Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

C hauncy would have preferred to have spent the evening in bed with the delicious Anna. But duty called and he made his way towards the castle parapet where he'd arranged to meet Sir Simeon who was overseeing the security arrangements for the Prince Regent who would be arriving shortly.

"Lord Chauncy! You are here!"

"Sir Simeon." Chauncy turned at the harsh greeting, nodding, before he sent a quick glance down the corridor.

Sir Simeon advanced. A short-necked, stocky man, he resembled a bulldog. "Your Grace, the Prince Regent will enter from the eastern door within the hour, I am told. Meanwhile, the three suspects are currently in the ballroom."

Chauncy considered the battle-scarred man before him. Sir Simeon had seen action at Waterloo and was an able strategist. But the man was inclined to see trouble when there was none. There had been several other occasions when Sir Simeon had pointed the finger at a so-called would-be assassin only for Chauncy to learn that he was some innocent who bore only the slightest resemblance to their quarry.

That was why Sir Edward's skills tonight would be so necessary.

An attempt had, indeed, been made on the Prince Regent's life earlier in the year and three men identified.

These three men were on Lady Rushworth's guest list.

It would be a huge benefit to the safety of the prince if Sir Edward could whip up their likeness to be distributed to the other security personnel stationed around the castle.

Nevertheless, Chauncy was sceptical of the men identified and now said, "I highly doubt our three suspects are capable of an assassination attempt. Do you not think assassination extreme measures for a rear admiral, a country baron and a viscount who prefers his dogs to anyone else." Chauncy raised an eyebrow. "They've been mis-identified, don't you think? Still, if the real perpetrators look anything like these men, I daresay it will be helpful."

Sir Simeon's brow darkened. "It is always those we suspect the least who are capable of the vilest actions." He stroked his chin. No, we must not let down our guard. Take, for example, the mad creature that has been allowed here because her husband is painting Lady Rushworth."

Chauncy stiffened. "The mad creature? I'm not sure I understand you."

"Indeed, looking at her this evening, it is true that she seems quite unlike the stories that filtered through to us of the Lady Boothe who is kept under lock and key in a draughty house in Norfolk," Sir Simeo conceded.

Chauncy splayed his hands. "Is it not possible that she has been maligned merely for a forcefulness of spirit that prompts her to speak her mind?" Chauncy knew he defended her too hotly. But as he said the words, he also knew that Anna displayed no signs of madness. She was too like Gwyneth: misunderstood, and consequently mistreated and misdiagnosed by the men in her life. He suspected cruel treatment at the hands of Anna's husband, a far more likely explanation behind any rumors of her so-called madness.

Sir Simeon sent him a considered look. "But did our esteemed painter really marry the Lady Boothe we see here this evening? It seems Admiral Pocock and his wife made the acquaintance of Lady Boothe some years ago."

"Did they, indeed?"

"Yes, and the Lady Boothe of their acquaintance was taller and slighter of build, with blonde, curling hair, and a mole on her right cheek."

Chauncy hesitated. "I think they are mistaken." What was Sir Simeon suggesting? That Anna was a spy? An assassin?

Sir Simeon shook his head. "I made enquiries and am satisfied by their insistence that the woman who calls herself Lady Boothe is not the painter's wife."

Chauncy stilled while his companion gave a derisive laugh. "Perhaps that obsequious little artist has bought himself a female companion to accompany him here, and is merely parading her as his wife." He touched his nose and winked. "For she certainly isn't that."

Selina hesitated on the threshold to the ballroom, her hand upon Edward's forearm.

The room was ablaze with light, from the glittering chandeliers overhead to the shimmering gowns of the ladies.

The sounds of the orchestra tuning their instruments mingled with the subdued chatter of the guests as they exchanged greetings and compliments.

Selina had never felt so excited—and daunted—in her life.

Sheathed in her favorite shade of Pomona Green, heron feathers mitigating the slight disarray of her hair, she reminded herself that she was every bit as worthy and beautiful.

It's what Chauncy had called her, his eyes glowing with warmth as they'd lingered upon her when he'd passed her in the ballroom.

Now, as she and Edward paid their addresses to the host and hostess, Selina could see how much competition she really had, for the seemingly hundreds of women seemed so much better dressed and far more beautiful than Selina.

But she'd been gratified by Chauncy's words which had made her self-conscious in a way she couldn't remember since first noticing Samuel's sly admiration when she'd been an impressionable sixteen-year-old.

The moment they'd done their duty, Edward took her to task. "Where were you, Selina, when you were supposed to meet me to do your sketch of Lady Rushworth? Your organizational skills are deplorable. Why is it always me who has to?—"

The look Selina turned upon him had him closing his mouth. Lord Chauncy's admiration had made her confidence rebound.

But that aside, she was more than happy to be able to reinforce to her unappreciative brother just how much he depended upon her skills.

"I observed Lady Rushworth for just as long as it took me to rustle up this, Edward, dearest." In the shadows, she discreetly removed a rolled-up paper from her décolletage and handed it to him. "Yes, it is rushed, but it is a remarkable likeness, don't you think?" She was smiling now, for his shock was balm to her former irritation. "You just show this to Lord Chauncy before you give it to Lady Rushworth if just to reassure him that his confidence in inviting you here on behalf of our host was not misplaced. Now, shall we proceed?"

Just in the short walk across the room, Edward would be in no doubt as the the interest she garnered.

It was Selina who had the talent, together with a beauty and confidence that was certainly appreciated by the gentlemen here this evening. She could feel it and the knowledge strengthened her.

When Edward said nothing having glanced at her drawing, she asked, piqued, "Is it not good? If you cannot at least commend me, then perhaps I shall claim ownership."

She made a move to take back the drawing, but he blocked her, saying, "Of course it's good but you also have your reputation as my wife to maintain. What kept you so long, Selina?"

"Apologies, Edward, but Lord Chauncy detained me," she said sweetly. "He was so taken with the drawing I did of him and … one thing led to another."

That seemed to put her brother in his place.

Or so she thought; until, after a moment of considered silence, he said, "Be wary of making a fool of yourself, Selina. Lord Chauncy, I fear, is toying with you."

She was indignant. What did he know of the extent of Chauncy's interest? But then he added, "You think Chauncy fancies you, but a man like that will take his pleasure wherever it is offered. I think you know what I mean? Do not repeat the mistake you made with Samuel. You could have been here, Selina, as a woman of standing, in your own right, and not as my substitute wife in subterfuge."

Selina was silent, for what he said was too close to the truth.

A few minutes later, her excuse to repair to the ladies' mending room offered little in the way of comfort when she found herself locking eyes with Mrs. Piggott.

The flare of disdain her erstwhile fellow houseguest directed at her was replaced by what could only be termed the cut direct.

Mrs. Piggott was a nobody, Selina comforted herself. The sister of Lady Saunders, she was a commoner who looked like a costermonger dressed in silk and feathers. She had none of the address of her elegant sibling who, Selina now noticed, was standing near a doorway that opened into a rear saloon.

Lady Saunders was speaking to Lord Chauncy, and the intimacy of their brief exchange nearly took Selina's breath away.

He turned, and catching her eyes upon him, raised an eyebrow before crossing the room. Taking her by the elbow in a public display of ownership that was certain to make tongues wag, he drew Selina to an alcove hung with a fringed curtain where they were hidden from the rest of the guests.

Excitement skittered across her skin as, in the shadows, Chauncy encircled her waist with his hands.

"You are like a flower," he murmured as his lips touched her ear, making her wilt.

He tightened his embrace while he covered her lips with his. "Come to me tonight?" His hands roamed over her back, cupping her bottom, and Selina moaned softly as she moved against him.

She traced the planes of his cheeks with her thumbs, her eyes closed as she relived the frenzied moments when, with a pencil, she'd worked to shade and shadow the bones of his cheeks, contrasting the hollows and shadows.

She could have sketched his likeness blindfolded.

Which meant the intimacy of the real man was intoxicating.

Of course, she'd come to him tonight. Not the greatest calamity would keep her away; not even if Edward barged into Lord Chauncy's bedchamber in a fury.

"And you'll stay with me until the morning? I want to wake up beside you."

Selina blinked open her eyes and found that his look was dark, as if he really hung on her response.

She nodded.

"You are an enigma, Lady Boothe," he murmured, adding after a long pause, "if you are indeed Lady Boothe."

Was it her intake of breath that gave her away? Selina jerked her head up to find him studying her.

He sighed, though his look didn't register the rage or suspicion she might have feared. "You admit it then?"

He took her silence for affirmation before going on, "Yes, Anna, I was disappointed to learn from someone else that you are not the Lady Boothe they recall from some years ago. Very disappointed… at first."

"Please, your Grace, I can explain?—"

"Explain what? That you are not married to the gentleman whom you would have the world believe is your husband?"

Miserably, Selina shook her head. "Please, your Grace, I?—"

He cut her off. "But then I realized that if you were not respectably pledged to that little artist, why, you might be willing to come to an understanding with me."

Selina gasped again as realization dawned.

He put his hand on her shoulder. "You are a remarkably competent actress, Anna, and I shall enjoy learning more about you in due course, my dear. But?—"

"Chauncy!"

Selina stepped back as a stocky, scarred gentleman intruded. "Excuse me, madam," he said, bowing, "but I have something of importance to discuss with His Grace."