by Brenda Hiatt
He bent his head down and claimed her lips, more confidently this time than on the first night they had met. She parted her lips readily, welcoming his taste, his mouth, his touch. Time stood still and everything else receded as she gave herself up to pleasure. His kiss intensified, and he pulled her more tightly against him, his strong, deft hands tracing the contours of her form, rubbing flimsy layers of gauze against her tingling flesh.
Her knees trembled as he finally released her, so that she had to fight the urge to cling to him.
“I will leave you now, Mademoiselle Lamant,” he said in a louder voice. “I wish you success in all your pursuits.”
His formal words sent an abrupt chill through her.
“Farewell, Lord Dare,” she said, managing a shaky courtesy. “I have enjoyed our… acquaintance.”
His face twisted in a rueful half-smile as he turned and left her. She watched him go, regret piercing her at the thought that this was indeed their last meeting. Before he left the room, he turned. Once more their eyes met, and her knees weakened again at the intensity of his gaze.
Then he was gone, leaving her feeling strangely bereft. What was wrong with her? A year ago, she had vowed to live her life independent of the demands of a husband or lover, but now that resolve felt somehow dissatisfying. By wishing to avoid romantic entanglements, was she denying herself some of the sweetest adventures life could offer? What would it be like to travel with a companion like Dare? A man who would not expect her to be a slave to propriety or duty. A man versed in the ways of the world, who kissed with such sublime concentration and attention to her pleasure…
She forced herself to practice her steps again. Dare was not going to return. He had said he was not free to pursue her, and oddly tempting as the thought might be, she could never be his mistress.
Marcus took his place in the pit, not sure he wished to watch Mademoiselle Juliette dance before hundreds of leering bucks, while wearing that wickedly delightful costume. But he could not tear himself away. Despite everything, he found he was himself drawn in to the ballet being performed. If only he and Juliette could be like Daphnis and Chloe, two innocents exploring their passions together for the first time. When the corps de ballet entered, he could not take his eyes from Juliette. Tonight, he saw no mistakes, only a repressed passion in all her graceful movements. It was as if she danced for him alone.
After the performance, he returned to Grosvenor Square, only to pace his room, unable to banish Juliette’s seductive image from his mind. Or her painfully cynical words. She had a good heart, he reminded himself. She had shown it in the way she had helped her friend Miss Church, even though she had made it clear she wanted no such maudlin sentiment for herself. And, despite what she had said, she had blossomed under his kisses, responding with all the passion of a vibrant, strong-willed young woman.
Did she regret their parting? Would she think of him?
He poured himself a glass of brandy and tossed it off. He resumed his pacing. He had to stop thinking of Juliette, but he could not. The mere act of kissing her had brought him pleasure greater than any he had ever felt, sparking his desire to explore even headier delights that he had only read about. Perhaps he truly was a rake at heart, just like his forebears.
He stopped by the side table that held the brandy decanter and poured himself another glass, even though he knew it would do nothing to dull his feelings. The warmth of the spirit spread through him, but all he could think was that it was no substitute for the glorious feeling of holding Juliette in his arms. Or even for talking with her, enjoying her witty banter, her mischievous smile.
He was a poor excuse for a rake, after all. A true rake might bed an opera dancer. He would not fall in love with her.
He awoke late the next morning, conscious of a dullness of spirit. Determined to shake off this mood and face his future with resolution, if not anticipation, he allowed Pridwell to dress him. He went to his study and penned a brief note to Hutton, inquiring as to the most convenient time to call, and asked Barnes to have it delivered to Russell Square. Before Marcus had finished his breakfast, the footman dispatched on the errand returned with a polite note from Hutton stating that he would be at Lord Amberley’s disposal all the day.
Not long after noon, Marcus called for his carriage and set out for Russell Square. There he was again greeted by the obsequious butler, who ushered him once more into Mr. Hutton’s study. As Hutton arose from behind his desk and came forward to greet him, Marcus noted that the older man moved more stiffly than before, and his bright blue eyes were shadowed as if he had not been sleeping well. Was his granddaughter causing him so much anxiety?
After they had exchanged conventional greetings and seated themselves in the two comfortable chairs by the fire, Marcus inquired after Miss Hutton’s health.
“She is on the mend, my lord. I trust you shall be able to meet her very soon,” said Hutton, seeming to pick his words with great deliberation.
“Mr. Hutton, I know this will seem like an impertinence, but I must know. Is Miss Hutton opposed to my suit?”
“How can she be? She has not even met you.” There was a trace of annoyance in Hutton’s voice, and Marcus was unsure whether it was directed at him or at Miss Hutton.
“I do not know, but perhaps there is something in my reputation or my circumstances that repels her.”
“Not at all,” Hutton insisted. “Juliana is quite intelligent, for a female. I am certain that once she makes your acquaintance, she will see that you are worth a dozen of the fools that have courted her in the past.”
Guilt pricked Marcus. He wondered if Hutton would be so complimentary if he knew Marcus had kissed an opera dancer, not just once but twice, or how much Marcus wished to engage her in even more potent diversions.
“My lord, please be patient with us,” said Hutton, clearly misunderstanding his silence. “I know your affairs are urgent, but I am quite certain my granddaughter will be able to receive visitors within the next few days.”
“Very well, Mr. Hutton,” he said, seeing the look of determination in Hutton’s thin, intelligent face. “I shall strive to be patient.”
He was just rising from his chair when sounds reached from the hall. A man’s voice, raised in exasperation, and higher-pitched, pleading tones of a girl or a young woman.
Hutton leapt up from his seat with a quickness astonishing for one of his years. He looked back at Marcus for an instant, clearly trying to decide how to handle an awkward situation.
“My apologies, my lord,” he said. “Please remain here while I settle this disturbance.”
Marcus wondered what was happening, and what Hutton was trying to hide from him.
“You must forgive me, Mr. Hutton,” he said firmly. “I have business to which I must attend, and cannot stay here and trespass on your hospitality any longer.”
Hutton nodded, though he did not look at all pleased by Marcus’s insistence on leaving. Together they went to the entrance hall. First, Marcus saw the butler pushing a confused-looking footman through a different doorway. Turning, he then saw a stout man in a brown coat standing in the middle of the hall, holding tightly to the arm of a girl wearing a shabby cloak. Her blue eyes were wide with fright as she tried to pull away from the man’s grasp. Marcus noted neat blonde locks peeping out from under her bonnet.
Was this Miss Hutton? What in the devil was going on?
He looked back at Hutton, only to see a look of acute disappointment on the old man’s face. Meanwhile, the girl had stopped struggling. They all stood for a moment, surveying each other in shocked silence.
Then the burly man spoke. “’Ere she is. I found ’er.”
“Good God! You dolt! That is not my granddaughter,” said Hutton, anger replacing the devastation in his face.
“She’s not?” replied the man, his forehead creased in puzzlement.
“I told you I am not Miss Hutton,” said the girl, still white-faced and holding her cloak tightly around her.
“Do not be afraid,” said Mr. Hutton, softening his voice to address the girl. “I am very sorry, child, but there has been a grave mistake. Perhaps we can recompense you for the trouble you have endured?”
“Thank you, but no,” she replied, looking relieved. “All I wish for is to return home.”
“Order the carriage to be brought round,” Hutton said to the butler. “Let them take this young lady wherever she wishes. In the meantime, she may sit in the drawing room.”
The butler nodded, and escorted the young girl off.
Hutton’s demeanor was stiff with embarrassment as he glanced back at Marcus.
“I must apologize for this unseemly disturbance, Lord Amberley, but now you must give me leave to speak to this—this person in private.”
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Hutton,” said Marcus. “I think I have some right to understand what has happened here. Who is this man?”
“Benjamin Stockley, milord,” the man said, bowing awkwardly.
“I must assume your granddaughter has fled your household, and you have hired this man to find her.”
Hutton nodded, scowling. “Why I ever entrusted such an important undertaking to such a bacon-brained bungler I will not know! What were you thinking, to abduct that poor child?”
Stockley shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
“Well, sir, I got word that a young lady answering to your granddaughter’s description was seen coming and going from a certain house in ’Alf Moon Street, the day after she had gone missing. I lay in wait for days, sir, but never saw no one like her until this girl came out to walk in Green Park. You said Miss Hutton was a yaller-head, with blue eyes. ’Ow was I to know it weren’t ’er?”
“If you had half a brain, you would have seen this girl was not tall enough to be my granddaughter. Begone now. I am done with you!”
“What about me time and trouble?”
“Send an exact account of your expenses to my man of business, but do not expect a farthing more! If you’re not careful, I shall make a complete report of your mishandling of this case to your superiors in Bow Street.”
Cowed, the man slunk out the door, leaving Marcus alone with Hutton. Now that anger no longer drove him, the old man looked tired, bowed and defeated.
“Sir, I believe we need to talk,” said Marcus gently, concerned at Hutton’s suddenly fragile appearance. “Shall I call your servants to fetch some refreshment for you?”
“No, thank you,” said Hutton, straightening and leading the way back to his study. He poured them both glasses of brandy from the decanter on a side table, and drank his own so quickly that he choked.
“My apologies, my lord,” he said in a breathless voice. “I keep brandy here for guests, but I myself am not much accustomed to drinking spirits.”
“You certainly may be excused on this occasion.”
Marcus sipped his drink, waiting for Hutton to recover before asking the questions burning in his mind.
“When did your granddaughter leave you?”
“Three—no, almost four weeks ago.”
“She has been missing for nearly a month?” exclaimed Marcus. No wonder Hutton had a sleepless look. Heaven knew what could have happened to an inexperienced young lady trying to fend for herself for so long.
“It is not quite so bad as that,” said Hutton. “I know for a fact that she was safe and well as of yesterday morning.”
Marcus cocked an eyebrow.
“She has written me letters several times each week, and sent them through the Penny Post, which makes them almost impossible to trace. She writes that she is in good health, and has found employment, although in what capacity, I cannot imagine. Discreet inquiries have been made at all the registry offices, to no avail.”
So Miss Hutton had inherited some of her grandfather’s cleverness! Marcus fervently hoped it would keep her safe until she returned to her grandfather. Guilt stung him at the knowledge that Miss Hutton had made her rash escape to avoid his suit. At the same time, he could not help being appalled that Hutton had allowed the situation to proceed to such a crisis.
He drew a breath before saying, “I must assume Miss Hutton ran away to avoid meeting me.”
“Do not mistake, my lord! I was not going to coerce her into marrying you, nor does she have any reason to dislike you. The girl has some silly notion that she does not wish to marry. I had thought meeting you would convince her otherwise.”
“What is there to do now? You can not pretend she is ill forever. I promise I shall not reveal what has happened, but how many others know the truth?”
“Only my butler, Mrs. Frisby, and Juliana’s maid Polly.”
“Is there any way I can assist you in finding her?”
“Thank you, but I cannot think of anything you could do that has not already been attempted.”
“Did she leave a note? Is there a way you can convince her to return?”
“She has instructed me to insert a particular notice in the Times to signify that I have relented. I suppose I shall have to do so now.”
“Good God! Why did you not do so from the start?”
Hutton paused, and Marcus wondered why.
“I would have, had I realized matters would come to such a pass.”
“I trust you will not hesitate to do so now. Moreover, you must assure your granddaughter that she need not fear that I shall make her any further overtures.”
“At least promise me one thing. If my granddaughter is in danger of losing her reputation, will you marry her?”
Marcus’s pride prompted him to refuse, but he hesitated. There was a pleading tone in Hutton’s voice, and his hand shook as he clutched his empty glass. Marcus knew Hutton was not given to pleading.
“You know I am in no position to refuse. If she is willing, I shall marry her. But only if she is willing.”
“Thank you, my lord. You are a true gentleman,” said Hutton with a regretful sigh.
Marcus rose to leave. “Do send me word if you find there is any way I can help you.”
He allowed Hutton to escort him to the door. Marcus’s coachman had been gently walking the horses around the square. On seeing Marcus, he brought the coach back around to the Huttons’ doorstep. Marcus climbed in, raising his hand as a final farewell to the bowed figure on the doorstep.
A true gentleman, Hutton had called him. The phrase stung Marcus as he considered the wretched tangle of his life. He had managed to comport himself with dignity during the whole worrisome, embarrassing episode, but it was little comfort now.
In a short while, Hutton would make certain that the appropriate notice was inserted in the very next edition of the Times. If all went well, Miss Hutton would return to his fond care, but Marcus had little hope that she would accept his suit.
All his plans were in vain. He had already wracked his brains to no avail. There was no clever investment, no quick scheme that could prevent disaster. Within a month, Sir Barnaby would foreclose, and Marcus would have to swallow his pride and do whatever was necessary to ensure Mama and Lucy’s future comfort. The Redwyck lands would fall into further decline under Sir Barnaby’s mismanagement. Marcus’s efforts, the money spent on clothing and continued maintenance of the townhouse in Grosvenor Square, even his difficult resolution to cease his pursuit of Mademoiselle Juliette, all were for naught.
But in some cold, fierce way, Marcus was relieved. He had never liked the marriage scheme. Now he was free to go anywhere, do what he wished. Perhaps he’d go to India or America. Somewhere there must be opportunities for an industrious young man with a head for figures. He would have to work hard and live the most frugal of lives, but in time he would earn his fortune, perhaps even be able to buy back the Redwyck lands. If it were not for leaving Mama and Lucy, the prospect of seeing more of the world would be an exciting one.
On his return to Grosvenor Square, Marcus was once again greeted by Barnes, and as before, he was obliged to tell Barnes that he had not yet seen Miss
Hutton. It pained Marcus to see that Barnes maintained his foolish faith in his abilities. He went to his study to write some dutiful letters to his man of business and his agent in Gloucestershire. Without quite revealing what had happened, he warned them both to prepare for the worst. This depressing task completed, Marcus ascended the stairs to his bedroom. There, he told Pridwell what he had told Barnes, and like Barnes, Pridwell maintained his optimism.
He had arranged to dine with Jerry and his friends this evening, but when he looked at the clothes Pridwell had laid out, he changed his mind. In his present mood, he would be no fit companion.
“Thank you Pridwell, but I shall not require a change of clothing after all. I will dine at home tonight.”
“Very well, my lord. I shall inform Barnes of your change of plans,” said Pridwell, only a slight tightness about his lips giving hint that he did not regard this as a good sign.
An hour later, having sent Jerry word of his change of plans, Marcus sat down to his solitary meal. He had no appetite, but in order not to distress the servants, he tried to do justice to the choice meal prepared on short notice by Uncle Harold’s expensive French chef. Judging by the Béchamel sauce, to which Antoine had added his own subtle blend of herbs, Marcus decided that the chef at least should have no difficulty finding another position.
He took another sip of Burgundy. All the French food and wine only put him in mind of Mademoiselle Juliette. It was pointless to think about her, he reminded himself. Though he now considered himself free of any further commitment to Miss Hutton, he was still in no position to pursue anyone else.
The meal over, Marcus returned to his study, sat down at the desk and prepared to write to Mama and Lucy. Finding his quill needed sharpening, he began pulling open various drawers. He had been through the desk before, but he could not remember where Uncle Harold had kept his penknife. One of the drawers stuck a little, and on impulse, he forced it, pulling it completely out of the desk. Onto the floor fell several small boxes. They must have become wedged in the back, which explained why he had not seen them before.