"Ah, I see. Sisterly antipathy, hmm?"
"Exactly." Lindsay flushed and dropped her gray eyes under the heat of his gaze.
"Well, well!" A hearty voice spoke from behind them. "The Raveneau siblings! What a happy coincidence."
Ryan glanced over his shoulder to discover Lord Fanshawe staring at Lindsay.
"Hello, Fanshawe," he said shortly. "What can we do for you?"
"I wondered if your sister might consent to share a plate of fruit outside with me. The gardens are quite beautiful, filled with weeping willows, and although the peacocks may have retired for the evening, I do believe there may be nightingales in their place." He smiled warmly at Lindsay. "Do you have nightingales in Connecticut?"
"I—I don't think so!" Dudley Fanshawe epitomized the man she had dreamed about since childhood. He was elegantly slim and handsome, blond, cultured, and kind. Lindsay already felt completely at ease in his company. "I would love to eat pineapple in the gardens with you, Lord Fanshawe."
"Please!" He laughed as they walked away from Ryan. "You must call me Dudley or risk injuring my feelings. We're old friends after all, aren't we?"
"Damn," Ryan muttered under his breath. Lindsay had left him without even a parting glance and now she was halfway across the conservatory, beaming at that simpering Fanshawe. First she swooned at the mention of Lord Byron, and now she appeared to be captivated by a man who probably read the former's poems aloud and wept at appropriate intervals. What had happened to the sensible schoolmistress from Pettipauge?
Devon was chatting with Sir Lumley Skeffington, an old fop who wore false hair and painted his face, when she glimpsed her daughter walking toward the doors to the garden with Dudley Fanshawe, who was carrying a plate of pineapple. Looking around, she saw Ryan nearby.
The handsome Irishman was drinking champagne as if it were water. Excusing herself, Devon went to join him.
"Is anything the matter, Nathan dear? You are looking uncharacteristically out of sorts!"
He took her meaning but doubted that he could summon the patience to even play at his masquerade. "Am I? Well, it's damned hot in here, isn't it?"
"Are you well? It's not like you to snap at your own mother." Now Devon's sapphire eyes were penetrating.
"I apologize, dear Mother. Actually, there is something I should attend to and then I may feel more myself." To appease her, Ryan deftly flipped his quizzing glass upward and looked her over. "You're devilishly beautiful tonight. Have I told you?"
Momentarily thrown off guard by his charm, Devon caught his sleeve before he could escape. "Yes, you forgot, and yes, you are a brute," she whispered. "Have a care! Remember where you are and all who watch you!"
"Believe me, I shall," he said coolly. "My sister is in danger of making a fool of herself over that ridiculous Fanshawe. I only mean to offer her a bit of brotherly advice."
Watching him stride toward the doors to the garden, Devon felt an odd pang that mixed happiness with alarm. If Andre even suspected what she feared, he would be furious and the charade they had so carefully constructed would be over.
* * *
"There is a matter of family business that I would discuss with my sister," Ryan somehow managed to drawl lazily, taking snuff as he lounged against a willow tree.
"Can't this wait?" Lindsay asked in a tight voice.
"That's right," implored Dudley, "have some pity, old man! We haven't even gotten to the pineapple!"
"I'm afraid that this is more important than pineapple," he replied firmly, glancing skyward, "or starlight. Come along, Lindsay."
Fanshawe's face registered confusion as he watched the two of them leave in an obvious mood of mutual animosity. Lindsay had been so sweet, so soft as she'd swayed against him in the moonlight—and then the spell had been broken by Nathan Raveneau's abrupt appearance. Dudley had thought him too foolish to be overprotective, but perhaps he'd underestimated the man.
"I cannot believe that you are doing this!" Lindsay hissed as they entered the conservatory. Ryan wore a congenial smile, but his fingers bit into the flesh of her upper arm.
"Don't make a scene," he counseled in a low voice.
Weaving through the warm, glittering crowd, Lindsay had little choice but to remain silent, but her temper rose apace. For his part, Ryan was beyond thought, beyond even noticing the pair of beautiful green eyes that marked his progress with fascination.
They passed the double staircase, then entered the library. Ryan led Lindsay to a doorway fitted obscurely into a wall of bookshelves, opened it, and thrust her into a tiny chamber decorated in crimson velvet, ivory, and gold gilt. Guttering candles and moonbeams afforded the only light.
"All right!" she cried when he had shut the door behind them, "explain yourself!"
He stared hard at her, but Lindsay did not quail. "I am supposed to be your brother. I didn't want to witness the ruin of your reputation at the hands of Dudley Fanshawe."
"That's nonsense and you know it! Lord Fanshawe is a perfect gentleman. But I suppose I couldn't expect you to understand that, since you don't know the meaning of the word gentleman!"
Ryan advanced. "Don't be ugly, Lindsay."
"Nothing else will do in your case, or so I begin to believe!" Her thick-lashed eyes flashed silver.
"No doubt you'd prefer to be fawned over by your sweet Dudley."
His broad chest grazed the thin bodice of her gown, and Lindsay inhaled his faint male scent. "That's right. I would rather be treated as a human being, with the same intelligence and rights as a man. I prefer to spend my time with someone who is sensitive and caring. What is wrong with that?"
"Nothing." Ryan's voice was soft now as his brown hands closed over her forearms and moved lightly upward. "Nothing except that there is a difference between men and women, a point at which intelligence ceases to be a concern. A point where thought itself is obscured by a stronger force..."
"You haven't changed a bit. You're as insufferably arrogant as the day we met—" Jeweled clasps dropped from her hair to the carpet and Ryan's fingers sank into her burnished curls.
"The day you melted in my arms in your family's entry hall?" he mocked gently. "When you pressed against me and opened your mouth under my kiss?"
"Stop it!" She moaned.
"Lindsay, remember one thing." His dark hands framed her delicate face as he stared down at her. "I am not your brother. That is the one aspect of this charade that I will not tolerate."
Dimly, Lindsay realized that she should step back from him, but Ryan's touch was mesmerizing. Suddenly, his arms were about her and he was pressing her against the paneled wall. Their eyes met for a long moment before his hips and mouth joined with hers, demanding that she respond. It was a fierce kiss, and Lindsay felt powerless yet powerful all at once. His body was lean, hard, and muscular as she arched against it, greeting him involuntarily. Then Ryan drew back an inch or two, his breath warm across her cheek.
"Would Dudley Fanshawe kiss you like this?" he whispered harshly before his mouth slanted again across Lindsay's. Ryan felt as if he could consume her, make her part of himself, as he kissed her with a fury that surprised even him. "Christ," he groaned, drowning in the taste of Lindsay's mouth.
Lindsay felt as if her bones had melted away. She clung to his broad shoulders and shivered under the sweet torment of his lips as they burned a path down her throat and tasted each inch of her bare shoulders. Her nipples stood out in arousal against the thin satin of her bodice. Slowly, Ryan's hands slid from her tiny waist up over the curve of her ribs until they cupped the fullness of Lindsay's eager breasts and she gasped aloud.
They kissed again, over and over. The sensation of his masculine body pressing her more delicate female form against the wall made Lindsay yearn to mate truly with Ryan. His hardness, fully roused against the fabric of his breeches, tantalized her to the point of torment. When his fingers found the fastenings on the back of her gown and they opened, baring her breasts, tears came to her eyes.
&nb
sp; "Oh, God, Lindsay," Ryan whispered, his voice now filled with emotion, "how I want you."
Her head, with its mane of golden-rose curls, fell backward as he lowered his mouth to one ripe breast. Lindsay sobbed when she felt warm lips close over her nipple for the first time in her life. They were sinking in unison to the Persian carpet when a knock sounded at the door.
"Lindsay? Ryan? Are you two in there?"
Lindsay sat up, gasping. "My God, it's Mother!"
"I hear you, and I must insist that you come out," Devon declared in a low, firm voice. "Andre has gone in search of you both himself, and I can assure you that you do not want to be discovered by him!"
"We'll be right there, Mama!"
Ryan sighed as he quickly did up the back of her gown. "Wasn't meant to be, hmm?"
Common sense returned to her in crashing waves. "That, sir, is an understatement!"
Emerging into the library, Ryan and Lindsay saw Devon walking far ahead of them near the staircase. They followed her, preoccupied with common thoughts and feelings, reaching her side at the entrance to the conservatory.
"I'll speak to both of you later," Devon whispered in deadly tones. "In the meantime—"
"Excuse me!"
The trio turned to find a woman of incredible beauty waiting nearby to be recognized. Tall and willowy, she possessed milky-white skin, glossy sable-hued tresses, emerald eyes fringed by black lashes, and a beautiful smile.
Lindsay glanced over at Ryan in the hope that he would speak some words of polite dismissal. Instead, she discovered him staring as if he beheld a ghost.
"Hester," he breathed.
Her smile brightened. Touching his arm with long, slim fingers, she teased, "How reassuring! I was convinced that you'd forgotten me, darling!"
Chapter 16
June 9, 1814
Lindsay stared at Ryan, completely nonplussed by his disconcertion and confused by the situation at hand.
"It's good to see you, Hester," he said quietly, oblivious to the two ladies on either side of him. "Are you well?"
"As well as can be expected after more than six years, my dear. Have I changed?" Hester's sweet voice took on a rather brittle tone as she held a hand out on either side to display her charms. "You have. I confess I didn't believe my eyes at first, but then I heard your voice and... But that's enough for now about the two of us. Do, please, present me to your friends!"
"Ah, yes!" Ryan's dark blue eyes widened. "I would like you to meet my mother, Devon Raveneau, and my sister, Lindsay." Absently, he added in their direction, "This is Hester Moore, Countess of Chadwick."
"Your mother—and sister?" Hester's smile mixed amusement with disbelief. "It's a great pleasure to meet both of you!" She gave Ryan a knowing look. "Why am I not surprised by your sudden appearance in London—and the acquisition of a new family? No, no, don't panic, I won't breathe a word of it. But shouldn't you enlighten me further? Are you not still Ryan Coleraine?"
"No—and yes. For the time being, I am Nathan Raveneau."
"Ah, of course. Well, you know that your secret is safe with me, darling. Waltz with me and we'll discuss this further."
"Hester, you know that we should not be seen together. Enough years have elapsed and I have changed enough so that I do not fear being recognized, but if people see me with you, they may remember. It's critical that that not happen."
"Well, then, come around the corner with me, darling, and we'll put our heads together and see if we can't arrange to meet later on. Francis has already left, pleading illness in that stifling throne room, so I ought to be able to slip away in an hour or less. It's past midnight now, isn't it?"
Lindsay was dumbstruck as she watched the two of them disappear around the corner of the deserted hall. Hester was gazing up at Ryan as if she owned him, one slim hand through his arm. He, meanwhile, seemed to have forgotten that Lindsay even existed, let alone what had just passed between them in the tiny crimson chamber off the Carlton House library.
"Hmm." Devon tapped a finger against her cheek. "I should have foreseen this, I suppose."
"I don't see why!" Lindsay cried. "Didn't he assure us that no one would know him in London? This is unforgivable! This is horrible! It's so very—awfully—"
"Male," her mother supplied dryly. Andre came up behind them, then, and Devon turned to assure him that she had found Ryan and Lindsay safe and sound. "They had just retired to have one of their usual arguments," she said in an offhand voice. "However, we may have another matter to concern ourselves with of very real importance. Ryan has just encountered someone from his past, and from the looks of it, this lady does not wish to remain there!"
* * *
Fuzzy from champagne and numb with emotion, Lindsay allowed Ryan to hand her into the elegant carriage that would convey the family home to Grosvenor Square. Her parents followed, the door was pulled shut, and they rolled off down Pall Mall.
"Ryan," said Andre in an even tone, "I don't mean to pry, but I think that the circumstances demand that you explain exactly who the Countess of Chadwick is and what she may mean to our situation here in London."
"You're right, of course." Ryan looked out the window, avoiding Lindsay's piercing stare, and cleared his throat. "Well, there isn't much to say in that respect. I knew Hester quite well when we were both considerably younger. It's no secret that I have a past here in London, but you needn't worry that she will divulge the truth of my identity." Slowly, he turned his head and met Raveneau's eyes in the shadows. "This happens to be a two-way street. You see, I am the conservator of a few secrets of hers."
"I wish you had warned me that this might happen," Andre said sternly.
"As do I—now!" He pressed taut fingers to his brow. "It was hard enough for me to come back here; I couldn't bear to consider the possibility that I might encounter Hester. Her husband's estates are on the northern border, very near Scotland, and I suppose that I expected her to be spending most of her time there by now, tending her children and doing needlework."
Lindsay made a rather rude noise that expressed disgust and disbelief. Ryan ignored her.
"Sir, I did tell you, that first night we discussed all of this in Pettipauge, that I had lived in London and it was possible that I might be recognized."
"That's true...." Andre's expression relaxed somewhat as he thought back. "However, you didn't mention knowing anyone in this particular circle of society!"
"That raises an interesting question!" Lindsay exclaimed. "How did you become embroiled in a torrid affair with a countess? Were you the cabin boy on her husband's yacht?"
Ryan looked at her for the first time, a glimmer of what might have been pain in his eyes. "How did you guess?" he replied in a tone that was both offhand and sarcastic.
"Well, certainly it's none of our affair," Devon put in firmly. "What matters is the present and the success of the task that President Madison has bade us to perform here in London."
"Of course, you're right," Ryan said, "which is why I must have some time alone with Hester to make it clear to her how crucial her silence is. She will take me at my word without demanding a full explanation. Also, there is one other reason for enlisting her friendship. Francis Moore, the Earl of Chadwick, is a long-standing Tory of enormous influence in the House of Lords. This was so before I left for America, in the days when the Whigs had all the power. Now that the political climate has shifted, God knows what office Lord Chadwick may hold and what he may know."
"And what Lady Chadwick may tell you?" Andre elaborated. "Hmm. Well, it's worth a try, but have a care! You don't want to arouse her suspicions. When will you see her?"
"Tonight, sir, if you'll allow me to use the carriage."
Lindsay barely heard her father's assent, nor did she remember anything else that transpired before she and her parents stepped from the carriage. She was only conscious of the hot flush that burned her cheeks, the pounding of her heart, and the thoughts and questions that clashed in her mind.
* * *<
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"Do you have any idea what would happen to my reputation if I were seen with you here?" Lady Chadwick whispered teasingly. "On Vauxhall Gardens' infamous Dark Walk, where young ladies venture in peril of being snatched up by amorous rakes?"
"No one will see you." Ryan paused under a willow tree and gave her an irresistible smile. "That's why they call it the Dark Walk. It's very... dark."
Hester tried not to laugh, then felt her eyes mist. "Nine years. It seems forever... and no time at all." She touched his cheek. "After you left tonight, I nearly convinced myself I'd seen a ghost. I never expected you to come back, Ryan."
"Neither did I," he replied with heavy irony. "Tell me what has happened with you, Hester. Obviously, life has treated you well; you're even more beautiful than the day I sailed from London."
"I've been happy... for the most part. It was easier to adjust once you left and I believed I'd never see you again. Francis has been a good husband; we've made a fine home together. After a time, I reached the conclusion that Father had been right in the decisions he made for me."
"Children?" Ryan asked softly.
"Three. Our daughter, Amanda, is eight. George is six and the baby, Maryann, is two. They're beautiful, Ryan, and they've changed my life. I'm wiser now, I think, and less selfish."
He gazed at her, indulging in a moment's reflection on what might have been, until a tear shone, diamond-bright, on Hester's cheek. Instinctively, he brushed it away with a fingertip and she caught his hand and pressed it to her face.
"Tell me that you love Lord Chadwick," Ryan whispered. "Tell me that he deserves you."
"I love Francis." She nodded, inhaling the warm scent of his hand before she released it. "I do. And, of course, he deserves me! It was I who didn't deserve him in those first years, when he had to share our bed with your ghost! He's a good man. He was patient and gentle, waiting for me to let go of the past and give myself wholly to our marriage. Ryan, he must not know that you are back." She averted her eyes, murmuring, "He knows that my feelings for you were of a... different nature—more intense, if you will—than those I have for him. That doesn't make my love for Francis any less strong, but it's a quieter, more contented strength—"
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