The Betting Season (A Regency Season Book) (46 page)

Miss Findley’s eyes snapped up to look at him. “You know about our…situation?”

He shrugged. “Word gets around, Miss Findley.”

At her look of pure mortification, he sought to comfort her. “But I think you see it as being worse than it is.”

“
Thank you for trying to make me feel better, but I think it is just as bad as I think it is.”

“
You’ve a large dowry to make up for it, though, I’m sure.”

“
Yes, that’s true.” And then she laughed a bit, out of embarrassment. “Goodness, we shouldn’t speak of such things, Lord Swaffham.”

“
We’re back to that, are we?”

“
Tristan,” she amended with a half smile. “I just…why is it so easy to talk to you?”

He shrugged again. “I must admit, I find you easier to talk to than most women, Miss Findley. It’s not something I can explain.” Much to his surprise, he realized he spoke the truth. He wanted to win the bet, but something churned in his gut, warning him of something deeper, something more…permanent. Damn.

“
I suppose it wouldn’t cause any harm for you to call me by my Christian name.” She took his arm again, and Tristan tried his damndest to ignore the plummeting of his heart. What the devil was she doing to him?

“
I would be honored,” he replied, hoping his voice didn’t sound as choked as it felt.

“
Patience. You may call me Patience.”

Ironic. Tristan was feeling anything but patient just now. If they weren’t in the middle of Hyde Park during the most fashionable hour, he might lay her down and collect on his bet right then and there.

“
There is a concert, Patience, in Vauxhall this weekend. Would you care to accompany me?”

“
Oh!” She seemed genuinely surprised at the invitation. “Well, yes, that would be lovely.”

Tristan smiled. Vauxhall would be the perfect place to win his bet, and then, with any luck, he could forget about Patience Findley. Men like him didn’t settle down, no matter how many butterflies fluttered around in their stomachs, over one particular lady.

Patience was so excited about the invitation to Vauxhall that she nearly forgot all about the little red book in her reticule. Almost. But not quite. Rangana was due for an earful from her when she got home. Still, it didn’t take away from the fact that she was going to Vauxhall with Tristan on Saturday evening. Her friends would be there too, along with at least half the
ton.
Surely Tristan would try to lure her into a compromising position, and surely she could alert someone to their assignation. Marriage was within her reach, and she’d be able to put her father and Rangana and the sad scandal behind her at last.

“
Well, thank you for the drive, Tristan,” she said as he helped her from the carriage and walked her to the door.

“
My pleasure, Patience. I will see you on Saturday.”

Tristan walked away and mounted his landau once again. Patience watched him until he was out of sight and then turned to face her front door. She didn’t relish going in there—a sure fight awaited her with Rangana—but she just couldn’t let something like this go unnoticed.

“
Are ya going inside, miss?” Marcie asked from behind her.

She’d forgotten all about Marcie.

“
Oh, yes, of course, Marcie,” she said, glancing backward over her shoulder. “Let’s get inside.”

Patience tried to remain calm as she handed off her outer clothes to Marcie, but truly, her blood was boiling. As soon as she could, she darted off in search of her stepmother. She finally found her sitting quietly in an upstairs parlor—her
mother’s
parlor.

“
How
could
you?” Patience said, not bothering with any pleasantries.

Rangana looked appropriately shocked at the abrupt intrusion, her exotic black eyes wide and curious. “Patience, is everything all right?”

Was she so daft that she had to ask that question? “No, everything is
not
all right,” Patience said, refusing to sit down when Rangana gestured to a chair. “I found
this
with my maid today.”

Rangana looked at the book and then looked up at Patience with a smile on her face. A
smile.
“This is no laughing matter, Rangana!”

“
You must forgive me. I do not understand why you are so angry about your maid possessing the Kama Sutra.”

Patience stared at her wide-eyed. Yes, she was most assuredly a daft woman. “Marcie is a young, innocent woman. Not only that, but you dare to bring this scandalous book into my house. Does my father know about this?”

“
Patience,” Rangana said, her voice annoyingly quiet and placating, “please sit down. We can talk about this like adults.”

Patience hated the insinuation that she was a child. She stared at her stepmother a moment, her nostrils flaring at the dark-skinned imposter, and then finally plopped into a chair. “Fine. But you have a lot of explaining to do.”

Rangana poured a cup of tea and handed it to Patience, who took it but didn’t drink from it. Instead, she set it promptly onto the small side table.

“
There is little to explain. In my culture, we view the Kama Sutra as a guide book of sorts, not just for love making, but for life.”

Patience couldn’t stop the snort.

“
You are so young, Patience,” Rangana said, which was rather ironic since Patience was only a couple years younger than her stepmother. “But you are not so young that you should remain naïve about such things. You will marry soon, and you should not go into your marriage thinking that
this—
” she held up the book— “is inappropriate.”

“
B-but…the pictures,” she stammered. “You can’t deny that those are…scandalous.”

“
They are beautiful, not scandalous in any way. You may not think so now, but you will.” She passed the book to Patience, who held it between her thumb and forefinger like she might hold the tail of a dead mouse. “Take it. You don’t have to read it if you don’t want to. But take it just in case.”

An infant wail came from down the hall, and Rangana stood to go. “I will see you at dinner, Patience.”

She watched her stepmother leave the room, baffled by the conversation they’d just had. Baffled and scandalized, really.

And, blast it all, now she was intrigued. Desperately curious, if she were telling the truth.

She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest as she slumped against the back of her chair. The little red book sat on the table before her, taunting her, daring her to open it up and look inside. Could she look at it in a new light? Could she gaze at those images and try to see the beauty that Rangana claimed was there? She doubted it, but blast if she wasn’t going to at least try.

Patience leaned forward and picked up the book. Her hands trembled as if she were about to perform an operation as she cracked it open and turned to the first illustration.

Good heavens! She blushed from head to toe—even her feet burned with embarrassment to see such an intimate pose. But she couldn’t deny what it was doing to her inside. The heat she felt wasn’t merely from embarrassment. It stemmed from something so scandalous she could hardly think of it. How could a simple drawing make her feel so…
wanton
? And why was her brain replacing the faces of these people with those of Tristan and herself?

She slammed the book shut. While she planned to trap Tristan into marriage quite soon, she wasn’t sure she was ready for…
that.

As if the room itself were tainted, Patience bolted out the door and headed to her room. She had a trap to plan, and she was going to need help from her friends.

Tristan didn’t feel much like sitting in the bow window that Friday morning. It was already full to the brim with dandies, anyhow, so he decided to take his breakfast in the main dining room. He was just about to dip into his kedgeree when a shadow fell over his table. He looked up to find his old friend Damien Lockwell standing there with a wide grin on his face.

“
Well, well, well,” Tristan said, returning the grin and gesturing to the opposite chair. “I see you’ve returned from the country at last. How is it being leg-shackled and all?”

Lockwell plopped into the seat. “Bloody magnificent. You should try it sometime.”

Tristan erupted into laughter. Lockwell had been just as debauched as Tristan had been, until he found Isabel Whitton, of course. They’d been quite the pair in their younger years. “Do you know me at all, old friend?”

“
Better than you know yourself, probably.” Lockwell leaned forward. “You must be getting tired, old man.”

“
I’m not even thirty yet. I’ve got a good many more years of debauchery left in me.”

“
Ah, well…I can’t say that I wish I could join you. Mrs. Lockwell keeps me rather busy.” Lockwell gave him a wink.

“
I’m certain she does. All those tedious balls and garden parties—they can really wear a man out.”

“
Speaking of which, my wife is in a tizzy lately over the wayward debutantes who are apparently making spectacles of themselves already.” Lockwell narrowed his eyes at Tristan. “I think you might be somewhat acquainted with one of these notorious girls.”

Tristan shifted in his seat, and then shrugged as nonchalantly as he could. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“
Is that so? I seem to recall coming across your name in the betting book recently. Something about a Miss Findley?”

“
And? The bets I make are my business.”

Lockwell shrugged and sat back against his chair. “I just thought it was odd that Rowan Findley would make a bet that involved his cousin getting compromised, especially when her very best friends had found themselves in the book
first.
”

Tristan stared at his friend, the wheels in his head turning rapidly. What the devil?

“
Well, my work here is done. I must be off…another garden party this afternoon, and Isabel will strangle me if bow out.”

With another wink and a cheeky grin, Lockwell sauntered off, leaving Tristan in a great state of confusion.