A Search for Refuge

by Kristi Ann Hunter

  He kept his eye on the cluster of greenery as he wound his way through the room. She was not slipping away from him again. A blond head popped out from behind the trees and glanced out the window before disappearing again. What could possibly interest her in the gardens she’d only recently left? Was she running from someone? A gentleman who had tried to take advantage of her?

  An unbidden and unfathomable desire to defend the unknown woman’s honor rose up in him. For all he knew, she might not have any honor to save. She was hiding behind a potted tree, after all.

  Accomplished excuses tripped off his tongue without a great deal of thought as he dodged through the crowd of greetings and attempted conversations. He snagged two glasses of lemonade from the refreshment table as he passed.

  If he was going to commit a major breach of etiquette, he should bring a peace offering. Besides, she must be thirsty. A tray of drinks hadn’t passed by yet.

  He slipped behind the trees, ducking his head a bit. He wasn’t overly tall, but neither were the trees, and he’d worked too hard to slip back here and meet the mystery woman only to have someone notice him and ruin the moment.

  “Good evening.”

  She jumped and spun toward him, clutching a bundle of dark grey fabric to her chest. Up close, the dress was even more unusual. Bold and confident without appearing garish or tawdry. It lacked the abundance of jewels and trim other ladies were wearing. In fact, it looked nothing like what the other women in the ballroom were wearing. He’d never claimed to hold any excessive knowledge of women’s fashions, but this dress looked . . . old.

  That was the only word for it.

  As they stood there, quietly staring at each other, he noticed that the glorious green satin had been altered, adjusted. More than one seam showed wear, and the hem was frayed in a couple places. Where had she come from?

  She recovered her composure before he did, erasing the surprise from her face and giving him a regal nod. “Good evening.”

  Her voice was calm, quiet. It didn’t hold the grating, overzealous brightness that so many of the other women in the ballroom used. He liked it. His smile widened as he extended one of the glasses. “Lemonade?”

  Pale blue eyes stared at the glass for a moment before rising to meet his. Not a flicker of expression crossed her features, which weren’t as young as he’d first expected them to be. Fine lines appeared at the corners of her eyes and mouth, a maturity that she wore easily. She was well past the age of the simpering beauties filling the dance floor. A widow, perhaps? An older sister of a family racked with genteel poverty? Perhaps even someone’s companion or governess?

  They looked at each other until the moment grew awkward, but still she didn’t take the glass. Did she think he would do something to her in the middle of the ball? Very well, it wasn’t the middle. They were off to the edge, but more than a hundred people milled nearby.

  “I assure you it’s harmless.” Graham took a sip of the offered drink. “See?”

  A small smile tilted one side of her lips as she finally took the glass. “I see.”

  He leaned one shoulder against the wall. “I know I’m being abominably rude by introducing myself, but your friend here”—he nodded to the shield of greenery—“doesn’t seem too talkative.”

  “No, he isn’t.” She took a sip. “And you still haven’t introduced yourself.”

  He felt like a lad just out of school, pinned by her laughing blue eyes and small, pink smile. “My mistake. Lord Wharton, at your service.”

  “A pleasure, Lord Wharton. I’ve never heard of you, which I can assure you is to your credit.” She took another sip of lemonade and peered around the edge of the tree.

  Was he being dismissed? The possibility was both uncomfortable and unpleasant. He’d never had to fight for a woman’s attention before. “Would you care to dance?”

  She looked back at him with a sly grin and patted the sculpted tree. “Sadly, I’ve committed the next two to our friend here.”

  He was being passed over for a bush? “I’m sure he won’t mind if I cut in.”

  “I believe in honoring my commitments, Lord Wharton. I’m afraid I would have to protest such an action on your part.”

  This was what he’d been looking for without even knowing it. Spirit. Freshness. And all wrapped in a strikingly beautiful package. Her blond hair was piled on her head in a simple style and she wore no jewelry. Graham’s brow furrowed. No jewelry? At a ton ball? London’s elite socialized a mere five feet from their current position, and she wore no jewelry?

  “I supposed I’ll dance with his companion, then.” He gestured to the tree on the other side of the cluster. He nodded to the two in the middle. “They can partner each other. Should be the oddest quadrille I’ve ever danced.”

  The woman sputtered a short giggle. “Particularly as there are only three couples involved.”

  “Indeed.”

  Silence stretched as Graham took the smallest sips of lemonade possible, allowing the tart liquid to rest on his tongue before swallowing it. Somehow he knew that once his drink was gone, she would expect him to leave. He closed his lips on the glass and allowed the liquid to touch his upper lip without actually drinking any.

  “Why are you here, Lord Wharton?” She held out her empty glass, forcing him to take it from her in order to remain a gentleman. Apparently she felt no need to prolong the encounter with extended sipping.

  “I like the company and activity. There’s a bit of social expectation—”

  “No, here, Lord Wharton. Dancing with a bush.”

  “I’m dancing with a bush because you declined my invitation.”

  She raised an eyebrow. Again he was transported back to his school days, getting reprimanded for his poor Latin conjugations. “I saw your dress,” he admitted.

  Surprise lit her features as she glanced down at her skirt. “My dress?”

  He shrugged. “It’s green. I like green.”

  She looked skeptical but said nothing. The Mozart piece lulled to a quiet finish. By silent agreement, they waited until the music swelled once more before speaking again.

  “You haven’t told me your name.” Graham looked directly into her eyes, willing them to stay on his own so he could try to guess what she was thinking and feeling. At a glance, she seemed simple and straightforward, but her eyes hid things. They were tight around the edges, as if she couldn’t quite completely relax.

  Her gaze kept his but remained shuttered, granting him nothing. “No, I haven’t.”

  No name, then. “Are you new to London?”

  Her gaze dropped from his to the wall on his right. “No.”

  She was lying. This got more interesting by the minute. She kept staring at the wall, though, tilting her head as if the blank expanse were fascinating. “Do you like green?”

  “I beg your pardon?” Her gaze snapped back to his.

  Graham wanted to grin at catching her by surprise but nodded to her dress instead. “Your dress. Do you like green?”

  “Oh. I suppose.” She slid a section of skirt between her fingers. For the first time, a bit of hesitancy flitted across her face. “It reminds me who I am.”

  Someone beyond the trees laughed loudly. The woman in green pressed herself against the wall, dropping her skirt so that she could wrap both arms around the grey bundle and hold it tightly.

  Graham drained his lemonade in frustration. They were sure to be discovered any moment. Her skirt might be easily looked over, blending in somewhat with the color of the trees. His black trousers, however, would soon be noticed in the small gap between the pot and the bottom branches of the shrub.

  “May I call on you?” When was the last time he’d asked permission to call on a woman? Years, if ever. The question always raised impossible expectations.

  She didn’t answer. Simply stared at him, mouth slightly agape.

  “Graham, there you are!”

  Graham looked over his shoulder to see a man in pristine evening black st
rolling around the edge of the trees. Now Oliver decided to make an appearance? Where was the man when Graham was drowning in boring conversation about dowries and marriage settlements? Honestly, if Oliver weren’t one of Graham’s closest friends, he’d push him into one of the potted trees.

  Oliver’s brows drew together. “What are you doing back here? Didn’t you know you’re supposed to be on the other side of the trees, where you can be found by all the people who need you to inject levity and hope into their miserable lives?”

  The reference to an old love letter Graham had received while attending Cambridge made him groan even as he smiled. He should never have shown that letter to Oliver. “If you must know, I’m replenishing my well of levity by talking with—”

  His words stumbled to a halt as he turned to find the space beside him empty. The girl in green had vanished once more.

  Chapter Two

  Kit, known to some people in the ballroom as The Honorable Katherine FitzGilbert, took a deep breath in the hopes that it would somehow calm the heart stuttering in her chest. Emotions she couldn’t even begin to name pounded through her so fast and with such variety that all she could do was close her eyes and hope the whirling in her head didn’t make her ill.

  This had been a night for firsts. Or at least a night for things she hadn’t thought she’d ever do again and hadn’t done in so long they felt like firsts.

  She leaned against the wall in the dark and focused on breathing. In. Out. Repeat.

  This night was supposed to have been so simple. Come into London, scare a man into signing away a portion of his fortune for the next twelve years, then go home. On the surface it probably wasn’t the most noble way to provide a living for those she cared about, but then again, she’d lost hope for most things considered noble more than a decade ago.

  After all, it was the nobility that she was protecting innocent children from, the nobility who didn’t mind their own secret, dark, and vile behavior, the nobility who would gleefully cast one of their own onto the mercies of the street if it meant another day’s worth of gossip.

  She should know. She’d been one of them. The Honorable Katherine FitzGilbert. Until she’d fallen from honor in their eyes—condemned, ruined, and suddenly worthless to her own noble father. No, worse than worthless. She’d been a detriment.

  So, after cleaning up after the nobility for a dozen years, not being considered noble was practically a compliment.

  Still . . .

  She rolled her head to the side and allowed her eyes to fall open, looking through the darkness as if her gaze could pierce through the wall and see the dancers beyond. See him. He was noble. And he’d seemed nice. But then again, they all knew how to put up a pretty front.

  His humor and ability to mock himself, however, were something she didn’t remember ever encountering before.

  One hand groped along the wall until she found the edge of the hidden door she’d eased through. It blended with the ballroom wall, leaving only the faintest outline for Kit to notice while avoiding the man’s dark eyes. It had made the perfect escape. Obviously, the host hadn’t intended for people to use it, given the dark corridor beyond and the tree barricade, but that was all the more reason for Kit to seek her escape through it.

  She eased the door open the slightest bit and pressed her face tightly to the wall while squeezing her left eye shut. Nothing but light and trees. The man was gone.

  With any luck, she would never see him again. She didn’t want to discover that a man who brought lemonade and a charming smile to women hiding behind ballroom decorations was also the type of man who would dally with a woman and then leave her to deal with the consequences. She didn’t want to one day have to accost him in his own home and demand he take care of a life he had carelessly and thoughtlessly created.

  A slight nudge of her hand slid the door closed once more, leaving her in near total darkness. She didn’t mind the darkness. It was easier to hide in the dark.

  Which was why she’d run for the lights of the ballroom in the first place. The two thugs chasing her had been as comfortable running down a dark alley as she’d been, probably more so. Her only defense had been to find as many people as possible. Important people. Ones the thugs’ employer wouldn’t want them disturbing.

  It had been a good idea, actually, right up until she’d lingered. She’d let the music and candlelight overwhelm her with memories, leaving her frozen in her hiding place, unable to work her way quietly to the nearest door. She shouldn’t have given in to her desire to see if the cream-filled, chocolate-glazed confections were as good as she remembered.

  She shouldn’t have let herself remember in the first place.

  But nostalgia had caught her by surprise, smothering the urgency to escape, and she’d stayed, unable to stop the visions of a happier time.

  A time before she knew how cruel the people smiling on the dance floor could be. A time before she knew the secrets everyone tried to hide and pretended to ignore.

  A time when being approached by a charming gentleman would have been welcome.

  What had his name been? Wharton? It wasn’t a title she knew, nor had she recognized the man. Of course, thirteen long years had passed since her days in society. Even then, her one and only Season had been cut short.

  Oh, how she missed the dancing. And the food. She pressed a hand to her midsection, which felt odd and sort of swirly. It had to be the rich food, though the luxurious explosion of sugar and chocolate had been worth it.

  Yes, it was the food. She could not have actually enjoyed the attentions of the gentleman, could not be relishing that moment of feeling pretty and interesting again, could not be missing the naïve, carefree girl she’d once been.

  Her arm squeezed the bundled cloak tighter and her other hand buried itself in the green satin skirt. The crinkling sound of papers in her cloak pocket chased out the lingering melodies of string quartets. This was her life now. It didn’t include pastries and dancing, but long days of hard work sprinkled with occasional visits to horrible men like she’d had to do tonight.

  Kit walked carefully down the dark passage. Moonlight from a nearby window cut across the floor, giving her just enough light to see by. She paused at the window, looked down at London. A pit of greed and lies covered in the mask of false smiles and frivolity. Did those people in the ballroom behind her really think the lavish gowns and the ostentatious promenading would protect them from the ugliness in life?

  No, they only hid it. In this world, proof mattered little, and truth mattered even less. Appearance was the true ruler of London’s elite. As long as they sparkled in all the right places, no one bothered to look beneath the surface.

  Until it cracked. Then they picked and prodded, painted it with whatever color they wished before discarding it like last week’s rubbish.

  This was the danger of awakening memories. The bad ones slept right beside the good.

  No matter how enticing the man with the gentle smile and wit had been, it would be better for everyone if Kit did what she did best and disappeared.

  She walked down the passage, away from the window. Away from the scents of smoke and perfume, away from the overused platitudes and rehearsed conversations. Away from the pleasant tang of lemonade.

  Life in the shadows might be lonely and scary compared with the popular existence she’d led before, but at least in her new world people were honest about what they were doing to each other.

  Well. Most of the time.

  She shook her head. Philosophical musings weren’t going to get her safely out of London with the packet of papers intact. And she needed to get home. They were supposed to sow carrots tomorrow, and if Kit wasn’t there to make sure the lines were straight, Daphne would let them be planted in swirls and whorls because it made the garden prettier. And Jess would let her, just to see Kit get irritated.

  No, what she needed to do was get out of this house, find the nearest inn, and take the first stage out of town. It didn�
�t matter where it was going as long as it was out of London.

  Were the men chasing her waiting in the garden, thinking she’d go out the way she came? Had they circled around to the front of the house? It would be nice if they’d simply given up and gone home, but Kit didn’t think she’d have that kind of luck.

  The passage gave way to a dimly lit parlor. Three closed doors broke up the two side walls, and a large arch across from Kit opened into a larger passage. Actually, the landing at the top of the wide, curving staircase. She knew. She’d climbed that staircase once before. A lifetime ago.

  And now, she would go down those stairs. She would lose herself in whatever crowd of people departed next, slip through the carriages waiting out front, and disappear into the night.

  With a deep breath that she hoped would convince her heart to stop crashing against her ribs, she stepped into the parlor.

  She made it halfway across the room when one of the closed doors opened and a lone man emerged, adjusting his waistcoat over a slight paunch.

  No. Her luck couldn’t possibly be that bad, could it? But as the man stepped into a circle of light cast by a nearby candle, Kit’s heart nearly stopped, because yes, she was indeed that unlucky. Even though the face wore a decade’s worth of additional age and the hair sported considerably more grey, she knew that man. She knew him well.

  And she really, really didn’t want to talk to him.

  She dropped her gaze to her toes and willed herself to keep walking. Her father had yet to see her, hadn’t even acknowledged that he wasn’t alone in the parlor. But her feet refused to move, her toes gripping the rug beneath her through the soles of her boots. Apparently she was going to be attempting the statue method of concealment. She held her breath and made herself as small as possible, inching her heels sideways until her hip pressed against a decorative table.

  While she was usually very good at not being seen when she didn’t want to be, an empty room didn’t leave her many places to hide.