“So did I. Perhaps Lionel only means to deduce my feelings toward Alexander.”
She took a moment to consider that. It was possible; Lionel was definitely more of a follower, so if Alexander had asked him to be an intermediary, he would likely do so. On the other hand, Lionel could be suitor number five to propose to her this Season.
“If I’m not being too forward, Miss Tess, have any of the handsome young gentlemen caught your eye yet?”
“You are being too forward, Sally, and they’ve all caught my eye. Montrose dances well, John Kelly has a very sharp wit, Lord Lionel is very handsome, Richard Bromford has a superior stable and, well, you see? They’re all quite acceptable. It’s just that none of them are exceptional.” She hid a frown. It wasn’t their fault. Any of them. “Or perhaps I’m simply not ready yet to decide.”
“It is better to have too many choices than too few, I think.”
Theresa shook herself. “Indeed it is.” There was that third trail of reasoning, of course, the one she traveled alone; they all thought they knew her, and she didn’t agree. Laughing, chatting, dancing, dressing prettily—that was all they saw, and all they required. And all they expected.
No one other than her immediate family members even challenged or argued with her. That was the way she wanted it. She paused as she stepped into her riding habit. Tolly James argued, and he kissed. The question remained, though, whether that made him challenging or merely unpleasant. And that was only one of the questions she had about him.
For instance, if he liked her enough to kiss her, why had he then disappeared for two days rather than come calling? That was not how things were done. Theresa blew out her breath, straightening her spine as Sally came around to button up the back of her dress. Why the devil did she even care if he made another appearance or not? He’d been rude and forward, and he had yet to say anything nice to her except for the pedestrian comment about her hair.
“There you are, Miss Tess. All set.”
“Thank you, Sally. Have my lavender gown pressed for this evening, will you? I think it and those silver hair ribbons will show well at the Ridgemont soiree tonight.”
“Oh, yes! I’ll see to it right away.”
Lord Lionel seemed to have given up on the idea of speaking with her privately, because when she returned downstairs he was already out on the front drive waiting with the groom and her bay mare.
“Thank you, Wallace,” she said, as the groom handed her up and then mounted his own horse to accompany them. “What do you say to St. James’s Park, Lionel?”
“Why not Hyde Park?”
“Oh, it’s so crowded at this time of day.”
The Marquis of Quilby’s second son swung up on his chestnut gelding. “As you wish, Tess.”
So now he was humoring her, more than likely because he was annoyed that she hadn’t given him the chance to ask her about marriage. She was only attempting to save his blasted self-respect. Of course he had such an overblown sense of his own—or Montrose’s—irresistibility that he had no idea she was actually being kind. Of course she could never allow him to realize either of those points.
Theresa smiled. “And you will now tell me the names of everyone you know who will be attending the Ridgemont soiree tonight.”
His expression lifted a little as they trotted down the drive. “Everyone?”
“Absolutely everyone.”
She almost immediately regretted making the request, but it did give him something to say. And it therefore allowed her to enjoy the ride and the remainder of the morning without having to fish about for topics of conversation. Theresa smiled and returned the wave of the trio of Parker-Lyons sisters in their barouche.
Once they reached St. James’s Park she started Cleopatra along the hard-packed earth path that ran beneath the tall stands of oak and ash trees. Yes, this was much more fun than sitting on a sofa and dashing the hopes of a likely suitor before he could realize on his own that they would never, ever suit.
Ahead of them someone on a big gray horse rode across the path at a breakneck pace, winding in and out of the trees with a speed and precision that only the finest of riders could manage. It wasn’t a particularly safe endeavor considering the number of carriages and pedestrians about, but horse and rider avoided them all with little apparent effort.
“He’s going to break his neck,” Lionel said from beside her.
She’d forgotten her would-be suitor was even there. “Who is that?”
“Bartholomew James. It’s his gelding, anyw—”
“That?” Theresa pointed at the rider, her jaw nearly dropping. “That is Tolly James? He can barely walk!”
Lionel shrugged. “He ain’t walking.”
She returned her gaze to the rider. “No, he isn’t,” she mused.
As they drew closer she could make out what looked like a tightly wrapped sheath of leather around his left knee, from mid-thigh to mid-calf. Considering how much a rider used his knees, especially on twists and turns such as those he and his horse were engaging in, Colonel James must have been in extreme pain. And yet he continued his bruising ride.
“Maybe he’s been looking for sympathy and he’s not as crippled as he pretends.” Lionel stopped half in front of her, blocking her view of the colonel. “The East India Company don’t like stories of men getting murdered, regardless. He’d best watch himself.”
Theresa had seen enough. “Let’s go, shall we?” Clucking at Cleopatra, she turned the mare away.
A heartbeat later Colonel James and his splendid dark gray horse thundered up on her—then came to a sliding, grinding stop. “Good morning, Miss Weller.”
For a bare second she felt breathless, quite unable to remember what she was supposed to say. Hatless, his too-long dark hair tossed by the wind, his great-coat flared out behind him, his whiskey gold eyes alight, he looked absolutely mesmerizing. She shook herself. “Colonel.”
“Were you out looking for me?”
“I should say not.” For a second she glared at him. Clearly he was attempting to unsettle her. “Though I am forced to observe,” she continued aloud, “that if you can ride this well, surely you can manage a dance. Or at least a social call.”
Before he could respond to that, she sent Cleopatra into a trot. She hardly noticed when Lionel caught up to her and resumed his recitation of the evening’s guest list. That should do it. She couldn’t think of a way to make it more obvious to Bartholomew James that he interested her without standing straight up and saying it. And ladies did not do such things.
Chapter Five
“I have seen many a young lady, swayed by pretty words and pretty eyes, fall from Society’s favor. Think hard on this, ladies: Is one kiss, no matter how perfect or heartfelt, worth the risk?”
A LADY’S GUIDE TO PROPER BEHAVIOR
Tolly stared after Theresa as she and the lumbering Adonis known as Lord Lionel Humphreys trotted away. A heady mix of heat, lust, and pain seared through his muscles, rendering him taut and speechless at the same time.
Sweet Lucifer. All she’d done was appear, and all he could think of was bare skin and sweat and sweet moans of pleasure. While it might have been his fault for being unable to resist riding her down and then teasing her, he hadn’t expected that the impossible chit would still want to dance with him—even after he’d mauled her the last time she’d saved him a dance.
Still breathing hard from the morning’s exercise, Tolly patted Meru on the flank. “That’s enough for today, I think.”
Taking a more sedate pace mostly because Mayfair’s late morning traffic demanded it, he headed back to Ainsley House and the Adventurers’ Club. His knee felt on fire, but at least on horseback he could move the way he used to. For an hour or two, for a handful of miles, he could forget that he’d allowed fifteen men to die while he’d lived.
Except that he never forgot. Not until today. Today he’d been thinking about Theresa Weller—and then she’d appeared twenty feet away from him.
“Yes,” he answered, as he always did. The Ainsley House grooms had proved to be as helpful as those at James House, and without waiting to be asked the second groom, Harlow, carefully pulled his boot from the stirrup, then stepped around to help him to the ground.
Tolly swung his leg over, and Harlow helped support his weight until he could free his right foot. The second his bad foot touched the ground, though, white-hot agony shot all the way up his spine into his skull, where it exploded. Before he could do more than gasp, everything went black.
A cut-off scream, and then the worse sound of absolute silence. A quiet filled with murder and death. Then screams that broke through, first one, then more, all around. Shouting, gunfire, a burst of flames and the glint of steel. Being choked—
Tolly roared upright, wrapping his hands around the throat of the man leaning over him. A heartbeat later an arm snaked around his neck and shoulder from behind, pulling him down again.
“Colonel! Tolly! Let him go!”
He blinked, the present crashing back into his mind. “Gibbs,” he rasped, and released the servant. The man staggered backward, coughing.
“He was untying your cravat.” The arm pulling him back onto the bed relaxed and vanished, and the Duke of Sommerset stood to straighten the sleeve of his fine gray jacket.
“Apologies,” Tolly grunted, rubbing his own throat. “You startled me, Gibbs.”
“I’ll try not to do that again, then, Colonel.”
He was in the small room he’d commandeered at the club, and in addition to Sommerset and Gibbs, Dr. Prentiss and Harlow the groom were packed inside, as well. With a scowl Bartholomew pulled himself into a seated position on the bed.
“Did someone convene Parliament when I wasn’t looking?” he asked stiffly. “And where are my damned trousers?” His frown deepening, he adjusted the blanket thrown across his middle.
“Ruined, I’m afraid,” Dr. Prentiss answered, indicating a ripped pile of dark cloth on the floor.
“I fainted. The devil knows I’ve done that before. You didn’t need to strip me. So thank you for carrying me off, and now leave me be.”
“About that,” Prentiss continued, clearing his throat. “You’ve been using your leg a bit hard, lad.”
“It’s my leg. I’ve been using it as necessary.”
“Mmm-hmm. Who tended it in India?”
Tolly looked from Sommerset to the physician. “Arnold. The company’s head groom.”
“A groom.”
“The company’s doctor was traveling with my unit. He was killed.” He watched, seeing the looks of mingled sympathy and supposed understanding on their faces. “It was some time before I could reach Arnold. He did what he could. I have nothing to complain about.”
“The bone just below your knee was broken in what looks like two places,” Prentiss said. “I took the liberty of examining it while you were unconscious. It was never set properly. Every time you walk on it, it shifts. Luckily, your activity has kept the upper break from healing entirely. Unluckily, it keeps tearing the wound open and causing infection.”
“And?” Tolly prompted after a moment.
“The pain must be excruciating.”
“And?” he demanded again.
The doctor folded his arms across his barrel-shaped chest. “And so I can either cut it off, or break it again and set it properly, in which case I might, if you’re lucky, be able to avoid cutting it off.”
For a long moment Tolly regarded him. “So the one is supposed to frighten me into doing the other? Arnold offered to hack the thing off for me in India. I declined. I decline again.”
“And the other? You’ll probably lose it regardless, but if I don’t reset it soon you’ll be permanently subjected to that pain, and you’ll never gain more use of it than you’ve got at this moment.”
Tolly looked down at his bare leg. They’d not only cut off his trousers, but they’d removed his damned boot and the tight leather brace he’d fashioned to hold together his knee while he rode, plus the bandage underneath all of the other clutter. “If I say I’ll consider one offer or the other, will you leave and let me put some blasted clothes back on?”
“I’ll even dress that mess in a fresh poultice and re-bandage it.”
“In a moment, Dr. Prentiss.” Sommerset angled his head at Gibbs, and almost immediately the two servants and the physician were gone from the room.
“You don’t frighten me, either, Sommerset.”
“I know that. Misguided of you, but I haven’t the time at the moment to change your mind.”
“What do you want, then?”
The duke narrowed his steel gray eyes. “Outside of this club, I expect you to address me properly.”
Half hoping this would end in a brawl no matter how poor his odds of winning were at the moment, Tolly nodded. “Outside the club.”
“Secondly, this is a club. Not an infirmary. I don’t mind Gibbs having to pick someone off the floor from time to time, but this place is attached to my house. If Dr. Prentiss keeps calling here, the wags will begin speculating over whether I’m on my deathbed or not. With my stocks and myriad public investments, I can’t have that.”
The breath Tolly took shook a little. Sommerset was booting him out. Panic touched him with cold, familiar fingers. He could rent a small house or an apartment in Town, but that would mean hiring servants. Hiring a keeper. Because however damned little he wanted to admit it, with his leg like this there were things he simply couldn’t do for himself.
“Is that understood?” the duke pressed. “You’re welcome here at any time, but not while you require medical assistance.”
Tolly leaned over to grab his cane and swing his legs off the side of the bed. Without the bandage on, that motion alone nearly brought him down again. “You might have waited to tell me until I had my damned trousers on,” he growled.
“I’m not your wet nurse.” Sommerset walked to the door. “And whatever you think you deserve, Colonel, killing yourself by inches is a bit time-consuming. If you mean to commit suicide, use a pistol.”
“You may have traveled the world, Sommerset, but you’ve never walked in my boots.”
“True enough.”
“Then cease advising me. And someone else decided what I deserve. I’m only living with it.”
“You’re dying with it, but I suppose that’s semantics.” The duke pulled open the door. “I’ll send in Prentiss.”
As the doctor put fresh bandages around his knee, Tolly reviewed his options. Stephen would never ask him to leave James House if he returned there, so he supposed he could make it clear that he wanted to be left alone—or as alone as he could be, considering that half the time he couldn’t pull off his own boots.
As for the rest of it, he wasn’t ready to see his leg gone. Nor was he certain, though, that he wanted to risk additional time in a sickbed for the same eventual outcome. Whatever he truly did deserve was likely to come about with or without his assistance. At the same time, he couldn’t help thinking if he did take another chance, a certain irritating young lady would want to dance with him.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Grandmama,” Theresa said, not bothering to hide her grin. “That hat is absolutely magnificent.”
Grandmama Agnes reached up to finger the brim of the ostrich feather-topped monstrosity, then reached across the carriage to rap Michael on the knee. “Your sister is a much better liar than you are.”
“Clearly not, if you didn’t believe either of us. Why did you purchase the silly thing, anyway? It looks like a mossy, half-sunk schooner.”
“I think it more resembles the chimney tops of Hampton Court,” Theresa countered, laughing outright now.
“I bought it because I saw Lady Dalloware fondling it, and I can’t abide that woman and her wagging tongue.”
“Well, I hope she attends th
e party tonight, or you’ll have to wear it a second time.” Michael pulled out his pocket watch and flipped it open. “Tell me again why we’re stopping at James House? We won’t all fit in one carriage, anyway, so I don’t see the point.”
“We’re going because Amelia wants to borrow my pearl ear bobs,” Theresa replied, “and she can’t very well put them on after she arrives at the Ridgemonts’.”
“Ah. As long as it’s something vital.”
“Young man, you have no idea,” their grandmother noted. “Will I finally get to set eyes on the viscount’s younger brother, do you think?”
Theresa’s heart accelerated for a beat or two. “I doubt it,” she supplied, keeping her voice light and uncaring. “He doesn’t reside with them.”
“Damned unpleasant fellow, anyway.” Michael frowned briefly. “He was crippled in India, you know.”
“I’d heard something about that. Poor man. Young Violet always seemed very fond of him.”
“He’s not dead, for heaven’s sake,” Theresa put in. “He’s merely injured and a bit…direct.”
“Direct like a musket ball.” Her brother squinted one eye at her. “Why are you defending him, Troll?”
“I’m not. You described him incorrectly, and I corrected you. Aside from that, you shouldn’t gossip about someone behind his back.”
“Is that in your guide?”
“I’m going to write a second one, I think. It’s going to go in there.”
The coach stopped in front of James House, and a footman and the butler emerged to help them onto the drive and see them into the drawing room upstairs. “Lord and Lady Gardner will be with you shortly,” the butler droned, and exited.
“He seems in a lather, doesn’t he?” Grandmama Agnes observed.
“If Leelee takes as long to dress now as she used to when she resided with us, I can see why.” Michael strolled over to the liquor tantalus to pour himself half a glass of brandy.
A Lady's Guide to Improper Behavior Page 6