His attention was snared by the sight of Catherine Marks, standing in the corner and watching as Beatrix and her partner danced.
Marks looked tense as usual, her slender dark-clad figure as straight as a ramrod. She never missed an opportunity to disdain Leo and treat him as if he had all the intellectual prowess of an oyster. And she was resistant to any attempts at charm or humor. Like any sensible man, Leo did his best to avoid her.
But to his chagrin, Leo couldn’t stop himself from wondering what Catherine Marks would look like after a good, thorough tupping. Her spectacles cast aside, her silky hair loose and tumbled, her pale body released from the contraption of stays and laces . . .
Suddenly nothing at the ball seemed quite so interesting as his sisters’ companion.
Leo decided to go bother her.
He sauntered to her. “Hello, Marks. How is the—”
“Where have you been?” she whispered violently, her eyes flashing furiously behind her spectacles.
“In the card room. And then I had a plate of supper. Where else should I have been?”
“You were supposed to have been helping with Poppy.”
“Helping with what? I promised I would dance with her, and here I am.” Leo paused and glanced around them. “Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
He frowned. “How can you not know? You mean to say you’ve lost her?”
“The last time I saw Poppy was approximately ten minutes ago, when she went to dance with Mr. Rutledge.”
“The hotel owner? He never appears at these things.”
“He did this evening,” Miss Marks said grimly, keeping her tone low. “And now they’ve disappeared. Together. You must find her, my lord. Now. She is in danger of being ruined.”
“Why haven’t you gone after her?”
“Someone has to keep an eye on Beatrix, or she’ll disappear as well. Besides, I didn’t want to draw attention to Poppy’s absence. Go find her, and be quick about it.”
Leo scowled. “Marks, in case you hadn’t noticed, other servants don’t snap out orders to their masters. So if you don’t mind—”
“You’re not my master,” she had the nerve to say, glaring insolently at him.
Oh, I’d like to be, Leo thought in a quick, angry flush of arousal, every hair on his body standing erect. Along with a certain feature of his anatomy. He decided to leave before her effect on him became obvious. “All right, settle your feathers. I’ll find Poppy.”
“Start looking in all the places where you would take a woman to compromise her. There can’t be that many.”
“Yes, there can. You’d be amazed at the variety of places I’ve—”
“Please,” she muttered. “I’m feeling nauseous enough at the moment.”
Casting an assessing glance around the ballroom, Leo spied the row of French doors at the far end. He headed for the balcony, trying to go as fast as possible without appearing to be in a hurry. It was his cursed luck to be snared in two separate conversations on the way, one with a friend who wanted his opinion of a certain lady, the other with a dowager who thought the punch was “off” and wanted to know if he’d tried it.
Finally Leo made it to one of the doors and slipped outside.
His eyes widened as he beheld an astonishing tableau. Poppy, clasped in the arms of a tall black-haired man . . . being watched by a small group of people who had come onto the balcony through another set of doors. And one of them was Michael Bayning, who looked sick with jealousy and outrage.
The black-haired man lifted his head, murmured something to Poppy, and leveled a cool glance at Michael Bayning.
A glance of triumph.
It only lasted a moment, but Leo saw it, and recognized it for what it was.
“Holy hell,” Leo whispered.
His sister was in considerable trouble.
When a Hathaway caused a scandal, they never did it by half measures.
By the time Leo steered Poppy back into the ballroom and collected Miss Marks and Beatrix, the scandal had started to spread. In no time at all, Cam and Amelia had found them, and the family drew together in a protective cluster around Poppy.
“What happened?” Cam asked, looking deceptively relaxed, his hazel eyes alert.
“Harry Rutledge happened,” Leo muttered. “I’ll explain everything shortly. For now, let’s leave here as quickly as possible and meet Rutledge at the hotel.”
Amelia leaned close to murmur into Poppy’s scarlet ear. “It’s all right, dear. Whatever it is, we’ll fix it.”
“You can’t,” Poppy whispered. “No one can.”
Leo looked past his sisters and saw the subdued uproar of the crowd. Everyone was staring at them. “It’s like watching an ocean wave,” he remarked. “One can literally see the scandal sweep through the room.”
Cam looked sardonic and resigned. “Gadjos,” he muttered. “Leo, why don’t you take your sister and Miss Marks in your carriage? Amelia and I will make our farewells to the Norburys.”
In a daze of wretchedness, Poppy allowed Leo to usher her outside to his carriage. All of them were silent until the vehicle had pulled away from the mansion with a sharp lurch.
Beatrix was the first to speak. “Have you been compromised, Poppy?” she asked with concern. “As Win was last year?”
“Yes, she has,” Leo replied, while Poppy let out a little moan. “It’s a bad habit our family’s gotten into. Marks, you’d better write a poem about it.”
“This disaster could have been avoided,” the companion told him tersely, “had you found her sooner.”
“It could also have been avoided if you hadn’t lost her in the first place,” Leo shot back.
“I’m responsible,” Poppy broke in, her voice muffled against Leo’s shoulder. “I went off with Mr. Rutledge. I had just seen Mr. Bayning in the ballroom, and I was distraught, and Mr. Rutledge asked me to dance but I needed air and we went out to the balcony—”
“No, I’m responsible,” Miss Marks said, looking equally as upset. “I let you dance with him.”
“It does no good to assign blame,” Leo said. “What’s done is done. But if anyone is responsible, it’s Rutledge, who apparently came to the ball on a hunting expedition.”
“What?” Poppy lifted her head and looked at him in bewilderment. “You think he . . . no, it was an accident, Leo. Mr. Rutledge didn’t intend to compromise me.”
“It was deliberate,” Miss Marks said. “Harry Rutledge never gets ‘caught’ doing anything. If he was seen in a compromising situation, it was because he wanted to be seen.”
Leo looked at her alertly. “How do you know so much about Rutledge?”
The companion flushed. It seemed to require an effort for her to hold his gaze. “His reputation, of course.”
Leo’s attention was diverted as Poppy buried her face against his shoulder. “I’m going to die of humiliation,” she said.
“No, you won’t,” Leo replied. “I’m an expert on humiliation, and if it were fatal, I’d have died a dozen times by now.”
“You can’t die a dozen times.”
“You can if you’re a Buddhist,” Beatrix said helpfully.
Leo smoothed Poppy’s shining hair. “I hope Harry Rutledge is,” he said.
“Why?” Beatrix asked.
“Because there’s nothing I’d rather do than kill him repeatedly.”
Harry received Leo and Cam Rohan in his private library. Any other family in the situation would have been predictable . . . they would have demanded that he do the right thing, and terms of compensation would have been discussed, and arrangements would have been made. Because of Harry’s vast fortune, most families would have accepted the results with good grace. He wasn’t a peer, but he was a man of influence and means.
However, Harry knew better than to expect a predictable response to the situation from either Leo or Cam. They were not conventional, and they would have to be dealt with carefully. That being said, Harry wasn’t worried in the least. He had negotiated over matters of far greater consequence than a woman’s honor.
Pondering the events of the night, Harry was filled with immoral triumph. No, not triumph . . . elation. It was all turning out to be so much easier than he had expected, especially with Michael Bayning’s unanticipated appearance at the Norbury ball. The idiot had practically handed Poppy to Harry on a silver platter. And when an opportunity presented itself, Harry took it.
Besides, Harry felt he deserved Poppy. Any man who allowed scruples to get in the way of having a woman like her was a fool. He recalled the way she had looked in the ballroom, pale and fragile and distraught. When Harry had approached her, there had been no mistaking the relief in her expression. She had turned to him, she had let him take her away.
And as Harry had brought her outside to the terrace, his satisfaction had been quickly supplanted by an entirely new sensation . . . the desire to ease someone else’s pain. The fact that he had helped to bring about her heartbreak in the first place was regrettable. But the end justified the means. And once she was his, he would do more for her, take better care of her, than Michael Bayning ever could.
Now he had to deal with Poppy’s family, who were understandably outraged that he had compromised her. That didn’t worry him in the slightest. He had no doubt of his ability to persuade Poppy to marry him. And no matter how much the Hathaways objected, they would ultimately have to come to terms.
Marrying him was the only way to redeem Poppy’s honor. Everyone knew it.
Keeping his expression neutral, Harry offered wine as Leo and Cam entered the library, but they refused.
Leo went to the fireplace mantel and leaned beside it with his arms folded across his chest. Cam went to a leather-upholstered chair and settled into it, stretching out his long legs and crossing them at the ankles.
Harry wasn’t deceived by their comfortable postures. Anger, masculine discord, permeated the room. Remaining relaxed, Harry waited for one of them to speak.
“You should know, Rutledge,” Leo said in a pleasant tone, “that I had planned to kill you right away, but Rohan says we should talk for a few minutes first. Personally, I think he’s trying to delay me so he can have the pleasure of killing you himself. And even if Rohan and I don’t kill you, we probably won’t be able to stop my brother-in-law Merripen from killing you.”
Harry half sat on the edge of the heavy mahogany library table. “I suggest you wait until Poppy and I marry, so she can at least be made a respectable widow.”
“Why do you assume,” Cam asked, “that we would allow you to have Poppy?”
“If she doesn’t marry me after this, no one will receive her. For that matter, I doubt any of the rest of your family would be welcome in London parlors.”
“I don’t think we’re welcome as it is,” Cam replied, his hazel eyes narrowed.
“Rutledge,” Leo said with deceptive casualness, “before I came into the title, the Hathaways lived outside London society for so many years that we couldn’t give a monkey’s arse as to whether we’re received or not. Poppy doesn’t have to marry anyone, for any reason, other than her own desire to do so. And Poppy is of the opinion that you and she would never suit.”
“The opinions of women are frequently changed,” Harry said. “Let me talk to your sister tomorrow. I’ll convince her to make the best of the situation.”
“Before you convince her,” Cam said, “you’re going to have to convince us. Because what little I know about you makes me damned uneasy.”
Of course Cam Rohan would have some knowledge of him. Cam’s former position at the gentlemen’s gaming club would have made him privy to all kinds of private information. Harry was curious as to how much he had found out.
“Why don’t you tell me what you know,” Harry invited idly, “and I’ll confirm if it’s true.”
The amber-shaded eyes regarded him without blinking. “You’re originally from New York City, where your father was a hotelier of middling success.”
“Buffalo, actually,” Harry said.
“You didn’t get on with him. But you found mentors. You apprenticed at an engineering works, where you became known for your abilities as a mechanic and draftsman. You patented several innovations in valves and boilers. At the age of twenty, you left America and came to England for undisclosed reasons.”
Cam paused to observe the effects of his recitation.
Harry’s ease had evaporated, the muscles of his shoulders drawing upward. He forced them back down and resisted the temptation to reach up and ease a cramp of tension at the back of his neck. “Go on,” he invited softly.
Cam obliged. “You put together a group of private investors and bought a row of houses with very little capital of your own. You leased the houses for a short time, razed them and bought the rest of the street, and built the hotel as it now stands. You have no family, save your father in New York, with whom you have no communication. You have a handful of loyal friends and a host of enemies, many of whom seem to like you in spite of themselves.”
Harry reflected that Cam Rohan must have had impressive connections to have unearthed such information. “There are only three people in England who know that much about me,” he muttered, wondering which one of them had talked.
“Now there are five,” Leo said. “And Rohan forgot to mention the fascinating discovery that you’ve become a favorite with the War Office after designing some modifications to the standard issue army rifle. But lest we assume that you are only allied with the British government, you also seem to have dealings with foreigners, royalty and criminals alike. It rather gives one the impression that the only side you’re ever on is your own.”
Harry smiled coolly. “I’ve never lied about myself or my past. But I keep things private whenever possible. And I owe allegiance to no one.” He went to the sideboard and poured a brandy. Holding the bowl in the palms of his hands to warm it, he glanced at both men. He’d bet his fortune that Cam knew more that he wasn’t revealing. But this discussion, brief as it was, made it clear that there would be no helpful family coercion to make Poppy an honest woman. The Hathaways didn’t give a damn about respectability, nor did they need his money, nor his influence.
Which meant that he would have to focus solely on Poppy.