Chapter Two

"Inever imagined I would live to witness such a spectacle."

Scores of women gathered in Mayfair dressed in Turkish trousers. Some were wearing masks. Others—like Selena and Theodosia—were boldly claiming their identity. Everyone already knew they were the heiresses. The ladies who arrived at the Stewart Ball clothed in breeches and top hats, scattering copies of pages from the betting book of White's from atop the staircase.

But most importantly, in this crowd, those women—the members of the secret club—must be present.

But would they be wearing masks or not?

"I'm obsessed with these trousers," Theodosia said for the tenth time. "I shall wear them every chance I get from this day forward."

"Your brothers would object."

"My brothers aren't in London."

"Yet."

"Which is why I must seize every opportunity until they return."

"Enjoy your freedom while you have it, my friend." Selene surveyed the crowd. "What's next do you suppose?"

"We parade around. Consort with our fellow rabblerousers."

"Perhaps this morning is more of a display, a chance to see who claimed the rebellion and who did not." Selena's gaze flicked over the women who gathered in the street, admiring each other's fit. "They should be here. Watching us."

"You sound like a wife trying to catch her husband in an affair. Are you that dogged in your attempt to find them? Does it not bother you that they are using us to fan the flames of discord?"

"They are seizing an opportunity, just like you."

"Well, I can't argue that."

"All these trousers..." Selena still couldn't believe the ladies of Mayfair had embraced these foreign garments to such a degree. It was a spectacular sight. "How colorful." A thought occurred to her. "The trousers must have been manufactured in London. If not, the crest must have been added here. If I can find the company... or whoever delivered them to our doorstep..."

"A secret club will leave such a gaping hole in their plan?"

"Perhaps not. But even so, I am determined to find a member of the club here today. I shall not be thwarted."

"Then go ask around. I shall help you look out for suspicious behavior."

"That would be too conspicuous." Her gaze flicked over all the women with masks. "I should probably whisper my request into some ears and see if it does the rounds. Who reacts, who does not."

Theodosia gave her A Look.

"What?"

"I'm marveling at your dedication to enter this club. Truly riveting."

"Do not tell me you aren't even a bit curious? You don't have one tiny speck of curiosity?"

"They are too suspicious for my taste."

"I have wondered at their aim, as well. But as an heiress on the list, a lady of society, what is the ending for us, Theo? Marriage? A life as a pariah? Are those our only options?"

"Spinsterhood is another."

"As a pariah! Why must we be labeled when men who remain unattached are not?"

"Pariah, spinster, wife . . . they are mere terms."

"And rain is mere water, but it can still cause a flood and wash your house away. If our fate is already decided, we might as well discover who we are beyond the riches, the titles, and this biased world you claim is at our fingertips."

"You decide your future."

"If you say so." Selena cast her friend a sidelong glance, recalling a particular detail. "Has your mother not been hosting morning callers which she's disturbingly named ‘blind matchups' to find you a husband and remove you from the chaos?"

Theodosia's hand shot out to cover Selena's mouth. "Do not utter such blasphemy." Her eyes darted around. "Never mention this again. My mother has lost her faculties."

"Your mother is quite forward thinking."

"I agree. She . . . drat."

A shiver crawled up Selena back. "What's wrong?"

"Our watchdogs found us."

"That was to be expected was it not?" Selena peered over her shoulder. The two jackals were prowling in their direction.

"I was hoping they'd be dense enough not to notice our departure."

"Ignore them. It's not like they can do anything in a public setting filled with women in trousers that do not restrict their movement. The men here are the ones who ought to be wary. Look at them all standing on the outskirts observing with disapproval yet not stopping us." Only Warrick and Saville had marched into the fray.

But before her words had even cooled, her sight was blinded by a coat being draped over her face. The scent of a familiar cologne of woody fragrance reached her.

He dared?

Arms circled her waist, and she was hoisted over a very hard, very muscled shoulder. The motion was so smooth, so quick, the only protest that left her lips a small gasp.

Yet the only objection or outrage on her behalf that she could sense came in a bout of hushed whispers that in no way helped her current predicament. Would no one come to her aid?

Where are your backbones, ladies?

Her own words finally burst forth. "Pig! Knave! Blackguard! Put me down!"

"In a moment."

"You best put me down right now, you watchdog, you beast!"

"You are making a scene."

"You are the one hoisting me up like a sack of potatoes!" Always thwarting her plans.

"Well, you are the prettiest sack of potatoes I've ever carried."

Selena resisted the urge to pummel his back like a madwoman. Had he ever even carried a sack of potatoes in his entire lofty life? But his steps were fluid, without any hesitation as he fetched her back to her house, lowering her only once they entered the hallway and the door slammed shut as though carrying the sack of potatoes—her—had been nothing but a walk in the park.

The butler scampered at their arrival, shooing curious servants away as well.

She ripped his jacket from her head and flung it to the ground. "Where is my brother and Theo?"

"I'm not sure. Your friend slipped away. Last I saw of your brother he was following in her wake."

"Good for her if she slipped away, you knave. I cannot believe you would cause such a public spectacle!"

"We were already in a public spectacle." Thick arms crossed over a heavy chest, drawing her attention to the solid wall that had so effortlessly supported her weight. "What are you up to, Lady Selena?"

Selena averted her gaze, shrugging off the sudden sense of conflict within her over whether to admire the man's body or meet his eyes. "Why do you think I'm up to anything?"

"I don't know." The frustration in his tone echoed off the walls of the front hall. "I have this feeling you are courting mischief."

"Did the trousers give me away?"

"Yes."

She couldn't help but peek at him, catching his gaze mere seconds before his eyes lowered to her trousers. The flash of annoyance gave way to a thrill of delight. A sliver of power. A surge, or perhaps more of an urge, a little nudge to tease him flared to life.

"I might be up to something."

A brow arched, even while his gaze remained steadfastly there.

"Well, more in search of something."

"We are all in search of something."

"How philosophical of you. Tell me then, what are you in search of?"

His eyes shifted back up before flicking again to her trousers before finally settling on her face once again. His lips pursed. "Peace of mind."

"I'm afraid you shall be searching for a long time." She gave a deliberate, mocking pause. "Then how about we help each other out?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Do not sound so skeptical, Warrick." Selena smiled. Just how far would this man go in the name of his watchdog duties? "Cooperating could benefit both of us."

"That would mean you will be the one to help me gain peace of mind."

What was with that tone? "Why not me? I'm certain I can aid in that regard."

"When you are the origin of my turmoil in the first place?" His face turned grim. "Forgive me, but whatever deal or quid pro quo you could offer, no matter how I look at it, I lose."

"Interesting..." Her gaze tracked over his length. Had he grown wiser to her schemes since she last conversed with him? No matter. She was merely teasing him. If the earl did truly want peace of mind, he should become a monk.

Still, a distant sense of curiosity prevailed. "What will give you a moment of peace?"

"Only a moment?"

She nodded. "We are creatures that live in compounding moments, are we not?"

"I suppose we are."

"There you go with that skeptical tone again. You say I am the problem, correct? Well you must be aware that within every problem lies the solution."

That earned a slight twitch at the corner of his lips. "Are you saying that you are the solution to my problem that is you?"

"Exactly."

Dark eyes studied her. They almost appeared to be brooding with dissatisfaction. "I shall pass."

Selena wanted to laugh at his pinched expression. The urge to tease him heated a degree. "Are you sure? You seem to be in dire need of a few hours of mental repose. I can help you achieve a moment of peace in exchange for your help in finding what I'm searching for." Two beats of silence. "Are you not going to ask what I'm searching for?"

"I believe it's best not to know." He even took a step back from her. "For my peace of mind, you understand."

"How disappointing. I had just the thing in mind to relieve some of your stress."

His gaze turned dubious. "Now I'm terrified."

"But interested."

His eyes narrowed, and she laughed. The man looked so put out, she had half the mind to pinch his cheeks.

"What are you searching for, Lady Selena? Tell me before I change my mind."

She grinned at him. "Promise not to tell my brother."

"I give you my word."

"Not even the slightest hesitation." She considered the man before her. "Are you certain you will not tell my brother?"

"I gave you my word, didn't I?"

"I thought you were terrified."

"You've prickled my curiosity."

She hadn't even meant to secure his help. Didn't want his help. That would be a disaster. This man had been nothing but an obstacle in her way thus far. Always following her. Always in her way. Today was a perfect example.

And yet, the words left her before she could retract her tongue. "A secret women's club."

His face turned as blank as a sheet of paper. "A what?"

How can a tone say absolutely everything yet nothing at all? More importantly, Selena, why did you say that? But the command to be silent was further lost somewhere between her mind and her mouth. "What do you mean ‘what'?"

"I'm certain I heard secret woman's club."

"You heard wrong."

"I heard right." He took a step closer. "You said a secret women's club."

She arched a brow. "Well, if that is what you heard, then that is what I must have said."

He stared at her. "I . . . have . . . no words."

She glanced back and forth. Save me, someone! Theo! She needed to rescue herself from her own treacherous mouth! Her mind raced. In times of desperation, turn the tables. "Phineas North, the Earl of Warrick, is rendered speechless. How marvelous."

Did that sound a bit too forced?

"How is that marvelous?"

Not too much, then. She shrugged. "I cannot say. It's just a feeling that buds from within. Also, I was merely jesting earlier. I'd rather not join hands with a jackal."

"Calling me a jackal when you are the princess of trouble seems rather pointless."

"If I am the princess of trouble then you must be the prince of brawn?"

"I beg your pardon?"

You are hopeless, Selena. Why did you just say that?Retract, retract, retract. "Forget it. I have things to do. Good day, my lord."

"Wait a minute, Selena." His gaze stabbed at her, threatening to pierce the veil of her soul. "I cannot just forget that you are searching for a secret club. Why are you searching for such a thing?"

"Does it matter?"

"Of course it matters. I'm responsible for your safety."

"But that is the crux of the matter, is it not? You aren't responsible for me or my safety."

"Take that up with your brother," he said simply. "Now, answer my question. Why are you looking for a secret club?"

"To thank them, of course."

"Thank them for what?"

She smiled and jutted out a leg, pulling at the fabric of her trousers. "For these."

"They supplied these godawful trousers?"

"I believe so."

"Then you are not sure?"

"There is always margin for error in any assumption."

"And let me guess—you wish to join this club once you find them?"

"Perhaps."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Is it your life's goal to send your brother to an early grave?"

"How heart stirring of you to conclude the only reason for me to search for this club is to annoy my brother. But then, given that he is my best and worst attribute, I can hardly blame you for your conjecture."

He cursed. "Forgive me, I did not mean it that way."

Selena waved his apology aside. She didn't need it. Neither did she want his help. That would be a sure way for the man attach himself to her shadow even more. She should never have teased him. That was her mistake.

"As I said, I was merely jesting." She sent him her most cloyingly sweet smile. "Unless you want me to help you find some peace?"

"Saints, no."

She kept the corners of her lips hitched up, unwilling to show this jackal any sense of relief. "I suppose I won't be able to change your mind..."

"Correct."

"What a pity." Do not overdo it, Selena.

"No matter what you say, my answer will still be no."

Well, thank God.

What madness had overcome her to blurt out the existence of the club? Luckily, he had refused her ridiculous teasing. Good fortune had not forsaken her.

Yet.

*

A nightmare.

A living, breathing, nightmare. Why the devil had he promised to keep this a secret from Saville? The moment the minx had muttered secret women's club, all hope of peace of mind fled out the door. Those three words shot a chill through this heart.

Women. Plural.

And they meant secrets.

Which always meant more trouble.

All the exact opposite of peace of mind. In fact, every single word associated with "women" and "secret" and "club" could be pooled in a reservoir of unpleasantness that would plague him if he helped this mischief-maker find such a club.

His curse must be flaring up again. Not that he believed in curses. But then again, how else could three seemingly harmless words combined in such a nightmarish phrase wriggle their way into his life?

"Wait," he called when she turned to leave.

Her gaze locked with his.

"I'll..."—You're going to shed more hair over this—"...help you. In exchange for a few hours of mental repose."

She stared at him.

And stared.

"So?" Warrick pressed.

"I . . ."

Well, well, well. "Who is the one speechless now, Lady Selena?"

"You said nothing could change your mind."

"I did say that." He'd meant it, too. However...

"What on earth happened to your mind? I mean, what happened to change it in the span of three seconds?"

"A man is entitled to change a decision on a whim." God help him. He sounded like his mother.

"Fickle or not, I said I was jesting."

"Yes, I recall you said something to that effect."

Her gaze narrowed on him, probing. "You truly mean to help me? As in help, as in me?"

He didn't. He'd rather forget about today entirely and all its promises and trouble. But... Lady Selena plus secret club that supplied Turkish trousers equaled trouble that London could not afford. He didn't believe for one second she just wanted to thank them when she eventually found them.

"Are you questioning my sincerity?"

"I'm more concerned about why you changed your mind."

"It occurred to me," right there and then, "that if I help you, I would not have to follow you about and hide behind London's lampposts."

That alone ought to bring him a measure of peace even as the woman threatened to rob him of every other ounce. But the more he thought about it, the more the idea seemed like the best course of action.

"I suppose you would find some solace in that."

"I do have one more condition, however," Warrick ventured. "A problem of my own I could use help with." He'd never have considered telling her about something as ridiculous as this if she hadn't told him about the club. But perhaps they could help each other. Perhaps in doing so, they could understand each other a little better. Perhaps then she might even take some pity on him and not make his life harder than it needed to be.

"Oh? What trouble ails the Earl of Warrick?"

"A family curse."

Her face went from amused to blank. "A... family curse?

Or perhaps everything was just wishful optimism on his part. "When you say it like that I sound like a madman."

"I'm not sure how I can help you with such a unique quandary."

Warrick furrowed his brows. Was she holding back a laugh? If so, she was doing it poorly. "Laugh if you must."

She pursed her lips, shaking her head.

He sighed. Wishful optimism or not, he couldn't retract it now. "This is my condition: find all the books you can rummage on family curses and summarize them for me. It should be simple enough." And keep her out of trouble for a while.

Her lips drooped downward. "You want me to read up on family curses?"

"Gather information."

"Are they different from each other? Do not tell me you believe in such superstitious things."

"I don't."

"Then why go through all this trouble to collect information on family curses?"

"One can never be too careful." He also treasured his head of hair. And in the case his family curse was real—which it absolutely was not—a man's only defense could be found in knowledge. If such knowledge even existed. But what better way to keep a mischievous princess out of mischief?

"You seem reluctant," Warrick said, studying her expression. "Surely this is not asking too much?"

"Just a touch, but I shall gather information for you." Her gaze assessed him from top to bottom. "What exactly is your family curse about?"

"That's a private matter." She would just advise him to marry if she knew, like everyone else. And he refused to bow down to something as ludicrous as a curse.

Her brow tracked up, disturbingly intrigued. "Do you have a witch in your family ancestry?"

"Do not be absurd."

"Then who would curse your family? Someone had to wave a wand of sage or something for there to be a curse, didn't they?"

"I don't care who waved what herb or chanted what chorus. Calamity has befallen me. I want it to end."

"Calamity, you say." More intrigue. "Do tell."

"No."

Her lips formed a pout. "So sour. Should I not know all about this curse if I am to do the research?"

"Aren't I also helping you find a club I know nothing about? And do not forget to provide me a few hours of repose." He looked forward to this most. And it seemed only fair in exchange for what he had to do.

"Speaking of which, what do you consider a peaceful moment?"

Good question. "I suppose anything that is pleasing and helps me relax."

"Elementary." She held out the palm of her hand. "Do we have an agreement?"

He clasped her hand in his. Why did he suddenly feel like an animal that had willingly walked straight into a cage meant to trap him? "We have an agreement."

"Splendid."

Warrick's gaze dropped to her trousers for what seemed the hundredth time, his fingers tightening when her hand would have slipped from his. "One more condition."

Her hand flexed in his grip. "Negotiations are over."

"One more."

"If it's about the club—"

"The trousers."

Her eyes widened. "What about them?"

"Never wear them again."

She froze, and Warrick stilled along with her. Were these words not reminiscent of the two traits he loathed the most? Demanding. Possessive.

"Not even in private?"

He cleared this throat, releasing her hand as though it had caught fire. "You can do what you please in private, of course."

"No need to sound so fierce. I was not planning to wear them again. In any event, we have an agreement, so do not follow me around anymore."

"I cannot agree to that."

"Such a good watchdog." She poked his chest with a finger, leaving a burning sensation in the wake of her stab. Warrick caught her hand. "Is it necessary to be so thorough in your duty?" she demanded.

"I am a very thorough man." Especially when it comes to you.

"But we are we partners now."

"That doesn't mean there are no longer fortune hunters lurking in the shadows." He released her hand and took a sensible step back. "I'm sure they shall retreat once the season is over."

"I suppose I shall have to put up with it until then."

"I would appreciate your effort. On another note, do you have any clues of his club of yours to aid in my search?"

"Only these trousers. They ought to have been manufactured in London. That should give you a good lead. Oh, and someone must have seen who placed the trousers before all the doors of Mayfair."

"Is that all?"

She nodded.

"Very well, I'll have my men inquire about the trousers."

"You're not doing it yourself?"

"I don't have that much time on my hands. You are an occupation that fills all my time." Warrick grimaced. "Not that I mean you are an occupation."

"Oh?" Small daggers appeared in her eyes. "Then what am I?"

"Saville's sister."

Her smile took on a forced quality. "Of course I am."

His back straightened—that was careless. He knew she was already prickly about her brother. Warrick quickly diverted the subject. "How did you come to learn of this secret club?"

She pursed her lips, but thankfully answered without a fuss. "I overheard two women speak of the club at the Everton ball, but before I could confirm their identities, they disappeared into one of the cardrooms."

"I see." Thank God for small mercies.

"I am curious. Why haven't you asked me if I have the betting book in my possession?"

The object of all his misery? "The book is nothing to do with me."

Let it be lost forever.

"I see."

"Do you not believe me?" Her tone was impossible to decipher.

"Oddly, I do."

"Good, because I have enough curses to worry about without having the book causing more trouble." His gaze probed hers. "You aren't planning to cause more trouble with the book?"

She shook her head. "The book already served its purpose."

If that was the case, why did he have a growing feeling that the book might be the biggest curse of them all?