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The viscount took on the expression a cat might wear once it has the
mouse between its paws. "They'll be going away for a very long time."
Sydney laughed nervously. "Here I thought they were your partners. Can
you imagine?"
"Don't start that again, Mischief. Fiend seize it, do I look like an Otto?"
Healthy, tanned, strong, and confident, he did not resemble Mr.
Chesterton in the least. She shook her head and smiled up at him.
He brushed the back of his fingers across her cheek. "Thanks,
sweetheart. Now, listen, I do not want you even to think about contacting
this dirty dish or giving him a groat. I'll track him down and take care of
everything. You don't have to worry. Trust me."
Trust me. Isn't that what the snake said to Eve? Besides, how could she
trust a man who was branded a rake by his own lips? By his own lips on
hers, if she needed more proof! She still was not sure he wouldn't hold her
to personal repayment of the loan very personal. She wasn't even sure she
would refuse!
Of course she would, Sydney told herself firmly. On the other hand, it
would be far better if she could dissolve the worrisome debt and never let
the question come up. She wondered, alone in her room, what might
happen if she were independent and able to meet Forrest more as a social
equal. Not that Miss Lattimore from Little Dedham could ever be the
equal of the lofty Lord Mayne, but a girl could dream, couldn't she? She'd
once tamed some wild kittens. How much harder could it be to reform a
rake?
It still came down to the money. Whether she owed a hardened libertine
or hardened criminals, she was in one hard place. She was never going to
be safe, one way or t'other, unless she paid them all back. But how?
Lord Mayne placed guards around Sydney's house, alerted the twins,
and made sure his brother accompanied the young ladies whenever he
could at night. Forrest had his men out searching for Randall, and he
himself haunted low dives and gaming hells looking for Chester.
He was never going to find Chester, not unless he crawled under every
bed in every row house in Chelsea.
"He can't be an outlaw," Bella gasped as Sydney waved the vinaigrette
under her nose. "He's Lady Peaswell's nephew."
Sydney poured tea to calm the older woman's nerves after her attack of
the vapors. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Ott, but for all your town bronze, you were
taken in the same as I was. The man is a charlatan, a professional
gambler, and a cheat."
"Poor, poor Lady Peaswell," Bella blubbered into her handkerchief.
"Yes, well, even noble families have their black sheep. You must not let
titles and such affect your good judgment."
Bella thought of Lord Whitlaw, Chester's father, and blubbered some
more. "How true, how true. And how foolish I have been, my dear, me with
my simple, trusting nature. I fed the boy, took him to my hearth,
introduced him to my friends! Oh, how could I have been so blind? And
how can I ever make it up to you, dear Sydney? Tell Bella what I can do so
you'll forgive me for bringing a viper to your nest."
"Well, I have this plan& "
18
Hell and Beyond
« ^ »
polite hell was not one in which the sinners helped lace each other's
A
ice skates. That was a cold day in hell, which was about when Miss Sydney
Lattimore should have attended Lady Ambercroft's salon.
Lady Ambercroft was a young widow making a splash in the ton and a
small fortune for herself by turning her home into a genteel gaming
establishment. A lady could play silver loo or dip into her pin money at the
roulette table without rubbing elbows with the lower orders or sharing the
table with her husband's mistress. (Unless that mistress was another
woman of birth and breeding on Lady Ambercroft's select list of invitees.)
There was, supposedly, no drinking to excess, rowdy behavior, or wagering
beyond the house limits.
The elegant premises were visited by much of society even Aunt
Harriet considered going when she heard refreshments were free and
gossiped about by the rest.
Lady Ambercroft herself was a lively, attractive woman who had
married a foul-breathed old man for his money, then celebrated his
demise by spending her hard-earned inheritance. She still had her looks,
she still had the house, she was still celebrating. She was also still on all
but the highest sticklers' guest lists, so Sydney had met her. Over braised
duck at the Hopkins-Jones buffet two evenings before, Sydney asked Lady
Ambercroft if she could attend one of her game nights. The widow had
laughed gaily and said of course, whenever Miss Lattimore's Aunt Harriet
brought her. Which was right back to when hell froze over.
Sydney chose to consider that an invitation, as long as she was well
chaperoned. She chose to accept. Lady Ambercroft was making money,
she was not ruined in polite society, and, best of all, she lived right around
the corner from the Lattimores!
Sydney had no problem feigning illness to cry off Aunt Harriet's musical
entertainment planned for that evening; listening to Trixie and her friends
torture the pianoforte and harp always gave her the headache. She just
claimed one in advance.
Sydney had a little trouble convincing Mrs. Ott. "If you want to play
cards, dearie, we can just go to my digs. That'll be more the thing, don't
you know. My coach is right outside."
It might be more convenable, but it would not serve Sydney's purpose
at all. It would serve Bella's even less to see her thousand pounds slide into
some other woman's purse. She tried again: "His lordship ain't going to
like it."
"He won't know. We can slip out the back door and walk the half block.
I intend to stay for only an hour."
Bella revised her plans. In an hour even a cabbagehead like this gel
would have rough going to lose a thousand pounds, but she sure as sin
could lose her reputation.
As soon as Winifred left with Lord Mainwaring and Wally, and
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