Chapter Four

Ophelia sipped her tea, noticing how her hand shook as she returned the cup to its saucer. It was odd to still be this affected by merely being in the presence of a man whom she knew to be the worst sort of blackguard.

Ophelia wavered between being utterly appalled that she saw his handsome face in her dreams, to completely baffled by her reaction to him.

Of course, it stood to reason that the man would be almost obscenely handsome. How else could he have seduced countless young ladies, stealing their virtue and ensuring their lives were ruined?

But she had been taken aback by how his broad shoulders, black-as-jet hair, and piercing blue eyes had shaken her.

The shiver that had run down her spine when he’d smiled had been most inconvenient and frankly irritating.

Ophelia had spent her entire adult life striving to be the opposite of her mother in every conceivable way. Trying not to live off the scraps thrown by rich men. And she tried to steer young, impressionable ladies from her mother’s course of life.

Yet she’d stood there, all aflutter, because of one sinful smile.

It was beyond the pale and something she absolutely would not countenance for herself.

She was better than that.

The only saving grace had been that her worry for Eliza had been so intense, her horror at her reaction to a handsome face so palpable, that she’d done a good job of lashing out and only showing her disgust and annoyance.

Feeling restless, she moved to her modest bookshelf and perused the titles.

Nothing held her attention, however. Nothing appealed. Not even the love poems she pretended to scoff at.

A timid knock sounded on the door of her modest private rooms, and she hurried to open it, glad of the distraction.

Upon opening it, she saw Louisa Fuller standing in a nightrail and robe, wringing her hands and looking as though she were being led to the gallows.

“Miss Fuller.” Ophelia blinked in surprise, concern rising swiftly inside of her.

The girls rarely came to her rooms, and only ever when something was wrong.

“What is it?” she asked.

Louisa’s eyes widened, and she chewed nervously on her lip.

“I-it’s Eliza, Miss Delacourt,” Louisa whispered, and Ophelia’s stomach dropped. “She’s gone again.”

***

It wasn’t lost on Caleb just how unusual his current behaviour was.

Nor was it lost on him that said behaviour was the talk of his household.

For not only had he told Havers not to admit any innocent young misses to tonight’s masque, but he was also currently avoiding his own soiree, holed up in his study instead, like some boring old fogey.

It was all that mysterious cloaked lady’s fault.

Ever since she’d stormed out of his home with her unwilling protégé underarm, Caleb had been strangely preoccupied with thoughts of the shrill woman.

For all he knew, she had a face to match the waspish demeanour. And yet…he was as intrigued by her this evening as he had been yesterday.

Odder still, he’d been thinking about her all day.

That niggling guilt mixed with unexpected amusement. It was most distracting.

When guests had started to arrive, the gentlemen already halfway to being in their cups, the ladies with their dampened skirts and displaying vulgar amounts of cleavage, Caleb had simply turned and walked away.

None of it appealed. None of it inspired anything other than a vague sort of distaste.

Was it possible that he’d outgrown the debauchery?

Both his father and his older brother had lived the lives of rakehells until it had quite literally killed them.

His father’s heart had given out during one of these parties, and his brother had fallen and broken his neck during a drunken horserace only three years ago.

Caleb hadn’t mourned Gerald any more than he’d mourned their father.

The truth was that both were cold, unfeeling bastards who had only been interested in Caleb when he joined in their debauchery.

By the time the mantle of marquess had fallen upon Caleb’s shoulders, it was easier to continue the legacy in the manner of his brother and father.

His mother stayed far enough away from Town that she was able to hide her head in the proverbial sand and pretend to herself that her husband hadn’t moulded both of his sons in his image.

Perhaps if she’d been stronger, more interested in her sons, she’d have been able to keep them from the clutches of their father.

But then, Caleb had never shied away from responsibility for his actions.

He lived this way because he chose it. His mother wasn’t to blame. Maybe even his father wasn’t.

Perhaps, it was in his blood. A predisposition to debauchery.

Not tonight though.

Tonight, he wished he’d never met the people out there. Tonight, he was too preoccupied with thoughts of the sharp-tongued viper who’d been so delightfully disapproving.

A commotion sounded in the hallway, and he frowned, pulled from his thoughts.

This part of the house was off-limits.

He wasn’t exactly prudish, but neither did he want people rutting like pigs all over his house.

These rooms, and the hallway from which the commotion was coming, weren’t for anyone but him.

Caleb shrugged and poured himself another snifter of brandy.

Whomever it was, they’d be given short shrift from Havers. The butler wasn’t exactly orthodox. And he was frightening enough to look at that nobody ever tried to get past him. Even if they did, the ex-sailor was more than capable of doling out sound thrashings.

That was exactly the reason Caleb had hired him.

Havers had saved him from the beating of his life when a card game by the docks had gone south. And he’d refused to take any payment for the action. But Caleb had appreciated the loyalty and the fact that the man was stronger than Samson.

So, when Gerald died and their ancient butler had been sent into retirement, he’d offered Havers the role, somewhat surprised when the older man accepted.

Most servants were born into the role. Especially butlers. But Havers took to it like, well like a seaman to water.

He had no interest in Caleb’s many vices, but he knew how to keep control of the many hairy situations that arose when things inevitably got out of hand.

Or he had, in any case.

Right up to now, apparently.

Caleb was torn between going out there to see what or who was creating the fuss, and just staying here hiding and feeling strangely dissatisfied.

Eyeing the half-drunk bottle of brandy in front of him, he was preparing to ignore it all when a shrill, shocking, and familiar voice rang out in the hallway.

“Unhand me at once, sir. And tell the marquess that I’m not leaving until I see him.”

It couldn’t be.

Inconveniently, Caleb felt the first stirrings of interest and excitement he’d felt since last night.

But there was a healthy dose of irritation in there, too, to keep him sane.

Moving to the door, torn between anticipation and outright bafflement, he twisted the handle and stepped into the hallway.

She wasn’t in a cloak this time.

But her slate-coloured gown was so voluminous that she might as well have been.

At least without the hooded cloak he could see her hair, so black that it looked almost bluish in the flickering candlelight. He imagined it would be quite beautiful if it wasn’t pulled tightly into such a severe knot at the back of her head.

A simple black mask was tied around her face, meaning he could see only a pert nose and a set of delectable lips that he was quite sure were wasted on the shrew currently glaring at him.

He couldn’t see the colour of her eyes beneath the mask. Odds were they were red and shooting daggers.

“My guests aren’t usually allowed into this part of the house,” he said smoothly, moving forward and dismissing Havers with a subtle nod of his head.

The other man bowed slightly and turned back toward the sound of laugher and music.

“But in this case, I have no problem making an exception.”

If he were hoping that his most charming smile would have an impact on the lady, he was sorely disappointed.

“I’m not your guest,” she snapped. “And I’m not interested in your exception. Just hand over the girl, and we’ll be on our way.”

Her words brought Caleb up short. He assumed she meant the blonde-haired chit barely out of the schoolroom. Surely, she couldn’t have lost two people in twenty-four hours.

“Why don’t you come into my study, and I’ll send a footman to retrieve your charge?”

With most of her face hidden, he couldn’t tell what her expression was, but the tilt of her chin told him that this wasn’t a person he’d be able to charm into submission.

Why the hell did that excite him so much?