“None at all. Thank you for tonight.”
Knight shrugged. “Kitty wanted to do it.”
Nathaniel smiled. “And what Kitty wants Kitty receives?”
Knight gazed across the room. “Oh yes,” he said blissfully.
Nathaniel followed his gaze to where Kitty and Clara spoke to Willa. Willa did look fine tonight. The way her full breasts were pressed high and the way that one long ringlet of dark hair kept rolling into the tight valley between …
He pulled his gaze back. Knight was still lost in his new wife. Nathaniel snorted. “Are you always this besotted?”
Knight didn’t even bother to look at him. “Every minute. You?”
Nathaniel flinched. “Me? What do you mean?”
Knight slid his gaze to Nathaniel. “I see. Well, you can answer that question later. I give you about three more days.”
Nathaniel straightened. “I have no idea what you are speaking of.”
Knight smiled slightly and turned his gaze back to his wife. “Make that two days.”
Nathaniel cleared his throat. The man was mad, seeing love everywhere because of his own condition. He nodded shortly. “Excuse me, sir,” he said, then turned on his heel and strode down the series of rooms to the other end.
Once there, he took up a similar arrogant stance near a potted palm, arms folded across his chest, eyes half-lidded, sneer faintly etched on his lips. Lord Treason was in fine form.
19
Willa watched Nathaniel walk by her and the other two ladies, feeling distressed. Clara laid a gentle hand on her arm. “He’ll be fine. He wanted to come tonight.”
Willa turned back to Clara with a half smile. “I knew it would be difficult for him, but … he isn’t himself. He seems … hard.” She toyed with her empty dance card. “I thought we were going to face everyone down together,” she said softly.
“You thought he would storm the ball, daring any naysayer, and dance the night away with you?” Clara’s voice was kind.
“Ouch,” Willa laughed damply. “You have seen through me, I fear.”
“Give him time, Miss Trent. After all, this is the first time he’s appeared at a social event since his disgrace.” Clara gazed down the room to where Nathaniel stood like a black mark against the wallpaper. “I, for one, am glad to see him out,” she said softly. “For whatever reason.”
Willa almost missed the reference in her disquiet, but then her attention caught. “What do you mean? His reason is solely to publicly brave the scorn.” She looked down at Nathaniel. “For me.”
Clara nodded. “Of course it is.” She gave an easy smile, but Willa had the feeling that she had been talking about something else entirely.
Willa looked away. Of course Clara knew things about Nathaniel that she herself did not know. “Great friends,” after all.
Friends. All jealousy aside, Willa knew that Nathaniel needed all the friends he could find. Perhaps … perhaps if Lady Etheridge was indeed Nathaniel’s friend, she would help Willa in her quest to change minds about “Lord Treason.” As far as Willa was concerned, the first step to that end was the search for that so-called artist.
Impulsively she leaned forward. “My lady, I need your help. I want Sir Thorogood!”
Clara started violently. “Wh—what?”
Willa retreated, surprised. “I suppose I was a bit abrupt, but I did not mean to startle you so, my lady.”
Clara pressed a hand to her breast. “No, of course not. So sorry. I was … I was miles away.”
“To elaborate, today I saw the cartoon that condemned Nathaniel. I want to track down this Sir Thorogood character and make him state publicly that he was wrong about Nathaniel.”
Clara gazed at her for a long moment. “Oh dear.”
At the other end of the room, Nathaniel was growing weary of holding up the wall. Unfortunately, sitting was out of the question. One couldn’t very well loom on a floral cushion. The entire effect would be lost.
So he stood there silent and unmoving, very much like the potted palm at his side.
“Reardon,” the palm said.
Nathaniel closed his eyes. If he answered, then those watching him would be validated in their opinion of him. Only a complete raving madman would talk to a potted palm.
“Reardon!” the palm hissed.
Perhaps if he tried not to move his lips? “Go away, Etheridge.”
“Has anyone approached you?”
“Yes, one man.”
The palm rustled with excitement. “Who?”
“His name is Alfred Theodious Knight.” Damn. Now the spectators were definitely watching him oddly. There was simply no way to say “Theodious” without moving one’s lips.
“Oh. It isn’t Knight. He’s family.”
Thinking of his own family, Nathaniel didn’t see that as much of a recommendation of character. Nevertheless, he didn’t suspect Knight, either. The man was only being a generous host.
“I don’t think anyone will approach you openly. Too visible,” the palm said thoughtfully. “Perhaps you could take a stroll in the gardens?”
“Why not?” Nathaniel said drily. “There may be some plants I haven’t greeted yet.”
He pushed himself off the wall and tugged his waistcoat straight.
“By the way,” the palm said, “how did it go with the Bishop?”
Nathaniel couldn’t suppress a rueful grin. “Willa essentially told the man to take a flying leap off Saint Paul’s and that we would marry in our own time.”
The palm laughed softly. “I like her.”
Something rich and liquid pierced Nathaniel’s chest at the thought of Willa’s staunch loyalty. “So do I,” he whispered as he set out for the gardens. “So do I.”
Willa was deep in conversation with Clara when Nathaniel passed her on his way. It was just as well. His feelings toward her were a bit chancy at the moment. Damn Knight for putting those thoughts in his head.
After all, what could be more ridiculous? Even if real love existed—and he was willing to concede the possibility, considering the example of Etheridge and Clara—it didn’t exist for him. No bond could withstand a lifetime of public condemnation, not even love.
Besides, it simply wasn’t possible to fall in love in—
Five days. Had it only been five days? Nathaniel pressed the latch and opened the many-paned door to the terrace. Cool evening air washed over him. Shutting the door behind him made the ball go nearly silent, with only the music audible through the glass.
So much had changed in five short days. He had changed; he could feel it. He was lighter somehow. He breathed in the evening, smelling the shorn grass of the lawn around the terrace and the climbing flowers in the garden. The scent of the flowers pulled him closer. After wandering the knot work path for a while, he found them. The tiny star-shaped flowers put out a delicate sweet scent that reminded him of something. What was it? …
He tracked it down to the first night he’d been back. Willa, who bathed in the stuff.
The vine’s scent took him back to when he’d been leaning over her, vowing to protect her from his life and himself.
The gardens were past their prime season, but the clever twisting pathways were lined with box hedges, making the journey through seem much longer than it was. Nathaniel envied it immensely and vowed to steal away Knight’s gardener at the soonest opportunity.
Provided that the man would work for “Lord Treason,” of course.
Although Nathaniel walked slowly and stopped by the cherub fountain in the center for a time, he saw no one else out of doors, for good or evil.
Deciding that he needed to make another caged-creature appearance in the ballroom, Nathaniel headed back to the house.
They were waiting for him on the terrace.
Willa wandered the ballroom looking for Nathaniel in the crush that had now arrived, but could find him nowhere. She spied Kitty, dancing proudly with Knight at the head of the dance form. Waiting along the wall for
the dance to end so she could enlist Kitty’s assistance, Willa felt eyes upon her.
She looked to her left to see several ladies eyeing her warily, discussing something in low voices. Unfortunately, Willa had excellent hearing.
“Who is she? Does anyone know where he found her?”
“I heard that she’s a tavern maid from some tiny village up north.”
That was not so terrible, Willa thought. Very close to the truth. She had poured her share of ale over the years.
“Well, I heard that they traveled all the way to London together. Alone.”
Gleefully shocked whispers answered this. Willa looked away. Again, entirely true. She gripped the tiny pencil that hung from her dance card and assumed an expression of pleasant unconcern.
“There’s more,” said the red-haired woman who knew about the traveling. “The tale goes that she knocked him over the head with a rock and slept beside him all night to trap him into marriage.”
The tiny pencil snapped in half. Willa gazed at the dancers before her with blurry eyes. How did they know so much, so soon? The only person she had told was Myrtle, whom she trusted entirely.
“Well, I for one feel sorry for her. She may have trapped him, but she couldn’t have known who he was. No woman would be that desperate.”
“Nnnoo,” said the entirely too knowledgeable woman, “Unless perhaps she was … desperate.“
This time the gasps were shocked indeed. “No!” “Oh, heavens, I need my vinaigrette!”
“Then they well deserve each other, don’t you think?”
Enough. Willa turned to them with a sweet, deadly smile. “Why, thank you!” she said clearly. “You’re so very kind.”
She turned to go. Then she turned back. “When one day it is revealed that Lord Reardon is a good man, please do not be ashamed to call upon us. You’ll find that while my memory is long, my nature is forgiving.” She smiled again. “Usually.”
When she had stalked away and rounded a column, she came face-to-face with Kitty and Knight. Kitty was smiling proudly. “Good for you, Lady Reardon.”
Willa let out a breathy laugh, then curtsied deeply. “I am much obliged, Mrs. Knight.”
Kitty tucked her arm through Knight’s. “Darling, when next we host a ball, do let us remember who to strike off our guest list.” She smiled fiercely at Willa. “My first ball is a rampaging success. And my memory is long as well.”
Willa slid her gaze toward Knight. “Is her nature forgiving?”
“Ah.” Knight thought for a moment. “I think the more appropriate word would be … pitiless.”
“Why, thank you, my love!” Kitty went up on tiptoe to kiss her husband’s cheek. Then she turned to Willa, her gaze somber. “Are you all right, Willa?”
Willa gave a little shake. “I’m perfectly well, thank you. Except that I cannot find Nathaniel. Have you seen him?”
Kitty looked thoughtful. “Not since he went into the gardens nearly an hour ago.”
Finster and his cronies stood in a youthfully belligerent, slightly drunken line, blocking Nathaniel from the ballroom.
Well, this was a conundrum. The question was not so much “Could he trounce them?” as it was “Should he trounce them?” After all, Lord Treason was a snide wastrel—the most that could be claimed was perhaps a passing interest in boxing.
Lord Treason would not be able to trounce six strong young fellows. The Cobra could not only trounce them but also kill them silently and have their bodies disposed of inside an hour. Nathaniel Stonewell simply wasn’t in the mood to fight.
There would be no help from anyone inside, of course, nor should there be. This could be a test. Finster was probably not a conspirator, but he was stupid enough to be used by one—aimed at Nathaniel like an arrow. Calling down the cavalry now would cost the battle.
As Finster led his minions down the terrace steps to the lawn, Nathaniel decided on bluster first, to be spiced with a dash of boxing and a hint of head butting. Crude but effective, and it wouldn’t alert anyone to the fact that “Lord Treason” wasn’t what he seemed.
“Well, if it isn’t Lady Reardon,” sneered Finster. “Where is your brave defender, my lady?”
Finster really was very young if he thought accusations of girlishness were going to work. Nathaniel decided to leave out the head butting. He couldn’t do it to the poor boy.
Still, if they were stooping to schoolyard insults …
Nathaniel straightened tall, looming over the smaller man. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size, Finny?” he drawled.
Finster blushed so hotly that it was visible even in the dim light. Good God, had he ever been that sensitive to insult?
“I think my blokes and I add up to more than enough,” Finster spit. He gestured sharply to his followers, who immediately surrounded Nathaniel, pinioning his arms, although they stupidly left his legs alone.
Finster threw his first punch to Nathaniel’s solar plexus. Ouch. The lad had been to the boxing gym, hadn’t he? Let’s see, should he stun Finster with a kick first, or should he pull his arms close and knock some sense into his brainless sycophants?
Another gut punch, harder. Nathaniel was beginning to get seriously annoyed. He was definitely going to take Finster out with a kick first—
Something whizzed through the air, caroming off Finster’s skull with a ping.
“Ow!” Finster clapped a hand to his pate and whirled. Behind him stood Willa, smiling sweetly with her hands behind her back.
“Hello again, Mr. Finster.”
Finster’s face twisted into a terrific scowl. “You!” He charged toward her, fury in every movement.
Willa stepped closer as he approached, her smile softening to a thing of sexual beauty. “Me,” she murmured huskily—and clocked Finster a perfect right hook.
Finster went down without a sound, splayed full out on the grassy lawn. The minions, likely out of complete shock, released Nathaniel and surrounded Willa. Nathaniel was fairly sure they were simply letting the liquor cloud their reactions. Still, he moved silently behind them, ready to kill—er, trounce—anyone who made a motion toward Willa.
In the center of the threat, Willa clapped a hand to her cheek. “Why, gentlemen! You would never strike a lady!”
That halted them briefly, but they did not step away from her. Nathaniel saw Willa plant a fist on each hip. “Am I going to have to tell Mrs. Trapp about this?”
That tore them down to the ground. As one, they stepped back, transforming instantly into shuffling schoolboys. “No, Miss Trent.” “Oh, please don’t, Miss Trent!” “She plays cards with my mum!” came one panicked plea.
Willa smiled gently. “There, you see. You’re good boys, all of you. Why you would follow a worthless lout like Mr. Finster I’ll never know.” She cast an admiring glance at the largest of the lot. “You look like a leader, sir. A true gentleman.”
Nathaniel rolled his eyes as the young man stood straighter. From here it looked as though his chest swelled as well.
“Oh my. What a fine young man! I imagine there are many very attractive young ladies waiting on you gentlemen inside.” She sighed dramatically, which she had to know did eye-catching things to her décolletage. “Oh, if only I were younger …”
The flood of courtly compliments this prompted fair to made Nathaniel toss his dinner.
“Why, Miss Trent, you are as fresh as any flower on the vine!” “Miss Trent, I must protest! There isn’t a lady inside who outshines you!”
Nathaniel watched sourly as Willa herded her sheep back into the ballroom, then shut the glass-paned door on them. Only then did she falter. With her left hand cradling her right, she gazed at him mournfully. “Ouch.”
In an instant, Nathaniel was by her side, stepping over the unconscious form of Finster in the process. He took her hand in his and held it to the light. Her knuckles were red and a bit swollen, but he did not think she had broken anything but Finster’s masculine reputation.
“
Nice hook.”
She sniffled the tiniest bit. “Thank you. Dick and Dan taught me.”
“Ah, that explains the professional follow-through.” Gently he raised her abraded knuckles to his lips and kissed each one. “My hero,” he said softly, smiling.
Willa leaned her head wearily against his chest. “Nathaniel, can we go home now?”
Nathaniel inhaled deeply. Hellfire, she smelled good. The garden could not compare. “Are you sure, wildflower? The dancing is not yet over.”
“What dancing?” she said glumly.
Her words struck him hard. What dancing indeed? For an instant, his mind began to weigh the act of dancing against the persona of Lord Treason—
To hell with that. Nathaniel Reardon wanted to dance with his bride. With a flourish, he opened the door and steered her back into the ballroom. “Have you a waltz free, Miss Trent?”
He loved watching her expression go from dejected to delighted. He resolved to cause more such transformations in the future.
“Why, yes, my lord. I do happen to have a waltz free!”
She flowed into his arms in an exquisite rustle of sapphire silk and he swept her into the swirling harmony of color and sound that was the waltz at a formal ball. Willa let her head fall back, laughing delightedly. When she looked back up at him, her eyes were glowing twilight jewels. They danced every remaining dance of the evening—always together.
And if they danced a bit too closely for propriety … well, decorum would be the least of Lord Treason’s worries, wouldn’t it?
Besides, she smelled so damned good.
20
It was very late when they returned from the ball. Willa was pleased in general by the night’s events. She’d danced with Nathaniel until her feet were throbbing. She’d destroyed Finster’s little gang. She’d made a friend in Kitty Knight and made inroads into public opinion of Nathaniel.
All in all, a satisfying night’s work.
There was just one more thing….
Nathaniel walked her to her chamber. “Good night, Willa. You ought to lie abed tomorrow morning, for we’ve another ball tomorrow night.”
Celeste Bradley - [Royal Four 01] Page 20
