Page 5 of Weave me a Rope
“My first errand is done, Miss Milton,” he said, “for I can see you are well after yesterday evening. As for the second…” he offered one of the bouquets. Pink and white roses, which the flower seller assured him meant friendship and innocence. He offered the other identical bouquet to Mrs. Walters, who accepted it with a blush and gushing thanks.
“Do you know these other gentlemen, Lord Spenhurst?” Miss Milton asked.
What was Miss Milton’s aunt thinking, allowing such hawks and wolves into the house? Not that he could see Miss Milton as a lamb, but the competence he had already observed would be no protection against the experience these men—gentlemen only by birth—brought to the hunt.
The Duke of Richport could be up to no good, nor the Marquis of Aldridge, who had been a contemporary of Spen’s at Oxford and was a womanizer from his cradle. Neither man would consider taking a common-born bride, so what were they doing here? Aldridge was not known as a seducer of innocents, but the same could not be said of Richport.
Three others of the most notable rakes of the ton were also here, along with a coterie of fortune hunters whom he either knew or had heard about. One of them was Stanley Wharton, brother of the infamous Miss Wharton.
Spen had intended to leave after presenting the flowers, but his feet would not take him. He could not leave Miss Milton in such company. Not because of the fierce proprietary need to protect surging within, but because it would not be the act of a gentleman.
Five minutes’ observation, though, showed her holding her own. She dismissed a particularly florid compliment by providing two facts that made it ineligible. She held up a hand to stop a slyly erotic comment. “I do not understand what you said, Your Grace, but I suspect it was not suitable for my ears. Please do not make such remarks in my presence.”
With courtesy, intelligence, and firmness, she controlled the room. What a magnificent marchioness she would make. Such a pity she was ineligible.
After a while, Aldridge took a seat next to him. “What are you doing here, Spen?” he asked. “You are not pockets to let, and your father would no more tolerate such a connection than mine.”
“I could ask you the same question,” Spen pointed out.
“I’m watching Death and the others,” Aldridge replied. “Death” was the Duke of Richport. His baptismal name was pronounced to rhyme withteeth, but he had long since adopted the more macabre sound for his nickname. “There’s a bet on in the clubs,” Aldridge explained, “about who’ll be the first to seduce the girl, and most of them are not concerned about lying to get what they want. I’m keeping an eye on them to make sure she knows that, to them, it is no more than a game.”
Spen was surprised and must have let it show. However, it must be true. The man, for all of his tomcat morals, pridedhimself on always telling the truth and never breaking a promise.
“What?” Aldridge said. “I am not allowed to show concern for an innocent? For she is an innocent, though a bold one. The aunt is no protection at all. I have sisters, and I dread to think of them on the marriage mart, but few people would risk annoying either me or my mother.” His mother was raising three girls whom she called her wards, but the whole world knew they were her husband’s get. Aldridge was right. Many of the men of Society would think the circumstances of their birth made them fair game.
Aldridge continued, “Women like a bit of sport as much as men, though most would deny it. And I am, as you are too polite to say, happy to take advantage of that fact. But if it is marriage she is after, she won’t find it with any of my crowd, and she needs someone to tell her.”
“As for the rest of her callers,” the young marquis said, “they are a sorry lot of gamblers and drinkers. Except for you, Spen, which brings me back to my question. What are you doing here?”
“Delivering flowers,” Spen told him. “After being introduced yesterday at my Aunt Corven’s ball.”
Aldridge studied him with narrowed eyes. “Not by Lady Corven. She is higher in the instep than my father at his grandest. Well, keep your secrets. In fact, if you are in the lady’s confidence, tell her what I just told you. Forewarned is forearmed.”
Spen wasn’t in the lady’s confidence, of course. But more and more, he would like to be, and he certainly did not want to see her ruined by Death or his ilk.
*
The usual ordealof callers was lightened today by the presence of Lord Spenhurst, though Cordelia could not imagine what he meant by coming here. The rest she could account for. She had an obscenely large dowry and was therefore a magnet for fortune hunters. She was also well aware of the wager in the betting books at the clubs—little escaped her uncle’s eye, and he had informed her as soon as he knew. Ignorance, in her uncle’s words, was risk.
“Go nowhere without your aunt,” he instructed her, “and give these rats no encouragement. Trust me to deal with the bets.” More than that, he would not say, but Cordelia knew his methods. Undoubtedly, he was finding the weak points of each person in on the wager and was then applying pressure to that point. Already, three of the would-be seducers had dropped out of the race.
Meanwhile, she could be certain of a few dance partners at each ball. And if they were after her virtue, it made a nice change from those who were after her dowry. After all, what could they do in plain sight of an entire ballroom of people?
Nonetheless, she found them nearly as boring as the fortune hunters. Lord Spenhurst made a nice change, for his father was one of the richest men in England and she had never heard that Lord Spenhurst was a rake nor had Aunt Eliza. Mind you, he appeared very comfortable talking to Lord Aldridge, and that man was definitely a rake.
Or so rumor had it. Lord Aldridge did not whisper wicked things in her ear or suggest she might step into the garden with him or propose clandestine meetings in the park or any of the other things the others in his crowd did. Especially His Grace the Duke of Richport.
His Disgrace, the man should be called. She might have been charmed by some of the others without her uncle’s warning, but the duke made little effort to endear himself to her. Indeed, heseemed to consider his rank sufficient incentive for her to throw away the training of a lifetime, her sense of modesty, any hope of being a wife and mother, her pride, and her purity. No. Not just for his rank. He offered, as he had told her during a dance one evening, “…to bring you to the heights of erotic pleasure, Miss Milton, for there is none more experienced and more skillful than I in inducting a virgin into carnal activities.”
She should have pretended she had no idea what he was talking about. The lady her uncle had found to explain such matters to her had assured her such knowledge was kept secret from ladies of her age, and she must pretend ignorance. Cordelia scorned to dissemble with this oaf. “I will wait for my husband to do so, Your Grace,” she had replied, “and he and I shall, I hope, discover such skills together. Certainly, I shall never know the difference, since I plan to go to the marriage bed a maid.”
He had been amused. “We shall see, Miss Milton.” His fingers slid over her own, his thumb stroking her palm, even as he swept her into the turn demanded by the dance. “I enjoy a challenge.”
If only it was ladylike to slap a man’s face when he insulted her. Or, better still, if Cordelia had a way to place a bet against each of her persecutors, and collect when they lost, as they inevitably would.
Almost inevitably. She would not put it past some of them, including the duke, to resort to foul play, though they would find it difficult to carry out a plot against her. She went everywhere accompanied by Aunt Eliza and protected by stout footmen and a maid. Her servants were armed and trained in combat. Cordelia herself carried both a knife and a gun and knew how to use them.
Yes, they would lose. But was Lord Spenhurst one of them? Or not?
