Bespelling Jane Austen

by Mary Balogh

  It was several moments later, and more than a few minutes since her prey had disappeared that Caroline emerged from the other side of the cluster of sheeplike people. She hadn’t the barest notion what had caught the interest of such a large number of tourists at that very moment that she needed to pass through, and she didn’t care to find out.

  Instead, still gripping the silver cross—which had become a bit slick from the dampness of her palm—she hurried on through the doorway through which the man had passed.

  Suddenly, she came around a corner and there he was, walking briskly toward her. He seemed to be brushing something off the upper sleeve of his coat, and he had a satisfied expression on a face that might have been handsome if it weren’t so forbidding.

  Caroline stopped in her tracks, startled to have come upon him so expediently.

  “Where are you going? This area is not open to the public,” he said, his glance sweeping over her. It lingered for a moment on the hand clutching the cross, but then returned to meet her gaze. “And as such, it could be quite dangerous for a young woman alone.” Menace tinged his voice.

  She was struck by how cool and dark his eyes were, and she tightened her fingers on the silver object. Of course, he couldn’t tell what she was holding in her hand. That was her intent, for if she needed to employ the item as a shield, it was best to take the vampire by surprise. Instead of being cowed, and fully aware that there was a crowd of people within screaming distance, she returned his look boldly.

  Caroline felt the weight of his gaze—now much more potent than it had ever been before because of its proximity—and steeled herself against the warmth that tempted to shiver inside her. She would not fall prey to his thrall. Instead, she replied, “If that is the case, I wonder why you were skulking about back there.”

  Was it her imagination or did his eyes flare a bit in surprise? She was certain she’d seen it. Now perhaps it was a glint of humor that lit his dark expression as he returned, “Skulking about? Whoever speaks like a Gothic novel but one who has read many of them, I suspect.”

  “I have indeed, and I’ve found horrid novels not only very entertaining, but also quite enlightening. Particularly the latest one by Dr. Polidori.” As soon as she spoke those last words, Caroline wished she could take them back. She drew in a steadying breath and reminded herself of the comforting weight in her hand. She could hardly believe she’d been so bold. Not only had she fairly accused him of a nefarious purpose, but she’d also exposed her own knowledge and intent. Foolish, Caro! Now he will be suspicious of you.

  “Indeed?” he replied, his voice cool. “So you consider yourself an expert on haunted castles and ghostly moors? You can distinguish an innocent tower from that in which the crazed madwoman of a wife is locked away? And perhaps you think you might be able to identify a Lord Ruthven, should you come face-to-face with him?” The man’s black eyes lit with mockery.

  Was he deliberately baiting her? Telling her that she had indeed come face-to-face with a vampire?

  “Not at all,” she replied, once again assuring herself privately that she was within easy distance of assistance should he make any threatening move toward her. In fact, the chatter of the crowd beyond filtered quite readily to her ears, giving her the confidence to continue her conversation. “I’ve found well-written books to be quite instructive with regard to the private characters of people I chance to meet. How well true character can be hidden by a facade or other subterfuge.”

  He gave an impolite snort. “I shall take that under advisement the next time I embark on a character study. Surely you know that Dr. Polidori’s novel, while immensely entertaining and possibly informative in the way of characterization, is pure fabrication,” he continued. “And if it weren’t, it certainly wouldn’t do for a young lady like yourself to be skulking about into dark, shadowy, lonely places. Something terrible might happen to her.”

  He leaned toward her and Caroline felt her breath catch, but she refused to move back a whole step. Just a shuffle of her feet…because the stone wall was right behind her.

  “Or, instead, she might be the only one to witness a horrible event and come to the aid of a woman in distress,” she replied. Her voice sounded breathless and unsteady, and she was aware of how difficult it was to continue to hold his gaze. Yet she forced herself to look up at him.

  “Don’t be a foolish chit,” he said, his voice sharp. “You’d do best to stay out of things which you do not understand—and dark corners and abandoned rooms where danger lurks. I should hate to see anything happen to that lovely white neck of yours.”

  Caroline snatched in her breath at his effrontery and the gleam of—dear goodness, what was that in his eyes? She felt warm suddenly and, once again, that tug of his thrall. “I assure you, I am not as foolish as those silly heroines who go to investigate the attic alone at night,” she managed to say.

  “But if they did not go into the attic at night alone,” he said, a wicked smile suddenly curving his lips, “there would be no story, would there?”

  She barely suppressed a surprised laugh; instead, she smothered the instinct into a sort of gasp as the heat of his quick grin jolted her. But before she could open her mouth to respond, the smile disappeared from his face and he moved even closer toward her. Her heart slammed in her chest and it became difficult to swallow.

  “Enough of this,” he said as she became aware of the scent of rosemary balm. “I have other matters to attend to than to stand here and exchange repartee with a foolish chit. Take yourself off, madam, and I strongly encourage you to deny your natural curiosities—and your obvious penchant to be your own Gothic heroine—and keep to the public areas of the bath spa. And other places. Or the next time you might find yourself in greater trouble than having to hold your own in a bout of wordplay.”

  She drew in her breath to reply, but the black expression on his face, and the peremptory gesture he made back toward the public area compelled her to move. As long as he followed her, she would leave…and then perhaps sneak back once he was gone to see if there was any sign of disturbance. Or worse.

  Caroline turned and started back toward the buzzing crowd, fully aware of the weight of his surveillance settling over the back of her bare neck. But she refused to hurry, to allow him to think he’d rattled her. He had not. He’d merely given her even more reason to be suspicious of him by warning her off.

  She returned to the gathering of other tourists, noting that it had thinned out a bit. But that the smell of sulfur and too many women wearing rosewater clung to the air even more strongly than before. Once she slipped beyond the crowd and behind one of the cornices, she turned to watch. Sure enough…the man emerged from the shadowy hall, scanned the room sharply, then turned down another corridor and disappeared.

  As soon as he did so, Caroline pushed her way back toward the area he’d deemed as not open to the public, and this time she did see the notice tacked to the wall. Closed for Restoration.

  But she ignored the sign and hurried along the dimly lit hallway. If he’d lured his prey back into the empty, unrestored area, the poor girl could be lying injured and bleeding. Or worse.

  Yet Caroline found nothing untoward but a few piles of dirt and dust among the flickering torches hung high on the wall. Clearly, whoever was doing the restoration was not at work today…or recently. And, even more clearly, she had interrupted whatever plans the man had had to entrap his victim.

  Disappointed, yet satisfied that she’d at least disrupted his villainous purpose, Caroline strolled back out to find Mrs. Argenot in the gardens. Her companion was not sitting beneath the rose pergola, which was not a surprise to Caro. She’d learned that her distant cousin was prone to distraction when it came to flower gardens, and had most likely been lured from her seat by an unusual specimen of butterfly or a unique arrangement of bushes.

  Grateful for the fresh summer air after the rotten-egg and heavy rose perfume of the baths, Caroline settled on the bench to await her friend’s retu
rn.

  She had been sitting for only a moment, wishing that she had slipped a book into her bulky reticule, when a young woman passing by paused to admire the spray of pink-tipped ivory tea roses.

  “How lovely,” she said, pausing to remove her glove. She reached to touch a petal.

  “They smell much better than the ones inside,” Caroline said before she caught herself. Whatever had got hold of her tongue today? “Oh, dear,” she began.

  To her relief, the young woman laughed and said, “I cannot but agree. Much as I appreciate the scent of roses, I must admit I cannot admire it when there is quite so much of it in such a small area.”

  Caroline nodded, also smiling. “Although my favorite scent is that of gardenia, my cousin prefers roses. In fact, I thought she would be waiting for me here, but she has obviously found something else of interest whilst passing the time.”

  The other woman released the rose petal, and the blossom shifted back into place. “And I was supposed to meet my party here, as well, but, apparently, they have not yet arrived. Or else I am too late and they have walked along.”

  “Perhaps you would like to sit and wait for them?” Caroline asked, making a show of moving her skirts. “Surely they will return in search of you.”

  “How kind of you.” The other woman took advantage of her hospitality and settled next to her on the bench, removing her other glove. She appeared to be Caroline’s age, although she was a bit more petite than Isobel, which gave the impression that she might be a bit younger. With rich chestnut-colored hair and laughing blue eyes, she was very pretty and seemed to be full of life. “My name is Ellen Henry.”

  “I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” replied Caroline, giving her own name. “Have you been in Bath long?”

  Miss Henry shook her head. “No, we have only just arrived this last day. My guardian and I have joined my aunt and her two daughters—that is the party whom I am waiting for.” She smiled a bit abashedly. “I confess, though I have been to Bath thrice now, I never tire of wandering through the bathhouse, imagining the way it was centuries ago. My aunt and cousins find it a bit of a bore after only a short time, so they have learned to leave me to my imagination so that I’m not rushed.”

  A rush of kindred spirit flooded Caroline, and she smiled. “That is the precise reason I am waiting here for my companion, Mrs. Argenot. She found herself bored while I could not pull myself away.”

  “They claim there is little to see but a few large rooms with warm water, and that it takes but a few moments to admire it…but to me, there is so much to think about and to imagine.” She giggled, her nose wrinkling prettily. “And there is the smell, of course. They complain that it smells like foul eggs.”

  “The aroma surprised me at first,” Caroline said, “but I found I got used to it readily, and it didn’t detract from my enjoyment of the area. Oh, and there is Mrs. Argenot now.” She stood, suddenly reluctant to leave her new friend.

  Miss Henry appeared to have similar compunctions. “Perhaps I shall see you at the Upper Rooms tonight?” she said, also standing.

  Caroline felt a sincere wave of disappointment when she recalled her engagement with the Thorntons for this evening. But whyever should she do so? “I’m afraid not, for I shall be at the theater, but perhaps we could walk tomorrow? And then we could come back to the bathhouse and wander through to our hearts’ content?”

  “That would be most enjoyable,” Miss Henry replied enthusiastically. “I’m certain my aunt would approve, Miss Merrill, if for no other reason than that she would not have to take me back here.”

  Caroline smiled with equal delight, and upon Mrs. Argenot’s arrival, she obtained her companion’s permission for the outing, and they settled on a time and place to meet the next day. Then she and Mrs. Argenot bid their farewells, and as they strolled back to their house to prepare for the evening at the theater, Caroline found her step to be quite light and merry once again.

  Indeed, this visit to Bath was turning into a more pleasurable one than she could ever have imagined.

  CHAPTER 4

  CAROLINE LOOKED DOWN AT THE STAGE, WHERE the actors and actresses filled the space with their bright costumes, then across the small theater to the other boxes. Enough light remained to illuminate the house almost as well as the stage, for, just as in London, the attendees wished to see and be seen more than they meant to watch the entertainment below.

  Of course, she didn’t expect to recognize any of the other spectators, but she certainly could admire their frocks and observe their interactions. And there was the possibility that she might espy her Lord Ruthven look-alike from the spa earlier today, or the hook-nosed man with the imprisoned wife. Or any number of other mysterious figures.

  There had to be at least one scheming woman in Bath who was poisoning her innocent husband’s tea.

  “It is such a delight to have you sitting next to me tonight,” Isobel gushed, leaning close enough that Caroline got a strong whiff of powder and tea rose. “Mr. Merrill was so kind as to escort me to five theatrical performances. Three of them were by Mr. Shakespeare, and he was such a gentleman when I was overcome at the tragic ending! Poor, poor Juliet! He offered me a handkerchief, and he patted my hand until I was able to cease my waterworks.”

  “Mr. Shakespeare patted your hand?” Caroline asked ironically.

  “No, no, goose,” Isobel trilled, patting Caroline’s own gloved hand. “I was speaking of Mr. Merrill. Your brother. He was so very kind and considerate. And…I recall, that night he was wearing the smartest dark blue waistcoat with a sable coat and pantaloons. I had chosen, with the help of Misry, my maid, of course, a dark blue frock with pale blue trimmings. And we looked delightful together. Everyone commented on how well we looked. It was quite a topic of conversation.”

  Caroline nodded and made automatic murmuring noises, for her attention had been seized by a familiar figure. Instead of sitting in one of the two short rows of chairs in his box, the Lord Ruthven look-alike stood near the front of the small balcony. Leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his middle, he appeared not so much bored as watchful.

  Not that the actors onstage seemed to draw his attention. Like most of the other theatergoers, the brooding man seemed less interested in the play below than other goings-on.

  Intrigued, Caroline examined the other members of his party. Three women, all of whom older than Caroline herself, and four other gentlemen. One of the women seemed to wish to draw Lord Ruthven—she really should come up with a different name for the man if she was going to keep seeing him about—into conversation, but while he appeared to respond politely, he declined to sit in the chair next to her and continued to remain watchful over the other boxes.

  Then, suddenly, he seemed to notice her. His gaze fixed on her from halfway across the theater and, for a moment, she fancied her heart stopped beating. Then it started up again, pounding harder. Her mouth dried, and she found it difficult to pull her own gaze away from his dark, intense one.

  Ruthven lifted his chin in an arrogant pose and made a brief bow in her direction. She did not miss the sardonic expression that flickered across his countenance. At last, she was able to pull her attention from his, and commenced with what she hoped was a casual glance around the theater as her cheeks felt warm and her breath rushed.

  He must know she suspected him, and he’d attempted to enthrall her right then, right here, as a warning. The next thing that would happen was that his eyes would turn red and begin to glow. Then his fangs would extend…

  Her palms dampened beneath their gloves and she was aware of the nervous churning in her belly, yet she could not keep the mental images away. He would bend to her, his mouth warm and his fingers strong and sturdy around her arms…he would kiss her first, gently, at the side of her mouth. And then he would move to the edge of her jaw, then to her bare neck—

  With a little gasp, Caroline was jerked back into reality by Mr. Thornton, who’d leaned forward from the seat b
ehind and spoke behind her. Heart pounding, skin still prickling, she turned in her chair in time to hear Isobel respond to her brother, who’d leaned forward between the two of them. “Of course not, James,” she said. “We’ve only just arrived. There’s been no chance for anyone to even notice us yet, dear brother.”

  Caroline realized that Mr. Thornton had been inquiring as to whether they would like to take a turn about the galley or get some refreshments, and she was relieved that Isobel had declined. Despite the fact that the man had caught her looking at him, she intended to keep a close watch on Ruthven.

  She turned back to her task of observing the handsome—she supposed he was handsome—pale-visaged man. When he tensed and straightened, Caroline noticed, though it was a subtle movement. He seemed to come to attention, his sharp eyes fixated on a box two away from hers. His gaze appeared to have been engaged by a new arrival. A woman with a cloud of dark hair, in a rose-colored frock. She was some years older than Caroline, but still seemed delicate and demure.

  A prickle tingled up her spine. Was she Lord Ruthven’s latest target? She had arrived in the box without escort, although its other occupants greeted her with delight.

  A woman alone. Caroline’s heart began to beat faster. A perfect target for a Lord Ruthven.

  Perhaps she should think of him as Lord Brooding. Lord Gloomy? Then she recalled his short, clipped conversation with her today and revised: Lord Rude.

  Isobel suddenly clamped her fingers around Caroline’s arm and gave a sharp tug. “Do you see that?”

  “Yes, yes, I see it, too. He’s looking at—”

  “What a cunning little wrap Mrs. Erthwistle is wearing! Why, it’s nearly as smart as the one I nearly lost on the first day I met Mr. Merrill. I left it behind on a park bench and he kindly returned it to me. Of course, we had already been introduced, otherwise it might have been rather awkward, but he was so very kind. And so polite.”