Regency Sins: Pickpocket Countess / Notorious Rake, Innocent Lady

Nora tossed a card on the table, intensely aware of Stockport’s cobalt gaze fixed on her. ‘What is it, my lord? Have I misplayed?’

‘Quite the contrary, Miss Habersham, I think you want to fool us into underestimating you.’ Stockport smiled another of his drawing-room smiles, polite, charming and yet somehow slightly mocking—of who or what, Nora could not divine.

‘There is nothing to underestimate,’ Nora offered smoothly, playing a trump.

‘I think there is. You’ve shown yourself to be an outstanding card player this evening,’ Stockport complimented. He turned the conversation towards the woman seated to his left. ‘Mrs Tidewell, is Miss Habersham always so capable at card parties?’

The woman blushed and thought for a moment. ‘I suppose she is. Miss Habersham is always winning, but she’s so humble we forget how handily she plays.’

‘I am fortunate in my partners,’ Nora responded, gathering the last trick. ‘There, my lord. We’ve made our bid. You can speculate all you like about my card playing, but I say it is merely luck and good partners.’ Nora rose and stretched, grateful that the other two tables were finishing their hands and that the tea trolley had arrived.

Tables began to break up and guests milled around the tea service, Stockport among them. Nora was glad to be out from under his sharp eyes after enduring the evening under their scrutiny. Within the hour the party would reach its conclusion and she could get on with her business.

Nora took a seat on a nearby couch and tried to look unobtrusive. She failed completely. Within minutes, Stockport’s sharp eyes found her. Damn.

‘Miss Habersham, would you like some tea?’ She’d expected Stockport to join some of the male guests present but here he was, dancing attendance on the village spinster, a delicate tea cup in each hand and looking handsomely at ease with the difficult manoeuvre. How the London ladies must swoon over him, Nora mused, thanking her stars that she was made of sterner stuff.

‘Thank you.’ Nora took the tea he offered, trying to ignore the empty space on the couch next to her.

Stockport smiled gently. When she didn’t invite him to sit, he invited himself. ‘Miss Habersham, may I join you?’

‘Oh, certainly,’ Nora fluttered, covering up for her lack of manners. ‘Although I am surprised you are not seeking out the company of your friends.’

‘I already know them, Miss Habersham. I don’t know you. This is the perfect opportunity to get to know my newest neighbor. How long have you been at the Grange?’

Drat, the man could rise to every occasion. That spelled trouble. His benign question immediately aroused her suspicions. In her experience, there was nothing as perilous as seemingly harmless small talk, particularly coming from this man.

No matter how well cultivated his drawing-room manners were, nothing changed the fact that he was positively lethal, much more dangerous than any of her information made him out to be. She must tread carefully.

‘There’s not much to tell. I am a simple woman. You’ve already seen that I live a simple life.’ She tittered and stared into her tea cup. That would not be enough to put Stockport off, so Nora deflected his burgeoning inquisition with a tried-and-true trick. ‘I am sure it’s much more interesting to talk about you.’ In general, most men were always diverted by the opportunity to expound on themselves at large.

She’d forgotten Stockport was not most men. It was the second time in their association she’d made that mistake. The first time, she’d kissed him. She would do well to remember it. He wasn’t even half the men she knew. He had a category all his own.

He narrowed his remarkable eyes now and furrowed his brow, looking as if he struggled with an unseen puzzle. A frisson of alarm went through Nora. ‘What is it, my lord? Have I said something wrong? Oh dear, I’m always putting my foot in it.’ Nora wrung her hands dramatically, making a show of muttering her stupidity under her breath while her mind raced, trying to catch her error.

What had triggered Stockport’s reaction? He looked like a man who had heard or seen something familiar, but could not place it in context.

Stockport mastered himself. ‘No, you’ve done nothing wrong. It is just that your conversation reminded me of another I had not long ago. I assure you, it’s not what you said, merely how you said it. I see you’re finished with your tea. Come, stroll about the room with me.’

Nora stared at Stockport as if he had two heads. The spinster walking about the room with the Earl? She had not expected this, but then she hadn’t anticipated anything that had happened so far tonight. There was no way out of it, so she placed her hand on his sleeve and consented to the stroll.

Stockport kept up a stream of seemingly innocuous small talk. She supposed other women would find the singular attention flattering. She found it worrisome. ‘Before tonight, Miss Habersham, I knew two things about you. First, you live at the Grange. Secondly, your cook makes the best teacakes in town. Now I have discovered a third. You play an outstanding game of whist. I am sure there is more to know.’

‘I assure you, those are the sum of my attributes,’ Nora said as rudely as Miss Habersham might dare with such a man.

‘We shall have to agree to disagree on that point, Miss Habersham,’ Stockport said in nonchalant tones that left her unprepared for the dangerous words that came out of his mouth next. ‘Ah, we approach the verandah. Fresh air, Miss Habersham?’

The hair on the back of Nora’s neck prickled in forewarning. She had waited all night for the other shoe to fall and now it had.

Victory at last! He had the nasally Miss Habersham right where he wanted her—private and alone, where he could confront her with his growing suspicions. He had worked all night for this moment, suffering through endless hands of whist and meaningless village gossip.

It had been highly enlightening to watch the lady in question play so ruthlessly. She was a far better partner than her conversation at the table indicated, which served to support the growing pile of evidence that Miss Habersham did not simply know The Cat. She was The Cat.

The previously reticent Miss Habersham had not been so timid during cards. Over cards, Miss Habersham had demonstrated a tenacity that seemed out of character for her, but not for The Cat. The Cat and Miss Habersham had sharp tongues. The whiny spinster had found the spine on two occasions now to reprimand him when he pried too closely into her personal life.

There were other characteristics they shared as well. They both had those piercing ice-jade eyes. Beneath the frumpy gowns of Miss Habersham there hid a delectable figure to rival the one The Cat flaunted. Now it was his turn to have the upper hand. He would make The Cat squirm before he pounced.

‘I must apologise, Miss Habersham. I find that I have business we must discuss and I’d rather do it privately.’ He wanted to laugh while Eleanor fussed with her glasses, pushing them up higher on the bridge of her nose, doing her best to look discomfited by such male attention. Didn’t she realise the game was minutes from being over?

‘If you want to bring up the issue of security at the Grange again, I must stick to my initial position and decline your offer,’ she began with characteristic nervousness.

Ah, very astute. Stockport gave her points for quick thinking. One of the conversations he’d had with ‘Eleanor’ had been about security, unlike the conversation he’d held with The Cat yesterday.

‘I am afraid I have a slightly different topic in mind. What do you know about The Cat?’ Brandon said without preamble.

‘Why, only what I hear in town,’ Eleanor said. ‘Why would you ask such a thing?’

‘Your house hasn’t been touched. I find that odd,’ he pressed, not allowing himself to be gulled by the wide-eyed shock and the hand flying to her throat in horror at his question.

‘Neither has yours, I understand,’ she retorted archly. ‘Perhaps I should be asking what you know about The Cat?’

Brandon smiled. ‘My point, exactly.’ He leaned intimately close. Perhaps if he could fluster her, she would forget herself. ‘Miss Habersham, I do know quite a lot about The Cat. I thought it was time for us to share what we know.’

His plan to discomfit her was failing. Eleanor made a great show of her chagrin. ‘Are you insinuating I am harbouring a fugitive? Take me inside at once. I find this conversation very unseemly.’ She was all Miss Habersham. So convincing was her outrage, his instincts faltered. Had he guessed wrongly about her identity?

All the signs couldn’t be wrong. Brandon pushed onwards.

‘What if I don’t?’ Two could play this game within a game. There was no harm in it since Miss Habersham didn’t really exist. He was ninety per cent sure of it.

‘I would scream,’ she said in high dudgeon worthy of any thespian.

The other ten per cent of him almost believed her.

Brandon bowed in mock-surrender. ‘I doubt you’d do either, but things will be as you wish. I’ll escort you inside.’ He stepped aside to let her pass ahead of him, taking the opportunity to audaciously whisper in her ear, ‘When the night began I knew three things about you, Eleanor. Now I suspect a fourth.’ It would serve her right to let her stew over the possibilities of what he knew.

An hour later, Brandon let himself into Stockport Hall and lit a brace of tapers left on the entry hall sideboard for his convenience.

He walked to the study, letting his candles cast shadows on the walls. He peered inside. Disappointment swamped him. His light illuminated nothing but emptiness. He’d thought she would be here. He had made sure that Eleanor had left the card party before him, giving the masquerading spinster plenty of time to change guises and sneak into the mansion.

This was rich! The Earl of Stockport plotting an assignation with a thief. What depths he had fallen to if the highlight of his social calendar was a clandestine rendezvous.

It was the final stroke in the evening’s débâcle with Miss Habersham. Doubt was beginning to replace his earlier confidence. At the card party, Eleanor had used the same deflecting technique in their conversation that The Cat had used at the Christmas ball. It was proving to be a ridiculous connection.

He must be more affected by The Cat than he’d thought if he was seeing the elegant, stealthy Cat in the dowdy form of the village spinster. He’d been so certain of his instincts on the verandah.

Brandon reprimanded himself the length of the stairs. Still, he had been so sure! But he’d also been sure The Cat would keep her word and return his ring. It was after midnight. The promised day of arrival was gone. For a man used to being right, he’d been wrong about a lot lately.

Brandon pushed open the door to his sitting room. A fire burned low and warm in the grate, assuring him from its glow that the room was empty.