They were all liars, of course, but as lies went, this one was very nearly true. That gleeful half smile curved Rafe’s mouth, and Thea did not even try to repress her grin. A true aristocrat would never show her feelings this way, but she didn’t care. If any aristocrat wished to judge her poorly, they could do it from a nice warm seat in hell.
On the other side of the stage, Sally and Martha were waving at her. By her side stood Arabella and the bishop and Helen and Beau, and Rafe had claimed her. What cared Thea for anyone else? She caught the Duke of Sherbourne studying her. When their eyes met, he bowed, and she responded with her most refined curtsy. With such an influential leader of society acknowledging her, everyone else would have to follow.
When the duke had turned away, Thea smiled at Arabella. “Thank you. What about your engagement?”
“Already done.”
“And to whom are you engaged? What’s his name?”
“Oh, some lord or other.” The bluebell eyes revealed nothing, as Arabella waved a dismissive hand. “I am bored with the subject already. My wedding is not until spring, so we have time to discuss it later. Let us direct our attention to you, tonight. You have quite outdone yourself.”
On her other side, Helen laughed merrily. “Indeed. Of all the mischief you have ever made, Thea, this is easily the best. But you’ll have to stop making mischief once you are a countess.”
Thea favored them both with her haughtiest look. “Not at all. All the best countesses make mischief, and my kind of mischief is exactly what this crowd needs.”
Rafe could not have foreseen the events of this evening; all he had done was gather up the pieces—William Dudley with his theatre company, Sally with her stage appeal, Martha with her drugs—and arrange them like dominoes, to fall as they may.
Now, the pieces lay unexpectedly like this: He and Ventnor stood on a stage, under the riveted attention of hundreds. Only a fraction of society was present, and it was hard to take them seriously given their array of ludicrous costumes, but it was enough.
It had been enough to redeem Thea. Enough to ruin the two dastardly knaves.
And it would be enough for Rafe to settle his final score.
He took three paces across the stage; faces swiveled, tracking his every move. He took three paces back; again the faces followed him, waiting for the next line. It seemed everyone enjoyed a spot of theatre, whether commoners in a tavern or members of the haut ton. Rafe was surprised to find this attention rather gratifying. Perhaps he should have joined his family’s theatre performances as a boy.
“I grow weary of your lies, Ventnor.”
Certainly Ventnor liked to put on a show, for he shuddered with self-righteous indignation. “How dare you thus impugn my honor, Luxborough! I speak only the truth.”
Rafe laughed. “You, with your shiny walking stick and spotless hands, you who send ruffians to do violence in your name— You dare speak of truth and honor? Now, if we were to speak of truth…”
Ventnor’s eyes narrowed. “Do not do this. You will regret it.”
“This man—” Rafe addressed himself to the crowd, gesturing with a dramatic sweep of his arm. “This man tried to kidnap and imprison his daughter, my first wife, and that is why she died. All because she—”
“She died fleeing you!” Ventnor screeched. He, too, directed himself to the audience. “He poisoned her. He brutalized her. Look at him. That is the face of a brute.”
“This is the face of a botanist who experienced an unfortunate encounter with a wild animal. How fanciful you are, Ventnor. Do you mean to repeat those far-fetched stories you started that I am a witch? That this cat scratch is the mark of the Devil?”
But before Ventnor could voice his predictable protests, the actor William Dudley popped onto the stage, with such exquisite timing they might have rehearsed it.
“I can testify that Lord Ventnor hired me and other actors to spread these rumors,” Dudley announced.
Ventnor whirled around. “Nobody asked you, man. Away with you!”
William Dudley planted his feet and did not move, while the Duke of Sherbourne added his consequence to the stage.
“Is this true, Lord Ventnor?” the duke asked. “You paid people to spread these ludicrous, illegal rumors about the Earl of Luxborough?”
“That man is an actor,” Ventnor said. “Your Grace is too wise to believe an actor.”
Sally took that as her cue and glided onto the stage with such presence that everyone else might have vanished.
“Then I daresay no one will believe me either,” she said, “when I confirm that Lord Ventnor sent ruffians to kidnap his daughter. I would know: I shot one in the shoulder.”