In Bed with a Rogue Page 3

  “Oh! He died.”

  “Sebastian!” Eve hissed and elbowed him.

  “I am sorry to hear that, my lady, even though I didn’t know Lord Prestwick, per se.” Gads, Sebastian was a first-rate clod today. This was what came from avoiding Polite Society. He’d forgotten how to talk with people.

  Eve linked arms with him. “Our condolences, Lady Prestwick. I don’t believe we have had the honor of an introduction. I am Eve Thorne and this is my older brother, Sebastian.”

  The lady nodded. A light breeze off the Thames fluttered strands of golden-brown hair around her face. “I am familiar with you and your brother, Miss Thorne.”

  Sebastian stiffened, prepared to defend his sister from a vicious attack, but it was unnecessary. Lady Prestwick smiled, two dimples appearing in her cheeks.

  “It’s an honor to make your acquaintance. Perhaps you and Lady Thorne would call on me when I have my next at-home so I might meet her as well.”

  The fight drained from him and his easy smile returned. The lady had truly surprised him with her invitation to call on her. Most ladies gave Eve the cut direct. His sister hadn’t attended a social gathering in a long time.

  Eve squeezed his arm and beamed at Lady Prestwick. “That would be lovely. Mother will be so pleased when I tell her we have met.”

  Lady Prestwick glanced at him once more and nervously licked her rose-colored lips. “Again, forgive me for not watching where I was going.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive, my lady.” A woman like her was welcome in his arms any day, and if his sister weren’t present, he would let it be known. He had a fondness for widows and had provided comfort to several over the years. At least before they’d started referring to him as mad and began avoiding him.

  The lady smiled once more then bid them a good day. He turned to watch her carriage approach and her climb inside. Her footman glowered at him as he closed the door and took his position before the carriage rolled away.

  “Did you see that?” Sebastian asked his sister, his temper rising. “Her servant glared at me.”

  “I am sure he has good reason.”

  He tore his gaze from Lady Prestwick’s carriage disappearing around the corner. “A good reason? What good reason?”

  She lifted a slender brow. “Don’t you dare be coy with me, Sebastian James Edmund Thorne.”

  He rolled his eyes at her excessive use of names. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

  “Lady Prestwick is your lady. For the life of me I cannot figure out how you sustained such severe injuries, though. Did you fight a round of fisticuffs for the honor of her company, or did she have her footman toss you from her house?”

  “I have no lady, so I am not sure what you are babbling on about.” He pulled the door open wider and motioned his sister inside. She swept into the dim belly of the church.

  “Very well. Be tight-lipped if you must, but I recognized her perfume. She is the lady from that night you claimed to be attacked by footpads.”

  Eve’s revelation hit him square in the gut. He lifted his cravat to his nose and drew in the faint spicy-sweet scent of Lady Prestwick’s perfume lingering on him.

  Jiminy. Maybe his sister was right, but reputable ladies like Viscountess Prestwick didn’t wander the East End, and they didn’t fall into the kind of trouble one would find there. He shook his head. No, Eve must be mistaken.

  His sister reached the bottom of the stairs and looked back over her shoulder. “Are you coming?”

  “Why are we here, anyway?”

  She shrugged a shoulder. “I am praying for Benjamin, of course.”

  “He does not deserve your prayers.” He scowled and followed her inside despite his protest.

  “Now, now. You don’t know what I am praying for.” Her calculated grin made him forget the mystery of Lady Prestwick for a moment.

  He chuckled. “And all this time I thought you were a saint.”

  “Likewise,” she said then snorted.

  Three

  Helena often felt out of place in a crowd, and the one gathered in the foyer of the Theatre Royal was no exception. She only half listened to the ladies standing around her discussing their latest hardships. Lady Wiltshire’s modiste was working too slowly on her newly commissioned gown. Lady Rutland’s sojourn to Bath would be delayed by a week. And Lady Teesdale was having a horrible time with her cook, who had taken to bed with a fever two days earlier, which had Lord Teesdale high on the ropes.

  Problems of the privileged. How do they cope?

  “I told Mrs. Burke no more lazing about unless she wants to be turned out without references. Lord Teesdale was fit to be tied and refuses to eat another bite until the regular cook returns.”

  Helena smiled to disguise the gritting of her teeth. She didn’t even know Mrs. Burke and yet she felt sorry for her. Lord and Lady Teesdale must be the most trying employers in Town.

  Lady Eldridge—Olive—caught Helena’s eye and motioned Helena to join her and her dear friend, the Dowager Duchess of Foxhaven. The duchess was a cheerful lady who always put Helena at ease, and she was more than happy to escape the present company.

  “Please excuse me. My husband’s cousin is summoning me.”

  The ladies offered fleeting smiles, then returned to consoling one another.

  Helena nearly wilted with relief when she reached Olive’s side on the outskirts of the Grand Saloon. “Is intermission almost over?”

  “Soon. We could return to the box if you like.”

  “That would be lovely.” She inclined her head in greeting to the duchess, admiring her vibrant bronze silk gown. “Good evening, Your Grace.”

  “The duchess thought you looked in need of rescuing,” Olive said, fluttering her tortoiseshell fan to create a breeze on her reddened cheeks. Her fine, blond hair lay limp against her head and drew attention to her long face. The evenings had grown warm that week, but Olive refused to abandon her ruffled chemisettes. “Was it the toast story again?”

  Helena chuckled in surprise. “You have heard about his lordship’s chipped tooth?”

  “We all have, dear girl,” the duchess said, her blue eyes sparkling. “Other than being bombarded with uninteresting tales of woe, how are you finding London?”

  “Very pleasant, Your Grace.”

  The only reason Helena had traveled to London for the Season was to search for her sisters, but attending social events was necessary to keep up appearances.

  Olive’s keen gaze swept over the other patrons as if on the lookout for trouble. What kind, Helena didn’t know, but she relied on her husband’s relation to guide her during her time in Town. Olive had been exceptionally kind and welcoming when Helena arrived, and they got on well despite the twelve-year age difference.

  “Lady Eldridge is pleased you decided to summer in London,” the duchess said.

  Olive nodded. “I wrote to Wickie several times suggesting he bring you to Town. I knew you would enjoy the Season, but my cousin was the most headstrong man I have ever known.”

  “Wickie preferred the country, and I learned to love Aldmist Fell as much as he.” Helena didn’t defend her husband out of loyalty as much as a desire to avoid questions about her marriage.

  Headstrong was an apt description for Wickie, however. As were obsessed, domineering, and irrational at times. One year Helena had begged him to accept Olive’s invitation, but he refused. He insisted the journey would be too tiring for a lady trying to conceive. When she had argued that she was in good health, he accused her of trying to interfere with conception and ordered her to bed rest. His accusation had mortified her, because she had wanted a child desperately. The emptiness of her life had chipped away at her. It still did, but finding her sisters would fill the hole left in her heart.

  “I have seen enough here,” Olive said, linking arms with her and directing her toward the grand staircase. “Perhaps more exciting things are afoot in the theatre.”

  Wickie’s cousin enjoyed her
gossip, but she wasn’t mean-spirited about it. Her shrewd observations made navigating Society easier for Helena. Helena had learned when to hold her tongue and when to turn a blind eye, which had won her several friends among the ladies of Mayfair.

  The duchess fell into step on Olive’s other side. As they neared the rotunda, Olive froze. “Oh dear.”

  Helena’s head snapped up to locate the cause of Olive’s distress and her breath caught. Lord Thorne was standing in the middle of the stairs beneath a massive chandelier, and he was watching her with his captivating dark brown eyes. They had been like mirrors reflecting her image earlier that day, leaving her with the odd sense he saw into her soul and knew her secrets.

  Candlelight shimmered off his black hair and cast a shadow over one side of his face, defining his high cheekbones. She was relieved the footpads hadn’t caused any lasting damage. Perhaps it was silly to think on such things, but he had a very handsome face.

  “It is good to see the baron out again,” the duchess said as she continued toward the staircase.

  Olive sighed and followed, dragging Helena with her.

  “Lord Thorne, how lovely to see you again.” The Duchess of Foxhaven offered her hand to the baron as they met at the foot of the stairs.

  “Thank you, Your Grace, but the pleasure is all mine.” He bowed gallantly over her hand and smiled. Helena melted inside even though it wasn’t aimed at her. “I hope your family is well.”

  “Yes, my lord. We are all fortunate to be ingood health.”

  “Excellent. I understand Lady Gabrielle and her new husband have returned to Town. Please extend my best to them.”

  A slight tightening at the corners of his eyes made Helena question his sincerity. Yet, she couldn’t imagine she would be half as gracious as the baron if her betrothed abandoned her days before their wedding.

  “Of course I will, my lord.” The duchess patted his hand and smiled sympathetically. “How are you managing these days?”

  He ignored the intent of her question and reported on his mother’s and sister’s health instead. While he and the duchess engaged in pleasantries, Helena studied him without reservation. His black jacket was of the best quality and cut to hug his broad shoulders and trim torso. Everything about his appearance was intentional, from the starch of his collar to his carefree hair made to appear as if he’d crawled from bed looking like perfection, to his high-polished footwear. A lot of effort went into his appearance, suggesting he cared a great deal how others viewed him.

  She suppressed a sigh. She’d thought of Lord Thorne often these past seven days.

  Too often.

  She found herself looking for him while shopping with Olive. When she and Fergus made forays into the rookery, she feared running into him again. And in bed at night she fantasized about seeing him at a ball where they would dance the waltz. Where she hadn’t expected to see him was at the church today. And now he was here, looking magnificent and causing her to yearn.

  The man was a menace.

  His gaze landed on her; amusement twinkled in the dark depths of his eyes.

  She looked away quickly, her face growing hot from being caught taking his measure.

  The duchess smiled reassuringly at her. “Lord Thorne, may I present Lady Prestwick? The viscountess is a new arrival from Aberdeen.”

  He took Helena’s hand and bowed over it. His full lips grazed her gloved knuckles and sent her heart into a clumsy run, tripping and sputtering. “Lady Prestwick, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Properly, that is.” He lingered over her hand with a small smirk as if challenging her.

  Helena didn’t know what to say. If she explained their encounter earlier at St. Saviour’s, Olive would have more questions she didn’t want to answer. And if she said nothing, she feared her husband’s cousin and the duchess would assume something untoward had occurred between her and the baron.

  Olive forcefully cleared her throat, and Lord Thorne released Helena’s hand.

  “Forgive me, Lady Prestwick. What I meant to say is I had hoped for a proper introduction when I spotted you from afar this evening.”

  Theatre patrons began filtering through the rotunda returning to their seats.

  “We are blocking the way, my lady.”

  “Oh!” Helena backed up several steps to allow others to pass. Lord Thorne flashed another perfect smile and bid her and her companions a good evening before sauntering away from the stairs, going against the flow of traffic. Helena turned to watch until he disappeared from sight.

  Once he was gone, she was faced with Olive’s frown. “Do be careful of the baron. He is a scoundrel of the first order.”

  The duchess chuckled and linked arms with her friend. “Allow the girl to have a bit of fun.”

  Olive sniffed, clearly not a supporter of fun. “Do not listen to her, Helena.” She leaned close to whisper in her ear. “Unless you wish to be added to his list of conquests.”

  Helena’s eyebrows shot up as her stomach pitched. Despite the tantalizing images that came to mind of becoming Lord Thorne’s conquest, she needed to keep her distance. Maintaining a sterling reputation was important if she had any hope of bringing her youngest sister into Edinburgh Society. Gossip had a way of traveling even long distances. She banished the annoying voice inside her head telling her she should stay out of the rookery if she was worried for her reputation. Laying eyes on her sisters again outweighed the risks. Besides, she had no intentions of anyone important discovering her in Whitechapel.

  ***

  Damn!

  Sebastian wasn’t any closer to being certain Lady Prestwick was the Whitechapel Angel than he’d been before his sister’s observation about her perfume. He had thought he would be able to tell if she was his rescuer if he had a chance to really study her face and listen to her speak, but he still didn’t know. She could have been the woman from that night, but then again, she may be nothing more than she appeared.

  She was a pretty little thing. He hated to think she was frequenting the streets of Whitechapel and endangering herself. If she was the woman who had helped him, she was too sweet to be in any trouble. He’d seen her kindness with his sister. He might have even been the recipient of that kindness the night he was set upon.

  He felt more unsettled than he’d been that afternoon. Seeing her again had only stirred up more questions. This was the reason he was lurking outside the theatre waiting for the performance to end instead of headed to the Den of Iniquity as planned.

  Lord Prestwick hadn’t kept a house in Mayfair, which meant his widow was either staying with relatives or she had let a town house for the Season. If she were engaged in clandestine activities, staying with Lord and Lady Eldridge would pose problems. She would need a place of her own unless she wanted to explain her late-night excursions.

  The rub of it was Sebastian couldn’t imagine any lady being so harebrained as to risk her reputation—Hell, her life—by stepping one foot in Whitechapel. Was she acting out of a misguided sense of charity? Reports of the angel’s generosity made it seem a more likely scenario than anything else he’d envisioned. Regardless of her intentions, she would get herself killed if she kept this up, and he couldn’t let that happen. Not if she had saved his life.

  Perhaps following her this evening would put the matter to rest. Eve did have a tendency to allow her imagination to run wild, and he was probably a fool to entertain her silly notions. Still, a niggling at the back of his mind wouldn’t go away. There was something not quite right about the Widow Prestwick.

  As ladies and gentlemen began spilling from the theatre, carriages lined up to collect their owners. He kept a lookout for Lady Prestwick’s green gown; his pulse jumped as he recalled how the silk creation teased with a peek of her modest décolletage. She wasn’t as well-endowed as many ladies of his acquaintance, but she was soft and round enough to make for a pleasing bed partner.

  He ran his fingers through his hair and exhaled slowly. Damn, he needed a good tup. He seeme
d incapable of thinking on anything else since his encounter with the lady earlier.

  When a carriage bearing the Eldridge coat of arms rolled up to the curb, Sebastian pushed away from the wall. Peering through the crush, he spotted Lady Eldridge’s peacock feathers first and then Lady Prestwick’s pearl-draped coiffure. As the ladies strolled to the carriage arm in arm, any urgency to follow her faded. Obviously, she had arrived with her relative and would leave with the countess, too. Turning to find his own carriage and abandon this fool’s mission, he stopped mid-spin.

  “Do be careful, Helena. London is no place for a lady to travel alone.”

  “I have Fergus and we haven’t far to go.” Lady Prestwick embraced Lady Eldridge before the older lady climbed into the carriage with her footman’s assistance. As the door closed, the countess swept the curtain aside to speak through the open window.

  Sebastian eased closer to catch all of their hushed conversation. It wasn’t well done of him, but he couldn’t help himself.

  “I do worry so about you,” Lady Eldridge said. “Won’t you reconsider staying at Eldridge House?”

  Sebastian’s ears pricked up. She wasn’t staying with relatives.

  Lady Prestwick smiled, dimples piercing her cheeks. “I would be underfoot too much. Besides, I became accustomed to being alone much of the time at Aldmist Fell. I don’t mind the solitude.”

  “Wickie was adamant about keeping you all to himself in that rambling castle, the selfish man.”

  A slight grimace wrinkled Lady Prestwick’s forehead, but she smoothed away the lines with an absentminded sweep of her hand. “Good night, Olive.”

  “Indulge me a little, Helena. At least allow me to accompany you next time. I grow weary of solitude.”

  Lord Eldridge rarely escorted his wife anywhere. Sebastian experienced a pang of sympathy for the countess, even though she was responsible for his sudden betrothal weeks earlier when Lady Eldridge had entered the drawing room to find him kissing Lady Gabrielle.

  He tried to shrug off his guilt for taking liberties with Gabrielle, but it clung to him like the stench of a drunken night.