Joanna Maitland - Rake's Reward

‘I beg your pardon, ma’am? I’m afraid I do not quite follow…’

‘No reason why you should. And I wasn’t talking to you, in any event.’ At Marina’s sharp intake of breath, she softened the merest fraction. ‘Oh, you will come to learn it all in the end, I suppose. Best that I tell you myself. Can’t have you hearing gossip from the servants. Wouldn’t get the facts right, I dare say.’ Lady Luce chuckled a little at her own wit. ‘There is not much to tell. Several years ago, when Kit Stratton was barely out of leading strings, he lost five thousand pounds to me. I was in pretty deep myself at the time and could not afford to give him time to pay…or even an opportunity to recoup his losses. I demanded payment in seven days. I used those very words. He has been waiting his chance for revenge ever since.’

The story did not sound in the least plausible to Marina. Gentlemen lost thousands of pounds at play all the time. Why should Kit Stratton be bent on vengeance? Against a woman, too?

Her doubts must have been obvious, for Lady Luce looked somewhat shamefaced. ‘He paid,’ she said hoarsely, ‘on the nail. I found out later that his brother Hugo had given him the money—out of his wife’s dowry. They had been married less than a week. Kit was sent abroad soon after.’

‘Oh,’ breathed Marina. No wonder Kit Stratton had felt humiliated. And what of the brother? What had Hugo Stratton thought of it all? Had Hugo Stratton really sent his brother into exile? He— Hugo Stratton? Now she knew why the name had seemed familiar!

The Dowager was beginning to ramble. It must be the effects of too much brandy. ‘Can’t say I blame the boy. My own fault. Let him think I was doing it out of malice when it was really William’s fault. Insisted he couldn’t afford to tow me out of River Tick. I couldn’t admit that to young Stratton, could I? But to use the very same words…’ She raised her glass yet again.

‘Do you know Hugo Stratton, ma’am? The brother?’

‘What? Yes. No. Well…we are barely acquainted, but everyone knows about him. He’s as rich as Croesus since his brother died, never mind the money from his wife. Doesn’t come up to London much. Got out of the habit after the war, they say, because he hated being stared at.’

‘Stared at?’

‘He was badly wounded. Waterloo, I think.’ The Dowager frowned. ‘Why all this sudden interest in Sir Hugo Stratton? What is he to you, miss?’

Marina swallowed. ‘I think he may have served with my father, ma’am,’ she said quietly, gazing down at her skirts. ‘In Spain. I think he fought in the battle where my father and my uncle died.’

Lady Luce said nothing. She simply reached for the brandy decanter and tipped a generous measure into Marina’s glass.

Marina tried in vain to find a comfortable position in her bed. It must be nearly dawn. Her head was pounding, but she could not possibly sleep. What on earth had possessed the Dowager to give her brandy? Her brain was refusing to function.

She tried again.

Kit Stratton was Sir Hugo Stratton’s younger brother. And a Captain Hugo Stratton had been her uncle’s closest friend. They had served together for years. According to Uncle George, Hugo Stratton was the best friend, and the staunchest comrade, that a man could wish for. It was partly due to Captain Stratton’s influence that Marina’s father had joined the 95th. It was not Captain Stratton’s fault that the brothers had died so soon after.

Kit Stratton could not be as bad as he was painted. It was not possible. Not if he was Hugo Stratton’s brother. And he must be. It was an unusual name. Perhaps Kit had had other reasons for his hatred of the Dowager. Perhaps his insult to Marina herself was simply an unconscious continuation of his harshness at the card table. Perhaps…

There was no way of knowing, unless she found out for herself.

Yes, that was the answer. She would seek out Kit Stratton and ask him to forgive the Dowager’s debt. If necessary, she would ask him to do it in memory of her uncle and her father—and for his brother Hugo’s sake. No gentleman could possibly deny such a request.

The thought of such an interview made her stomach churn. She would have to abandon the last shreds of her pride to make her appeal, and if he treated her with the same degree of contempt as before… She shivered. She was not sure she could bear that.

Was he a gentleman at all?

It was true that the Dowager had rambled on for what seemed like hours about Kit Stratton’s way of life, his mistresses, his fine clothes, his carriages, his horses… He had all the outward attributes of a very wealthy gentleman. But did he have a sense of honour to go with his high-couraged horses?

Marina smiled weakly. The horses had provided her solution. She rather wished they had not. Kit Stratton exercised his horses in the park every morning, come rain, come shine, no matter how great his indulgence the night before. According to the Dowager, it was one of his few saving graces.

He would be in the park tomorrow morning. No—in just a few hours. She had only to go there and confront him. As a gentleman, he could not fail to listen to a lady’s pleas.

That was not true.

He could spurn her without a moment’s hesitation. He had done so once already, knowing perfectly well that she was a lady. He could do so again, unless she could find some way of breaking through his armoured exterior.

Her own pride did not matter. It was her duty to protect her family—and to do so, she must retain her position with Lady Luce. To save the Dowager, she must challenge Kit Stratton.

Why did he have to ride such a huge animal? Kit Stratton’s bay stallion must be seventeen hands or more. Marina felt completely dwarfed by horse and rider. Would he even condescend to rein in to greet her? He could not mistake the fact that she wished to speak to him.

Kit touched his crop carelessly to his hat, using his other hand to bring his horse to a stand with practised ease. There was a sardonic gleam in his eye as he looked down at her. ‘You are about betimes, ma’am,’ he said. His gaze wandered lazily around the park before coming back to rest on Marina’s shabby figure. ‘And you appear to have…mislaid your maid.’

‘A companion does not have a maid,’ snapped Marina, ‘as you know very well, Mr Stratton.’

His eyebrows shot up. Then he nodded slowly, once. ‘No. She has the tongue of a shrew instead, it would seem.’

Marina was suddenly sure she was blushing. Confound the man! This was not at all what she had intended for this interview. She swallowed hard. She must start again. ‘Mr Stratton,’ she said, as evenly as she could, ‘I should be most grateful if we might have a private word. About…about last night. I—’

He frowned. ‘You are come as Lady Luce’s envoy? Believe me, ma’am—’

‘No! No! She knows nothing of this, I promise you. I have my own reasons for wishing to…to consult you. You see…’

His expression was changing even as she spoke. He was almost smiling, but there was nothing in the least pleasant in it. Marina felt a sudden urge to flee. She swallowed again. He was doing everything he could to make her position impossible. He had not even dismounted, as any true gentleman would have done. That thought gave rise to a spark of anger. Heedless of risk, she fanned it. He was trying—deliberately—to overset her. He despised her, a poor plain companion, for daring to approach rich, handsome Kit Stratton.

‘You mistake me, sir,’ she said crisply. ‘I am not come at Lady Luce’s bidding but at my own, to ask a…a favour of you.’ There. It was out. And Kit Stratton’s face was dark with anger. ‘Not for her ladyship’s sake—I know that is impossible—but for—’