“Miss Chauncey! Up so early? Are you feeling well?”
Chauncey turned to see Mary, her dark hair disheveled, drawing the sash more tightly about the waist of her robe.
“No, I can see that isn’t it at all,” she continued, her eyes shrewd even as she yawned behind her hand. “You met Mr. Saxton.”
“Yes, I met him—indeed, waltzed twice with him.” She gave a self-mocking smile. “He is not quite what I expected, Mary. He does not look in the least . . . evil. At least I don’t think so, since everyone stayed masked. And he acts in the most lighthearted way imaginable.”
“Then why were you staring out of the window looking as if you had lost your last friend in the world?”
“I intend to marry him,” Chauncey said baldly.
“So,” Mary said thoughtfully, “the wind sets that way, does it? You are certain then that he intends to wed Miss Penelope?”
“It appears so. She is silly and vain, but her father is quite wealthy. It seems Mr. Saxton is an opportunist as well as a villain.”
“You don’t think he loves the chit?”
“I know she doesn’t love him.” She shrugged, but her voice hardened with resolve. “As for Mr. Saxton, whatever his feelings are, I fully intend that they will change.”
Mary felt a wave of pity wash over her. It wasn’t right that Miss Chauncey, now freed from the greed of her aunt and uncle, should be forced to go to such lengths. She sighed, knowing well that once Miss Chauncey had made up her mind, nothing would change it.
“Stop looking at me as if I were a wet kitten straggling in the rain! It will not be bad, Mary. I will marry him, ruin him, then we will return to England where we belong.”
Miss Chauncey made it all sound so easy, Mary thought. But life wasn’t like that. Life was a slippery road full of potholes and sharp turns. She looked toward her young mistress and heard her talking softly to herself. “ . . . As his wife, I will know everything he plans, I will know exactly how to strike at him.”
Mary muttered an utterly improper string of words and left Chauncey’s bedroom.
* * *
“Del, you have a visitor.”
Delaney looked up from the ledger he was studying, a mobile brow risin
g at the smug tone of Jarvis’ voice.
“I gather it isn’t fat old Mrs. Tucker wanting me to subscribe to her latest charity?”
“No, sir. ’Tis that Englishwoman, Miss Jameson. She asked for you specifically, Del.”
“Is that so?” Delaney said softly, his expression becoming utterly bland. “Since the young lady is one of our prime customers, I suppose I should see what she wants. Do show her in, Jarvis. Oh . . . and, Jarvis, you needn’t listen at the keyhole!”
Jarvis cast his employer a wounded look, then took himself out of Delaney’s office. Now, what does she want? he wondered lazily, leaning back in his comfortable leather chair. When Miss Jameson appeared in his doorway, he rose slowly, straightening his gray waistcoat as he did so, and for a moment felt intense pleasure simply looking at her. Even with her mask, he had had no doubt that she would be beautiful, and he was right. Her glorious hair was piled charmingly atop her head, with curling tendrils falling over her temples. Her bonnet was trimmed in yellow silk to match her entrancing gown. Her eyes were an odd mahogany color, but he suspected that like her hair, they shifted color depending on the light. And her mood, of course. He met her gaze and saw that she was assessing him as openly as he was her. “What an . . . unexpected pleasure, Miss Jameson,” he drawled, walking toward her. “To what do I owe this honor?”
Chauncey swallowed, taking in his thick wave of honey-colored hair that fell over his forehead, and his twinkling eyes, fringed with thick dark lashes. Why couldn’t he have a weak chin, at least? To plan to see him and bowl him over was a very different matter from actually doing it. Be witty and outrageous. He is a man who can’t bear to be bored. She was startled for a moment at her insight, but she knew it to be true about him.
“It is a lovely day, Mr. Saxton,” she said, allowing him to take her hand briefly. “I have come to rescue you from your labors.”
Why, she is chasing me, he thought, both amused and intrigued. But his expression never changed. He waved toward the pile of papers on his desk. “Alas, Miss Jameson, I am but a miserable drudge. Behold my labors. I fear they will not go away without my personally dispatching them.”
“Such a pity,” she said in mock sorrow. “And I was told that you were a man of great resource. Perhaps, Mr. Saxton, you can forgo your labors, just for a short time. I, sir, will buy you lunch.” At his look of surprise, Chauncey added on a mournful voice, “You see, sir, I have already received three proposals of marriage and I fear that eager gentlemen are even at this moment waiting for me to emerge. Have you no sense of gallantry, sir? I am, I assure you, a lady in distress.”
“Somehow, Miss Jameson,” Del said smoothly, “I cannot imagine you tolerating any distress, particularly from eager gentlemen. Are you always so forward?”
Her eyes sparkled. “Only when it is absolutely necessary. Now, sir, I find my ribs are rattling from hunger.”
Delaney gave her a mock bow. “Your wish, dear lady . . . Shall I ask Dan if he wants to join us?” He was further intrigued to see that his suggestion had taken her aback and that those extraordinary eyes of hers had darkened. “No,” he said quickly, deciding to save her from further forwardness, “I imagine that Dan is in the righteous midst of making more money for us. I, on the other hand, will be pleased to eat some of our profits.”
She laughed. “No, Mr. Saxton. It is I who will save your profits for you. The most expensive establishment, if you please. I am not at all niggardly.”