Emerald

by Lauren Royal

  She nearly tripped, even though Kendra's gown was a couple of inches too short, and she'd thought she was becoming rather competent walking in the absurd English high heels.

  He took her arm to escort her across the busy street. "You're quiet," he said, his gaze safely fastened on the traffic. "If it's because I deceived you, I'm very sorry. But I had my reasons. Though damned if I can remember what they were."

  "My head is awhirl," she admitted as they dodged a sedan chair. "I never thought to find myself in London at all, let alone attending a play and a ball. I mean to enjoy it. Though I fully intend to be angry with you tomorrow."

  "I don't doubt it," he said dryly. He headed toward a flat-fronted brick building with tall, rectangular windows that looked similar to the ones on his house and most of the others around the square.

  "The windows are enormous." Cait looked up in awe. "The building must hold a thousand people."

  "About right," he said, although she'd been fooling. A thousand people in one building. The concept was mind-boggling. "I don't suppose you see Palladian windows in Scotland. As for the size of the theater, it used to be a tennis court."

  "A tennis court, really?" A wooden sign leaned against the wall, advertising the day's performance. Caithren read aloud. "'Sir William D'Avenant presents The Duke's Company in Sir Martin Mar-All, or The Feign'd Innocence, by John Dryden, adapted from Molière's L'étourdi, as translated by William Cavendish, Duke of Newcastle.' Whew. I am suitably impressed."

  "Nothing like London pretension." Jason laughed as he ushered her toward the entrance. "Word is the play was conceived by Newcastle, but corrected by Dryden." He counted out eight shillings and handed them to the doorkeeper. "A side box, if you please."

  Inside, the large windows allowed plenty of afternoon light to illuminate both the stage and the patrons. "We must make haste." Jason sought out their box. "The play will begin momentarily. They have to finish before dark."

  A symphony played onstage, but Cait could barely hear the tune over the theater's noisy assemblage. People in the middle gallery were seated for the most part, but those in the pit were milling around, talking and laughing, some of them even fighting. Scantily dressed orange girls circulated among the crowd, offering their sweet, juicy treats in a singsong chant. Caithren suspected some of the young bucks were buying more than fruit.

  The upper tier had no seats—it was crammed with people leaning over the rails. Jason led her up a flight of stairs and into a quite-civilized private box that sat off to one side, equipped with four chairs. No one else had been seated there yet, so they took the two in front.

  "Never did I think to see so many people in one place," Cait said as she adjusted her skirts. "And so many sorts of people as well. I imagined only the wealthy would attend the theater in London."

  "At the price of one shilling"—Jason gestured toward the top—"many can afford to be entertained. Footmen and coachmen are admitted free near the end."

  "Who would want to come at the end?" she wondered. "You wouldn't know what was happening."

  He took her hand. "Most folk don't seem to pay attention anyway."

  He was right. Despite a lot of hush-hushing that rippled through the crowd when the curtains opened, no one seemed to quiet down much when the play began. The patrons in the pit scrambled to take seats on the backless benches, and Cait was distracted by more than one brawl before everyone was settled.

  The play was a piece of humor, a complete farce from one end to the other. Caithren found herself laughing not only at the actors, but also at the comments and suggestions shouted to them from the audience. "Look behind you!" someone yelled, and she dissolved in mirth when the performer did just that. The spectators' robust criticism was entertaining as well.

  A few minutes into the performance, a couple entered their box and sat behind them. When Jason and Cait both turned around and smiled, Cait's jaw dropped open at the sight of the haughty lady's gown. Fashioned of screaming yellow satin, the gown's train was so long it trailed into the corridor, and the neckline was so low, Cait half-expected the woman's ample bosom to pop out. Jason saw the look on her face and began to laugh, but she squeezed his hand until he settled down.

  The stage was unlike any she'd ever seen. The first time the painted background moved, she gasped.

  "I take it there's no moving scenery back home," Jason whispered.

  "There's no scenery at all. Traveling players come to Insch sometimes and perform in whatever place is handy. I've never been in a real theater."

  She watched, fascinated, while stagehands manipulated the scene. The curtains weren't closed for this, and actresses sang and danced at the front of the stage to entertain the audience during the change. Many people whistled and cheered, apparently enjoying the between-scenes acts more than the play itself.

  Though she laughed at all the buffoonery, Caithren's attention wandered between the play and Jason's hand in hers. After a while, he moved his chair closer, and the press of his thigh against her skirts was distracting. She could feel his warmth. When he draped his arm across the back of her chair, she laid her head on his shoulder and sighed, wondering if she'd ever see him again.

  Tomorrow she'd find Adam, and then it would be time to head back home. Adam might even attend tonight's ball, in which case she could start for home immediately.

  A tiny part of her almost hoped he wouldn't be there, after all.

  All too soon the play was over, and they rose to depart. "I've never laughed so much in all my life," she told Jason. "I thank you for bringing me."

  He flashed a smile that sent her pulses to racing. "Nothing could make me happier than seeing you enjoy yourself."

  A throat cleared behind them. He swung her around and introduced her to their box companions, Lord and Lady Martindale, who said they were going to the ball as well. Lady Martindale leaned close, her sausagelike fingers reaching for Caithren's amulet. "A lovely, large emerald," she said with a sniff, "but my heavens, the mounting looks like it's been around since the Crusades."

  Cait snatched it from her hand and held it possessively. "It has."

  The woman pulled back in surprise, her blond curls seeming to shudder along with her. "You're young, so perhaps you don't know that fashionable people have their jewels reset every few years."

  "I'm not fashionable. I'm Scottish."

  Jason stifled a laugh while Lord Martindale took his wife by the arm. "That will do, my dear," he said, making Cait a small bow. Lady Martindale looked at her curiously as they said their good-byes and left.

  Jason took Cait's hand again and drew her to the stairs. "Lady Martindale is wondering what you're doing with a provincial Scot," she commented.

  "Bosh." He paused to let his gaze wander her figure-hugging gown. "You look damned English tonight."

  "Not when I open my mouth."

  He grinned at that and kissed her smack on the lips.

  As she laughed and pulled him out of the theater, she couldn't help thinking he was acting mighty strange this eve—as though he were determined to show her a good time even if it killed him.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  "Hmm." As a footman ushered them into Lady Carson's home, Jason glanced around at the many curious faces. "I suspect Lady Martindale has arrived before us."

  Before Cait could comment, their hostess rushed up to greet them. "Lord Cainewood? Why, I hardly recognized you without the mustache. You look like your brother." She smoothed her lavender lace skirt. "Do come in. Your attendance is a delightful surprise. And this is Lady…?"

  When Jason blinked, Cait wondered if he felt put on the spot. "Lady Carson," he said, "may I introduce—"

  "Caithren Leslie," she piped up for herself. "Of Leslie Manor in Leslie by Insch, Scotland." Though she'd made up the manor part, her father had been a baronet.

  "Lady Leslie," Lady Carson gushed. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

  "Lady Caithren." Jason corrected the name, but not, Cait noticed, the unw
arranted title. "My companion is yet unmarried."

  "Ah, I see."

  Cait thought Lady Carson saw all too much. "I'm glad of your acquaintance," she told her, her gaze wandering the crowded entrance hall. Many people were looking their way, the ladies rather obviously gossiping behind fancy upheld fans. She wondered if they were discussing Jason's new look, or her, his mysterious companion.

  She was certain she'd find Adam here. He must be in London by now, and he'd never miss a social occasion like this.

  "Lady Carson," she ventured. "I am wondering if my brother is on your guest list. Adam Leslie?"

  "Adam Leslie? Not that I'm aware of. Though my balls are often attended by many uninvited." Her tone said she proud of that fact. And she seemed thrilled to have a new face at her party, because the next thing she said was, "Come, let me introduce you to some of my guests."

  Cait could only gawk as the tall, elegant woman led them through an enormous entry hall and past a few other large, well-lit chambers, one set aside for card playing, another for the ladies to freshen up. In yet another room, long tables groaned with food and drink. If Cait had thought Jason's house was impressive, she was positively bowled over by Lady Carson's abode. It could only be described as a mansion.

  They were ushered into a chamber that Caithren thought looked out of a fairy tale, where the ball was in full swing. Illuminated by hundreds of candles in chandeliers overhead, masses of glittering guests danced, ate, and conversed. The ballroom's glass-paned doors opened onto a vast garden that Cait was shocked to find in the middle of London.

  "Ah, Lady Haversham." Lady Carson snagged a pale, elfin woman by the arm. "May I present a guest of Lord Cainewood's, Lady Caithren. From Scotland," she added in a conspiratorial voice, as though that fact alone should be of significant interest.

  "I'm glad of your acquaintance," Cait said again with a little curtsy. "I'm wondering if you've seen my brother, Adam—"

  "If you'll excuse us," Jason interjected smoothly, "I've someone I need to see. Ladies." He nodded politely, took Caithren's arm, and dragged her all the way back to the entry hall, which was all but deserted now that the most-anticipated guests—Jason and Caithren, apparently—had arrived.

  Pulling her into the shadows behind a large column, he gathered her into his arms. Before she could voice a protest, his mouth came down on hers, and anything she might have said was smothered by his lips.

  Caithren's heart raced as his tongue plundered her mouth. She kissed him back with wild abandon. He truly was a changed man tonight, and she wasn't sure she wanted to know why.

  She'd rather just enjoy it for now.

  When he finally drew back, she stared at him, dumbfounded. Her knees felt like pudding, but his strong arms held her up when she would have slumped against the tapestried wall. "I've been wanting to do that since we got to London," he said.

  "Oh, aye?" She blinked at him, confused. "You had ample opportunity in your carriage on the way across town. It took forever to negotiate the traffic."

  "I had other things on my mind." His fingers traced her jaw, then he tapped the little black heart on her cheek and leaned to kiss her forehead. "Come, let's dance."

  As quickly as he'd dragged her away from the ballroom, he pulled her back in. The musicians were playing a sedate tune, the melody accompanied by scrapes and taps of dancers' shoes and the soft swish of ladies' gowns as they traversed the polished-wood floor in an elegant configuration.

  Caithren licked her lips and cast a worried glance at Jason. "I-I cannot dance."

  He smiled down at her, prodding her closer to the dance floor with a hand at her back. "I seem to remember you dancing with the Gypsies."

  "But not like this!" she exclaimed, tripping over the blasted high heels.

  He caught her. "It's a simple pattern. I'll give you two minutes to watch. Two," he warned with mock severity.

  The music was eight beats, and the dancers balanced on their toes. Short gliding steps, a change of balance, a pause every third and seventh beat. Cait thought she had it figured out—until suddenly the women ran around the men and they all did a little hop.

  "I cannot tell what they're doing," she complained. Just then the dancers bowed and curtsied. "Anyway, it's over," she said with more than a little relief.

  "Ah, but there will be another."

  Following some discordant re-tuning, the musicians launched into a country dance, not so different from those Cait was used to at her village dances in Leslie. "This one I can do," she declared and let Jason swirl her into the crowd.

  All her reservations melted away. It was heaven being in his arms, and it didn't even seem to bother him in front of all society.

  Though the dance was energetic, she couldn't keep her eyes from his clean-shaven face. "You don't look like Ford."

  "Ford?" They crossed arms and switched sides. "You have the most disconcerting habit of starting a conversation midstream. Where did that come from?"

  "Lady Carson. She said you look like your brother."

  "Ah." He twirled her around. "She referred to my other brother, Colin. And yes, I expect with my hair cut and without my mustache, we do look somewhat alike. Green eyes and black hair. He's always kept his shorter. Prefers convenience over fashion, in all things."

  "I like him already." The music came to a close, and she curtsied. "What other siblings are you hiding?"

  "Only a sister-in-law. Colin is married." He led her from the dance floor. "Her name is Amethyst, but we call her Amy."

  "The woman who gave you the watch."

  "That's right." Another country dance followed the first, and he swept her back out and into the double line, leaving her with the women while he stood across from her with the men. "Amy used to be a jeweler. Or rather, she still is a jeweler, but without a shop. Colin is building her a workshop at Greystone, their home."

  "Greystone," she murmured, clapping her hands and then touching them to the women's on either side of her. She remembered him chuckling at seeing that name on an inn. "Your brother married a commoner?"

  Coming closer, he smiled down at her. "We Chases don't play by the rules."

  "I've noticed." The dance separated them for a moment before they came back together. "You certainly don't play backgammon by the rules."

  "I'm not a cheater. If I'm ahead five matches, that's only proof of my skill."

  "Ha!" Linking arms, they skipped in a circle. "You distracted me with your bare chest. That is hardly playing fair."

  She was getting breathless by the time a portly gentleman tapped Jason on the shoulder. "May I claim the pleasure?" he asked.

  Jason didn't look very happy. But he pulled Caithren from the dance and introduced her to the man, a Lord Berkeley.

  "It's glad I am to make your acquaintance," Cait said. "And by any chance, have you seen my bro—"

  "Beg pardon," Jason interrupted. "We must be off." And he propelled her back to the entry and the shadow of the post.

  "Wait." With two hands on his chest, she stopped him when he would have kissed her again. "Why don't you want me to ask after my brother?"

  "I only want to kiss you," he protested, drawing her close. His warm breath washed over her face, and she felt dizzy. "I don't know what's come over me, but I cannot keep my hands off you." To demonstrate, he ran them down her back, all the way to her bottom.

  Her pulse sped up, but she wasn't going to fall for this seduction. "Do you think my head laces up the back?"

  His hands froze on her. "Pardon?"

  "Don't take me for a fool. You're trying to keep me from Adam, and I want to know why."

  He caught her gaze with his. "I want only to be with you tonight. Besides, do you really think you'd fail to notice your brother were he here?"

  He had a point. And when his lips captured hers, she was afraid he made that point completely. So much so that she was tempted to drag him down to the floor and make him follow through.

  Oh, how she wanted that. One more time before she fo
und Adam and headed back home.

  The footman opened and closed the front door, admitting a new guest, but Caithren barely noticed the footsteps or low murmur of the servants' awed acknowledgments. Jason's tongue was tracing her mouth, his teeth were nibbling her lower lip. She wound her arms around his neck and twined her fingers in his thick hair.

  "Cainewood, is that you?" The voice was deep, the words drawled and amused. "Od's fish, I cannot wait to see the lady who's taken your fancy."

  Caithren pulled away and stared up at a tall, dark stranger. Heat flooded her cheeks, and arousal and embarrassment made her feel weak as a newborn bairn.

  Jason turned her to face the man square on.

  "Egads," the man said. "What happened to your hair and face?"

  "A long story, best told another time. Sire, this is Caithren Leslie." The fact that he hadn't called her by the invented Lady title was not lost on Cait, even in her confused state. "Caithren, King Charles."

  King Charles? She felt the blood drain from her face. Jason supported her with one steady arm. "It-it's pleased I am to make your acquaintance," she said by rote. She caught herself before reciting the "have you seen my brother" part. "Your Majesty," she added instead with a tremulous smile.

  The king reached down to take her hand and raise it to his lips for a kiss. His eyes burned into hers, a sensual, compelling black. "A pleasure to meet you, my dear. The lady who captures Cainewood's heart is a special one, indeed."

  He was still holding her hand. Her heart was beating like it wished to escape her chest. She wanted to drop into the intricate parquet floor. Which was ridiculous. He was but a man.

  "Love's wan e'e and ower deef," she blethered.

  The king dropped her hand. "Pardon?"

  "Caithren likes to quote her mother's favorite sayings," Jason explained. "Scottish wisdom."

  "I'm of Scottish descent, but sorely lacking in wisdom." In a gesture that reminded her of Jason, Charles stroked his thin mustache. "And this saying means…?"

  "Love is almost blind and a bit deaf," Cait interpreted.