“Lady Joanna!” Now it was Lord Ayres hailing them. He was a thin, dyspeptic man who looked as though he spent his life disapproving of things. “Surely the gossip cannot be true,” he said plaintively. “Curiosity about travel is a most ill-bred trait in a woman.”
“And in a man?” Joanna queried gently.
“It is not to be encouraged,” Lord Ayres said, “unless the traveler is a heroic explorer such as Lord Grant. Now, he is equipped to deal with all manner of peril.” He shuddered. “But indeed, travel in general is a fearful and fearfully vulgar business. I would not like you to encourage people to try it, Lady Joanna. God forbid that you should set a new fashion.”
“But you travel to Brighton and Bath every year, my lord,” Joanna protested as Lady Ayres nodded to reinforce her husband’s view.
“Brighton is not abroad,” Lady Ayres pointed out. “It is far more difficult to uphold one’s standards abroad. For a start, there is an unfortunate preponderance of foreigners—”
“Ghastly accommodation and utterly inedible food,” Lord Ayres added with gloomy relish. “What do they eat at the Pole anyway? Fish?”
“Pickled eider-duck eggs,” Joanna said, “or so I believe. My late husband claimed them to be a great delicacy.”
Lady Ayres was so pale at the thought of a pickled egg that she looked in danger of swooning. Lottie was finding it difficult to keep a straight face. “How marvelous that there will be eiders,” she said. “We may use the duck down in our mattresses and then our accommodations shall not be so ghastly.”
“They are probably correct that it will be very uncomfortable,” Joanna said as Lord and Lady Ayres moved away to make space for more gossipmongers beside the carriage. “Lord Grant was right, you know, Lottie. We shall detest it. No hot water and no proper food and we shall probably freeze until our fingers drop off…”
“Faint heart!” Lottie was looking excited at the prospect of adventure, even a frozen one. “You will have to ask lovely Captain Purchase to keep you warm whilst I will cozy up to Lord Grant’s adorable cousin! Or perhaps I will have Captain Purchase, too,” she added on an afterthought. “I have not quite decided which one of them to favor yet.”
The crowd of people had been growing whilst they talked and now the press of riders and carriages about them was already becoming so close that the horses were in danger of taking fright. Joanna’s heart sank to see John Hagan pushing his way through the throng. She had hoped that after he had seen her with Alex a couple of days before, he might take the hint and remove himself and his unwanted attentions, but it seemed he was more persistent than she had given him credit. As David Ware’s cousin he had the spurious excuse of being concerned for her welfare, but Joanna knew this was no more than a ruse. Hagan had been making advances to her since before David’s death, which argued a complete disregard for propriety. It was only after she was widowed that his slimy suggestions had included marriage rather than a mere affaire.
“The Ring is more blocked than Bond Street today,” Hagan said disagreeably, clinging tenaciously to the side of Lottie’s landau. “Dear coz,” he addressed himself melodramatically to Joanna, “what is this new scandal I hear? You are to visit the Pole? It cannot be! As a woman you are too precious and too poorly designed to travel. And as head of the family I simply cannot permit it.”
“Doing it too brown, Hagan.” Joanna’s head whipped round at the sound of Alex Grant’s sardonic voice. “There is nothing poorly designed about Lady Joanna.” Their eyes met and Joanna saw the gleam of wicked amusement in his. “Besides,” Alex continued, “she will have me to protect her on her journey.” He bowed. “Your servant, Lady Joanna.”
“Lord Grant.” Joanna inclined her head with frosty disdain as he brought his horse alongside. He had a magnificent seat; he looked as though he had been born in the saddle. She realized that she had not expected him to ride and now she wondered why on earth not. He had been born and raised in the Highlands of Scotland after all and had probably ridden all his life.
“I believe I must have missed that part of our discussions where I agreed to your accompanying me to Spitsbergen,” she said sarcastically. “Remind me.”
“Oh, but you cannot refuse Lord Grant’s generous offer to assist you on your quest!” Lady O’Hara put in eagerly. “I heard from Lord Barrow, who had it from Charles Yorke himself, that Lord Grant had begged the Admiralty Board to be permitted to offer himself as your protector!” She flashed Alex a sycophantic smile. “What a true hero! So good! So noble!”
“I beg your pardon, ma’am?” Joanna looked at Lady O’Hara in some confusion. “Lord Grant did what?”
“He begged the Navy Board to post him back to the Arctic,” another lady put in, pushing to the front of the crowd. “I heard it, too! Is that not so, Lord Grant?” She looked appealingly at Alex. “Lord Yorke said that you were so moved by the thought of Lord David’s orphaned daughter and so touched by Lady Joanna’s plight that you urged them to support your case!” She pressed her hands together. “I agree with Lady O’Hara, my lord—your nobility is astounding!”
There was a rustle of approval and agreement at this and shouts of “Good show, Grant!” from some of the gentlemen in the crowd. Joanna looked at Alex with growing incredulity.
“I am not sure that I quite understand,” she said slowly. “Can it be that you have expressly ignored my wishes in this, my lord?”
“I have,” Alex said. “You are outmaneuvered, I fear, Lady Joanna.”
“Well, what a hypocrite you have turned out to be, Lord Grant!” Joanna looked at the crowds of admirers and hangers-on trailing Alex along the Ring and felt a rush of fury. “So you were the one who made public the terms of David’s will! You pretend to be uninterested in fame and public adoration and then you use a dead man and an innocent child to boost your own reputation and to thwart my plans as well!” She found she was shaking with rage at his deceit. “You knew that I did not want you with me on this trip. I could not have made it plainer! Upon my word, I thought I had seen every trick that a self-aggrandizing adventurer might pull to pursue fame, but this crowns it all!”
Alex looked furious. “It was not like that—” he began, but then a group of excited young bucks grabbed his attention, begging him to tell them about his most recent expedition.
“Lottie,” Joanna said, taking advantage of the fact that Alex was distracted and slewing around on her seat, “pray give the coachman the order to move off. I would like to go home now.”
Lottie, who had been deep in conversation with John Hagan, made a moue. “But, Jo darling, we are the on dit! Don’t spoil my fun!”
“No,” Alex said, shaking off the youths and leaning over to put his hand on Joanna’s arm. “Lady Joanna, we must speak—”
“As always, you choose precisely the wrong moment, Lord Grant,” Joanna snapped. “We have nothing to say to each other apart from goodbye!”
She was not entirely sure what happened next. One minute she was sitting in the landau and the next, Alex had leaned down from his horse, put an arm about her waist and scooped her up out of the seat to ride before him on the big black hunter. He turned the horse and cut a path through the milling crowd, leaving them almost delirious with excitement. One lady screamed, a debutante swooned with shock and another had the vapors out of what Joanna suspected was pure envy.
“What the devil was that?” Joanna was flustered and annoyed as Alex reined in a considerable distance from their rowdy audience.
“An old Russian Pomor trick.” Alex sounded grim. “Very showy and easier to do when you are moving than standing still.”
“You seemed to manage it just fine,” Joanna said, “damnation take it.”
Alex threw her a glance. “Your language is most unbecoming to a lady. I noticed it before.”
“Oh, did you?” Joanna still felt ruffled. Alex’s proximity was not helping. She could feel the hardness of chest against her back and the strength of his thighs cradling her. His breath st
irred the hair at the nape of her neck. She shivered, feeling the goose bumps rise all over her body. “I learned my language from my uncle,” she added. Her voice sounded slightly husky. “He was a clergyman with a vast vocabulary for hellfire.” She sighed. “What do you want with me that you have to abduct me in front of a crowd?”
“I want to talk to you,” Alex said. “Without an audience. I want to explain.”
“There is nothing to explain,” Joanna said. She half turned toward him. It proved to be a mistake for they were very close together, his arms holding her like steel bands, his face set and hard. There was a frown between his brows. The line of his mouth was grim.
“You exploited the situation for your own gain,” she said. “You used your celebrity to try to force me to accept your escort.” She felt angry, but more than that, she felt betrayed. She and Alex might always disagree, but she had believed him to be straightforward and above this sort of duplicity. Now she felt a naive fool, confused by her physical attraction to him, deceived into thinking him a good man.
“I said that it wasn’t like that.” Alex’s tone was fierce, his Scots accent suddenly strong. Joanna’s heart skipped a beat to hear the passion in his voice.
“Lady Joanna—” He stopped. “They were going to give me a desk job at the Admiralty,” he said bluntly. “Parade me about the ton as their pet hero and explorer. I will not be their tame celebrity. I’d rather resign my commission.”
It was the truth, stark and unvarnished. Joanna knew that as soon as she heard it. There was so much in his voice, so much he was not putting into words. He did not beg; he would not. He simply looked at her and she felt as though her entire world was shifting. All her senses seemed acutely aware of him. She could feel his gaze like a physical touch caressing her face. She could hear the sound of his breathing.
“Joanna,” he said, and she had to repress a shiver.
“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t take advantage of my damnable susceptibility to you to try to get what you want.”
She saw him smile, his teeth a white slash in the tan of his face. “Devil take it, you read me so well.”
“I want to refuse you again,” Joanna said. “I really want to.”
“I know.” She felt him shift, felt his arms hold her a little closer, a little tighter. She knew he could sense the conflict raging inside her. Awareness swirled in her, sharp, sweet lust underpinned with the desire for his strength and protection.
“Damn it to the pits of hell and back,” she said feelingly. Why could she not simply refuse him, dismiss him to that future that he had so tellingly described? Surely he deserved it. She hated her own weakness, but she could not deny the strange sense of affinity she felt for him.
“Very picturesque,” Alex said. “Another of your uncle’s epithets?”
“Yes.” She half turned to look at him. “You know that I do not like you?”
“I could hardly be more aware of it.”
“There would have to be certain rules between us.”
She felt him go very still as he realized that she was about to capitulate.
“Very well.” He sounded cautious.
“Neither of us will ever speak of David to the other one,” Joanna said. “Not ever. This agreement of ours is for Nina’s sake only.”
She felt his surprise. She knew he thought she had been about to make quite a different demand.
“I thought,” he said slowly, “that you would one day wish to tell me your side of the story in relation to Ware.”
“Well, I do not.” Joanna spoke emphatically. “There would not be the slightest point in that, Lord Grant. If you agree to adhere to that stipulation, then you may accompany me to Spitsbergen.”
She saw the expression leap in his eyes and he smiled, that wicked adventurer’s smile, and she felt as dizzy as a pea-brained debutante.
“Thank you.” His voice was smooth, all trace of his previous emotion banished. If she had not seen and heard for herself how passionate he had felt at the prospect of being trapped in London, she would not have believed it. Once again that inscrutable reserve was in place.
“I think that as we are in agreement, we should put on a show of unity,” Alex added.
Joanna glanced over her shoulder at the indiscreet tidal wave of people who were variously running or riding across the park toward them, anxious to be the first with the next celebrity on dit.
Alex followed her gaze, a frown between his brows. “You will permit me to escort you to Lady Bryanstone’s ball tonight,” he said.
He did not appear to anticipate a rejection, Joanna thought. How quickly he took control.
“I am already promised to Lord Lewisham for this evening,” she said haughtily. “And I think you should let me down now.”
Alex swung from the saddle and lifted her down with as much ease as he had originally picked her up. For a moment Joanna felt the press of his body against hers, hard, muscular. Her feet touched the ground but he did not let her go.
“Lewisham, is it?” He spoke low in her ear. His hand tightened on hers. “Do you always choose escorts who are so old and harmless?”
Joanna looked at him. She knew that she did choose gentlemen who were safe, inoffensive and practically sexless. Held tight in Alex Grant’s anything-but-safe embrace she could recognize that she had chosen them because they were not a threat to her. They were the opposite of Alex, who possessed the infinite enticement of the dangerous adventurer.
“Tell Lewisham you have a better offer,” Alex pressed softly. “Tell him you will be attending with me.”
Joanna shivered. After the encounter she and Alex had had at the boxing club she knew it would be madness to allow him to escort her that night. Alone together in the intimate dark, in the heat of a London night, she might forget those scruples that had driven her to refuse him. She swallowed hard.
“When I do have a better offer,” she said, “then I shall dismiss Lord Lewisham.” She stepped out of the circle of his arms. She wanted to regain control and step away from this tumult of emotion that Alex evoked in her. Now that she had accepted his escort to Spitsbergen the most difficult thing would be keeping him at arm’s length.
“I do not need an explorer to help me find my way to Lady Bryanstone’s ball, my lord,” she said. “Your protection is not required. Good day.”
Chapter 8
TWO HOURS INTO HER preparations for Lady Bryanstone’s ball, Joanna was still in her negligee and was discussing different hair arrangements with Drury, her personal maid—should it be the psyche knot or ringlets that night?—when John Hagan burst into her dressing room without so much as a knock. He was very red in the face and was brandishing a piece of paper.
“It is too much!” he proclaimed. “Look!” He thrust the sheet under Joanna’s nose so that she had little alternative. “You have made the family name a laughingstock, madam, and it has to stop!”
Joanna dismissed her maid, who scurried out as though her skirts were on fire. “What on earth can be so serious that you burst in here with so little courtesy?” she demanded of Hagan. “This is shocking conduct, sir!”
“My conduct is shocking?” Hagan spluttered. “You speak to me of my conduct when you are sprawled all over the scandal sheets like an abandoned whore in a brothel?” He gave the papers another shake. “Never in all my born days has a Ware so besmirched the family name!”
Joanna calmly took the paper from him and spread it out on her dressing table. It was true that it was one of the more outrageous of the scandal sheets and the cartoon in the center was not designed to soothe the ire of an acerbic man such as John Hagan. In the middle of the picture was Alex bestriding the earth like a colossus and wielding his flag in one hand and his sword in the other very much in the style of the ice sculpture at Lottie’s ball. Joanna wondered fleetingly whether the satirist had been present at that event. Alex was looking stern and distant, an adventurer surveying the far horizon. At his feet scurried various tiny figures in
naval uniform; she could recognize Charles Yorke’s fair hair and rounded face and his brother’s lantern jaw and envious expression. There was a grandstand stuffed with cheering supporters who included the Prince Regent and his brothers, and a number of boxers and Pinks of the Fancy. And there was she, her hair tumbled, her clothing sliding off, hanging on to Alex’s leg and begging to be taken with him on his travels. It was a witty, clever and very cruel caricature.
“Oh, dear.” Joanna pressed her hand to her mouth.
“Precisely,” Hagan said, rocking back on his heels, hands behind his back and his favorite look of self-righteous smugness firmly on his face. “Oh, dear, indeed.”
“It is very funny,” Joanna ventured.
Hagan gave her a black look. “You can say that? And you looking like a strumpet?”
“The Prince Regent is depicted as Humpty Dumpty,” Joanna pointed out. “And Lord Yorke as a gnome. I think I have got away relatively lightly.”
Hagan looked disdainful. “It does not surprise me that you should say that. It is all of a piece with your behavior. You make a fool of me and of your late husband’s memory and you think that it is funny.” He snatched the paper from out of her hands. “This flighty life of yours is over, madam. You will go to Maybole.”
“I beg your pardon?” Joanna said. Shock clutched at her.
“A period of rustication in the country is just the thing for you,” Hagan said. “You will retire from town.”
Joanna’s heart started to race. “I will go to the Arctic and fetch my late husband’s child,” she corrected carefully. “You have no jurisdiction over my behavior, Cousin John. I regret that I cannot do as you request, but Nina’s welfare must be my priority now.”
Hagan’s face was a mottled red. “You do not behave as a respectable lady should,” he said. “It is a disgrace. You will cease this ridiculous plan to go to the Pole and rescue Ware’s bastard child. You will not adopt her.” He caught her wrist in a grip that made her wince. “If you persist with this fool’s errand, madam, I shall have no option but to wash my hands of you. You will have no home to return to in London. I shall make sure that no one will receive you, even less employ you.”
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