Marrying Captain Jack - Anne Herries Mills & Boon Historical

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was not an aristocrat and he could not match Lord Harcourt in looks or manner.

      A little buzz of congratulations burst out. Lucy added hers to the general chorus, though she could not help wondering why Miss Tremaine had accepted his offer. She must surely have had others more favourable. However, it was not for Lucy to question and she kept her thoughts to herself.

      It was only when she left the company to go upstairs and change for the evening that she suddenly found herself alone with Miss Tremaine.

      ‘I dare say you are wondering why I have accepted General Rawlings,’ she said, surprising Lucy by her directness. ‘I had thought that I might accept Lord Harcourt—but Mama has heard unpleasant rumours, so I decided that I would marry a man of good reputation.’

      ‘Oh…’ Lucy wished that she might run away but it would be rude to do so. ‘I was not wondering…’

      The older girl frowned. ‘I thought that you might rather like him yourself and that is why I decided to warn you. He is not to be trusted. Mama has it on good authority that he is a rake and…’ she glanced over her shoulder ‘…there is something dreadful. I do not know if I should tell you this, but they say he has a—’

      ‘Please do not!’ Lucy said at once. ‘It is kind of you to warn me, but there is no need—and I do not wish to hear gossip.’ She turned away and fled up the stairs, suddenly uncaring of whether Miss Tremaine thought her rude or not.

      Alone in her room, Lucy discovered that she was shaking. She felt very angry. How dare Miss Tremaine hint at such terrible things? It was most unfair of her when Lord Harcourt was not here to defend himself. And after she had made such a play for him!

      If Lucy had been a different girl, she might have suspected Miss Tremaine of jealous spite, but as it was she crushed the unworthy thoughts. She suspected that Miss Tremaine had been hurt, and perhaps there was something of the rake about Lord Harcourt—for he had flirted with both Lucy and Miss Tremaine. However, she did not wish to listen to spiteful tales and she would not let anyone poison her mind against him!

      She still could not quite understand why Miss Tremaine should have accepted General Rawlings, and she asked Jo about it later. Jo had come to her room to give her a little gift and to wish her well in her first Season in London.

      ‘I do not know for sure,’ Jo said, looking thoughtful. ‘I think she has been on the town for some years and is disappointed. I know that her mama had high hopes for her, but for some reason they have come to nothing. I believe she had offers in her first Season and turned them down, and since then…’ Jo shook her head. ‘Perhaps it is because she has a sharp tongue and is not always kind. I do not think I envy General Rawlings his choice of a wife—and I pity his children, for I cannot believe that she will be a kind mother to another woman’s children.’

      ‘Oh…’ Lucy nodded. ‘Mr Tristram said that she could be unkind. I told him he should not say so, but perhaps he was right.’

      ‘Yes, perhaps,’ Jo said. ‘In any event, she has made her choice and I dare say she may have felt a little desperate, for I imagine she thought Lord Harcourt would come up to scratch.’

      ‘He did seem attracted,’ Lucy said and frowned. ‘Do you think he is a flirt, Jo?’

      ‘Yes, I am certain of it,’ Jo said. ‘I have heard that he is a rake, but I do not know how true it may be. Drew likes him and so does Hal—and I would trust their judgement.’

      ‘Yes, that is what I thought. If Drew likes him, he cannot be so very wicked.’ Lucy smiled happily, taking her sister’s arm as they went downstairs together. It would be the last time they would have dinner together for some time, because Hal was taking Jo home the next day. She would probably spend the next few months quietly at his father’s home awaiting the birth of her baby, but she had told Lucy that she was looking forward to being with her great friend Ellen again.

      Miss Tremaine was not present that evening. She, her mother and General Rawlings had left after tea, and it was just the family who dined that evening. Lucy had enjoyed meeting Marianne’s friends, but she thought it was even nicer with just her close family about her.

      She felt happy when she went to bed, even though a little shadow hovered at the back of her mind. She knew that she must make every effort to put Lord Harcourt from her thoughts. He was older, a rake and, perhaps worse, he thought of her as a child. Only a foolish girl would break her heart for him. Lucy had decided that she would try to forget her feelings for him, and if she should meet someone else she could love that ought to be easy enough.

      Jack walked into the less-than-respectable nightclub. It was frequented by young rakehells and ladies of dubious reputation, though sometimes impeccable birth. He stood watching as one rather raddled-looking lady gambled carelessly at the throw of the dice, her rouged cheeks disguising the ravages of dissolute living. A woman of advanced years, who had buried three wealthy husbands, she bore a name that had once commanded respect. She was with a party of gentlemen, who were encouraging her to gamble ever more recklessly and were, by the looks of them, the worse for drink. His eyes narrowed as he saw that one of her court was the man he sought—Sir Frederick Collingwood.

      He strolled towards them, outwardly detached, as careless as they, though inwardly it was another matter. He wished that he could simply have come out with his accusations, but he knew that Collingwood would have covered his tracks well. Before he could bring him to his knees, he needed proof that he had been responsible for David Middleton’s death. He already knew that they had gambled on the night David was murdered, but that in itself meant little. What lay behind the events played out in public that night? Several people had spoken to him of a quarrel between David and Collingwood—but was it simply over a card game?

      Collingwood turned to look at him as he approached, a guarded expression in his eyes, as though he sensed something. Since Jack Harcourt seldom frequented clubs of this nature and reputation, it was hardly surprising that the other man should wonder why he was there—especially if he had a guilty conscience.

      ‘Good evening, Collingwood,’ Jack said pleasantly. It took all his strength of purpose to speak politely to the man he knew to be a shark and a cheat, but he must do so if he were to learn what he needed to know. ‘I did not think dice was your game?’

      ‘It is not,’ Collingwood agreed, lifting his quizzing glass to look at Jack more closely. ‘I did not think that this was your sort of place?’

      ‘It is not,’ Jack agreed, resisting the urge to lunge at him and knock the truth out of the lying devil. ‘But there are times when a man needs something more…shall we say spiced with danger?’

      ‘Ah, yes.’ Collingwood nodded, for he understood that, being a reckless gambler himself. ‘So what is your pleasure, Harcourt?’

      ‘I am looking for a game of piquet,’ Jack said, because he knew that it had been his friend’s favourite game of chance. ‘But it seems there is no one willing to oblige me. I win too often, it seems.’

      Collingwood studied his face, and then nodded. It was clearly a challenge and one that he could not resist, even though he suspected that something more lay behind it.

      ‘I am otherwise engaged this evening, as you see,’ he said. ‘However, I should be delighted to take you on, Harcourt—in more pleasant surroundings than these.’

      ‘Good. Shall we say tomorrow evening at White’s?’

      ‘We shall indeed.’ Collingwood grinned. He was a rake of the worst order, a man careful mothers told their daughters to avoid at all costs, but he was dangerously attractive. His black hair and dark eyes brought women to him easily, and he treated them all with contempt. ‘Tomorrow at nine, Harcourt. Now, do you care to hazard a bet on the roll of the dice?’

      Jack had noticed a certain tendency for the dice to fall a certain way three times out of six. He reached forward, scooped them up, and blew on them and then called a hundred guineas on sixes as he threw. The dice fell with the six spots showing

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