Regency High Society Vol 7: A Reputable Rake / The Heart's Wager / The Venetian's Mistress / The Gambler's Heart. Diane Gaston
He glowered at her. ‘It means that your activities are in imminent danger of being revealed—’
‘And my reputation ruined?’ she finished for him. ‘Did I not tell you, Sloane, that I do not care?’
This was a lie. Her ruin and banishment from a society that heretofore had only grudgingly accepted her truly terrified her. Her father would disown her. How could he do otherwise when her shame might reflect on his new wife? The part of her fortune her father did not control was modest. What would happen to her?
She almost laughed. She knew too well what happened to young women with no money and no friends.
‘I care,’ he shouted. ‘I told you from the beginning I would not allow you to bring me down with you. Not after I have worked so hard to earn my good name. I’ll be damned if I allow you to ruin it.’
She crossed her arms over her chest. ‘Then you must prevent my discovery, must you not?’
He swung away and paced in front of her. ‘It is not only that, Morgana. This is a dangerous business. Deadly dangerous… Your altercation in the park was nothing compared to what could happen. That glove-shop proprietor is nipping at your heels, and, believe me, she will not stop until she is revenged upon you.’
Morgana’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘How do you know this?’
He stopped pacing but did not answer right away. He finally turned to her and the look on his face made her shiver. ‘I have my means.’
They stood no more than three feet from each other, staring like two cats daring the other to pounce. The pause merely reminded Morgana of the weight of the responsibility she carried on her shoulders. She ought to have figured out another way to help the girls. She ought to have protected them all instead of bringing danger and ruin.
But she must not weaken now. She straightened her spine and gave Sloane a steady look. ‘I will see this through to the end, Sloane. I have no other choice.’
His angry expression changed to one more vulnerable, until he covered that over with no expression at all. It was like a cleaver chopping her in two. To save the girls she risked ruining him. And he had wanted nothing more than a good name.
He gave her a curt nod and, without another word, turned away from her and walked out the door.
Morgana dropped her face into her hands, giving in to the grief of knowing how she had wounded him. She could no longer pretend she did not love him. Even if she did not count the physical desires he aroused in her, she loved the man. Loved his strength. Loved the rakish side of him that mocked the very world for which he pined. She could weep for the pain of his family’s rejection and for his longing for friends such as the Marquess of Heronvale. She knew that sort of loneliness.
The agony was, she had put all he desired at risk. His association with her, the mere fact of living next to her, would most probably be his ruin.
Laughter came from the drawing room. She raised her head and squared her shoulders. She must make certain her plans succeeded, no matter how abhorrent they had become to her. She must successfully launch her girls into the world of the demi-rep and hope that they found protectors and ultimate wealth. She would lose them, too, as she’d lost Sloane.
Morgana set her chin. She still must deal with Harriette Wilson.
She returned to the drawing room, where Miss Wilson had the group enthralled.
‘First, always value yourselves very highly—’
‘That is what Miss Hart says, as well,’ Katy broke in.
‘And you must always remember that you choose the gentleman; the gentleman does not choose you…’
Madame Bisou saw Morgana enter and hurried over to her. ‘Miss Hart, Harriette has thought of the very thing to launch the girls. It is a splendid opportunity!’
Harriette interrupted her lecture. ‘It is indeed. Tomorrow night there is to be a masquerade ball at the Argyle Rooms to mark the end of the Season. It promises to be very merry. Your girls will attend. It will be the perfect place to show them off and tantalise potential clientele.’
‘Is it not brilliant?’ cried Madame Bisou.
Katy looked at Morgana as if daring her to refuse. Mary glanced around with frightened eyes. Lucy sat thin-lipped with resignation, and Rose, who was silently fingering the keys of the pianoforte, gave no indication of having heard the discussion at all.
‘I am not certain—’ Morgana began.
Madame Bisou cut her off again. ‘It is time, Miss Hart.’
She sounded so much like Sloane, Morgana thought she would laugh—or weep. As much as Morgana wanted to clutch them all to her bosom and never let them go, this provided her the best chance of making matters right for Sloane. She had no better alternative.
Perhaps they could all move to the country in a little cottage or something of which her father would approve. If she withdrew from society before the scandal hit—
No. What sort of life would that offer them all? The sheer boredom of it would drive Morgana mad, if not the rest of them with her. Except perhaps for Mary. She could offer Mary a chance not to be a courtesan.
‘Well, Morgana?’ asked Miss Moore. She seemed to be as excited about the prospect as Katy.
A masquerade? It seemed a safe enough place to begin. Like at Vauxhall, they could hide behind masks. No one need know who they were, unless they desired it.
‘We will attend.’ Morgana would go with them, she resolved. She would look out for them one last time.
After leaving Morgana’s house in a towering rage, Sloane paused in his hall long enough to pick up his hat, gloves and swordstick before rushing out again. Elliot, who’d heard his noisy entry, had dared try to ask him a question. Sloane had bellowed, ‘I am going out!’
He knew precisely where he was bound.
If Morgana would not end this foolishness, he must do his best to keep the leaking information from engulfing her. He had not needed Harriette Wilson to tell him that Mrs Rice was becoming more and more obsessed about discovering the courtesan school. He knew it from his own surveillance.
There was one leak he could plug and plug it he would.
Sloane strode off to Fenton’s Hotel, where he asked to be announced to Sir Reginald.
When Sloane was admitted into Sir Reginald’s rooms, the older man was still dressed in his dressing gown, although it was nearly noon. Sir Reginald put down the copy of the Morning Post that he’d held in his hand.
‘Good morning, Sloane.’ Sir Reginald gave a cordial smile and gestured for him to sit. ‘A bit early, eh? To what do I owe the pleasure?’
Sloane sat and a servant appeared to pour tea. He waited until the servant scurried away into another room. ‘I’ll not mince words.’ He leaned towards the older man, who was just about to take a swallow. ‘You told Harriette Wilson about the courtesan school, did you not?’
Sir Reginald gulped and went into a spasm of coughing before replying. ‘I—I suppose I did. Saw her the other day at Covent Garden—some play or some such. Don’t rightly recall…’
Sloane gave Sir Reginald a menacing look. ‘No one must know of this. No one, do you understand?’
Sir Reginald gave a snort. ‘Cannot see why not. Capital idea, training young women. Imagine a lady doing so!’
‘What do you know of the lady?’ Sloane demanded.
The man sputtered. ‘A Miss Hart—’
Sloane seized him by the front of the robe and lifted him out of the chair. ‘You are never to speak her name to anyone.’
Sir Reginald’s eyes bulged. ‘I won’t. I