Luck Is No Lady(8)
The distinct fluffs and folds of his neckcloth in a style her father had worn innumerable times. A gasp caught in her throat, closing off her air. It was too much to hope there might be more than one man sporting the old-fashioned style tonight.
She wouldn’t be so lucky.
The attractive scoundrel named Mr. Bentley was none other than her anonymous stranger.
“What a bee-u-tiful man,” Angelique exclaimed breathlessly. “If I were ten years younger…”
“You would still be more than twice his age, Angelique,” Lady Greenly admonished smartly.
“Ah, but he could make a woman feel young again, no?”
Emma blushed at her great-aunt’s insinuation and tried to conceal her own reaction to the man who had dared to kiss her only moments ago.
“He may be a handsome man,” Lady Winterdale said with a hint of acid on her tongue, “but only in the way of the devil.”
Lady Greenly nodded. “It is unfortunate for such a good-looking fellow to be so unsuitable for any respectable girl.”
“Unsuitable how?” Emma asked, unable to remain at the edge of the discussion. She told herself it was in the best interests of her sisters to know of all potential dangers.
“He is a bastard son of the Earl of Wright. He never should have been included on tonight’s guest list.”
Emma stiffened at the animosity in Lady Winterdale’s reply. “Is he condemned based solely on the circumstance of his birth?”
“Of course not,” Lady Greenly answered with a fluttering wave of her hand. “Mr. Bentley’s mother was highborn, after all. If he had dedicated himself to cultivating the qualities of a gentleman, he may have been able to compensate for some of the stigma of being conceived on the wrong side of the blanket.”
“On the contrary,” Lady Winterdale added, “Mr. Bentley seems to go out of his way to live up to his ignoble birthright.”
“What has he done?” Mrs. Landon queried, her eyes bright with curiosity.
Lady Greenly gave a tight smile, as if she was reluctant to share the gossip but felt it her duty to do so. “Over the years there have been so many rumors of his sordid activities it is rather difficult to know what is true and what is fabricated.”
“What sort of activities?” Mrs. Landon pressed.
“Smuggling, dockside brawls, and private parties that would make a stage dancer blush.”
Angelique shook her head and chuckled. “These things are not so bad. Many men do the same when they are young and wild.”
“And then there is his rather questionable business…” Lady Greenly added.
“Business?” Lady Winterdale snorted. “That place is nothing more than an excuse for more debauchery. An elegant veneer does not negate the moral corruption taking place inside.”
Unease rolled down Emma’s spine. Just what manner of man had she encountered?
“Then how did he come to be invited to this party?”
Lady Greenly’s smile was almost mischievous. “Because he is a wizard with investments. Mr. Bentley has made or remade the fortunes of practically half the men here. They cannot afford to slight him.”
“He may be one of the richest men in town,” Lady Winterdale said with righteous indignation, “but that does not make him a proper match for any of the gently bred young ladies in attendance tonight. Not if the lady wishes to remain securely within society’s good graces. Any lady who might dare to be associated with such a man will feel the sting of many a hostess’s rejection about town.”
“True,” Lady Greenly said speculatively, “but you know as well as I his fortune goes a long way to make up for his other indiscretions. A match with a lady of true quality could succeed in lifting him a few rungs higher on the social ladder.”
“While simultaneously dragging the poor girl down a few,” Lady Winterdale clarified. “Certainly not worth the risk.”
“I would say not,” Mrs. Landon agreed, though she continued to stare at the man in question with a speculative gleam in her eyes.
Emma knew she should agree as well, but the harsh manner in which they discussed the gentleman made her wish she had some means by which to defend him. She didn’t, of course—he was a stranger to her, after all, despite the unusual moments of intimacy they had shared. As the ladies beside her shifted their attention to another topic, Emma couldn’t help stealing one last glance in his direction.
His companion, Lord Tindall, looked infinitely uncomfortable as he spoke with jutting hand gestures and a heavy scowl darkening his aristocratic features. Mr. Bentley appeared just as exasperated by the nature of the conversation. He shifted his stance and scanned the room before turning back to Tindall to give a short reply to something the other man said. As soon as Tindall retrieved the thread of conversation, Bentley’s attention spread outward again—as though he were searching for something.