A Date at the Altar

by Cathy Maxwell

  Rov enjoyed complaining about his privates. Gavin thought the information far too personal but had always suspected Rov’s complaints were another way to boast about his sexual conquests. However, Gavin was shocked Jane knew.

  “You mustn’t follow me,” he repeated.

  She answered with a complacent smile.

  “I’m serious, Jane. I will not allow it. There will be no friendship between us if you do,” he added, thinking this last might be a suitable threat and force her to consider her behavior.

  “When you left here last night, you did not appear a man satisfied. Which is completely understandable because from what I’ve heard about this Siren creature, she is a tawdry thing. She is far from worthy of you—”

  “Jane, I have no feelings for you.”

  Gavin wasn’t about to let her carry on against Sarah. The idea she spied on him was uncomfortable but that she would speak against Sarah made him angry.

  “You must,” she countered.

  “I don’t. Now, go home. Return to your husband,” he said. “You have misinterpreted my actions. You’ve twisted them.”

  The earnest light died in her blue eyes, replaced by the flare of anger. Jane rose to her feet. “You are choosing her over me?” she asked, drawing the words out in disbelief.

  “You are another man’s wife,” Gavin said carefully, distrustful of her tone.

  “Is it because she dances naked?” Jane asked, her voice rising. “I can be naked as well, if that is what you want.”

  And to his horror, she tore off the short jacket over her dress and threw it on the floor.

  “Jane, be sensible,” Gavin commanded. He reached for the jacket but she was busy unlacing the back of her dress. Her gloves made her fingers clumsy. With an angry mew of frustration, she pulled one glove off using her teeth, kicking off her shoes as she did so—

  Gavin was not about to let Rovington’s wife undress herself in the Clarendon’s hallway. His patience for both Rov and his wife had reached the breaking point.

  He dropped his hat and came to his feet. Unceremoniously, he swung her up in his arms before she could do more undressing. She blinked in surprise and then cooed her delight, putting her arms around his neck.

  He started down the stairs.

  This was not the direction she had thought he’d intended. “Why are we going this way? Let’s go to your rooms. We will throw the Siren out.” She nuzzled his neck, as playful as a cat, and Gavin could have growled his exasperation. “I knew you loved me,” she whispered. “I knew it all along.”

  They reached the hotel reception. Gavin was so intent on his purpose, he didn’t notice anyone as he strode through, Lady Rovington in his arms. Out on the street, a hack was just discharging passengers.

  Without missing a beat, Gavin walked by the startled gentlemen and placed Jane inside the vehicle. He was not overdelicate about the matter and she had a bit of a scramble with her skirts and the like to right herself.

  “Where are we going, Baynton?” she asked, even as he closed the door firmly in her face. Keeping his shoulder against the door in case Jane tried to escape, he took his money purse from his pocket and poured out a handful of coins.

  Jane lifted the window flap and attempted to grab hold of Gavin’s face. “If you want a whore,” she said, “I’ll be your whore. I’ll be whatever you want.”

  “I want you to go home, Jane.”

  “Then come with me.”

  He handed the money to the driver. “Take her away from here.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “I love you, Baynton. I can make you happy.” Her fingers curled in his hair and he pulled away. She reached for him. “Don’t abandon me,” she cried. “Not after all you’ve done for me.”

  The woman was mad.

  Or was she making a scene for reasons only she and Rov understood? There was that. He would not put it past his conniving friend.

  And a scene it was.

  The driver snapped his reins and his horse moved smartly forward into the late-day traffic. Jane tried to open the door, hanging out of it and letting all the world know she would do anything for the Duke of Baynton. “I will dance naked,” she called as the vehicle turned a corner, almost throwing her forward and forcing her to close the door lest she be hurt.

  Gavin let his breath go in relief. She was gone.

  He pivoted, ready to see Sarah—and then realized he had an audience.

  The Clarendon was a popular and busy hotel. At this hour of the day, travelers mingled with important visitors and those who enjoyed the French chef. Gavin counted no fewer than six members of the House of Lords watching him with mouths agape. Then there was a group of military men who could barely hide their snickers. They gave him nods of encouragement and sly winks commiserating with him over Jane.

  More interesting was the expression on feminine faces. The older ones standing beside their husbands were shocked. The younger ones eyed him with open speculation.

  Disconcerted by all the attention, Gavin started for the stairs. He had just made a scene. It was completely out of character for him. Of course people would gawk—

  A woman’s embroidered silk reticule fell right in his path.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. My bag slipped from my hand,” a woman said. The speaker was a brown-eyed, fashionably dressed woman Gavin had not met before.

  He picked up the bag for her.

  “Thank you,” she said, her gloved hand closing over his holding the reticule, and added in a breathy tone, “Your Grace.” She ran the pad of her thumb over the back of his hand. “I’m Mrs. Vaughan. Olivia Vaughan.”

  “My pleasure, Mrs. Vaughan.” Gavin tried to step out of her way but she tightened her hold.

  “You don’t recognize my name, do you?”

  “I’m afraid I do not, Mrs. Vaughan.”

  She took a step closer. Her perfume was a cloying, Eastern scent. Mrs. Vaughan lowered her voice. “Many of your friends know me well, Your Grace.” She gave a slow smile that told him louder than words what she meant by the word “know.”

  And Gavin felt dirty.

  He took back his hand. “Good day,” he said to Mrs. Vaughan and moved to the stairs. He took them two at time, wanting to push Jane’s shouts and threats out of his mind and rid himself of the scent of Mrs. Vaughan’s perfume . . . and then he came to Sarah’s floor.

  She was sitting in the floor steward’s chair, just as Jane had been. She held his hat in her lap. She was waiting for him.

  He came to a halt and all the blood in his body rushed to his loins. She had that impact on him. However, there was another sense as well. He felt as if he was coming home. A peace fell over him.

  “Did you hear?” he asked.

  The sad smile that came to her lips commiserated with him. “There were few on this floor who didn’t.”

  “Or in the lobby.”

  Sarah digested this and then announced, “I shall say again, I was not naked when I danced.”

  Her piqued declaration caught him off guard, and then Gavin tilted his head back and laughed. The release felt good. Sarah had a refreshing ability to go directly to the point.

  But then his mind immediately turned to calculating the incidental results of this new notoriety. “I wonder how many columns of the morning news will be dedicated to the scene?”

  In answer, Sarah stood and held out her hand. “Come.”

  He placed his hand in hers and let her lead him into her rooms. Inside, the late-afternoon light from the window bathed the room in a serene, golden glow.

  “Sit down,” Sarah invited and went over to some decanters on a small table and poured him a whisky. “Thank you for the ink and paper. The box is precious.”

  Gavin sat at the table. “You are welcome.”

  “Talbert said you picked it out yourself. That means more to me than anything else.”

  She placed the glass in front of him but he didn’t touch it. Instead, he pushed the crystal away with one finger, realizi
ng how much he had been drinking lately.

  And it wasn’t drink he wanted.

  She had taken a chair at the table and he now turned his chair to face her.

  “You are beautiful,” he said, the words leaving his lips without conscious thought. No politics, no manipulation—nothing but honest, almost raw emotion.

  Her eyes widened and a blush rose to her cheeks.

  Gavin leaned forward, fascinated. “You act as if you had not expected such words from me.”

  “We have a short acquaintance,” she said, “but it has been one marked by our strong personalities.”

  “Aye, we have squabbled,” he agreed, smiling at the wrinkle in her nose over the word. “If you would only listen to me,” he had to add teasingly, “we would argue less.”

  As he had anticipated, she came back roundly, “When I hear good sense from your lips, I will, Your Grace.”

  “You may have to wait some time. It has been a damnable day.”

  “Before the lady on the stairs?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  She glanced at the untouched glass. “Mr. Talbert was insistent I understand your likes and dislikes.”

  “Was he now?”

  “Yes,” she said before doing a very passable imitation of his secretary giving orders. “His Grace expects a whisky when he first arrives home and one before he retires.”

  Gavin eyed the glass. “I am alarmingly predictable.”

  “Do you wish to talk about your day?”

  “I like your dress.” He’d like to take it off her body.

  She seemed to hear his thoughts. Her head tilted as if evaluating him and he had a sense that if he made one wrong move, she would fly.

  And he wanted to know why?

  She accepted his change of topic. “I thank you for it, and the many others Mrs. Hillsman is making for me. However, it was not necessary.”

  “Seeing you like this makes me believe it was absolutely of the greatest importance. Did you find a theater?”

  “The one you suggested, Your Grace. The Bishop’s Hill that Geoff and Charles abandoned. Mr. Talbert says you have set funds out for me to start hiring actors.”

  “When will you begin?”

  “Perhaps on the morrow, if you agree.”

  The morrow. He would fight a duel on the morrow. “Of course, I agree. Whatever you wish.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And did you find a suitable residence?”

  “We looked at one, but I wish to discuss the wages for my actor friends first.”

  “Oh?”

  She folded her hands in her lap, giving the impression of being a prim and very stern, but attractive, governess. “It is too much.”

  “It is our agreement.”

  “Still, I expected that you would wait until Geoff and Charles could be brought to justice. Thank you,” she said, the words so heartfelt, they humbled him. “It was not your battle.”

  “Sarah, it was a small matter.”

  “What is small to you was vitally important to them. I’ve not witnessed much open kindness in my life. Of course—” Her voice broke off as she questioned the wisdom of saying more.

  Gavin could feel her distrust. He didn’t want the easy, open conversation between them to end. “Of course?” he prompted.

  She shook her head. “Would you care for something to eat?”

  “If you wish to know what I care about, it is that you finish your statement. Go ahead, Sarah. Tell me what you were about to say.”

  She ran her hand along the material of her dress covering her thighs, as if she could pull the garment off of her. “Of course, let us not forget that you want something of me. Something you could have taken last night. I offered.”

  He could have argued that point. He didn’t. He sat back.

  “But you didn’t, Your Grace,” she pointed out.

  “But you didn’t, Gavin,” he corrected. “I prefer you to use my given name. After all, we are beyond some formalities, aren’t we?”

  “It doesn’t feel right.”

  “It won’t if you don’t become accustomed to it. I would have you say it.”

  Her stubbornness came out. Instead of granting his small request, she said, “We both know you want something from me, but I’m not certain exactly what it is.”

  Nor did he know himself.

  Yes, he wanted to bed her.

  But he also wanted her regard. He wanted her to not be suspicious. He wanted her to care for him . . . because, and he wasn’t yet certain, he believed she was of importance to him—

  Gavin shot to his feet. This was dangerous thinking. There were lines that he could not cross, and yet, she tempted him. He did want more than sex.

  “Let’s leave this room,” he said.

  “And go where?”

  Anywhere, he wanted to say, realizing he had no desire to spend the evening here with her waiting for him to pounce. “Tell me, where would you go on a July evening like this?”

  “Where would I go?” she repeated, confounded by the request.

  Gavin took her hand and pulled her from the chair, suddenly ready for fresh air and time with this woman without the damn barriers between them. “Yes,” he said, “if you had an evening to go anywhere, for fun—where would you go? What would you eat? What would you enjoy?”

  “I haven’t had the money to enjoy anything but work,” she started.

  “But if you could go someplace, where would you go?”

  “Vauxhall,” she said. “On a summer evening like this, I would want to go to Vauxhall.”

  Gavin had never been to Vauxhall. His father claimed it was where the rabble went. Even when he’d received invitations there, his sire had refused to go, and Gavin had done the same—more out of habit than preference.

  And now he realized what a terrible mistake he’d made. No wonder he was seen as a paragon. He’d set himself aside.

  “Let us go to Vauxhall,” he announced. “Where is your hat?” He reached for his own where she’d set it on the table.

  “You are jesting, aren’t you?” she said, not moving.

  In answer, Gavin walked into the bedroom and saw her hat beside the water basin. He carried it to her.

  She still didn’t seem certain even as she placed her hat on her head and tied the ribbons. She picked up the shawl draped over a chair. “You really wish to go to Vauxhall?”

  “I can’t imagine any place better,” he said and offered his arm. There would be no ghosts of his father there. For one evening, he wanted to be like every other man. Who knew? Considering the duel on the morrow, this might be his last night. He wished to enjoy it.

  She placed her hand on his arm, staring at him as if she was truly seeing him for the first time.

  Perhaps she was.

  Gavin didn’t understand himself. The duel might be an impetus. Or could it be that he was tired of fetching and carrying for the government? That he wanted a respite from all the formality, that he wanted Sarah Pettijohn?

  Having her sitting close to him in the hack he hired for their trip, he could feel the tension easing from her as, instead of discussing their hell-born bargain, she began to anticipate the outing. In that respect alone, he believed going to Vauxhall a stroke of genius.

  He had no idea what to expect, but she knew. Instead of letting the vehicle take them over the bridge, she had them delivered to the riverbank. There, hired boats carried them across the river.

  Gavin couldn’t remember the last time he had been out on the water. He thought of his country estate and realized it had been years since he’d visited there as well. Or had taken time to indulge himself in something that wasn’t an obligation.

  The gardens were alive with music, acrobats, jugglers, and revelers—and that was before they made it in the front gates. A large party of people was dressed for a masquerade. The costumes appealed to Sarah’s sense of the theatrical and Gavin enjoyed her observations.

  Inside, paper lanterns brightened th
e encroaching darkness. He rented a box and they ate what had to be the worst supper he’d ever had and yet, the most entertaining. For once, he and Sarah were talking to each other as friends.

  On a small outdoor stage, an Italian singer was followed by a quartet of musicians. After eating their cold chicken and having a few glasses of iced champagne, Sarah and Gavin walked the paths. They were not alone. There were scores of couples out this night.

  Sarah talked easily about her plans for her play. Gavin enjoyed her enthusiasm. That, too, had been something missing from his life.

  Night settled upon them. The conversation was light, teasing, easy. He did not have difficulty expressing exactly what was on his mind with Sarah. She was not one to hold back, either, giving freely of her opinions.

  The first time she touched his arm without his encouragement, Gavin almost froze. He did not comment on it and a few minutes later, she tapped his arm, to let him know she didn’t think Liverpool was doing all that he could—an opinion Gavin agreed with.

  Sarah was a surprisingly astute observer of politics. They even verbally sparred a bit when their opinion differed and then—wonder of all wonders, she said, “I don’t know how you manage to listen to them carrying on in the Lords, all saying the same thing over and over again, Gavin. I would go quite mad.”

  Gavin. He came to a dead stop while she walked on, wrapped up in her topic until she realized he wasn’t beside her. She faced him.

  He toyed with the idea of letting her know what she’d done, and then decided to let it go, to see if she would speak his name again. He moved to catch up to her and let his hand brush hers before boldly taking hold.

  Sarah did not pull away. She looked up at him. “You are quite good at this, you know.”

  “At what?” he asked innocently.

  “Managing your own way. Don’t think I don’t know what you are doing.”

  “What am I doing?”

  “This.” She lifted the hand he held.

  “And is it so terrible?”

  She looked up at him, her eyes reflecting the lantern light. “I don’t want to trust you,” she whispered.

  “But you do.”

  Sarah ignored him, saying, “I’m best alone. Can you understand that? I have peace alone.”