by Mary Balogh
She was assailed suddenly by a sense of unreality. Was she actually having this conversation with Lord Montford, of all people? However had they got onto such a topic?
She almost laughed.
“He is a fortunate man,” he said without any apparent irony, “or will be when he finds you. It will be a love to move mountains.”
She turned her face to him again and really did laugh this time.
“I believe it is more likely,” she said, “that he will run ten miles without stopping. Men do not think of love and marriage as women do. I have learned that in my twenty- three years. How would you react if I told you that you were heart of my heart and soul of my soul?”
She could have bitten out her tongue as soon as the words were spoken.
He regarded her from beneath half- closed eyelids.
“I believe,” he said, “I might feel my heart beat faster and my soul stir to life from its long- dormant state.”
She bit her lip.
“Or I might also,” he said, moving his head a little closer to hers so that for one startled moment she thought he intended to kiss her, “claim to have won my wager.”
She smiled again. He held his composure for a moment longer, and then he smiled too— slowly and lazily.
“But you are not going to say it?” he asked her.
“I am not,” she agreed.
“Not yet,” he said. “But you will.”
She laughed softly. No man had ever flirted with her. She had never flirted with any man. Until she met Lord Montford, that was. And why did it happen with him— every time they met? Why did he do it? Why did she allow it?
His gaze had moved beyond her again; and he raised his hand once more and executed a mock salute and a half- wave with it before turning his attention back to her.
“The esteemed Sir Clarence Forester,” he explained, “and his even more esteemed mama. They are no longer coming this way, you will be pleased to know Probably they saw that Charlotte was not here and lost interest. They will doubtless search for her elsewhere in the garden and on the water—a sad waste of time, of course, as she is not here.”
“They have been here all afternoon,” she said.
They had pointedly avoided an introduction to Meg, Stephen, and her. Katherine had been made to feel as if going walking in Hyde Park with Miss Wrayburn the other day really had been a wicked impropriety. It was quite ridiculous. Even Elliott had said so, and he knew about such things.
“Have they?” he said. “That must have been pleasant for all the other guests.”
“You really do not like them, do you?” she said. “And yet they are your aunt and your cousin?”
“Not mine” he said decisively “Only poor Charlotte’s. Lady Forester is her father’s sister and Clarence her cousin.”
“Your stepfather’s relatives,” she said.
“My mother’s second husband’s, yes.”
“You did not like him either?” It was a very impertinent question, she thought too late.
“He was godly and righteous and without sin,” he said with a smile. “He was also without humor, wit, compassion, or joy He married my mother just before my first birthday and died just after my eighteenth. I will say no more. He was Charlotte’s father. And I would not spoil this very pleasant half hour with you, Miss Huxtable.”
Had it been that long? Half an hour? Gracious! She had not meant to be away from the main party for more than fifteen minutes at most. And how must it look to anyone who had noticed them sitting alone here together for so long? Though they were in a glass pavilion and fully visible from both the terrace and the lawn.
She got to her feet and brushed her hands over her skirt. He had not moved. He still sat at his ease on the wrought iron seat—oh, goodness, it really was narrow—his arm stretched out along the back of it.
“I daresay Meg is back from her boat ride with the Marquess of Allingham,” she said. “I must go and find her.”
“You must do what you must do, Miss Huxtable,” he said, his eyes smiling at her from beneath hooded lids again. “I shall remain here for as long as the fragrance of your hair lingers and is not overpowered by the less enticing scent of the roses.”
“Oh.” She laughed. “How absurd.”
“Life is full of absurdities,” he said. “Fortunately,” he added softly
Katherine hurried away, feeling as if he had caressed her. How did he do that, without even touching her? There was something about his voice, something about his eyes…
I believe, he had said when she had asked how he would react if she told him he was heart of her heart, I might feel my heart beat faster and my soul stir to life from its long-dormant state.
She smiled.
I might also, he had added, claim to have won my wager.
She chuckled aloud.
There was no point in denying that she had enjoyed the last half hour.
And then she spotted Vanessa and Elliott, who were drinking wine on the terrace with another couple, and waved to them as she went to join them.
11
T H E first inkling of trouble to come came to Jasper early the following morning when he went for a ride in Hyde Park despite the fact that the clouds were low and a misty drizzle was threatening to turn into an out- and-out rain. He had Rotten Row almost to himself, though Isaac Kerby and Hal Blackstone were there too, riding together.
They stopped when they saw him and waited for him to come up to them.
“Ho, Monty,” Hal called by way of greeting, “finding it hard to sleep at night, are you? Love is said to do that to a man.”
He grinned at Isaac, who grinned right back. As if something mightily witty had just been said.
Jasper raised one eyebrow.
“Love?”he said. “Affecting my sleep?”
“I have been telling Hal,” Isaac said, “about how Charlie and I were cruelly rebuffed yesterday at the Adams’s garden party.”
Jasper reined in his horse until it was moving at the same snail’s pace as theirs.
“Rebuffed?” he said. “Cruelly?”
They chose to be further amused.
“You see, Isaac,” Hal said, “love makes a man blind. He did not even see you.”
“Ah,” Isaac said, “then it must have been a fly he was wafting away, Hal, and Charlie and I were not after all being sent to perdition because Monty was smitten by the lady’s charms.”
Oh, the devil! Jasper realized suddenly what they were talking about.
“You would have to agree with me, Hal,” he said, “that Miss Katherine Huxtable is considerably prettier than either Charlie or Isaac. We admired the roses together. And I had an excellent sleep last night, thank you kindly”
“Half an hour or longer to admire the roses,” Isaac said. “Did you count every petal on every single bloom, Monty? You had any number of people speculating—I heard them. It is most unlike you, you must admit, to seek out the lone company of any lady—in public. A word of advice, old chap. If you are not looking for a leg shackle, you had better count rose petals entirely alone in future. Or not at all unless you want all your friends believing that you are touched in the upper works.”
“It is a sorry state of affairs,” Jasper said, “when a man may not enjoy the company of a lady at a social event without risking a marriage trap.”
And yet all his adult life he had deliberately avoided just the sort of ridiculous speculation that he had apparently aroused yesterday. He must be more careful in the future.
“But the same lady with whom you waltzed at the Parmeter ball?” Isaac said, coming after him. “That must have been a sight worth seeing, Monty I wish I had been there. I did not even know you could dance.”
“And the same lady, Monty,” Hal added, “with whom you walked the length of the park just a day or two after the ball? And the same lady who is to spend two weeks of the summer at Cedarhurst?”
“Ah, you know about that, do you?” Jasper asked.
; “Merton mentioned it when I ran into him last evening,” Hal explained.
“Then you also know,” Jasper said, “that Merton himself and the eldest Miss Huxtable are to be at Cedarhurst too—all of them as guests of my sister.”
But his friends would only laugh.
He really must be more careful, Jasper decided. He had been enjoying the challenge of flirting with Katherine Huxtable so much that he had been neglecting the caution he had practiced for years. That very caution was his potential downfall now, of course. It was apparently so unusual to see Lord Montford spending more than thirty seconds at a time with any lady of ton that everyone and his dog sat up and noticed when he did.
It was not a problem that weighed heavily on his mind, though. Any incipient gossip would soon die down when he stayed away from the lady
The fresh morning air—even the water droplets against his face—felt invigorating. He looked forward to another day of pleasurable activities, beginning with this ride along an unusually empty Rotten Row. He urged his mount to a gallop, and his friends fell into place on either side of him.
The first inkling of trouble came to Katherine via Constantine. He came to call upon her and Margaret the afternoon following the garden party. They had stayed at home because the weather had turned. Fine drizzle had alternated with heavier rain all morning, and the clouds had begun to break up only when the afternoon was too far advanced for them to make plans for an outing.
They were glad they had remained at home when Constantine came. They both enjoyed his company and had it all too infrequently. He took tea with them and stayed for half an hour before getting to his feet to leave.
“The sun is trying its best to shine at last,” he said, looking toward the window “I brought my curricle with me. I can take only one passenger, I am afraid, or I would invite you both to take a turn about the park with me.”
“Thank you, but I would refuse anyway, Constantine,” Margaret said. “I find riding in sporting vehicles pure terror. I need a barouche or a gig or a closed carriage in order to feel safe.”
He stood smiling down at her.
“I will borrow a barouche one day, then,” he said, “and come back for you, Margaret. Would you care to ride up with me today, Katherine, or are you trembling in your slippers too?”
She had looked wistfully at the sunshine beyond the window when he had drawn their attention to it. She hated to spend a whole day indoors.
“I would love to come,” she said. “Give me a moment to fetch my bonnet.”
A short while later they were bowling through the park, and Katherine was happily admiring the scenery and observing the crowds from her high perch beside Constantine.
“I understand,” he said, “that you are to be Monty’s guest at Cedarhurst Park for two weeks in August, Katherine.”
“Yes, indeed. Meg and Stephen and I are all going,” she said. “But we are to be Miss Wrayburn’s guests at a house party in celebration of her eighteenth birthday.”
Why was she feeling defensive?
He maneuvered the curricle past the crowd of vehicles and pedestrians making the usual afternoon circuit. Soon they were on a long path that was relatively secluded.
“Katherine,” he said, “at the risk of sounding like a fussy chaperone, I must warn you to be very careful. Monty is dangling after you for some reason known only to him, and it is extremely unlikely that he has matrimony in mind. He never does.”
She felt a shock of indignation and… humiliation?
“Oh, this is really quite unnecessary, Constantine,” she said. “Is this why you brought me out here this afternoon, away from Meg? Because you feel somehow responsible for me? I have no idea why you would feel any such way when I have both Stephen and Elliott to protect me should I ever be in need of protection. And is it also because you do not trust me? I am twenty-three years old. I have learned a thing or two about life during all those years. I have certainly learned how to spot a—a rake. I know Lord Montford has a reputation for being one, and I would have known it for myself even if you had not told me so a long time ago. I am well able to handle any improper advances he may make toward me. He has not made any.”
“Not even three years ago?” he asked, causing her stomach muscles to clench. “I was not in London at the time, but I know you handled that situation very well indeed, discerning his intentions immediately and drawing him aside to deliver a scold and a blistering set-down. He confessed all to his peers the very next day Had he not, or had he in any way succeeded in what he had set out to do, I doubt he would be living now to boast of it and harass you again.”
Her heart felt suddenly as if it were beating at double time. He knew about that long- ago wager? Had known all this time? But he did not know the actual details of what had happened. Had Lord Montford lied in the retelling of that night’s events, then? Had he made her seem entirely blameless, even heroic? Had he made himself seem rather ridiculous?
“If you know about all that, then you ought to trust me now,” she said, somehow finding her voice. “I do not need a lecture from you, Constantine. Besides, you are Lord Montford’s friend. Do you not trust him?”
“Monty may feel that he has something to prove after that colossal failure,” he said. “It embarrassed him so much, by the way, that he left London afterward and stayed away for more than a year. He can be very charming when he chooses to be, Katherine. I have known him a long time, remember.”
“Perhaps,” she said, “he is merely being amiable.”
“Monty,” he said, “never dances. Yet he waltzed with you at Lady Parmeter’s ball. He never strolls in the park with a lady on his arm. Yet he strolled all the way to the Serpentine and back with you.”
“And with Meg and Stephen and his sister,” she said indignantly. “How foolish this is, Constantine.”
But he had not finished.
“And he sat for a whole hour with you in a secluded pavilion at the Adams’s garden party yesterday,” he said. “I was not there myself. But even allowing for the fact that reports can be exaggerated and it might have been half an hour and the pavilion and its occupants might have been fully visible to every other guest in attendance, nevertheless you were alone with Monty—and sitting very close to him—for quite long enough to attract attention. Some reports even have it that his arm was about your shoulders.”
…. for quite long enough to attract attention…
Some reports…
She felt suddenly cold.
“I would not have expected you to listen to idle gossip, Constantine,” she said. Her voice was all breathless and shaking.
“One cannot help listening,” he said, “when one is in a place where people all around one are constantly talking. I was in such a place last evening. I do not pay heed to ninety- nine out of every hundred snippets of gossip I hear. But when one of those snippets concerns a cousin of mine, and one of whom I am fond, then I do take notice.”
“It is wicked and ridiculous gossip,” she said. “What about all the other gentlemen I danced with at Lady Parmeter’s ball? Is anyone gossiping about them? And what about the fact that Meg walked one way to the Serpentine on Lord Montford’s arm while I walked with Stephen and Miss Wrayburn? Is anyone gossiping about Meg? And we were together no longer than half an hour yesterday in a pavilion made entirely of glass a mere few yards from the terrace and lawn where most of the other guests were congregated. Meg was out on the river with the Marquess of Allingham for longer than I was sitting with Lord Montford. Is anyone gossiping about them? And Lord Montford did not have his arm about my shoulders. It was draped across the back of the seat because it was narrow He did not once touch me.”
“I can understand your anger, Katherine,” he said, turning the curricle onto a path that would take them back onto the main thoroughfare. “But I am not sure you understand the ton. Gossip does not have to be based on pure truth. It is built upon half- truths and perceptions and exaggerations and speculations and the human tende
ncy to think the worst of others and even to enjoy thinking it. And Monty has been behaving out of character, you know. He never singles out any lady at any social event. The fact that he has done so now more than once with the same lady accounts for the notice everyone is taking. Unfortunately, you are the object of his attentions. I will have a word with him—he really ought to know better and doubtless does. His trouble is that he does not care a fig what the ton thinks of him. Please do be careful. Not of your virtue—I know that is safe. But of your reputation. Monty is trouble, Katherine, even if he is my friend.”
They had emerged from the cover of trees. The sun was now shining in earnest, and Katherine raised her parasol above her head.
“This was all very unnecessary, Constantine,” she said, “but I will remember that it comes from your concern for me. And I always appreciate that. How I wish we had known each other from childhood on as we ought to have done since we are cousins. I would have known Jonathan too. I am sure I would have loved him.”
Jonathan had been Constantine’s younger brother— his legitimate brother and Earl of Merton for a while after their father’s death. He had been handicapped and had died at the age of sixteen, leaving Stephen the title and properties and fortune. Constantine had once described his brother as pure love.
He turned his head and grinned at her.
“Anxious to change the subject, are you?” he asked. “Very well, then. Yes, you would have loved Jon, and he would have adored you. All of you.”
Katherine relaxed and tried to enjoy the rest of the outing.
But part of her was almost numb with shock.
There was gossip about her. About her and Lord Montford of all people.
And she was at least partly to blame. She might have said no when he asked her to dance at Lady Parmeter’s ball. She might have insisted upon taking Stephen’s arm for the walk back through Hyde Park from the Serpentine and left Lord Montford to escort Meg or his sister. She might have told him yesterday quite firmly that she wished to be alone in the pavilion. Better yet, she might have got to her feet, bidden him a civil good day, and left him there.