She’d taken only a few steps away from her host and hostess when Chidding approached her, his smile tentative and awkward, and Knight couldn’t help but wonder, as the man signed her dance card, if Chidding would have done the same if he had coins in his coffers. She deserved a man who was more interested in her than in the easier life she could provide. Perhaps he should strive to secure such a gentleman for her. Although he suspected she wouldn’t appreciate his finding fault with her current suitor and seeking to replace him with someone more worthy. Chidding wasn’t a bad fellow, but neither was he particularly exciting. On the other hand, maybe Regina felt she’d had her fill of excitement. Perhaps she yearned for a quieter, calmer life, one in which she wasn’t constantly the object of gossip or conjecture, one within which she was fully accepted, and the circumstances of her birth mattered not at all.
“What do you make of it, Knight?” Rook asked.
He turned his attention away from his musings. She was no longer his to worry over. She wanted Chidding, so Chidding she would have. “Apologies. I was distracted for a moment there. To what were you referring?”
Rook’s smirk indicated he knew precisely what had distracted him, damn the man.
“Granard here was saying Bremsford has offered a thousand-pound reward to anyone who can confirm the identity of Anonymous.”
Knightly glared at the gray-haired earl, more his father’s contemporary than his own. “Has he gone mad? Why the devil would he care who the author is?” Although based upon his encounter with Bremsford only a few nights earlier, he suspected the earl was seeking to wreak havoc for Regina out of spite or jealousy or... simple unkindness.
“Because he is a man of firm convictions and understands the danger posed by such salacious writings. The things this fallen woman allows this man to do to her.” He slowly shook his head as though crimes had been committed and he lacked the ability to comprehend what was to be gained by such abhorrent behavior.
“You’ve read it, then?”
His ears and cheeks turned beet red. “Only as a study in how we might need to amend the Obscene Publications Act. The thoughts this author puts into a woman’s head are indecent.”
“What? That she can find pleasure? Should, in fact, glory it?”
“It has not been my experience that a woman takes any joy in bedding at all.”
“Then, my lord, you are not doing it properly.”
The man’s eyes went so wide, Knight was surprised they didn’t have to actually be placed back into their sockets. “How dare you, sir! I know what I am about. But then you would say such a thing, being Lord K and all.”
“I say such a thing because I appreciate that women are capable of enjoying a great deal of pleasure. In fact, they are deserving of it. They aren’t chattel, man. They don’t exist to provide us with a vessel in which to slake our lust or to deposit our seed in order to merely provide us with children. They have thoughts, feelings, needs... and desires. Why, in God’s name, would any of us want to be with a woman whose passion does not equal our own?”
“They... it’s not... we aren’t... this is not the place for such a sordid discussion. You, my lord, aredisgusting. Little wonder your father has naught to do with you.” His face having gone red and blotchy, Granard marched off. The lord who’d arrived with him stood there startled for a few seconds, before following his friend’s example.
“Brilliantly done,” Rook murmured with an edge of sarcasm. “I have a feeling you’ve read the book to which you claimed to have no interest, recognized the tale, and determined it is as most of the nobility have surmised: you are indeed Lord K and the author is a vindicative woman you scorned, determined to prove that hell hath no fu—”
“It’s all conjecture,” Knight interrupted, “not a bit of truth to any of what you or others are alleging. The story is fictitious, not a shred of my exploits to be found within its pages.”
“Why are you so vehemently opposed to being the archetype for Lord K?”
“I’m not opposed to being the inspiration for the handsome and seductive fellow. I’m opposed to people drawing conclusions about the author based on their attempt to identify Lord K.”
“There’s a wager at White’s that Regina is the author.”
Beneath his breath, Knight cursed soundly. “You think that’s the reason that Bremsford, the dashed idiot, offered the bounty? Because of a wager he’s made?”
“Perhaps. Or like so many, maybe he’s merely curious. Seeking to solve a riddle.”
Whatever the reason, Bremsford posed a danger to Regina’s happiness—and to her daughter in everymanner conceivable. Knight wasn’t going to allow that to stand.
Regina had always felt a trifle awkward when her name was announced and she proceeded into a ballroom, whether by descending stairs or simply emerging through a doorway. The Thornley affair had not announced its guests as they arrived, and she’d wondered at the time if it was because the Duchess of Thornley, a child of the streets, wasn’t comfortable with all the pomp and circumstance.
But the Kingsland ball was handled in a manner fit for a king and his queen with an abundance of grand gestures. She’d read in the gossip sheets about one ball hosted here where a giant gong had sounded when the duke wished to have his guests’ notice before announcing the name of the woman he intended to marry.
When Regina’s arrival had been proclaimed, she’d rather felt like one of those gongs had been struck so its vibrations echoed out over the room and drew everyone’s attention to the stairs. Music continued to play; couples continued to dance. Still, she had the uncomfortable sensation of every pair of eyes turning toward her, their owners judging her. It was the first time she’d made an entry into a ballroom after her name was announced without her father at her side.
She’d felt at once conspicuous and uneasy, yet determined to make him proud. If she’d learned anything at all from her mother, it was how to bury her apprehension, step onto the stage with an air of confidence, and give a performance that would bring theaudience to their feet. And to imagine everyone without clothing.
Therefore, she’d made her grand entrance with her chin up and a smile hinting that she knew everyone’s secrets. She didn’t give away that against her kidskin her palms were damp or how her pulse thrummed with the ferocity of a drummer pounding his instrument to send out a commander’s orders in the midst of a skirmish. Or that she did indeed feel as though she was headed into battle.
Through Knightly, she knew the Duke of Kingsland, but was only now being introduced to his duchess. She suspected it was at Knightly’s urging that she’d received an invitation. She’d considered declining, to prove to him that she didn’t require his assistance and wanted naught to do with him, but she was no fool. Invitations were scarce, and she needed to make the most of each one received. Therefore, she’d swallowed her pride, washed down the bitter taste with a perfectly aged cabernet, and drawn on her finest gown.
At the duke and duchess’s kindhearted, sincere welcome, she was glad she had. She hadn’t been certain of the duke’s regard for her, because she didn’t know what Knightly might have told him regarding his reasons for not carrying through on his promise to marry her.
