“I don’t mean that. The thing is, I won’t fit into it again either, not in the same way. It won’t look like this at home. This is a London gown. It fits me, here.”
“And there and there,” Sibyl commented wryly. She looked down at her own dress and sighed more deeply than Kate had. Sibyl wore the correct color for a young girl and was all in white. The color seemed to have erased her—she fit into her gown the way a white rabbit fit into a snowdrift in January. She knew it and that made her fade even further away.
Kate had campaigned for a new wardrobe for Sibyl, too, but the three elder Swanson sisters had been adamant about that. Bad enough their infant sister got to accompany Kate and the most deliciously eligible men they’d clapped eyes on in years, the chit would not be able to outdo them in anything else while they had any say about it. Their voices were loud and angry enough to make that say the final word. So Sibyl wore her best gown, which looked exactly like her worst one.
“What a pity it will be so dark in the theater we won’t be seen!” Kate said, to make Sibyl feel better.
“It’s never that dark,” Sibyl said mournfully.
Kate’s eyes arrowed to Sir Alasdair St. Erth when she saw him waiting for her in the salon. She told herself any woman’s would.
He wore a black jacket, impeccable white linen, and slate gray pantaloons. Dressed to a shade, and such a somber one, he nevertheless commanded the eye. Though his friend Leigh, at his side, was dressed correctly, the bold strokes of St. Erth’s dark palette, as well as his stature, reduced the slender Leigh to a mere watercolor.
Few women could have missed the erotic speculation and slow admiration that sprang into Sir Alasdair’s dark and lingering gaze as he bowed to Kate. Few could have withstood the heat in that pensive yet passionate regard. But it looked as if Kate could.
She rose from her curtsy with calm, sedate grace. No one guessed she was so stricken by Sir Alasdair’s appearance and terrified of showing it that she had to focus all her energy on breathing and standing upright.
Kate’s three older cousins glowered. They’d accepted an invitation to a ball just so they could be in their finery when the gentlemen came to call. But no one noticed them any more than they did the elderly Mrs. August, who’d been called on to be chaperone for Kate and Sibyl. That ancient lady was all in gray—gown, hair, and wrinkled face were all the same faded hue. That changed when Alasdair turned his attention to her.
“Though I’d like to stay and talk,” Alasdair said smoothly, “I fear the curtain may rise without us, and that would be a pity. Mrs. August?” He offered her his arm.
Faint color appearing in her wrinkled cheeks, she straightened as much as she could and placed her hand on his arm. Mrs. August glided from the room with the baronet like an empress off to give an audience to her subjects.
But she fell asleep minutes after she’d gotten settled in her chair at the theater. Kate didn’t know how she could, because it was noisy and as bright as noon in Piccadilly Square. She’d thought Sibyl had been exaggerating about how noticeable they’d be, but she’d never been to the theater in London before. Even before the play began the audience was busily and happily watching itself, and babbling about it until her ears rang.
The lobby had been confusing and crowded, such a mass of faces and pushing people that Kate got only a sense of pandemonium as theatergoers rushed in to their seats. The long staircases to the loge were jammed, the corridors to the boxes packed. She’d been relieved when they finally filed into the box Alasdair had engaged for the night.
Snugged high into a tier of boxes on the right side of the theater, the private box was filled with gilt chairs. Kate looked down before she sat down, and felt as though she was in the crow’s nest of a mighty ship, looking out over a surging sea of glittering playgoers. It was a dizzying experience. She was less happy when she saw faces turned up to her and realized she’d be as much a part of the play as an observer of it. Then she sat quickly and huddled down, looking hunted.
“If you crouch any more, you’ll look like Mrs. August’s twin,” Alasdair whispered in her ear as he pulled a chair close and sat beside her.
“Well, I feel a bit—on display,” she murmured, darting another glance out at the audience.
“You are,” he said simply. “But if you shrink from the limelight, you’ll call even more attention to yourself. The audience is here for gossip as much as theater.”
“Gossip is theater,” Lord Leigh commented as he seated Sibyl and himself nearby.
“Exactly,” Alasdair agreed. “And often more entertaining than what’s onstage. Everyone here wants to know who’s with whom tonight so they can speculate about it. It’s part of the pleasure of theatergoing, but instead of a lively art, they make it a blood sport.” He smiled at Kate and explained. “Like any hunting pack, they bay when they get an interesting scent. If you run, they will pursue. If you stand your ground and meet their gaze, they’ll look for better sport.”
“Ohmygoodness,” Sibyl said in a small voice.
That made everyone laugh, except for Mrs. August, who was dozing. The moment lightened. Kate sat up straight and dared to look down at the glittering assembly, so she didn’t see the tension in Alasdair’s face as he turned to look, too.
Nor did she see how his gaze swept over the crowd as he sought the two faces he’d come to find, or how his lips tightened when he failed to see them. His eyes sharpened when he recognized others in the throng. He gestured to a woman seated below, looking up at them.
“There’s an old friend of yours,” he told Kate, looking across to another box where a thin woman sat, her opera glasses raised in their direction, obviously focused on them. “Lady Eleanora. And her new fiancé, Mr. Jellicoe. He looks boggled, as he should be.”
“A sudden engagement, that,” Leigh commented dryly.
“So sudden poor Jellicoe is only now becoming aware of it, I imagine,” Alasdair agreed, gazing at the dazed-looking gentleman at Lady Eleanora’s side. “It just happened…precipitously, at a musicale at the lady’s home I hear. It was announced at the end of the evening, a great surprise to everyone, including Jellicoe, one surmises.”
“Oh my,” Sibyl gasped. “Did she snare him the same way…I mean,” she said, biting her lip at her slip, “did she…” Her voice dwindled as she realized she shouldn’t have mentioned Lady Eleanora’s foiled plot to snare Sir Alasdair.
“Oh, likely,” Alasdair answered, noting how nervous she looked. “And don’t worry, Leigh’s aware of the matter. If I forgot to offer you my thanks, Miss Sibyl, allow me to remedy that. I understand you got wind of the plan and took pity on me.”
“You’ve nothing to thank me for,” she said quickly. “It was all Kate’s doing!”
“And all forgotten now, right?” Leigh told Sibyl with gentle censure. “Because though it was kind, and daring, it isn’t at all the thing to talk about.”
Alasdair smiled to himself at the way Leigh spoke to her, like a patient father might speak to a child.
“Oh,” Sibyl said in a small voice. Then she asked, “I forget. What is what’s not at all the thing to talk about?”
“Good girl,” Leigh said, making her blush rosily.
“Poor man,” Kate said, looking across at Lady Eleanora’s fiancé.
“Yes,” Alasdair said. “And poor Lady Eleanora, believe it or not. She’s well served. Jellicoe’s hers now, however she got him, but I wish her joy of him, he’ll lead her a merry dance. Best take care to avoid the lady in future, my dear, she isn’t the forgiving sort.”
Kate laughed. “I’ll avoid her here in London but I won’t have to worry after that. I’m bound for the countryside soon, remember?”
“A great pity,” he murmured, making her look away, pretending interest somewhere else.
Alasdair enjoyed flustering the practical Miss Corbet, but reminded himself not to flirt with her, since she wasn’t used to it. Conversation diverted her, laughter made her forget to be self-conscious, and
that was better. There were too many people gaping at her for even his comfort now, and it was rumored he was so impervious to insult he could make Medusa blink. Besides, he found himself feeling strangely protective of her.
It was her air of fragility, he decided, studying her pretty profile as she looked out at the audience with interest again. Not her great beauty, because by no stretch of the imagination was she that. But he thought she was very attractive with her unusual almond-shaped eyes, straight nose, and the slight overbite that emphasized her precisely etched upper lip, accentuating it, making it more tempting. Her halo of curls intensified an illusion of tender femininity, though she wasn’t at all frail. Her frame was slender, but her body was lush. Still, her features lent her a certain charming delicacy. Odd that he was so attracted, she wasn’t his type of female at all, he thought—and was brought up short.
His type? That almost made him laugh aloud. His type was the sort of female who was important or expedient to make love to, or simply necessary to have sex with when the need was on him. His type was any woman who could amuse him, ease his boredom or his loneliness. Because there were times when it wasn’t diversion or lust he was seeking, times when he simply needed to feel close to the living skin of another human being, perhaps to reassure himself that he was still of their number.
Cleanliness and comeliness in any of his partners were extras his fastidious soul applauded but his vengeful spirit never found strictly necessary. Charm and wit had never been part of those requirements either, he realized, so no wonder he was reacting so strongly to this candid and friendly young woman.
He found himself wanting her for his purposes as well as others he hadn’t anticipated, yet wanting to save her from him at the same time. Fine, he thought with bitter humor. Leigh’s got himself a charming young daughter to entertain tonight, and I seem to have gotten one that I desire. But he didn’t feel fatherly toward Kate in any other way, and desire was the driving force of his life, so it was a situation he could deal with.
He looked over the crowd with satisfaction. The Scalbys weren’t in attendance, but they’d hear of his being there that night, as well as who had accompanied him. They kept up on his activities as carefully as he did on theirs, he never doubted it. They didn’t have friends but they had victims and toadies, those who feared them and those who tried to placate them. And many more they paid for information.
He’d be noticed. He had other enemies, too, and even more people simply found him good fodder for gossip. He’d give them that tonight. His guests were young ladies who hadn’t been seen on the town. Anyone interested would soon discover that he and Leigh were out with a Swanson chit, as well as an unknown, with a respectable old female playing chaperone. But they’d be intrigued by the fact that he was dancing attention on the unknown. She wouldn’t be that for long.
He could almost hear the gabble from where he sat. St. Erth here with a new female? Who is she? They’d find out. Why, she’s a nobody from nowhere, but related to everyone, they’d say. Cousin to the Swansons. Penniless, or so the gossip would run, since the only money gossips found interesting to talk about was either a fortune or none at all.
A country mouse. Charming, they’d say, but, my dear, no station and no money. What could Sir Alasdair be up to this time?
The Scalbys would hear it. And they’d know her name and what he was up to, or imagine they did, which was better. Imagination was the best weapon in a war of nerves. They’d certainly think about this news and wonder if it meant anything to them, if it was the beginning of the end. Their end.
That was all he wanted, for the time being.
“There’s the earl of Drummond and his new bride,” he said, saluting an old acquaintance with a languid wave. “There with him, his cousin, the Viscount Sinclair and his beautiful wife.” He smiled at the way his friends enthusiastically returned his greeting from across the theater.
“They could lead Society if they raised one finger, but they don’t care to,” he told Kate. “Which is why they’re still pleased to see me. That pleases me, so I’ll return the favor by not getting too close to them until my reputation is closer to being mended. I met the viscount through my work abroad in the past. The spectacularly handsome couple sitting next to him is Damon Ryder and his wife. They have more money than the Bank of England and less concern about society than your grocer’s cat. Again, they’re friends who don’t care about gossip, and I stay away because I care for them.
“Now, to their right—the fellow looking like a stuffed goose with an egg halfway out? He’s more like the rest of Society. His name is legion, but he answers to Lord Bight. He’s narrow-minded and guilty of most things he condemns me for, but he commits his sins with stealth. He’s exactly the kind of person I’m going to have to win over. We’re going to have to win over,” he corrected himself.
He entertained Kate by pointing out others, showing her a host of people in the galaxy of stars of the London firmament that glittered around them. But never for a moment did he show her how he was also making sure they themselves were seen, so word of their appearance together tonight would be certain to get out.
Alasdair was sorry when the houselights dimmed and the other show the audience was there to see began.
And curiously, because she’d been so fearful of Society and so eager to see a real London play, Kate was disappointed then, too.
She got to see that play, and heard its lines being shrieked, because to her amazement, the audience kept right on chattering. They threatened to drown out the actors, which made every comment from the stage become a scream. By the time intermission came, her ears ached.
But that was only the beginning. The moment the curtains fell the audience was released, and set into even more frantic motion.
“Care to promenade?” Alasdair asked, rising from his seat.
“We’d better,” Lord Leigh said, as he also stood. “Or else this box will become so stuffed with the curious that we won’t be able to breathe. At least we can get some air while on our feet.”
Kate looked to Mrs. August, who had woken and was as confused as a little bat squinting at a sudden light. Kate was sure the old woman had forgotten where she was.
But she soon remembered. “Run along,” Mrs. August said, seeing them all standing. “It’s quite all right for you girls and the gentlemen to be seen promenading at intermission. I fear the crowds would be too much for me.”
“A wise decision,” Alasdair said. “Would you like us to bring you something to drink?”
“That would be very nice,” she said gratefully.
“I don’t know that it isn’t too much for me!” Kate told him. But she put her hand on his arm, raised her head, and followed his lead.
The corridor was so filled with people, it was hard to edge out into the hall. But Alasdair was large and determined and clove through the crowd like a ship under full sail. Kate soon found herself out of the long corridor and in the great hall. And separated from Sibyl.
She looked back in momentary panic.
“We’ll find them later,” Alasdair said. “Stop now, and we won’t be able to move again.”
She went on blindly, until Alasdair paused in a niche by a staircase. Out of the surging flow, Kate breathed more easily. But her breath stopped when she looked at Alasdair. She only meant to talk to him. The words dried on her tongue. He was looking down at her, she was suddenly the focus of all that considerable power of personality.
He wasn’t smiling. His dark eyes were rapt, a look of such melting ardor in them that she could only catch her breath, and blink the way old Mrs. August had when she’d found herself waking up in a strange place. He was so big, so dominant, so very attractive and intent—on her. Flattered, a little frightened, and fascinated, she could only gaze back at him.
That would never do. She fought for control and found it in conversation. “Lord!” she said, fanning herself. “Everyone’s watching and listening so closely I feel as though I ought to have line
s to say.”
“They couldn’t hear them and wouldn’t listen any more than they did to the actors,” he said with a smile that made her toes curl in her slippers.
She swallowed hard and looked just over his shoulder. That helped.
“You look bemused,” he said. “Or is it aghast?”
“Both,” she admitted, too disconcerted to find an easy lie. But she found a way to change the subject. “I was just wondering,” she said, “am I making you respectable? Or are you making me a scandal?”
“A little of both, I suspect. But it will tilt toward respectable when they realize my heart is pure.”
A genuine laugh escaped her.
“Does what they think of us worry you?” he asked.
“It might,” she answered honestly. “If I were planning on staying here. No,” she said, after a second’s consideration. “Not even then. My real friends and my family would know the truth, and that’s all I’d care about.”
His expression grew shuttered. “How fortunate you are,” he said blandly.
This sudden coolness after all the heat he’d projected left her feeling confused and chilly. When he glanced away to acknowledge someone who called his name in passing, Kate drew a shuddery breath. She’d have to control her emotions or give up seeing him. She must have looked like a fish in the millpond gaping at the full moon. Speaking of theater! She’d reacted to him like a stock character in a bad farce, a country gawk being overwhelmed by a polished seducer. The poor man, she thought in chagrin. He couldn’t help the fact that his purring voice made the hair on her neck tingle, or that when he looked at a woman she found herself wishing his hands would follow that look. He was only playing the game they’d agreed on. She was the one who had to rein herself in. He needed her to repair his reputation, not add more fuel to the fuss about his wicked one.
When he turned to her again he seemed as pleased as she’d ever seen him.
She whispered nervously, “So, do you think this is working? Or perhaps not?”
Edith Layton Page 9