Verity sighed. “Eliza is the one who arranges—and sometimes performs—the music for our events,” Verity explained. “One must always have good music, don’t you agree, Mr. Wolfford?”

  He smiled. “Of course, since ‘music has charms to soothe the savage breast.’”

  Eliza blinked. “You read Congreve, sir?”

  “Doesn’t everyone?”

  “Not everyone we meet,” Verity said. And certainly, no officer she’d ever met, despite their gentlemanly education.

  “I spent a great deal of my childhood alone,” he said. “And my uncle had an extensive library. I read as many of his books as I could manage.”

  “As it happens,” Eliza remarked, “we have books in our auction, too, some of them very old and valuable.”

  “I don’t care about the value of a book,” he said, “just the content.”

  “Easy not to care when you can afford any book you want,” Verity muttered.

  “Verity, don’t be rude,” her sister chided her. “Mr. Wolfford was just stating his opinion.”

  “Yes, Lady Verity,” he said, humor glinting in his gaze. “My true opinion.”

  Was he laughing at her?

  “Besides,” he went on, “I thought having a fortune was preferred by women seeking suitors.”

  Definitely laughing.

  She tipped up her chin. “Yes, all other things being equal—age, character, general amiability . . . honesty.” Then realizing that neither he nor Eliza seemed to realize why she sounded so sour, she added, “Forgive me, I’m always a bit . . . testy on our auction nights. I want everything to go well.”

  Eliza patted her arm. “And it will, my dear. It always does.”

  “I’ll do my best to help,” he said.

  Still laughing at her.

  He had to be the Phantom. He just had to. He had a certain understated arrogance she found most annoying. And his eyes were too pretty a silvery gray.

  Oh, her sisters would laugh uproariously at that observation.

  Perhaps you just want the handsome, witty fellow to be the Phantom to justify spending more time with him.

  Perhaps. Given the dearth of interesting men in Society, that would hardly be surprising.

  He looked down at the nearest table, which held an elaborate place setting, then read the long description on the placard beside it. “I see that Elegant Occasions donated an item to the auction, too.”

  Lifting his gaze to them, he added, “That reminds me of something I wanted to ask. How did you three end up running your business? Sir Lucius told me you’re earl’s daughters. I may not have been in Society very long, but even I know it’s frowned upon for a gentleman’s daughters to be in trade.”

  “Sir Lucius didn’t tell you of our parents’ scandalous divorce?” Eliza asked. “I thought everyone talked about that.”

  Verity fought a burst of temper. Why had Eliza mentioned that to him, of all people? “It’s been six years, Eliza. Surely the gossip has died down some by now.”

  Eliza chuckled. “A tiny bit, I suppose. But I’m sure he will hear about it somewhere eventually. Might as well tell him ourselves. That way he’ll get the truthful version. But I’ll keep it short.”

  She turned to Mr. Wolfford. “First, our mother ran off with her prominent lover, a major general in the army. Then our father divorced her publicly, and my two sisters, who weren’t yet married, were considered pariahs as a result, through no fault of their own. We call it, ‘The Incident. ’”

  “Quite an understatement,” he drawled.

  “I can’t imagine why you’d think so,” Verity said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

  Eliza’s gaze darted between them. “Anyway, my husband at the time ran off to fight in the war, leaving me alone in a London town house. So, when someone asked our help with arranging a ball and offered to pay us, it seemed a good idea for us to combine forces and set up a business.”

  “To be honest,” Verity said, “we were tired of being gossiped about for what we had not done and decided to do something that would get us gossiped about for what we had always done but not been paid for.”

  “Especially since we were good at it,” Eliza said. “After my husband was killed in the war, leaving me with nothing, we all needed the money, anyway, and it allowed us to support ourselves without relying on our unreliable parents.”

  “I see,” he said in a bland tone that belied the interest in his eyes. “And now you’re so successful that you can give some of that money to charity.”

  “Exactly,” Verity said. “Now that our services are valued, people even bid on them.”

  He glanced back at the placard that described their bid. “What exactly does it mean that the winner of this gets a costly dinner prepared to your ‘meticulous specifications’ by Monsieur Beaufort, Head Cook for Elegant Occasions? Is he preparing the meal, Lady Verity, or are you?”

  “I decide the menu after speaking to the winner and determining what their ideal meal might be.”

  He lifted one supercilious brow. “Couldn’t they just tell the head cook what meal they want?”

  “They could. Or they could tell me their favorite dishes and let me figure out what they truly crave.”

  “You’re claiming to be able to read a person’s thoughts,” he said skeptically.

  Eliza smiled. “She can do it, believe it or not.”

  “Don’t be absurd, Eliza. I can’t ‘read a person’s thoughts.’” She stared him down. “But I do have a particular skill at knowing how to arrange ambrosia for people who don’t even know what sort of ambrosia they desire.”

  He dropped his gaze ever so fleetingly to her mouth. “Guessing what another person desires. That would be a neat trick indeed.”

  “It’s not a guess. It’s more of a . . . speculation, if you will, based on questions I ask.” She flashed him a coy look. Or what she hoped was a coy look, since she was woefully out of practice at such things. “And if you wish to watch me succeed at it, sir, you should bid on the item later.”

  “I assure you,” Eliza put in, “Verity’s meals are sought after at these affairs. She really does know how to figure out a person’s tastes and then translate that into dishes that Monsieur Beaufort can prepare impeccably.”

  A half smile crossed his lips. “Ah. You’ve both baited the hook well, I see. Perhaps I will bid on that, if only to see how Lady Verity pulls it off.”

  Verity nodded. “Please do. We hope to make a great deal of money at this auction.” And in the meantime, she might corner her Phantom at last.

  At that moment, the bandleader came over to murmur in Eliza’s ear, and with apologies to them both, her sister hurried off with him, no doubt to deal with one of those musical emergencies that came up from time to time at events.

  Verity was on the verge of making another teasing remark when she caught sight of a gentleman entering the room whom she did not wish to encounter. The very fellow who’d once broken her silly, girlish heart—Lord Silas Minton.

  What the devil was he doing here? He’d spent the past years avoiding her and her family, and now he showed up at one of their affairs? How dare he?

  Well, she wasn’t staying around to find out why. If the scoundrel so much as tried to speak to her, she was liable to brain him with the nearest ice bucket. Better to prevent that from happening.

  So, determining whether Mr. Wolfford was the Phantom would have to wait.

  Chapter 3

  Rafe couldn’t help noticing Lady Verity’s stricken expression. He followed the direction of her gaze and stifled a groan. Minton. And Rafe had to pretend not to know the fellow, or have her wonder how he could have met the baron when Rafe had only been in town a week.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked.

  Her gaze flew to him, overly bright. “Forgive me, but I-I need to go. It’s stuffy in here, and far too warm.”

  She started for the French doors that led out onto the terrace, and he followed swiftly. “That’s an excellent idea. Do you mind if I join you? I could use some fresh air myself.”

  That seemed to startle her. Then she nodded. “Why not? The gardens are lovely right now with the lamps lit.”

  “No doubt.” Rafe offered her his arm, relieved when she took it. It showed that she trusted him.

  It showed she hadn’t recognized him.

  He hadn’t expected her to, since he’d never before been close enough for her to register his features and had always been disguised, besides. But for a moment there, when she’d mentioned Jacks in the Green . . .

  No, that was purely coincidental. She’d also let him lead her into the subject of the Grenwood’s new seaside house, and surely if she had suspected he might be angling for an invitation to their house party, she wouldn’t have done so.

  As they reached the doors, he stepped forward to open them for her, and she breathed in deeply of the air before passing through. In that moment, he was given a nice view of the rise and fall of her breasts. It caught his attention the same way her playful teasing and searching glances had.

  She might not be as buxom as her sisters, but she had a damned pretty bosom all the same, especially in a gown that showed it to good effect—cut low and tight enough to tempt a man’s gaze downward. One might even call her gown daring, intended purely to attract attention from men.

  Damn it all. He jerked his gaze away as an unfamiliar emotion assailed him. Guilt.

  That was the trouble with spying on one’s own countrymen. Because a true gentleman didn’t do so. A true gentleman certainly didn’t deceive a woman or take advantage of her trust.

  Or lust after her bosom.

  He forced himself to ignore the guilt. He’d never been a true gentleman, so it hardly signified. His uncle had raised him to be a soldier, and he was always that above all. Whether people called him Mr. Wolfford or heir presumptive to Viscount Wolfford, in his heart he was Colonel Wolfford on a mission, nothing more, nothing less.

  Clearly distracted, she didn’t take his arm a second time, and he rather regretted that. He liked the feel of her hand on his arm. It was . . . different.

  “Better now?” he asked as they walked in the night air.

  “Hmm?” she said, darting a quick glance behind them, no doubt looking for Minton. “Oh. Yes.” She relaxed a fraction. “Much better, don’t you think? August in the city is always so soggy.”

  “I wouldn’t know. I’ve only been here a week.” Saying it helped to remind him of his plan. Of the lies he had to tell to support his story. And to allay her suspicions, if she had any.

  Uncle Constantine’s voice sounded in his head. When playing a role, always stay as close to the facts as possible. Remembering lies is harder than remembering the truth. But don’t give too many details. Keep things vague, unverifiable.

  Easier said than done.

  She gazed up at him, her eyes gleaming with interest in the lamps of the lit terrace. “You were never in the city before you became an officer?”

  “I might have been, briefly. I don’t remember.” Now, that was true. When she looked surprised, he added, “I was sixteen when I joined the army.” Also true.

  “So young?”

  The thread of sympathy in her voice discomfited him. But at least he’d taken her attention off Minton.

  Rafe shrugged. “For an orphan like me, it made sense.”

  “How old were you when your parents died?”

  “Only a baby, actually. They were in a carriage accident while traveling abroad. I was somehow spared, along with the coachman. He wrote to my uncle, who went to South America to fetch me to England.”

  “Thank heaven or who knows where you would have ended up?”

  Who knows, indeed? Rafe never had, since Uncle Constantine had always been vague on the subject of his parents’ deaths and how Rafe had survived. All he knew was his father had been a mapmaker and thus had gone to Brazil to map part of it. There he’d met the woman he married, a Brazilian merchant’s daughter named Julieta. Rafe didn’t even know his mother’s maiden name or where she’d been living in Brazil when she’d met his father.

  Indeed, it had begun to occur to him that perhaps his uncle’s reticence was by design. Rafe hadn’t been able to discover much about his parents since his return to England, no matter how much he’d investigated. That struck him as odd.

  Then again, perhaps their having spent their lives traveling had made it impossible for his uncle to learn anything without retracing his brother’s steps in Brazil to find Julieta’s family. That would have been difficult in his uncle’s situation. He’d been serving in the army half a world away when he’d left to fetch Rafe. He’d been understandably less concerned with investigating his brother’s wife than with carrying his nephew to England, where Rafe could be looked after.

  But recently, Rafe had begun to question the story more, particularly after his own time on the Peninsula. There were inconsistencies he couldn’t ignore. They could be explained away, but still . . .

  “So,” she asked as he took her down some steps into the gardens, “your uncle raised you?”

  “Not exactly. Being an active army officer with no wife, he had the servants at his Wiltshire estate look after me. Later, I had tutors, and—once old enough to join Uncle—a commission as his aide-de-camp. I served under him until he retired after being wounded at the Battle of Alexandria. Then I was a Hussar in the King’s German Legion before finally serving under Wellington on the Peninsula. I’ve been in the army half of my life.”

  “Good Lord. That’s . . . The army takes boys that young?”

  “I was lucky. If I’d joined the navy, I would have been younger still.”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. We don’t have brothers, and all the officers I’ve met are older.”

  “It’s not so bad, you know, being in the army young. It makes a man out of you right quick.”

  “Whether you want to be one or not, apparently.” She gazed up at him, a trace of pity in her face. “Did you even wish to go into the army?”

  No one had ever asked him that, not even his uncle. Her doing so made him oddly uncomfortable. And defensive. “I got to see the world, didn’t I? Besides, I preferred being with my uncle—the closest thing I had to a father—to reading all the time or roaming an estate with no one but a few servants around, and certainly no one my age.”

  “It sounds lonely.”

  The soft timbre of her voice didn’t sit well. “A bit, I suppose.” Eager to change the subject, he smiled at her. “Of course, if I’d had someone as lovely as you to keep me company—”

  Her startled laugh caught him off guard. “If you insist upon being a flatterer, sir, you should at least learn to vary your compliments.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked warily.

  “You’ve called me ‘lovely’ twice already. I assure you, once per evening is quite enough. But feel free to call me ‘clever’ frequently. I do so like that particular compliment.”

  Damn. Who knew that turning a woman up sweet had rules? “I’m afraid I’m not used to being around lovely . . . clever women. It turns me into a babbler.”

  She raised an eyebrow, even as a teasing smile lit her face. “I somehow doubt that. I’ll wager you’ve never said a word wrong in your whole life, to a woman or anyone else.”

  “You’d lose that wager. My tutors regularly rapped my knuckles for saying words wrong.”

  She chuckled. “So did my governess. Not that it helped. I tend to speak my mind regardless.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  Her expression turned belligerent. “You disapprove?”

  “Not at all. I prefer a blunt woman to a devious one any day.”

  “Funny,” she shot back. “I feel the same about men.”

  Hmm. “So, if I were to tell you that your pearl bandeau is hanging loose, you would be grateful, not embarrassed?”

  Her mouth dropped open, and her hand went right to her bandeau. When she found it intact, she said acidly, “If you’d been truthful, I’d be grateful. As it is, I’m merely annoyed. I do hope you don’t mean to make a habit of speaking falsely of a lady’s coiffure.”

  He laughed. Then hearing a crunch of gravel on the path behind them, probably someone else seeking cooler air, he lowered his voice. “It depends on whether you’ll make a habit of accepting my visits.”

  He congratulated himself on having caught her off guard, for she halted on the path to flash him a considering look. “I’m not yet sure, sir. Let’s see how the evening goes.”

  “I’m amenable to that, if it means spending more time in your company.”

  The footfalls had halted on the path, and he looked back to find Lord Minton frozen, his gaze fixed on the two of them.

  Hell and thunder. Well, there was one good way to determine whether she still had feelings for the man. “You there,” he said as Minton started to turn. “Are you following us? Listening in on our conversation?”

  Lady Verity looked back and groaned audibly. “Pay him no mind,” she muttered, though her eyes flashed at Minton.

  Minton drew himself up in an offended stance. “I am merely making sure that the lady isn’t being taken advantage of by some scoundrel new to Society.”

  “As if you care,” Lady Verity bit out. “And this is no scoundrel, Lord Minton. This is Colonel Wolfford of the Wiltshire Wolffords. He also just happens to be the Viscount of Wolfford’s heir.”

  When Minton looked taken aback, Rafe said, “So, you know this fellow, my lady?”

  “I did. Once.” She stared Minton down. “But it has been some years since I’ve had the misfortune to encounter him.”

  Rafe couldn’t help but take an inordinate pleasure in her haughtiness toward the baron.

  “I just want to talk to you, Verity,” Minton said. “That’s all. A moment of your time.” He glared at Rafe. “In private.”

  For some reason, those words raised Rafe’s hackles. Knowing that Minton had rejected her in the past, Rafe wasn’t inclined to be tolerant. “First of all, sir, it’s Lady Verity. And I don’t think she wishes to talk to you.”

  “I can speak for myself,” Verity said, though she edged closer to Rafe. “But Mr. Wolfford is right. You are the last person in the world I wish to bestow a moment of my time upon. You said quite enough to me six years ago, Lord Minton.”

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31