Stephanie Laurens Rogues' Reform Bundle (26 page)

“I'll let you know if I hear any more about that bay of Salisbury's.” With a nod, Lord Carnaby moved on, leaving Jason to his musings.

They weren't pleasant. A niggle of an entirely unexpected sort had inserted itself into his brain. Was Lenore's effervescent charm, the bloom in her cheeks, the wide starry gaze merely brought on by enjoyment of the
ton
's offerings? Or was there more to it than that? Could it be that some gentleman, perhaps, was responsible for the transformation in his wife?

Suppressing a low growl, Jason shook off his unsettling thoughts and headed for the card-room. He could not believe Lenore had found a lover—would not believe it. Not Lenore—his Lenore.

Yet such things happened. Every day. None knew that better than he.

Once inside the card-room, Jason halted, dragging in a deep breath. Seeing a footman passing with a loaded tray, he took a glass of brandy. Taking a soothing draught, he calmed himself with the reflection that he was letting his jaundiced view of
ton
-ish wives colour his expectations. As far as his wife was concerned, there was no evidence to support such a notion.

Was there?

 

O
NCE SOWN
, the seed would simply not die, no matter how hard he struggled to kill it. Five days later, Jason stood, moodily staring out of the windows of his library and, defeated, considered how to put paid to his suspicions. That such thoughts were unworthy—of himself, of Lenore—he was only too well aware. But he was also aware of the dreams—nay, nightmares—that had come to haunt him.

Despite his very real inclination, he had not returned to his wife's bed. The knowledge that she evinced no real interest in him was depressing; the idea she might yield him his rights out of duty was simply appalling. Sinking into the chair behind his desk, Jason grimaced. Impossible not to admit to a certain measure of cowardice, yet what rake of his extensive experience would not, in the circumstances, feel reticent? Never in his life had a woman turned him down; he had never had to ask for a woman's favours. That the first woman to find him resistible should be his own wife was undoubtedly fate's revenge. Demanding his dues was beyond him, a course entirely repugnant. Once they were alone at the Abbey, he would work on her susceptibilities, draw her to him once again, heal the breach that had somehow developed between them. And rekindle the embers that still smouldered into a roaring blaze from which something more permanent than mere passion would emerge.

Until then, he would have to contain his desire and concentrate instead on retaining his sanity. The first step was to convince himself that his ridiculous suspicions were just that. Leaning back in his chair, Jason focused his mind on his task—how to discover with whom his wife spent her time.

Her evenings were accounted for. Despite her full schedule, she had shown no inclination to deviate from the list Compton left on his desk every morning; no danger there. Her luncheon engagements were rather more hazy, yet, from experience, he knew that was not a favoured time for seduction. Empty stomachs had a way of interfering with carnal appetites. Afternoons, on the other hand, were prime time.

And Lenore's afternoons were veiled in secrecy—at least, from him.

Frowning, Jason reluctantly discarded the obvious solution. He could not set Moggs on her trail, no matter how obsessed he became. Regardless of the truth behind her smiles, regardless of his fears, it would be unforgivable to allow any of his staff to get so much as a whiff of his suspicions.

The steady drum of his fingers on the blotter was interrupted by the click of the door latch.

“Are you receiving?” With a confident air, Frederick entered.

Jason threw him an abstracted smile and waved him to a chair. “What brings you here?”

Subsiding into the chair, Frederick stared at him. “It's Thursday, remember?”

When Jason continued to look blank, Frederick sighed. “Dashed if I know what's got into you these days. You're promised to Hillthorpe and yours truly this afternoon for a round at Manton's.”

“Ah, yes.” Jason shifted in his chair. “I've been somewhat absorbed with another matter—our engagement momentarily slipped my mind.” He flashed Frederick a charming though far from contrite smile and pushed his chair back from the desk. “But I'm only too willing to accommodate you now you've jogged my memory.”

“Humph!” As Jason stood and came around the desk, Frederick struggled up out of the comforting depths of the armchair. “Perhaps I should mention your wandering wits to your duchess—saw her just now at Lady Chessington's.”

Jason halted in his progress to the door. “Oh?”

“Yes. Luncheon. She was there, along with the usual crowd. Exhausting. Don't know how they all do it. Think Lenore went on to Mrs. Applegate's after that. Gave it a miss, myself.”

“An undoubtedly wise move.” Jason nodded absent-mindedly as his route to salvation clarified in his brain. As Frederick drew level, he clapped him on the shoulder. “How's Lady Wallace?”

“Amelia? Er…” Trapped, Frederick threw him an irritated glance. At sight of Jason's wide eyes, he scowled. “Damn it, Jason. It's nothing like what you're thinking.”

Abruptly assuming his patriarchal persona, Jason raised his brows. “I certainly hope not. I might remind you that Lady Wallace is now a connection.”

Frederick looked struck. “So she is. Forgot that.”

“Well, I haven't. So I'll take it amiss if you're merely trifling with the lady's affections, dear chap.”

Frederick narrowed his eyes. “Jason…” he said warningly.

But Jason only laughed. His interest in the day miraculously restored, he waved Frederick through the door. “Come on. Let's find Hillthorpe. Suddenly, I'm in the mood to take the pips out of the aces.”

 

I
T SHOULD
, in fact, be child's play to track his wife's movements through the
ton
. Buoyed with confidence, Jason strolled through the crowd at Lady Cheswell's rout, his smile at the ready, his manner easy and urbane, his eyes searching for Mrs. Applegate.

After allowing Frederick to win their round at Manton's, the least he could do to repay his friend for his help, all unconscious though it had been, he had made a brief foray to the Park. From the high perch of his racing phaeton, scanning the fashionable crowds had been simple enough. Lenore had not been there. Presumably, she had spent the afternoon at the Applegates' or some similar function. He was quite sure Mrs. Applegate would be able to confirm his duchess's movements; Lenore had become such a hit, few missed her presence and most, even Frederick, took note of whither she was bound.

The crowd before him shifted, revealing his quarry resplendent in bronzed bombazine. She did not even wait for him to reach her before exclaiming, “Your Grace! What a pleasant surprise.”

Suppressing his natural response to such gushing sentiment, Jason kept his most unintimidating smile firmly in place. Taking Mrs. Applegate's chubby fingers in his, he bowed politely. “My dear Mrs. Applegate.” Straightening, he considered her with affected surprise. “I confess to being amazed to see you, ma'am. I'd heard your tea this afternoon was positively exhausting.”

Flushing with pleasure, Mrs. Applegate fanned her cheeks. “Very kind in you to say so, Your Grace. I'm only sorry Lady Eversleigh was otherwise engaged. Lady Thorpe and Mrs. Carlisle were par-ticularly anxious to make her acquaintance. Perhaps you might drop a word in her ear, my lord? I hold an ‘at home' every second week and would be most pleased to have her attend.”

“Yes, of course.” A sudden chill enveloped Jason's heart. He glanced about. “If you'll pardon me, ma'am, I've just sighted someone I must catch.”

With an elegant bow, he detached himself from Mrs. Applegate's clinging toils and headed into the crowd. Not the Park, not Mrs. Applegate's. So where had Lenore spent her afternoon?

Seeing the dark head of Lady Morecambe pass before him, he swung into her wake. When she paused by a group of ladies to allow another to pass before her, Jason stopped by her side. “Good evening, Lady Morecambe.”

Theresa Morecambe jumped and swung about. “Oh, Your Grace! You gave me quite a start.”

Looking down into her blue eyes and seeing the relief therein, Jason drew his own conclusions. But he was only interested in discovering
his
wife's afternoon pastimes. Bowing briefly over Lady Morecambe's hand, he fixed her with a cool and somewhat stern gaze. “I believe you spend a great deal of time with my wife, Lady Morecambe?”

There was nothing in the tenor of his words to cause offence, but he was not the last surprised to see Theresa Morecambe's eyes widen. With a visible effort, she pulled herself together, then airily shrugged. “Now and then. But we're not forever in each other's pockets, Your Grace. You must not be thinking so.” Under his relentless gaze, Lady Morecambe's defences wavered. She rushed on, “In fact, this afternoon I attended Mrs. Marshall's drum. Lady Eversleigh was otherwise engaged—I assume she attended Mrs. Dwyer's musical afternoon—a most rewarding and, er…en-lightening experience, I'm sure.”

Struggling to keep his lips straight, Jason nodded. “I dare say.” With the curtest of bows, he let Lady Morecambe flee. He gave a minute to consideration of which of his peers was the guilty party in her case, before hauling his mind back to his own unknown. Where had Lenore gone?

The next half-hour went in a vain search for Mrs. Dwyer. Forced to the conclusion that that particular young matron had not featured on Lady Cheswell's list, Jason stood stock-still by the side of the ballroom, a black cloud of suspicion drawing ever nearer.

“Good God, Eversleigh! Stop standing there like a rock. There's a chair behind you, if you haven't noticed. I need it—and you're in the way.”

Blinking, moving aside automatically, Jason found himself facing his father's youngest sister. “You have my heartfelt apologies, Agatha.” Smoothly, he helped her to the chair.

Settling herself in a cloud of deep purple draperies, Agatha humphed. “No sense trying any of your flummery on me, m'lad.”

Jason's lips twitched but he held his tongue.

Looking up at him, Agatha's black eyes narrowed. “But what are you doing here, propping the wall? Watching your wife hard at work?” With a nod, she indicated the set Lenore had joined on the dance floor. “Exhausting ain't it?”

“Exceptionally.” Try as he might, Jason could not keep his disapproval from colouring his tone. “I find it hard to believe she is not, now, enjoying what she once professed to abhor.”

Agatha chuckled. “Well, if she's convinced you, she needn't fear any other finding her out.”

Knowing his aunt harboured a definite soft spot for Lenore, Jason let that remark pass unchallenged.

“Still, at least she escaped Lady Fairford's effort today. I don't know how some of these people find their way into the
ton
, believe me I don't. The most shabby entertainment—nip-cheese from beginning to end. I went on to Henrietta Dwyer's—timed it well; the singing was over but I didn't see Lenore there. No doubt she went to Lady Argyle's ‘at home'. If I'd had any sense, I would have gone there to start with.”

Feeling very much like a drowning man making one last desperate attempt to grab hold of a buoy, Jason made his excuses to his aunt and set out on Lady Argyle's trail.

In the centre of the crowd thronging Lady Cheswell's dance floor, Lenore smiled and chatted, no longer afraid that her mask would slip but rather less sure about her temper. The sheer banality of the exercise was taking its toll; she was bored and rapidly losing patience. “Naturally, my lord,” she replied to Lord Selkirk, “I would not favour pink ribbons on such an outfit. I suspect Mr. Millthorpe would only find they tangled in his fobs. He seems to have quite an array, don't you think?” A gale of laughter greeted this purely accurate observation. Lenore converted her grimace to a look of puzzled consideration as she studied the extravagant dandy holding court but paces away. As Mr. Millthorpe seemed to count such attention no more than his due, she did not feel she was committing any social solecism in so doing. Was this all they thought of—silk ribbons and bows?

Behind the solid fa
de of the Duchess of Eversleigh, Lenore inwardly sighed, hoping that she possessed the fortitude to carry her through the next weeks. Agatha, Lady Eckington and company were all agreed that she should not host any major entertainment until next Season. Which meant that all she had to do was continue to appear at the balls and parties, smiling and dancing, a devotee of all things frivolous. The dreary prospect was enough to make her feel ill. Thankfully, her resistance to indisposition had improved dramatically, at least in the evenings; as long as she adhered to her plan, she was confident her health would see the Season out. It was her temperament that was strained; she had never before had to suffer fools gladly.