A MERRY CHASE

by VICTORIA MALVEY

  "Exactly what did you say?" he asked, closing the distance between them.

  Feeling much like prey within the sights of a hawk, Laurel struggled to remain cool, unaffected by his probing gaze. "I informed a notorious gossip, Lady Winthrop, that you'd made a wager about an unnamed lady, betting that you could claim her for your bride with a minimum of fuss. And, I might add, I was most disparaging about the appropriateness of your actions. After all, wagering on a lady hardly behooves an honorable gentleman."

  For a moment, Royce was silent, then he let forth a bark of laughter loud enough to make her jump.

  "I fail to see what is so amusing," she said stiffly.

  "Don't you understand what you did?" he finally asked. "You've declared me tender meat before the pack of hungry dogs."

  Lifting her chin, Laurel held her ground as Royce took yet another step forward. "I did nothing of the sort."

  "I beg to differ, my dear," Royce returned. "Don't you realize that Lady Winthrop probably didn't hear anything other than I'd chosen my future bride?"

  "Don't be ridiculous. Of course she heard me."

  Royce's eyes darkened as he searched her face in the moonlit garden. "Can you truly be that naive, Laurel?"

  Something in his look made her catch her breath, even though his question annoyed her. It seemed easier to focus in upon the anger than upon the other, more disturbing emotions he aroused within her. "I assure you, my lord, I am no longer the innocent girl I once was."

  "How often do you need to tell yourself that before you believe it?"

  His soft whisper reached down inside of her, stroking an unwilling response. Still, she denied it. "Once is enough, because it is nothing less than the truth."

  Slowly, he lifted his hand, trailing the backs of his fingers down her cheek. "That is precisely what you'd like everyone to believe," he murmured in low, even tones. "Yet deep inside of you is a vulnerable woman searching for a way to be free from all the locks you place upon your emotions."

  His words jarred her, but it seemed far too difficult to concentrate on them, to make sense of what he was saying. "No," she rasped finally as his hand curved against her cheek, the gentle touch making her want to close her eyes and give herself up to the delicious desires swirling within her.

  "Why don't you spare us both this game, Laurel, and surrender to your feelings?"

  The question slammed into her. Jerking back, Laurel drew herself upward. "A game," she repeated, her voice reverberating with her anger. "That is precisely the reason that I will never surrender to you, my Lord. You're simply playing a game, uncaring that you toy with emotions and feelings." Knowing she'd revealed far too much, Laurel broke off. With much effort, she forced a smile onto her face. "Consider our agreement null and void, Lord Van Cleef. In fact, I shall do everything in my power to make certain that you're tormented by every title hunting mother in all of England."

  Royce scowled at her. "You wouldn't dare!"

  Tossing back her head, Laurel placed her hands upon her hips. "Would you care to make a wager on that?"

  His frown deepened. "If that is an attempt at humor, you fell short of the mark."

  "I beg to differ," she replied lightly. "Only one thing will prove more amusing to me." Stepping forward, she patted Royce upon the cheek, her manner condescending and insulting. "I shall very much enjoy watching you be hunted to the ground. Let us see how you like it."

  And with that, she strode away.

  * * *

  At this point, Royce wasn't certain if he wanted to marry Laurel or strangle her. Undoubtedly a little bit of both. The past few days had been horrid. He'd been unable to go anywhere without hordes of eligible beauties surrounding him. Feeling as if a thousand eyes lay trained upon him, Royce entered White's through the servants entrance, unwilling to take a chance that some overeager mama might catch sight of him before he could escape inside. Quite a few servants glanced at him askance as he wound his way through the narrow corridors up into the main salon.

  Sighing deeply, Royce lowered himself into a chair, relishing the respite. At least here, he'd be safe…

  "Ho, Tewksbury, mind if I join you?"

  The moment he laid eyes upon Lord St. John he wondered if he'd spoken too soon. The fellow's daughter, Margaret, had been most persistent in her pursuit, but then Lord St. John would hardly press her interest. Not here in White's. Forcing himself to relax, he waved his hand toward the empty seat opposite him.

  "I've been hoping I might spot you today," began Lord St. John, settling onto the stiff brocade.

  "Oh?" Wincing at the weak answer, Royce tried to strum up more enthusiasm for the conversation … but failed miserably.

  "Indeed," Lord St. John tugged at his cravat. "Normally, I wouldn't dream of being so bold, but as my little Margaret has cried her eyes out over the past few days, I feel it is my duty as a father to—"

  "Excuse me," Royce interrupted. He knew he was being rude, but he wouldn't, no, he couldn't, listen to any more. "I hate to cut you off, St. John, but I see Lord Simmons across the way and since I had arranged to meet him here, I feel it only right that I greet him immediately."

  "Perhaps I can walk you over," Lord St. John said, moving to rise from his chair.

  "No!" The word burst from Royce before he could help himself. Trying to soften his response, he smiled down at the older man, patting him on the shoulder. "What I mean is that you look so comfortable here and I'd hate to disturb you."

  "But its fine if—"

  "No," Royce repeated. "I'm afraid I'll have to insist. It's not often that a man is afforded an opportunity to relax."

  "True, but I had wanted an opportunity to speak with you."

  "Perhaps later."

  The vague promise seemed to settle Lord St. John, who nodded briskly. "Very well, then."

  Feeling like a belabored man finally tasting freedom, Royce hurried over to Lord Simmons and swiftly took the seat across from him.

  As Lord Simmons glanced up in surprise, Royce leaned forward to whisper, "I hope I'm not interrupting you, sir, but I fear I'm in need of rescuing." He tilted his head toward Lord St. John. "It would appear I'm not safe anywhere these days."

  Chuckling, Lord Simmons leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. "I believe that is the doing of my sweet Laurel."

  "I beg your pardon, but I would choose other words to describe your daughter," grumbled Royce under his breath, far too put out at the moment to hide his annoyance at Laurel.

  "I imagine you would."

  Flushing, Royce straightened in his chair. "Forgive me, sir. I spoke out of turn."

  "Never apologize for the truth, Van Cleef," Lord Simmons grinned at him. "I can only imagine the torment my daughter has caused you."

  "It is acute, I assure you."

  "Knowing Laurel, I would expect nothing less."

  Royce leaned back. "I knew you'd understand my problem, which is why I sought shelter with you." Rubbing a hand against his temple, he tilted up one side of his mouth. "I must say I find it ironic that the one person from whom I'd welcome matchmaking efforts is the only one not in the least interested in me as a prospective son-in-law."

  "I never said that," Lord Simmons said with a shake of his head. "I merely told you I wouldn't help you court my daughter."

  "I wish you'd reconsider, sir, for Laurel is proving most elusive."

  "Out of respect for my daughter, I feel it best if I stay out of the matter." Lifting his hand, Lord Simmons began to study his fingernails. "However, if I happened to mention, in the normal course of our conversation, mind you, that Laurel is attending Hammington's weekend party at their country estate, I couldn't be held accountable." His lips twitched as he paused. "Now, could I?"

  "Absolutely not," Royce agreed with a slow grin. "Not at all."

  * * *

  Sipping at her tea, Laurel chatted with the other ladies sitting with her in the Hammingtons' garden. The inconsequential conversation soothed her ragged nerves. Af
ter her confrontation with Royce, she'd felt the need to escape the city, so she'd accepted the Hammingtons' invitation without hesitation.

  "I'm so happy that you could join us this weekend, Lady Laurel," Lady Hammington said brightly. "How fortunate for us that your schedule freed up enough for you to get away from the city.

  "I am the lucky one," Laurel corrected. "And I do so appreciate you finding rooms for both Miss Nash and me."

  Waving a hand dismissively, Lady Hammington rushed to reassure Laurel. "Don't worry one moment about it, my dear. I was more than happy to rearrange the rooms." Reaching out, she patted Laurel on the knee. "Besides, you're not the only one who decided to come at the last minute,"

  "That makes your effort no less appreciated."

  Lady Hammington took a sip of her tea. "You are most gracious, Lady Laurel. It is an attribute sorely lacking in most young ladies these days," she finished with a pointed look at the other three women in their circle.

  "I beg to disagree," Royce murmured smoothly as he stepped into the garden bower. "Most of the ladies of my acquaintance are quite gracious, though it hardly comes as a surprise to me. After all, when they have an example like you to follow, it could only stand to reason that they are paragons of womanly grace."

  Once she got over the shock of seeing him, it was all Laurel could do to keep from rolling her eyes at Royce's flattery. Still, she found Lady Hammington's response amusing. "Ah, my," the older woman fluttered, pressing a hand to her bodice. "With such charm, my lord, it is little wonder that you are the most eligible catch of the season."

  He lifted his gaze to Laurel. "I fear my intentions are already well and truly caught."

  Lady Hammington's expression danced with curiosity. "By whom?" she asked, leaning forward in her chair. "Do tell."

  Holding her breath, Laurel prayed Royce wouldn't be so foolhardy as to claim his intentions. Lord, what would it take to dissuade the man from following her?

  "Yes," urged Lydia Chapel as she shifted so close to the edge of her chair that Laurel was surprised that the ninny didn't fall upon the ground. "I'm positively dying to hear who you've settled upon for your wife."

  Royce tilted one of his eyebrows upward as he caught Laurel's attention once more. The gleam in his eyes didn't bode well. "Yes, Lord Van Cleef, do tell us who you've chosen for your bride," she said softly, forcing her lips into a smile. "We've all heard the rumors about your intentions and, as Lady Hammington pointed out, you are quite the catch. Why, with your title and charm, you could choose anyone."

  "However my tastes are most discerning," Royce replied, one side of his mouth quirking upward.

  "I would expect no less." Rising from her chair, Laurel moved to stand behind Lydia, Juliana, and Millicent, her three young companions. "You might have even chosen one of these lovely ladies, isn't that so, my lord? Each one possesses beauty, grace, and a fine pedigree."

  "Pedigree?" squeaked Juliana. "That pertains to hounds and horses, not people."

  Crossing his arms, Royce grinned at her. "I do believe Lady Juliana is correct."

  Flushing, Laurel forged onward. "A slip of the tongue," she replied blithely. "I meant to say lineage."

  The three ladies nodded, appeased.

  "Anyway, my point is that Lord Van Cleef could have chosen one of you." Placing her hands on the back of their settee, Laurel bent down to urge them. "So, I do believe it would be in your best interests if you informed him of your unblotted reputations."

  Eagerly, they bounded up from their seats, pressing forward. Satisfaction filled her as she watched the three hopeful brides plead their case with Royce. Wiggling one finger of farewell at him, Laurel slipped quietly from the garden as Lady Hammington began to chastise the girls, begging them to show a bit of decorum.

  * * *

  Late night shadows arched in the deserted hallway as Royce crept toward Laurel's door. Since she'd avoided him during the day, he had no other recourse but to seek her out after she'd retired to her room. Not wanting to be discovered, he tried to make as little noise as possible as he placed his hand upon the doorknob to Laurel's room.

  Hearing footsteps coming around the corner, Royce darted across the hall, pressing himself into a doorway, hoping the darkness of the hallway would shelter him. As soon as he spotted the man in his long dressing gown, Royce knew he didn't need to worry about being discovered lurking outside Laurel's room. The man appeared preoccupied; obviously he'd arranged a little midnight rendezvous.

  The shock that rippled through Royce when the other man stopped in front of Laurel's door soon grew into outrage. "You there," he rasped harshly, careful to keep his voice low. "What are you doing at that door?"

  A muffled curse reverberated down the hallway as the man knocked his elbow against the doorjamb. His startled expression darkened into dread. "You," the man whispered, obviously recognizing Royce.

  Between the darkness of the corridor and the tilt of the midnight caller's nightcap, Royce couldn't identify the man. "Just what do you think you're doing, entering that chamber?" he demanded, stepping forward.

  Hastily, the man shook his head and took a step backward, tripping slightly on his robe.

  Before Royce could question him further, the man turned and ran back around the corner and down the hallway. Royce watched him flee and promised himself that he would find out the man's identity. What bloody business could the man have had with Laurel—and in the middle of the night, no less—Royce wondered as he opened the door to Laurel's room and slipped quietly inside.

  * * *

  The sound of frenzied whispering, angry whispering at that, froze Laurel in her tracks. It would hardly do to be found traipsing down the hallway in nothing but her nightclothes. Though she'd only been exchanging the days events with Harriet, she'd been unwise to slip down the corridor without first redonning her gown. Still, it was too late for regrets now.

  Hesitantly, Laurel peeked around the corner to see who was lingering about the hall. The sight of Royce entering her room stunned her. What did he think to accomplish by sneaking into her room at night? The sheer audacity of the man amazed her. Hurrying back to Harriet's room, Laurel entered without a knock. "You won't believe what I just saw."

  Putting down her hairbrush, Harriet hurried toward Laurel. "Are you all right? You're positively pale."

  "Fine," Laurel said quickly. "Though I can't say that would be true if I'd stayed in my room this evening."

  Harriet's eyes widened in anticipation.

  "I just saw Royce sneaking into my room."

  "No," Harriet returned, disbelief coloring her voice. "He wouldn't dare."

  "Well, he did," Moving forward to the bed, Laurel sank down upon the covers. "What can he be thinking?"

  "That he wants to win this game of his … regardless of how he accomplishes that goal," Harriet said solemnly.

  "I don't know what he'd hoped to accomplish, but I won't allow him to go sneaking around sullying my reputation. Can you imagine if anyone had seen him?" Just the thought of that horrid possibility sent Laurel to her feet. She needed to put a stop to his outlandish behavior. Now. "Do you have something I can write on?"

  Harriet searched the lady's desk for some foolscap. "What are you going to do?"

  "Find someone to roust that irksome man from my room."

  * * *

  Where the devil could she be? Was it possible that all her talk of kisses and enjoying the charms of suitors had been true? Did she get impatient waiting for her midnight caller? Who was that blasted man anyway? When he imagined some other man kissing Laurel, tasting those delectable lips, stroking that silky flesh, well, he just wanted to—

  Breaking off his thoughts, Royce forced himself to unclench his fists before he gave in to his desire to smash something. Besides, it would hardly win Laurel over if she saw him pummeling the wall. He already had enough black marks against him; he didn't need to add more.

  The creak of the doorknob turning caught Royce's attention. As the door slowl
y opened, Royce clasped his hands behind his back, and began, "Good evening, Laurel. How lovely—"

  His words choked him. "What in the bloody hell do you think you're doing?"

  "I could ask the same of you," Steven returned as he quietly shut the door behind him.

  "You could, but I wouldn't answer," Royce took another step forward. "I know my intentions are honorable, but I doubt I can say the same about yours."

  "I hate to disappoint you, old friend, but I'm here at the lady's request," Lifting his hand, Steven waved the missive he held within his grasp.

  "Let me see that," Royce muttered as he grabbed the note. As he read Laurel's letter, Royce's first reaction was relief—relief that she hadn't sent Steven an illicit invitation. The feeling, however, was short-lived. "She sent you to 'roust' me?"

  "Indeed," acknowledged Steven, tugging on his jacket. "Apparently I've been enlisted as her shining knight this evening."

  Royce chuckled aloud.

  "What's so amusing? Can't you see me as a brave knight come to rescue the maiden fair from the hands of the evil villain?" asked Steven with a broad smile.

  Eyeing his friend, Royce shook his head. "No, if the truth be told. I don't suppose that you mentioned to Laurel how often I've trounced you in the sparring ring at Minton's."

  Steven's smile quickly turned into a frown. "What the devil does that have to do with anything?"

  "Only that you couldn't 'roust' me if you tried," Royce pointed out.

  "I beg to differ," Steven sputtered indignantly.

  Royce didn't even answer the protest, settling instead on simply crossing his arms and allowing his silence to speak for him.

  Annoyance flashed in Steven's gaze. "Don't get too cocky, Royce, for the moment you do, you'll be caught unawares."

  "I highly doubt that—"

  Before Royce could finish his sentence, Steven lunged at him, causing Royce to shift to the side and shove Steven toward the bed. On his way down, Steven reached out and grabbed hold on Royce's shirtfront, effectively dragging Royce onto the bed right after him.