A Reckless Encounter

“Did you not say earlier that Lord Northington may attend Lady Stratton’s ball, that he has accepted an invitation? I’m sure I heard you mention it to Caro—”

Jacqueline’s smile widened, and her eyes gleamed with anticipation. “Clever girl, yes. Yes, I said that very thing and it is true. Northington sent his card

to signify that he will attend. What do you plan?”

“I plan,” Celia said, “to seduce Lord Northington into a marriage proposal.”

11

Lady Cresswood had engineered his appearance at yet another ball, and Colter toyed with the idea of making her pay for it later.

“Really darling,” she’d teased, “you have no choice but to accommodate me. I promised my husband an heir, and since I must somehow whet my appetite for his attentions, I chose you. Don’t be cruel enough to deny me.”

“Dammit, Katherine, I’m in no mood for your tricks. I am not in a mood for another boring evening, either.”

“The only trick will be finding a few minutes to be alone with you before I must apply myself to Cresswood.”

She’d draped herself around him, pressed her body so close to him there was no need to hide his reaction. But he hadn’t taken what she so freely offered, and ignored her pouting face when he pushed her away.

“How novel,” she murmured with an arch of her brow. “For the best, I suppose. How awkward it would be to present Cresswood with a blue-eyed, rake-hell heir.”

“It’s been done by more than one titled lady. I’m sure you’d find a way around it.”

Her laugh was throaty, her gaze speculative. “Yes, I can only imagine my dear husband’s chagrin should I be foolish enough to do so. However, back to the ball. The prince will be in attendance, and a certain Lord Mowry wishes to meet with you. Do say you’ll be there, Colter, for I should so hate to disappoint Mowry.”

Mowry—Lord Liverpool’s hireling, a man far too comfortable with political intrigues for his liking. He had never quite trusted the man, but he was the prime minister’s agent and those who weren’t careful often found themselves suffering repercussions that were never successfully traced to the source.

“So now you’re doing Mowry’s dirty work. I’ll attend the damn ball,” he’d said, “but when my business with Mowry is done, I’m leaving. A word of warning—you’re keeping bad company when you dally with Mowry.”

Katherine was one of those completely amoral females who could be as entertaining as she was dangerous.

“But of course you can leave, darling,” she’d said with a guileless smile that hadn’t fooled him at all. “And I fancy bad company, as you should well know.”

Lady Stafford’s expansive home was in the heart of Mayfair, a regal dwelling that hosted affairs attended by kings and princes. Tonight was no exception. The regent was to appear with his usual retinue, sycophants and beleaguered officials of his realm trotting at his heels like well-trained dogs.

Lord Mowry arrived well before the prince regent, as was his wont. A tall, thin man with a gaunt face and intense dark eyes, he moved casually through the crowd, pausing to speak to acquaintances.

Colter watched Mowry approach; his air of geniality was deceptive. Beneath the ill-fitting coat and baggy breeches he wore, lurked the soul of a politician, glib and given to sharp, perceptive judgments. Mowry was ruthless in his goals, remorseless in his ambition.

“My lord Northington,” he greeted him finally, “it is a pleasant surprise to see you here.”

“Hardly a surprise, I would think, since you had Lady Cresswood summon me.” Colter eyed him over the rim of his half-empty glass.

Mowry gave him a sharp glance. “Perhaps it is a surprise that you agreed to come. You have not always been so amenable.”

“If I haven’t always been amenable, it may have something to do with the fact that you haven’t always been honest with me.”

A negligent wave of his hand dismissed Colter’s reply as Mowry said, “Politics often breeds the necessity for a swift change of plans. It’s not always possible to notify those involved.”

“That can be damned inconvenient for a man expecting an agreement to be honored.”

“You refer to that Saint Peter’s Field business, I presume.”

“Hardly a business, Mowry. It was a damned massacre.”

Mowry regarded him blandly. “Only eleven were killed. It could have ended much worse.”

“It could have been avoided entirely.”