"When you are the very woman I've come all this way to find?" he murmured somewhere in the vicinity of her hair. Letty could feel his hot breath all the way down to her scalp.
Letty's irritation turned to genuine alarm. Either she was the victim of a case of mistaken identity or she was being held captive by a madman who made a practice of wandering into parties to kidnap the first unescorted female who happened to barrel into him.
"I think you must be mistaken, sir," she objected, beginning to struggle in earnest. "Now, if you'll just release me…"
To her surprise, the crushing grip loosened, sending her staggering back several steps, fetching up against a small marble-topped table that tottered ominously on its spindly, gilded legs.
"My dear madam!" The madman flung himself at her feet. "Are you hurt?"
He reached for her hand. Letty scuttled sideways until the pressure of marble in her midriff arrested her progress. "No, no," she said rapidly. "I'm really quite all right. Please don't let me stand in the way of your going along into the party."
Much to her relief, the madman rocked back on his heels away from her and straightened. Maybe not so much to her relief, Letty amended, as the madman rose to his full height, the impression of size amplified by the breadth of the red and blue facings that made up his uniform. He probably wasn't any taller than her husband, but given her own lack of inches, it didn't take much to dwarf her.
Fortunately, he didn't seem to be preparing for another assault. Instead, he took his red-plumed hat from his head, revealing a thatch of carefully combed curly brown hair that tapered into long sideburns on either side of his face.
Sweeping a neat bow, he said, "Perhaps I ought to reintroduce myself. We met at your wedding, Lady—"
"Mrs.," gabbled Letty hastily, before he could utter the fateful name. Drat. She ought to have known this would happen sooner or later. What had she been thinking? She had been thinking, she realized grimly, that she would be reconciled with her husband, and there would be no further need for subterfuge. More fool her.
"Mrs.," she repeated. "Mrs. Alsdale."
Instead of arguing, the man regarded her with dawning understanding, and something underneath it that Letty didn't like at all. He looked oddly smug, although just what there might be about her marital difficulties to make anyone smug—other than Mrs. Ponsonby—she couldn't comprehend.
Before she could stop him, the officer took her hand and raised it. With his lips hovering just above her knuckles, he stared meaningfully into her eyes.
"My cousin is a fool."
Letty removed her hand with more force than was strictly necessary. "Your cousin?" she asked warily.
Fortunately, the stranger showed no further inclination to seize any part of her person. He merely tucked his plumed hat beneath his arm, and smiled carefully down at her. "I am Jasper Pinchingdale. I stood groomsman to your husband at his wedding. Perhaps you remember me?"
Letty did. More precisely, she remembered the way he had managed to cut through several layers of cloth with one neat flick of his eyelids—and then yawned, as if the exercise hadn't been worth the effort. She didn't like him one bit better for the recollection. At present, his eyes were focused firmly above the neck, gazing at her as guilelessly as the most persnickety dowager could demand. All he needed was a white smock over his uniform and a candle in his hands to provide a credible imitation of a choirboy at evensong.
He took a very tiny step forward, saying, with studied humility, "Forgive me for prying, but I couldn't help but notice that you and my cousin seem to be at odds."
"Oh, we just travel under separate names for our own amusement," replied Letty pithily. "It's a little game we play."
"So beautiful," murmured Jasper, reaching out to place two fingers beneath Letty's chin, "and so brave."
"You're too kind." Letty slid neatly out of the way, leaving him crooking two fingers into empty air.
Jasper rallied rapidly. "I was desolated to hear that you had left town."
"Your spirits must be easily depressed."
Jasper threw his head back and laughed, revealing very large, even teeth.
"How could my cousin not appreciate such a wit?" Letty could have told him that snippiness and wittiness weren't quite the same thing, but Jasper had learned his lesson. Without pausing for her response, he said expansively, "On the contrary, my lady—"
"Mrs.," corrected Letty.
Eyes narrowing slightly in irritation, Jasper soldiered gamely on. "On the contrary, Mrs…. er. On the contrary, I was simply disappointed by your departure. I had hoped to get to know you…better."
Letty only just refrained from rolling her eyes. That was all she needed, another rake. Another Pinchingdale rake, at that. The family appeared to breed them in excessive supply. Drat! Letty threw a quick glance in the direction of the front door, which was now firmly closed, the sound of her husband's boots no longer audible through the thick panels. While she had been detained by the suspiciously complimentary Jasper, the primary rake, the one to whom she was actually bound in matrimony, had managed to make good his escape.
There hadn't been awfully much time for Lord Pinchingdale to have arranged with his cousin to detain her, but it wouldn't take very much arranging, would it? Just a quick "Stop that woman!" tossed over his shoulder as he fled down the stairs, one rake to the other.
Letty pushed away from the wall. "Your duty to your family does you credit, Mr. Pinchingdale," she said acidly. "Now if you will excuse me…"
"I can excuse anything"—Jasper moved to intercept her—"except your absence."
It was a line straight out of The Rake's Guide to Seducing Gullible Women. It was an insult to her intelligence and to all of womankind.
"Why, Mrs. Alsdale!" trilled Gilly Fairley, emerging from the drawing room on a wave of perfume that rivaled Cousin Jasper's cologne. "Are you leaving already?"
Maybe not all of womankind.
"I was attempting to," replied Letty tightly, trying to think of one reason why she shouldn't dislike the woman, and failing miserably. One was supposed to be kind to poor dumb creatures, but that didn't mean one had to like them, especially not when they possessed graceful necks and willowy arms—or did she mean willowy necks and graceful arms? Either way, Miss Fairley had them and she didn't.
"But you can't go!" wailed Miss Fairley, lovely even in distress.
"Exactly what I was telling her," seconded Cousin Jasper, with a forceful nod.
With one impatient flick of her dainty wrist, Miss Fairley dismissed Cousin Jasper as if she were shooing away a fly. She looked appealingly at Letty. "Mrs. Lanergan said the most lovely things about you. I was so hoping to make your acquaintance!"
"Some other time, perhaps."
"What a brilliant idea! Oh, Mrs. Lanergan wasn't exaggerating in the least when she said you were a clever-clocks."
Letty was still reeling under being called a clever-clocks—clever-clocks?—as Miss Fairley carried impetuously on. "You will come to me for tea tomorrow, won't you? Oh, say you will, dear Mrs. Alsdale! We're at number ten Henrietta Street, the dearest little house. I just know we'll have the loveliest chat, and you can tell me all sorts of clever things."
Letty attempted to answer in a language Miss Fairley would understand. "Not to be a silly-socks, but—"
"Splendid!" Miss Fairley clapped her elegant hands in delight. "Two o'clock, then?"
"Unfortunately"—Cousin Jasper wiggled his way between Miss Fairley and Letty, no small feat for such a large man—"Mrs. Alsdale is already promised to me for tomorrow afternoon."
"I promised no such thing," protested Letty.
"In that case"—Miss Fairley beamed disingenuously at Letty—"there can be no obstacle to our having a lovely little coze."