropriate attire, lessons on diplomatic responsibilities, lessons on diplomatic personnel . . .” She turned toward Rafferty. “A month would be preferred, but with hard work, we shall be ready in two weeks’ time.”

“We don’t have two weeks.” Rafferty popped his hat on his head. “There’ll be time for lessons on the voyage, but it’s important that we arrive in Washington as quickly as possible. I already regret the loss of this week.” He glanced at Eva. “I’ll return to retrieve you about—”

“No,” Arianne interrupted. “If we have so little time, then I believe Miss St. Claire should stay here to make full use of the limited time available.”

Astonished, he studied Arianne. “Are you certain? Actresses generally do not take residence in this part of town.”

Eva smiled wickedly. “More actresses live here than you might suppose, Mr. Rafferty.”

Arianne offered a condescending smile. “While I appreciate your concern, I think it best that Miss St. Claire remain here to acclimate herself to what will be expected of her.”

It was a strong argument, just unexpected from one who continued to draw a clear and precise line between the privileged and the lesser born. As much as it aggravated him to agree, he nodded.

“Excellent,” Arianne said, obviously pleased with her conquest. “I’ll send a footman along with Miss St. Claire to collect her belongings. After she’s settled in, we’ll begin working.”

“Very good.” Rafferty started to leave.

“Mr. Rafferty?” Arianne called.

The tone of her voice made him wary. The last time he’d heard that tone, she was disapproving of his inappropriate attire. He stopped, then turned.

“Would you and Mr. . . . I’m sorry, I don’t know his family name . . . Mr., uh, Phineas join us for dinner this evening?” Something about her gracious smile just didn’t suit her tone. “I believe it’s time we met.”

He held her gaze a moment, suspecting he could almost see little diabolical wheels turning in her mind. Devil take him, she was up to something. Probably she planned a retaliation for that “hoity-toity” omission.

Reluctantly, he nodded. “It will be our pleasure.”

Though from the glint in her eye, Rafferty wondered if Phineas might have to attend as his food taster.