“Then I have only to continue, and my suit is won!”
Now Lady Prima’s face turned beet-red, so hysterical that her laughs barely made any sound at all as she continued to swipe the air. A maid entered with a tray of tea, setting it on the table before disappearing. “Oh, Bentley,” Lady Prima wheezed after the worst had subsided, “you are a devil, I say. Such a handsome devil.”
I watched the exchange, somewhat amused—and glad that Lady Prima bore the brunt of William’s teasing in a conversation where it could’ve just as easily been me. At last recovered, Lady Prima turned to me. “I have an endless supply of knowledge at your disposal—and if anyone strikes your fancy, I have the connections to arrange an introduction. As well as any chance encounters you might have after that.” She waggled her eyebrows at me. “Have you any more requirements then, Miss Wycliffe?”
“I suppose not.”
“None?” Lady Prima’s eyes turned hopeful.
A warning bell rang in the back of my mind. I ignored it. “None.”
She clapped to herself. “Oh, that is good news indeed! For I have brought a specimen this morning for you to look over.”
My throat tightened. A specimen? Had she just referred to a potential suitor as a specimen? And he was here?
As if she had heard my thoughts, Lady Prima said, “He is in the other room. Shall I send for him?”
Beside her, William flashed me a dark smile. “By all means, you should send for him. Let us look him over and see if he is up to the task of being Eliza’s husband.”
I shot William a glare, but that momentary relapse was all Lady Prima needed to jump up and whoosh past me to fetch whoever had been waiting for me all this time. I spun around to catch her, but suddenly William clamped his hands on my shoulders and forced me over to the mauve settee.
He sat me down then waved a mockingly scolding finger at me. “Now Eliza, remember to be outgoing. And try not to flirt, if you can help it. We both know how inept you are.”
“Yes, thank you.”
“And try to sound a little sweeter. That venom in your voice is enough to kill a weaker man.”
“If only.”
William sauntered around the settee, almost tauntingly. “You know, something’s gotten into you these last few moments. Whatever could it be? I thought you wanted to find a husband.”
“I do,” I said stubbornly. “But I wasn’t prepared to face one of Lady Prima’s specimens with you in attendance.”
William shrugged. “I’m sure he shall be handsome and charming, and everything you would want him to be. In fact, now that I think on it, you should flirt—it is the perfect opportunity for you to practice. Do not worry yourself, I shall help you along.”
That was exactly what I was worried about. Footsteps echoed through the entryway, growing louder.
“You don’t have to stay,” I hissed at the last second, face flushed.
“Oh, I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
They appeared in the doorway, Lady Prima’s round frame comically contrasted against a tall, lean man with pale skin and white-blond hair. I don’t know what I had been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t my cousin.
“Mr. Hayman!” I said with accumulating unease. I had not seen him since I was twelve, but at that time he was easily twice my age, and I didn’t like to think on that particular visit of his. If they got any rounder, my eyes were liable to burst out of their sockets. Lady Prima returned to her seat as Mr. Hayman came before me.
“Dear cousin Eliza, you’re all grown up,” he said after straightening from his bow. “Why, I do believe you’re fifteen hands, at least!”
A nervous chuckle burst out of me. “Fif-fifteen hands? Is that . . . good . . .?” I didn’t know what else to say. Mr. Hayman seemed pleased at the question though, nodding enthusiastically.
“Oh, indeed. You may never enter the races, but there are other, more useful employments for a mare—girl,” he corrected, “your age.”
My smile stayed glued to my face even as my eyebrows pulled up in a slant, unsure of which ending to his sentence I preferred. When I’d told Lady Prima to find a horse breeder, I hadn’t imagined someone so obsessed with the creatures. A quick glance at Lady Prima told me she held no misgivings about that particular quirk of Mr. Hayman’s—if indeed it could be called such.
From behind me William coughed, and I knew it was in an attempt to smother a laugh. “Good breeding, too,” he murmured.
An impulse to elbow him in the stomach made my arm twitch. I stifled it, instead turning and saying, “Sir William Bentley, may I introduce you to Mr. Hayman, my cousin.”
They exchanged bows. Lady Prima resumed her seat on the chaise lounge before retrieving her teacup and taking a swig. I sat on the settee and set to work pouring the rest of the tea.
“How good to finally meet you, Mr. Hayman,” William said, louder, hand gripping the back of the settee. “Eliza mentioned you to me only hours ago, and now here you are in the flesh.” My head tilted. I had done no such thing.
Mr. Hayman clasped his hands behind his back. “She spoke to you of me?”
My gaze met William’s smug one. “Yes. ‘Twas after I remarked how close the two of you seemed. I believe her exact words were, ‘My cousin, the thoroughbred.’”
Tea splashed onto the serving tray as I set the pot down and gasped. How dare William twist my words! “I-I was speaking of Ardent,” I said.
“Who is Ardent?”
William turned to Mr. Hayman. “The horse.”
“Which horse?”
“You, man.”
“Mr. Hayman is ardent?” Lady Prima asked.
William chuckled. “Would you describe him as anything less?”
I planted my face into my palm to hide my coloring cheeks.
“Oh, I see!” Lady Prima giggled. “Devilish clever.”
Mr. Hayman turned about in confusion. “Then who is the thoroughbred?”
William clucked his tongue. “Her cousin. Horse, ardent, thoroughbred, it is all you, Mr. Hayman. Don’t you see, Miss Wycliffe is acting coy!”
My knuckles turned white, sheer will restraining my hand from slapping William across the face. Heaven help him as soon as Mr. Hayman left. He met my eyes, and my mouth dropped open.
William had the gall to grin at me wickedly. “Can you deny ever speaking the words, Eliza?”
I could see another message he was conveying to me in his gaze. Flirt, Eliza, I dare you. You asked for this, and I am only helping you along.
He was certainly not helping me along.
I swallowed and crossed my arms. “If you’ll remember, I never specified which cousin.”
“I daresay you’re right.” William turned to Mr. Hayman. “It’s true she never named you. But none of Miss Wycliffe’s other cousins are as tall or dashing. One can only assume she spoke of you.”
Mr. Hayman’s head reared back and he stood a little taller. “A compliment of the highest order! I shall cherish your words forever, Miss Wycliffe.”
I forced a smile onto my face, but it felt more like a pained grimace. William sauntered toward the fire, extending his hands near the flames while Lady Prima munched on the biscuits from the silver tray. In fascination I watched as she downed four biscuits in a row.
“Do you ride, Miss Wycliffe?” Mr. Hayman settled back into the settee, crossed his legs, and somehow managed to scoot closer to me.
“Not since coming to town. But during the summer I like to ride through Ambleside’s park almost daily.”
“You must be an expert horsewoman.”
I shifted away in an effort to maintain a proper distance. “I wouldn’t say that, Mr. Hayman.”
He shifted closer. “I imagine you drive your mount to break-neck speeds, unlike most ladies in society. How I enjoy a bounding ride through the countryside! One of these days, Miss Wycliffe, I would love to elope with you.”
William’s head whipped over. Lady Prima’s biscuit paused on its way to her
mouth. I didn’t need a mirror to know my cheeks and the tips of my ears flamed bright red. Mr. Hayman held still for a moment before his eyes went round and his face flushed at the realization of his error.
“That is, lope—er, good heavens, I meant to say lope. To move with long, bounding strides atop one’s mount.” Mr. Hayman’s hands fiddled with his tailcoat, then his breeches, straightening them, over and over. “Dear me, I would never elope with you Miss Wycliffe.” He stopped and flushed again. “Erm, that is I would elope with you—if you wished it—but I would never presume that was your desire—”
William bent his head, his jaw working in a mighty effort to contain his laughter.
“—Why we haven’t even discussed the possibility of you becoming my bridle—er, bride.”
That did it. William doubled over in a fit of laughter, not bothering anymore with decorum. It surprised me when Lady Prima remained silent from her corner, bearing a confused look—as if Mr. Hayman’s blunderings were perfectly normal. Despite my horror of such a botched proposal, the sight of William, still laughing, made my lips twitch. Half a minute passed before he was through—thirty seconds of uncomfortable silence from the rest of the room.
William straightened and put a hand to his mouth. “And what a pretty bride she would make, trotting down the aisle.”
A breathy chuckle escaped between my lips before I could silence it.
Mr. Hayman sprung to his feet. By his expression, he had caught on to William’s teasing. “I pray, do not mock me in this, Sir William! Marriage is not a matter to brush off!”
“No, but in this case it may be brushed down.”
Lady Prima pitched into a giggling fit, just now catching on. Mr. Hayman made a huffing, blustering sound before declaring, “Well! I can see my sensibilities aren’t appreciated in these circles. I shall take my leave!” He stormed out of the room, calling for the butler to bring him his things.
Wiping the tears from her eyes, Lady Prima said, “Dear me, I better go smooth things over with the poor fellow.” She scooped up a few more biscuits as she stood and followed after Mr. Hayman, emitting lingering chuckles every few steps through the crunching of her food.
“That went well,” I said.
“Better than I expected.”
I turned a glare on William, suddenly remembering the embarrassing predicament he’d placed me in—on purpose. “And you . . . ‘My cousin the thoroughbred’?”
“Ah yes, that.” William grabbed the cup of tea I’d poured for him and downed it in one gulp. “Bit of luck, if you ask me. Best watch what you say in my presence from now on.”
I huffed. “Don’t you want me to find a husband?”
He placed a hand over his breast and said in a mocking tone, “With my whole heart, I assure you. But can you tell me he had a chance with you? From the moment he walked into the room were you not absolutely certain you would turn him down?”
That stopped me from whatever I was about to say. I didn’t need to answer. William returned his teacup to the tray, walking away. “Exactly. No sense in prolonging the man’s agony—or ours.”
As much as I hated to admit it, William was right. Who’s to say what the kinder route was? Humiliate the man so he would storm away, or drag the whole thing out, giving him false hope and stronger feelings, only to dash them? Neither outcome was optimal, but I had to admit that if I were faced with the two options, I would choose the first.
My gaze followed William who was busy studying a painting of a night sky plagued with stars. “Catch a husband, Eliza. But not Mr. Hayman.” His fingers fiddled with his cuffs as he swiveled back around. “In fact, for being unattached, the two of you were sitting awfully close.” He crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall, one foot sliding up to maintain balance. The picture frame bordered his head, making him appear to be the subject of the painting.
He was certainly handsome enough for it.
“Yes,” I said, thinking back on Mr. Hayman’s moves to shift closer. “He did not catch my hints. He seemed to enjoy sitting close to me.”
“I’ll wager he did.” It was an innocent statement delivered in a carefree tone—but there was a subtly hard edge to it, something annoyed and nearly envious.
My astonishment made me freeze. “Why, Sir William Bentley! You are not jealous, are you?”
He scoffed a laugh. “Me? Jealous of Mr. Hayman? The man’s an idiot.”
Inside, I was beaming. Perhaps I was not nothing to him after all. “We were rather cozy . . .”
He rolled his eyes. “Yes, no need to remind me.” He brooded in silence for a few moments more, mouth working. “I’m not jealous.”
I blinked innocently. “Of course not.”
“What have I to be jealous of?” He pushed off the wall, walking toward me. Each step was methodical, calculated, formidable. In one sentence William had changed the energy in the air. And it matched the look on his face. “You may pay attentions to another man, may pretend it’s all in pursuit of true love and finding the man of your dreams—be he horseman or not—but I know in the end it means nothing.” He drank in my face, a dangerous smile on his lips. “In the end you will always return to me, for you are mine.”
I held absolutely still, too afraid to move under his intent gaze. But that didn’t stop my throat from swallowing or my pulse from racing.
“. . . You are flirting,” I said at last.
He breathed a laugh. “Yes.” His eyebrows shot up, as if to ask, Why else would I say such a thing? “And you, Eliza? How would you flirt back?”
I thought a moment, aware of the expression he wore—both expectant and condescending. He was the one who flirted, the one in control. There had to be a way I could change that.
“You are mistaken, sir. I am not yours.” I cocked my head, pulling out my most innocuous face. Inching closer, I snagged his lapels and pulled him down until he was so close I could see past the mask he usually hid behind. Sudden shock and excitement burned in his eyes. “But perhaps I may be persuaded.”
William’s mouth parted. In the smallest instant his stare strayed down my face. Just as I moved to pull away, I felt warmth on my waist. But then he called his hand back, as if thinking better of it. A chuckle burst out of him. And when several moments had passed and he only laughed harder, I smiled to myself, pleased.
“Oh, Eliza! You are finally catching on.”
Chapter 7
I had not intended on snooping, but it was a little late now that I lay crouched behind a cart teeming with pale, rotting cabbages, listening to women in rags barter over trinkets in front of Newgate prison. My eyes darted to a dirty bunch of children cowering in one of the alleys, and I wished I had some coin on my person. Chancing another peek over the mound of cabbages, I saw that William was still there, conversing with the warden under the stone alcove.
What was he doing at the prison, anyway?
“Miss Eliza!” Mrs. Burbank said for the thousandth time. “We should turn around and go back.”
Mrs. Burbank and I were out for a morning walk on the rare warm winter morning when I spied William’s head through the crowd. I had raised my arm, about to call out a greeting, when I noticed the way he furtively glanced around before ducking into a side alleyway. In that quick flash, I’d seen a shabby brown tailcoat and black pantaloons—simple clothes that he’d before vowed he’d never be caught dead in, let alone own.
He was up to something.
I knew I shouldn’t snoop, but curiosity got the better of me. William was a mystery I had been trying to solve for as long as I could remember, and I wasn’t about to stop now that I was close to some success. Mrs. Burbank had protested to the whole scheme the moment my chin set and I followed after him with tunnel-vision, dodging carriages, crossing streets, and ducking whenever he scanned behind him. She continued to protest now.
“Miss Eliza, we should not linger here. It is not a suitable part of town!” Mrs. Burbank fanned herself while taking unusually large breath
s. She gagged—likely from the stench of the cabbages—before procuring some smelling salts and waving them furiously under her nose.
I hugged my pelisse, knowing she was right. Dressed as handsomely as I was, I stuck out like a swan amid vultures in this end of London, and sooner or later one of the many passersby were bound to notice. What was to stop a desperate man from accosting two rich, unaccompanied women?
And yet . . . what business could William possibly have here? I had to know—so until he moved on, I wouldn’t either. I peeked once more over the cart.
“If anyone sees us in this part of town I shall have to—” She cut herself off as a particularly grimy man with a toothy grin eyed her portly frame and sidled past. “Well, I never!”
“Hush, Mrs. Burbank,” I said, concentrating back on William, “I am trying to read their lips. Do you have an opera glass?”
Mrs. Burbank fumbled with her reticule strings, eyeing nearby beggars with a look of horror. “The things your mother would say!”
“My mother isn’t here,” I said, snatching the glass from her just as it appeared in her hand.
That seemed to shut her up. I brought the glass up to my eyes, focusing on the men under the alcove as they continued to converse. William had on what I liked to call his ‘daggered smile,’ the one he only ever used when he was angry and intent upon getting his way. The warden, a large man with an unkempt beard, gestured down the road, in the exact direction of our hiding spot. William tipped his hat before turning on his heel and—
“We need to move. Quickly.” I shoved the glass back into Mrs. Burbank’s hands. She tried to catch it, but it tumbled to the muddy street.
“Oh, dear!” she cried. She bent to retrieve the glass from the ground but I tugged her arm.
“Come Mrs. Burbank, we must make haste!” I glanced again over the tops of the cabbages, where I could see William nearing. Another moment or two and he would be upon us.
She snatched her arm back. “I think not, Miss Eliza. My sister gave me that pair, purchased on her excursion to India, and I shan’t leave it in the street to be pocketed and sold by some wastrel!” From the gutter she snatched the opera glass, now coated in mud, and examined it for broken glass. Seizing a handkerchief from her bosom, she set about cleaning it, until she lost her grip on the kerchief and it fluttered to the ground. It soaked up all the dirt and grime of the street, unusable.
A Lord of Many Masks (Wycliffe Family Book 2) Page 7
