by Tessa Candle
“That is very funny. I cannot see two inches in front of my face. How am I supposed to count anything?”
“Hang on a minute. I have a match here.”
Eleanor began to panic. As he struck the match, she blew in its direction frantically but as quietly as she could. The match petered out.
“Well. It appears there is something of a draft in here. Very well, you can count it outside.” He opened the door and Eleanor tried to stay in the shadow, moving stealthily but fearing that, even with the noise of the departing woman’s rustling skirts, someone must hear her.
“Where shall we meet next?” asked the woman.
“I will send you word of our meeting place within the week. I expect more intelligence next time, or you will get nothing. But if it is very precise, I’ll give you a bonus.”
“Oh I have heard that before!” The woman laughed as she began to ascend the stairs then paused to add with a significant tone, “Perhaps I shall give you a little bonus as well.”
As she left, he grumbled to himself, “That’s what you get for working with silly whores, old boy.”
This utterance irritated Eleanor. Not that she especially liked the woman, but she hated the general disdain society held for females who earned their living selling their favours to the men who ran the world and who hypocritically made the laws against such transactions. It was a way of excusing one’s own misdeeds by despising one’s victims. But his comment also reassured her. Surely he would not be mumbling such things if he had detected Eleanor’s presence.
She thought he was about to leave and had a glimmer of hope that she might yet escape this debacle unscathed. But he suddenly returned to the room, closing the door.
Then he struck a match and said, “Well, don’t you just creep about like a cat,” as he ignited a rush light and glowered at her in the amber luminance of the flame.
Chapter 10
Delville gave the damnable woman a very dark look.
Miss Dawling’s presence in the cellar was a serious problem to say the least, and it was not the first time she had showed up in the wrong place at the wrong time.
He did not believe in coincidence, but in this case he could not believe that she was a spy. It was just deuced bad luck, or perhaps she could not resist his powers of attraction. It was his own ruddy fault for not checking the space thoroughly before he began his conversation with Lucy Delight, but that would not stop him from giving vent to his spleen. If he scared her enough, maybe she would keep her mouth shut.
Before he could begin intimidating her, however, she spoke up, “I creep around like a cat? I am not the sneak here. I was minding my own business, trying to avoid the odious company of Lord Auchdun who was chasing after me—which was your fault by the way, for leading me off on that dance right under his nose—when you showed up and whisked me in here.”
She was angry, not frightened. Things were getting off on the wrong foot. He mustered up his best dangerous glare. “I did not whisk you anyw—” Wait. Had that been Miss Dawling standing outside the door? Lucy must have picked the lock and already been waiting inside. More clever than she let on. But all this meant that he had ushered Miss Dawling into the cellar. This was his fault completely, which only made him more cross.
“I can see from your knitted brows that the tiny cavalry of wits in that skull of yours has finally rallied. Let us hope it overcomes your impulse to blame and bully others. Now what have you to say for yourself?”
“Only that if I was mistaken, I must be excused, for no lady dawdles around in darkened doorways.” He saw the look on her face and wished he could bite his tongue. He wanted to frighten her, not insult her. What was wrong with him?
Her face quickly recovered its careful composition, forming into a hardened mask. “I am not sure what you pretend to know about ladies, as your own conduct shows you are not qualified to pass judgement on anyone else’s character—though I observe it is always the low-minded brutes of the world who feel most at liberty to cast aspersions on the morality of others.”
Ouch. She had a tongue like a cat of nine tails. And she was not wrong, which smarted more. Only that was not really what he had meant to say. He had to get this conversation back in order. Perhaps if she were frightened.
Delville dropped his voice to a growl. “Low-minded brute that I am, you should choose your words more carefully. Men like myself are dangerous, and I have caught you spying on a rather sensitive conversation.”
She raised an unimpressed brow. “I am not sure if you are a criminal or just a sneak. But whatever your business is with the most notorious madam in London, it is no affair of mine, I assure you. I only wish I had not been subjected to this little tête-à-tête with your spy. I cannot forget it quickly enough.”
So she knew who Red Martha was. Why was he surprised? There was not a gentleman in London, no matter how disinclined to use her services, who did not at least know of her. The ladies all probably knew too—only they pretended not to. But this one openly admitted her knowledge. She was interesting.
But she was too self-assured. He needed to shake her. “You cannot forget it at all, and that is the material point. What is a dangerous criminal like me to do with an unwanted witness?” He gave her a menacing grimace.
She laughed and stepped a bit closer, giving him a full view of the defiance in her gaze as she met his eyes. “You have nothing to fear from me, if you leave me alone. But…I...am…not…afraid…of…you.”
Such defiance! Oh but he would put the fear of God in her. He grabbed her waist and pulled her body to him, pressing his lips to hers and kissing her deeply. She tasted so sweet, like lemons and honey. The kiss was heady and a little longer than he intended. The room spun and he was breathless when he came up for air.
She tilted her head and gave him a look as if to say, is that all? Then bolted through the door and up the stairs before he could gather his wits about him.
He should have blocked the door. “Wait!” He cursed the love-sick puppy sound in his voice. “Stop! I demand it!” he corrected himself, finally regaining use of his legs and running after her. She moved rather more quickly than he had expected. But then, she was getting all that exercise from unescorted walks around the grounds at Fenimore. A very intriguing little ramshackle she was turning out to be.
When he finally caught up to her in the entrance room, she was standing with his cousin, Rosamond. Both of them glared at him.
Dammit. He supposed his cover had to be revealed eventually, but he was hoping to at least scare Miss Dawling a bit before that happened, so that she might keep her mouth shut. What a ruddy quagmire of shit this day had turned out to be.
He donned his most charming smile. “Cousin Rosamond!” He cast a glance over her simple dress. “I see we had the same idea. The couple seem quite radiantly happy. What a merry wedding feast!”
She gave him a look that suggested she was not very happy to discover that he was the man chasing her friend. How much had she had time to tell Rosamond?
Better try another tack. “And will you not introduce me to your charming friend?”
Her charming friend’s face had arranged itself to communicate amused disdain, and still looked rather pretty doing it. Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “We have already met, but it is good to finally pin a name on you, Mr. Delv—”
“Shhhh! Um, pardon me. Mr. Dee, if you please.”
“Is that Dee, for dangerous criminal?” She was enjoying this.
He smiled and made an aristocratic fake demi-laugh. “Such a droll wit. Just Mr. Dee. Were you ladies on your way home to Fenimore? Shall I accompany you back?”
“Thank you, but that will not be necessary. Our man is fetching the carriage now.” Rosamond gave him a significant look. “And Miss Dawling and I should love a good tête-à-tête about tonight’s events. Is that not so, Eleanor?”
“Oh yes. We have so much to talk about.”
She was really enjoying this little triumph. It was all Delville
could do to maintain the demeanour of an attentive gentleman and not dissolve into a torrent of profanity. But this whole debacle was his own doing. Kissing her had been a massive gaffe. What the ruddy hell had he been thinking?
He had been out of polite society a little too long. Perhaps he had gone feral. In any case, he would have some explaining to do, again. It seemed like it was all he did these days. If only he could be certain of how much Miss Dawling had revealed.
As he went to find his mount for the ride back to Fenimore, the first drops of a drizzle set in. At least it wasn’t snow. There might be an early spring coming, but he knew he would face a very frigid reception at Fenimore.
Chapter 11
Eleanor wiped a few droplets of rain from her face as she settled herself into Rosamond’s carriage. What a whirlwind this evening had been. How full of astonishing revelations.
“No. You must be having me on. I simply cannot believe that cad is your cousin. He is the man I told you about, who assisted my escape from Auchdun.”
Rosamond’s shoulders drooped, and she sighed. “I suspected as much when you described him—though I dismissed the notion, as I believed he had quit the neighbourhood. I am so sorry for whatever he said to you this evening. He can be rather coarse. However, I assure you it is true: he is my cousin. Alas, the relatives I have found so far have been none too respectable, but I believe Delville has a good heart, though he is somewhat eccentric in his ways.”
“No, no. He cannot get off that easily. My father is eccentric. Delville is an utter reprobate.”
Rosamond laughed. “I shall not contradict you, but in recognition of the fact that he, at least, has not tried to kill me, I feel some need to mitigate his loss of character. Can we reach a compromise and call him a rogue?”
Eleanor did not reply, at first. How much should she tell Rosamond? If she confided that he had kissed her—or even that they had been hiding together in a cellar, there could be serious consequences. She could rely on Rosamond to keep quiet, but it was kinder not to put her friend in the uncomfortable position of knowing.
And what about Delville? Surely he would not wish to reveal what had happened. He was the wrongdoer, after all, and she was under the protection of the marquess. And besides, Delville seemed to be terribly interested in keeping her silent about his secret meeting. He would keep his own mouth shut, just to avoid exposure.
She smiled at her friend. “You may call him a rogue, and I shall not contradict you, no matter what additional epithets I might mentally add. Will that suffice for a compromise?”
Rosamond shrugged. “Well enough. I can see you do not wish to talk about precisely what happened, but if you ever do, you will find I am a good listener. In any case, I apologize for my cousin’s conduct.”
The thing that most soured Eleanor’s mood was not the affront itself, but the fact that it placed this barrier between Eleanor and Rosamond. Just as their friendship was budding, it was chilled by the need for secrecy. “You are not in the least responsible for your cousin’s behaviour. Let us hope that we do not see much of him.”
“Well, I cannot promise that he will not suddenly appear at Fenimore one day. All I can say is that I had no idea he was in the neighbourhood. He does not appear to be the sort to stay in one spot for very long. Perhaps he will be off again, and you shall never have to see him at all.”
That would be best, but somehow Eleanor could not wish for it. He was irritating, but also such a curiosity. Eleanor craved diversion—that was all. It had nothing to do with the kiss.
Chapter 12
Delville arrived at Fenimore soaked to the bone, scraped and bruised, and feeling cross as two sticks. It had been foolishness to take that shortcut, though he might have made it back to Fenimore before the ladies, had his horse not balked at the terrain and thrown him.
He supposed he should be thankful that the steed did not run away very far, but he was in no mood to be thankful, or to contend with the ordeal that he knew awaited him on the other side of that door.
As he entered and the servant took his wet coat with a look of some confusion at his attire in general, he tried to put on his best face. “As you can see I was thrown on my way here. Perhaps you could see to a bath and some clean clothes.”
The servant was about to comply with Delville’s wishes when Frobisher came into the entryway and said “There you are. We have already dined, I am afraid.”
Delville could see that his friend was displeased. How much had he been told? “I am sorry for the lateness of the hour. I was thrown on my way back from the village.”
“Were you harmed?” Frobisher’s face showed supreme indifference—no, not indifference. It rather betrayed a glimmer of secret hope that Delville had been rolled and trampled, as he deserved.
“Not badly. However I was hoping to clean up before I had to mingle with anyone. I would not wish to offend the ladies with my appearance.”
“I am glad to hear you are concerned about offending the ladies.” Frobisher was all biting sarcasm. Whatever he had heard from Rosamond and Miss Dawling had not been good.
“Well, I am. Certainly.” Delville was floundering. Should he make a stab at confessing and explaining everything? No, it was better to feign ignorance. At least until he could figure out what had been told and what had been concealed.
“If you can delay making your toilet, I should like to have word with you.”
It was worse than he thought. Was he to be thrown out immediately?
“Excellent! You are here!” Rosamond came in, Miss Dawling following behind her with a look of amused triumph on her face. “Frobisher told me you are to honour us with a visit.”
Delville was relieved for the cheerful interruption, but irritated to see how much Miss Dawling was enjoying having the upper hand. He should kiss that smile right off of her face. This time it would be her whose knees became weak.
He pushed the odd notion out of his mind. This was no time for foolishness. He had a lot of lying to do.
Rosamond continued to beam and tucked her arm into Frobisher’s as she continued. “We shall all go through and have some champagne. There is so much to celebrate after all: John and Mary are wed, and —”
“And the prodigal cousin has returned,” Miss Dawling concluded. Her voice was playful, but Delville did not miss the note of cold irony. “Though he looks somewhat worse for the wear.”
He could tell by the gleam in her eye that she had no intention of making this easy on him. “Very well, I will join you.” He tried to keep his voice from betraying any sourness. “But at least permit me to put on something dry first.”
When he was towelled off and clad in proper attire, he joined the party for champagne. They were all staring at him expectantly, but he feigned an ingénue look which he knew was entirely implausible. Good. Let them be irritated for a change.
Finally Frobisher spoke in a leading tone, “Miss Dawling tells me that you made her acquaintance at the wedding fête.”
“Indeed I did.” He smiled and nodded at Miss Dawling. “I am embarrassed to say that I mistook her for someone else—but I must be excused. She was, after all, dressed as a rather fetching commoner. I should never have guessed she was the daughter of a duke.”
Miss Dawling did not look pleased. “Mistook me for someone else? You mistook me for a bit of muslin. I have never been so affronted in all my life.”
That much was probably true. But hadn’t she liked it at least a little bit? He shook his head. Silly thought. What he needed to know was whether she had tattled about the kiss—or worse, about the substance of his discussion with Lucy Delight.
But this was not the time. He had to put on a good show. He frowned sadly. “Miss Dawling, I have not yet had occasion to beg your pardon, but I do so now—with all my heart. I was a clod and a cad and have given you an unpardonable insult. But I do beg your forgiveness, even though I understand that you might never grant it. I can only say, it was all a great mistake, and I am heartily as
hamed of myself.”
He hated eating toad in this way, but it was expected of him, under the circumstances. And if he did not mollify her and his hosts, he could find himself out on his ear at a most inopportune time. He had only just got his prisoner relocated after all, Delville did not relish being forced to sleep in the cave.
The look of irritation on Miss Dawling’s typically unreadable face gave him some satisfaction as she replied, “If my hosts will forgive you, I am willing to do so, upon your word of honour that you will never address yourself to me, or behave in that manner ever again.”
Word of honour? She was sweetly naïve, for someone who demonstrated such a satirical view of the world. He did not hesitate. “Upon my honour, I agree most wholeheartedly to your terms, Miss Dawling.”
“Very well. Let this matter go no further than the four of us, and it shall be forgotten.” Rosamond raised her glass “And now, a toast to the new bride and groom, may they go from bliss to bliss, and be blessed with health and prosperity.”
It was strange to drink this toast to wedded felicity right at the moment that he and Miss Dawling were reconciled to each other. He wondered if Rosamond meant something by it. Under other circumstances, Delville would certainly be expected to marry Miss Dawling after what had passed this evening. He scowled, he had not yet got himself out of the last scrape, and here he was imperilling himself again.
He supposed he had also imperilled Miss Dawling—foisting his unwanted kiss upon her. But was it unwanted? Idiot. Of course it was. Women should be protected, he had said. Hypocritical vanity. He was not any better than Auchdun. His only excuse was that there was a greater cause at stake, and she kept interfering in his plans.
“Hear, hear!” Frobisher raised his glass, but gave Delville a sideways glance that assured him he was not getting off so easily.
Delville raised his glass with a wistful smile, which he hoped passed for contrition, and met the beautiful eyes of Miss Dawling. “To the new couple.”