A Reckless Encounter. Rosemary Rogers
cup too many, it seems. Or maybe I just dislike ruining green boys. Wharton has no business here.”
“It could be said that none of us do,” Harvey said dryly.
“Yes, it could.” Colter blinked against the cold sunlight that struck him as they stepped outside. It was much later than he’d thought. Tradesmen had already made early deliveries and traffic along St. James Street was heavy. A beer cart narrowly missed splashing mud on them as it lumbered past.
“It will be all over London by nightfall that you evicted Wharton from White’s, you know.” Harvey kept pace, though a bit wobbly. “Bad form, Northington. You should have just ruined him.”
“That would be far too easy. I enjoy a challenge.”
Puddles of water still stood along the paving stones from the recent rains. A fetid odor lingered in the air. He stepped over a brackish pool and left Harvey trailing behind him as he crossed St. James and turned the corner.
His mind was already on the beguiling prospect of a hot meal and warm bed when Harvey grabbed his arm to pull him to a halt.
“Damn, but that’s a prime article! Who is she? Do you know her? I’m sure I know her companion—”
Colter shook loose his hand, impatient and weary, and certainly in no mood to make polite conversation with any female of Harvey’s acquaintance. They were usually brainless society belles or women of loose character and looser morals. Not that he had any particular objection to the latter, but Harvey was too damned enthusiastic.
“Leverton. That’s her name! Married to Jules Leverton, Lord Sharpton’s youngest son and a financial genius. But who is that luscious bit with her?”
“Satisfy your curiosity alone or at some other time.” Colter hailed a hack, and it rumbled to a halt at the curb. As the door swung open, he put a foot on the narrow rung to step up and glanced down at his companion. “Do you wish a ride to your lodgings?”
“No.” Sir John’s attention was trained on the approaching women. “I think it may be time I renewed my acquaintance with Lady Leverton.”
Colter followed Harvey’s intent gaze. His brow rose. Jacqueline Leverton was a lovely woman who had kept her beauty through the years. The young lady at her side had her head bent, her hat shadowing her face, but it was her form that drew attention. She was lovely, though not so unusual as to warrant such rapt admiration, in his opinion.
“Harvey, you’ve always been an easy mark when it comes to women. Have a go at her. Spare me all the details when next I see you. Curzon Street, driver. And take the shortest route, not the most profitable.”
The driver slammed the hack door closed, and Harvey stepped away from the vehicle, his attention already returned to the women down the street.
“A prime article, don’t you think?” Harvey said again, and grinned up at Colter. “An introduction can’t hurt.”
“As so many fools before you have also said, to their collective destruction. Keep your head.” Colter waved a dismissive hand as the hack lurched forward, then leaned back against the worn squabs that held strong hints of previous occupants. He was getting too old for this. Long nights were the mark of a jaded man. At thirty-one, he knew better.
Harvey was incorrigible; he could see him out the window as the hack drew closer, its progress obstructed by a draft wagon blocking the road. Propping a boot against the far seat, Colter watched idly as Harvey approached the two women accompanied by their maid. They paused to speak to him, crisp morning light at last revealing their faces.
He frowned, struck by a sudden memory. Lady Leverton’s companion was the woman from the ship—the Liberty. He’d seen her staring at him, and then he’d seen her talking to James Carlisle. So, she was acquainted with Leverton, was she? A curious coincidence. But he wasn’t a man who believed much in coincidences and this one seemed far too unlikely.
Yet she was a striking woman, with pale hair beneath a wide-brimmed bonnet and elegant bone structure. Tall and slender, she moved with languid grace as she turned to regard Harvey with polite attention.
Colter watched closely. She’d kept dangerous company for a woman new to London. Carlisle was not an innocuous acquaintance. How well did she know him? It was a question that begged an answer. She’d come from America, and he’d noticed her aboard ship. How could he not? While he’d kept a close eye on Carlisle, the woman had seemed to keep an eye on him in return.
Now she was staying in Jules Leverton’s home, a man known to be a fervent Tory, a contradiction at best if she was acquainted with Carlisle. Perhaps there was much more to what had appeared to be a casual shipboard acquaintance than he’d first thought. This situation required a closer investigation.
Like Harvey, he wanted to know more about her—but not for the same reasons.
3
Celia eyed Sir John with a mixture of amusement and suspicion. He was handsome enough, she supposed, with fair hair and a rakish charm, but he reeked of cigar smoke and brandy. She had no intention of allowing herself to be even slightly involved with him despite his boyish appeal.
A gentle pressure of her fingers on Jacqueline’s arm was a broad hint that she wished to move on, and her cousin took the cue at once, ending the conversation.
“It is so very pleasant to see you again, sir. Do leave your calling card. As I wished to show my cousin London, we made an appointment at the dressmaker’s instead of having her to the house as usual. I insist upon being punctual.”
Harvey said hastily, “Yes, yes, of course, Lady Leverton, but I do wish to say again how fortuitous this meeting is for me. I am planning a soirée, you see, and need expert advice. Your affairs are legend for being the most popular, and if it is not too bold, I thought perhaps you would be so kind as to make suggestions.…”
He let his sentence trail hopefully, and Celia hid a smile. This Sir John was much too obvious. He’d not taken his gaze from her since hailing them, and now his hazel eyes were intent as he regarded her.
“How flattering, Sir John,” Jacqueline said. “Of course, I will be most pleased to lend my aid. When do you plan your affair?”
“When? Oh, I hadn’t thought that far ahead yet. Shall I come round tomorrow morning, perhaps, and we can discuss details? I am certain Miss St. Clair will have some superb suggestions as well.”
“You are a brash, forward young man, aren’t you?” Jacqueline’s voice held a hint of reproof that finally penetrated Harvey’s intensity, and he gave her a startled glance, then a disarming smile and impudent honesty.
“Not always. Only when I see a beautiful young woman I wish to know.”
“I see.” Jacqueline lifted a disapproving brow. “And you hope to make a good impression, I presume.”
“It had occurred to me.”
“Then you will be most dismayed to learn that you have not, sir. My petite cousine is not impressed with men who behave boorishly.”
Jacqueline took Celia’s arm and led her around him, turning back only when Harvey said lamely, “I would still like to leave my card tomorrow.”
“Only if your manners improve, sir.”
As they left him standing staring after them, Celia said faintly, “Oh my! That was rather ruthless of you.”
“Do you think so? But Harvey will not overstep his boundaries now, and word will be out that no liberties are to be taken with you. Believe me, it is a much better lesson than one could hope for, and to have Harvey at our beck and call could be beneficial. Too bad Northington did not join us.”
“Northington?” Celia’s hand shook slightly, and she curled her fingers more tightly around the strings of her small reticule. A chill wind smelled of the streets,