Finally, Kirkham moved toward the doors of the library, preparing to show Stuart to the front door and Baring returned to his big oak desk in the sunny corner under the high windows.
Stuart took Bian’s hand and was appalled to see that his own trembled. He bowed over her hand and looked into her eyes. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Bian.”
She was smiling properly at him, now. He was absurdly pleased to see she had dimples. “Was it really such a pleasure, Lord Sutherland-Bruce?”
“Actually, yes.” He glanced over his shoulder. Both men were out of range of a well-directed whisper. He leaned closer to her ear. “Make your excuses and meet me at the corner of the street in ten minutes.”
“I don’t think so,” she returned.
He stared at her. He would have wagered his inheritance that she would cooperate and find a way to slip out to speak to him freely.
“A lady doesn’t do such things,” she said gently and withdrew her hand—again—from his stunned grip. “Good afternoon, Lord Sutherland-Bruce.”
* * * * *
Patrick came back to the library once he had shut the front door on Sutherland-Bruce. He dropped onto the cushions of the window seat next to Bian. For several long minutes, he stared at the worn tapestry on the cushion.
“Are you sure about this, Bian?” he said.
“Yes,” she said, as gently as she could.
Baring came back to the table and lowered himself onto the chair Bian had occupied. “You played him beautifully, child. He was staggering by the time you were done with him.”
“I needed him disoriented. The last thing I can afford is for him to see me as an ordinary woman. I don’t have time for that.”
“Well, you succeeded,” Patrick added. There was a sour note in his voice and she thought she knew what it meant.
“I tried not to have you involved, Patrick.”
“Yes, I know. It was my choice to help. But Bian…why on earth do you think that he would see you as an ordinary woman?”
Baring gave a small laugh and Bian smiled at his reaction. He knew her answer already.
“Because to that man, Patrick, every woman is an ordinary woman and an ordinary woman is a commodity he can move around as he pleases and discard when the novelty has worn away. I needed to find a way to ensure he won’t discard me until I’m ready to leave.”
Patrick turned pink. “You’ve heard some of the rumours about his ways, then?”
“I didn’t have to,” she countered. “I could see it in his eyes as soon as we met.” She gave a small laugh. “I’ve met the type before. More than once.”
Patrick turned a deeper shade of pink but managed to speak firmly. “You should have asked him to tea, or something.”
“A lady isn’t that forward,” Bian countered.
Baring pursed his lips thoughtfully. “All in all, I’m surprised he didn’t try to find a way to speak to you alone.”
“He did.”
Baring’s brow lifted. “He did, did he? And yet you refused him?”
“If a lady is considered forward if she is the one to invite a single man to tea, how much more forward would she be if she was seen meeting him alone on a busy street corner?”
Baring shook his head. “The nerve of him!”
“Yes, he is daring, isn’t he?” Bian said thoughtfully.
Patrick was frowning. “But…if you refused to meet him and can’t invite him to tea…then…you’ve lost him.”
Bian smiled. “Oh, he’ll be back.”
* * * * *
It took the swaying of the carriage for Stuart to finally notice the tiny tug on his waistcoat pocket. He opened his coat and jacket and looked down at the delicate gold filigree charm bracelet snagged in the flap of his fob pocket.
Carefully, he broke the little figure free of the loose thread that had caught it. Then he pooled the golden jewelry in his palm and felt the surprisingly heavy weight of it. It was, without doubt, a unique piece. Clearly eastern in origin and probably of high value in gold and gems alone. It was possible the bracelet had sentimental value too.
He had to ensure it was returned to her.
Chapter Two
It took two days of letter exchanges to Baring’s secretary before Stuart managed to learn that Bian did not live at Baring’s townhouse and to acquire her address. There was no easy way to ask after a lady’s address and not betray one’s intentions but Stuart knew a few indirect but effective paths to such information. He used them all to coax the information from Baring.
On the third morning he presented himself at the red brick townhouse in a little mews off Adam’s Row in Mayfair, while his cab waited obediently at the curb. It was old but well maintained and in summer would be shaded by two magnificent oaks that stood in front of it. Many leaves of the oaks were golden now and some were already drifting to the footpath.
It was a respectable address and a well-presented house. Just as everything about Miss Bian appeared to be reputable and elegant.
For the last three days Stuart had been replaying the moments he had sat next to her and re-examining every word. Bian had been a model of deportment, he had reluctantly concluded. Her swift verbal parries had been no more than a hostess might exchange over a dinner table if she wished to provoke the conversation among her guests. As he had been the only guest, he had chaffed under the stimulus.
In no way had she given word or signal that she was anything other than a well-bred and well-behaved lady.
Regardless, Stuart had tossed in his empty bed for two nights, unable to dismiss her from his mind. She had a hidden quality that drew his attention like filings to a magnet…or else he was simply going out of his mind. Because he could not locate even a hint of this hidden quality in anything she had said or done, Stuart had truly begun to wonder if he was imagining things.
For that reason he was delivering the bracelet in person. He needed to see her again. He needed to find even a hint of that hidden quality. He would sit in her drawing room and play the perfect gentleman all day, if necessary, until he saw the element in her that would not leave him in peace.
That was, if she forgave him for not calling ahead in the first place.
He rang the bell and prepared to wait but was surprised when it was answered almost immediately. The maid took his card, showed him in and hurried over to the big, closed doors on the other side of the foyer, where she knocked gently on the door and waited.
Stuart watched, puzzled, as the door was opened a few inches and the maid pushed the card through the crack. The door was shut on her again. She smiled reassuringly at him before moving down the hallway to the back of the house, which left him alone in the foyer, cooling his heels.
He looked around the empty hall. This was not what a woman like Bian would consider proper, surely?
The recently closed door was suddenly flung open. Bian herself stepped through. And Stuart could feel his heart literally stammer to a stop, before it managed to recover and hurry on, hurting with each beat.
She wore…what was she wearing? It took him a moment to identify the garment simply because he would not have equated a silk dressing robe with the middle of a Wednesday afternoon. The robe was too large for her tiny frame. As she hurried toward him, the wide neck slid down one shoulder and dropped off altogether, revealing a creamy shoulder and the smooth, flawless skin of her upper breast and neck.
Is she naked beneath that robe? he found himself wondering, with genuine bewilderment touched by a swiftly-evoked craving. There was too much flesh on display for her to be wearing any undergarments and the curves the robe outlined were too soft to be the product of corsetry.
Not only did the robe hang from one shoulder but it was so ridiculously long that it trailed behind her like a ball gown, which pulled the fronts of the robe open as she walked.
Bare feet…bare ankles…bare calves… Stuart found himself clutching the top of his cane as he focused on her shapely limbs as they flashed beneath the op
ening of the robe, until she came to a stop before him, her hand out to greet him and a warm smile on her face.
For a moment he was genuinely unable to form a coherent thought. Her appearance was quite simply shocking.
He lifted her hand to bow over it but a puppet would have executed the movement more smoothly.
She did not seem to mind. “Lord Sutherland-Bruce,” she acknowledged. “How kind of you to call on me.”
“I…I seem to have arrived at an awkward moment.” It was stilted, proper and not at all what he wanted to say. Or do. He could barely tear his gaze away from the soft mound outlined by the silk clinging to her chest. He forced himself to look her in the eye.
“An awkward moment? Not at all. Why do you say that?” She looked puzzled.
He lifted a hand and gestured helplessly at her robe.
She actually lifted the robe with her hand, which opened the panels again and allowed him to glimpse a knee. “In my own home, I prefer to be comfortable. Please, come in, won’t you?”
She tucked her small hand under his elbow and turned to face the door she had emerged from. “I have a friend visiting—George—but you mustn’t mind him. He comes here for the solitude rather than the company.”
Stuart allowed himself to be walked through the doorway. The room beyond was large and filled with comfortable seats and lined with books. It was a thinker’s room. Medieval maps behind glass hung on the walls and a writing desk stood under one of the tall arched windows.
There was a man with a salt and pepper beard sitting cross-legged almost perfectly in the centre of the big Persian rug covering the middle of the floor. He was quite naked.
Stuart could not help but stare.
“That’s George,” she explained unnecessarily. “But he’s probably not even aware you’re there, so don’t worry about introductions.”
He glanced at the pipe, hose and bowl next to the man called George. “Opium?” he asked, astounded.
“Yes, of course, you would be familiar with it after your time in China.” She did not seem perturbed.
On the contrary, Stuart could feel his heart creak. There had been just too many surprises since he had knocked on her door. “You allow opium to be smoked in your house?”
“Good lord, no. But George…well, George is a special case. He was posted to the east, much like you and he found himself unable to halt the habit, even when he returned to London. But he is a very efficient Member of Parliament…should the people of Britain lose a valuable representative because of a personal weakness?”
He swallowed. “You have a slippery way of stating affairs,” he said.
“He asks only for discretion and understanding and a small piece of carpet. I will not judge him. Not when he is a friend.”
Stuart glanced at George again. Wherever his enslaved mind wandered, it was clearly a pleasant world. George’s spindly cock stood sharply at attention.
Stuart glanced at Bian’s bare shoulder. “How good a friend is he?” he asked and was astonished at the degree of anger that emerged in his voice.
At his sharp tone, George stirred. His eyes opened to a thin crescent. “Good enough, my dear fellow.” His voice was strong and well-rounded by years of shouting across the House. “But never that good.”
Bian smiled openly. Stuart was unsure whether the man had insulted her or not. There was very little about the last few minutes that made complete sense to him and the pounding of his heart was proof of it.
He realized that George was getting slowly to his feet and more unpleasant surprise spurted through him.
“George, you really shouldn’t get up, you know,” Bian chided him.
“When there’s a gentleman caller in the house? Now, Bian…” He walked over to them, taking a staggering, rounded route across the beautiful Persian rug. Stuart realized that George was looking directly at him. A shiver slithered through him but he held his ground.
George smiled at Stuart, showing a complete disregard for his lack of attire. “You’re a handsome one, then.”
“George…” Bian said softly. Warningly.
George smiled at Stuart. “Bian is such a lovely child, is she not? I can well imagine your jealousy, old chap but really, it’s all for naught.” And despite his opium-induced stupor, George threaded his hand smoothly into the openings of both Stuart’s overcoat and jacket and cupped his testicles through his trousers. The long fingers stroked gently, before Stuart’s stunned mind and muscles could react. He staggered backward, gripping George’s wrist and wrenching it up and out of the way.
“I’ve shot men at dawn for less,” Stuart grated. His voice was hoarse.
George was not resisting the cruel twist on his forearm. He stared passively at Stuart, a small smile on his face. “You were about to make a mistake,” he said softly. “I merely wanted to disabuse you of the notion.”
“Enough,” Bian said, with surprising firmness. She put her tiny hands on both George and Stuart’s forearms. “Lord Sutherland-Bruce, I suggest you let him go. George, don’t say another word or I’ll let him strangle you and save me the bother. Are you listening, George?”
She was familiar with the patchy daze opium users could fall into, Stuart realized, or she would not have made sure she was being heard.
George blinked took a slow breath. “Yes,” he said at last. “Yes, I hear. Alas.” An immense, profound sadness etched itself on his face and all animation drained from it.
Stuart let George’s arm loose as he watched the transformation.
Bian pushed at George’s shoulders. “Go back to your pipe,” she said gently. “Go and forget.”
“Yes,” he murmured, letting himself be turned away. He wended his way back to the long pipe and collapsed in a heap of long, pale white limbs, his head hanging.
“What happened to him?” Stuart breathed. “Why does he seek the pipe still?”
Bian glanced at George, then shook her head to indicate Stuart should keep his voice down. She tucked her hand into his elbow. “Thank you so much for returning my bracelet, by the way.”
“Ah, yes.” He pulled the jewelry from his fob pocket and handed it to her. Then he realized that she was leading him to the door he had just stepped through. The door that led to the front hall. “Where are you taking me?”
“I’m afraid I’ll have to show you out, Lord Sutherland-Bruce. Now is not the most convenient time for me.”
The words spilled from him before he could prevent them. “Why, do you have another man in your bedroom?” Then he braced himself for the face-slapping that was the very minimum he deserved for such an outrageous accusation. But she had provoked him into it, damn it! The robe that she barely wore, the naked man in her lounge room… The woman clearly lived a life of extreme bohemianism. She was the complete opposite of what he had thought her to be.
For the second time his mind had tottered, unable to cope with the sheer weight of sensational shock. The jealousy, petty though it was, was the one almost normal emotion he could clutch at and use to anchor himself.
But Bian did not slap him. Instead her mouth curved up into a delicious smile that made her dimples dance. “Why on earth would I bother with taking a man upstairs? My sofa is wide and very comfortable.”
He could actually feel his jaw start to unhinge but before he could begin to even attempt to formulate a response, she squeezed his forearm. “Besides,” she said, stepping out into the foyer. “I am attending the opening night at the Opera House. They’re such grand affairs. A lady must have time to properly prepare.”
The maid already had the front door open and pushed his hat and cane into his nerveless fingers.
“Good morning, Lord Sutherland-Bruce. Thank you so much for dropping by,” Bian said with all the formal politeness of any upper-class lady.
Suddenly Stuart was back upon the footpath, the front door shut behind him and with no clear idea of how he had reached the spot. He climbed back into his cab, trying to piece together what had just hap
pened.
Where had the so very proper lady disappeared to? Yet…and yet…if he had not been utterly convinced of her respectability, the last ten minutes would have him thinking she was a lady of easy virtue…except that she drank tea with future dukes and lords and socialized with the upper crust of London society…but she had no title that she had shared with him…
Stuart shook his head as he watched Hyde Park roll by the cab windows. The conflicting sides of Bian’s nature made her completely unpredictable. If he couldn’t predict how she would act, how could he understand her?
* * * * *
When he reached home, he strode into the smoking parlour and almost tripped over a crumpled pile of cast-aside newspapers on the polished floorboards. Aidan was hidden behind yet another broadsheet.
“Can’t you at least call for the maid to pick these up?” Stuart railed at his brother.
Aidan lowered the newspaper. “I have too much to catch up on to take the time.”
“I wouldn’t mind if you were reading editorials…but the social columns?” Stuart turned to Peggoty as she entered the room. “I need my afternoon waistcoat and jacket. Could you bring them down for me?”
She dropped into an abbreviated curtsey and hurried away. Stuart stripped off his jacket and tackled his cravat and collar pins.
Aidan was still staring at him. “And to whence do you scurry, looking so hot and bothered?”
“Lady Charlotte Lindholme Grey.”
“That old battle-axe.” Aidan threw the newspaper aside and sat up from his sprawl on the sofa. “Why her?”
Stuart shrugged and made it sound as casual as possible. “She has a box at tonight’s opera.”
“I see.”
Stuart glanced at his brother, then away. Aidan’s sharp gaze would miss nothing and he would prefer not to have to explain anything else.
“What’s her name?” Aidan asked, which told Stuart he’d hidden nothing at all. Well, Aidan was the canny one that could see through people, after all.
Royal Talisman Page 2