“In me,” she confessed with a flickering smile which seemed to be reflected in his eyes and on his lips. The lips which had kissed her with such passion.
“All is well with you?” he asked, his eyes searching her face.
“It is now.”
His eyes softened as they did so rarely. “Does that mean you’ve missed me?”
She nodded, since she couldn’t seem to speak.
“I missed you,” he murmured. “I’d show you how much if I wasn’t afraid of being blackballed.”
Laughter caught in her throat. “You’ve never been blackballed in your life.”
“Not precisely, perhaps, though I have been kicked out of several establishments including schools, clubs, and a maharaja’s palace. Blackhaven Assembly Rooms would be the pinnacle.”
“How dare you mock us?”
“On the contrary, I’m complimenting you.”
“Hmmm. Is everyone still watching us?”
“I don’t know. I’m having difficulty looking anywhere but at you. How do you always contrive to be more beautiful than I remember?”
“It’s probably the dress–or Isabella’s comb.”
“No it isn’t, The urge to kiss you is becoming overwhelming.”
So was the urge to let him, but if she said so, she was more than a little afraid he would actually do it. And she couldn’t really allow that, not before she’d spoken to Aunt Margaret and Bernard…and then there was his sister.
“Oh, did you know Lady Rushton is here?”
“Who?”
“Your sister,” she said dryly.
A smile flickered on his lips. “I know who she is. Did she come to look you over?”
“I fear she did.”
“Kate must have blabbed. They’re very thick.”
“Well, everyone will be blabbing now. That’s twice the man who doesn’t dance has danced with me.”
“That’s true. One might have revived your reputation. Two will merely damage it. Don’t worry. I have a plan.”
She smiled. “You don’t take convention seriously at all, do you?”
“Only some of it. The rest, I find as annoying as you do. Would you like to come away with me?”
Her breath caught. “Oh yes. Where would we go?”
“Scotland? Egypt? India? Or we could try to dodge the armies in Europe.” He appeared to consider. “Maybe we should begin with Scotland. There are some beautiful, peaceful places up there we could while away a few weeks quite delightfully.”
A certain darkening of his eyes told her exactly what he meant. Desire surged and she had to drop her gaze to his chest.
“Gillie, Gillie,” he murmured with a hint of anguish amongst his amusement. “I love waltzing with you but I could wish all the rest of these people to the devil!”
“Even your own sister?” she teased.
“Especially my own sister.”
“Oh, and you’ll never guess who else is here,” she exclaimed. “Miss Smallwood.”
“Who is Miss Smallwood?”
“The girl you rescued from her elopement last night! I think Mrs. Derwent is keeping her near Kit to fend me off.”
“I trust it’s working?”
“Only up to a point. The poor child seems terrified of her. But her parents are waiting for her in the foyer. She didn’t seem terribly pleased…I wonder if she’s gone to them?”
“Are they seething with rage?”
“Not exactly,” Gillie said doubtfully. “To be honest, they don’t seem quite the thing. Quite odd parents for her to have for she’s very well spoken is she not? Although slightly silly.”
“Why should you think so? Apparently elopement can happen to the best of us.”
She couldn’t help the gurgle of laughter that escaped her. She’d never before encountered anyone who so disturbed her and soothed her at the same time. She could look at him again without the strange embarrassment that seemed to be at least half longing.
When the dance finally ended, she was sorry, for waltzing seemed to shut out the rest of the world, leaving only the music and her partner.
“Behaving with perfect courtesy, I shall escort you back to your aunt, and then there are a few people I need to speak to.”
“Your sister for one,” Gillie pointed out as she saw Lady Rushton seated again between the countess and Aunt Margaret.
“Wickenden,” his sister greeted him without obvious pleasure.
“Julia.” He didn’t even glance at his sister before greeting Aunt Margaret. The countess was deep in conversation with Mrs. Winslow, the squire’s wife.
At last, he sighed and met his sister’s gaze. “What brings you to Blackhaven?” he asked resignedly.
She raised her brows. “Waters. The quack told Rushton they’d give me a son.”
“Has the quack been to medical school?” Wickenden inquired.
Lady Rushton laughed. “You’d be surprised the qualities attributed to Blackhaven.”
“Oh I am. Constantly. You must excuse me.” He inclined his head to his sister, gave a quick, flashing smile to Gillie that invited her to share his humor, and then he strolled away again.
“Well,” Lady Rushton observed. “I’ll give my brother this much – he still surprises me.” She fixed her thoughtful gaze on Gillie. “I suppose you have been warned about him?”
Gillie couldn’t help the quick smile that broke on her lips, although she quickly hid it again. “By just about everyone, including him.”
“He won’t marry you,” Lady Rushton said flatly. “He never marries any of ’em.”
She lifted her chin. “I know.”
“Do you, by God?” For some reason, her ladyship looked at her with deeper interest. “Lillian Derwent,” she said, “believes you’re flirting with my brother to make her son jealous.”
“Mrs. Derwent,” Gillie said flatly, “is obsessed with her son and may go the devil.”
As soon as the words were out, she wished she could bite them back, but Lady Rushton appeared to share at least a sense of humor with her brother for she barked out a laugh.
“Why, so I think,” she said cordially. “But she’s desperate to snare that minx for him.”
Gillie blinked. “What minx?”
“The little blonde girl. Smallwood or some such name? Apparently she’s a huge heiress. Her father made a fortune out of mills, or some such, and brought his daughter up a lady.”
Gillie’s eyes widened. “Truly? Well, that explains a lot!”
“It does? Do tell.”
Gillie opened her mouth and closed it again. “I can’t. Not yet, anyway.”
*
Wickenden, having spoken to a stunned Mr. Hoag and to Bernard Muir, left the ballroom to inspect the private room on the other side of the foyer. Apparently there were two, used for private meetings of the town corporation and various business interests, and by any other individuals prepared to rent them by the hour.
Mr. Hawthorne was not around to question as to which door was the correct one. So he simply opened the first and discovered it in use by a plump middle aged couple in hats and cloaks with a young girl in an ill-fitting ball gown who looked vaguely familiar. She appeared to be in tears.
“Oh why won’t you believe me?” she sobbed.
Wickenden, with no desire to be involved in family quarrels of any kind, made to back out. “Excuse me.”
However, he was too late for all three heads had turned toward him in surprise.
“Oh sir, thank God,” the girl said, jumping to her feet. “Please will you tell my parents the truth of what occurred last night?”
“Oh for goodness sake,” the father growled. “Why should I take the word of a stranger?”
“Because it’s Lord Wickenden himself!” the girl exclaimed.
Only then did Wickenden recognize her. The eloping girl he’d extracted from some bastard’s clutches and foisted on to Kit Grantham. Gillie had told him that she and her parents were here. He hadn’t car
ed much, except to hear the sound of Gillie’s voice. He supposed some unhappiness was inevitable for her after what she’d done, but his main preoccupation at that moment was his own happiness.
He bowed to the girl and her parents. “Miss Smallwood, very happy to see you here. Pray forgive the interruption.”
“Interruption! Interruption, sir?” the father exclaimed, knocking over his chair in his haste to rise. “My lord, you have interrupted the wellbeing, the very life of a young and innocent girl!”
“I have?” Wickenden glanced at Miss Smallwood for enlightenment. What web of a story had she spun her parents precisely?
“Father, I told you, it was not him!” Miss Smallwood exclaimed. “Look at him! He is a gentleman in every way, a baron! Why would he even consider eloping with me?”
So the girl was telling the truth but was not, apparently believed. Which meant that either he was the victim of his own reputation, or the parents were playing their own game. Under Wickenden’s haughtiest gaze, the man reddened but drew himself up to his full height, which was not a great deal above five feet.
“Lord Wickenden,” he intoned. “Do you deny you were alone in my daughter’s company late last night, without my own or my wife’s knowledge, let alone our consent?”
“Of course he doesn’t,” Miss Smallwood wailed, “I was! I asked him to save me from Mr. Tamms and he did! It was his – er – friend, Captain Grantham who brought me to Blackhaven and Mrs. Derwent who has been so kind and even let me come to this ball with her. Please let me go back to the ball.”
“That would be best,” Wickenden said hastily. “And then you, sir, and I may converse later.”
“Later is not good enough when you have ruined my daughter!”
Wickenden curled his lip. “Your daughter is not ruined to my knowledge. And if she were, I could not take the credit.”
“Credit!” exclaimed the outraged mother. “Credit! I’ll give you all the credit you wish – and loudly! – if you do not make things right and marry my girl immediately!”
Wickenden smiled very faintly. That particular curl of his lip had been known to wither many a grown man from encroaching sycophants to lazy servants. “I’m sorry to inform you, ma’am, you are barking up quite the wrong tree. There is nothing you can say or do that will hurt me, only your daughter. Good evening.”
He turned on his heel just as Mrs. Smallwood hurled herself in front of him, slamming the door closed and flattening her back dramatically against it.
“You shall not leave here, my lord, without a commitment to marry my daughter!”
“On the contrary, if you wish to leave here of your own free will, get out of my way.”
The woman hesitated, as if she knew he was more than capable of simply picking her up and moving her aside. She must, moreover, have been aware that any official authority would tear the parents’ claims in pieces within five minutes, so she didn’t want them involved. Unfortunately for her, there wasn’t much more damage anyone could do to the wicked baron’s reputation.
“Mother!” the girl pleaded in anguish.
With bad grace, she slithered out of the way, and Wickenden opened the door once more.
“There is no call to threaten my wife!” Mr. Smallwood threw at his back.
“I never threaten,” Wickenden said coldly. “I merely inform.” He stood to one side and against his better judgment, glanced into the room and found Miss Smallwood. “Do you wish to return to the ball or stay here?”
The girl’s gaze flickered from one parent to the other. “I’m staying at the hotel with Mrs. Derwent,” she almost whispered. “I’ll return with you in the morning.” And she all but bolted past Wickenden and across the foyer toward the ballroom.
Wickenden held the father’s outraged gaze. “Don’t,” he warned, and closed the door on them.
In the room next door, he discovered Mr. Hawthorne laying out chairs in a semi-circle. He seemed in perfect agreement about the undesirability of the elder Smallwoods.
*
Gillie was dancing when Miss Smallwood rushed back into the ballroom looking extremely upset. She was about to go to her, dragging her partner with her, when Kit met the troubled girl and listened to her, frowning, then tucked her hand in his arm and patted it.
Well, Gillie thought. That would be an interesting turn in events… Although she rather thought Miss Smallwood too young to be marrying anyone just yet. After all, she’d only just eloped with a sleazy and not terribly plausible fortune hunter, only to leap voluntarily into the clutches of the wicked baron himself. She was clearly not a good judge of character. Or not always.
As the dance ended, Kit materialized by Gillie’s elbow, politely detaching her from her partner.
“I’ve left Jenny – Miss Smallwood – with Bernard,” he said without preamble. “But could I ask you to keep an eye on her? My mother scares her to death, but her own parents are here trying to force her into marriage with Wickenden!”
“Oh no,” Gillie blurted, then, flushing slightly. “That is, I know that bird won’t fly! Why Wickenden?”
“Because he’s filthy rich, of course,” Kit said bitterly.
“But so is she,” Gillie said, frowning.
Kit blinked at her. “She is? Where did you hear that?”
“From Lady Rushton. Who had it, I believe, from your mother.”
“Did she, by God?” Kit gazed thoughtfully across the room at his regal parent. “Well, I suppose that explains it. Only if they’re loaded, why are the parents going after Wickenden? It can’t be for their daughter’s reputation.”
“His title, I suppose. To have their daughter Baroness Wickenden.”
“I’ll just go and have a word with them,” Kit said. “They won’t succeed with the marriage, of course, but they can make their own daughter’s life hell in pursuit of it!”
Braving Mrs. Derwent’s wrath, Miss Smallwood actually allowed Bernard to bring her over to sit by Gillie for a while. After which, Bernard strolled off.
As expected, Miss Smallwood spilled her woes in whispers into Gillie’s ear. Fortunately, there was only deaf Aunt Margaret close enough to overhear. In fact, after a few moments, even Aunt Margaret got up and wandered off, presumably to find more congenial company among her own friends.
“So embarrassing,” Miss Smallwood whispered, “to see his lordship so accused and abused when he has shown me nothing but kindness!”
Something in her voice made Gillie’s heart sink. Perhaps it was just because Lord Wickenden returned to the ballroom at that moment, and instead of coming straight to her as he had earlier, he walked over to Braithwaite. Bernard sat with them also. A moment later, he and Bernard lifted the earl and carried him out.
Gillie dragged her gaze back to the younger girl. “If they weren’t pressing him, if they had never even come here…would you like to be married to Lord Wickenden?”
Miss Smallwood thought about it. “I would like to be a lady,” she confessed. “Only I can’t help thinking he would make a very…uncomfortable husband.”
Gillie smiled faintly, unsure why she felt quite so relieved when she had no intention of marrying him herself. “I suspect he would.”
A few minutes later, Lieutenant Green arrived to claim his dance with Miss Smallwood, and Bernard, who’d just walked up to them didn’t seem to mind.
“I say, Gillie, come with me. I’ve something very particular to show you.”
“You have? What?”
“Come and see,” Bernard said impatiently, drawing her to her feet. She walked with him across the floor. One of the gambling gentleman she recalled writing his name on her dance card approached, but Bernard fended him off. “Sorry, Gibley! Give me a few moments with m’sister!”
Mr. Gibley bowed good-naturedly and walked on. Tucking her hand into his arm, Bernard led her out of the ballroom and across the foyer.
“Where are we going?”
Mr. Hawthorne stood now at one of the meeting room doors.
/> “In there,” Bernard said.
As they approached, the other door opened and Mr. and Mrs. Smallwood stuck their heads out. Quite unexpectedly, Mr. Hawthorne stepped smartly to the right and closed the door on them once more before all but leaping back to open the first.
It was so funny that Gillie almost laughed. But then she’d laughed a lot tonight, because Lord Wickenden was back and she was so happy.
“What in the world is in here?” Gillie demanded as they walked through the door together.
The first person she saw was Lord Wickenden standing at the front of the room with Mr. Hoag the vicar. Even more bizarrely, Aunt Margaret sat in one of the chairs that had been laid out as if for a meeting, along with Lady Rushton and Lord Braithwaite.
“Smile,” Bernard said, grinning. “It’s your wedding day.”
Chapter Eighteen
“M-my…my wedding?” she stammered. “What do you mean?”
“To Lord Wickenden,” Mr. Hoag said, beaming. “I take it you are a willing partner in this marriage?”
Still bewildered, Gillie sought Lord Wickenden, who gave her a lopsided smile.
“But…but that can’t be right. How can we possibly be married?”
“Special license,” Bernard said cheerfully. “Lord Wickenden rode all the way to York just to extract one from the Archbishop himself!”
Gillie pulled free of her brother, holding the backs of both hands to her burning face. “Oh no, this is wrong! I can’t…” She swung around abruptly, and suddenly not Bernard but Wickenden himself was beside her.
“I beg your patience for five minutes,” he said to the room and then led her out, closing the door. In the empty foyer, he turned her gently to face him. “What’s the matter, Gillie? Don’t you want to marry me?”
“No! I told you, I will not—”
The door to the other meeting room snapped open and the Smallwoods spilled out.
“My lord,” Mr. Smallwood said with dignity, “this is your last chance before I tell this kind lady exactly how black your wicked heart is! Why, my daughter—”
“Be gone!” Wickenden thundered so hard that it seemed to blow Smallwood back against the wall. “Or I will have you both banged up in Blackhaven Gaol for months! Never imagine I don’t have that kind of power because you’ll soon find out I do!”
Barons, Brides, and Spies: Regency Series Starter Collection Volume Two Page 22