longer, Miss Blair. No, no time for tea. Not for me. Do tell Lady Beatrice I hope she is up and about soon. And I will give thought to those apricot tarts. Give my regards to Lady Heathecoute.”
Chandler continued talking nonsense for the benefit of Glenda, standing on the opposite side of the door, but Millicent ceased to hear. What was she going to do? She had no will when it came to Lord Dunraven.
He was charming and devilish and his kisses made her forget sound reasoning, made her forget what had happened to her mother. He was bad for her, but he made her feel good.
She walked back over to the window and looked out. Would this alliance with Chandler end up making her one of London’s biggest scandals?
Thirteen
“Men at some time are masters of their fates,” and so it is with Lord Dunraven. Convinced that it was no ghost that stole the family raven, he has solicited the help of a private source, which he refuses to disclose.
—Lord Truefitt, Society’s Daily Column
Chandler Prestwick, earl of Dunraven, sat alone in a secluded corner of one of the four private gentlemen’s clubs in London that he belonged to, sipping a glass of claret. He had chosen this club because it was the smallest and he was less likely to be bothered by anyone wanting to claim his attention.
He’d spent some time at the gaming and billiards tables, but it didn’t take him long to realize he wasn’t in the mood for the games. He was too distracted by thoughts of Millicent Blair.
He had dressed for the evening as was usual in one of his dinner coats and brocade waistcoat. He’d even taken time to be a bit fancy with the tying of his neckcloth. He’d fully intended to show up at the three parties he’d selected to attend for the evening and had gone so far as to have his driver stop the coach at the first house. But he didn’t get out. Instead, he’d told his driver to bring him to this club.
Chandler was in a quandary. For the first time in his life he was smitten by a young lady. Truly smitten, and it was a difficult thing to come to terms with—for more than one reason.
He’d actually expected it to happen one day. He wanted it to happen. He was ready for it to happen, but he never dreamed he’d be charmed by a writer of tittle-tattle. One who spied on his friends.
If it wasn’t so outrageous, it would be laughable. He who had always hated the faceless people who wrote the scandal sheets now found himself captivated by one who helped gather the information and write what was written in them.
His infatuation with her was madness.
Perhaps it served him right after all the hearts he’d broken over the years, he quarreled with himself. He supposed he had left many a young lady thinking he would make an offer for her hand only to never call on her again. But still it stunned him that he’d been thunderstruck by a poor, young lady who made her living selling gossip to the highest bidder. It was absurd, downright absurd.
He wasn’t fooling himself about Millicent for a moment, but hopefully he was fooling her. He hadn’t agreed not to expose her to Society because he thought she could help him find the Mad Ton Thief. That was balderdash, merely a ruse to satisfy her. He agreed because it gave him a reason to continue seeing her. And that in itself was ludicrous, too.
What could be the possible gain for him in continuing to pursue her? She wasn’t a suitable wife for him. At the very least he needed to marry the daughter of a baron or a viscount, though an offspring of an earl or duke would be better. He only knew he had not had his fill of Millicent.
Not nearly enough.
“What’s this? You’re drinking without me?”
Chandler took in a deep breath and looked up from the glass of claret he was staring at to the face of John Wickenham-Thickenham-Fines. Damnation. He’d come to this club, one he seldom frequented, because he’d wanted to be alone. How in the devil had Fines found him?
“Oh, is that what I’m doing here? Clever of you to figure it out.”
Fines shrugged his shoulders indolently. “That’s a rather rude greeting for your best friend. How deep are you into your cups, Dunraven?”
“Deep enough that I’m not going to be coming out of them