To Ruin a Rake (22 page)

The early dinner given by their hosts was a cheery affair. The hunt was recounted and the victors toasted numerous times until Lord Sandwich was rosy-cheeked and a bit tipsy. Harriett sat with his lady wife, Dorothy of the Berkshire Fanes, with whom she was well familiar, and the two women quietly renewed acquaintances.

When at last it was time to prepare for the ball, Harriett and Cat, along with Lily and many other ladies who’d arrived that morning, were ushered to one of several large guest suites designated for their use. Thankfully, Nanette was not among her group. On entering, Harriett saw that their maids waited with their gowns and the accoutrements necessary for proper beautification.

As she dressed, Harriett ruminated on her sticky situation. Manchester’s presence today had altered things. She’d had to be a bit warmer toward Russell than she’d originally planned. As a result, Russell now thought she was far more inclined toward him than she was. What started out as a friendly invitation to tentatively open things up between them had practically turned into courtship in a matter of hours.

She would marry Russell if it turned out he was her best option, but it was still early in the Season. She’d keep him at arms’ length for a while and see how things progressed. It would be some time before he’d come to scratch, anyway. Eager as he was himself, he wouldn’t be so foolish as to think her ready to dance down the aisle this quickly.

Tonight was a night for casting nets and seeing what might be caught.

The music had already begun by the time Harriett entered the ballroom.

“I’m sorry it took so long,” said Cat, straining to no doubt try and catch sight of Winchilsea and Hammond. “I simply could not come down with that hideous crease in the back. I’ve half a mind to ask Papa to dismiss the girl. We’ve been here all day, after all. She ought to have had that out long before we came up. You are a dear for waiting with me.”

Harriett just nodded and smiled, preoccupied with scanning the crowd for signs of Russell and Manchester. Truth be known, she hadn’t been in a terrible rush to come down. She’d wanted to give Nanette plenty of time to corner her prey.

“There he is!” whispered Cat, tugging at her arm.

Harriett let her lead her to where Hammond and his uncle stood with their host, who was telling them about the recent renovations to his estate, Hinchingbrook House, in Huntingdon.

“Lady Catherine,” said Hammond, bowing at once. “I was beginning to worry. I thought perhaps you might have declined to come to the festivities out of exhaustion after this morning’s chase.”

Her sister laughed. “My lord, I am happy to say I am neither weary nor anywhere near ready to end this day. If anything, I found this morning’s hunt invigorating. I am quite prepared to dance the night through, if permitted.”

Behind her, Harriett saw Winchilsea’s eyes fill with approval—and determination. “You must of course oblige the young lady, Hammond,” he said firmly to his nephew.

Hammond, having received approval to pursue what was clearly his heart’s most ardent wish, bowed before Cat.

Harriett watched the happy couple depart. She began at once to look for Lily.
There she is
. Before she could leave, however, she was stopped by their host.

“Lady Harriett, do clarify something for me,” said Lord Sandwich.

“Yes, my lord?”

“My wife tells me you have been quite occupied with a charity here in London. Remind me which one it is?”

“The Foundling Hospital, my lord.”

“How admirable. And am I right in understanding that Manchester is also involved?”

“Yes, my lord,” she answered, mystified by the sudden intensity of the question. “He is one of its governors. He inherited the responsibility along with his title.”

“Ah.” His brows rose. “Well, I’m...glad to know he is continuing the good work begun there.”

Harriett maintained strict control over herself and did not snort or allow herself so much as a twitch of the lips. “As are we all, my lord.”

“I have promised my lady wife that a donation shall be made to your Hospital at once. Would two thousand pounds suffice, do you think?”

It was completely unexpected. Harriett curtseyed deeply, ignoring the murmurs that had erupted all around them from those who’d overheard. “Most assuredly, my lord, and your generosity is indeed most appreciated. Lord Manchester has recently approved several much needed renovations. He has even decided to build a separate facility to house the ill so they will not infect the healthy. Your donation will go a long way toward completing the project.”

“Has he indeed?” said Sandwich, his brow wrinkling with surprise. He turned to the other men with him and laughed. “I would never have guessed it of the fellow! The sinner turning saintly—oh! Forgive me, Lady Harriett,” he said at once, flushing a little. “Manchester and I go back a long way.”

She smiled sweetly. “You need not apologize, my lord. I am well acquainted with Lord Manchester.”

“That’s right, you were engaged to his brother,” said Sandwich, peering at her. “Though I only met him twice, William was a good man from all I could tell.”

“He was indeed. As is the current Lord Manchester,” she added for good measure.

“Yes, yes, of course,” said Sandwich, clearing his throat with an emphatic nod. “Every man has his hidden facets, I suppose—even you, Manchester.”

With dread, Harriett turned to see Manchester coming upon them.

“What’s this?” he asked, smiling. “My ears are all afire.”

“We were just discussing your recent acts of beneficence,” said Sandwich. “Is it possible you’ve at long last begun the process of reformation?”

“I shall leave that for others to decide,” said Manchester. His cool gaze lingered on her, and her heart began to beat faster. “The lady has likely made much of little.”

“Not at all, Your Grace,” she interjected. “I was simply stating the facts concerning your part in the current renovations.”

“Shame on you, Lady Harriett,” he chided. “You ought to be enjoying yourself, not talking of such sober matters during a time of revelry.” He turned back to Sandwich. “It’s been what, some two years since your return from the tour?” he said, changing the subject. “Your letters from Egypt were so very intriguing, but they left me curious. I wish I’d come to see you sooner. When you have time, you must visit and tell me all about your travels.”

He returned just after William died
, thought Harriett. Manchester would have been in deep mourning, though Sandwich seemed not to remember it.

“Ah, yes!” said Sandwich with enthusiasm. “The temples of Greece, the palaces of Turkey, and the vast monuments of Egypt—all of them far more fascinating than can be described in any fusty old book, though I have considered writing on the subjects myself now I’ve seen them in person. I hope to go back and revisit them one day.” His voice grew wistful. “Once such places enter the soul of a man, they never truly leave.”

Harriett knew it would never happen. He had married Dorothy at the beginning of March and had many obligations to fulfill, not the least of which was getting an heir—which had thus far proven somewhat problematic. Dorothy had confided in her during lunch that her new husband was distinctly lacking in romance when it came to their marriage bed.

She eyed Sandwich with doubt. For a man rumored to be a member of the Hellfire Club
and
who openly kept none other than the infamous Fanny Murray for a mistress, such news was a surprise. Harriett prayed the cheerful degenerate didn’t give Dorothy the pox.

Her opinion of her host stayed well hidden, however, as she politely reinserted herself into the conversation. “My lord, I wonder that you have not written a dozen books by now, having seen such inspiring sights. I, who am likely never to leave England’s shores, would certainly delight in reading such exotic tales.”

Sandwich’s cheeks rounded and pinked at her flattery. “Perhaps I shall pen them, at that,” he murmured, his interest in her renewed. “One doesn’t often think of ladies as being adventurous, but you have a heart for it, I can tell.”

Meeting his gaze, she held it, giving him her most alluring smile. “I am far more adventurous than many might suppose.” She flicked a glance at Manchester. “Indeed, had I been born a man, I should have done a great many things forbidden to women.”

“Oho!” said Sandwich, his smile broadening to a grin as he bowed low before her. “Rebellion boils within your breast—a woman after my own heart! Let not your sex keep you from your desires, dear lady. There are women who pursue their dreams, who travel the world and follow the will o’ the wisp. It takes courage to do such things, courage that I deem you have in great abundance.”

It also takes a great deal of money
. She bit her tongue and cast down her gaze. “Such encouragement invigorates me, my lord. Perhaps one day I shall follow my heart and see where it leads.”

“No doubt a great heart like yours will take you to some far horizon on the other side of the world,” he said, taking up one of her hands and kissing it. “Just be sure to come back and tell me of your adventures.” He released her. “Now I believe I hear the beginnings of a—”

“Lady Harriett, would you honor me with this dance?” cut in Manchester.

Harriett, shocked at his rudeness, glanced at Sandwich, expecting to see a frown of displeasure on his face. Instead, she saw gleeful speculation. She swallowed and turned back to Manchester. “I would be delighted, Your Grace.”

Without waiting, he swiftly appropriated her arm and led her away.

“Why are you
doing
this to me?” she hissed as he assumed the opening position.

“Doing what? Dancing with you?”

“Don’t mock me!”

“I? Mock you? I would never mock a lady. And a lady is what you are, no matter how you just tried to convince Sandwich otherwise.”

“I did no such thing!”

“You were flirting with him.”

“I was being polite to our host, which is more than I can say for you, his supposed friend.”

“You were being coy and inviting. Beware, for John is not a man for any woman to encourage—he has no morals or inhibitions to keep him from pursuing what he desires.”

“And you
do
?”

He stared down at her. “I have restrained myself a good deal more of late than I have in the whole of my life prior to meeting you.”

It was a moment before she remembered to breathe. “False flattery will get you nowhere, Your Grace. I know your opinion of me.”

“Is it false?” he asked, something flaring to life in his whiskey eyes. “If that is what you think, then allow me to prove to you otherwise.”

She gasped as he swept her away and off the dance floor. She had neither the time nor the wherewithal to object before she was propelled through the French doors and out into the darkness beyond.

He swung her about to face him.

“How dare you!” she squawked, indignant at his high-handed manner.

“Have you seen yourself in a mirror lately, Harriett?” he said in a voice like rich, dark velvet. “You’ve changed. You’ve become something quite other than what I remember from our first few encounters. Against my better judgment, I find myself intrigued.”

She laughed, and was startled at the breathless, husky sound. “I’m sure I have no idea what you mean.”

“That night at the Penworth ball, you were...how shall I say it to best convey the impact of that moment? You were mysterious. Sensual.
Delectable
. And you continue to reveal new, hitherto hidden aspects that tempt and fascinate me.”

Tempt and fascinate?
“This from the man who once mistook me for a lowly servant,” she snapped, lading her words with scorn.

“Ah, but that was before you showed me the real you. I have decided what to do with you, Harriett, now that I know the truth.”

Her heart hammered away at its cage, sending tendrils of both panic and desire throughout her body as he moved closer.

“You’ve put me on my ear and unbalanced the scales of our happy little war,” he teased, reaching out and capturing one of her hands. With his thumb, he traced a lazy circle on the back of it.

“Stop that,” she said, ashamed to hear her voice trembling as he followed the path of his thumb with his lips. “Stop it at once.”

“Stop desiring you? Never.”

“This is
not
the real me!” She tugged, to no avail. “The clothes may be different, but I’m the same person you’ve known from the start—the do-good prude, the kitchen maid, the drudge!”

He raised a brow, and a sinful smile stole across his lips. “How can I ever look at you and see ‘Drudge Dunhaven’ ever again?”

She tried to back away, but could not so long as he held her hand. “I know what you are on about. This is nothing more than another attempt to unsettle me and make me leave the Hospital.”

“Why were you flirting with John?” he said, pulling her closer so he could look down into her eyes.

Her head reeled at his sudden change of both subject and tone. His voice had grown deeper, with a dangerous edge to it. “I was not—”

“You were.”

“I was not!” she gasped, jerking free. Rather than flee, however, she stood her ground, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing her run away.

“Then pray tell me what you thought you were doing? First Russell, then John...are you by chance trying to make me jealous?”

Harriett blinked in surprise as his words made her feel all funny inside. “I was attempting to remain in his good graces, if you must know. He’d just promised a rather large donation to the Hospital—and then you showed up and began pushing me out of the conversation.”

“You don’t need his money,” he growled.

“It’s not for me. It’s for the Hospital!”

“John never gives a gift without expecting something in return.”

“Fine.” She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Then we’ll have to name the new building after him, won’t we?”