Free Jack Lark: Rogue by Paul Fraser Collard Page A

stood in front of him. She was a good deal shorter than him and she was forced to crane her neck back so that she could scowl up at his mask.
    ‘Edmund Ponsonby.’
    ‘From where?’
    ‘London.’ Jack had no idea what he was supposed to say.
    The girl frowned. ‘Who is your father?’
    ‘That man over there.’ Jack gestured with his wine glass, nearly spilling the last of its contents on to the floor.
    The frown deepened. ‘Do I know you?’
    Jack’s tongue felt as if it had been tied in knots. ‘No, I don’t think so. I am not often in town.’ He forced the words out. Even he wanted to laugh at his attempt at an upper-class accent. It sounded fake, but the girl appeared to notice nothing amiss.
    ‘I see.’ She already sounded bored. ‘Do you know George?’
    ‘George?’ Jack’s confidence was slipping.
    ‘It is his party.’ The girl was scowling now.
    ‘I am afraid I ain’t had the pleasure.’
    The girl looked as if Jack had suddenly farted. ‘Where did you say you came from?’
    Jack put his glass to his mouth. His confidence was running away quicker than a pickpocket from a peeler.
    ‘I say, you are drunk already.’ The girl’s hands went to her hips and she shook her head like a despairing mother confronting a wayward child. ‘What jolly bad form.’ She turned on her heel and was gone in moments, leaving Jack trembling. But he still had the wherewithal to stare at her behind as she flounced away.
    He finished his wine. The fleeting conversation had left him in no doubt that it was time to hide. He would have to idle away two hours at least before he could hand over Edmund’s note. It should be easy to find a hidey-hole in such a grand mansion. Then he could beat a retreat and head back to where he belonged.
    He stepped away, pushing past a pair of short, rather dumpy women dressed in wide-hipped dresses, and headed for the door of the ballroom. He had nearly made it outside when his attention was diverted by a table covered in tiny cakes laid out on elegant china stands.
    His stomach rumbled. He needed something to soak up the wine that sat heavy in his gut, and if he had to sit and wait out the evening then at least he would do it with something to eat.
    The table was not popular, with few guests paying any attention to the sweet treats laid out for their delectation. Jack moved quickly, picking up a heavy napkin in which he planned to stash a dozen or so of the pretty little cakes, but immediately found his path blocked by the back of a large woman dressed in a tight-fitting dark-blue gown. As he waited for her to move, another guest, a man dressed all in green so that he resembled some sort of tree, clattered into Jack’s back, knocking him forward and driving the hilt of his rapier into the voluptuous woman’s backside. To his horror, she turned and faced him.
    ‘Sir Cavalier!’ she screeched loudly as she ran her eyes over him. ‘Were you poking me with your sword!’ It was followed by the sort of giggle only someone two sheets to the wind could give.
    Jack backed away. The woman loomed large, her enormous bosoms bulging over the rim of a tight bronze breastplate. On her head was some kind of helmet with a pair of enormous wings sticking out, one on either side.
    ‘I am dreadfully sorry,’ Jack stammered. The dirty smile plastered across the woman’s ample cheeks bore the familiar flush of the inebriated. It was a look he recognised well.
    ‘Do not apologise, young sir!’ the woman squealed as Jack backed away. She came after him, her hands reaching for him. Jack’s back was pressed hard against the pair of gossips and he was trapped. ‘I fancy I rather like being poked.’
    The woman’s hands dropped low and began rummaging below his belt. Jack’s eyes widened as he felt her fingers take him firmly in their grasp. He gasped and made to pull away, but she held him fast.
    ‘You are such a dashing Cavalier.’ The woman shivered with pleasure. With her right hand firmly