Regency High Society Vol 7: A Reputable Rake / The Heart's Wager / The Venetian's Mistress / The Gambler's Heart. Diane Gaston
arrived at Almack’s and soon entered the assembly room. Lady Hannah was already there. Her eyes lit up when she saw them approaching her.
But it was not Hannah who was on Sloane’s mind. The band struck up a waltz, and he waited for David to engage Hannah for the set. He scanned the assembly room, finally spying Morgana sitting alone at the room’s edge, a place for spinsters and dowagers.
He made his way to her. ‘May I have the honour of this dance?’
She looked up at him, her eyes as warm and sultry and melancholic as when they had waltzed earlier that day. Without a word she accepted his hand and held his arm as they walked to the dance floor.
Sloane had all he could do to keep from holding her as close as he’d done in their more intimate waltz. That evening Heronvale had called Morgana unconventional. If he only knew how unconventional she could be, willing to dance seductively for the edification of her courtesan students.
Heronvale made it clear he thought Lady Hannah a good choice for Sloane to marry—in spite of her unconventional cousin. Sloane had wrapped himself up so completely in Morgana’s difficulties, he’d hardly given Hannah a thought. The Season was coming to an end. He must surely make his move soon.
How was Sloane to contemplate marriage to Lady Hannah when his senses were consumed with bedding her cousin?
He shook himself. He was thinking like a rake again. The direction of his thoughts needed turning. ‘Why were you seated alone, Morgana?’ he asked instead.
‘Oh,’ she responded vaguely, avoiding looking up at him. ‘I have the headache, I suppose.’
‘Fustian,’ he said.
She did not reply.
‘I insist you tell me.’ He sounded demanding even to his own ears. Like his father.
She gave him a quick but defiant glance.
His tone softened. ‘Forgive me again, Morgana. I am acting the brute. I meant to say, it is not your nature to sit in corners. You typically enjoy whatever tedious entertainment the ton offers.’
‘Do I?’ She met his eye. ‘Or perhaps, like you, I merely pretend to enjoy myself.’
He nodded. ‘Touché.’
She increased the pressure on his hand, very slightly, but he did not miss it. ‘I am quarrelling again,’ she murmured. She wrinkled her forehead as if deep in thought. ‘I confess I do not find Almack’s to be the seventh heaven of the fashionable world. True, the intrigue of who dances with whom, which gentleman favours which young lady, who will next receive an offer of marriage, is all very interesting. And it does provide me an opportunity to dance.’
He pulled her in an infinitesimal bit closer. ‘You sound as if you are trying to convince yourself to enjoy it.’
She gave him a frank expression. ‘I suppose I am.’
They twirled around the floor, brushing near Hannah and David who were smiling and laughing together.
Morgana inclined her head in their direction. ‘Hannah enjoys your nephew’s company, I believe.’
He glanced back at the young couple. ‘I believe she does.’
They circled half the floor, Sloane enjoying how she moved with him, the scent of her hair, the curve of her cheek. He wondered if he could get Hannah to invite him in the Cowdlin carriage again, if he could walk Morgana to the door and taste her lips again.
‘Does it bother you?’ Morgana broke his reverie.
‘Does what bother me?’
‘Hannah and your nephew.’
He had forgotten them. Besides, he disliked discussing Hannah with Morgana, especially when he was fantasising about seducing her. ‘Should it?’
Her brows rose in response.
Sloane frowned. Hannah and David swept into view again. He need not concern himself with David’s interest in Hannah. His nephew had explained how it was, but Sloane was reminded he must make his offer to Hannah soon. Lord Cowdlin might become desperate enough to select a suitor of smaller fortune, unlikely as that was.
A sick feeling settled in the pit of his stomach.
‘Will you offer for her?’ Morgana asked, as if reading his thoughts.
Her words were like a knife slicing into him. He wanted to offer for Lady Hannah, did he not? Why not simply tell Morgana he intended to do so?
He felt his face harden to stone. ‘A gentleman would first inform the lady in question, not her cousin.’
She flinched as if a blow had been struck, and again Sloane regretted his churlish words.
The music stopped. The set was over. Morgana stepped out of his arms. He reached out to gather her back, to apologise again, but Hannah and David rushed to their side.
‘Everyone is planning an evening at Vauxhall tomorrow,’ Hannah said breathlessly. ‘Does that not sound marvellous?’
He rose and his smile was all for Hannah. Morgana could not bear it.
‘Marvellous indeed,’ he said in an amused tone.
Hannah clutched his arm. ‘We shall include Athenia, my brother Varney… well, everyone! Say you will go to Vauxhall, Mr Sloane?’
‘I shall consider it,’ he said, prevaricating, and wishing he could speak to Morgana alone.
Hannah pursed her lips like a petulant child. ‘You must say yes.’ She tossed him a pert smile. ‘Athenia’s parents will come so Mama and Papa will have company. They will pay little mind to me!’ She fluttered her eyelashes at him. ‘Say you will come with us, Mr Sloane.’
‘Very well.’ Anything to be rid of her.
‘Will you act the host, Mr Sloane?’ Hannah persisted.
This was an impertinence. If he had offered for her, she might have a right to ask. Sloane disliked being forced to be the gentleman.
‘If your father permits,’ he said tightly.
His tone went completely over Hannah’s head. She clasped her hands together happily. ‘That is splendid!’
Somewhat belatedly, she seemed to notice Morgana standing next to him. She touched Morgana’s arm. ‘You must come as well, Morgana. I insist upon it.’
Morgana gave her a pasty smile, which Hannah must have taken for assent. Hannah turned away from her cousin and back to Sloane, begging him to lead her out in the next dance. Again Hannah had trapped him.
He acquiesced politely, but when he turned to Morgana, she was walking away. She did not look back at him.
Chapter Eleven
Mrs Rice sat in the room behind her glove shop, sipping a glass of claret and mentally calculating the amount of money she could wring from her girls this night.
She frowned. She’d recruited one new girl, who was almost useless. Fit for nothing but streetwalking. Without Katy and Mary business had definitely slowed. Profits were down. At this rate, she might make more blunt with gloves than with harlots.
Trigg, the procurer who had let the maid slip through his hands, entered, wearing a smug look on his face.
‘I hope this means you have girls for me,’ Mrs Rice muttered.
‘I have information.’ He sauntered over to her table and leaned in close. She detested the odour of the man.
‘Well, what is it?’ She would love to get rid of Trigg, who was a bit too clever for her to control completely.