A Tip of the Cap (London League, Book 3)

by Rebecca Connolly

  There was a round of uneasy laughter, and Beth tried to relax as much as she was able.

  “A scene on our first event in the new house?” Mr. Harris sounded rather pleased by the idea. “I shall have to warn Gerrard, he thought he would have the honor of such a christening when he comes in a few weeks. Gracehill will be much the better for your fair hand pulling that string, rather than his scrawny ones.”

  Beth’s aforementioned hand was raised to his lips, and she beamed at the kind-hearted Mr. Harris. “Only point the way, sir, and I shall begin the chaos.”

  “Alas, my dear,” Malcolm said beside her, retrieving her hand and patting it, “the ballroom will not see your chaos, nor your grace. We have other plans for you.”

  “Do you?” she asked in surprise, looking around at them all, though she could not make out faces.

  “You three need to get back into the ballroom!” chirped another voice, this one much bolder and ringing with a sort of amused authority, almost musical in its timbre. “And you, my sweet Lady Montgomery, are in my charge for a time.”

  Beth’s arm was taken, and she was suddenly tugged away from her husband. “Monty?”

  “It’s Lady Raeburn, Beth,” he assured her as his arm slid from her. “She was at our wedding, do you remember? I will be with you shortly, I promise.”

  There was nothing for it; Beth was hardly in a position to disagree or to run back to him. She’d already been pulled down a hallway, and while the music of the ballroom was now audible, she had the sense that they were not going to enter it.

  “Up some stairs now, my lady,” Lady Raeburn said, placing Beth’s hand at her elbow. “Can you manage? If you need the balance, there is a wall to your left.”

  Beth nodded, feeling for it. Lady Raeburn might not have been well known to her, but she was rather well known to everybody else. She had bright red hair, a ridiculously large fortune, and wore the most outrageous ensembles, as she recalled, and instead of being reviled for such independence, she was adored for it.

  “It’s odd to hear you call me ‘my lady’, or for anyone else to,” Beth confessed as they ascended the stairs. “Would you mind calling me Beth instead? I know we don’t know each other well, but…”

  “Oh, but I thrive upon bending the social formalities!” Lady Raeburn gushed. “I accept!”

  Beth chuckled to herself and sighed as they reached the top of the stairs. “Very good. Would you be so good as to tell me, my lady, what I am wearing?”

  “Tibby, my pet, call me Tibby. Everybody does unless there is a very good reason not to.” She pulled Beth’s hand back and looped it through her own. “And you are wearing a very fashionable shade of red, quite dark, almost the color of wine, and there is some exquisitely delicate black lace and beading around your bodice and sleeves.” Her hand was suddenly squeezed. “You look stunning, Beth, and it is quite a shame we are not showing you off downstairs.”

  Beth’s head spun with the details, and it was all she could do to follow. The gown was new, a gift from Malcolm, and the servants had been perfectly silent about its details, only praising how she looked in it. Until colors became clearer to her, she would always be in doubt about how she appeared and what she wore, and on a night such as this, with her husband having some sort of plan for her, she was more anxious than ever.

  “Where are we going, Tibby?” she managed to ask, her heart in her throat for some inexplicable reason.

  Tibby hummed a little. “I’d say ‘you will see’, but you won’t, will you?”

  Beth barked a surprised laugh, oddly refreshed by the bluntness of the statement.

  “It’s a lovely little room right off a balcony overlooking the ballroom,” Tibby went on, the music suddenly growing in volume once more. “Geoffrey and Mary were quite wise to take a house with such a find, and I gave them my opinion decidedly on the subject. It’s hidden away by a fine tapestry of Apollo and Daphne, which I find quite odd, as Daphne never gave three pence for him, but the artist apparently felt otherwise.” She felt Tibby shrug as she pulled her into a room with a slight draft, but a warm fire was blazing off to her right. “Here, my dear, I’ve arranged a seat for you. The ballroom is just below, and the tapestry doesn’t hide the room from our view, only the opposite. I can tell you anything you wish about what is happening until your husband joins us.”

  She helped Beth to a seat, and Beth felt herself unable to keep from smiling in disbelief. To be part of the ball, but not at all vulnerable to anyone. To be free to be herself as she was now without having to bear the pity of others. To be alone with her husband, when the time was right. It was all too perfect.

  “Malcolm arranged all of this? For me?”

  “No, for me, darling,” Tibby scoffed. “Of course, it was for you. The man is entirely besotted with you, can’t you tell?”

  Beth clamped down on her lips hard, her emotions surging to the surface. “Tell me everything, Tibby. Everything you can.”

  Tibby, as it turned out, was an excellent resource with an eye for detail and a manner of speaking that made everything come to life. Beth laughed and laughed at the stories Tibby spun for her, not feeling even once as though she was missing something by being up in the balcony and not down with the others. Tibby even encouraged her to dance about the room, though she had no partner, and Beth took her up on it, with Tibby teaching her whatever steps she didn’t know from her own seat.

  “Might I have this dance?”

  Beth’s heart skipped a beat as Malcolm’s voice broke through the music from below and she whirled to a stop, facing the doorway he now stood in.

  She couldn’t make out Tibby’s response over the sound of her pulse pounding in her ears, but she did hear the door close soundly, and she did hear the musicians below strike into a slow waltz. She heard the creaking of the floorboards as her husband moved towards her, and thanks in part to the fire, she did see her husband’s form as it came into view.

  And she would swear she could hear the shiver that raced up her arms and up her neck, raising gooseflesh on her skin when Malcolm reached out and took her hand. There would be no breath in her lungs when this was over.

  “My lady,” Malcolm murmured, his tone anything but formal, his words almost that of possession rather than politeness. “May I have this dance?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, unable to raise her voice any louder.

  His hand slid around her waist, pulling her close, while the hand he held was suddenly raised into position.

  “Malcolm,” Beth said as momentary panic seized her, “I can’t see.”

  Malcolm smiled, she could hear it, and his hold on her tightened a little. “That’s all right, darling. I can. Follow my lead.”

  With that, he started into the waltz, and his steps were graceful and lithe, so smooth and easy that it was the most natural thing in the world for Beth to follow him. She had never been a particularly able dancer, only an enthusiastic one, and she’d thought that would all have to be given up without sight. But dancing with Malcolm did not require one to see, only to feel and to follow.

  And oh, how she felt… And what delight from following!

  Malcolm held her close, but said nothing, not that it made any difference. She knew he was holding her closer than was proper, and she loved that he was doing so. She loved the feeling of being in his arms while he quite literally swept her away. This was the sort of thing that every woman dreamed of, whatever she might admit to, and Beth was living in it.

  Would wonders never cease?

  “You waltz like an angel, Beth,” Malcolm praised softly as it came to an end. “Or perhaps like a fairy?”

  She smiled breathlessly up at him as he drew her hand to his lips. “I only dream to be a fairy, Malcolm, and I only follow where you lead.”

  “No, darling.” He moved her hand to the back of his neck and traced his own back down her arm to draw her closer still. “I follow where you lead. Wherever you lead.”

  Beth couldn’t breathe, her h
eart racing within her chest, and the need to kiss him rose with a fury.

  But the moment passed as Malcolm chuckled to himself. “What do you think of my surprise, hmm? Will it do?”

  She nodded, smiling in her delight. “It is wonderful. I feel as though I am down in the ballroom with all the fine ladies and gentlemen, without the fear of embarrassing myself or you. Tibby put me so at ease and made it all so delightful, but all I needed was you, Malcolm. And now here you are. It couldn’t be more perfect.”

  Malcolm touched his brow to hers, his hands stroking at her back. “Sweetheart…” He shook his head against her. “I wanted to show you an evening of delights despite your condition. To remind you of what we can still have with whatever time we have if we don’t waste a single moment.”

  There were hardly words for a response to such words, such sweetness, and though she had no idea what had come over her husband, she was delighted to let him continue. The music started up again, and Malcolm led her into another dance, and then another, and another. It made no difference that she did not know all the steps, as they were hardly following the proper patterns, and no other couples were present to witness it.

  There were no walls between them now, no fear of vulnerabilities or embarrassment, and nothing Beth wanted to hide anymore. She would tell him about the improvements in her sight and let him celebrate the triumph with her. There would be no change in their relationship, not after this, and when her vision returned completely, they would be closer than ever before.

  Beth parted from Malcolm as the song ended, out of breath and overheated. She moved towards the window where a cool breeze blew, and sighed heavily, reaching her gloved hands to her warm cheeks. “I haven’t danced in ages. I don’t even know what I look like right now.”

  “That’s all right,” Malcolm replied, his voice rough and his breath as unsteady as hers. “I do.”

  She laughed a little. “And that is supposed to make me feel better?”

  “Doesn’t it?” he asked as he came up behind her.

  “Not at all.”

  “It should.” His hands were suddenly on hers, gently tugging each glove from the fingertips, then pulling each completely off, the fabric gliding slowly down her forearms, leaving a tingling path on her skin in their wake. “Shall I tell you what you look like?”

  Beth released a shaking breath and nodded, half afraid of what he might say, half afraid of what she might.

  “You look like sunrise,” Malcolm breathed, his lips grazing the rim of her ear as his hands traced along the exposed skin of her wrists and hands. “And yet, somehow, like sunset, as well. The most exquisite balance of colors in breathtaking shades.”

  She shivered and rubbed her arms instinctively, Malcolm’s hands coming to her arms, continuing their sensuous torment as they traced down to her elbow, then back up.

  “You look like the fairest rose in a garden of thorns,” he continued as his fingers slid up to her neck, deftly untying the simple ribbon she wore as adornment, “though your skin is twice as soft. You are the definition of loveliness, the embodiment of spring, and the very shade of passion.”

  Beth’s eyes fluttered at his touch, at his words, at the heated whispers in her ear. There was too much heat, too much emotion, too much everything, and she couldn’t contain it. She was fraying at the edges, and Malcolm was only stoking the fire within her.

  “You bring life to everything you touch, including me. You brought me back to life. You look like life itself, Beth.”

  His lips slid to her neck and kissed her softly, wringing a gasp from her. Her name had never come from his lips during their most intimate times, it had always been a sweet endearment, a soft word of praise, but never her name. He’d never called her anything else, and certainly never Caroline again, but never her name…

  “Say it again,” she whispered as his hands slid around her waist and pulled her flush against him.

  Malcolm’s mouth found its way to her ear once more. “Beth,” he breathed.

  With a soft mewl of distress, Beth whirled in his arms and dragged his mouth to hers, kissing him wildly, consumed by her need for him, her rising desire, and the thrill of his arms clenching her tightly. He responded with equal fervor, one of his hands digging into her hair and gripping tightly as he kissed her, deeply and without reservation or restraint.

  “Take me home,” Beth panted, her fingers latching in Malcolm’s hair. “Malcolm…”

  He kissed her again, and she could taste his hunger and need. “Yes, Beth. Yes.”

  Without a word, he lifted her into his arms and strode from the room, and once they were home, he loved her long into the night.

  Chapter Twenty

  Something was amiss.

  Fritz’s writing had lost its playful, confident style, and Rogue was almost desperate in his reports. The others kept things fairly straightforward, but with all of them working on the leads from the traitors’ correspondence, they were all of the same opinion.

  Something was very wrong.

  Twice in the last week, shipments had been incorrect. The associates tailing Rogue had reported someone else following him, but only when acting on the contents of the letters they were intercepting.

  Fritz had pulled men from the Home Office to help, and Tailor had given them additional support from any of the other groups as needed. He’d given them leave to use anyone at all, and Milliner had offered her operatives and resources from the Convent as well.

  Malcolm considered all of that, and Eagle had given him advice and directives, but they both felt the same way. There was no use in the additional manpower if the information was wrong.

  They began using different methods to gain the contents of letters, including placing assets as servants in several houses. They kept the same pattern of interception in the streets, certain now that they were being watched somehow, but that was proving fruitless, as well. There were no changes in the letters, and everything they traced was wrong or late.

  It occurred to Malcolm to wonder how anyone had managed to identify Lord Wharton as Rogue. Yes, there had been the etching in the newspaper nearly a year ago when Rogue had accidentally become a hero for the lower classes, but it had not been a perfect likeness. Certainly not enough for anyone to identify him, let alone know his real name. Yet the occasional mention of Rogue in their letters raised too many questions.

  Thankfully, there had never been any mention of Amelia or Whitleigh, but they were all on edge as it was. No one in Society approached them, and there had been no reason to raise any sort of distraction in public again.

  But all of them, every single one, had the sense that something was wrong. Not knowing what it was made everything worse.

  Malcolm felt more and more drawn to go help in the investigation, to do as his instincts bade and find what had been missed, to go over everything with meticulous care, and to direct the actions of his colleagues.

  But there was Beth…

  Beth who was becoming everything. She was a vibrant woman, and not even her lack of sight could change that. Somehow, it only made her more incandescent, and when she was in the height of any emotion, she was a stirring sight, more alive than any woman he had ever known. Their last few days together had changed something within him, and he felt, for the first time in years, as though he were well and whole. The man he once was but changed in so many ways.

  Beth had done that.

  He needed time with her, endless moments and experiences, in an effort to show her what he wasn’t sure he could say yet. He wasn’t even sure he could admit it yet.

  Malcolm was dangerously close to loving her, and he knew himself well enough to know that he was more than halfway there. Might have even been there, in truth, but while he lived in his denial, the words would remain unsaid. Once said, they could not be unsaid.

  He wasn’t ready.

  This morning, he’d felt something different between them, though it had been days since their exquisite interlude after th
e ball. “Beth… Do you trust me?” he asked her gently as he’d changed for the day.

  She had nodded once. “Of course, I do.”

  Of course, she did. It was the simplest answer he could have wished for, yet it had cut across his heart with a swiftness that stole his breath. She trusted him.

  What a thought!

  Malcolm had moved to the bed where she sat and pulled her into his chest, cradling her head gently. He smiled a little when her slender arms had wrapped themselves around his waist, tugging him closer still. “Do you trust me to be your eyes?”

  She had smiled faintly. “Yes, of course.”

  “Do you trust me enough to believe I will always be here for you? Even if I’m not here in person?”

  Beth had heaved a sigh, touching her brow to his. “Yes.”

  “Do you trust me enough to believe in me, even when I may not deserve it?”

  She nodded against him, her fingers rubbing along the back of his neck and into his hair.

  Her responses had slowly unmanned him one by one, and he could barely manage his next. “Do you trust me enough to be vulnerable with me?”

  Beth had tugged at his neck in response, arching up to kiss him slowly, unraveling his already fading control. Her kiss was soft and sweet, and it had a familiar edge to it that he had come to know as uniquely hers. Beth kissed the way she did everything else; with all her energy and all that she was, her entire focus riveted on her subject.

  At that moment, her subject had been him, and that kiss had been the end of life as he knew it.

  Again.

  He died a thousand deaths and was reborn nearly every time she kissed him, and he thrilled with the venture every time.

  “Yes,” she had whispered with a small, secret smile as she broke from him.

  Yes? Yes, what?

  He had stared at her for a long moment, not entirely comprehending.

  Yes… Yes! “You do?” he had answered in an unsteady voice as he tried to recall what he had asked.