Valiant (Gentlemen of the Order #3) - Adele Clee Page 0,44
Lord the same didn’t apply to Evan. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could resist Miss Hart’s charms.
“Morris agreed to accompany him should he get into any difficulty, sir.”
Evan nodded. “Did Daventry send the invitations?” Having discovered evidence of Lord Newberry’s wicked misdeeds, Daventry often bribed the peer to do his bidding.
“Morris has them, sir. And Miss Hart’s mask is in a box in the carriage.”
Hmm. The mask might hold a clue to her costume. But Evan didn’t long to peer inside the box the way he longed to peer inside Vivienne’s cloak. The mere thought of the woman made him hard of late. Indeed, he was rather glad he wore a knee-length frock coat, else the thirty-minute drive to town would be embarrassing with a cockstand.
Lord Newberry knew how to host a lavish party. Carriages barged and jostled their way for a coveted place in a queue that stretched around Cavendish Square and as far as Henrietta Street. Doors opened and slammed as impatient guests, dressed in elaborate costumes, took to parading through the streets. A Turkish prince, a Greek goddess, and a monk passed the carriage window.
“Come, we should follow the crowd,” Evan said, eager for Miss Hart’s uncloaking. “The sooner we accomplish our task tonight, the sooner we can go home.” And amongst other reasons for spending time alone together, they had the problem of Mr Wicks’ involvement to address.
Miss Hart pulled her cloak tighter across her lap, though he glimpsed a cerulean blue skirt. “So, our first task this evening is to find the countess and inform her of our betrothal. Are you sure that’s wise?”
“We need to dangle the bait if we’re to separate the guilty from the innocent. We’re going to tell her we’ve been secretly meeting for months and have fallen in love. That I’ve secured a special licence and we will marry within the week.”
Daventry had sent his man to watch Miss Hart’s house in Silver Street. Both the countess and Mr Ramsey had called. Both had resorted to hammering the knocker, banging the window and rattling the sash. Both had questioned the widow living next door. Neither had appeared at Bow Street fraught with worry, keen to report her missing. Neither had visited the lawyer’s office in Long Lane.
“She won’t approve.”
“You’re of age. You don’t need her permission or her approval.”
“She will insist I return home until after the wedding.” The anxious hitch in her voice was unmistakable. “I cannot tell her I am staying at Keel Hall.”
“No.” Evan didn’t give a damn what the countess thought, but it took one malicious whisper to ruin a lady’s reputation, to ruin it for good. “We will say you’re staying with Ashwood. She cannot complain if you’re a guest of Lord and Lady Hawkridge.”
And considering Ashwood and his wife had agreed to attend the ball and play chaperone, it sounded plausible.
Miss Hart winced. “But she will be hurt, hurt I’ve not confided in her.”
“Whatever happens, you cannot mention the contract.” Did the countess know about the pact made between two privateers? Did she know about the cache of pirate gold? Either way, Evan’s task was to protect Vivienne Hart, and the less anyone knew of the hidden treasure, the better. “We’re in love. That’s all she needs to know.”
Her gaze drifted over his face, curious yet caressing. “I know how it feels to be in lust, Mr Sloane, no notion what it feels like to be in love.”
He knew next to little of the emotion. Nothing of paternal love, or the deep, abiding attachment shared by lovers. Nothing but what he’d read in poems. Nothing but the brotherly bond he shared with his colleagues.
“We will muddle through somehow.”
A sudden knock on the carriage window had Evan reaching for the blade hidden in his boot, but it was Ashwood who yanked open the door.
“You’ll not find the masked rider while cooped in a carriage.” Ashwood was dressed in a black domino, while his wife Eva clutched a crook and wore the garb of a shepherdess.
“It’s a masquerade, Ashwood, could you not be a little more inventive with your costume?”
“Says the man dressed as a pirate.” Ashwood doffed his tricorn. “It’s the best I could do at short notice, though at least we have matching hats.” His gaze drifted to Miss Hart, and he offered a warm greeting. “I’m one of the best enquiry agents in London, Miss Hart, though I am at a loss to put a name to your costume.”