Page 36 of The Wallflower Ruse

Oh, dear. “How improper of you, Mr. Pearce. But now that you have me as alone as one can possibly be at a card party, what do you wish to discuss?” They were in a shadowy corner of the whist room, with only a few candles to illuminate their table, and far enough from everyone else to be unheard if they kept their voices down.

Perfect for improper wagers, just as she’d been warned.

He glanced about, then faced her again. “I wish to—to invite you to a celebration of Beltane Eve.”

Her mind sprang to attention. So apparently did her expression.

“Aha! You are pleased with my invitation!” He grabbed her hands, scattering the cards. “You will accept?”

“I am sorely tempted,” she said, pulling herself together. “I absolutely adore Beltane Eve. Will there be a bonfire at midnight? And next comes May Day, which is such fun.” Gently, she withdrew her hands. “But that doesn’t mean I may accept your invitation.”

His face fell. “Why not? You must! Oh, please say you shall!”

“First, tell me more about the celebration. Where is it to be held, and who will be invited?”

“At the estate of my aunt, Lady Delworth, in Chiswick,” he said. “Perfectly respectable, I assure you, but fun all the same. It’s a masquerade.”

Lucinda tutted and shook her head. “I am not permitted to attend masquerades. They are known for impropriety.”

“Not this one,” he pleaded, and would have grabbed her hands again if she hadn’t folded them in her lap. Instead, he twisted his own hands together. “My aunt is most awfully straight-laced. She won’t allow anything of that sort.”

“I don’t know how she can prevent it if everyone is in disguise.”

“Only the most select company will receive an invitation. My cousin the equerry will attend!” He said this with conspicuous pride.

“Your cousin is an equerry?” she asked. “To whom?”

“The Duke of Clarence,” he said. “My cousin has received permission to be absent from his royal duties for the evening.”

“How splendid,” she said, “but I shall have to see what Lady Alice says—and she must be invited as well.”

“The more the merrier!” He bent to gather up the cards. “I’ll have an invitation sent to you both, and to Mr. and Mrs. Hale. Not to Lord Restive, though. He is known for impropriety. My aunt would not approve.”

Lucinda managed a pout. “Lady Alice may refuse to come if Restive cannot escort us, and then I shan’t be able to come either! Please say you’ll invite him, too!”

He sucked in a breath. “I should like to, but I don’t quite know how. Auntie is very strict.”

Did this mean the plotters knew Restive was a government agent? Whoever they were; perhaps his aunt wasn’t one of them, but actually as proper as Mr. Pearce claimed.

“Wouldn’t Mr. Hale’s escort suffice?” he asked.

“It might,” Lucinda said, “if he agrees to go. He may not wish to bring his wife to such a function.” She bit her lip. “Please say you’ll try to invite Lord Restive.”

He covered her hand with his. “For you, my darling, I shall slay the dragon of my aunt’s prejudice.” His face fell. “Although I’m not the dragon-slaying sort, I admit, but I shall try.”

She thanked him and withdrew her hand from under his sweaty one. “I wonder what I should dress up as. A witch, celebrating the Beltane rites? No, for I loathe wearing black. I just barely got out of mourning.”

“How about a saint?” he asked eagerly. “You, my lady, are the epitome of perfection—a pure, saintly lady.”

From behind her came an evil laugh. “Saintly? I don’t think so.”

Mr. Pearce had glanced at her decolletage from time to time—gentlemen often did—but Mr. Wharton ogled her with revolting hunger.

“So,” he said, “the innocent maiden who calls on Lord Restive is not so innocent after all.”

Protestations of her purity would do no good. Nor could she expect help from Mr. Pearce, who stared at Wharton, mouth agape.

“You again, Mr. Wharton?” she retorted. “You keep cropping up like a bad penny. Kindly go away. You are interrupting our game of piquet.”