Chapter Fifteen #2
“It most definitely is, given the current circumstances. Now. Tell me your plan for Atkinson.”
“You are persistent.”
“You would know.”
Judith fought back a grin. “All right. Your mother and I have been trawling the gossip mills the last twenty-four hours, putting our nets out wherever possible.”
“I take it you caught something?”
“Many somethings, as a matter of fact. Mr. Atkinson, from all outward appearances, holds the aristocracy in complete disdain, with little regard for their status or bearing, except for what it can earn him at either the tables or with blackmail. The underlying truth is, however, that he truly desires to be considered among them, as an equal. He hides this well but is not always entirely sober when he is with his closest friends. Friends who also drink and talk, at White’s and other, less noteworthy, establishments.
” She paused with a scowl. “A man with as many secrets as he does should develop more friends with discretion.”
“And what have you done with this information?”
“Your mother has persuaded Lord Anthony Blackwell to issue Mr. Atkinson and his paramour an invitation to their ball on the nineteenth.”
Those eyes brightened, and Judith’s stomach clenched as he went on. “Do you plan some sort of trap to be sprung?”
She nodded. “At the supper. He will be separated from his companion at the table and placed between the wives of the three men he is currently blackmailing. They, of course, have been informed that they are not uniquely in his clutches—and obviously the three men cannot all have stolen the vase—this is one spot in which Mr. Atkinson’s arrogance has overstepped.
The wives will begin to chatter to each other about the blackmail and their husbands’ desperation, engaging Mr. Atkinson and asking his advice—which he, amused in his arrogance—will provide.
At the appropriate moment, one will confess that her husband knows who has the vase, has gotten Bow Street involved, and they are currently in the process of retrieving it, as the miscreant in possession of it is currently out at an event. ”
Lord Mark scooted forward on the ottoman, leaning a bit closer to Judith. “Delicious. What do you foresee happening next?”
Judith inhaled deeply, a slight mistake, as she took in his scent of soap, pine, and mint, with a slight tinge of the wood from the fire. Her face heated as she gazed at his eyes, and for a moment, words failed her.
Finally, she cleared her throat. “Most likely one of two things. He, being the smug and arrogant bastard he is, will assume the vase is secure wherever he has stored it. And he will not react. The other is that he will find some reason to excuse him and head directly to wherever he has hidden the vase.”
Lord Mark reached down and grasped her left ankle, lifting her foot into his lap. “And someone will follow him.” He slipped off her boot and cradled her foot between his thighs. His gaze never left her face. “Your foot is cold.”
Judith swallowed hard, the heat in her cheeks now spreading down over her breasts. “It is rather chilly outside.”
“Go on. What happens from there?”
“Yes. Um . . . yes. Mr. Jeremy Smith will be brought up to date when we meet with him. We will be requesting one of his runners be waiting outside the ball, but also one at Mr. Atkinson’s house as well as his warehouse near the river.
If they cannot accommodate that, your mother plans to hire her own men. ”
He reached for her other foot, his hand warm as it closed around her ankle. “Mother always was the most resourceful woman I have ever known.” He removed her other boot, setting it on the floor, and tucked her foot in beside the other.
Judith gasped and fought to control her breathing as his hands then moved under her skirts, caressing both calves, the fingertips grazing lightly over the silk of her stockings before tugging loose the ribbons at the top.
“In the”—she swallowed—“the meantime, we have set the gossip mills flowing with tales of Mr. Atkinson’s nefarious activities—some true, some not so much—that will flood the Mayfair ballrooms with rumors about his attempts to blackmail the very men with whom he desires to join ranks.
He will be greeted at the ball askance, his welcome not to his expect—” Judith’s breath caught as the ribbons fell away from her stockings and his fingertips grazed the flesh of her thighs. “Lord Mark, I do not think—”
He leaned back, his hands sliding down her legs, pausing at her ankles, and he lifted her left foot, his lips brushing the arch.
“I suspect you may dispense with the title,” he whispered, “given our current situation.” He tugged at the silk, and one stocking eased down her leg.
He pulled it free, dropping it on the floor.
“So where does this visit fit in with your scheme to upset Mr. Atkinson?”
Every touch of his skin against hers sent a new wave of desire through Judith, and she quivered as he repeated his actions with her right foot. Whatever the night might bring, she wanted this man.
“It doesn’t,” she whispered, wondering how he would take her next words. “This is because I want you. I have almost since the moment we met.” She took a deep breath, letting it out with the next sentence. “But it is also about making more money to pay Edmund’s debts.”
Lord Mark Rydell froze. Every part of him stopped moving—his hands, his breathing, his expression.
Even the gleam in those blue eyes faded for a moment.
Then his brow furrowed and his lips tightened.
“What did you—” The words cut off, then the gleam returned with a wild fierceness, and he began to laugh as he let her feet fall to the floor.
“You wicked woman!” He stood and grabbed her hands, pulling her up and into his arms. “You bet on us!”
The sense of relief that flooded Judith almost made her weep, and she threw her arms around his shoulders, pressing against his chest. “I did!”
He released her, taking her face in his hands. “How?”
“Lord Anthony. He thought the wager crude and vulgar, but when I asked if he would place the bet for me, he found it all quite amusing. Then insisted he wanted to know no more about it.” She touched his cheek.
“I think it rather embarrassed him. True gentleman that he is. Apparently, there is quite a bit of money wagered on this event. The first few bets were made closer to the initial placement, but then they dropped off, given your injuries and Edmund’s difficulties.
They have picked up lately, surging somewhat after Lord Anthony placed his bet.
But no one thought it would happen this quickly.
I knew it would be to our advantage to meet sooner rather than later. ”
Mark stroked her cheeks with his thumbs. “You clever woman.” He kissed her, a tender and brief caress of lips.
Judith tried to pull him closer, but he resisted, easing away from her. She scowled as he looked away from her toward the fire. “What is wrong?”
After a moment, he took a long, deep inhale and looked back at her. “Before we go any further, there are two things you need to know.”
Worry tightened her stomach. Had she missed something? “What?”
He held her hands, bringing them up to his chest. “Before I say more, please know that I truly admire you, and you have awakened something in me I thought long dormant. Never doubt that I want this”—he glanced quickly at the bed—“but we will wait, if you think that is the wisest course.”
Judith hesitated, afraid to speak. What was he talking about?
“First, you should know that I also placed a wager on tonight, through Rory.”
Relief pushed a tiny snort from Judith. “I certainly cannot hold that against you.”
Mark fell silent, his mouth a tight line.
Her worry returned. “There’s more.”
He nodded. “Before she died, Stella bedded Shropshire.”
This time, Judith’s sense of relief was more understanding than humor, and her hands moved up to his shoulders, squeezing them. “I know.”
His eyes widened. “You do?”
Judith brushed a hand through his hair, pushing the curls from the edge of his face. “You know that kind of gossip does not stay a secret for more than a minute. My maid told me about the goings-on in her dressing room the next morning. By noon, Rotten Row was abuzz with it.”
“I swear to you I did not know before that night, or I never would have been intimate with her after she had . . .”
Ah. Now she understood. “But you were.”
Another nod. “The night before you and I met at that ball.”
Judith frowned as her mind ran through the passage of days. “Almost three weeks ago.”
“Yes. But if you—”
“Any symptoms?”
His eyebrows arched. “You know about—”
She pressed a palm to his cheek. “My dear gentle man. I was married to a soldier and raised his two boys. I have run a household full of randy maids and footmen, and I have birthed three boys of my own. A woman does not get to be my age and maintain the innocence of a debutante without some serious effort to remain na?ve and sheltered. Even if Edmund had desired it, that is not my nature. I learned early to be blunt with our sons as their father would often shy away from discussing the risks of being off to school with friends and ambitious young women. I assume you have spoken with your doctor. So . . .”
Mark shook his head, then covered her hand on his cheek with his own, grasping it and turning to kiss her palm. “I find you more remarkable each time we speak.”
“Symptoms?”
“Persistent as well.” He chuckled. “None so far. And, yes, I have talked to Dr. Oakley.” His smile faded. “Which brings me to the point. He will not give me a clean bill of health for at least a month with no symptoms.”
Judith fought a rising sense of disappointment. “You wish to wait?”
“I would rather spend a year in a pillory than give this to you.”