Mason chuckled, but not for the same reason. He could well imagine what the Dowager would do if her son married an actress.
As they rounded the corner and were about to enter the park, Mason spied Hashim walking toward
them.
He had told Riley not to bring her outlandish escort, and now here he was, parading onto Ashlin Square for all to see.
As they passed, Hashim made no acknowledgment toward them.
"Look at the fierce creature, Saint," Del commented once they were well past the imposing man. "I say, you should consider reporting him to the watch. Can't have the likes of that wandering 'bout frightening the citizenry. He's probably the same fellow my mother was clamoring on about yesterday. Ever since that actress arrived in London a few years back with her Saracen, now all the ladies want one. They've become a plague. And if my mother looks out the window and sees him passing by, she'll be atop the house. She'll insist I move back in." He shuddered as if that would be a fate worse than death.
Mason smiled to himself. Del may well consider death a welcome fate if his mother found out he was courting the woman the male half of London called Aphrodite's Envy.
Chapter 7.
M ason returned from his ride an hour or so later, determined to put Madame Fontaine-no, he corrected himself, Riley, on notice. He'd had a hell of a time getting rid of Del, who'd lounged about looking for an invitation to see more of Riley. But Mason had ignored his friend and even now took the front steps two at a time, ticking off her demerits, while Del rode away with a determined look on his face that said only too clearly that this was not the last they'd seen of the Viscount.
Mason didn't know what irritated him more-the matter of her tardiness, her overly appealing appearance, or her flirtatious manners.
Why, she was a veritable lodestone of charisma, and he wanted her to put a stop to it immediately.
He'd spent most of his ride, between listening to Del come up with names for his and Riley's children, preparing his own future for the impossible lady.
First, she was under no circumstances to see or speak with Lord Delander. She was to avoid him at all
costs.
Second, there was the matter of her servant. He'd told her quite plainly she was to leave him behind.
And yet here he had been this morning, walking along Ashlin Square as if he owned the place.
"Belton," he called out, stripping off his riding gloves and stuffing them into his hat.
The butler came around the corner. "Yes, my lord?"
Mason handed off his cloak and hat, and said, "Send Madame Fontaine to my study. Immediately."
He was three steps away when he heard Belton's reply.
"Madame has already left."
Mason turned around. "Left? What do you mean, left?"
"She and that infidel departed about a half hour ago."
"Whatever for?"
Belton shot a withering glance up the staircase, where Mason caught a fleeting glance of muslin as a
guilty-looking trio fled the impending storm.
"Did Madame Fontaine say anything before she left?"
Belton shifted. "I'm afraid it was in French, sir. And rather unrepeatable even in the translation."
Mason could well imagine. He let out an exasperated sigh and continued into his office, Belton following
in his wake.
There on his desk awaited his correspondence and accounts, which he was now an hour overdue to begin. His daily schedule lay in shambles.
"Should I ring for your morning tea, my lord?"
At least something of his routine could be salvaged. "Yes. And send for my nieces. Tell them to be in my
office in five minutes, no more, no less."
"Yes, my lord," Belton said, remaining in place.
"Is there something else?" Mason asked.
Belton held up a reticule. "Madame Fontaine left this behind."
Mason waved his hand at the thing. "You can return it to her tomorrow."
"If she comes-" Belton said under his breath.
"Yes, well, I imagine Madame Fontaine is made of sterner stuff than what those harridans of ours can
dish out." If he thought that was the end of it, Mason was quite mistaken. Belton remained in front of his desk like a sentry.
An unwanted one.
"Belton! Why are you hovering?" Mason had never seen the butler so out of sorts. "What is it, man?"Belton cleared his throat. "When I was retrieving the lady's reticule, a note fell out." He reached into hispocket and pulled out a tattered piece of paper, placing the scrap on Mason's desk.
"Belton, the contents of Madame Fontaine's reticule are hardly any of our business, and I cannot believe you would stoop to-" he stopped short of saying "snoop through her belongings" when his gaze fell on the crudely lettered missive.
Leve Englund whore or sufer.
"Well, at least they spelled 'whore' correctly," he remarked.
He picked it up and looked at it more closely. It wasn't written in a woman's hand, the letters were far too clumsy. For some reason, he suspected Riley's writing would be like that of the lady herself, full of passion and curves, not this ignorant scrawl.
So what the devil was going on? he wondered. It made no sense, unless...He dismissed the notion as ridiculous.
Someone threatening Riley?
The note suddenly felt as cold as death in his hands, and he hastily stuffed it back into her reticule.
That was a mistake. For as he opened the brown velvet bag, he caught a hint of her perfume. His body knew that scent, knew it only too well, and all his instincts clamored for him to protect her.
He dismissed that errant notion outright. The lady was hardly his, or his concern, but certainly he knew
what needed to be done-he should return her reticule and get to the bottom of this mystery. He had an
investment to protect.
Yes, an investment. That gave an entirely respectable reason for him to rush down to Covent Garden- that Ashlin den of sin and iniquity.
Well, he was a new kind of Ashlin, impervious to the allurements found there.
Even Madame Fontaine's, he resolved.
An hour later, his nieces left his study. He'd listened to their claims of no wrongdoing, but he hadn'tbelieved a word of it. They were a little too insistent. So he'd sent them off with an admonishment thattheir days would begin by helping Mrs. McConneghy in the kitchen if their next lesson didn't fare better.
On his way out to his awaiting carriage, he cringed at the sound of Cousin Felicity bustling up behind him in a flutter of lace. "Oh, Mason, you are a dear to call a carriage for me," she said, moving past him and climbing into the conveyance without a second glance back.
"Cousin, this carriage is for me. I have some business to attend to," he told her, peering inside as she settled in.
"You can drop me off, for I have a little shopping to do," she said, patting the seat beside her.
"Cousin, I told you, no more unnecessary expenditures."
She shook her head. "Dear boy, none of my expenditures are unnecessary. Besides, you are going to see Riley and return her reticule, aren't you?"
He shot a glance in her direction. Were there no secrets in his house?
"Yes," he said, unwilling to go any further into the business.
"Then you can drop me off on the way," she said, settling deeper into the seat.
Mason knew there was little hope of evicting her now, so he climbed in, and he gave the driver
directions. With a lurch and a pull, the carriage was off.
"Dreadful business," she said quite lightly. "Mason, I do hope you discover what this 'leve Englund'nonsense is about."His gaze spun around. "You read it?""Well, of course. I was there when Belton went through-" She stopped short of completely condemning their butler. Instead, she finished by saying, "We needed to know who the reticule belonged to, so Belton thought it best to open it."
It was the flimsiest excuse he had ever heard. Cousin Felicity made it sound as if leftover lady's reticules
were a common occurrence at Ashlin House.
"Whyever would anyone want our dear Riley gone?"
"I haven't the vaguest idea, Cousin. I am sure it is nothing more than some type of theatrical lark." He