than eight or nine and twenty. Not so much older than her own twenty years.
Nor was she his ‘dear’ anything! ‘How very sad for you.’
Not the response Dominic had expected. Or one he wanted, either; the wealthy and eligible Earl of Blackstone did not desire or need anyone’s pity. Least of all that of a woman who hid her real appearance behind a jewelled mask and ebony wig.
Could Butler’s assessment of her be the correct one? Had this young woman run away to London to hide from possibly an overbearing father, or a brutish and bullying husband? She was of such a tiny and delicate appearance that Dominic found the latter possibility too distasteful to contemplate.
Whatever the mystery surrounding this woman, he was of the opinion that neither he, nor his gambling club, was in need of the trouble she might bring banging upon the door. ‘Are you even of an age to be in a gambling club, Caro?’
She looked startled. ‘My lord?’
‘I simply wondered as to your age.’
‘A gentleman should never ask a lady her age,’ she retorted primly.
Dominic slowly allowed his gaze to move from the top of that golden head, over the slenderness of her body, the delicacy of her tiny wrists and slender hands, to the bareness of her feet, before just as slowly returning to her now flushed and slightly resentful face. ‘As far as I am aware, ladies are always accompanied by a maid or companion; nor do they cavort upon the stage of a gentlemen’s gaming club.’
Her little pointed chin rose once more. ‘I do not cavort, my lord, but simply lie upon a chaise,’ she bit out tartly. ‘I also fail to see what business it is of yours whether or not I have a maid or companion.’
Dominic glanced into the room behind her, noting the tray on the dressing table, with its bowl of some rich and still-steaming stew and a platter of bread beside it, a plump and tempting orange upon another plate, obviously intended as her dessert. No doubt that ‘bite to eat’ Butler had mentioned providing for her.
‘I appear to have interrupted your supper,’ he acknowledged smoothly. ‘I suggest that we finish this conversation later tonight when I, and not Ben, act as your escort home.’
Her eyes widened in alarm before she gave a firm shake of her head. ‘That will not be possible, I am afraid.’
‘Oh?’
This was not a man used to receiving no for an answer, Caro realised ruefully as she took in the glittering arrogance in those silver eyes beneath one autocratically raised brow. And her lack of maid or companion was easily explained—if she had felt inclined to offer this man any explanation, which she did not! To have brought either maid or companion with her when she fled Hampshire two weeks ago would have placed them in the position of having abetted her in that flight, and she was in enough trouble already, without involving anyone else in her plight.
‘No,’ she reaffirmed evenly now. ‘It would hurt Ben’s feelings terribly if he were not allowed to walk me home. Besides,’ she added as his lordship would have dismissed that excuse for exactly what it was, ‘I do not allow gentlemen I do not know to escort me to my home.’ A man she had no wish to know, either, Caro could have added.
Mocking humour glittered briefly in those pale grey eyes. ‘Even if Drew Butler were to vouch for this gentleman?’
‘I have yet to hear him do so. Now, if you will excuse me? I wish to eat my supper before it becomes too cool.’ Caro’s attempt to close the door in Dominic Vaughn’s face was thwarted by the tactical placing of one of his booted feet against the door jam. Her eyes flashed a warning as she slowly reopened the door. ‘Please do not force me to call upon Ben’s help in having you removed from the premises.’
A threat that did not seem to bother the arrogant Dominic Vaughn in the slightest as he continued to smile down at her confidently. ‘That would be an … interesting experience.’
Caro eyed him uncertainly. Ben was as tall as the earl, and obviously more heavily built, but there was an underlying air of danger lurking beneath this man’s outward show of fashionable elegance. An aura of power that implied he could best any man against whom he chose to pit the strength of those wide shoulders and tall, lithely muscled body. Besides which, Caro very much doubted that the Earl of Blackstone had received that scar upon his face by sitting comfortably at home by his fireside!
She forced the tension from her shoulders as she smiled up at him. ‘Perhaps we might defer discussing your offer to escort me home until after I have spoken to Mr Butler?’
And perhaps, Dominic guessed, this young lady would choose to absent herself without so much as bothering to talk to Drew Butler. ‘I will be waiting outside for you when you have finished your next performance.’
The irritated darkening of those beautiful sea-green eyes told him that he had guessed correctly. ‘You are very persistent, sir!’
‘Just anxious to acquaint myself with one of my own employees.’
She gasped, those sea-green eyes wide with alarm. ‘Your … ? Did you say your employee?’
Dominic gave an affirmative nod, and took great pleasure in noting the way the colour drained from the delicacy of her cheeks, as she obviously realised he did indeed have the power to ensure she never performed at Nick’s again. ‘Until later then, Miss Morton.’ He bowed elegantly before returning to the gaming rooms, a smile of satisfaction curving his lips.
‘I would prefer to walk, thank you.’ It was a little over two hours later when Caro firmly dismissed even the idea of getting inside Dominic Vaughn’s fashionable carriage as it stood waiting outside Nick’s—a man Drew Butler had confirmed to Caro was not only the Earl of Blackstone, but also the man who had recently taken ownership of the gambling club at which they were both employed. That aside, she had no intention of placing herself in the vulnerable position of travelling alone in his carriage with him!
‘As you wish.’ He indicated for the driver of the carriage to follow them, his raven-black hair now covered by a fashionably tall hat, and a black silk cloak thrown about those widely muscled shoulders.
Caro shot him a sideways glance from beneath her unadorned brown bonnet, only a few of her golden curls now showing at her temples and nape. The brown gown she wore beneath her own serviceable black cloak was equally as modest in appearance, with its high neckline and long sleeves.
She had bought three such gowns when she’d arrived in London two weeks ago, this brown one, another in a dull green, and the third of dark cream, having very quickly realised that the few silk gowns she had brought to town with her stood out noticeably in the genteelly rundown area of London where she had managed to find clean and inexpensive lodgings. And being noticed—as herself, rather than as the masked lady singing at Nick’s—was something she dearly wished to avoid.
To say that Dominic had been surprised—yet again!—by Caro Morton’s appearance on joining him a few minutes ago would be an understatement. In fact, it had taken him several seconds to recognise her beneath that unbecoming brown bonnet that hid most of those glorious golden curls, and the equally unfashionable cloak that covered her from neck to ankle, so giving her every appearance of being a modest and unassuming young lady of meagre means.
That dark modesty of her clothing opened up a third possibility as to why Caro Morton was living alone in London and so obviously in need of work in order to support herself. Her slender hands were completely bare of rings, but that did not mean she was not one of those starry-eyed young ladies who, during the years of war against Napoleon, had abandoned all propriety by eloping with their unsuitable soldier beau before he marched off to battle, only to find themselves widowed within weeks, sometimes