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He glanced away, then turned his warm eyes back on her and gave his lazy smile. ‘Why the devil not?’
Her heart danced, completely ignoring her vow not to let him affect her so. She led him from the stairway, enlivened by his company, relieved that she was no longer alone in her enterprise. ‘Come then.’
Morgana led him to the library, knocking before she slipped into the room alone. The girls looked up. Miss Moore smiled at her. Her grandmother chirped, ‘How lovely to see you, my dear.’
‘I have brought someone for you to meet. Someone who will help us.’ Morgana stepped aside for Sloane to enter.
‘Gracious,’ cried Katy, jumping to her feet.
Miss Moore looked shocked, but Lady Hart smiled. ‘How lovely of you to call, dear.’
‘This is Mr Sloane,’ Morgana announced. ‘He is our neighbour… and…’ she gave him a quick glance ‘… a man who can do many things. He has volunteered to find our tutor.’
Morgana made the introductions and, as if he’d met them in an elegant drawing room on Grosvenor Square, he greeted them with respect. She watched in wonder how his kind attentions to them made them sit up straighter and hold their heads higher, appearing more like ladies than otherwise.
‘Do you honestly know a tutor, sir?’ Rose asked, blinking her wide green eyes and speaking in her melodious brogue.
Sloane’s voice had a catch in it when he answered, ‘I have someone in mind.’ He gave the girl a long look.
Morgana stiffened. She tried to tell herself it was good that he showed his attraction to Rose. It would help remind her that he was not attracted to her, but to her cousin.
He turned to her. ‘I’d best take my leave.’
‘I will see you out,’ Morgana said, trying not to show her unexpected little surge of jealousy.
When he faced the assembly of women and bowed in a gentlemanly manner, Morgana felt like hugging him again for his kindness to them. She wished he would call upon them often so the girls could learn how a man ought to treat them.
Morgana gave herself a silent rebuke. It was she who wished his company for herself.
She led him out of the room and started for the front door.
He caught her arm. ‘Through the back. You have a gap through our garden wall that I passed through.’
Understanding dawned. ‘That is how you got in.’
He favoured her with a wicked wink in reply.
They descended the stairs and reached the door to the garden. Morgana did not wish him to leave.
‘What do you think of them, Mr Sloane?,’ she asked. Anything to detain him a moment longer.
He gave her a contemplative frown. ‘Do you truly wish my opinion?’
A frisson of anxiety crept up her back. Was he about to scold her again? ‘Yes, of course.’
‘Rose O’Keefe will rise to the top, I suspect.’ He spoke in a detached manner, and, in spite of herself, Morgana was pleased. He apparently had not been as captivated by Rose as she’d thought.
He went on. ‘Katy Green is trouble, and I would watch out for her.’
Morgana knew that as well.
He shook his head in dismay. ‘I confess, I cannot picture either Miss Phipps or your Lucy in the role at all.’
She sighed. ‘I cannot either, but there you have it.’
He looked directly in her eyes. ‘How have you explained the new girls’ presence to the servants?’
She averted her eyes. ‘We have told them they are Miss Moore’s nieces.’
His stern look returned. ‘They will not believe it. The girls have different accents and look nothing like each other.’
She cautiously faced him. ‘I fear you are right. Miss Moore believes she has settled the matter by saying they are not sisters but cousins, but it sounds far-fetched to me. I fear Mr Cripps, the butler, is not fooled at all.’
His worried expression contained no censure this time. ‘Let me think upon a solution. The servants must not talk or you will be discovered.’
She gazed at him in wonder. How good it felt not to be alone in managing this scheme.
‘Another matter.’ His grey eyes were intent. ‘You must not allow the girls to appear on Bond Street or St James’s or any other place where they might be recognised. And you must not be seen in their company.’
She had not thought at all on matters such as this. ‘Why not?’
‘Your Mrs Rice wants her girls back. That fellow from the park and others will be searching for them.’
‘The man from the park?’ He’d wanted Lucy. What did he have to do with Mrs Rice? ‘How do you know this?’
He leaned closer, his eyes taking on a hard edge. ‘I know. You will obey me in this, Morgana.’
The use of her given name made his demand seem even more sinister. ‘As you wish, Mr Sloane.’
His expression softened. He lifted his hand and for a brief moment she thought he would caress her face. A foolish thought, because he drew it away again.
He gave her a raffish grin instead. ‘Call me Sloane. If we are to be conspirators in your little venture, formality between us is hypocritical, is it not?’
Her own smile tickled the corner of her mouth. She presented her hand to shake. ‘Then I give you permission to address me as Morgana.’
He did not miss her quip. Laughing, he accepted her hand. The contact of his warm, rough hand in hers, bare skin to bare skin, only intensified this new intimacy between them.
Breathless, she murmured, ‘Thank you, Sloane.’
His laughter ceased and his expression turned serious again. He released her hand. ‘You may not thank me in the end, Morgana. This is a foolhardy and dangerous business we are engaged in. Who knows what will come of it?’
With that he opened the door and left, but for quite a while afterwards Morgana stood still as a statue, gazing after him.
* * *
That evening’s must-attend entertainment was a ball given to announce the latest ton engagement, a merger guaranteed to please the families, if not the young man and woman involved. Everyone was present, including Morgana.
Sloane spied her across the room, standing with her aunt. Her eyes caught his for a mere second, but he felt the exhilaration of intrigue. There were dangerous secrets between them and care must be taken that no one discover this change in their relationship. He held his breath that Morgana would do nothing to reveal it.
She did not fail him. After the brief contact with their eyes, she turned back to her aunt as if she’d not seen him at all.
Almost disappointed, he kept up his part of the pretence, but this secret between them, and the risk of discovery, heightened his enjoyment of the ball. It put his senses on alert.
He took care not to neglect Lady Hannah, engaging her in one early dance as she would expect of him. Suddenly his behaviour towards Hannah had become part of the subterfuge, making it easier to take part in the inconsequential chatter that passed as conversation between them. After the dance, he left her to her other suitors, whose number had increased of late. His nephew David joined the growing throng.
Sloane sauntered into the room where the refreshments were set out. Another gentleman joined him. The Marquess of Heronvale.
‘You are Mr Sloane, are you not?’ the tall, taciturn marquess asked.
‘I am, sir.’ He gave an inward groan.
A few months ago, because of a foolish wager, Sloane had threatened to expose the nefarious past of this powerful man’s sister-in-law. She’d been the Mysterious Miss M. in the days Sloane had known her, the prize in a gaming hell. The threat had been nothing but a drunken bluff on his part, but no one knew he had never meant to carry it out. Certainly not the marquess.
Sloane braced himself. Heronvale looked at him intently.
Here it comes, Sloane thought, envisioning all his efforts to restore his reputation sinking into a cesspool.
Heronvale gave a slight nod. ‘I hear you are a man of your word.’
Sloane released a relieved breath. He had given this man’s brother his word that he would not disclose the damaging information. Sloane gave Heronvale a frank stare. ‘I am many things, sir, among them a man of my word.’
The marquess smiled approvingly. ‘I admire that. Tell me, are you carrying refreshment to anyone?’
‘Merely seeing to my own thirst,’ Sloane admitted.
‘Excellent.’ Heronvale nodded again. ‘Sit with me for a moment and share a drink. I would value your company.’
Sloane sat with the Marquess of Heronvale, conversing over wine glasses, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The marquess told Sloane duty had brought him to London that season. He came for Parliament, reluctantly leaving his wife and newborn son in the country. By the end of their conversation, Heronvale had invited Sloane to dine with him at White’s the following evening, at which time they could discuss politics and what role Sloane might play in it.
After the men shook hands and parted, Sloane nearly danced a jig. The Marquess of Heronvale thought he might play a role in politics? By God, if Sloane had Heronvale’s endorsement, what man would dare question his reputation? He felt triumphant!
He returned to the ballroom where a set was forming. Scanning the room, he found Morgana unattached. She was the one person in the room he wanted to be with at the moment. As casually as he could manage, he crossed the room and asked her to dance with him.
‘You look happy,’ she said when the country dance brought them together.
It was a simple observation, without any teasing flirtation attached. ‘I am indeed.’
The figures separated them. When they came close again, she asked, ‘Why so?’
He halfway considered giving her some bantering, evasive answer. It is what any other partner would expect. But this was Morgana with whom he shared many secrets. Why not share his good fortune with her as well?
‘I have had a brief chat with Heronvale and I’m engaged to dine with him tomorrow.’
She looked perplexed. ‘This is the source of your happiness?’
They had to complete the figures again before he could explain.
‘Heronvale will make a powerful ally.’
‘I see.’ She glanced over to where Heronvale stood conversing with Castlereagh. She frowned. ‘Will he make a good friend, though?’
A friend? Such a notion was unfamiliar indeed. It took him aback. ‘Yes. I do believe I would like him for a friend.’
She smiled and the dance separated them once more.
At the end of the set, he was reluctant to leave her side, but he forced himself to circulate, even asking Hannah for a second set. Hannah’s conversation was as gay as usual, but the set seemed unusually long.
Sloane declined her invitation to share the Cowdlin carriage for the trip home. He left the ball early, another errand to perform. Walking out into the night air, he became himself again, watchful and alert as he set off on foot to his destination, an innocuouslooking town house off of St James’s Street.
He sounded the knocker and a huge bear of a man dressed in colourful livery opened the door.
‘Good evening, Cummings,’ Sloane greeted the man and handed him his hat.
Cummings made no sign of noticing that Sloane had not crossed this threshold for at least three months. ‘G’d evening, sir,’ Cummings responded in his deep monotone.
‘Is Madame Bisou available?’
‘In the card room.’ Cummings disappeared into the back room where he stowed the various cloaks, hats and canes.
Madame Bisou owned this establishment, a gaming hell and brothel, as honest and clean as any gentleman could expect. She was also indebted to Sloane, who, right before he made his decision to abandon this sort of gaming, had broken her faro bank with one mad night of reckless play. He’d not had the heart to call in the debt. She was, therefore, much beholden to him.
He climbed the stairs to the gaming room where he’d once played whist with a woman in disguise. The Wagering Widow, they’d called her, and it had been wagers over her that drove him to make his empty threats about Heronvale’s sister-in-law. Sloane had lost badly over the Widow. Twice. And he hadn’t fancied being known for it.
When he entered the room, several men looked up from their cards. One older fellow called to him, ‘Sloane! It has been an age! Come partner me.’
Sloane shook his head. ‘I’m not playing tonight, Sir Reginald.’
Madame Bisou caught sight of him and came bustling over. ‘Oh, Monsieur Sloane,’ she cried in her atrocious French accent. ‘How delightful to see you!’ Her flaming red curls bounced as energetically as the flesh the low neckline of her bright purple dress failed to conceal.
She gave him exuberant kisses on both cheeks, but regarded him with some wariness. ‘You have perhaps come to collect?’
He smiled. ‘No, but there is something I wish to discuss with you.’
‘You wish time with me?’ She spoke so loudly everyone in the room could hear.
He glanced around, but everyone was too busy with their cards or dice to heed her very public invitation.
‘To confer with you,’ he clarified. ‘But I will pay for your time.’
‘Oh, no,’ she protested as she led him out into the hall. ‘We shall deduct it from what I owe you.’
She took him to the supper room and they seated themselves at the same out-of-the-way table where he’d got bloody drunk over the loss of his first wager over Lady Widow.
Madame Bisou lowered herself into a chair with a noisy rustle of satin skirts. ‘What is it, mon cher, that you require of me?’ She fluttered her lashes seductively.
‘Ease off, Penny.’ Sloane took the seat across from her.
She frowned at his use of her given name. ‘Speak quietly, Cyprian, or I shall shout your name across the room.’ Her French accent fled and she talked like the Chelsea girl she’d once been.
