After Dark with a Scoundrel Read online

  Frost spared him a brief questioning glance before he returned his attention to his sister. “So the Karmacks are unaware of your plans.”

  “Of course not,” Regan said, sounding vaguely insulted by the suggestion. “Lady Karmack prides herself in being very thorough when preparing to travel. I have everything I need to enjoy London befitting my station.”

  Frost all but snarled at her.

  “You have neglected one thing, dear sister. My approval.”

  To her credit, Regan did not flinch. Dare had witnessed seasoned gents who had crumbled under Frost’s intense scrutiny.

  Regan sighed. “I thought I had it, Frost. After all, you have paid my bills without protest. Nor did you even question why I would need an entirely new wardrobe—”

  “For school!” Frost shouted at her, causing her to wince.

  For the first time since the trio had entered the small anteroom, Regan shifted her gaze to Dare. His stomach muscles contracted as he felt the impact of her sober blue eyes. Was she asking for his support? Dare could sympathize with Regan’s plight. Nonetheless, it was not his place to interfere. Frost would not thank him if he sided with Regan.

  Nor was he confident that Regan should remain in Town. Her unexpected arrival was already stirring trouble.

  Regan tapped the end of her collapsed fan to her chin. “I am finished with school.”

  “Finished?” Frost sputtered in disbelief.

  “I can produce a letter from Miss Swann extolling my accomplishments. And Lady Karmack concurs,” Regan said before her brother could challenge her claim as she slowly circled him. Over Frost’s shoulder, she winked at Dare. As he had thought, the outrageous minx was enjoying herself. “She thinks that if you can resist interfering, I might be able to secure a match this season.”

  Both Frost and Dare scowled at her announcement.

  “Marriage,” Frost said, curling his upper lip at the word. “I do not recall sanctioning any such notion. Lady Karmack seems to be forgetting that I am your guardian.”

  “Then behave like it,” Regan countered. The hint of impatience in her gentle voice was the first visible sign that she was not as calm as she wanted her brother to believe. “Lady Karmack is under the impression that you sent me away to polish my rough edges so I might make a solid match. Only you and I know that you had other reasons to send me away.”

  Dare straightened at Regan’s accusation. Was she referring to the impulsive kiss they had shared almost five years ago? Whatever game Regan was playing with Frost, mentioning the kiss was not a strategic move Dare would have recommended since from all accounts her brother seemed to have forgotten about it.

  “It is unlike you to be coy, little sister,” Frost taunted as he stepped in front of the closed curtains to prevent her from leaving the anteroom. “Why do you think I sent you away?”

  “Since my banishment has come to an end, the reasons no longer matter, now do they?” Regan inclined head. When Frost did not step aside, she lifted her right brow in a manner that reminded Dare of Frost. “Lady Karmack and my friends are awaiting my return.”

  Frost moved to the right and pulled the curtain open. “You and I are not finished with this business.”

  “Oh, I believe we are,” Regan said, matching Frost’s silky tones. “Whether I reside with the Karmacks or I return to the care of my loving brother, I will remain in London. There is nothing that you can do about it, short of hiring a press gang to cart me off to the other side of the world.”

  Regan took a step forward and then paused. “I would not recommend the latter. Think of the fuss and scandal.”

  Dare and Frost watched in silence as Regan rejoined her friends. Vane lowered his head and whispered something into Regan’s ear that caused her to laugh. Annoyed, Dare wondered why Vane was courting danger by flirting with Regan. The gent knew Frost’s sister was off limits. Frost would happily crack the skull of any gent who touched his sister.

  Including him.

  As the other Lords of Vice said their farewells to Regan and her friends, Dare murmured to Frost, “I would concede defeat, my friend. With all of us looking after her, Regan will be safe from bounders and fortune hunters.”

  Frost shot Dare an enigmatic side glance. “Then I am indeed fortunate that you are residing with me this season. I shall sleep the unburdened sleep of an innocent man, knowing that you are on hand to look after our dear girl.”

  Dare scowled at the growing realization that he would be residing under the same roof with Regan. Granted, Frost was Regan’s guardian, and there were certainly enough servants meandering about the town house to ensure nothing untoward occurred. Still, his presence in the Bishops’ household could be viewed as improper by the more prudish members of the ton.

  “Perhaps I should seek other accommodations.”

  “Come now, Dare,” Frost taunted, sensing his friend’s concerns. “I thought you were made of sterner stuff than that. Besides, Regan will behave herself or face the consequences.”

  Unable to form a proper response to Frost’s remark, Dare stared sullenly through the parted curtains at Regan. Sensing his regard, she turned her head and smiled at him.

  In truth, it was not Regan’s conduct that worried Dare. It was his own.

  Chapter Five

  Seated beside Nina in Lady Karmack’s coach, Regan studiously avoided meeting the viscountess’s knowing gaze as the coachman drove them to Lord and Lady Quinton’s ball. Instead Regan feigned interest in the activity that she glimpsed through the small window.

  “Lord Chillingsworth seemed rather surprised by your presence this evening, Lady Regan.”

  She made a noncommittal sound in her throat and strived not to appear guilty. “It is a pity that the post is not more reliable. As I had feared, my letter has yet to reach Frost, my lady.”

  “A most regrettable predicament.”

  At eight and forty, Lady Karmack was a practical, astute woman who had raised five children, three of them daughters. Thea was the youngest of the Bramwell brood. The viscountess had little tolerance for dissembling or lies. Over the years, Regan had not been able to resist testing the older woman’s patience.

  “It is fortunate that Frost is very accommodating,” she assured Lady Karmack with confidence. “By tomorrow afternoon, you will be able to relinquish your duties as my chaperone, and I shall be safely ensconced under my brother’s roof once again.”

  Thea stirred as if she intended to speak. Even Lady Karmack was distracted by her daughter’s subtle movements. However, one warning glance from Regan stilled her cousin’s tongue. Thankfully, Nina also remained silent.

  “Well, then,” Lady Karmack said in her brisk, straightforward manner. “It appears that you and your brother have settled the matter during your private discourse.”

  “As best we could, madam,” Regan said lightly.

  Before the viscountess could respond to Regan’s ambiguous comment, the small trapdoor near the roof of the coach slid open. The coachman announced that they were within walking distance of Lord and Lady Quinton’s town house. Even so, the congestion of carriages and coaches had slowed their progress to a snail’s pace.

  Vane had told Regan and her friends that the Lords of Vice had plans to attend the Quintons’ ball after the theater. He naturally extended an invitation for the ladies to join the merriment since Lord and Lady Quinton were unlikely to fuss over a few additional guests in what promised to be a spectacular affair. Without any prompting from Regan, Nina and Thea had begged Lady Karmack to accept Vane’s gallant invitation.

  With a speculative gleam in her eyes, Lady Karmack’s gaze had shifted from her daughter’s eager expression to the unmarried earl’s handsome face. She had assured Vane that they would find their way to the Quintons’ town house later in the evening.

  “Perhaps we should consider disembarking and walking the short distance,” Thea suggested, her eyes shining in anticipation.

  Regan silently pondered her cousin’s excitement
with a small amount of concern. Was it Vane or the opportunity to attend a ball that had put those stars in Thea’s eyes?

  Perhaps it was a tad hypocritical, but Regan refused to examine too closely her own growing eagerness for the ball. This was not about Dare. She had won the first skirmish with Frost. That alone was cause for celebration.

  It was a logical explanation.

  Regan might even believe it, as long as she could avoid glancing at her reflection in Lady Quinton’s gilt mirrors.

  * * *

  Dare nodded to Saint and Hunter as the two gentlemen headed for the Quintons’ card room to join Frost. Sin was planning to join them later. For now, he was standing near the open doors with his wife and her two sisters. Vane was nowhere in sight. The second his name was announced, the young earl had been whisked away by his matchmaking mother. Vane was resisting his family’s efforts to pair him with a respectable young lady, but Dare wagered his friend would be the next to marry. His love and loyalty to the Courtland family were as deep as Dare’s ties to his own. It was a source of strength and weakness.

  Dare was intimately acquainted with the latter.

  Involuntarily, Dare’s gaze searched the ballroom until he found his sister-in-law, Lady Pashley. Adorned in a shimmering light green gown that reminded him of sea foam, Allegra was holding court across the room, while Sin’s half sister Lady Gredell had positioned herself in the opposing corner. Dare was not surprised that Allegra had decided to attend Lord and Lady Quinton’s ball. He had ignored her at the theater this evening, and his dear sister-in-law did not like to be dismissed so easily.

  If she had her way, Allegra would ruin his evening.

  Perhaps he should tell the witch the reason for his distraction. Dare smiled faintly at the thought. The truth would likely ruin her evening.

  “Lord Hugh.”

  Dare dismissed his sister-in-law from his mind as he bowed to the beautiful dark-haired woman in front of him. “Mrs. Randall. You honor me,” he said, releasing her extended hand.

  The twenty-eight-year-old widow’s beauty overshadowed many of her younger rivals. Intelligent blue eyes met his as he admired the symmetry of her heart-shaped face. Her unblemished skin gleamed against her lavender ball gown. The wealth of black hair the lady possessed was braided and neatly coiled at the nape of her neck. She was a prize that most of the males of the ton had deemed unattainable.

  Some accused her of being cold.

  Others thought she was aspiring for a titled husband.

  Dare wondered if the widow was still in mourning. After three years, loneliness rather than lust might have pushed Mrs. Randall to spend the season in London.

  He had never been introduced to her husband. A lieutenant in the Royal Navy, the man had spent most of his marriage at sea. Although Mrs. Randall never spoke of her loss, Dare had made some inquiries and learned that the brig sloop the man was serving on had wrecked on the point of Mount Batten at the entrance of Catwater. Most of the crew had perished.

  “Did you think I was merely teasing you, my lord?” she said, her blue eyes twinkling with undisguised amusement.

  “Dare,” he gently corrected, still not quite believing his good fortune. “You had mentioned that you might attend the Quintons’ ball, and hoped that I would make an appearance. To assume anything else would have been presumptuous.”

  Mrs. Randall brought her gloved finger to her mouth, drawing attention to her full lips. “Such wonderful manners! Is it presumptuous of me to confess that I enjoyed our last discussion? So much so that I hope we may continue it?”

  Flattered, Dare nodded. “Of course. Would you prefer to remain here or perhaps retire to the drawing room?”

  Mrs. Randall glanced about the ballroom with disdain. “I have spent many years away from Town, and find it too noisy and distracting. In truth, I was contemplating a much quieter setting, that is, if you are agreeable to leaving Lord and Lady Quinton’s ball so soon.”

  So he had not misunderstood the lady’s previous invitation, after all.

  The lovely widow was asking him to escort her home.

  Dare discreetly glanced at Allegra, only to discover that she was openly watching him. Good. She was probably wondering if he intended to bed the lovely widow. With Mrs. Randall’s permission, Dare planned to spend the rest of the night exploring that delectable body of hers.

  Taking Mrs. Randall’s hand, Dare bowed and allowed his lips to lightly brush the top of her hand. “I am agreeable to your”—a flash of amber caught his eye—“Damn!” He straightened and released her hand. So Regan and her friends had not gone straight home after their evening at the theater.

  “Is something amiss?” she inquired, frowning in unspoken disapproval at his crudity.

  An apology was on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it. He had no time to soothe Mrs. Randall’s delicate feelings. Dare had bigger problems.

  Regan.

  He had been too distracted by Allegra and Mrs. Randall to observe her arrival. Unfortunately, her entrance had not gone unnoticed by other gentlemen. Radcliffe, Bolton, and that bounder Fothergill were hovering around her. Frost was going to be issuing challenges if Dare did not interfere.

  “Lord Hugh—Dare?”

  He could see the unspoken question in Mrs. Randall’s eyes.

  “My apologies, Mrs. Randall,” he said, his concern for Regan washing away the regret he should have been feeling. If his friends learned he was letting a willing widow slip away for Frost’s younger sister, he would never hear the end of it. “I must decline your generous invitation. A disaster is imminent, and I am obliged to handle it.”

  At first, the widow seemed to think that Dare was jesting. She laughed, but his grim expression swayed her more than his words. “Good heavens. Is there anything that I can do to assist you?”

  “Your understanding is enough,” Dare said, his voice curt and dismissive. He had to stifle a growl when Radcliffe touched Regan on the elbow to get her attention. “Pray excuse me.”

  Dare abandoned the beautiful widow without a backward glance.

  * * *

  Regan smiled benignly at Lord Radcliffe. “I confess I know very little of entomology,” she said apologetically. Miss Swann had been more concerned with getting rid of insects from one’s bed and larder than collecting them. “Do you favor certain specimens above others?”

  The twenty-five-year-old earl’s brown eyes warmed at her interest. “Indeed. My current studies have led me to concentrate on butterflies.”

  “Butterflies?” Regan said, privately thinking that there were worse obsessions when it came to collecting insects. “How do you collect them?”

  “Do not encourage him, Lady Regan,” Lord Fothergill interjected before Lord Radcliffe could reply. “Radcliffe can pontificate for hours on his little hobby.”

  Annoyed, the young nobleman puffed up his chest as he tugged on his frock coat. “Just because you cannot speak comprehensively on a topic that does not include horses or—”

  “French brandy,” Lord Bolton cheerfully supplied.

  “—or French brandy,” Lord Radcliffe echoed, “it does not imply that others possess your limited intelligence, Fothergill.” He subtly adjusted his stance, offering the viscount his back. “Now, you were asking about how I go about collecting my specimens.”

  Regan glanced from Lord Fothergill to Lord Radcliffe, curious if the two gentlemen were about to engage in fisticuffs. It had been ages since she had observed a good fight. “I suppose some sort of netting is used.”

  “Not always.” Lord Radcliffe shrugged off the other man’s decisive tap on the shoulder. “I have had remarkable success by making use of a white sheet.”

  Intrigued, Regan said, “Go on.”

  “The sheet reflects the sunlight, and naturally a lure must be present to attract the elusive butterfly.”

  “That is enough, Radcliffe.” Lord Bolton glanced at Regan and said, “Such frank discourse is not for the ears of such an enchanting creatur
e.”

  Regan frowned, feeling both flattered and insulted by the gentleman’s protectiveness. She was not so delicate that she would faint at a few earthy words. “Well, I—”

  You know Miss Swann was quite clear on the subject of indelicate language, Regan.

  She meekly swallowed her protest and smiled at Lord Bolton. “I yield to your good judgment, my lord.” Regan even managed to flutter her eyelashes at the gentleman in a beguiling manner. If Nina and Thea had been observing her, they would have burst into a collective fit of giggles at her audacity.

  Lord Bolton, on the other hand, interpreted her gesture as an invitation to move closer.

  Lord Radcliffe cleared his throat to get her attention. “Ignore Bolton. There is nothing improper about a healthy curiosity regarding science, my lady. Certain butterflies require unique lures, and I have explored several methods. In fact, I hope to write a scientific paper on my experiences with the Purple Emperor.”

  “Fascinating,” Regan murmured.

  “Yes, Radcliffe, tell her about the lures,” Lord Fothergill said as he silently dared Lord Bolton’s protest. “Tell her about the rotten fruit.”

  Regan’s enthusiasm to pursue the conversation waned. “You pelt the poor butterflies with overripe fruit?” It did not sound very sporting.

  Lord Radcliffe throat warbled with an uncharacteristically high-pitched chortle. “Goodness, no. I use the fruit as bait. I have also used fish, mirrors, and—”

  “His own urine,” Lord Fothergill gleefully added before he delivered his verbal blow. “Been pissing on his sheets for years!”

  Regan gasped, and quickly slapped her hand over her mouth to smother her laughter. She turned away. There was little she could do to conceal her watering eyes.

  Lord Radcliffe’s entire face reddened. “Why, you uncouth scoundrel!” he shouted before he launched himself at Lord Fothergill.

  It appeared that she was going to see a fight, after all!

  A masculine hand seized her by the elbow and tugged her away from the men.