Mayhem in Bath

by Sandra Heath

  The polonaise ended, and as the master of ceremonies announced the next dance, a ländler, she moved a little closer to the floor. This was the measure Dominic had asked her to reserve for him, and she wondered if he had seen her yet. Was he coming toward her right now? Her heart quickened hopefully, but as she glanced around again, she didn’t see him anywhere.

  Without warning. Lord Benjamin stepped before her. “May I have this dance, Miss Peach?” he inquired in a tone that was more statement than request.

  She gave a start of dismay. “Lord Benjamin? But I... I thought you and my uncle were—”

  “I could not permit you to come in here on your own,” he replied, and without further ado he took her by the arm and steered her firmly onto the floor.

  She had to let him command her, for it would hardly have done to make any protest in the presence of royalty. But, oh, how she wished to tell him to unhand her, to leave her alone, to go to a very hot place! The orchestra struck up, and she could hardly conceal her revulsion as Lord Benjamin twined his arms in hers to dance. He was all smiles as they moved around the floor; indeed he bestowed such gushing beams upon her that she began to wonder if the moon was full. When at last the ländler ended, he caught her hand and kissed it so profusely that it was almost as if he were hungry. Her cheeks flamed at such an unwarranted display, but when she tried to pull her fingers away, his grip tightened, holding her a few seconds more, and then, to her in tense relief, he left her. What on earth was the matter with him? It must be the moon, she decided, wiping the back of her hand surreptitiously against her skirt to remove all trace of him.

  She returned to the edge of the floor to watch the next dance, a minuet. It had been in progress for some time before she saw Georgiana among the dancers. Lord Benjamin’s sister was resplendent in a cream taffeta tunic over a nasturtium undergown, with a nasturtium turban from which sprang one of the tallest plumes in the room. Her dark eyes were warm and laughing, and her beautiful profile much displayed as she turned her head flirtatiously one way and then the other. Her lashes fluttered, and the glances she bestowed upon her partner were very inviting indeed. Polly’s heart twisted with pain, for the partner wasn’t the Marquess of High-tower, but Dominic.

  He looked superb in a tight-fitting corded black silk coat and clinging white breeches, and his waistcoat was a rich white brocade. A solitaire diamond sparkled in his lace-trimmed neck cloth, his dark hair was tousled, and there was a smile on his lips as he looked at Georgiana. Suddenly, as if he sensed Polly’s gaze, he turned his head. He met her eyes for a long moment without acknowledging her at all, and then looked at Georgiana again.

  Polly felt the snub as if it were a slap. In no uncertain terms he had provided the answer to the puzzle of the labyrinth; those kisses had meant nothing at all, she meant nothing at all. Fighting back tears, she turned on her heel to leave the ball.

  Chapter 27

  But as Polly turned to hurry away, she came face-to-face with the tall, skinny figure of the Marquess of Hightower. He bowed. “Why, Miss Peach, what a very agreeable surprise.”

  “My lord.” As she sank into a dismayed curtsy, Polly couldn’t help noticing that in spite of his incredibly thin physique. Lord Algernon was wearing a corset! This was in a vain attempt to achieve the puffed-out chest that was considered so desirable in certain circles, but it only succeeded in making him look strangulated as well as gangling. That he was in uniform made his strange shape all the more noticeable.

  “May I say you’re looking most delightful?” he declared, smiling.

  “Thank you, sir,” she replied, avoiding his eyes because she wasn’t too sure of him. First he’d smiled at Miss Pennyfeather’s, now he was smiling again. Was he moonstruck as well?

  “I trust you will honor me with the next dance?” he said, as the minuet came to an end, and the master of ceremonies announced a cotillion.

  She was about to politely decline, when she suddenly realized he was presenting her with a heaven-sent opportunity to get even with Dominic, to show her indifference. Scuttling away from the ball would only show how hurt she was, but staying and dancing with Georgiana’s dukeling would snap her fingers at Sir Dominic Fortune! Oh, how excellent a riposte! So she smiled. “That would be most agreeable, sir,” she said.

  The floor filled rapidly with sets for the cotillion, and she prayed Dominic and Georgiana were observing her actions, but although she surreptitiously inspected the bystanders and tiers of sofas, they were nowhere to be seen. The cotillion commenced, and the marquess proved a surprisingly graceful partner—provided one kept one’s eyes on his feet, not on the rest of him. To be truthful, she still did not dare meet his eyes too often, for he kept smiling at her in the same way he had in the haberdashery. The last thing she wished to do was encourage him, although she realized that in her desire to cock a snook Dominic, she might already have done so.

  Polly knew that a number of her recent actions had been foolish. First she stayed at Lord Benjamin’s house, and then allowed Dominic some monstrous liberties, now she danced with the Marquess of Hightower, who seemed to have formed some sort of penchant for her! “You’ve been very silly over the past few days, Polly Peach,” she murmured to herself, deciding that the moment the dance ended, she would have nothing more to do with Lord Algernon. Or with Sir Dominic Fortune. Or with Lord Benjamin Beddem. Least of all with the latter!

  The cotillion proceeded, the sequences obliging couple after couple to pay and receive forfeits, and it wasn’t until it was almost her turn that she realized with a shock that Dominic and Georgiana were not only in the next set, but had observed her with the marquess. Dominic’s expression was unfathomable, but Georgiana’s was thunderous. It seemed that it was all very well for her to flirt outrageously—and more!— with Dominic, but quite out of the question for the Marquess of Hightower to show even mild interest in someone else. Polly’s propensity for foolishness surged irrepressibly to the fore again, and as Lord Algernon bent toward her for the forfeit, which providently happened to be a kiss, at the last moment she turned her head slightly, so that instead of kissing her cheek, he kissed her lips. Her eyes remained open, and she saw him blink with surprise, but then the dance carried them apart once more. She didn’t look at him again, nor did she glance toward the adjacent set, but she could feel Georgiana’s eyes boring into her. Whether Dominic looked or not, she could not tell, but she was satisfied that her bruised pride had been soothed. A little, anyway.

  The cotillion ended, and she hastened from the floor before the marquess could fix himself to her side again. She thrust through the onlookers standing almost four deep at the side, and then made her way quickly toward the door into the octagon. It was now her definite intention to leave the ball, so she had to find her uncle, plead one of her headaches, and then flee to her secret haven at the Sydney Hotel!

  She soon found Hordwell and Lord Benjamin in the card room, and Hordwell was so inordinately pleased to see her that she should have guessed something was afoot. But all she could think of was getting away in order to pack her things to go to the Sydney Hotel, so she didn’t even wonder why her appearance in the room caused a stir of interest among nearby tables. Hordwell seemed disappointed that she wished to leave so quickly, but was immediately wreathed in smiles when Lord Benjamin offered to escort her safely home. The prospect of Lord Benjamin seeing her back to the crescent was too horrible, so she quickly protested that there was no need for him to tear himself away from the green baize, but to no avail. He rose to offer her his arm, and short of creating a scene, there was nothing she could do but accept. However, she had every intention of giving him his conge before they reached the vestibule!

  The murmurs at the other tables at last communicated themselves, and she looked back curiously as Lord Benjamin led her into the octagon. What was going on? she wondered, but Lord Benjamin was steering her as quickly as possible through the squash in the octagon. As they reached the vestibule, and she prepared to rid herself of him, he
suddenly dragged her aside into a corner between a fine arrangement of tall, luxuriant ferns and the draped regimental standard of the Duke of York’s Own Light Dragoons. “What are you doing? Why are—?” Her voice dried, and she became alarmed as he forced her against the wall, and then leaned a hand beside her head. His face was only inches from hers, and his manner was threatening, although no one else knew because of the concealment afforded by the ferns and the standard. Conversation and laughter echoed all around, but in this secret little place, all she could hear was the pounding of her heart.

  Lord Benjamin gave a mirthless smile. “You’ve been out-maneuvered, my dear, and not just here. I’ve informed your uncle that you accepted me during the ländler we shared so fondly; indeed I’ve seen to it that every table in the card room knows you are to be Lady Benjamin Beddem.”

  She stared at him. So that was what had lain behind his lunatic smiles! “But I haven’t accepted you, and you know it!”

  “Yes, but they don’t.”

  “I’ll deny it.”

  “And I’ll make a very public fuss; indeed I’ll blacken your character, Polly. I’ll say you received me in your bedroom, and that I stayed until dawn. I’ll let the world know we anticipated our vows.”

  She was speechless with shock and dismay. Never for a moment had she imagined he would descend to such disgraceful depths! But then to her immeasurable relief, someone addressed her tormentor from behind.

  “Methinks your threats and conduct are monstrous, Beddem,” Dominic said as he put a very firm hand upon Lord Benjamin’s shoulder, forcing him to turn around and face him.

  Lord Benjamin’s face paled. “A private discussion between a man and his fiancée is none of your business. Fortune!” he breathed, shaking angrily free.

  “It is when said fiancée clearly isn’t willing, nor even a fiancée, come to that,” Dominic replied, his glance moving quickly to Polly. “Are you all right?” She nodded, so hugely glad of his presence that she could have burst into tears. He looked at Lord Benjamin again. “My seconds will call, Beddem, for this cannot be permitted to pass unchallenged.”

  Lord Benjamin’s eyes widened with dread. “Seconds? Fortune, I—”

  Polly interrupted quickly. “Dominic, I would rather leave it, for whether a lady is innocent or not, she always acquires a certain notoriety if duels are fought over her.”

  Dominic hesitated, and then nodded. “If that is what you wish, Miss Peach.”

  Lord Benjamin’s relief was almost palpable.

  Dominic looked at him in disgust. “You are a shabby excuse for a man, Beddem, and if I ever catch you forcing your disgusting attentions on Miss Peach again, I will make you sorry you were born. Remember, there is more than one way to skin a cat, even one as portly as you! Now, I suggest you return to the card room and right the wrong you’ve done this lady.”

  “Go to hell. Fortune!” Lord Benjamin was momentarily defiant again.

  “Either do as I say, or my seconds will call after all, whether or not Miss Peach desires to leave matters to settle,” Dominic said quietly, his voice almost lost in the general babble of the vestibule.

  Lord Benjamin swallowed. “You wouldn’t go that far.”

  “You think not?”

  “If you imagine I’m going to make a fool of myself by taking back all I’ve said—”

  “You’ll look a bigger fool with my shot in your blubber.”

  Lord Benjamin’s quick little eyes searched his face. “You want her for yourself! I knew it last night!”

  “Beddem, the day you know anything, will be the day it rains elephants.” Dominic toyed with the lace at his cuff. “Now then, what’s it to be? A timely retraction, or a cold, damp meeting on the banks of the Avon?”

  Lord Benjamin hesitated, clearly knowing enough about Dominic’s prowess with a pistol to be justly alarmed. A nerve flickered at his temple, and his tongue passed over his lower lip. “Very well, I’ll retract.”

  “A wise decision, to be sure.” Dominic gave him a bland smile.

  Lord Benjamin flushed. “This won’t be the last of it. Fortune! I’ll make you rue the past few minutes!”

  “Your threats don’t frighten me, but you would do well to remember mine.”

  Lord Benjamin stepped away, casting a dark glance at Polly. “If you think this will deter me, you’re wrong. You’re mine, sweet lady, and I won’t rest until one way or another my ring is on your finger.”

  Dominic’s hold upon his temper loosened. “Just leave, Beddem, before I kick your plump posterior into the middle of next week!”

  Lord Benjamin lost no more time about hurrying away, swiftly disappearing into the press of people beyond the ferns.

  Dominic turned quickly back to Polly. “Are you sure you’re all right, Polly?”

  “Yes, I... I...” Tears filled her eyes.

  He quickly pulled her into his arms, safe in the knowledge that such an act was hidden from view. “You’re safe now, Polly. He’ll have to deny everything he claimed before, and he won’t dare to blacken your name, because he knows I’ll come after him.”

  “Would you do that? Go after him on my account?”

  “Of course.” He smiled and touched the amethysts encircling her forehead.

  “I thought...”

  “Yes?”

  “That you thought little of me after my foolishness in the labyrinth.”

  “Is that what it was? Foolishness?” His blue eyes were quizzical.

  “It’s how I imagined you saw it. What else could I think when you cut me so very cruelly here a short while ago.”

  “I cut you because I saw how cozy you seemed to be with Beddem during that cursed ländler, immediately after which I heard him telling friends you’d accepted him.”

  “It’s not true! I didn’t want to dance with him, and I certainly didn’t accept his proposal!”

  “I know, because I overheard your conversation a few minutes ago. But until then, I believed it.”

  “After all I’d said to you concerning my feelings toward him?”

  “I fear so.” He held her gaze. “You certainly danced willingly enough with Hightower.”

  “As you did with Lady Georgiana,” she replied.

  “Is that why you did it? To spite me?”

  She looked away.

  He smiled. “You are indeed jealous, are you not,” he said softly.

  “Annoyed, not jealous,” she replied, managing to meet his gaze again. She mustn’t let his rescue cloud her judgment. He still seemed too close to Georgiana for comfort.

  “I don’t believe you. Miss Peach,” he murmured.

  “I’m telling the truth.”

  “As you were when you claimed there was a cat called Bodkin?” he asked lightly.

  She flushed and glanced away again. “No doubt you find me most amusing, sir.” But Georgiana you find fascinating ...

  He put a hand to her chin and tilted her face so that she had to look directly at him. “What are you thinking?”

  “I was wondering about your feelings for Lady Georgiana,” she replied honestly.

  He gave a faint smile. “What feelings?” he breathed, and suddenly bent to brush his lips briefly over hers.

  She put her hands to his chest to hold him away, not because she wished to, but because she was afraid he was toying with her. “If your kisses are false, please don’t...”

  “Why should my kisses be false? I promised you an answer tonight, and now you have it.” Before she could say more, he kissed her again, this time drawing her into his embrace and dwelling upon the moment with a warmth that threatened to melt her soul.

  She knew it was wrong to indulge in such caresses, knew he might still be amusing himself with her, but she could not help responding to him in a way no proper young lady should. He had the power to release all her inhibitions, to make her blood course wildly, and to command caution to fly with the winds. Georgiana became a distant memory. Nothing mattered except him, nothing at all.
r />   Chapter 28

  Meanwhile, the brownies of Bath were thoroughly enjoying themselves at the ball, but Ragwort was enjoying himself more than most. The unwise sipping of a convivial glass or six from the punch bowl in the tea room had resulted in his face becoming rather red and shiny, his laughter and bonhomie a little too loud, and his steps a little wobbly as he introduced Bodkin to his vast circle of acquaintances. He recounted Nutmeg’s sad tale, slurring some of the words, and as each brownie promised to do what he or she could to trace Bodkin’s missing sweetheart. Ragwort delivered such a hearty slap to their shoulders that he almost knocked several of them over.

  At first Bodkin thought his companion was simply reveling in his night out, but gradually the rambunctiousness became so embarrassing that he understood what Ragwort had meant about alcohol not agreeing with him. “I say. Ragwort, don’t you think you should go easy?” he ventured, concerned.

  “Nonsense! I’m having a high old time,” Ragwort replied, clouting him heartily on the back. “Don’t be so stuffy, relax a little. Here, have a glass yourself.” Grabbing the ladle from the punch bowl, he poured a very liberal measure for Bodkin, who declined in dismay.

  “Er, no thank you, old chap, I fancy you’re drinking enough for both of us,” he said with a sigh.

  Ragwort suddenly saw something and seized Bodkin’s arm excitedly. “Look, do you see who I see?”

  “I’ve no idea,” Bodkin replied, searching every face, human and brownie, in the vicinity.

  “It’s my Caraway!” breathed Ragwort, his face rapt with delight. “She’s back—Caraway’s back!”