Free Time's Fool by Patricia Veryan Page B

London’s ladies were no secret.
    â€œThe situation is entirely different,” he said, taking a turn about the room and waving his wineglass to emphasize his statements. “I am a widower, my children grown.” He avoided her eyes here, since his amorous adventures had distressed his wife long before her demise. “A gentleman may take one mistress, or a dozen—can he afford the pretty creatures. But he is required to exercise discretion. Young Rossiter pays small heed to the conventions, and evidently ain’t learned yet that the man who is so callous as to leave his mistress and her brat to starve, has put himself beyond the pale! For that alone, he’d be blackballed.”
    â€œSo you knew there was a child,” she said quietly.
    â€œOf course I knew! All England knows, I shouldn’t wonder. Men enjoy a juicy piece of gossip just as much as you ladies, m’dear. If I heard it once, I heard it a score of times, to say nothing of his frequent assignations with a lightskirt in some garden or other. But”—he gave a gesture of impatience—“you knew all this, and were no less disgusted than I, as I recall.”
    â€œI had not known about the—the child.”
    â€œHumph. And Master Newby was pleased to put you in possession of that detail, was he? Famous! And typical that he should repeat such tales to a lady. Well, if nothing else, it should convince you that explanations from me are neither required nor necessary. Captain Rossiter would have to be a proper fool not to know damned well where he stands with us. When he had the gall to demand that Pawson carry up his card, I could scarce believe it. I was so sure ’twas a ruse in fact, I stole a look at him from the landing. Blessed if I’d have recognized him, for he’s thin as any rail and bears little resemblance to the arrogant young Buck who went riding off to—”
    â€œMy God!” Her father’s words had struck a chord, and Naomi paled, the wine splashing onto her dressing gown as she cried out a shocked, “Then—’twas him!”
    â€œEh? What the deuce are you flying into a pucker about now?”
    â€œThe men who rid up to help us during the hold-up were both officers. I had never met the one who shot August, but I kept thinking there was something familiar about his friend. I realize now that it must—Oh, Lud! ’Tis incredible! But—it must have been—”
    â€œGideon … Rossiter?” he interrupted, almost equally astonished. “The deuce!” They stared at each other for a stunned instant. Then the earl said with a slow grin, “In that event, I’d not be surprised to discover ’twas all a hoax! The young devil likely arranged the hold-up only to try and restore himself to your good graces.”
    Shocked, she said, “No, how can you think so awful a thing? Two men were killed, and—”
    â€œYokels! Pah! England has an over-abundance of such!”
    â€œâ€”and Gideon—if ’twas Gideon—did not even recognize me.”
    Her caveat was disregarded. Vastly amused, he said, “I’ve come at the heart of it, stap me if I ain’t! Why, that slippery rascal! No, never look so starched up. Give him credit for a good try, at least!”
    She shook her head stubbornly. “I know he has behaved very badly, but I’ll not believe this of him. Besides, an his motives are as you say, he played his cards poorly. His manner towards me was far from conciliating, to say the least of it. I feel sure that he did not recognize me. ’Twas almost dark, and I had fallen and was soaking wet, with my hair all down and over my face. I doubt you would have known me at that moment.” More shaken than she wished to reveal, she set her unfinished wine aside and came to her feet. “Now, sir, with your permission, I shall bid you good night.”
    My lord stood as his daughter swept him