Lady Bullfinch shrugged. ‘You would not have known of your loss.’ Her expression was grave, but her eyes twinkled. For a brief moment, she reminded him of Miss Swifton.
He wished she was Miss Swifton. He liked Lady Bullfinch’s direct ways, but he had not come to visit her, after all.
The door opened, and Miss Swifton stepped in. He stood. She wore a honey-coloured riding dress, cut in military style. She had clearly returned from a ride – in Hyde Park, undoubtedly. Her eyes sparkled with the exercise, her cheeks were ruddy, and long tendrils of hair toppled down on to her face. All in all she had the look of a woman who had experienced an exhilarating interlude. He wondered if she would look like that after he had bedded her.
He stifled the image as quickly as it popped up. He had called on her only because he was trying to rescue her from a villain’s intentions. What the devil was he doing thinking of her in his bed?
He distracted himself by speculating whether she rode alone or in company. It was unlikely that she had ridden alone at the fashionable hour. Most likely she had a companion. He felt a sudden twinge as he thought of her riding with some young gentleman, one of her admirers. He restrained the impulse to ask her with whom she had been.
Then it occurred to him that she might have ridden with Neave. The image of them trotting through the park, conversing and laughing, threw him into a rage. While he sat and exchanged on-dits with her relations, she was blithely doing exactly what he was trying to prevent. He gritted his teeth.
He realized that she was standing in front of him, and he was practically growling at her.
‘Lord Thorwynn?’
‘I’m sorry,’ he replied, not having heard a word she said. ‘I’m afraid I did not hear you.’ He sounded very brusque. That would not do at all.
‘I simply said that it was an unexpected pleasure.’
‘Hardly unexpected, since I sent you notice that I would call.’
Her eyebrows came together in a frown. ‘You did not receive my note? I sent a reply immediately.’
He had received it, of course, and ignored it, but she was offering him a way to explain his presence, so he took it.
‘I left home early this morning to take care of business, and I have not been back since.’
One auburn eyebrow flicked up, but she said nothing to contradict him. He had a distinct feeling that she did not believe him.
‘Pray take a seat, Lord Thorwynn,’ she said. ‘If you will give me just a minute, I will rejoin you. I don’t wish to sit in the parlour smelling of horses.’
‘You could never smell of horses,’ he said gallantly. He could have kicked himself in the next moment when she raised yet another eyebrow. Well, there was no rescuing the situation. Might as was well just grin and bear it.
He grinned. ‘I meant,’ he said, laying his cards on the table and hoping she would be willing to let it pass, ‘that a fresh outdoor horse smell never hurt anyone.’
Her mouth twitched, and a small spark lit up her eyes. ‘Indeed? Would you care to wager on my chances if I attended a ball smelling of horses?’
‘In my days,’ said Lady Bullfinch, intervening, ‘no one bothered with baths. They were thought unhealthy. And they were, since it was nearly impossible to find clean water anywhere near London. I remember my parents telling me that when Queen Caroline decided to set aside a special room for a bath tub, and proceeded to bathe once a week, she was thought extremely odd. Of course, even she, daring as she was, bathed with the protection of a linen shift.’
The expression on Lady Talbrook’s face left no doubt as to her opinion on that matter.
Lady Bullfinch laughed. ‘We did use more perfumes than people do these days. I could say, in fact, that we washed ourselves in cologne,’ she said. ‘But I admit bathing is much more pleasant.’
‘Well, I would not give up my baths for anything,’ said Julia.
The vision of Miss Swifton naked in her bath intruded in his mind. He followed her every move as she soaped herself languidly.
They had all turned to him, waiting for an answer. To what? What had they asked?
‘I,’ he said, ‘I agree.’ What was happening to him? Perhaps it was time to pay a visit to the Golden Widow. It had been a while since their last frolic.
‘Since the general opinion seems to be that I need not change, I’ll remain downstairs.’ She settled down on a settee, as far away, Lionel noted, as she could possibly be from him.
Now that he had her attention, he realized, he did not know what to say to her. Confound it! He had only one thing to say. He wanted her to stay away from Neave. But that was the very thing he couldn’t tell her. It occurred to him that he should have appealed to her grandmother for help while he had the chance.
Meanwhile, while he waited for her, she had been out with Neave. Ridiculous was hardly the word. He had been on a fool’s errand, and he had accomplished nothing.
Irritation flared up and grabbed him by the throat.
He really had nothing to say, and he had stayed long past the time acceptable for a social call. Throwing a quick glance at the dragon-footed mantel clock, he came to his feet.
‘I hadn’t realized it was so late,’ he said, smiling smoothly at the elder ladies. ‘It was a pleasure talking to you.’ He turned to Miss Swifton. ‘I promised to meet Lord Benedict at Brooks’s.’For the third time in just a few minutes, Miss Swifton raised her eyebrow. The gesture annoyed him. Even if it was a good sign. It showed that she was not easily deceived.
CHAPTER 8
The London Season was in full swing, and Julia kept busy. The Grosvenor Square house received a new stream of visitors. Mamas and grandmamas wished to reacquaint themselves with their dear friend Lady Bullfinch – and to remind her that their sons were eligible bachelors. Gentlemen callers arrived with bouquets and poems. There was even one marriage proposal, which her ladyship declined. Julia only discovered this after the fact, when she spoke to her about it over breakfast.
‘You aren’t interested in Mr Eckles, by any chance, are you?’ she asked, putting her blue china teacup down with a clatter and eyeing her doubtfully.
‘No, of course not,’ said Julia.
‘That settles it, then,’ said her ladyship. She immediately launched into another topic of conversation, something about a new exhibit at the Egyptian Hall.
‘Wait,’ said Julia, breaking in before the force of the torrent carried her away. ‘Why did you ask about Mr Eckles?’
Lady Bullfinch turned her hands over and examined the palms closely. ‘If you must know,’ she said, ‘the fool offered for you.’
It was Julia’s turn to put down her teacup, very slowly. ‘I gather you turned him down?’
‘Naturally.’
‘I would be grateful if you would consult with me first, before declining anyone else. I needn’t remind you that I have the right to make my own choices.’
‘Of course I know that,’ said her grandmother. ‘I was just trying to spare you unnecessary embarrassment.’
I’m tired of everyone wanting to spare me something or the other. Why did she always find herself saying the same thing? Did she really appear so fragile?
‘I know you are acting with the best of intentions, but I would rather deal with any awkward proposals myself. Surely you think me capable of that?’
The old lady sat perfectly still, her eyes fixed on Julia.
Julia sighed. ‘It’s nothing that can’t be mended,’ said Julia. She smiled as she thought of Mr Eckles and his curly-coated retriever. ‘I’m glad you got rid of poor Mr Eckles. He’s convinced I want to know everything about his breeding programme.’
‘I hope not,’ said her ladyship, blandly.
Julia chuckled as she caught her meaning, for once not feeling embarrassed. ‘Not his personal one,’ she said, playfully, ‘just his dogs.’ He was not a bad person. Simply a bore. ‘I hope he manages to find a wife who is interested. For her sake, at least.’
Lord Neave was among the
callers. His visit was formal, and he did not stay beyond the requisite twenty minutes. During that time he offered to escort her to the shops to buy material for her new riding habit. This time he arrived in a barouche with matching greys, and they set out accompanied by Julia’s maid. Before long he had convinced her to buy any number of fripperies – new lace, a green ribbon which he insisted matched her eyes, and a new bonnet trimmed in lavender. Julia was amazed at his involvement in her purchases.
‘Very few gentlemen will spend the time to advise a lady what to buy. Most gentlemen would be consumed by boredom at the sight of the first ribbons.’
‘But you must know by now, Miss Swifton, that I am interested in most things that interest you. You have a lively mind, and turn the dreariest shopping expedition into’ – he searched for a word – ‘a picnic.’
‘La, Lord Neave,’ she replied. ‘now you are being a flatterer, and you know I dislike it.’
‘Then I’ll cease immediately.’
His light-hearted mood resonated with hers, and she was more inclined than ever to view him favourably. True, he flirted a great deal, but that was only to be expected. She did not take his remarks seriously, but enjoyed them in the spirit that they were meant.
Lord Benedict called on her, too, one morning, and since he was a solitary caller, he and Lady Bullfinch spent a pleasant twenty minutes discussing gardening, a topic obviously familiar to him. His older sister Emily had forced him as a boy to spend many hours helping her with pruning and picking flowers, and he proved to be quite knowledgeable.
‘I was only twelve, and never thought of saying no to her. Then one day my father caught me at it and my poor sister was at the receiving end of his wrath. At that time I was happy enough to abandon the thorns and nettles to her, so I strutted away with my father. But later I would watch her from the window and wish I could join her.’
Of Lord Thorwynn there was no sign. Perhaps I have finally succeeded in driving him away. The irises wilted, and had to be thrown away. Good riddance. She had many other, sweeter smelling flowers.
Lionel leaned against the wall at the Kinleighs’ townhouse, concealed by a gigantic terracotta pot with a squat palm tree growing out of it. Not for the first time that evening, he swore. If it was not for that Swifton hoyden, he would be dining comfortably in Brooks’s, before setting out for a night of far more pleasurable activity than escaping scheming matrons. By showing up several times at society balls, he had sent the wrong message. Every mother with an eligible daughter descended upon him the moment he arrived.
Of course, the real question that hammered at him was why on earth he couldn’t leave well enough alone?
True, Neave needed to be brought to justice, and the ton needed to know the truth about him. But why had he taken it upon himself to pursue him, when he had already failed before? And when Miss Swifton had made it perfectly clear she did not appreciate his attempts?
The sound of his name broke into his reflections. A footman waited a few steps away, with a folded note on a silver salver. Lionel took the paper and glanced down at the writing. His name was scribbled on the front, in a hurried, almost unintelligible hand.
He dismissed the footman and opened the letter. The scrawl inside, if possible, was even worse. Someone in a great hurry had penned it.
Lord Thorwynn
Forgive me these hasty lines, but I need to speak to you urgently. Something serious has come up. I need your help. I will wait for you in the library.
It was unsigned. He prided himself on remembering people’s handwriting, and he had not encountered this writing before.
He crushed it into a ball and tossed it on to a tray with empty glasses. It must be from some unknown married lady, bored with her husband and looking for some adventure.
Neave could wait. At least for the moment. He was more than glad to abandon the boredom of the ballroom.
Similar situations had happened before. He liked it when the lady took the first step – the element of surprise heightened the pleasure. As long as it was a pleasant surprise, of course. However it turned out, the prospect of some new amusement would compensate for being forced to attend these endless balls.
He drained his glass and added it to the tray. With a spring in his step, he headed for his rendezvous.
He was not one to disappoint a lady.
Julia knew it was unwise to go out into the darkness of the garden, but she had to breathe some fresh air or she would explode. One of the reasons she had given up going to balls was the crush. She disliked being in a room with so many people pressed together. In the larger townhouses that had formal ballrooms, there was always some corner where one could escape. But tonight the only empty corner was behind a palm tree, and that was occupied by Lord Thorwynn.
Not a trace of moonlight lightened the shadows. The only illumination came from inside the windows. She did not want to be seen, outlined against the house, so she turned and took a path that led her just out of the light. She did not go far. She simply wanted a private moment to breathe away from the din of the ball. She stood under a tree, leaning her arm carefully against the bark and removing her silk slippers to stretch her cramped toes.
She let the darkness enfold her. The sweet aroma of jasmine wafted towards her, and she drank in the scent, relishing the gentle warmth of the May night.
But not for long. Men’s voices moved towards her. Quickly, she withdrew behind a hedge, into the darker shadows. She crouched a little, hoping her head would not show above it. She could not risk an encounter with a group of strange men, especially if they were in their cups. Most likely they would be, if they were frolicking in the garden in the dark.
She expected them to continue past the bush back to the ballroom. Instead, they stopped just a few feet away. Her heart beat faster. Had they seen her hiding? She waited, scarcely breathing, the rush of blood pounding in her ears.
Then someone spoke. The familiar voice startled her. He was so close she expected him to reach into the bushes and take hold of her arm. Relief flooded through her and she started to step out.
‘I promise you, she’s mine.’ Something in the way he spoke was different. His voice had a hard edge to it that stopped her in her tracks. She kept very still, waiting for him to finish before revealing her presence. ‘I have her exactly where I want her. I’ll bring her outside tonight, and you’ll witness the event.’
One of the men sniggered. ‘I for one wouldn’t mind watching.’ She could not mistake the ice-eyed man they had met in Hyde Park. He had hardly spoken, but she would know that voice anywhere. ‘She’s a tasty morsel. Perhaps she’ll consent to have me after you’re done with her.’
Neave hissed. ‘You must remember, we’re not talking about a common whore. This one’s a lady.’
‘Not after you’ve finished with her,’ said a third man. Appreciative male laughter followed.
‘Remember that my goal isn’t to ruin her. The wager only specified that I would bed her, with you as witnesses. Nothing more,’ said Neave.
‘Getting cold feet, are you?’ sneered the ice man. ‘You’re running out of time. If you want to win that wager, you had better move tonight.’
‘The agreement stipulated two weeks. I still have three days, according to the wager.’
‘We can’t keep following you wherever you go in case you manage to lift her skirts. We’re here tonight, so this is your chance, win or lose.’
‘Better get back to the ballroom, then,’ said the third man. ‘I need a few drinks if I’m to skulk in the bushes waiting for you to deliver the goods.’
‘I for one am not intending to get foxed,’ said another man, beginning to move away. ‘I don’t intend to ruin the sport by stumbling about in the dark. Might interrupt something.’ Some more laughter followed.
Their voices grew dimmer. She did not move. She had not heard Neave’s voice as they moved away, and she was afraid he had stayed behind, that he had caught sight of her. Her mouth felt dry, but she didn’t w
ant to swallow. She scarcely dared to breathe.
Nothing happened. Only silence on the other side of the bush. She tried to peer through the gaps in the branches, but she could see nothing.
She waited, stomach twisting into coils, heart like a clock gone wild. He would have to move first. She would not give him the satisfaction of stepping out.
Time lengthened. She had no idea how long she stood behind that hedge. Eventually she began to realize that if he wanted he could have seized her and pulled her out. He did not need to wait for her to come out.
Her heart resumed its normal speed, and the pain in her stomach receded. She discovered she had crushed a handful of leaves in her hand, their bitter odour filling her nose. No doubt her gloves would be stained. She tried to slide soundlessly from her hiding place, but her muscles refused to obey. She crashed into the side of the bush and stepped out, watching for any movement. There was no-one around. She lifted her gown and darted back to the French doors of the ballroom.
The clamour and the heat hit her as she stepped inside, but she did not feel safer. She imagined Neave and his friends watching her, closing in. Scores of faces rose up in front of her and they all looked the same. She was afraid any moment Neave would come up to her and ask her to dance. She could not have faced him, not without giving herself away.
She escaped to the ladies’ retiring room. There, perhaps, she could recover some of her calm. Enough at least to walk over to her grandmother and tell her she needed to go home.
But, too flustered to notice her direction, she went too far, or took the wrong turn. She imagined Neave following her. She hurried down the dim corridor, looking frantically for the door. The fall of footsteps sounded behind her. She turned round the corner and threw open the first door she found. She entered and shut it quietly behind her.
She started to tremble. She didn’t think she could stop. Their words had not fully registered until this moment. At first she thought they could not be talking about her, but then she remembered she had met Neave exactly ten days ago. It could not have been someone else.
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