by Anna Bradley
Still, perhaps it wasn’t as dire as it seemed. Lady Flora was a soft-hearted young lady, but even if she did have a tendre for Lord Lovell, that didn’t mean she was in love with—
“For pity’s sake, Flora,” Lady Silvester began again, exasperated. “If you’d only talk to him—”
“No.” Flora, who’d never treated her grandmother with anything but tender affection, cut Lady Silvester off with an impatient exclamation. “I’m sorry, Grandmother, but I won’t let Lord Lovell spoil my pleasure in the day. Come along, Emma.”
Emma did as she was told, but her heart sank like a stone in her chest. It didn’t sound like a mild tendre, and it hadn’t looked that way in Lady Swinton’s garden last night, either. No, it had looked as if Lady Flora was desperately in love with Lord Lovell, and he with her.
Lord Lovell who, under that handsome face of his, might very well be a fiend.
Dash it, how had everything become so complicated, and so quickly? What a fool she’d been, to suppose it would be a simple task to charm Lord Lovell into revealing enough of his secrets to incriminate himself.
She hadn’t counted on a lovesick debutante, had she? Or on Lord Lymington, who’d do whatever he must to keep her away from his cousin, and whose penetrating gray gaze seemed to peel back her protective layers until he found the raw, tender skin underneath.
No gentleman had ever done that before. None had ever bothered, but as surely as she’d gotten a peek under Lord Lovell’s masque, Lord Lymington had gotten a peek under hers.
Emma hurried to catch up to Flora. “Did, ah…did you and Lord Lovell have a falling out?” she asked, keeping her voice low.
Lady Flora bit her trembling lip. “No, nothing like that. It’s just…well, can’t anyone talk of anything but Lord Lovell? It seems as if some young lady or other is forever nattering in my ear about him. Why, there are plenty of gentlemen here in London as handsome as he is.”
“Well, of course there are—”
“Lord Barrett is every bit as handsome as Lord Lovell. Handsomer, if you ask me.”
Emma blinked at Lady Flora’s vehemence. “Certainly, Lord Barrett is very—”
“Far more gentlemanly, too,” Lady Flora declared with a toss of her head. “I could tell you any number of perfectly dreadful things about Lord Lovell, but I don’t like to alarm you, Lady Emma.”
“Does Lord Lovell have some shocking secrets, then?” Emma braced herself for lurid tales of wicked debaucheries, seductions, possible kidnappings—
“My, yes! Did you know, Lady Emma, that Lord Lovell was sent down from Oxford last year, for brawling?”
“Sent down?” That was Lord Lovell’s shocking secret? Didn’t every nobleman get sent down from Oxford?
“Yes, last September, and now he’ll never finish.” Lady Flora sighed, some of her anger draining out of her. “It’s a great pity, really.”
September? Emma frowned.
Caroline’s letter claimed that Amy Townshend had gone missing from Lymington House in late August. If Lord Lovell hadn’t been sent down until September, then he wouldn’t have even been at Lymington House when Amy disappeared.
“Are you certain it was September, Flora?”
Emma didn’t have any plausible reason for asking such a strange question, but Flora merely nodded. “Yes, quite sure.”
That didn’t absolve him of Kitty Yardley’s disappearance, of course, but what were the odds there were two kidnappers at Lymington House?
Very slim, indeed, unless Lord Lovell had been home for a visit in August? “Did, ah…did Lord Lovell visit often at Lymington House while he was at Oxford? In the summer, perhaps?”
It was another risky question, and Emma held her breath, praying her friend wouldn’t remark on it, but Flora was very much caught up in her indignation with Lord Lovell and didn’t appear to notice it.
“He did at first, yes, but in his final year, he… well, you wouldn’t know this, Lady Emma, not having spent any time in London, but Lord Lovell has a rather…unfortunate reputation as a rake.”
Emma adopted a properly horrified expression. “A rake? How shocking.”
“Yes. It broke all our hearts, particularly Lady Lymington’s, as Lovell was always a most affectionate nephew to her. He was a dutiful son, as well.” For all her professed pique with Lord Lovell, Lady Flora was eager to defend him.
“He does seem fond of Lady Lymington.”
“Very fond, but then last year he started running about London with a crowd of spoiled nobleman, and they…they ruined him, Emma. Lord Dunn did his best to extricate Lovell, but it did no good. After that, we hardly ever saw him at Lymington House anymore.”
Emma squeezed Lady Flora’s hand. “That’s dreadful, Flora. I’m truly sorry for it.”
Lady Flora gave Emma a grateful glance, but her chin was wobbling, and she turned her face away.
* * * *
Samuel couldn’t see her face. Her back was to him, and there were dozens of other fair-haired ladies in blue gowns on the promenade this afternoon, but he knew of only one lady who wore that particular shade of blue.
A deep, endless blue that matched the color of her eyes.
He quickened his gait, an unwelcome tug of anticipation in his belly. “Come along, Lovell. Lady Flora is just ahead of us. If we hurry, we can catch her.”
“No, Lymington. You know damn well she doesn’t want to see me.”
Several ladies who were strolling nearby gasped at Lovell’s curse, but he turned such a fierce scowl on them, they scurried off down the pathway, whispering to each other.
Samuel sighed. Last night when Lovell had returned to Lady Swinton’s ballroom after his garden adventure, he’d been more downcast than Samuel had ever seen him. He hadn’t said a word about Lady Flora, and Samuel hadn’t asked, but it was as plain as day she’d sent Lovell on his way without a single word of encouragement.
“You give up too easily. Recall, Lovell, that you and Lady Flora have been friends for years. She cares very much for you.”
“Not anymore. She despises me now.” Lovell swiped a rock from the pathway with a vicious swing of his walking stick.
Samuel didn’t care for lovesick dramatics, and he’d never coddled his cousin, but he couldn’t ignore the misery in Lovell’s eyes, the despairing twist of his lips. “She’s angry with you, yes, but a friendship like yours doesn’t wither and die because of a few mistakes. Stop sulking over it, and beg Flora’s forgiveness.”
Lovell’s laugh was bitter. “It didn’t die, Lymington. I murdered it, and there’s not a reason in the world why Flora should forgive me for it.”
Samuel glanced ahead of them at Lady Flora, who was getting farther away with every step, and decided this wasn’t a moment for subtly. He tore his hat from his head and waved it in the air. “Lady Flora! Wait!”
“For God’s sake, Lymington! Have you gone mad?”
Lovell snatched Samuel’s hat from his hand, but it was already too late. Lady Flora and Lady Emma both turned at the sound of his voice.
Lady Flora’s lips turned down into a dark frown, and Lovell blanched.
“No, Lymington. I told you, I don’t want—”
But Samuel was already striding down the pathway. “Hurry up, will you, before some other gentleman cuts us out.”
“Just as well if they did,” Lovell grumbled, but he trailed after Samuel, dragging his feet with every step.
“Lord Lovell, and Lord Lymington. How do you do?” Lady Silvester nodded politely, but she cast an uneasy glance at Lady Flora, who was looking everywhere but at Lovell’s face.
Samuel frowned, doubt niggling at him. Perhaps this had been a mistake, but it was too late now. “Good afternoon, ladies. What luck that we should have run into you.”
“Yes, extraordinary good luck,” Lady Crosby offered, attempting to smooth o
ver the awkwardness. “It’s a lovely day, is it not?”
“Indeed. Even lovelier now.” Lovell, flustered by Lady Flora’s coldness, directed the full force of his charm at Lady Emma. “The heat has put such pretty color in your cheeks, Lady Emma. Do you care for a stroll around the Serpentine? Perhaps you’ll find the breeze refreshing.”
“Why, what a good idea, Lord Lovell. I’m certain the young ladies will be pleased to accompany you.” Lady Silvester turned a bright smile on her granddaughter. “Doesn’t that sound pleasant, Flora?”
Flora didn’t answer. Lovell’s tentative smile fell, and things might have become painful indeed, if Lady Emma hadn’t stepped forward and taken Samuel’s arm. “A walk sounds lovely.”
Samuel blew out a relieved breath. “Very well, then. Lead the way, Lovell.”
“Lady Flora?” Lovell turned hesitantly toward her, and offered his arm. She made no move to take it, but hung back, her eyes downcast until Lovell drew closer and murmured in a voice hoarse with pain, “Please, Flora?”
Samuel tensed as he waited for Lady Flora to make her decision. She hesitated, but as angry as she was, she’d never been able to bear Lovell’s pain. She took his arm. “Thank you, my lord.”
Lovell bore her off with exquisite care, and Samuel and Lady Emma followed after them, leaving the older ladies to pursue their sedate walk along Rotten Row.
“I paid at visit at the Pink Pearl this afternoon, Lady Emma,” Samuel said, once they were out of earshot of the others. “Who do you suppose I saw there?”
“I don’t dare hazard a guess, Lord Lymington.”
“A very large, dark-haired fellow I recognized at once as Lady Crosby’s coachman. He was just leaving as I arrived. No.” Samuel held up a hand to quiet her when she opened her mouth to speak. “Don’t try and persuade me it wasn’t him. He’s not the sort of man easily mistaken for another.”
“I don’t see what’s so remarkable about him being at the Pink Pearl.” Lady Emma gave him a chastising look. “A coachman has the same, er…needs as a nobleman, Lord Lymington.”
Samuel gaped at her, a wild laugh threatening, but he bit it back, and settled for an incredulous glare instead. “There’s no need for you to explain a man’s needs to me, Lady Emma. Lady Crosby’s man wasn’t there to visit a courtesan.”
“Well, I can’t think of any other reason why he’d—”
“Can’t you?” For an instant, Samuel wondered what it would be like to simply walk along the Serpentine with Lady Emma, without all this maneuvering between them.
He doubted he’d ever find out.
“I don’t know what tortures you think I intend to inflict on Caroline Francis, my lady, but I can assure you, I only want to speak to her. There’s no need to send your grandmother’s coachman to hide her from me.”
“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about, my lord.”
“I think you do.” He stopped, and turned her to face him. “From what I overheard in the library at the Pink Pearl, your friend Letty is in Caroline’s confidence. Since you’ve secreted Caroline away, I may have to pose my questions to Letty instead.”
“I wish you much success in finding her, but as I told you before, my lord, I’ve never been to the Pink Pearl, and I don’t know any Letty.”
The devil she didn’t. Samuel was just about to say he didn’t believe a word out of her mouth when Lady Emma added, “Your cousin and Lady Flora look well together, don’t they?”
Samuel blinked at her, surprised, then followed her gaze to Lovell and Lady Flora, who had moved some distance ahead of them. “They do, yes. She’s a lovely young lady.”
“She is, indeed.” Lady Emma was watching the two of them wandering along the pathway beside the Serpentine, her lower lip caught between her teeth. “Lady Flora knows him quite well, I think?”
“Yes. They’ve known each other since they were children. Lovell’s fond of her.” A small smile curved Samuel’s lips as he watched his cousin. Lovell was gesturing wildly, and Lady Flora was smiling at his antics. It wasn’t quite the doting smile with which she’d used to look at him, but whatever had caused her earlier ill-temper, Lovell had coaxed her out of it.
He was good at making people laugh—at making them happy. Certainly, charm flowed like wine through Lovell’s veins, but there was nothing practiced about the way he spoke to Flora, or the way he looked at her. He’d never had to pretend with her.
“You don’t appear at all concerned your friend will steal away your favorite,” Samuel observed, with a sidelong glance at Lady Emma.
He wasn’t sure what sort of response he expected, but Lady Emma only shrugged. “Lord Lovell isn’t a toy to be squabbled over. He may do as he pleases.”
Samuel had no reply to that. His had been an ill-natured comment, and such a rational, reasonable response was difficult to argue with.
Damn her.
“Or perhaps I should have said, he may do as you please.” A sly smile drifted over her lips. “Yes, I believe that’s more accurate. Don’t you think so, my lord?”
Despite himself, Samuel’s own lips twitched. “What do you imagine would please me, as far as my cousin is concerned?”
“I wouldn’t dare speculate on what would please you, Lord Lymington.”
“It’s nothing so mysterious. My cousin is like a brother to me. I simply want what any brother would want for another. His happiness.”
Lady Emma’s brow furrowed, as if she were troubled by his words. She was quiet for a moment, watching the breeze ripple across the surface of the water, but just when Samuel thought she wouldn’t answer, she said, “If you truly want his happiness, Lord Lymington, then why not let him do as he pleases?”
Because what pleases Lovell nearly killed him.
The words rose to Samuel’s lips, hovered there—
“Or do you think you know best what would make him happy?” She turned to him, the sun flickering in her eyes, turning them a blue he’d never seen before, like the blue fire at the base of a candle’s flame.
He looked away from her, dizzy with sudden longing, confusion, and desire. “I think I know better than you do, Lady Emma.”
“Of course, you know better than I do. My question, Lord Lymington, is if you know better than he does.”
Lady Emma looked troubled, as if she’d spent time considering the question of Lovell’s happiness, as if she had a sincere interest in him, and was concerned about his future happiness.
And Samuel…didn’t like it? Was that what the sudden clench of his fists meant, the tightness in his chest? He turned the strange reaction over inside himself, prodded and poked at it, and…
No. He didn’t like it. Not because he was jealous of her attentions to his cousin, of course. The very idea was absurd. That is, he couldn’t deny he’d been intrigued with her since the night he’d seen her at the Pink Pearl, but he was as wary of her as he was fascinated by her.
In any case, she was all wrong for Lovell. Even if he wasn’t hopelessly besotted with Lady Flora, Samuel would never encourage a match between Lovell and Lady Emma. They’d flirt and charm each other to exhaustion, without ever exchanging an honest word between them.
He glanced at her. She’d turned her gaze back to the river, and he seized the rare moment to study her face—her creamy skin and pert nose, her full, sensuous lips and surprisingly firm chin, the wisps of golden hair at her temples—without her noticing.
Samuel had seen many lovely ladies in his time—ladies with faces lovelier than hers, even—but when she was like this, without her usual flirtations and wiles and artifice, her face touched him in a way no other face ever had.
He couldn’t explain it, and he didn’t care to dwell on it. He wasn’t the sort of man who indulged in fanciful notions, and for all that Lady Emma bewitched him, he didn’t trust her. “Come. It grows late. I’m certain y
our grandmother is wondering where you are.”
“Yes, I daresay she is.” Lady Emma let him hurry her along the pathway until they caught up to Lady Flora and Lovell. “Oh, Lady Emma, Lord Lovell was just telling me the most amusing story about a nonsensical wager over a footrace in Black Hawk Lane.”
Lady Flora was flushed with laughter, and the elation on Lovell’s face eased the tightness in Samuel’s chest.
“Lady Emma, you look like a breath of fresh air, with the wind having put such color into your cheeks.” Lovell gave her an admiring look, but he made no move to take her arm. “Or has my cousin been making you blush?”
“Nonsense, Lord Lovell. Lord Lymington is a perfect gentleman.”
“It’s time we returned the ladies to their grandmothers, Lovell.” Samuel covered Lady Emma’s gloved hand with his. “It’s nearly time to dress for the evening.”
“Is it so late as that? Why, the time flies with such company.” Lovell gazed at Lady Flora with a look that made her cheeks color, then offered her his arm. They fell into step behind Samuel and Emma, and the four of them made their way back toward Rotten Row.
“The footrace was between the Earl of Barrymore and a butcher named Mr. Bullock,” Lady Flora was telling Lady Emma, still laughing over it. “Lord Barrymore thought he had the best of it, as he’s quite fit and Mr. Bullock rather stout, but Mr. Bullock demanded a head start, and to choose the course. Well, you know how narrow Black Hawk Lane is, and…Lady Emma? Are you coming?”
They’d reached Rotten Row, which was still crowded with people, despite the late hour. Some sort of commotion was unfolding on the far end of the pathway, and a dozen or more people had paused, craning their necks to get a glimpse of it.
“Lady Emma?” Lady Flora frowned at her friend. “What is it?”
Lady Emma had stopped on the pathway, her head turned toward the crowd of people squeezing past each other to get a look at a dashing, high-perch phaeton passing by on South Carriage Drive. It was done up to perfection in a shiny powder blue with gold-painted wheels, and carried along by a splendid matched pair of pure white horses.