The Bluestocking and the Rake (Hearts in Hiding 2)

Just one little kiss. That’s all it would be. A small concession to seal the bargain so that she could regain her freedom at last.

“All right, Mr Graves,” she murmured, raising her face and closing her eyes.

And as she felt the pressure of his mouth upon hers, she dreamed that it was Sir Richard while she willed the ordeal to be over as soon as possible.

Chapter 4

London, three months later

In a dimly-lit, low-ceilinged salon above a row of shops in Soho, a great celebration was in full swing.

“Madame Plumb has some rather fetching interlopers tonight.”

Miles, the new Viscount Ruthcot, looked up from the uninspiring plaice and cold vegetables on his plate and followed the direction of his companion’s stubby pointing finger. Of course, one didn’t come here for the food. A dozen gentlemen and their escorts sat around Madame Plumb’s oval table eating dinner, while others, the real enticement, lounged elegantly on chairs around the room, or were dancing in an area by the fire which was cleared of furniture. These were the opera dancers; actresses who’d finished their performances for the night and had come looking for a different audience—potential wealthy patrons who might be dazzled by their beauty and choose to squire them home, or set them up in some neat little establishment if they were really lucky.

The supper rooms presided over by London’s arguably most notorious hostess of the demimonde was a regular bolt-hole for Miles following his nights of hard gambling. He’d enjoyed this louche existence since he’d been introduced to London revels as a callow youth and, at thirty, assumed this somewhat meaningless, but nevertheless, life of few responsibilities, paid for through a sizeable inheritance from a doting aunt, would continue.

The unexpected death of his elder brother just three months before, coming so soon after their father’s, had brought him up short.

Inheriting a title and a host of unwanted responsibilities, Miles had tried hard to moderate his behavior, and made the excuse that Madame Plumb’s was a much-needed panacea for a week moldering in the country and attending to his duties as the new Viscount Ruthcot.

Harry Harding, beside him, made an appreciative noise. “That one over there’s a beauty. See—eating beside the ginger-head. Now, he’s hardly a swell of the first stare. Not that I believe he is a gentleman. No; not Madame Plumb’s usual clientele at all. As for the young lady, never seen her here before, and I’d know if I had. What a beauty. She certainly don’t look like the usual bachelor fare.”

Miles glanced from the gimlet eye of Harry’s half-eaten plaice to his friend, now staring down the table trying to place the newcomers. Harry was shaking his head, muttering, “No, can’t say I admire the cut of his coat. Swimming in the River Tick by the looks of it. Wonder what the story is.”

Turning to his neighbor on the right-hand side, Miles’s friend apparently sought to learn details, while Miles stole another glance at the female. She was indeed a beauty.

She happened to glance up to find him looking at her and blushed hotly.

Miles inclined his head, aware that his smile was rich with innuendo as she looked away. The young woman stood out as much for her magnificent crown of lightly-rippling golden hair, delicate-featured oval face, and finely-arched brows above serious eyes—he wished he could ascertain the color—as she did for the out-of-place modesty of her clothing.

Harry leaned back from his confabulation and patted his stomach with a sigh. “Seems the young fellow is a hopeful trading on some obscure association with Madame Plumb. A callow youth, as anyone can see. Not Quality, that’s for sure. No idea who his light o’ love is though she’s the loveliest bit o’ muslin I’ve seen in a while. Doubt he’ll keep her for long. Might have a crack at her myself.” His mouth split into a grin. “Finished, have you? Mind if I polish off the rest? What did I say? Oh yes, you can dance with her first while I finish your food. Maybe she’ll take your mind of your little obsession.”

Little obsession was not what Miles would have called the woman who stoked his festering guilt. The whole debacle was wrapped up in a mystery while the woman who—if Miles only knew who she was—represented his inability, once again, to meet his brother’s expectations. As a result of not turning up at St Paul’s Churchyard as Richard had exhorted him, Miles had, as a result, apparently failed a young woman in need. Though why Richard felt she was in need, he had not said.

As Henry sequestered his half-eaten plaice and limp cabbage, his old friend asked, “Any news on the lost maiden? Guess you’ve not found the gel, else you’d have said, eh wot?”

Miles shook his head, tormented as ever by the reflection that his brother’s final request was one of the few occasions Richard or any other member of the family had entrusted him with some important responsibility. Not that Miles had known at the time it was his brother’s last request. The letter scratched in haste by his brother from his carriage and given to John, his batman, to post had caught up with Miles on his return from the Continent. John had remained in the area to help with the investigation into his death—though nothing had come of it—and had supplied Miles with the terrible details some weeks later.

Details that had given Miles sleepless nights ever since he’d learned that Richard had in fact died as a result of trying to save this woman.

Harding tapped the table to get Miles’s attention. “Ain’t no use torturing yourself over your brother’s fantasy.

“She was not a fantasy; she was real,” Miles murmured, quoting Richard’s written description which he’d engraved upon his heart: “A young lady of unsurpassed purity and virtue, plunged into desperation and who, blameless, though heroic, is very much in need of urgent protection.”

“Yes, and ain’t that a pretty way to put it? Would turn me into a warrior if I had to seek her out. But does she exist? She wasn’t where she was supposed to be.”

“I wasn’t where I was supposed to be,” Miles growled.

“Well, she can’t have been in too much need else she’d have waited a few hours.”

“By which time it was well into the night and many hours after the designated time. And whose fault was that?”

Harry’s faraway look obviously indicated that his thoughts had taken another direction. “Oh yes, I was in quite a state after that cockfight, which now I think about, is where I remember seeing that jackanapes.” He hooked a thumb in the direction of the whey-faced gentleman seated beside the goddess dressed like a nun. “He must be more full of juice than he looks if he could afford to lose as much as he did that afternoon. Anyway, to return to the subject at hand. You were a good man for being on hand when I was casting up my accounts after getting into that ungentlemanly scuffle. Not like me at all, and sorry it turned out so ill for the lass. Truly, I am. No doubt Richard’s maiden got herself safely to where she needed to go. No respectable young woman can be completely alone in the world.”

It was this with which Miles had to comfort himself.

He rose as the ladies excused themselves, thanking their hostess as the venerable Madame Plumb led them toward the dance floor. And all the while, his eyes hugged the demure young woman who had made such an impression on him. Madame Plumb was like a proud mother with her girls, smoothing a lock of chestnut hair from a forehead here, patting a pretty, rouged cheek there. Miles didn’t miss the way the lady who’d caught his particular interest recoiled as the famous courtesan gave a clearly disapproving tug at the bodice of her unfashionably demure gown.