Falling for Chloe

by Farr, Diane

  This way of looking at the matter had not occurred to Chloe. "You mean—if we retrieve Tish’s garnets, we are not really helping her."

  Gil nodded. "I don’t mean to be disobliging, but that’s the way I see it."

  Chloe smiled blindingly at him. "Oh, Gil, how clever you are!" she exclaimed. "And how wise. Here I’ve been fretting myself to flinders, trying to think of a way to get those silly garnets back, and now I see it would be the worst thing we could do! You are quite right. Tish must suffer just a little at present, or there will be worse heartbreak for her down the road. If only she would confide in Robert! I feel sure he would forgive her."

  "Aye. But we can’t make her do it."

  "I suppose not. And of course we cannot tell him ourselves." Chloe rested her chin in her hands again, thinking. "Would it be meddling if we dropped Robert a hint?"

  Gil choked. "Yes, it would!"

  "I was afraid you would think so. Very well." She pushed back from the table and rose briskly. "In that case, come with me to the morning room. I think we can best help Tish if you teach me piquet."

  "Piquet!" Gil burst out laughing. "Clo, you can barely tell clubs from spades! Why the dickens do you want to learn piquet?"

  But Chloe was in earnest. She struck her small fist into a determined palm. "I know you don’t approve of it, Gil, but I must find a way to spend more time with Lord Rival. An unmarried girl has very little opportunity to encounter single gentlemen, and already, on at least two occasions, I have been excluded from his notice merely through my inability to play piquet." An idea occurred to her, and she brightened a little. "Of course, if you don’t wish to teach me, I suppose I could ask him to do so. That might be better yet."

  Gil had not moved from his place by the window. The laughter died from his face. He said brusquely, "Rival won’t teach you how to play. He’ll teach you how to lose."

  That unfamiliar, set expression had descended again onto Gil’s beloved features. Alarmed, Chloe went to him and placed her hand coaxingly on his sleeve. "Oh, Gil, pray—! You mustn’t worry so. Lord Rival is not so very bad, once one comes to know him. He really can be quite—quite pleasant." Her voice faltered as Gil’s expression hardened.

  Was he angry with her? Impossible! Gil was never angry with her. But he held himself so stiffly, and stared down at her so queerly! The morning light streaming in at the window beside them threw the planes of his face into relief, making him look older, and somehow stern. She had never seen him look so. "What is the matter?" she asked, bewildered.

  "You do not listen to me," he told her. His voice was very quiet. Pain moved in his eyes. "I have told you repeatedly that I do not like this scheme of yours, and yet you persist in it. You are too naive to understand the dangers you face."

  She moved impatiently, and he covered her hand with his own. "Chloe, you’re too innocent to comprehend your own innocence!" he said urgently. "You always think the best of everyone, and you refuse to believe that there are some people who do not deserve your trust. But there are, and Lord Rival is one of them. You are throwing yourself at a man who cares nothing for you. A man who will not hesitate to ruin you."

  Chloe shook her head in instinctive denial. Gil did not know everything. George must feel something for her, to kiss her the way he had. "You are too severe. He is not as bad as people say he is. And he does care for me a little. He and I are—friends."

  She heard the sharp intake of Gil’s breath. He seized her by the shoulders and stared at her as if he had never seen her before. "Chloe, do you like the fellow?" he asked incredulously.

  His vehemence was confusing. She looked puzzledly into his eyes and saw emotions there that made no sense to her. "Well, yes. Sometimes. Is that so very dreadful?"

  He thrust her aside with a bitter exclamation and began pacing the tiny breakfast room, apparently deeply agitated. She watched him, doubt and perturbation creasing her brow. "There is nothing wrong with liking the man a little, is there?"

  George’s voice echoed in her thoughts: Oh, Chloe. I think you do like me a little. She tucked the memory hastily away, before it could make her blush. "Well? Is there?" she persisted. "I still think that my cultivating his friendship is the best way to solve two problems at one stroke. I haven’t heard you offer any better idea for ending our engagement. And we must lure him away from Tish while Robert still loves her."

  Gil halted for a moment in his pacing. "The rogue has already alienated Tish’s affections from her husband—this fine fellow, this friend whom you like so well! Why, she spoke of putting a period to her existence the other day, just at the thought of being separated from him! How do you like that?"

  Chloe’s eyes widened in startled denial. "No! You must have misunderstood her."

  It was terrible to think that Tish’s infatuation might have taken such strong possession of her. A nightmare picture of George kissing Tish suddenly flashed into her mind. Chloe shrank from the idea in horror.

  Gil saw her recoil, and a bitter smile twisted his features. "Vile, isn’t it?" he agreed. "I only hope poor Robert can win her back."

  "Oh, yes! I’m sure he can," averred Chloe feverishly. "He must! Otherwise—oh, what a calamity!"

  It was now Chloe’s turn to pace the room. Gil leaned against the mantelpiece and watched her. As he did, his wry smile faded, leaving him grim and white-lipped. "What is distressing you so?"

  She waved her hands in helpless incoherence. "Everything! Tish! I—I do hate to think of injuring poor Tish. I mean, I knew it would upset her if George were seen to be flirting with me—well, that was part of the plan! But if what you say is true, I am afraid she will be more overset than—than I had thought." Chloe brought her disjointed speech to a stumbling conclusion and stood, biting her lip shamefacedly.

  Gil stood motionless, his eyes blazing like blue coals. He gazed levelly at her. "George, is it? Just how far has your flirtation with Rival gone?"

  Chloe blushed, but lifted her chin defiantly. "It is coming along quite well, thank you," she said, trying to sound as airy as possible. Something frightening flashed across Gil’s face. She added quickly, "But there is nothing to cause you the least anxiety, after all!"

  Gil had gone white and tense. When he spoke, it was clear he was controlling his voice with an effort. "Chloe, I am asking you to call a halt," he said carefully. "I want you to stop flirting with Lord Rival. Now."

  Chloe’s eyes widened in surprise. "But there’s no harm in it!" she exclaimed. "And it might do so much good!" She had no desire whatsoever to stop flirting with George. Flirting with George, she realized, had become her favorite pastime. In fact, it was the thing she most looked forward to every day. She would not willingly give it up—and for no good reason!

  "For my sake." His voice sounded strained. "Will you do that? Will you leave him alone for my sake?"

  Baffled, Chloe placed her hands on her hips and glared at him. "Now, Gil, you know perfectly well that I would do anything for you. But this is nonsense! I am pursuing him for your sake! Partly."

  Suddenly Gil’s control slipped, and fury jumped into his voice. "That’s a loud one! Did you consult me first? Did you ask my advice? Did you even bother to discover my opinion before you hatched this crazy scheme? No—on the contrary, you plunge ahead regardless of what I say! Stop trying to do me favors I don’t want!"

  "Well, if you’re trying to save me from making some silly mistake, that’s a favor I don’t want! I do wish you would trust me a little. I’m not the jinglebrain you apparently take me for! You keep jumping to absurd conclusions—"

  "So now I’m absurd, am I?" He was on her in two strides, grabbing her by the arms and forcing her to face him. "You have seen the damage Rival has done to Tish. You’ve seen it with your own eyes, and still you persist! Have you no common sense at all? How can I get through that stubborn, willful little skull of yours? I beg you to stop, and you laugh at me."

  Astonished and frightened, Chloe felt Gil’s hands shaking with the force of his em
otions. She stared up into his contorted face. It was like looking into the face of a stranger. "I am not laughing," she protested, her own voice quavering. "Gil, I have never seen you like this. Why—"

  "I see what it is," he interrupted roughly. "You already care more for Rival than you do for me."

  Chloe was stung. "Oh, Gil, no! No, you are wrong!"

  "Well? What is it, then? Don’t blather any more about Tish, and ending our wretched engagement. Tell me the truth! Why is it so hard for you to stop flirting with that man?"

  At a loss, she hesitated. She was angry, but Gil’s anger was so disproportionately intense that concern for him blotted out part of her wrath. Her troubled eyes searched his face. "It’s—it’s fun," she said lamely. "And I just don’t see why I should. I think—I think you’re behaving very oddly, Gil. It’s not like you to be unreasonable. Are you quite well?"

  Gil seemed to struggle with himself for a moment. He took a deep breath and removed his hands from her, clenching them at his sides. "Sorry," he said tersely. "I’m sorry, Clo. You must think I’ve run mad."

  He turned and walked away from her, returning to the window. "I’ve made a few inquiries about Rival," he said. He was no longer looking at her, and his voice was so low she had to strain to hear him. "It’s difficult to find out anything precise. He makes a great joke out of living hand-to-mouth. I daresay there’s nothing in that; a man can’t be on the town without running into dun territory. And there must be any number of beaux who joke in precisely the same manner. But there’s something smoky about Rival, Clo. Can’t quite put my finger on it."

  He glanced back at her, and she was again struck by the change in him. He looked deadly serious. "It was easy to learn the identities of a few of his recent flirts. They were all married, all very silly. And each and every one of them was rich. Might be a coincidence, of course; plenty of wealthy women in the ton. No one says outright that he fleeced them. But there are some deuced ugly rumors floating about."

  Chloe’s eyes flashed. "Why, that is slander! What next will you say? You cannot expect me to heed such malicious gossip."

  "You told me yourself he was winning money from Tish."

  "Yes, but I also told you his skill was greater than hers! It would have been remarkable had he not won. And I believe he rescued Tish last night from a very dangerous set of people. It was he who brought her home from that dreadful card party."

  "Did he? What a hero," scoffed Gil, animation returning to his features. "A pity he did not think to do so before she had lost every penny, and her jewelry as well!"

  "You are determined to think ill of him!"

  "You are determined to defend him. Chloe, for God’s sake, take care."

  She was amazed by the real anguish Gil seemed to feel. "Why are you in such a taking? On my account? I tell you truly, I am in no danger.”

  "Chloe, don’t you remember your mother? Don’t you remember what happened to her? What her life was like? Horace Littlefield is a prince among men, compared to Rival!"

  "Well, for heaven’s sake!" she cried, exasperated. "I would never consider marrying him!"

  The instant the words had left her mouth, she realized they were false. And the look on Gil’s face told her that he knew it, too. They had both heard the unmistakeable hollow ring of a lie at the heart of her statement.

  Gil had always had an uncanny ability to perceive the very things she most wished to keep secret. But this was something she had managed to keep secret even from herself. Feeling as shocked as Gil, she sank onto a chair, one hand fluttering instinctively up to press her cheek.

  She would consider marrying George. Had been toying with the idea, in fact, since that night in the garden. Well, he was so very handsome! And clever. And charming. And—kissable. Who could resist fantasizing, just a little, about what marriage to such a man might be like? Even a girl who was completely uninterested in marriage—as she was—enjoyed daydreaming about an attractive man.

  Chloe drew herself up and faced Gil with dignity. "Even if I were considering such a thing, which I am not—not really—there is a vast difference between considering it and seriously considering it."

  "I will not split hairs with you," said Gil unsteadily. He rubbed his face wearily, sighed, and crossed to pick up his hat. He stood for a moment, turning it absently in his hands and staring down at it. "All my life I’ve heard you rail against the evils of fortune-hunters," he said quietly. "You vowed you would never trust a man enough to marry him. Now I see you slipping under the spell of a thorough-going villain who, if he wed you at all, would wed you for your fortune. You are rushing to embrace the very fate you have feared all these years. And I am powerless to prevent you." He looked up at Chloe again and gave her a bitter smile. "You could do worse than to trust me, Clo."

  "I do trust you," she said quickly. "You know that. There is no one whose advice I more willingly follow! But this is a situation in which you must trust me. You cannot advise me in a matter about which you know nothing. You are barely acquainted with Lord Rival. You have based your opinion of his character on rumor and hearsay."

  "I am fairly well acquainted with you, however," said Gil. "You always fire up in defense of those you love."

  Chloe felt her cheeks grow hot with embarrassment. "I do not love Lord Rival!"

  Gil looked at her with a sort of critical detachment. "No, I don’t believe you do," he said at last. "But I think, if he plays his cards well, he could easily make you love him. And he’s a man who plays his cards very well indeed."

  "Oh, pooh!" said Chloe bracingly, although she knew she was still blushing. "I see no reason why Lord Rival should want me to love him."

  "No mystery about that. Even a rake must marry one day. And apparently this rake must marry money."

  And with that stunningly hurtful pronouncement, he crossed to the door, opened it, and left her. Without another word. With no farewell. Chloe, stricken, stared at the place where Gil had just been standing.

  Anger surged through her. It was clear that Gil could not conceive that a man might marry her for some other reason than her wretched fortune! He found her so unattractive, he could not even imagine that another man might view her differently. Tears stung her eyes.

  She loved Gil more than she loved anyone else on earth. She had always believed he loved her the same way she loved him. Well, he obviously did not. She thought he was the handsomest young man of her acquaintance. He must think she was plain.

  Chloe rose and went to the mirror hanging over the sideboard and scrutinized her face. Even with her eyes full of tears, and her complexion blotchy with incipient weeping, and her expression woebegone, there was nothing fundamentally wrong with her features. Why couldn’t Gil see that?

  But that was not really the point, she realized, as fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. If Gil were plain, it would not change how she felt about him one whit. If it were ugly as an old boot, his would still be the face most dear to her, and looking at him would give her more pleasure than gazing at an Adonis. It would never have occurred to her, she was sure, no matter how unattractive Gil might be, that no one could fall in love with him—which seemed to be what he thought of her.

  Chloe, pronounced unloveable by the person she loved most, was forced to run upstairs to her bedchamber to hide her sobs. Once there, she flung herself face down on the bed and cried into her pillow as though her heart would break.

  Chapter 14

  "What I find astonishing," confided Mr. Crawley earnestly, "is the number of persons who willingly subject themselves to it. Why, there must be a hundred people here."

  "Mr. Crawley, pray take care!" whispered Chloe, agonized. He had a rather penetrating voice, and standing not ten feet from them was the soprano whose voice Jack was amazed people wished to hear.

  He looked round mildly, recognized the soprano, and leaned a little closer to Chloe. "Sorry!" he whispered hoarsely. "But you needn’t blush, Miss Littlefield; I daresay she is quite deaf. Can’t spend one’s lif
e howling loud enough to overpower an orchestra blasting away at one’s feet, and not suffer the consequences. Stands to reason."

  Chloe, who was fairly certain that a deaf singer would find it difficult to attain the level of skill enjoyed by this woman, could only hope that the chatter of genteel conversation surrounding them had drowned out Mr. Crawley’s remarks. He was correct, however, in his comments regarding the size of the crowd. Chloe wondered if they would be able to find seats among the press of people squeezing into the salon.

  The instant she and Tish had arrived, Jack Crawley had attached himself to their party. It was almost as if he had been lying in wait for them. Since Mr. Crawley was obviously not musical, Chloe was at a loss to explain his presence at a soirée musicale. She was even more at a loss to explain his increasingly assiduous attentions. Once he had glued himself to her, he had manuvered to separate her from Tish and be alone with her in the crowd. She liked Mr. Crawley very well, and supposed his friendship with Gil caused him to seek her out—but if she were an unattached female, she would suspect him of courting her. Most puzzling.

  She did wish Gil were here. He would easily prevent Jack from monopolizing her. He would probably monopolize her himself, but that was a much pleasanter prospect. Chloe banished the agreeable picture with an inward sigh. She had not seen Gil since that terrible scene this morning, and still felt very low. She had almost begged off attending tonight’s musical evening, but decided staying home with nothing to distract her would only deepen her depression.

  Meanwhile, Mr. Crawley had taken possession of her hand and tucked it into his elbow. "High time we claimed our places," he announced cheerfully, and began to steer her toward the rows of closely-packed chairs.