Oh, the butler would never tell his employer a person was inappropriate, but Belton had a way about him that never left any doubt in one's mind exactly what the uncompromising man thought.
"Well, she's late," Mason repeated.
"She is an actress, my lord," Belton shook his head as if his simple statement told the real truth.
"Exactly," Mason muttered. "Unreliable and flighty. And not just actresses, Belton-all women. Is it any wonder I chose the academic life? And as soon as I am rid of my nieces," he said with a nod toward the stairwell, down which came echoing their shrill voices as they argued like a trio of fishwives over the possession of a bonnet, "and rid of Freddie's debts, I am returning to my books and studies and the peaceful life I once enjoyed at Oxford."
He paced back across the foyer and stopped before the window to survey the square. Though the only other occupant about appeared to be a young maid returning from an errand for her mistress, that didn't ease his apprehensions.
Del was even now dismounting and looking around for the lad to come and take the reins.
And any moment, Madame Fontaine's carriage would come rolling into the square and his risky partnership with the most notorious woman in London would become public knowledge, compliments of Del.
It had seemed so easy yesterday-to tell her that he would seek his bride, make a marriage of convenience. And yet he'd gone out last night, determined to find his countess, attending party after party, looking over the heiresses and gaining the proper introductions to well-to-do widows, yet these all too respectable ladies of the ton left him wondering if he could live his life without the passion he'd experienced in Madame Fontaine's arms.
If only he hadn't kissed her. It had made a muddle of all his plans.
"My lord," Belton said. "You'd best intercept him. Now."
Mason had little choice but to go out and get Del away from the house as quickly as possible.
Before opening the door, he told Belton, "When Madame arrives, escort her up to the Green Salon and see that the girls join her immediately. Then don't admit any visitors-not a soul-until I return." Taking his hat from the butler and snatching up his riding crop from the stand by the doorway, Mason strode out the door and bounded down the steps, colliding with the maid he'd seen earlier.
He caught her before he sent her careening back down the steps, righting her and saying, "Excuse me, miss." It was easy to see how he'd overlooked her, for her drab little cloak left her all but blended into the stones and paving.
"It's perfectly all right, my lord," she murmured as he hurried past. "I suppose I deserve to be bowled over when I am so late."
Her response barely registered in his mind, for he was already down the steps and shaking Del's hand when her words and soft voice finally took root.
So late.
He swung around and found himself gaping at the maid who suddenly wasn't as colorless as he'd first thought.
Nor was she a maid.
It appeared Madame Fontaine had taken his order to prune her feathers back in her own defiant style. Oh, yes, she wore the usual ugly, shapeless cloak one saw maids and ladies' companions bundled in- but atop her head sat another cheeky hat. Though not her usual monstrosity of ribbons and plumage, this jaunty little chapeau with its swans down trim, green bow, and two feathers was not the modest headcovering one expected to see on a tutor to young ladies.
Did the woman ever go out without wearing feathers? he wondered, eyeing the two small plumes dancing in wild abandon atop her bonnet.
Not only were those damnable feathers laughing at him, but when she turned, her cloak fell open, revealing an elegant day dress of soft green, cut just low enough to give her audience a stunning view of the curves and generous bosom he knew only too well lurked beneath.
But it was her face which held his rapt attention. Scrubbed clean of the makeup and artifice that normally masked her features, her face shone through as fresh and demure as that of the greenest country lass.
The skin once hidden by paint appeared almost luminescent, graced as it was with a soft pink hue and a delicate rose at her lips. To his amazement there was even a teasing hint of freckles across the bridge of her nose, like the faint light of summer stars when they first appear in the twilight sky.
Madame Fontaine with freckles? His world turned upside down at such an ordinary notion.
Gads, this delicate seraph couldn't be the nefarious woman who'd invaded his home yesterday. He swallowed hard. No, this girl looked exactly like the unknown English miss he'd told her he intended to wed.
"My lord," she whispered. "I said I was most sorry about arriving late. Is there something else wrong? My bonnet? This gown?"
Wrong? Hardly. She rivaled the first flowers of spring, the dew on a summer's morning, the...
As if she sensed his amazement, her hand rose modestly to her face.
"What, or rather who, have you been hiding from me, St. Clair?" Del interrupted, trying to edge Mason aside.
Mason planted his feet squarely to the pavement and stood his ground. While he had been silently waxing poetic once again about this woman who was more surely the Helen to destroy his Troy than an Aphrodite to inspire his sudden perchance for lovesick odes, he'd forgotten Del stood close at hand.
"You'll have to excuse the Saint, his manners are atrocious," Del said. "And no wonder he's standing there like a regular nodcock, an enchanting creature such as yourself would make any man a philistine." He grinned and shoved the dangling reins into Mason's hands, then smoothly sidestepped him and caught her by the elbow. "Allister Balfour, Viscount Delander at your service, my dear. And you are?"
"Charmed," she replied, taking his hand off her elbow and returning it to him.
Del laughed. "As I am, most decidedly." He turned to Mason. "You've been holding out on me, Saint. A veritable angel in your midst. Am I to assume you've taken a bride?"
Mason saw nothing but the impending disaster before him, or he wouldn't have been so quick to utter, "No, the lady is not my wife." Once it had been said, he realized his mistake as Del's eyes lit with delight.
"Even better," his friend replied. Del's lurid gaze swung quickly back to her. "Then you can rest assured that I will court you, my dearest angel, quite shamefully without having to worry about being called out by my friend here. Wasted in Oxford he's been. Just wasted. Best shot in town. I remember when we were just lads out at Sanborn Abbey-"
"Del," Mason interrupted. "This is not the time."
Del nodded. "Of course not. Why would I want to charm a lady with your exploits when I am positive she would much rather be listening to mine." The man laughed again, and much to Mason's chagrin, Madame Fontaine joined in, her infectious good humor bubbling up like champagne on the tongue.
She'd never smiled like that around him-not that he'd given her any chance-still, she didn't have to look at Del as if his every word were laden with gold.
Worse than that, her good spirits only fueled Del's advances along. "Now, let me see," he began. "I never forget a lovely face, and yours is not only delightful, but very familiar. Have we met?"
Before she could answer, Mason jumped in. "I doubt it, Del. The lady is newly arrived from the country."
He had to give Riley credit, the only indication she gave to this lie was a slight shift of her brow.
"The country? No, I don't think so, I've seen you elsewhere. Here in town and recently, if I recall." Del took her hand again, and this time gave no indication that he was going to let go until he gained some answers. "Were you at Lady Twyer's musicale last week?"
Then, before Mason could come up with a likely explanation, Cousin Felicity hustled out the front door, a dervish awhirl in muslin and lace.
His dire threat that she would no longer be allowed to attend the theatre or opera-two of her favorite places to gather gossip-if she let even a hint of Madame Fontaine's presence in their house fall past her lips, was obviously foremost in her mind. She looked absolutely stricken at the sight of Lord Delander bent over Madame Fontaine's hand.
"Oh, there you are," Cousin Felicity said. "I've been sick with worry." She caught Madame's free arm and tugged her loose of Del's overly cordial clutches.
"My lady, good morning to you," Lord Delander said, nodding to Cousin Felicity. "Perhaps you can tell me who your lovely visitor is?"
"She's...she's..." Cousin Felicity glanced from Lord Delander to Mason and finally to Madame Fontaine, all the while her lashes beating wildly behind her thick glasses.
Del's head cocked to one side, obviously smelling something afoot. "Well, do the two of you know this enchanting creature, or don't you?"
Cousin Felicity gulped. "Of course we know her, my lord." She glanced again at Mason.
He helped her along. "I was just explaining to Lord Delander that the lady is newly arrived from the country."
"The country?" Cousin Felicity repeated. "Oh, yes," she said, her face brightening with a smile. "Why, Lord Delander, of course, she's just arrived from the country."
"I don't believe either of you, for I swear I have seen this lady before." The Viscount scratched his head and then grinned. "Now I remember where I have seen you, you vexing little mystery. And you can't deny it now, for I have found you out." He grinned at an open-mouthed Cousin Felicity and a stunned Mason. "I know exactly where I've seen you. At the theatre! That delightful little one on Brydge Street."
Ignoring the look of apoplexy marring Lord Ashlin's handsome face, Riley smiled brightly at the Viscount. After Lord Ashlin's abominable treatment yesterday, she would show the pompous scholar a thing or two about how a gentleman treats a lady. She wouldn't even go over his outlandish kiss-for she 'd spent too much time last night recalling every moment. No, she had more reason than that to be angry with him.
Why, he'd tricked and deceived her most wickedly about his abominable nieces. He'd even had the audacity to call them gently bred.
Rabid badgers possessed better manners. And, she imagined, would be more amenable to training.
Then there was his insistence that she appear in an appropriate costume, and appear she had, albeit a little late, and not exactly to his specifications, but she'd had her own reasons there.
Why, she'd spent the better part of the night reworking a piece of curtain from one of their less popular plays into this cloak so she was appropriately covered.
However, the gown underneath was another matter. She'd be damned if he ever called her tolerably pretty again.
And she'd obviously gone too far with her decision to wear her newest spring gown, for all he could do was glower at her.
It was his insistence on her change of wardrobe that was the very reason why she was late-she'd had a terrible time hailing a hackney, even with Hashim's assistance. In her usual costume, the drivers lined up to carry her, but covered up like someone's spinster governess, they drove by with nary a glance.
Now he wanted her to act like some country fool? Oh, she'd give him an innocent miss, one his overly attentive friend wouldn't forget for quite some time.
"Oh, my lord," she said in a sweet, breathy voice to the Viscount. "I don't see how that could be possible. I have never been to the theatre."
For good measure she let her lashes flutter and dropped her chin in a demure gesture. With a shy glance through her downcast lashes, she could see the man was taken in by her performance.
Obviously he hadn't seen her role as the virtuous and upstanding young girl in Wayside Maid.
Lord Delander shook his head. "No, you must be joking. I know I've seen you before and I've a good memory for these things. It was the theatre, I know it was."
Riley sighed. "I don't see how. My esteemed guardian always told me that a theatre is filled with the worst kind of reprobates and not a place for the innocent of mind. And out of respect to his worthy opinions, I make it a point to heed his sage advice."
Of course, Aggie usually finished his description of the typical London audience with a long, happy sigh and a breathy "God bless every one of them," but Lord Delander didn't need to know that.
"Yes, yes," Cousin Felicity chimed in. "How could she have been to the theatre if she's newly arrived from the country? You are simply mistaken, Lord Delander." The lady let out an impatient breath as if that settled the matter, and took Riley by the arm. "Come along, my dear. The girls are so delighted you are finally back from your stroll." She turned to Lord Delander. "Have you ever heard of anything so quaint-taking the morning air, in London no less, and without a proper escort."
"Oh dear! Was that wrong of me?" Riley gasped.
"Country ways," Cousin Felicity said in an aside to Lord Delander, shaking her head with a solemn, understanding nod.
The Viscount rallied to her defense. "Never fear, my dearest lady. Your reputation is safe with me. And whenever you wish to venture out, I would be honored to see to your escort personally."
Beaming at the man, Riley said, "Oh, my lord, how kind you are. How gentlemanly. My guardian warned me to beware of the men in London, for they will take the most egregious advantage of innocent ladies before one can ever utter a word of protest." She smiled at the Earl and hoped her words hit the mark, fair and true. "How refreshing to be in the company of someone who truly cares about a lady's most sterling possession, her reputation."
Certainly she was overplaying the scene, but she did like the way her speech was leaving Lord Ashlin shuddering like a veritable volcano.
With all that said, Cousin Felicity tried to take Riley in tow, toward the sanctuary of the house, but Lord Delander wasn't about to give up yet.
He cleared his throat. "I never make mistakes when it comes to a charming face. And yours, Miss..." He paused again looking for either Lord Ashlin or Cousin Felicity to fill him in on her identity, but when both of them remained stubbornly silent, Lord Delander continued. "Well, yes, I say your face is remarkably familiar." He peered intently at her until a light of recognition went off in his eyes. "That's it! Now I've put it together." He caught her chin and tipped her face up. "Oh, yes, I see it now. You look exactly like that actress down there." He let go of her and turned to Lord Ashlin. "What the devil is her name?" He snapped his fingers several times. "What I am asking you for? That would be like asking a Chinaman for directions to Carlton House. If you hadn't been off hiding at Oxford all these years, you would know the things that are truly important. Oh, whatever is her name?"
"Madame Fontaine?" Cousin Felicity suggested, smiling at Lord Ashlin and Riley as if she had just helped the situation.
Lord Delander slapped his knee, a smile splitting his handsome face. "That's it. Madame Fontaine! Your guest here is the spitting image of that actress."
Riley glanced over at Lord Ashlin, who'd gone grayer than a two-day-old corpse. She felt compelled to salvage this disaster, even though a small wicked part of her liked watching the Earl twist a bit in a wind of his own making.
"An actress? You think I look like an actress?" She let her eyes widen in horror. Then, calling on what was described by the reviewer at the Observer as her "pithy and compelling use of emotion," she let a small tear run down her cheek.
It stopped, as if on cue, halfway down.
Turning to Mason, she said, adding a sad little sniff to every other word, "I am so mortified that I..." Her bottom lip trembled as if she didn't dare finish without dissolving into a fit of tears. "If you turn me out, Lord Ashlin, I'll understand. I would be forever mortified if your other friends came to the same conclusion. Think of those dear faultless girls upstairs and what an association, even an erroneous one, would mean to their sterling, innocent reputations."
She reached for Cousin Felicity to steady herself, holding out her hand for the handkerchief the lady always had at the ready. While Riley considered that she was probably laying it on a little thick, to the point where even Aggie would be cringing, she rather liked the way her speech now had Lord Ashlin nearly ready to erupt.
Served him right. Kissing her, indeed, and then having the audacity to dismiss her as if it had meant nothing. Well, it had meant something to her.
Even if it was the last thing she wanted.
Taking to her role as protector of their country relative's virtue, Cousin Felicity glared at Lord Delander, and at the same time, patted Riley's hand with all the sincere worry of a kindly aunt. "There, there, the Viscount never meant to slight your character." The lady looked up. "A character above reproach, I might add."
Riley glanced over at the lady and shot her a warning glance. There was overplaying a role, and then there was overplaying...
"Oh, well, I didn't mean to imply...I just meant..." Lord Delander stammered. "Oh, bother. The resemblance isn't that convincing. Just a bit around the edges. And I meant it as the veriest of compliments. Truly I did. Please, no more tears."
Riley steadied her quivering lip and shot him a brave look. After a hesitant glance toward Cousin Felicity, she even dared a small, shy smile.
"So you accept my deepest apologies, Miss...?" he said, once again taking her hand and bringing her fingers to his lips.
"Yes, of course, my lord," she offered demurely, while at the same time attempting to retrieve her hand with a practiced twist and yank.
The maneuver failed on such a well-studied rake as Lord Delander. He held onto her gloved fingers with
all the determination of a man fatally smitten. "Now you must tell me your name, and no more deceptions.
And I will know where you are staying so I may call on you and your guardian," he persisted.
"I'm...I'm..." Riley struggled for the right lines to redirect the man's attentions, when Cousin Felicity came up with her own nonsensical solution to the problem.
And added an entirely new dimension to it.