Page 3 of Unmasking the Earl

“Aye. But he won’t marry nobody. Not now.”

“He’s told you this, has he?” he inquired, raising a mocking brow. Masters didn’t generally confide such things to their footmen, coachmen, or menservants. But Matthews was more likely to talk if he thought he wasn’t being taken seriously.

“He has, Mr. Ganstridge,” was the reply. “Though I can’t see as it’s any business of your’n. But I’ll tell you this. He can’t wed the one he wants, so he’ll not wed at all.”

No, he can’t, thought Ned grimly, as the woman he wants may be dead. Or ruined and hiding in some godforsaken hovel.

“Will he take Lady Lucy back if she comes running, d’ye think?” he inquired.

“Mayhap. He’s soft-hearted underneath, our master. If he likes her well enough, she’ll be forgiven.”

“Pah!” Ned pretended to spit, though he detested the habit. “She’ll not get away with going off with another man, I wager.”

“Like I said, if she talks to him pretty-like, and promises not to do it again, he’ll let her off and take her back. But only if he likes her enough.”

Then the man’s a fool, Ned thought, but didn’t say it out loud. He could never care for a woman who couldn’t make up her mind between two paramours…

Matthews tucked the flask away and stood up straight. He leaned across and hissed into Ned’s ear, “Happen he won’t need to forgive her for cheatin’, as he’s about to do the exact same thing ’imself!”

Ned turned and saw the unmistakable form of Captain Wycherley descending the steps from the main doors of Highmore House. He was not alone.

Clinging to his arm and looking every inch a fellow conspirator was the bronze-haired beauty who’d thrown down the flowers.

Chapter Three

As Cassie stepped out onto the terrace with Captain Francis Wycherley, she felt a thrill of mixed fear and excitement. If it was grossly improper for an unmarried lady to leave a ballroom without her chaperone, it was even more so to do it in the company of a notorious rake.

But running into the captain at the precise moment she’d decided to chase after Lady Lucy and Julian had been fortuitous.

Because they both had exactly the same purpose in mind.

“I don’t wish to seem cruel,” she said as Wycherley offered his arm to guide her down the sweeping steps at the front of Paxton House. “But I think it very shallow of Lady Lucy to accompany you to the ball and then run off into the night with another gentleman.”

The captain inclined his handsome head toward hers and said good-humoredly, “Lady Lucy has her faults, I agree, but she has many…advantages, too. Enough to win my forgiveness.”

Assuming you don’t find her draped around Julian Carnforth with her back to a tree, Cassie thought bitterly, then shook the unwelcome image from her mind. Julian wouldn’t do that. He was being foolish, perhaps because he’d had too much punch. He couldn’t seriously be interested in that flirt, could he?

Cassie’s feet crunched on the gravel of the drive, and she and her accomplice paused a moment, gazing out into the flame-speckled darkness. There was a gaggle of servants and coachmen lounging nearby, smoking pipes and swigging back tankards of ale, while the grooms and tigers walked the horses so they’d be fresh for the homeward journey.

Of Julian and Lady Lucy there was no sign.

“Any idea what direction they took?” Wycherley asked.

“They were heading that way,” Cassie said, pointing her fan toward a distant ornamental lake. “But more to the left. They could be heading for the hot houses. Or the maze.”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she knew it had to be the maze. She’d no idea if Julian knew the key to mastering it, but it didn’t matter. What better place for a tryst?

Her heart thudded painfully. She couldn’t bear the thought of Julian with another woman. Especially one so completely undeserving of his attentions.

“Is there a shortcut?” Wycherley asked. “If our aim is to separate them, it would be best to head them off before they reach the maze. Otherwise, we’re going to need reinforcements.”

There was a shortcut, but it would be awkward to navigate in the dark.

“There is, sir, but those paths are unlit.”

“My man can bring a light for us. Here, Ganstridge,” Wycherley shouted in the direction of the coaches. “I know you’re over there lurking. Stop swigging ale and fetch a lantern for us. We’re undertaking a quest for a damsel in distress.”

In response to Wycherley’s shout, a tall, strapping man separated himself from the throng of coachmen. Cassie felt a twinge of uncertainty as he plucked a lit flambeau from its sconce and strode toward them.