Pursued by the Rake

by Lancaster, Mary

  Her worst fear was that Roberta would hear her. But nothing seemed to stir in the chamber next door. She took off her ballgown and washed and dressed in the first morning gown she laid her hands on. She fastened it as best she could unaided, pinned up her hair, and then set about packing her meager possessions into her valise.

  By the time she had finished, she heard the faint stirrings of servants moving about the house. It was time to get a message to Selim.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Joe woke the instant her lips touched his, but the butterfly kiss was so sweet he stayed still, afraid of breaking the spell. It only lasted an instant, and then she was gone, slipping from his bed and his chamber.

  He couldn’t help being disappointed. He had hoped tonight would show her everything. But still, she doubted her worth and his motivation. Some of it, no doubt, was Theresa’s doing, but the notion must already have been with her for Theresa’s poison to take root.

  He had suspected, of course. Something in her intensity had reminded him not of a woman beginning a lifetime of love, but of one saying goodbye. Not that one could ever tell which way Hazel would turn—it was one of the reasons he loved her so much—but he had hoped to wake up beside her and love her again, a slow, delicious morning loving before marrying her.

  But he had been right to suspect her. She fled.

  He rose and summoned his valet, then drank coffee while he washed, shaved, and dressed with more than usual care. Going downstairs, he found the breakfast parlor as quiet as he had expected. Selim, was there, of course, looking as if he had slept little, though at least, he was not the worse for drink since his religion forbade it. Joe suspected there would be a few guests this morning wishing something had forbidden them, too.

  “I shall indeed leave you this morning,” Selim said, “and hope we may meet again sooner rather than later.”

  “I guarantee it,” Joe said, helping himself to a modest amount of toast and eggs and another cup of coffee. He glanced at his youngest sister. “I’m surprised to see you up so early. I thought you would sleep until midday at the earliest.”

  “So did I. But I sprang into wakefulness and couldn’t get back to sleep. Which is just as well since otherwise I would have missed saying goodbye to Selim.”

  “Mr. Isyanci,” Roberta corrected with a yawn.

  There was no one else in the parlor to hear, so Joe said, “Actually, Prince Selim would be more correct. Isyanci is a facetious name he adopted, partly, I’m sure, to protect me from anyone knowing I invited a rebel Ottoman into my house.”

  “Why facetious?” Emma demanded.

  “Because it means rebel in Turkish,” Selim said, and she laughed.

  “I will miss you when you are gone,” she said.

  “I shall miss you, too,” he replied after only an instant’s hesitation. Joe rather suspected Emma was one of the reasons he was willing to leave so soon.

  In the end, the whole family, even Standish, spilled out on to the front steps to wave him off.

  “Where is Hazel?” Emma asked suddenly as the carriage pulled up and stopped for Selim. “She will want to say goodbye to you.”

  “I hate farewells,” Selim said. “You must simply pass on my great respect and best wishes for her happy future. And yours, Miss Emma.”

  Emma gave him her hand. She was still smiling, but there was a twinge of loss in her eyes, mirrored in Selim’s.

  “Don’t you want to marry me?” the minx said, though at least low enough that only Selim and Joe could hear.

  “I can think of no greater honor,” Selim said at once. “Perhaps if we meet again in a few years, and somehow, no other man has snapped you up…”

  She laughed, her eyes sparkling once more. “I like that idea.”

  “So do I,” Selim said ruefully. He turned to Joe and embraced him. “What is it about our sisters?” he wondered.

  “Thank you for being kind to her,” Joe murmured. “And to me.”

  Selim stood back with his flashing smile, bowed once more to the entire company, and ran down the steps. He climbed into the carriage. The footman closed the door and stood back.

  Everyone waved like mad as the carriage drove off.

  Joe thought of Hazel, her pain and his, and, in spite of everything, a lump formed in his throat. He hugged his younger sister abruptly, then jumped down the steps.

  “I’m going riding!” he called over his shoulder.

  “I’ll come!” Emma declared.

  “Not this time,” Joe said firmly, striding toward the stables. “I’m going alone.”

  *

  “You can come out now,” Selim said.

  With difficulty, because the carriage was moving so much, Hazel clambered out from under the seat opposite and managed to fall onto the cushioned bench.

  “Though I still don’t see why you had to hide,” Selim complained. “You could at least have said goodbye to Joe.”

  “I couldn’t,” she said frankly. “If I’d spoken to him, I would never have had the strength to leave.”

  “And the children you came here with?”

  “I spoke to them early this morning. And left a letter for Bart. He will bring them to London, and from there, we’ll go to their sister in Essex.”

  “Are you not afraid that Joe will come with them?”

  “I think Joe will be too appalled by the manner of my departure to wish anything more to do with me,” she said unsteadily. She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders with determination. “I have already written to Lady Sayle. The children have my letter to give to her.”

  “You have thought of everything, except that perhaps you misjudge Joe.”

  “You can talk,” she retorted. “We have both misjudged him in our time, but I think…I think he knew I was saying goodbye. And already, he sees the sense in it.” Otherwise, he would have stopped me. He would have found a way.

  She could not quite silence the unreasonable accusation in her wayward brain, but at least she knew it was unfair and unjust.

  They both gazed out of the window in miserable silence for some time. Then, becoming aware of her surroundings, Hazel frowned. “Are we not going the wrong way? We should have turned off for the London road.”

  “It is just a small detour. I have a last commission for Mr. Atwood.”

  She blinked. “Mr. Atwood? The vicar?”

  “I like him,” Selim said. “He is like one of the fierce fighting clerics of old. A Knight Templar or a Knight of St. John.”

  “I hope not,” she retorted. “They didn’t care much for your people if I remember my history.”

  “Nor did we care for theirs,” he said mildly. “But even then, there could still be respect. And times have most definitely changed.”

  She allowed that to be true but said anxiously, “You won’t be long, will you?”

  “What does it matter?” he asked.

  She closed her mouth. In truth, she couldn’t really explain her hurry to leave the neighborhood, except that every moment on his land, every moment within easy distance of him, made her regret her decision to leave.

  It’s for Joe, she told herself fiercely. And that was always good enough. For at least another few minutes.

  The vicarage, like the church it was attached to, was at the edge of Little Finglebury, a scattered but rather charming village nestled on the edge of the Downs.

  “Come in with me,” Selim invited as the carriage stopped at the gate. “It will pass the time, and I think perhaps he can help you.”

  She did not have the heart to refuse. For one thing, there would be too much time to think alone in the carriage. So, she alighted and walked with Selim up the path to the front door.

  A neat, calm woman answered their knock. To Hazel, she looked like a housekeeper.

  “The vicar is not quite ready yet,” the woman replied when Selim asked politely for Mr. Atwood. “But he won’t be long. If you would care to wait in the sitting room?”

  She threw open a
door on her left, and Hazel had walked in before she realized there was another occupant, standing by the window. Even with his back to her, he made her heart turn over.

  Joe turned to face her, not even a little surprised. Well, she was stunned enough for both of them.

  “Thank you, Selim,” Joe said, without taking his gaze off her.

  She recovered, spinning to face Selim. “You traitor!” she exclaimed.

  Selim threw up his hands, backed out of the room, and closed the door on them.

  In panic, Hazel started after him.

  “Hazel.” Joe’s soft voice halted her in her tracks. He was not angry. She had no idea what was going on. “Don’t be cross with Selim. I suspected what you would do and got to him first.”

  When he had risen during the night… No wonder Selim looked so tired. He hadn’t got much sleep.

  “Why?” she demanded helplessly.

  “I think you should tell me first why you are still running away from me.”

  “Oh, you know why,” she said brokenly. “I am not for you, Joe. I am ruined and poor, and though I know you care, that isn’t enough to make up for the pity. I want you to find your lightning bolt, and I would die rather than stand in your way.”

  He walked across the room to her, much as he had done last night in his bedchamber, and she backed instinctively into a table.

  “Hazel Curwen,” he said softly, taking her into his arms, “for an intelligent, observant woman, you can be abominably blind. Don’t you know the lightning struck me when I first saw you?”

  Her mouth fell open. “But you–I–you…”

  “Yes, I was coming out of another woman’s bedchamber,” he said, almost savagely. “Of all the places to encounter my leveler, that was the one I had never thought of. Can you imagine how terrible that made me feel? To see you, want you as I did, at that particular moment? No wonder I said stupid things, made you believe I was such an arrogant, promiscuous fool. All I wanted was to talk to you, and you would not even look at me. Until the Blue Boar–and then I had to have been drinking all night.”

  He buried his face in her hair, and she was too stunned to try to free herself. God knew she had no desire to. Being in his arms had always felt so right, even when she had known it was wrong.

  “I fell quickly, but I never imagined how far, how deep it would go. Hazel, I don’t care if you are still ruined—which you aren’t, you know, even before you marry me. If you don’t love me deeply enough just yet, I will work all my life to win you.”

  He swooped for her lips, but she caught his face between her hands. “But, Joe…why did you not tell me all this last night?”

  A quick smile flashed across his face, gleaming in his eyes. “I was busy. So were you.”

  She flushed hotly with the memory. Desire stirred as it always had around him. “But you went to Selim instead of speaking to me!”

  “So did you,” he pointed out. “And I still hoped I was wrong, that you would change your mind and stay. Besides, now we are in the right place.”

  “The right place for what?” she asked, mystified.

  He pressed ruthlessly closer and kissed her mouth, long and thoroughly. “Marriage,” he said against her lips.

  He seemed to have stolen all her breath. “S-still, you ask me to marry you?”

  “Well, you have to now I have had my wicked way with you. You might already be with child.”

  “I could not have served the Princess of Wales,” she retorted, “without learning when one could and could not conceive a child. That need not—”

  She broke off, for he was laughing and kissing her at once, and she realized with awe that he was joking. That he simply wanted to marry her for all the reasons he had said. The reasons that were just like hers. Love.

  She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him hard.

  Which is when the door opened, and Mr. Atwood walked in, accompanied by Selim and the housekeeper.

  Hazel broke away, flushing furiously, although she let her hand remain in Joe’s.

  “Good morning,” Mr. Atwood said dryly.

  “Good morning, sir,” Joe said. “Would you be so good as to marry us?”

  “I suppose I had better.” Although he spoke grumpily, there was a twinkle in his eyes. He held out his hand. “The special license, if you please.”

  When she had set out with Selim, she had never imagined she would be so devastated that she could not marry Joe this instant.

  Stricken, she stared at him.

  But he only smiled and drew a document from inside his coat, presenting it to the vicar.

  “Where…when… How did you acquire that?” she demanded.

  “I wrote and asked John to bring it from London when he came down.”

  Her mouth fell open. “But you never even mentioned marriage to me until last night!”

  “And look how that turned out. Now stop scolding me, or Mr. Atwood will think you don’t want to be married to me.”

  “I do,” Hazel told the vicar hastily.

  And there, with only Selim and Mrs. Smith, the vicar’s housekeeper, as witnesses, they were married. It was a short, almost unreal ceremony, and yet to Hazel, it held beauty and wonder.

  Mr. Atwood congratulated them, gave Joe a certificate, and indulgently shooed them all out of his house. “I have things to do. Go away and be happy.”

  Beside her, Joe seemed to buzz with laughter and happiness. She knew how he felt. Selim bowed over her hand and smiled. “Lady Sayle. May I offer a seat in my carriage to you and your husband? I shall be happy to drive back to Brightoaks for the purpose.”

  “I rode over,” Joe said. “Brought a horse for Hazel, too.”

  “You think of everything,” Hazel said, impressed.

  “I will agree once you change into your riding habit, which I presume is in that bag Selim is dragging from under the seat.”

  “But I’ve nowhere to change my dress,” she objected. “I can’t knock on Mr. Atwood’s door again.”

  “Change in the stable,” Joe advised. “I’ll stand guard.”

  Ten minutes later, in her riding habit with the valise tied behind Joe’s saddle, they rode back in the direction of Brightoaks.

  “Oh, no,” she said suddenly. “I left letters for Bart and your mother! Everyone will know I’ve run away! My reputation will be ruined again, despite all your family’s hard work on my behalf!”

  “Nonsense. If Bart is up by the time we arrive, I’ll eat my hat—and yours. Anyway, neither of them would blab. The next question to consider, Lady Sayle, is your wedding trip.”

  Her eyes widened. She hadn’t even thought of that. “Oh! Where would you suggest?”

  “Well, we could go to London. Selim is going there to see if he can find support for getting back into the sultan’s good graces. I would like to put in a word for him when I see Lord Castlereagh.”

  “That is true. And perhaps I could talk to Juliet and Lady Meg about Barden, if they are still in London.”

  “Good idea. And then, if you like, we can sail to France and travel slowly to Vienna—where I have to be by October.”

  “Oh, goodness,” she murmured, staring at him. “You mean I can go the Continent, after all? With you?”

  “Well, I would hate you to go without me so soon after we are married.”

  She laughed. “You know what I mean! Oh, Joe, this will be so exciting!”

  Since the horses were walking so closely together, he leaned over and kissed her. “I know,” he said softly. “And it’s just the beginning.”

  Epilogue

  Two months later…

  “What do you think?” Joe asked.

  Hazel walked across the drawing room and gazed out of the window. Below, was a confluence of eternally busy, cheerful Viennese streets. Further ahead, she could see the emperor’s palace and gardens.

  “The location is perfect,” she said, turning to look about the apartment. She doubted she would have chosen the decoration. It was
a little ornate for her usual tastes, but here, for some reason, it worked.

  Since half the population of Europe seemed to be cramming itself into Vienna for the peace conference, residences were hard to come by. Here, they had a drawing room, a dining room, and a bedchamber, plus an attic space for servants.

  After two months of joyful travel, awed by the various delights of France, Italy, and Greece—and the constant wonder of learning about Joe in all his moods and facets—she was glad to have a place to settle with him. And these apartments were just what they needed.

  “This is our first home,” she said happily. “And I love it already.”

  Smiling, he came and took her in his arms. “I’m glad, for I may not get much time to spend with you now.”

  “I know.”

  It was a new phase of their life together. Joe would be busy with the work of the British delegation to the Congress, and she looked forward to supporting him all she could. It would be different after their weeks of sweet, lazy solitude, pleasing only themselves, but she already knew it would be fun.

  She laid her head on his shoulder and sighed with contentment. “I foresee several weeks, if not months, of gaiety, dinners, and dancing.”

  He took her hand, swinging her into an enthusiastic waltz. “Not too many, for I still want you to myself some of the time.”

  “Why would that be?” she asked innocently, fitting herself closely against him and winding her arms around his neck.

  For answer, he danced her out of the drawing room and across the narrow hall to the bedchamber. “Let me show you,” he said huskily.

  “But we are to dine with Lady Castlereagh,” she reminded him.

  “Not for hours,” he said breathlessly, his mouth hovering over hers. “And I intend to make good use of them. If my lady would oblige me.”

  There had been many, many such passages between them in the weeks since their marriage, and Hazel was still fascinated by the infinite variety of love. “I am a dutiful wife,” she said unsteadily.

  A smile flickered across his lips. They almost touched hers. “Is that a yes?”