Chapter 21

AUTHORITIES DRAW CLOSE. Additional evidence of Lady Allen’s misdeeds has been provided to the members of London’s finest. It shall not be long before Lady Allen receives the justice she richly deserves.

If someone had asked Olivia how many blonde, married women of high class there were in society, she might have shrugged and guessed about fifty.

She would have been wrong.

The real number was at least twice that, and she had only counted those who lived in or regularly visited London.

She slammed her copy of Debrett’s closed. Hours of carefully combing through the earl’s correspondence and she was no closer to uncovering the identity of her former husband’s mistress.

There had to be a faster way. She had commissioned one of Saffron’s artist friends to produce sketches of the most likely suspects, but Boris’s eyesight was not good enough for him to say if any of them had been the woman he had seen.

She wished they could have revealed Mr. Dawson’s trickery in full to the rest of Thel’s family, but it was too risky. They did not know how Thel’s parents or brothers would react and the last thing they needed was a fistfight in the middle of the parlor.

Maybe Thel had been right all along, and the best way to get rid of Mr. Dawson was to put a bullet through his heart. It would solve both of their problems at the same time. Then again, after the stunt in the park, she’d caught more than a few glances of Constable Smith out of the corner of her eye. The man was watching her, perhaps waiting for an opportunity to question her again. If she gave him a chance to arrest either Thel or herself, he might pounce.

A knock at her door gave her the perfect excuse to take a break. “Come in.”

Her butler entered, clutching a wax-sealed envelope and a small box. “From Lord Lowell, my lady.” He set the items at the edge of her desk. “The cook insisted on feeding the messenger, seeing as it is nearly teatime. Shall I instruct him to wait?”

Olivia’s arms burst into gooseflesh. She did not need to see inside the box to know what it held. She had wondered how long Thel would wait before returning her chain. She imagined him tying her silk garter around himself, preparing her present. Their pleasure would be that much more intense from the waiting.

Her butler was still waiting for her response.

“Send the boy back with a basket of apple tarts from this morning,” she said. It was a small gesture, but she hoped it would discourage Thel’s staff from repeating anything they might overhear when she was alone with their employer.

When her butler exited, she picked up Thel’s note and cracked open the seal. Inside was a single line of text.

It would be my honor to wear your token.

She flipped the lid on the box and removed her chain from the plush, velvet interior. When she had it coiled in her hand, however, there were still glints of silver inside the box. She dug her fingers into the slippery fabric and removed two diamond teardrop earrings. She fastened them in place and admired the sparkling stones in her dressing mirror. There were more elaborate pieces in her jewelry box, many that were gifts from past lovers, but none of them had ever made her feel so cherished.

The soft, gray gown laid out on her bed would not suffice. She needed something that would tell Thel exactly how much she appreciated him. She flew to her wardrobe and sorted through her dresses until she found one she had not worn in years. It was a silky, silver confection of organza and cream, silk taffeta with white, bobbin lace trim, from the trailing end of her two years in mourning. She placed it on her bed and added a diamond and pearl necklace and her favorite white silk slippers.

She was about to summon her maid when she remembered the chain. Her staff was used to her eccentricities, but there were aspects of her personal life she kept secret. Even a tiny spark of impropriety could be fanned by rumors into a scandal.

She did not need to add any fuel to the inferno already burning around her.

At least she did not have to worry about choosing the stage for their next confrontation. Her invitation to Saffron’s afternoon of music, at home , sat propped against her mirror, having arrived earlier that week.

It had been with tremendous guilt that she had imposed upon her friend the favor of extending additional invitations to Mr. Ringwell and Mr. Dawson. She was not certain either would attend, but she had to try.

Thankfully, both Saffron and her intimidating husband were eager to play a part in revealing Mr. Dawson’s true nature to Constance, and their event was small enough that the Duke and Duchess of Hestia were unlikely to have heard of it.

Thel’s insistence on hiding Constance’s engagement from her grandparents felt like a futile gesture, given how quickly news spread in society, but Constance was not her daughter, and therefore, she bowed to his judgment.

She selected her largest reticule and added the invitation to it, along with a heavy bag of coins. They were the bait for her trap. Her skill at cards was second only to her ability to bluff. She would draw Mr. Dawson and Constance into a game, and when he was giddy with victory, she would pull the rug out from under him.

She had yet to meet a man who could maintain his composure when bested by a woman.

When—not if—Mr. Dawson exploded, Constance would see what lay beneath his charismatic exterior. If that did not shake the foundation of her belief in him, nothing would.

###

Hours later, as she entered Saffron’s home, a shiver went down her back. She was not sure if it was from nerves or anticipation. The chain hung heavily between her breasts, shifting with the smallest movement. It was a manner of play the earl had forced her to engage in. She had hated herself for enjoying it, which was every reason for her to reclaim the pleasure as her own. Thel was not likely to tug painfully on her chain to get her to heel.

She removed her hat and handed it to a footman, then made her way to the receiving room. It was immediately clear that she had arrived too early, as Thel was the only other guest present. He stood next to a trio of musicians positioned in front of the bay windows, wearing a black-and-white checkered frock coat and matching trousers. His black hair was slicked back and even his unruly beard had been groomed into submission.

She watched him discreetly adjust his trousers and wondered if he knew keenly she was aware of the ribbon tied around his cock. He had to feel it, as she felt the chain slinking inside her corset.

He looked at her, and even at such a distance, she could see his harsh exhale. He dropped his gaze to her breasts before jerking his head away and clasping his hands behind his back.

She would not let him surrender so easily.

She flicked open her fan and strolled across the room until she was standing beside him with her wrist positioned directly over her bust.

“Good evening, Lady Allen,” he said. “I am pleased to see you wore my gift.”

She lifted her free hand and touched the back of her ear. “You have discovered my weakness, my lord. I adore beautiful things. I wore the item you returned to me as well.”

He looked at her then, but not at her ears. His gaze skipped to the fan held in her hand. “I look forward to reacquainting myself.”

He lowered his arm in a flash and brushed it against her breast. The unexpected flash of sensation made her gasp. Her nipples prickled and her breasts throbbed.

The cellist drew his bow over his instrument. She tucked her fan into her pocket. “Perhaps you might join me for a dance.”

A dance was perhaps not wise, given the small size and cramped state of the room, but she was certain Saffron would not mind.

“A quadrille?” the cellist asked. “Or a waltz?”

“A waltz,” Thel said. He offered his arm, and she took it, forcing herself to take measured steps despite her impatience. They twirled around the green, leather couch and the dark-walnut table, but she waited until they had to make a tight turn to rub the inside of her thigh against his crotch. A harsh inhalation of breath was her reward, and a tightening of his hand on hers.

He drew her close, dragging his elbow along her chest. The pressure sent shocks of pleasure up to her scalp. She got revenge by swirling her skirt so it brushed against the front of his trousers.

By the time the music had ended, her corset felt too tight, and her face was flushed. She quivered with need and the desire to have his large hands between her thighs. He did not show his discomfort, but she could feel it in the tension in his arm and the increasing speed of his steps.

Unfortunately, they did not have a chance to sneak away, as in the next moment, Constance and Mrs. Quill entered the room.

“There you are,” Thel said. “I thought you had become lost.” He turned to Olivia and added, “I asked Mrs. Quill to join us.”

To discourage Constance from sneaking away , Olivia thought. She couldn’t blame Thel, although Constance’s sour expression suggested she was not happy at being stymied.

“We were speaking with Lady Briarwood,” Mrs. Quill said. “Our hostess had much to say of embroidery techniques that—”

“Lady Allen, have you seen Mr. Ringwell?” Constance interrupted. She looked around the room. “I have yet to see him.”

“What have the two of you done now?” Thel asked.

Constance huffed. “I simply wished to ask him if Ginger had her kittens yet. You must allow me to see them.”

“Only if you promise not to return with pockets full of squirming felines,” he said. “Your grandmother would have a fit.”

Olivia bit back a smile. Mr. Ringwell was clever, using Constance’s love of animals as a lure. Perhaps the boy had finally realized that his history with Constance gave him an advantage.

“While we wait,” Olivia said, “do you fancy a game of reverse?” She waved at a table, where a deck of cards was waiting.

“Excellent idea,” Mr. Dawson said, appearing beside Constance so suddenly that the girl gasped.

“Mr. Dawson,” Mrs. Quill said, her tone icy.

Constance maneuvered closer to Mr. Dawson, then said, in a loud voice, “Oh, I seem to have forgotten my shawl in the carriage. Could you retrieve it for me, Mrs. Quill? I would not want to catch a chill.”

The older woman narrowed her eyes. “I do not remember selecting a shawl.”

“I grabbed one right before we left,” Constance said. Then she stuck out her lower lip. “Please?”

Mrs. Quill glanced at Thel, who nodded.

“Very well,” she said. “I will be back shortly.”

After the woman left, they took their seats around the table and Olivia shuffled the cards. Her heart was beating so rapidly that she nearly dropped them and had to re-shuffle when several cards ended up flipped the wrong way. It had been months since she had exercised her skill.

Her first hand was a mix of low values across all suits, which was perfect for her intentions, as was the glint in Mr. Dawson’s eyes. She hoped his dislike for her would lend authenticity to her loss.

Constance started by throwing down the two of clubs. Thel added the five and Mr. Dawson the eight. Olivia pulled the four of hearts from her hand and placed it on the table.

“Ah, are you sure?” Thel asked.

She gave him her best wide-eyed stare. “Did I do it wrong?”

He scooted his chair closer. “Let me see your hand. Yes, that’s what I thought. The leading suit was clubs, and you have several. You must play one of those.”

“Oh, I see,” she said. She replaced her card on the table with the ten of clubs. “That means I win this one, right?”

“Yes,” Thel said. “There were no hearts in that set, so you’re safe. But since you won, now it’s your turn to start.”

The game continued, with Olivia taking most of the tricks. “Luck is not on my side today,” she said as she pulled the last of the cards toward her.

It was time to prime the trap. She removed the heavy bag of coins from her reticule and thumped it on the table. “Perhaps we could make this more exciting.”

“Yes!” Constance cried. She tugged Mr. Dawson’s arm, and he mumbled his agreement, although there was a tensing of his shoulders that belied his apprehension.

A small kerfuffle followed as they distributed the coins, sorted out the bets, and agreed to set the scores back to zero.

When Mrs. Quill returned, a black shawl draped over her arm, she frowned at the table. “Gambling, my lord?”

“You could join us,” Constance said, accepting her shawl.

The woman politely declined and settled in a nearby chair to watch.

Then Mr. Dawson dealt, and when Olivia saw her hand, she quickly slid three of her coins into the center of the table.

“Confident?” Mr. Dawson said, matching her bid.

She shrugged. “Perhaps.”

Thel and Constance added their bids, and then the game began in earnest.

The amount wagered was only the cost of a new bonnet, but the increasingly stiff way Mr. Dawson laid his cards on the table told her it was more than enough to lure him in.

The game progressed as she’d intended, with Mr. Dawson in the lead until the first heart made its appearance. She grumbled as she drew set after set toward her and when there was only one hand left, she made a show of slapping her king of spades on the table, only to have Mr. Dawson gleefully counter it with the queen of hearts.

She sighed and sank into her seat. “I have a lot to learn, it seems.”

Thel squeezed Olivia’s thigh beneath the table.

“When I win, I will buy myself a set of watercolors,” Constance said as she lost her ace of hearts. “Lady Cowper showed me what one can do with them, and I fancy trying it myself, but they are quite expensive, the good kind from Japan.”

Mr. Dawson appeared too busy dragging the coins toward himself to respond.

“Another game?” Olivia asked.

Mr. Dawson tightened his arms around his winnings. “I… should not. I do not have a good history with gambling.”

Constance turned her large eyes to her betrothed. “Oh, can we please? I only need a bit more to afford the watercolors.”

Mr. Dawson groused but eventually agreed. Sweat beaded on his face as he dealt the cards.

When she picked up her cards, it was to find that fate had smiled upon her again. Mr. Dawson, however, had gone quite pale.

She would not allow him to back down. She carefully stacked ten sovereigns and pushed them forward.

“That’s all I have left,” Constance complained, even as she met the bet.

Thel did the same. Then it was Mr. Dawson’s turn. He moved each of the ten sovereigns one by one until the center of the table was piled with gold.

She allowed him to relax by taking several tricks in a row. Mr. Dawson’s increasing excitement and obvious relief made him seem like he was drunk, although she had not seen him imbibe a single glass since arriving.

When he took his first set of hearts, Mr. Dawson barely reacted. When he took his third, his eyes widened. When they calculated scores, his face went bright red. He removed a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his forehead. “Excellent game, Lady Allen. I underestimated you. Would you grant me a rematch?”

Constance shifted in her seat. “Another?”

“Another,” Olivia said. “For the entire pot.”

Constance gave a dramatic sigh but pushed her scant winnings into the center of the table.

Not wanting to give him the chance to complain, Olivia allowed Mr. Dawson to deal, although Constance gave a huff when her turn was denied.

This time, she did not give Mr. Dawson any time to feel he was in the lead. When the game ended, and she piled her winnings back in her valise, she could practically feel Mr. Dawson vibrating. Even Constance was leaning away from him.

Olivia looked around for Mrs. Quill, but the woman had vanished.

“It’s only a game,” Constance said, her voice tense.

Mr. Dawson stood so quickly that his chair rattled and fell over and made Constance yelp.

“You… You…” He clenched his fists. “You cheated. That is the only explanation. I could not have been bested by a woman.”

“I really wanted those watercolors,” Constance whined.

He whipped around. “Cease your complaining, girl!”

Constance’s eyes filled with tears.

As if realizing he had overstepped, he smoothed the front of his jacket and smiled. “Please forgive me. I am unaccustomed to losing. I will, of course, buy you whatever you desire if it is within my means.”

Olivia was about to throw another verbal barb when Saffron rushed into the room. One sleeve of her gown was askew, and several locks of black hair bobbed around her face.

Olivia stood and met her friend. “What is it?” She had not seen Saffron so upset since the morning of her wedding when she had become so overcome with nerves that she had fainted.

“I could not refuse her,” Saffron said. “You must understand. It would be the height of rudeness. I’ve rearranged the seating for dinner, but I was uncertain if this would disrupt your plans…” She put her hand on her chest. “I am overwrought. A moment, please.”

Olivia waited as her friend regained her composure, while wondering who could have arrived at the party to put Saffron into such a fit. Her friend was the most organized, capable person she had ever met.

Thel sidled closer to them, an act that was not helpful to the still-struggling Saffron. Before Olivia could tell him to back away, Saffron blurted out words that made her go cold.

“The Duchess of Hestia is here.”