He ran her to earth at the lodgings of one of Wellington's aides-de-camp. It seemed as if half Brussels were gathered there, chattering and exclaiming over the news that, incredibly, Napoleon had taken Wellington by surprise and was even now preparing for an attack on the city.
"But the duke has all well in hand," a bewhiskered colonel reassured a twittering, panicked lady in an An-gouleme bonnet. "He'll concentrate his troops on the Nivelles road to meet any attack on the city."
"I'm sure there's nothing to concern us, dear ma'am," came the dulcet tones of Miss Davenport. She was standing by the window and a shaft of sunlight ignited the rich copper hair braided in a demure coronet around her head. She was in flowing muslins, a wisp of lace doing duty as a hat, and Carrington regarded her for a minute in appreciative silence. There was something wonderfully tantalizing about the contrast between her demurely elegant dress and the wicked gleam in the gold-brown eyes as she surveyed the room and its alarmed inhabitants with the faintest tinge of derision. A jolt of anticipatory excitement surprised him. He didn't think he'd felt such powerful lust since his youth.
He crossed the room toward her. "Your sangfroid is estimable, ma'am. Don't you feel the slightest tremor at the thought of the ogre?"
"Not in the least, sir." Idly she twirled her closed parasol on the floor. "I trust you've recovered from your losses last night. They were rather heavy, I believe."
"Are you referring to my losses to your brother, or to his sister, ma'am?" His eyes narrowed as he flipped open his snuff box and took a delicate pinch.
"I was not aware of any winnings, sir." She looked up at him through her eyelashes. "Only of the need to keep up my point."
"I'm hoping to persuade you to lower that point." He replaced the enameled snuff box in the deep pocket of his coat. "I have a proposal to make, Miss Davenport. May I call upon you this afternoon?"
"Unfortunately, my aunt, who lives with us, is indisposed and visitors quite put her out of curl. The sound of the door knocker is enough to throw her into strong hysterics," she said with a bland smile.
"What a masterly fibber you are, Miss Davenport," he observed amiably. "I won't ask why you see a need to keep your direction a close secret."
"How gentlemanly of you, Lord Carrington."
"Yes, isn't it? But perhaps I could induce you to call upon me."
"Now, that, my lord, is not a gentlemanly suggestion."
"I was, of course, assuming your aunt would escort you as chaperone," he murmured.
An appreciative twinkle appeared in her eyes. This was much more amusing than an ordinary flirtation. Marcus Devlin was certainly an entertaining opponent when it came to challenges. "I'm afraid she doesn't go out of doors, either."
"How very inconvenient… or do I mean convenient?"
"I don't know what you could mean, Lord Carrington."
"Well, what's to be done? I wish to have private speech with you; how is it to be contrived?"
"You seemed remarkably expert at abduction the other evening," Judith heard herself say, astonished at the recklessness of her response.
He bowed, and his black eyes glittered. "If that's how you'd like to proceed, I am always happy to oblige. Make your farewells, we're going in search of privacy."
"You would find it difficult to abduct me from this room, I think, sir." She gestured to the crowd.
"Do you care to make a wager, ma'am?"
She caught her lower lip between her teeth, putting her head on one side as she considered the question. This was infinitely more entertaining than simple flirtation. "Twenty guineas?"
"We have a wager, Miss Davenport." The next instant, he had swept her off her feet and bundled her into his arms. It was so startling, she was momentarily speechless. And then he was pushing through the crowd with his burden. "Miss Davenport is feeling faint. I fear the news of Napoleon's advent has quite overset her."
"Oh, goodness me, and it's no wonder," the be-whiskered colonel said. "We must protect the delicate sensibilities of ladies from such news."
"Just so, Naseby," Marcus agreed. "I'm going to take her into the air. It's very close in here." People fell back, clucking solicitously, clearing his path to the door. Judith, recovered from her surprise, still found it impossible to say anything that wouldn't make the situation even more farcical, and was obliged to close her eyes tight and remain still as he carried her out of the house and into the street.
There he set his seething burden on her feet, dusted off his hands with great satisfaction, and said, "You owe me twenty guineas, Miss Davenport."
"That was shameless!" she exclaimed. "And to say I was swooning with fear of Napoleon was… was… was… Oh, I can't think of the right words."
"Dastardly," he supplied helpfully. "Despicable, shabby…"
"Unsporting," she snapped. "Adding insult to injury."
"But irresistible, you must admit."
"I admit nothing." She smoothed down her skirts and adjusted a pin in the diminutive lacy cap, before putting up her parasol. "I don't have twenty guineas with me, my lord. But I will send it around to your house this afternoon."
"That will be quite convenient." He bowed. "However, I'm more interested at the moment in finding somewhere private. We'll walk in the park, I think." He drew her arm through his.
"I don't care to walk in the park." Petulance seemed to have replaced mature challenge.
"Would you prefer me to escort you home?" he offered with prompt courtesy.
"You know I would not."
"Then it must be the park."
And that seemed to be that. Short of turning and
running, which would be ridiculously undignified, there seemed no alternative but to do as he said. She'd husband her resources for the time being.
They passed through the iron gates at the entrance to the park and Lord Carrington directed their steps unerringly to a small copse.
Judith hesitated as they moved into the cool, green seclusion. Something didn't feel right. "Can't we have this discussion in the open, my lord?"
"No, because I can't be walking around when I say what I wish to say, and if we were to stand still in the middle of the path it would look very odd." Releasing her arm, he sat down on a stone bench encircling the trunk of a pine tree and patted the space beside him.
Judith was unsure whether it was invitation or command, but it didn't seem to matter. She sat down, curiosity now getting the better of unease.
"I'll come straight to the point," he said.
"Do."
He ignored the sardonic interjection. "A house and servants in Half Moon Street; a barouche and pair, or laundelet, if you prefer; a riding horse; and a quarterly allowance of two thousand pounds."
"Good God," Judith said. "Whatever are you saying?" She turned to look up at him, her eyes wide. "I think you are run mad."
"It seems reasonable," he said. "Such an allowance should be more than enough to keep you in style… of course, there'll be presents. You'll not find me ungenerous, my dear."
"Sweet heaven." The color had drained from her cheeks. "Could you be utterly precise about what you're offering me, my lord?"
It struck him she was being unusually obtuse. "A carte blanche," he elucidated. "And I will make provision for your future should we… should we tire of one another." He smiled. "There now, what could be fairer than that?"
Judith rose from the bench. Turning her back on him, she walked a few paces away. Her game of intrigue had suddenly got out of hand. It was one thing to engage a man in a pointful flirtation, quite another to be his paid whore. How dared he make such a proposition… make such assumptions about her?