Regency: Rakes & Reputations: A Rake by Midnight / The Rake's Final Conquest

She considered this as they entered the clearing and heeded a wave from Lady Sarah. “You most certainly are not responsible for me, but I…I suppose there can be no harm in pretending if you will try to use a bit of discretion. The less you flaunt it, the less there will be to explain when it ends.”

“Agreed.”

Gina glanced down at her décolletage to be certain everything had been put back in place. She was already humiliated enough and she did not want to rejoin their party betraying any sign of impropriety.

That kiss, more seductive than the last, warned her not to become entangled any further with James Hunter. Indeed, how would she manage to coax information from young men if James was always lurking? How could she trace the only clue she had?

She dropped her hand from his arm to smooth the fabric of her gown, trying to brush away any remaining trace of their indiscretion. Her fingers skimmed a small lump of metal dangling from the corset strings beneath her gown. The shape seemed to burn its impression into her skin. Thank heavens James had gone no further or he might have found the key Christina Race had given her. She must find the lock it fit.

Standing on the steps of St. Mary’s Church as the bell rang the hour of twelve, Gina scanned the crowd for any sign of the street urchins Lilly had introduced to her. In the distance, she could see Nancy amongst the stalls of vegetable vendors. Soon she would rejoin Gina, and they would walk home.

She felt conspicuous and realized meeting so openly with a street child would be noted by any of the family’s friends and acquaintances. She would have to think of a different place. Somewhere more private and less open.

A small head sporting a dirty blue cap bobbed through the crowd in a direct line for her. As he drew closer, he waved and finally joined her on the steps. “Mornin’, Miss Eugenia.”

“Good morning, Ned. Do you have anything for me?”

“Not yet, miss. I been lookin’ though. I rounded up some o’ the lads and told ‘em to keep a look out. Promised a shilling to whoever brought the news.”

Ned was a clever lad. The more eyes on the watch, the more likely Henley would be sighted. “Thank you, Ned. Is there some way you could send to me immediately when you have news? “

“Instead o’ waiting until noon, y’ mean? I dunno. Could knock on yer kitchen door, I suppose.”

“No!” Gina could just imagine the questions she’d face if a street child turned up asking for her. “I…I could meet you twice a day.”

The boy removed his cap and swiped his forehead with the back of his arm. “Naw. Shouldn’t take us long to spot ‘im, but that Henley is a wily one. If ‘e catches us. An’ we gots bigger problems than that, miss. If you wants him real quick-like, I’m gonna need ‘elp. One of me mates thinks ‘e saw the gent goin’ into a gamblin’ ‘ell. I can’t get in some o’ the places ‘e goes. I know ‘e’s one fer the ladies, an’ I can’t get in those places either.”

Gina’s mind whirled. She could not ask any of Henley’s peers without alerting James. And he was likely pursuing that angle himself. Aside from that, she could not know if they’d been in league with Henley, which would only land her squarely in more trouble. And she dare not hire a woman for fear of the danger that might befall her.

No, apart from her own inquiries, her best chance of finding Henley lay with Mr. Renquist and this savvy urchin. But the threat of James watching her every minute would keep her from pursuing the matter. Unless she could find a way around him.

He’d declared his intention to escort her home every night. But what if she did not stay at home? What if she met with Ned, instead? She’d sneaked out at night before and managed quite well before she’d run afoul of Mr. Henley. And she’d learned her lesson there—never again would she go anywhere with someone she did not know very, very well.

“Ned, how late are you about at nights?”

“Don’t usually sleep until dawn, miss. Some o’ my best pickin’s are in the wee hours when the gents are deep in their cups and not payin’ attention.”

“Then would you meet me after midnight? I could help you. Perhaps I could disguise myself and gain entry to the places you cannot. I will reimburse you for your losses and also pay anyone else you think may help. But we mustn’t involve too many people. The more who know, the more likely our secret will get out.”

He seemed to consider the matter for a moment, then brightened. “Aye. There’s a few I know ‘oo could ‘elp. An’ they won’t tell, neither. When do y’ wanna start, miss?”

The Morris masquerade was tonight. She was attending with the Thayer twins, but she could beg a headache just before midnight, allow James to escort her home, then sneak away as soon as his carriage disappeared around the corner. But tonight she had important business. If fortune favored her, once she spoke with Mr. Metcalfe, she would have no need of Ned’s services. She would have all the answers she needed.

But Gina had learned nothing if not to be cautious. “Tomorrow night, Ned? Quarter past midnight?” Wherever she found herself tomorrow, she would be sure to be home by then.

“Aye, miss. I’ll wait for ye down the street.”

“Stay hidden, Ned. The neighbors are a bit nosy.”

The atmosphere in the Morris ballroom—indeed, in all the rooms the masquerade spilled into—was lively and gay. More than half the attendees wore elaborate costumes. Others, like Gina, wore bright colors in lieu of a costume and merely sported a mask or a domino. Her mask was crafted from silk sewn with yellow feathers and sparkling jewels to complement her bright yellow gown and she dangled a yellow feathered fan from her left wrist. Hortense had dressed as a shepherdess while Harriett wore a nun’s habit. And James, who had arrived to escort them true to his threat, wore a domino with his usual evening attire. When he had delivered them safely to the ballroom, he’d excused himself to greet some of his friends in the billiards room.

Under the protection of disguise, and relieved of the usual restraint of propriety, the gathering was rife with hilarity and spontaneity. And, unless Gina missed her guess, all were imbibing more than the usual amount of punch laced with alcohol, along with wine and ale.

She wondered how she might find Miss Race in the crush, but removed her mask often enough to make certain Christina could find her. But, so far, not a single trace of a leper. Surely Mr. Metcalfe would not fail to come. Christina had told her how anxious he was to speak with her. She felt the key hidden in her bodice and said a quick silent prayer that her long nightmare would end tonight.

“I do so love masques,” Hortense said, shifting her hooked staff to her other hand. “Though I do wonder how I shall dance with this thing.”

Mr. Booth, another guest who had deigned to wear a domino rather than full costume, approached them with a rakish smile. “I have always had fantasies about dancing with a nun. You must have pity on me, Miss Thayer, and fulfill my dreams at last.”

Harriett laughed in a way no nun would ever laugh, both seductive and pleased. “Granted, Mr. Booth. But mind your manners, sir. I have friends in high places.”

Hortense chuckled as Mr. Booth led her sister away. “And Harri has always had fantasies about Mr. Booth. Two wishes satisfied with one dance.”

“Let us hope that everyone’s wish comes true tonight.”

“Whatever do you mean, Gina? What do you wish for?”

Answers. The truth. “Happy endings,” she murmured.

“Amen,” Hortense agreed. “And sooner would be better. But I think you need not worry over that. James Hunter has very obviously set his intentions on you. Any girl would be mad to refuse him. Charm, looks, wealth. What more could you ask? “

What more indeed? “He has not proposed yet, Hortense, and may not. And should he, I have not decided what my answer will be.” There. That should cut short the wagging tongues of the ton and not raise any unrealistic expectations.

“Mark me, he will be back to claim a waltz. You will see him often before it is time to go and he calls for his carriage.”

“I hope he will not hover,” she said. She did not want Mr. Metcalfe to be hesitant to approach her.

She caught sight of Christina, in an elaborate peacock mask, just entering the ballroom. She was on the arm of a man Gina hadn’t met and she wondered if this was the elusive Mr. Metcalfe. But where was his leper disguise? She waved and caught Christina’s eye.

Hortense followed her glance and grinned widely. “Oh! ‘Tis Christina and her cousin, Mr. Marley. He knows every dance ever and has the most devilish wit. Almost as devilish as Charles Hunter’s. How lovely, they are coming our way.”

The man in question bowed deeply to them as Christina made the introductions and then he promptly swept Hortense into the rollicking reel, leaving Gina to hold her staff. When they were alone, she asked, “Where is Mr. Metcalfe?”

“He said he would meet us here,” Christina told her.

Mr. Metcalfe was clearly afraid of something. Even his costume had likely been chosen to veil his identity. She took a sip of punch, wondering what could cause him to be so cautious.

When the dance ended, Mr. Marley returned Hortense and claimed Christina with a promise that Gina would be next. A quick glance toward the punch bowl told her that Harriett was still occupied with Mr. Booth. When a figure dressed in a long black robe with a cowl pulled low over his face and a small bell around his neck approached her, her heartbeat sped. Mr. Metcalfe, at last!

He held his hand out to her without speaking and she returned Hortense’s staff. Once on the dance floor, the leper turned and lifted his cowl just enough that she could see his face. Yes, this was the man who had been at the tableau with Christina. The dance was a waltz, which would allow them to talk without the interruptions of a reel. Very wise of Mr. Metcalfe.

“Miss O’Rourke, I implore you to drop this matter at once.”

Whatever she’d expected to hear, it was not this earnest plea. “I cannot, sir. I am committed.”

“You are ill prepared for what lies ahead. You cannot succeed.”

“You do not even know what I plan, sir. How can you presume—”