‘I could care less what they look like. Having Adonis and Paris constantly peering over my shoulder would be just as irritating.’
‘I highly doubt that.’ The colonel tipped his king over, conceding defeat. He crossed the room to take a seat beside her. ‘And I’m sure you’ll agree that a bodyguard or two is preferable to being shipped away to Scotland?’
‘Vastly.’ George did nothing to hide the sarcasm in her voice. Of course it was better, but only just.
‘Cribbed, cabined, and confined.’
‘Keep your damn quotes to yourself, Brimstone.’ She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. He was busy readying the chessboard for its next game, setting all to rights in his fastidious way. ‘Unless you’ve something more instructive than Macbeth?’
‘Sadly, no, sweet termagant. Nothing of interest to report from your expedition upon the frozen Thames?’
‘Nothing besides what Hayden has already told you. The ice was overrun with players, chestnut roasters, and sellers of gin. But not a murderer to be seen.’
‘Which I know frustrates you to no end, but we mere men would prefer the criminal caught without his taking another shot at you.’
‘As would I, but I’d settle for some more active plan in which he were allowed that shot if it would relieve me of my hulking shadows.’
‘Another fight I’ll leave to Lord Glendower.’ He rose from the chess table and sketched her a bow. George made a rude sound in the back of her throat. ‘For the colonel and I are otherwise promised for the evening, and we’ve just time to make our engagement if we leave now.’
The colonel likewise stood and the two of them strode out of the room. Their steps echoed in the hall as they descended the stairs, claimed their coats, and left her to brood.
It had been two days since Helen Perripoint’s party, and she’d not seen so much as a nosegay from Dauntry. Damn him.
She crossed the room and peeked out the window, watching her friends stride off down the street, the two of them already deep in conversation.
She turned to warm her hands at the fire. Dauntry couldn’t really mean to go through with his threat, could he?
Chapter Twenty-Five
We must apologize most profusely concerning our reports regarding the incomparable Mrs P—. She has not, in fact, traded down for a baronet, but up for a duke.
Tête-à-Tête, 16 January 1789
Ivo sat uncomfortably in the Morpeths’ red and gold salon, tea untouched, mind racing. The countess had called a council of war and George’s defenders had come out in force. Her bulldogs were present, as were her father-in-law, Bennett, Alençon, Cardross, Colonel Staunton, and her brother-in-law, Viscount Layton.
They were agreed that simply waiting out the killer wasn’t going to work. Some action had to be taken. The question was, what could be done to flush him out? Under what circumstances could they both protect George while luring her enemy into the open?
His own thoughts were muddled and impaired, whirling with plans of his own. Plans for more than making her safe from this single threat. A simple declaration would not do the trick; George would very likely decline it. Nor would another public display be in his best interests. Putting her on the spot again could only be disastrous. A bold gesture was called for, but just what constituted bold when it came to George was open to debate.
Ivo was struggling to follow both the discussion taking place around him as well as the one raging in his own head when the door opened and they were joined by Lord Morpeth.
‘Need I even ask what you’re plotting, my dear?’ the earl inquired, crossing the room and perching on the arm of the settee beside his wife.
The countess looked at him crossly. ‘You know very well what we’re up to, Rupert. You were invited, after all. And if you’re going to join us, the least you can do is enter into the spirit of the thing.’
‘Oh, I do, my dear, but I have my reservations about dangling George about like so much bait, not that my objections are likely to win out with this unholy coalition. So, do you want to enlighten me? What grand scheme have you hatched between you?’
‘Well…’ the countess began. ‘Lord Frampton’s masked ball at Vauxhall seems too good an opportunity for the killer to pass up. The crowd, the fireworks, the dark walks. Ideal for his purposes, wouldn’t you think?’
‘Perhaps too ideal?’ the colonel said. ‘A knife in the crowd, everyone masked.’
‘What’s the alternative? To keep her confined until he burns her house down around her ears?’ Ivo realized with a start he’d spoken aloud and the entire room had turned to look at him. ‘Honestly,’ he continued, ‘Addington’s men have gotten nowhere. It’s a waiting game. We’re waiting for the highwayman to make another attempt, and he’s waiting for us to let our guard down. And eventually both of those things are going to happen, preferably not at the same time. The masque might be our best hope.’
‘Well,’ St Audley said, setting his tea cup aside, ‘if we’re going to do the thing, we’d best discuss the particulars, because there will be no room for mistakes.’
Brimstone gave a low chuckle as they arrived at the door of Number 6, Dover Street. George threw him a stern look. The party of starchy ladies they’d just passed were clustered on the pavement, the girls scurrying behind their mother like rabbits scenting a fox.
Even now, as they stepped through the portal of that august men’s sanctuary, the ladies were straining to catch a clearer glimpse. Should she have Gabriel lead her back out to take a little bow, perhaps to sign the guidebook the mother had been clutching?
She could picture the entry the girls would make in it later: Saw the famous Mrs Exley entering Manton’s on the arm of a dissolute rake. Her gown was beautiful, but how can
