Rachel stiffened, trying in vain to draw back her hand. “Why should I tell you? It’s more than you deserve, when you know as well as I you found me guilty at the time without even pretending you wished to hear my side of the story.”
Ruffton gave her hand a squeeze. “I am an old man now, but my memories of that time have always seemed clear enough to me. Why can’t I remember Moore figuring in them? Satisfy me in this, my dear. I think we might both learn something from the exercise.”
He sounded so sincere, thought Rachel. But it was all so embarrassing. Look at him, sitting there so patiently, waiting. And there was Mary’s odd suggestion—something about misunderstandings between them. Maybe…
Rachel gave a deep sigh, then capitulated. “You know how tiresomely volatile I was in my youth,” she began hesitantly. “Perhaps that’s why I have been able to deal so well with my various charges. Well, you were so busy doing something with the government that you paid less and less attention to me during those last weeks before our wedding was to take place.”
“I know,” Sir Henry broke in to confess. “I wanted to be sure no emergencies would crop up to keep us from our wedding trip. I had planned a leisurely tour of the Lake District. I thought you would have liked that.”
Grimacing, Rachel quipped, “Well, thank you for that, Henry. You have surpassed my expectations and succeeded in making me feel even lower than ever about what I did. If I may continue?” she asked, tilting her head as she waited for his signal to go on.
“I promise not to interrupt again, my dear,” he told her, lifting her hand to place a kiss on her wrist.
Flustered, Rachel cleared her throat and began again. “Anyway, Reggie was always hanging about my skirts, declaring his undying love, so I thought…maybe…maybe going into the garden with Reggie would shake you into showing me some attention. Well, how was I to know that busybody Harriet Whitstone would go running hotfoot to you with some harebrained story about my…my gown being undone? And who would have thought you’d send round that simply horrid, stiff note saying you would allow me to be the one to cry off…and then lope off like that to the country without even so much as talking to me again. Oh, drat it all anyway, Henry, what does it matter now? Give me your handkerchief, I’m blubbering like a schoolgirl.”
“But—but,” Henry stammered momentarily as he tried to marshal his thoughts. “I can’t believe this! I never heard anything about you and Moore. It was Harriet who tricked me into being alone with her at Lord Malmsley’s rout and then ran to tell her mother I had all but raped her behind the shrubbery,” Henry said, confusion evident in his voice. “I had to cry off our engagement, seeing as how Harriet’s father had a pistol—at least figuratively—to my head. It was either that or involve you in scandal.”
He stopped speaking for a moment, as if considering what Rachel had said. “Reggie Moore, eh. Never did like that rum fellow above half. Lucky for him he’s married to that Isobel creature now, else I’d have his liver and lights. Isobel’s more than enough punishment, no matter how well to go her father was. Lord, has a face that would turn the cream, doesn’t she?”
Rachel closed her eyes tightly and shook her head. Why was Henry prosing on about ugly Isobel? Didn’t he realize what the two of them had just learned? It had all been a crazy mistake—each thinking himself the reason for their broken engagement. Why, if it weren’t for Harriet Whitstone, she and Henry would have been wed twenty years ago. Kill Reggie? Hang Reggie! It was Harriet’s blood Rachel wanted!
“Harriet died last year, did you know?” Henry was saying now. “She ran away with her dancing master before her father could get me to the altar, thank the Lord, and spent her last years in some benighted Irish village hiding from her husband’s creditors.”
The two onetime lovers remained silent for some minutes, Sir Henry still keeping hold of Rachel’s hand, each deep in his own thoughts. In the background they could hear the low rumble of male voices and then Mary’s rather overdone welcome of Lord Rule as a morning caller. From the sounds emanating from the hallway, it was easy to figure out that Tristan had called to ask Mary out for a drive and that Mary was agreeable to the plan. A few moments later the heavy front door closed and the house was quiet once more.
Henry allowed the silence to stretch nearly to the snapping point before saying softly, “We’re a pretty pair of fools, d’you know that? We let it slip away from us, didn’t we? Our love. Our youth. But it’s not too late for a bit of connubial happiness, is it, my love?”
Rachel lifted her tear-drenched eyes to gaze at his dear, cherubic face. “Connubial happiness?” she repeated, giving him a watery smile. “Why, Henry, are you talking smutty?”
“More cant?” he observed, shaking his head and trying to hide the moistness in his own eyes. Slowly, he drew Rachel to her feet as he too stood. “Say whatever you like, my dearest. Us old fogies have the right to be as smutty or as syrupy as we please.” He stopped speaking for a moment, then went on, his voice a bit husky, “There’s never been anyone but you, Rachel. You know that, don’t you?”
“Or for me, Henry,” Rachel returned on a sigh. “We’ll scandalize everyone, you know. Why, we’ve even been living under the same roof.”
Henry was pulling her closer. “Ah, yes, but we have had Mary here as chaperon.”
Rachel lifted her head from the resting place it had found against Henry’s ample chest. “Mary as chaperon? That will certainly cause a royal tow-row!”
“And again cant?” Sir Henry observed, his head lowering toward hers. “I must make it my first duty to find a way to end this deplorable new habit of yours, my dear.”
Lifting her face to meet him halfway, Rachel whispered, “You were ever a master at tactical maneuver, my dearest Henry,” before allowing herself to be silenced by his warm mouth.
DEXTER AND KITTY WERE ALONE in the second drawing room, seeing that Mary was out driving with Tristan, and Rachel, whose job it was to act as chaperon at times like these, was still in the library, comporting herself in a most unchaperonlike way.
The two young people were holding hands and sighing deep sighs that were enough to melt the coldest heart.
“I approached your brother this morning to—”
Kitty sighed. “I know. ’Tis monstrous cruel of him—”
“He’s been running shy of luck at the gaming houses of late. Probably hanging out for a suitor more plump in the pocket—”
“Jerry has always been horridly disobliging—”
“A cod.”
“Oh, Dexter!”
“Oh, Kitty!”
There was more handholding and more sighing before Dexter spoke again. “He didn’t even want to hear about Great-Aunt Felicity. I’m her heir, you know, and she ain’t well, not that I wish her below ground, you understand. We’d be well enough to go for now, but I couldn’t spare any for your brother.”
“He once took me to Bagnigge Wells and called it a holiday,” Kitty mused aloud. “You’re right, dearest. Jerry’s a cod.”
“I just left then, like some crack-brained cringe in the boots. Julian would have popped him one, I know it. I guess I still held out some hope we could bring him round. But now you say he’s told you no too.” He gave out yet another deep sigh. “I should have popped him.”
“Bagnigge Wells is frequented by only the lowest sort of tradesmen. And the sheets were damp. Why should I be loyal to someone who lets me catch my death on damp sheets?”
“I should have just stood my ground and told him we were going to be married. That’s what I should have done. No! I should have just turned my back on him and his refusal and carried you off to Gretna.”
“Gretna? Gretna Green?” Clearly some of Dexter’s ramblings had gotten through.
Dexter could feel his knees beginning to knock together and he swallowed down hard on a gulp. “Yes, Gretna!” he repeated with some bravado. “I can see no other way, for I will not be forced to wait until you no longer need your guardian’s permissio
n. Are you game?”
As a proposal it lacked something in the way of romance, but Kitty didn’t seem to notice. After blinking her wide blue eyes a time or two, she returned a rather incoherent answer that Dexter decided to take for a yes, then burst into tears.
“That’s my girl!” the young Lothario exclaimed bracingly. “Oh, what a rare to-do this will cause. Come on, Kitty, buck up, do. Can’t have you acting the watering pot all the way to Scotland. Damp enough there as it is.”
Kitty did her best to quell the tumult in her heart, for tears had always sent her nose to running in a most un-appealing way. “Oh, Gemini, Dex, do you really think—”
Dexter silenced her doubts with a kiss—a kiss that left them so spent that after it was over they both sighed yet again and fell back against the settee to look wonderingly up at the ceiling.
“Oh, Gemini,” they breathed in unison.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
IT WASN’T EXACTLY the most beautiful day for a ride in the country, but Mary didn’t notice. She was still quite full of herself over the success of her exploits of the previous evening, especially after her late-night vigil had been rewarded at last by the sight of one very-much-on-his-dignity Lord Tristan Rule stomping down the flagway, Sir Henry waving him on his way.
“My trick, sir, I fancy,” she had whispered from her position hidden behind the window drapery. Although sleep had been a long time in coming—for she could not, now that the deed was done, figure out whether it pleased her or distressed her to have played Rule like some monkey on a string—she had decided in the end to simply rejoice in her success and await further developments.
That it had turned out to be a short wait only delighted her the more. Rule had shown himself at Sir Henry’s at an almost indecently early hour, begging her to accompany him for a ride in his curricle. She had been so full of herself she had even dared to tease him as they passed by London Bridge that it was lucky for her it was no longer the custom to impale the heads of traitors on spikes at either end of the drawbridge gate—a tongue-in-cheek reference to his earlier suspicions of her that had Rule grumbling into his cravat for the next few miles.
It was this headiness with her success that led them to their first real conversation, as Tristan had been extremely closemouthed ever since he had handed her up into the curricle. “Did you enjoy yourself last evening, my lord?” she teased.
“I bloody hell did not!” Tristan responded hotly, looking at her piercingly.
Struggling not to smile, Mary schooled her features into an expression of injured innocence. “Oh dear, forgive me for asking. I had the headache and had to retire early, but the gathering seemed to be lively enough. Perhaps you had a bad turn at the tables?”
Tristan’s face darkened as he realized she had purposely drawn him into disclosing his reaction to her nocturnal excursion without ever revealing her guilt. “Now that ties it!” he exploded, pulling the horses off the road, driving them through a sparse wood and deep into a grassy field.
Without another word he sprang down from the seat and set the brake before going round to haul Mary down almost roughly. Taking her unwilling hand in his, he growled, “Let’s walk.”
“Why not?” Mary chirped sarcastically. “I never liked these slippers above half anyway. Don’t you go worrying your head about the damp grass, sir, for I shall not let it weigh with me.”
Tristan stopped abruptly and turned to look at her. A lingering glance from those dark eyes she wouldn’t have minded, but this was an outright stare, raking her from head to toe. By the time he was done, she felt she had been stripped down to her shift and had to fight not to raise her hands and cover herself.
“I followed you last night,” he said at last, in a voice that chilled her to her very marrow.
Mary could feel her knees beginning to turn to jelly, and this immediately made her angry. “So?” she asked, lifting her chin, trying to give him back whatever he was able to dish out—doubled! “I was only being agreeable.” She shrugged her shoulders. “You wanted intrigue. I was only giving you what you desired.”
A small tic began to work in Rule’s cheek. “And I’m sure you enjoyed yourself quite royally at my expense,” he admitted before roaring, “but did it ever occur to you that you could have gotten yourself killed—or worse—walking about London unescorted at that time of night?”
Mary reached up to untie the ribbons on her bonnet, baring her gleaming hair to the watery sun. “Don’t be ridiculous. You were there, weren’t you? You wouldn’t have let anything happen to me.”
“Don’t bet on it,” Rule returned coldly.
Letting her bonnet hang upside down from its ribbons, Mary began walking about, picking wildflowers and using her headgear as a basket. “I hedged my bets, as I’ve heard it said. I had Jennie’s grooms, Tiny and Goliath, along as well. I was never in any real danger. I’m not a complete idiot.”
“No! Only a partial idiot!” Rule shot back at her before the entirety of what she had said sunk into his hot head. He reached out a hand and grabbed hold of her elbow. “Tiny and Goliath? They were there at my instigation. Kit lent them to me!”
They stood there, staring at each other in disbelief for several moments, before the absurdity of the thing finally began to dawn on them. Jennie and Kit—and most probably Lucy and Julian as well—had been having themselves a fine old time at their expense. Why, they were probably laughing themselves sick at this very moment, thinking they had pulled off a major joke.
The dimple appeared in Mary’s left cheek just as Rule’s shoulders began to shake. “What a fine pair of fools we are!” Mary chortled, dropping to her knees on the grass. “Taken in like greenhorns by a foursome of matchmakers. Wait till I see Lucy. Oh, she’ll be crowing about this for a fortnight!”
“Don’t forget Julian,” Rule said, falling down beside her to lean back on his elbows. “He must be full of himself after turning the tables on his wife. Whoever said he was stuffy? I wonder if it occurred to him that we might both require the servants on the same night?”
“Can you doubt it?” Mary asked, giggling. “I wondered why Tiny was so obliging when I asked for his services. He said, ‘I be goin’ there anyways,’ when I asked him to accompany me to Green Park. I wondered about it at the time, but I just assumed I hadn’t understood him correctly. Oh lordy, what do you suppose they think of us?”
“I’d rather not guess, thank you anyway,” Tristan said, yet another laugh escaping him.
Now that Rule seemed to be in a better mood, Mary began to feel a bit guilty about the poem. After all, it must have been quite embarrassing to have Sir Henry read what she had written. Picking up a handful of the flowers she had gathered, she leaned forward and began dropping them one by one onto Tristan’s chest. “You really aren’t obtuse, you know. It just fit the poem.”
Rule let his body recline fully on the ground so that he could use his hand to take hold of Mary’s wrist. “And I suppose you only employed the word ass because it rhymed so well with class?”
Mary used her free hand to pick up a blossom and tickle Rule’s nose with it. “W-e-l-l, actually—” she began before Rule, moving so quickly she was unable to defend herself, had grabbed hold of both her wrists and reversed their positions, with her now lying on the ground, staring up at him as he hovered menacingly over her body.
Time hung suspended for long moments as she admired his handsome face, from his squared chin to his chiseled brow. The laughter was gone from his dark eyes, but it wasn’t anger that she saw in them now. Oh, she thought to herself inanely, if Rachel could see her nephew’s eyes right now, she’d have me locked in my room for the remainder of the Season. What was she thinking? If Rachel could see them now, in this oh, so compromising position, she would have Sir Henry posting the banns before the sun set!
“Tris—Tristan?” she breathed at last. “I apologize for everything I’ve done. It was silly of me to do it; I can’t imagine what maggot I’d let into my head to think to te
ase you in the first place. You really should let me up now. Tristan?”
“Not until you’ve told me why you felt it necessary to hoax me in the first place,” he returned, freeing one of her wrists so that he could brush back a curl that had strayed across her cheek. “I had already admitted you were not the spy I first thought you. Why did you persist in setting yourself up as guilty? I hate to admit it, but you gave me a few bad turns when I thought you were up to some mischief.”
Mary, used to being the object of schemes designed by some young gentleman to pique her interest, was loath to admit she had planned the entire project in order to keep Tristan interested in her—and away from his estates in the country. But that strange “something” she saw in his eyes, that look that was rapidly turning her insides to soft pudding, had her tossing her pride to the winds. “Having a secret seemed the only way to keep you in town,” she admitted in a whisper, turning her face away from his gaze.
Oh Lord, she felt ready to sink. What if he laughed at her? What if he teased her now about her infatuation with him, as she had done him at the theater? What if he got to his feet and just walked away, having lost interest now that he knew there was no reason for him to be concerned about some dark secret in her past?
Just when Mary thought she was going to either faint or explode, Tristan shifted his body slightly to lie belly down in the grass beside her, turning her face to his by placing a finger under her chin. “It worked, you know,” he informed her gently. “You have succeeded in riveting my attention. And much as I hate to admit that Lucy and Jennie could ever be right in anything, I can only tell you that it doesn’t matter a fig whether you’ve got a secret in your past or not—I am top over tail in love with you, Mary Lawrence.”
“Oh, Tristan,” Mary breathed, a tremulous smile on her lips, her green eyes bright with unshed tears. “Do you think there was ever such a muddled courting? I love you too!”
All thoughts of secrets, schemes or threats of blackmail scattered to the four winds as Tristan used his finger to guide Mary’s chin even closer to him. Turning slightly so that their bodies lay together in the grass, he leaned forward and moved his lips against hers in a soft, exploratory kiss.
The ruthless Lord Rule Page 13