by Jane Feather
“Not as well as I would wish,” he said, raising her hand to his lips. “I see my wife was dancing with your husband.”
“Gabrielle,” Lady Praed chuckled. “Nathaniel detests dancing, but he and Lady Stoneridge seem to share the same enthusiasm for marl. Your wife was describing a marl pit recently discovered on Stoneridge land, and he swept her onto the floor, where they could discuss its various merits as a fertilizer without interruption.”
Sylvester laughed, but before he could respond, Theo and Lord Praed reached them.
“Allow me to return your wife, Stoneridge,” Nathaniel said. “Your arrival for some reason eclipsed my own poor attempts to entertain her.”
“Oh, for shame, sir,” Theo said, flushing slightly. “You should know you’re a farmer after my own heart. A man of great sense.”
“You do me too much honor, Lady Stoneridge,” Lord Praed said solemnly. He raised her hand to his lips. “I’ll do myself the honor of calling upon you, if I may. I’d like to show you the pamphlet I was talking about.”
He offered his arm to his wife. “Gabrielle, I believe you said you wished to visit the supper room.” They made their farewells and strolled away arm in arm.
“I need some dry bread,” Gabrielle said as they entered the supper room.
“What?” Nathaniel looked at her, startled. And then his expression changed. “Dry bread? Gabrielle, you’re not …?”
“It’s the only time I crave dry bread,” she said with a tranquil smile.
“Oh, lord,” he muttered.
“I wonder if it’ll be twins again,” Gabrielle mused, examining the offerings on the long table with a critical frown.
“Knowing you, there’ll be three of them,” Nathaniel said, offering her a basket of rolls. “You always improve on your performances, my love.”
Gabrielle laughed, breaking off a piece of crust. “Six children in the house?”
“A daunting prospect for a man who didn’t think he wanted one.” Nathaniel shook his head, but his mouth curved in a smug little smile. “Come, I find I want you at home immediately.” He put his arm around her shoulders, directing her toward the door.
Gabrielle made no demur. When her husband’s eyes burned in that fashion, she wasn’t about to argue.
Theo watched them leave, frowning slightly. “I don’t think I offended Lord Praed. You’re not vexed, are you, Mama?”
“It would be a lost cause, dear,” Elinor said. “Have you seen Clarissa?”
“She was dancing with Lord Littleton, the last I saw. But she’s not going to be happy coming to Almack’s if we can’t manage to acquire vouchers for Jonathan Lacey. Couldn’t you ask Lady Jersey?”
“He seems a perfectly pleasant young man,” Elinor said. “If somewhat vague on occasion. But I should wish to meet his mother. What’s your opinion, Stoneridge?”
“Since I’ve been informed that Clarissa has found the love of her life, ma’am, I daren’t offer one.”
“That may be true,” Elinor said matter-of-factly. “But I shan’t give my blessing until I’ve met his mother.”
Theo’s frown deepened, and she turned to the puzzle uppermost in her mind. “We weren’t expecting you, Sylvester.”
“No, but I thought I’d drop in and see how you were doing,” he said smoothly, reading the riot of questions in her eyes. “It’s not so unusual for a husband to do such a thing.”
“No,” she said, her frustration clear in face and voice.
“Sylvester, may I beg the honor of an introduction to Lady Stoneridge?”
Neil Gerard glided up to them, his question breaking into the baffling whirligig of her thoughts.
Sylvester’s eyes were hooded, although his mouth smiled as he made the introductions. “My dear, allow me to introduce you to a very old friend of mine. We’ve just met up again after some considerable separation.”
Theo found herself looking into a thin-featured face, sharply aquiline nose, flat brown eyes, smooth brown hair; tall, athletic figure. There was something oddly familiar about him, and she took an instant dislike to Neil Gerard, although she tried to conceal it as she smiled and shook hands.
Neil bowed over her hand, amusement and surprise warring in his mind. So that vibrant creature who’d marched into the Fisherman’s Rest hadn’t been Sylvester’s mistress? It had been the Belmont chit.
No, he amended. This was no chit. Young, certainly, but no flummery about her. No simpering miss, this. He remembered how he’d been struck by the brazen sensuality of the woman who’d smiled and touched the Earl of Stoneridge, and taken a disgusted sip from his drink, and had her hand slapped for her pains.
“I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, Captain Gerard,” Theo was saying. “Were you in the army with my husband?” She examined him covertly, looking for a reaction. Did this man know of Vimiera?
“We were also at school together, Lady Stoneridge,” he said, answering the question by default, and giving Theo no clues in the process. “We’ve stood shoulder to shoulder in many a ticklish situation, isn’t that so, Sylvester?” He turned with a hearty laugh toward the earl, who merely inclined his head, his eyes unreadable.
There was a moment’s pause, but before Sylvester’s silence could become noticeable, Neil continued with another hearty chuckle. “Ah, yes, Lady Stoneridge, your husband and I have known each other since we were grimy lads of ten.”
“Grimy?” Theo raised her eyebrows, casting her husband an arch glance as she played along with the banter. “I find it hard to imagine Stoneridge as anything but immaculate.”
“But, then, when I was ten, my dear, you were hardly in a position to know me,” Sylvester said.
He could feel Gerard’s interest in Theo like a pulsing heat. He must have recognized her from the Fisherman’s Rest, but there was a quality to his interest that went beyond the merely curious. There was a hunger to it; the man was aroused by Sylvester’s wife.
On the thought Sylvester briskly tucked Theo’s arm in his. “Forgive us, Gerard. But my wife expressed a wish to be escorted home without delay.”
Neil Gerard took his leave, promising to call upon the countess at her earliest convenience.
“No, I didn’t,” said Theo.
“No, but I wish to take you home,” her husband said. “Indulge me in this.”
Theo glanced up at him. The strong mouth curved in a smile of pure masculine intent, his eyes glittered with sensual promise, and she knew that he was going to ensure she asked no questions of him tonight.
“IS LADY THEO in, Foster?”
“I’m afraid not, Lady Emily.” The butler held the door as Emily and Edward walked past him into the hall.
“Then we’ll wait,” Emily said. “We’re probably a little early.”
“Her ladyship was expecting you?” Foster sounded doubtful.
“Yes, we’re engaged to call upon Mrs. Lacey. Lieutenant Fairfax is going to escort us.”
“Did she say what time she’d be back?” Edward asked tossing his hat onto the pier table.
“No, sir. Will you wait in the library?”
“Yes, and bring some tea, please,” Emily said. Foster might be officially employed by the Earl of Stoneridge, but the Belmont girls continued to treat him as their own personal butler, just as they treated Belmont House and Stoneridge Manoi as their own.
Foster bowed. “Claret for Lieutenant Fairfax, perhaps?”
Edward smiled. “Thank you, Foster. Did Lady Theo say where she was going?”
“No, sir.” Foster backed out of the library and went off to fetch the required refreshments.
“Don’t you think that’s a little strange?” Edward said, going over to the window looking out onto the street. It was a sunny afternoon, and a small girl was bowling an iron hoop along the pavement under the eye of a nursemaid.
“Not to tell Foster where she was going?” Emily frowned. “Not necessarily. Theo’s always going off on her own business.”
“This isn’t Lulw
orth, Emily. Theo doesn’t have business to do here.” He remained at the window but turned back to the room as Foster came in with the tea tray and the claret decanter. “Did she go on foot, Foster? Or in the barouche?”
“On foot, I believe, sir.” Foster poured a glass of claret.
“With her maid, or with a footman?” He took the glass with a smile of thanks, reasoning that if Theo was going for some serious exercise, she’d take the footman.
Foster frowned. “I don’t believe anyone accompanied her, sir.”
Edward whistled, an uneasy sense of foreboding building as he turned back to look out the window, hoping to see Theo hurrying up the street. “Stoneridge won’t be pleased to hear that.”
“What won’t I be pleased to hear?” Sylvester inquired from the doorway. His many-caped driving coat was dusty, a handful of whip points were thrust into the top button hole, his long driving whip was curled in his gloved hand.
“Oh, there’s just a conspicuous absence of Theo,” Emily informed him blithely. She wasn’t about to tell Stoneridge that her sister was roaming the streets of London unaccompanied.
The earl turned to his butler, raising an eyebrow. “Since when, Foster?”
“I couldn’t rightly say, my lord.” The butler had been covering for his young mistress since she was a small girl and slipped easily into the accustomed role, without questioning why he should be doing so on this occasion.
“An hour? Two?”
“Perhaps half an hour, my lord.”
“Is there something strange about that?”
“We were engaged to drive out together,” Emily said. “Theo doesn’t usually forget engagements.”
“I see.” He shrugged. “Well, I’m certain she’ll be back soon. What do you think of that claret, Edward?”
“Excellent, sir.” Edward’s mind was whirling as foreboding became conviction. He knew exactly what had driven their engagement from Theo’s mind. He knew where she had gone, unaccompanied and presumably in a hired hackney.
He put his glass on the table. “Emily, I must ask you to excuse me. I … I’ve suddenly recollected a most urgent appointment, with … with my tailor.” Under Emily’s astonished gaze he pushed past the butler and almost ran from the house.
“Now what in the world is going on?” Stoneridge demanded of his butler and sister-in-law, both of whom were looking confused.
“I couldn’t say, sir.” Foster bowed and left the library.
Emily regarded her brother-in-law somewhat nervously, but she could think of nothing to say. She had the feeling she should improvise some reasonable explanation for Edward’s odd departure, but she wasn’t a quick thinker at the best of times, and under Stoneridge’s penetrating gray gaze she was completely tongue-tied.
“Tell me something, Emily,” Stoneridge said, deceptively casual. “Does Edward often recollect appointments in that fashion?”
“Occasionally,” Emily mumbled.
“Mmm.” He stroked his chin, frowning. “But would I be right in thinking that those occasions generally have something to do with Theo?”
Emily’s quick flush was answer enough, although she tried to think of some disclaimer.
“So just what did he suddenly guess my wife was up to?”
Emily shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“But you’d agree with me that he’d suddenly had a flash of insight?”
“Possibly. They … they’re very close. They always have been.” She was beginning to feel like one of Rosie’s pinned butterflies and thought bitterly of her flaneé and her sister, who’d abandoned her to this seemingly gentle but nerve-racking interrogation. She didn’t even know what she wasn’t supposed to say.
Sylvester strolled across to the window, where Edward had been standing a minute earlier. Maybe the position would bring him the same inspiration. Lady Belmont’s barouche stood at the door, the coachman dozing on the box, his docile carriage horses standing quietly in the sunshine.
“May I ask where you were going with Theo?”
“To call upon Mrs. Lacey,” Emily said, happy to answer this unproblematic question. “Edward was going to invite Jonathan to accompany him to Tattersall’s tomorrow. He’s intending to purchase another riding horse and thought that Jonathan might meet some useful people.”
Another instance of Edward evincing family solidarity, Sylvester reflected. And presumably he’d just gone hotfoot to Theo’s assistance?
Prickles of unease ran up his spine. Why would Theo need assistance?
And then it came to him, crystalline in its clarity. Could she have taken Edward into her confidence about the visit to the Fisherman’s Rest?
What did he mean, could she? Of course she would have done so. About that and all her private speculations—whatever they might be. Not for one minute did he believe that just because he’d refused to discuss his own plans, Theo had ceased to speculate. She’d yielded to his silence easily … too damn easily. He could see the obstinate set of her mouth, the lift of her pointed chin that always meant: You may believe what you wish, but I have my own ideas.
Theo had returned to the Fisherman’s Rest.
He’d told her as clearly as he knew how that he would not tolerate another such reckless excursion, and she’d taken not a blind bit of notice of him. But it was his own fault. How the hell had he ever been fool enough to trust that Theo would obey orders?
The strength of his fury astounded him. By disobeying his direct injunction and interfering in his private affairs, she had recklessly put herself in grave jeopardy. Without a moment’s reflection she had plunged alone into the rat-infested sewer that was Dock Street, where the desperate face of poverty informed the brutalized souls of its inhabitants. They would kill her for her kid gloves and toss her body into the Thames without a qualm.
And as if that weren’t enough, she was wading hip deep into the quicksand of Vimiera and right into the path of a dangerously desperate man.
“Emily, permit me to escort you to your carriage,” he said abruptly, turning toward her.
Emily quailed before the blazing countenance. The scar that she thought she’d become so used to she barely noticed it anymore stood out, a livid white line. The cool eyes were now liquid fire, and his mouth was a taut line.
“There’s no need,” she said. “Foster will escort me.”
He ignored her words. “Come.”
Emily rose immediately. What had Theo done to cause this terrifying transformation? On the whole, these days Emily was quite at ease with her brother-in-law, but at the moment she thought he was the most frightening man she’d ever met … even more so than her grandfather in one of his rages.
She practically ran ahead of him out of the library and out of the house. His large hand under her elbow almost lifted her into the barouche so that she felt as fragile and vulnerable as a leaf in the wind. She’d seen him handle Theo in this way, lifting her in and out and on and off things with a brisk lack of ceremony that her sister never seemed to mind. But Emily wouldn’t repeat the experience for all the tea in China. She sat back with relief as Stoneridge ordered her driver to move off and her brother-in-law’s black countenance retreated.
Stoneridge turned back to the house, running up the steps, his clipped voice giving orders before he’d reached the hall. “Foster, have my curricle brought round again. But not the chestnuts, they’ve had a long run already.”
“Yes, my lord.” The butler kept his expression impassive before his employer’s tightly reined anger, but like Emily his mind was filled with furious speculation.
Five minutes later Stoneridge was on his way to Dock Street, driving a team of roans, forcing from his mind the dreadful images of what might even now be happening on Dock Street as he drove at breakneck speed through the narrow streets, oblivious of the stares and curses from startled pedestrians as they leaped out of the way of the white-faced man with the livid scar on his forehead.
Neil Gerard stared at Jud O’Flannery’s di
sfigured countenance. His ex-sergeant was grinning, revealing his one black tooth. “Cat got yer tongue, cap’n?” he inquired with mock solicitude.
“I don’t know what the devil you’re talking about.” Neil tried to sound angry and contemptuous, but it came out more as a bluster, his fear slippery beneath the bold front, like ice under snow. He could feel the eyes on his back as Jud’s customers drank their ale and regarded the scene at the bar counter with squint-eyed curiosity. His gaze fixed on the tavern keeper’s massive fists, curled loosely on the counter. A pelt of dark hair covered the backs thickly and sprouted over the knuckles.
One blow from those fists would put a man under the table with a broken jaw. The grip of those fingers would squeeze the life out of a man in a minute. And one flick of his eyes would bring the group of ruffians to their feet, moving across the tap room toward Neil Gerard.
“Well, I ’as me sources,” Jud was saying in a musing tone, but his one green eye was sharp with a glint of sardonic humor. He knew Neil Gerard was scared. The man scared easily. No one knew that better than Sergeant O’Flannery.
“An’ like I was sayin’, these sources tell me that you’ve been patronizin’ another tavern. Quite ’urt me feelins that did, cap’n, sir.” He took a healthy swig of ale from his tankard. “You comes in ’ere, regular like, never takes a drink or says a civil word to an old comrade in arms, an’ then I ’ear you goes into the Fisherman’s Rest an’ drinks and chats somethin’ chronic in there. Better class of folk Long Meg ’as? That it, cap’n sir?”
Neil felt sweat break out on his forehead. He wanted to wipe it off, but to do so would draw attention to his fear. How much did Jud know?
“A man’s entitled to drink where he pleases,” he said, hearing how feeble it sounded. He plunged his hand into his pocket and took out his purse. “Here.” He shook out the five golden guineas and turned to leave.
“Jest a minute, cap’n, sir.” Jud’s voice had hardened.
Reluctantly, Neil turned back. “Well?”
“I wouldn’t like t’think you’ve bin lookin’ fer a way to stop this nice little arrangement we ’ave. Now, you wouldn’t be doin’ any thin’ like that, would you, cap’n, sir?”