Alice let a slow breath out. Her sister had seen a mere snippet of her encounter with Harry. Seen him after he had followed her out of the alcove.
“Oh . . . him. That was Lord Harry Steele. He was attempting to get me to comment on his codpiece. I told him he was a silly man and to leave me alone,” she replied.
“I see.”
For the first time in her life, Alice was grateful when Patience went back to singing the praises of Cuthbert Saint. Anything to take her sister’s attention away from her and Harry.
At the Royal Chelsea Hospital, a now familiar pattern repeated itself. No sooner had they set foot inside, and while Alice was still handing over a banker’s instruction payable to the hospital, than Cuthbert appeared.
Alice was immediately abandoned by her lovestruck sister, who hurried away.
“Really, Patience! Not even a goodbye?” she huffed.
“Steady your hand.”
She turned at the voice and was greeted with the surprising sight of Harry in almost regulation evening attire. The half dozen strands of pearls around his neck were the only concession to his usual madcap method of dressing.
“What do you mean?” she replied.
“Let’s talk somewhere a little more private,” said Harry.
He guided her away from the donation desk and waited until they were out of earshot of anyone before he spoke again. “I mean, keep your nerve steady. Men like Mister Saint thrive on chaos. If you start to lose your temper in front of him and your beloved sister, he will have her siding with him in no time. And I can assure you that is the last thing we want. She has to be able to see him with her own eyes. She won’t be able to do that if she is looking through the lens of pity.”
Alice nodded toward an area to one side of the Great Hall designed by Sir Christopher Wren himself. She couldn’t risk Patience seeing the two of them together.
He followed her over, a scowl sitting firmly knitted on his brow. Harry was clearly not a man used to being given instructions. “What is the problem?” he asked.
“You and I are the problem. And I don’t just mean that kiss,” she replied. “Patience saw us talking last night. She mentioned it in the carriage ride over here. I had to make up some cock-and-bull story about your codpiece to throw her off the scent.”
The furrow in his brow smoothed out a little. “Good. It means you are prepared to think on your feet. But not to worry. We made great progress today, and I intend to capitalize on it tonight.”
“Meaning?”
“Cuthbert Saint is a fortune hunter. He is currently living off the money he gets from pawning small items of value. Trinkets which I expect he has stolen from others. My connections tell me that he is down to the last two or three decent pieces.”
Alice held her reticule tightly in her hand, quietly strangling it. How could this be good news?
“He will be getting desperate to secure Patience’s hand in marriage, and with that will come missteps. Trust me. He will make a mistake. We just need to make sure that your sister sees it when it happens.”
When Harry took a hold of her trembling hand, Alice didn’t stop him. His firm grip was the solid reassurance she so desperately craved. They were in this together.
“I want you to go and find Patience and Cuthbert. Engage in polite, dare I say, friendly conversation with him. I will come over at some point and introduce myself. You need to play along with my plan. I am going to see if we can trip our friend up.”
“Alright. Give me a minute to summon my courage. You might be well-acquainted with matters of deception, but I am not,” she replied.
He lifted her gloved hand to his lips and placed a kiss on each finger. She shivered at his touch. Oh. How could such a small thing make her feel so good?
Harry . . .
If he attempted to kiss her a second time, she wasn’t entirely sure what she would do. When it came to Harry, Alice no longer trusted herself.
“I think you are capable of much more than you give yourself credit for, sweet Alice. And I intend to show you just how great you could be, even if it means having my face slapped on a regular basis,” he said.
Alice’s heart thumped hard in her chest as Harry released her hand and slipped away into the crowd. She was pinning her hopes on his words merely being a tool to get her to do his bidding.
But what if they weren’t? What if he was truly the first person who could actually see the woman she tried to keep hidden from the world? If he could understand her very nature?
Well then, I haven’t the faintest idea what I will do.
Harry’s gaze constantly tracked across the room, missing little. The gathering was much like most other events attended by London’s social elite. He caught the occasional glimpse of a shared smile between secret lovers. The glare of enemies who were forced to behave as friends in public. And the heartbreaking look of longing on a young man’s face as he watched the woman, he loved walk across the room arm in arm with her new husband.
That last one had been a particular success of his, but it had been bittersweet—especially for the bride and the beau she would have married, had said beau been in possession of a title. Her parents had been determined to see their daughter become a baroness. Fortunes and reputations had been saved from a shocking scandal, but hearts had paid a high price. Even Harry had been left bruised and reflective of whether it had all been worth it.
Concentrate. That job is done and dusted. There is nothing anyone can do but hope that time heals.
It was time to put his Lord-Harry-Steele-foppish-fool act into play. After grabbing two glasses of champagne, he made his way over to where Alice, Patience, and his prey stood. Alice caught his eye for the briefest of moments, then turned away.
Good girl. Play it nice and easy. Steady nerves.
He crashed into the side of Cuthbert Saint, spilling most of a full glass of champagne down the side of Cuthbert’s evening jacket.
“Oh! I am so bloody sorry!” While the liquid soaked into the fabric, Harry flailed his arms about and continued to offer up his apologies. “I am such a clumsy creature. Anyone would think I can’t handle my drink. Here, take these.”
He held the two glasses out to Alice, slopping more liquid onto the carpet. She took them and quickly handed them to a passing footman.
Harry took his cue from her move. “I didn’t mean for you to get rid of them! I planned to drink what was left. But not to worry. There is plenty of free-flowing champagne here tonight. Did you make a donation at the door?”
His gaze had settled firmly on Cuthbert Saint. If he was going to unmask him as a moneygrubbing blackguard, he may as well start with the man’s lack of charity.
“I posted a bank note,” replied Cuthbert. The line sounded well-rehearsed.
I bet you haven’t parted with a penny.
Harry thrust out his hand, and a drenched Cuthbert reluctantly took it.
“Lord Harry Steele. Papa is the Duke of Redditch,” he said.
Cuthbert’s cool demeanor warmed at the mention of one of the wealthiest men in England. He bowed his head. “Cuthbert Saint at your service, Lord Steele.”
Harry pointed to the champagne mess on Cuthbert’s jacket. “Terribly sorry about that. Not sure how you will get the stains out.”
“Blotting it with a clean cloth and then letting it dry should do the trick,” replied Cuthbert.