Page 38 of Rogue’s Holiday

“But you have no Italian accent,” she said, speaking aloud her thought.

He grinned. “Not for generations, I suspect.”

“I have always admired a good timepiece,” she said. “I’m fascinated by clocks of all kinds.”

He took his pocket watch from his gold brocade waistcoat and, placing it on his palm, offered it to her for inspection. “This is one of my favorite designs. Unusual, don’t you agree?”

She stared in amazement at the open face pocket watch, its offset hour dial in white with gilded hands. The larger face had been painted with a scene out of classical Greece: a lady in a bright red cloak over a white gown held an urn as she stood in front of a domed stone building. “Why, it’s positively masterful! Truly, a work of art.”

“My father and brothers design the mechanism and I paint the faces. I am delighted it’s to your taste.”

Seeing no ring on his finger, she smiled up at him, a plan forming in her mind. “Did you have an opportunity to speak with my good friend, Rose Crockett?”

“The dark-haired young woman I met at the door? I did not.”

“You simply must have a chance to show her your watch! She, too, is from Northampton.”

Chastity glanced around the room. Rose had drifted to the far corner, still speaking with Mrs. Fitz. “Come, I will take you to her.”’

He swept his hand before him. “Lead on, my lady.”

To get to Rose, Chastity had to skirt the crush of people. As she was doing so, she passed her great-aunt, who was chatting with Sir Robert and M’sieur Donet.

Over the noise of the many conversations, Chastity heard Sir Robert say, “Please forgive our late arrival, Lady Sanborn. We were unavoidably detained.”

“I’m so glad you came,” replied her great-aunt. “I was quite worried you might not. I am gratified you are here at last.” Aunt Agatha smiled at them. “The footmen will get you any drink you desire and there are plenty of hors d’œuvres to enjoy.”

Chastity was aware of Sir Robert’s gaze following her and Mr. Cairo as they continued toward their destination.

“My friend has accompanied me from Northampton,” she told Mr. Cairo. “She will be most interested in hearing of your family business.”

Finally reaching Rose and Mrs. Fitz, Chastity begged permission to speak to them of her new acquaintance.

“Mr. Cairo comes from a most talented family,” she said. “Ask him to show you his remarkable watch,” she urged the two women.

Rose and Mrs. Fitz greeted Mr. Cairo with expectant gazes.

“I will see you a bit later,” Chastity said to him as she left the three of them and walked into the crowd but not before she looked over her shoulder and winked at Rose. Now there is a suitor for you.

Standing with Jack and Lady Sanborn, Robbie had observed Chastity Reynolds staring enraptured into the face of a man he had never met. His attire was that of a successful gentleman, his coat cut by a skillful tailor. Robbie must know more of this man before the evening was done. After all, he had promised The Grand Countess to look after The Girl Who Needed Watching. That he no longer thought of Chastity Reynolds as a girl, but a ravishing young woman, mattered not. He had a duty to fulfill.

Lady Sanborn excused herself and moved toward her other guests.

By his side, Jack sipped his brandy, casting a glance around the large room. “Have you noticed that every man in attendance under the age of seventy appears to be smitten with the lady you would have me believe is a virago?”

“Miss Reynolds?” Robbie watched as she passed through the room, men’s heads turning to follow her as she led the man with curly brown hair through the crowd. In that glimmering red silk gown, she was something to behold. Her pale skin was nearly translucent as if glowing from within like fine marble. A rare beauty even by London standards. “Perhaps ’tis just that she is new on the Brighton scene.”

“Even you don’t believe that,” Jack chided. “It was the same at the Pavilion the night we dined with the king. Miss Reynolds passes through a room like a bright candle in the darkest twilight. Un rare spectacle.”

“There you go again, Jack,” Robbie teased, “spouting that French romantic gibberish.”

“You need a bit of French gibberish in your life, Nephew. Just ask your mother.”

“My mother, née Claire Donet, can be quite fierce when she speaks French. It’s the language in which she chooses to discipline her sons, so I hardly think of it as romantic.”

“What a waste of good words,” said Jack.

“However, I agree with you that Miss Reynolds is unusually attractive.” In London, Robbie had noticed that some ladies of the ton walked with an arrogant stride, their noses ever in the air. Not so Chastity Reynolds. It was as if she were unaware of how beautiful she was or how men watched her. A beauty who is all fire and cheek. A woman, he suspected, who would be passionate in bed.