The Charming Jezebel Read online

  “It isn’t the way things should be,” Saif agreed.

  Ophelia paused, then marched straight up to Saif. “We must do something about it.”

  “Something about…the Marlowe sisters?” he asked, resting his hands protectively on her arms. It surprised him that he wanted to shelter and protect her far more than he wanted to kiss her or make love to her.

  “Yes,” she said with a resolve that sent a shiver through him.

  An actual shiver. He’d thought only sentimental fools and women felt shivers, but no. Ophelia made him shiver in every way.

  “We must warn the Marlowe sisters of their impending fate at once,” she said, gripping his arms and staring intently up at him. “And we must help them escape.”

  Chapter 3

  Determination like nothing Ophelia had ever felt before coursed through her veins. It was fueled by every injustice she and her friends had ever been forced to suffer. She charged through the hall, heading back toward the grand parlor, determined to save the Marlowe sisters if she possibly could.

  Saif caught her wrist just before they reached the large room, forcing her to an uncomfortable stop. She turned to him with a frown, but he said, “Be careful,” in a voice laced with genuine concern. “Your efforts will bear more fruit if you proceed naturally, without drawing attention. Remember, the room you are about to enter is filled with bored, prying eyes.”

  His words caused an unexpected hitch in her chest. “You will not try to stop me?”

  “No,” he said, seemingly surprised by her frown. “I intend to help you in every way I can.”

  Ophelia’s brow lifted. She’d never had a man actually want to help her before. She smiled before she could stop herself. “Thank you, Mr. Khan.”

  He made a scoffing sound. “My name is Saif. I would be honored if you would use it, and me, in any way you see fit.”

  There was a hint of mischief behind his kind offer, a hint of heat. It made her want to return to the secluded parlor with him and resume the kissing that had been cut short so rudely by Lord Marlowe. But no, she had a mission in front of her, one that needed to be completed before she could explore the delicious sensations pulsing through her.

  “Thank you, Saif,” she said in a soft voice, then faced the parlor, squared her shoulders, and proceeded onward.

  The grand parlor was just as busy as when they had left, no more than half an hour earlier. The same air of restless impatience and unease caused by the endless rain and the inability to enjoy the outdoors continued to pervade. Caro had joined a table of ladies playing some sort of card came, but none of them seemed to be particularly happy. Lord Marlowe and his cronies hadn’t returned to the parlor, which was a relief to Ophelia. Also a relief was the fact that Aunt Millicent seemed deeply absorbed in some sort of discussion involving colorful journals that she and the other chaperones were waving at each other at the extreme far end of the room.

  It was a stroke of luck that the Marlowe sisters were seated together by one of the rainy windows at the near end of the parlor, as far from Aunt Millicent as it was possible to be. Ophelia walked toward them as sedately as she could with Saif in tow, saying a prayer of thanks that her aunt was too far away to interrupt what could very well be the most important conversation she had had in years.

  “Ladies,” she said by way of greeting as she reached the sisters.

  All three of the Marlowe sisters glanced up from their close-knit conversation, their eyes wide and wary, like kittens waiting to be rounded up and drowned. Their expressions softened when they saw Ophelia, then turned wary once more at the sight of Saif.

  Ophelia ignored their reticence and sank to the sofa beside Lettuce. “I have come to warn you that you are in grave danger,” she said, keeping her voice as low as possible.

  The sisters instantly looked to Saif as though he were the danger. “I am here to help in any way I can,” Saif said, taking a seat on the empty chair that completed the circle in that cluster of seats.

  “Mr. Khan and I have just overheard your father in discussion with Lord Cunningham and Mr. Pigge,” Ophelia went on, leaning in close.

  The effect on the sisters was instantaneous. Their wariness turned to outright fear and misery.

  “I knew it,” Lettuce whispered. “Father has been plotting with those men to sell us.”

  “It is just as we feared,” Alice agreed.

  “I’m afraid it is,” Ophelia told them.

  “It may be worse than that,” Saif went on with a frown.

  “Worse than being sold off to men twice our age?” Imogen asked, looking as though she might burst into tears.

  Ophelia was tempted to point out, to Alice at least, that Count Camoni was barely thirty, handsome, and famous to boot, but those things hardly mattered when the poor woman would be forced to marry him against her will. Instead, she said, “We overheard them just now, speaking of ways to trap each of you into marriage.”

  “Trap us?” Imogen squeaked, looking more alarmed than ever.

  Lettuce sat straighter, looking like someone bound for the gallows. “He knows we loathe the matches he’s made for us, loathe the men he wishes to sell us to. We have told him in private that we will refuse those matches.”

  “But he never listens to us.” Alice said, without the faint strength her older sister had managed. “He told us he would see us married to the men he chose, no matter what.”

  “I can’t bear it,” Imogen said, burying her face in her hands. “I can’t bear it at all. Especially not when….” Her words sank away to nothing, but she glanced up through her fingers at Lord Thaddeus, who stood nearby, watching with a look of concern.

  Saif sent the young lord a reassuring nod while Ophelia went on.

  “Lord Cunningham and Mr. Pigge have plans to corner you in secluded areas and to—” she swallowed, feeling sick at the thought, “—ruin you so that you are forced into marriage.”

  Rather than looking shocked and horrified, the sisters seemed to expect those words. To Ophelia, the grim acceptance that such plots were afoot on the part of the sisters was even worse than shock.

  “It’s a disgrace,” Saif growled. “Even in my homeland, where women are maneuvered into marriages to secure alliances, where dowry prices boggle the mind, and where the bride is not consulted about her fate at all, there is at least a modicum of respect for the woman. No man I know would ever dream of importuning a woman or causing a scandal to force her into marriage.”

  Ophelia could tell by the way he chose his words so carefully that what he wanted to say was that no man in his homeland would resort to molestation to get a bride. That sin was reserved for England.

  “We will not accept our fates quietly,” she told the Marlowe sisters. “We can and we will fight back.”

  “But how?” Alice asked, hopelessness seeming to press down on her like a shroud. “We are powerless, even if we work together. It is only a matter of time before our intended grooms corner us for the inevitable. Perhaps it would be easier if we simply gave in to Father’s demands.”

  “No,” Ophelia said as though it were her fate and not that of her friends at stake. “You can flee here. You can take a carriage and escape. I’m certain Caro would provide you with the conveyance you need.”

  Imogen looked terrified by the idea, but Lettuce’s expression flashed with hope. “We have no money,” Lettuce said.

  “I will provide you with everything you need,” Saif said, surprising and delighting Ophelia. She sent him an approving smile—which made him smile in return—then went on with, “My home kingdom of Sandhustan is wealthier than most of my British friends could dream of, and its resources are at my disposal.”

  That caught the Marlowe sisters’ attention as well as Ophelia’s. She blinked at him, wondering how many other things about him she had yet to learn. Great wealth? At his disposal? A humble student who came to England to attend university?

  She shook her head, focusing on the problem at hand. “You can go
to London,” she said. “To Miss Dobson’s School.”

  “But hasn’t the school closed?” Lettuce asked. “After Miss Dobson disappeared?”

  “Not at all,” Ophelia said, smiling. “Caro took over the running of the place, though she hired a Mrs. Nelson to supervise and plan a curriculum going forward. It has become a safe haven for ladies in trouble rather than a reform school. You could go there and be safe.”

  The Marlowe sisters exchanged looks, a new feeling of possibility shining from them. It warmed Ophelia’s heart. She could sense they were on the verge of victory, of being able to wrestle back their lives from the men that sought to control them.

  Not that she herself was in immediate danger. She glanced to Saif, to the earnestness of his expression as he watched the Marlowe sisters whisper among themselves, discussing whether the plan was possible. He was a mystery to her, and yet, he felt as familiar as the sunrise and just as warm and welcoming. More than that, everything about him swirled with the exotic and even the erotic. She couldn’t actually have him, could she? In spite of her father’s indifferent wishes that she marry well and her aunt’s persistent meddling?

  Saif glanced away from the Marlowe sisters and caught Ophelia studying him. She gulped with self-consciousness and glanced away, especially because the light in his eyes was more than just warm, it was suggestive. She wasn’t daring, like Felicity, or bold, like Eliza, but in that moment, she wished she were.

  “We’ll do it,” Lettuce whispered at last, turning to Ophelia and Saif. “We’ll run. As long as you can help us.”

  Joy filled Ophelia’s heart, as if rescuing the Marlowe sisters would be a vehicle for her own escape from the pitiable situation her sex and birth had thrown her into. “We must act swiftly,” she said, standing. The others stood with her. “The faster we can arrange for you to slip away, the less time your father has to plot a way to stop you.”

  “I can speak to Rufus at once to see that a carriage is readied,” Saif said.

  “We should go to our rooms and pack the belongings we will need for the flight,” Lettuce said.

  “And I will speak to Caro—” Inspiration struck Ophelia as she spoke. Caro had asked her for entertainment suggestions. She could kill two birds with one stone. “I will speak to Caro about creating a diversion that will allow you to escape,” she said, knowing just the thing.

  With a few parting hugs between Ophelia and the sisters, they all went their separate ways. Ophelia was loath to be separated from Saif while her thoughts and feelings for him were in such a jumble, but there would be time to examine all that once the Marlowe sisters were safe.

  She crossed the room to the table where Caro’s card game was nearing its end. All it took was a glance for Caro to see something was afoot.

  “Ladies, please excuse me,” Caro said, setting her cards down. “It seems I am needed elsewhere.”

  “The game was a wash anyhow,” one of her companions said, throwing down her cards as well.

  Caro moved away from the table, taking Ophelia’s arm as she came close and steering her toward one of the windows in the middle of the room.

  “I have an idea,” Ophelia said in a quiet voice, glancing around to be certain they would not be overheard by anyone who mattered.

  “For an entertainment?” Caro asked.

  “And a way to enable the Marlowe sisters to escape their father’s clutches,” Ophelia confirmed in a whisper.

  Caro’s expression lit up with delight and mischief. “I am all ears.”

  Ophelia moved in closer. “Saif is arranging for a carriage with Rufus,” she said quickly. “It will take them away, to London. They can stay at the school for now.”

  “I can send word to the school to expect them,” Caro said, brightening. “How else can I help?”

  “We need a way to divert Lord Marlowe’s attention. Therefore, would you be able to arrange a game of sardines?”

  “Sardines?” Caro’s brow shot up. “The silly game where one person hides, the company goes in search of them, and when they find them, they hide as well?”

  “Yes,” Ophelia said, relieved her friend understood. “The game will gather everyone in one spot. We could arrange for that spot to be as far from the front of the house or whichever door the Marlowe sisters choose to escape from so that their flight will not be impeded.”

  “An excellent idea,” Caro said, squeezing Ophelia’s arm. “I shall make the arrangements at once.”

  She gave Ophelia a quick hug, then peeled away to set her part of the plan in motion. Ophelia breathed a sigh of relief, pressing her hand to her stomach as she did, then turned to go in search of Saif to see how he was getting along in finding a carriage.

  She had taken no more than two steps when Aunt Millicent waylaid her.

  “And just where do you think you’re going, young lady?” Aunt Millicent said.

  “I—” Ophelia’s mouth dropped open, but she couldn’t think of a thing to say. The truth certainly wasn’t going to help her.

  As it turned out, she didn’t have to answer. Aunt Millicent grabbed her wrist hard enough to leave bruises and marched her deeper into the center of the room, where various clusters of eligible men were gathered for cards or conversation.

  “You should be making yourself available for eligible men,” Aunt Millicent said.

  Given everything she had recently overheard Lord Marlowe and his friends discussing, the phrase turned Ophelia’s stomach.

  “I spoke with Lord Ainsley earlier,” Aunt Millicent went on. “He is anxious to make your acquaintance.”

  “Lord Ainsley?” Ophelia asked in a weak voice.

  Moments later, she found herself face to face with a spindly man of impeccable dress who gazed at her through a lorgnette before breaking into a smile. “Ah, Lady Ophelia. How lovely to make your acquaintance at last.”

  The gentlemen Lord Ainsley had been speaking to cleared their throats and subtly slipped away, leaving Ophelia and Aunt Millicent to talk to the man alone.

  Aunt Millicent frowned, probably put out that Lord Ainsley had had the first word instead of letting her appear to orchestrate the meeting. That didn’t stop her from saying, “Lord Ainsley, I would like to introduce you to my niece, Lady Ophelia Binghamton.”

  Lord Ainsley’s smile tightened as he glanced from Aunt Millicent to Ophelia. “Yes, I have observed your niece these many weeks now. I am quite pleased to be able to speak to you at last.”

  Pleased was the last word Ophelia would have used to describe her feelings in the situation. She glanced longingly at the door, wishing Saif would sweep back into the room and rescue her. Or that she had the backbone to end the conversation with Lord Ainsley before it started and simply to walk out on him. Neither happened.

  “Lord Ainsley,” she said with absolute politeness, bowing her head subtly. She refused to initiate the conversation, though.

  Lord Ainsley had no problem with that, however. “Are you making out well without your bosom friends, now that Miss Murdoch and Lady Eliza have found true love?”

  Ophelia opened her mouth to reply, but Lord Ainsley answered himself.

  “Of course you are not, poor thing. One is always out of sorts when one loses one’s friends. Why, my mates from school have all married and started families of their own, so I know the pain of abandonment by one’s friends. But that is why I have come to this lovely house party. Though the weather leaves something to be desired. In all my years, I have never seen a summer like this. I daresay we are not having a summer at all this year.” He laughed at his own statement, then said, “The year without a summer. I’ve been told they’re calling it that already.”

  “Do excuse me,” Aunt Millicent said in a low voice at Ophelia’s side. “I must have a word with Mrs. Hemsworth.”

  It was only a partial relief to have Aunt Millicent step away. Being left relatively alone with Lord Ainsley—though one could hardly say they were alone in a room with over two dozen other people milling about—mea
nt that she was the sole focus of his conversation.

  “I believe it is this cold and rainy in the Highlands of Scotland,” he went on without waiting to see if Ophelia had anything to add. “Though I have never been there myself. I heard from a friend. I do not travel at all, if I can avoid it. I have an estate in Bedfordshire that is quite adequate for my needs. I rarely even travel to London. Society does not always agree with me. I find myself excluded from so many social events that there never seems to be a reason to attend them, though I don’t know why.”

  Ophelia could have informed him, if he’d stop talking for two seconds on end. At least she was not required to actually say anything while talking to him. The droning conversation drove her mad, though, because it kept her away from what truly mattered—the effort to save the Marlowe sisters.

  Five minutes later, her ears sore from all Lord Ainsley’s talking, she was on the verge of feigning a headache when help came from the unlikeliest of persons.

  “Lord Ainsley, whatever are you doing trapped in conversation with Lady Ophelia?” Lady Malvis Cunningham, who was a sour cat on the best of occasions and had caused Ophelia’s friends more misery than she cared to recount, might have said her name as though it were a curse, but Ophelia could have kissed her all the same. She barged into the private conversation, positioning herself in front of Lord Ainsley and drawing his attention.

  “Lord Ainsley, you’ve met Lady Malvis Cunningham, haven’t you?” Ophelia made the introductions.

  “Only in passing,” Lord Ainsley said, smiling at Lady Malvis and taking her hand when she offered it. “What a delight it is to meet you at last,” he went on.

  “You’re a marquess, aren’t you?” Lady Malvis asked him bluntly.

  “Yes,” he answered with a smile. “Of Biddlesford. Though the title hasn’t done much to recommend me to society. I’ve no idea why. You’d think that high and low would want to associate themselves with a marquess of my fortune, but I find myself abandoned at most social events. It’s led me to consider extreme measures, as a matter of fact. I plan to make a voyage to the Caribbean soon in order to examine some opportunities there. Have you ever been to the Caribbean or the West Indies, Lady Malvis?”