“I remember my father talking about it,” Alyse took up, nodding. “There were some wagers about whether Bram would leave the country for the army, or whether he would be forced to flee for shooting Massenfield. Apparently he preferred the army.”
As they stopped to admire the bonnets in Mrs. Harmond’s shop window, Rose edged closer so she could lower her voice. “Do you know why Bram and His Grace are estranged?”
The two ladies exchanged a glance. “You would have to ask Bram,” Tibby said. “All I know is that it happened sometime before Bram even attended university, which is where he met Sullivan. I’m sure he and Phin know, but sometimes it’s easier to make horses fly than to get them to talk about one another.”
For another forty minutes they divided their time among chatting, strolling, and shopping. Rose liked Alyse and Tibby, and the idea that she might be making new friends at a time when her own family was avoiding her was more than heartwarming. And knowing that these witty, intelligent women were both acquainted with Bram and liked him at the least gave her hope that she wasn’t completely mad.
“I have had some experience with scandal, Rose,” Alyse was saying, “and Bram Johns lives on the far side of the line most of us try not to cross. But since his interest is in making your relationship legitimate, I would also say it’s sincere. I—we—just wanted you to know that he does have positive qualities. Whether they’re enough to outweigh his…penchant for badness, only you can decide. But whatever you decide about him, you will have friends.”
What? “Oh, good heavens,” Rose blurted, putting both hands over her mouth. Her face felt so hot it must be scarlet. This had all been about Bram. Did they even know about her difficulties with Cosgrove? “That is not—I mean, he didn’t—the—”
“Take a breath, Rose,” Tibby exclaimed, patting her on the back. “Alyse, we need a place to sit.”
“The bakery,” Alyse returned immediately, taking Rose’s other arm.
The ladies led her into the bakery, and Alyse requested tea and biscuits as they sat at the small table beneath the window. Rose did as they suggested and concentrated on breathing and not fainting dead away. “What, precisely, do you know?” she whispered as one of the bakery employees set the requested items on their table.
“I don’t want to upset you further,” Tibby replied in the same low voice.
“But—you know that Bram proposed to me, don’t you?” She wanted to trust these women, and hopefully her desire for a female confidante or two after her cousin Maggie’s…escape, she supposed it was, hadn’t caused her to lose her sensibilities.
For a moment she thought they wouldn’t answer. Both of them looked embarrassed, as though they’d been caught gossiping. Finally Tibby covered Rose’s hand with her own. “Yes. Sullivan told me that Bram offered for you, and that you refused him. Coming to see you today, though, was our idea. No one knows we’re here. And no one will, unless you wish it.”
Rose believed her. She believed both of them, and hoped it wasn’t simply because she wanted to. “Bram only proposed to me because I’m in a great deal of trouble,” she said, accepting the tea Alyse poured for her and taking a swallow, as she drank considering what she would tell them. “I thought that was why you called on me.”
Tibby’s brow furrowed. “More trouble than having Bram Johns after you?”
“That is a very good question.” Rose took a breath. “My younger brother, James, Viscount Lester, fell in with Bram and the Marquis of Cosgrove.”
“Cosgrove,” Alyse said, blanching.
“You know of his reputation, then. James took to gambling, mostly with Cosgrove, and he ended up owing the marquis ten thousand pounds. My family has no way to repay the debt.”
“Rose, you don’t have to tell us this.”
“I know, Tibby. One thing I’m discovering about Bram, though, is that with the exception of Cosgrove, he has very good taste in friends.” She offered a brief smile. “Cosgrove said that in exchange for my hand, he would forgive the debt. Since then, he’s been…antagonizing me, threatening to make my life difficult once we marry.”
“That devil.”
She had no problem agreeing with Tibby’s assessment of the marquis’s character. “Bram didn’t like what he saw. He’s been quite a good friend. His offer to marry me was to prevent Cosgrove from doing so. Nothing more.” Nothing she would let herself believe, anyway.
“I see,” Alyse said slowly, fiddling with her teacup. “So you are going to wed the marquis?”
“No. Bram said that he would help me to leave London before the engagement is announced, and assist me in finding employment somewhere. If he doesn’t, I’ll do it myself.” She took a breath. “It will ruin my family,” she continued, her voice shaking as she considered what would happen to them and their reputations in her absence, “but I can’t marry him. I had resigned myself to it, but I can’t.”
“Nor should you have to,” Tibby said firmly.
“The silly thing is, if Cosgrove had been kind or even if he’d kept his distance, I would have gone through with it.”
“He’s the kind of man who sets fire to cats for the fun of it,” Alyse commented, her voice full of contempt. She bit a biscuit in two. “So you have no romantic feelings for Bram, or he for you? That’s a blessing.”
Yes, it would have been, if it were true. She had a great many romantic feelings for him. How was she supposed to look forward to being free of Cosgrove, when the same number of days remained for her to be around Bram?
Chapter 14
Bram had no idea how it happened, but when Rosamund met him in front of the Drury Lane Theater, not only was James with her, but so were Lord and Lady Abernathy, and Lord and Lady Fishton. Bloody hell.
“Apologies,” Rosamund whispered as he bowed over her gloved hand. “I think you’re beginning to worry them.”
Good. They should be worried. He nodded. “Cosgrove may have warned them that I intend to make a muck of things. Which I do. Luckily I have a very large box here tonight.”
Luckily he’d convinced his brother, August, to give up his box, considering that he’d invited Rosamund to join him without having the first clue how he would get them seats, much less private ones. Offering her an arm, he led the way into the large foyer.
“Good heavens, what a sad crush,” Lady Fishton exclaimed. “Do you think Prinny will make an appearance tonight?”
“I haven’t a clue,” Bram answered, though considering that Prinny was in Brighton at the moment, he seriously doubted it. If it distracted the chirping chit, he’d let her believe whatever she chose.
“James, you should take your sister’s arm,” Lady Abernathy said, closing in on Bram and Rosamund. “We must be mindful of her reputation.”
“Ah,” Bram whispered, leaning toward Rosamund. “That’s a bit like blowing out the candle after the house has been burned down. Twice.”
“Hush.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Lord Bram is a friend, and we are in public. And he is our host.”
His Rosamund had a backbone. And considering that she’d likely never questioned her own loyalty to her family before, or even whether or not they deserved her loyalty, that was impressive. He knew from personal experience that standing up to one’s parents was never simple, or easy. With her beside him, he seemed aware of everything—the way the chandelier light deepened the red-gold of her hair, the mutterings of the other patrons around them as they wondered whether she was one of his mistresses, the glances of other women whom he’d never bothered to take to the theater. And he liked that she called him a friend.
“How is your rescue plan progressing?” she murmured, green eyes glancing up at his face and then away again.
Considering that last night he’d turned three hundred quid into two thousand, he thought it was going quite well. At the same time, he doubted she would smile at the idea of him attempting to earn money in the same way that her brother had lost it. And surprisingly, that mattered to him. “Suffice it
to say that the fair maiden is not going to marry the foul-smelling ogre. I gave you my word.”
She smiled. “So says the black knight.”
He glanced down at his wardrobe. “Gray knight, if you please.” After all, he might have begun this with an attempted burglary, but Cosgrove had surpassed him as a villain. It was a title he didn’t particularly aspire to, at the moment.
Once they reached the long hallway behind August’s box, he pulled aside the heavy curtains and ushered the extended Davies family in. If they’d brought along a maid or a large dog, they wouldn’t all have fit inside.
Originally he’d planned to sit beside Rosamund at the front of the box, and set James behind them. Now, though, he had no doubt that he would end up in the back corner as far away from her as her family could manage. And the oddest part of this little gathering was that a few weeks ago he wouldn’t have tolerated any of them for more than a minute. Abernathy was a friend of Levonzy’s, making him utterly unacceptable. James was a half-witted pup, and the Fishtons were too bothersome for words.
And yet there they all were, Lady Fishton leaning over the edge of the box to wave at some acquaintance or other below, and her mother dictating the seating arrangements. Bram leaned back against the wall beside the curtain and folded his arms over his chest to watch.
“Mother, you can’t put Bram in the back,” Rosamund said, scowling. “He didn’t even invite you, for heaven’s sake.”
“Though I’m pleased you’ve all come,” Bram put in quickly, for once trying to avoid a row.
“Sit James back there,” Rosamund continued. “He’ll be asleep five minutes after the play begins, anyway.”
Lady Abernathy clearly didn’t like being spoken to like that; her lips thinned as she pressed them together. Rolling his shoulders, Bram pushed upright. “I’ll sit wherever you wish,” he drawled, “but I will confess that this is my favorite play.”
“Yes, let me sit back here,” James said, pushing past Bram and flopping into the padded chair.
Bloody wonderful. Now he would have to keep an eye on Lester and prevent him from escaping to the faro game at Jezebel’s. Bram almost changed his mind and reclaimed the corner chair, but then Rosamund motioned to him and everything else fell away.
“A Midsummer Night’s Dream is your favorite play?” she asked in a low voice, pointing him to the seat beside her. “Not Doctor Faustus or Macbeth?”
Grinning, he seated himself. “With Faustus I have to ask myself whether I’ve made a bargain with the devil, or I am the devil. Too much self-reflection. And Macbeth—well, too many females plotting. That makes me a touch uneasy.”
With a surprisingly serious look, Rosamund shook her head. “I’ve met the devil, Bram, and you’re not him.”
“You’ve only seen my good side.”
Her expression softened into a smile. “Yes. And why is that?”
He wanted to kiss her so badly it hurt to hold himself back. “I have no idea,” he answered truthfully.
“Oh, it’s to begin,” Lady Fishton trilled. “Everyone sit, sit, sit.”
No one tried to shove him out of his chair, so Bram settled in to watch. They might have been sweeping the floor, though, for all the attention he paid to the actors on the stage. Instead he listened—to every sigh and laugh, every held breath or clap of the hands of the woman seated beside him. For a man as self-concerned as he knew himself to be, it was a fascinating revelation.
Considering what she’d been through—was still going through—he was exceedingly pleased that he’d suggested an outing that amused her. Hell, he scarcely had a thought any longer that didn’t somehow concern Rosamund. The moment they’d met everything had changed. For that reason, he was grateful to Kingston Gore. If Cosgrove hadn’t begun this game of his, Bram would never have had cause to introduce himself.
Of course she was promised to someone else, and he’d proposed to her and been turned down, but that would change. He had the oddest sensation that his own life and sanity depended on it.
Rosamund kept glancing over at Bram. She shouldn’t be doing that, both because her parents sat directly behind her and because she didn’t want to like him as much as she did.
In the corner she could hear James snoring softly; at least he was there instead of losing more money to Cosgrove or anyone else who saw him as an easy target. If nothing else, she owed Bram thanks for that. Her parents couldn’t seem to stop her brother from doing as he pleased, but he listened to Bram. Unfortunately he also listened to Cosgrove—which was the only reason she could conjure for her to change her mind and marry the foul-smelling ogre, as Bram had called him.
She’d half thought Bram might turn tail and run when her entire family walked up to the front doors of the theater, but instead he seemed amused by their presence. His guess that Cosgrove must have said something to her parents was in all likelihood correct, though no one had spoken to her about it. But she couldn’t think of another reason that her father would want to sit through an entire play.
Hearing the characters on stage soliloquizing about feelings and love and fate, Rose wished that even with the pining and misunderstandings and frustrations, she could have that. Just to be able to feel and to act, without considering how it would affect her family. Just to be able to say yes or no and be listened to.
Of course James did as he pleased, and the results had been disastrous—though not for him. Only for her. But James hadn’t yet learned any common sense. She had. And she wanted…she wanted Lord Bramwell Lowry Johns. And her abundant common sense just as loudly proclaimed that that was a very bad idea.
He’d proposed because he didn’t want Cosgrove to win the game. Perhaps he’d even done it because he’d considered it the gentlemanly thing to do. He had mistresses and drank and gambled and took terrible, dangerous chances with his life, and stirred up chaos because he enjoyed seeing the carnage. But she wanted him.
By intermission she was fairly shaking, the desire to touch him, to kiss him, burning through her like fire. As the audience in the seats below began to hurry for the common areas, she stood so quickly she nearly knocked over her chair. “I need a breath of air,” she said, when Bram lifted an eyebrow at her.
“I’ll escort you.” He offered his arm.
If she put her hand on him now, she would burst into flames. “No,” she blurted, and strode over to shake James until he sat up groggily. “Take me outside for a moment.”
“What? Is it over?”
“Intermission.” She tugged him to his feet. “Outside.”
“I’m going! Don’t pull my blasted arm off.”
As she and James stepped through the curtain and into the crowded hallway, she nearly bumped into the slender woman hurrying in her direction. “Excuse me,” she said, yanking James sideways.
“Just a moment, Lady Rose.”
She turned around to face the high-pitched feminine drawl. “Have we met?”
“I believe we have a mutual friend. Lord Bramwell Johns?”
Alarm bells began ringing in the back of Rose’s skull. Bram seemed to have only one kind of female friend. Even she fit into that category. “Bram’s in the box, if you wish to see him,” she muttered, and pulled on her brother again. “Excuse me.”
“He’s a very naughty boy, setting himself after a woman promised to another man.” She giggled. “But then, he likes married women.”
The curtain shoved aside, and Bram stood there, his black eyes cold as stone. “Miranda. A word with you, if you please?” He gestured her to join him.
“Oh, I can’t, Bram. I’m here with friends.” She faced Rose again, who stood torn between flight and dread curiosity. “Lord Ackley’s gone to the country and left me all alone in London. Bram was very interested to hear that, you know.”
“Rosamund, go,” Bram murmured, then took a step closer to this Miranda. “If you wish to cause a scene, my dear, let’s do so where everyone can enjoy it. Where did you say Ackley was? The country? So you didn’t
want to risk setting him after me. Is that because you know that if you force a fight I will make you a widow, and your money and estate will go to your brother-in-law?”
Lady Ackley took a breath that nearly caused her well-established bosom to burst through her low-cut gown. “I don’t want to force a fight, my love. I just want you to know that I know every little thing.”
She lifted her hand, as though offering it for him to kiss. It took a moment for Rose to realize both that she wore an oversized ruby ring on her thumb, and that it was familiar. Stifling a gasp, she shot a look in Bram’s direction. His face had gone white, his eyes focused on the ring.
“I say, ain’t that the ring you were talking about before, Bram?” James commented, apparently oblivious to the rising tension in the hallway. “King’s ring?” The other theatergoers around them had begun gathering, tittering and gawking.
“As a dear friend of yours, Bram,” Miranda continued, lowering her hand again, “I thought I might be able to enlighten Lady Rose about a few of your other acquaintances.” She giggled again. “Though they aren’t just a few, are they?”
Oh, goodness. Lord Cosgrove hadn’t wasted any time before upping the ante, as James would say. And now he’d gone after Bram—because Miranda Ackley clearly wasn’t interested in her except to gain Bram’s attention.
Bram took a breath, shifting his gaze from the glinting ring to Rose’s face. After a heartbeat where she couldn’t read his expression, he walked up to her. “Please give my apologies to your family,” he said quietly, his voice flat and expressionless. “I will call on you tomorrow.” Then he walked past her.
For a heartbeat she couldn’t believe that he’d just left her standing there in front of that woman. He’d walked away, just as Cosgrove had said he would. “Don’t bother,” she returned angrily.
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