Never Run From Love (Kellington Book Four)

by Maureen Driscoll

  She risked a glance at him again. He was still watching her. But this time there was no trace of humor in his face.

  “You would be wise not to share your thoughts with me, Miss Sutton,” he drawled. “Unless you’re prepared for me to act on them. And trust me when I say we would never arrive at Mrs. Seton’s.”

  Melanie quickly returned her gaze to the window, not that she registered any of the passing scenery. How had he guessed her thoughts? He couldn’t possibly read minds, could he?

  She was spared further pondering on Hal’s mind-reading abilities when the carriage slowed. She looked out to see Mrs. Seton’s townhouse come into view.

  “What would you like to do?” asked Hal, not moving from his spot. “Go in? Or drive on?”

  His gazed was so heated she almost threw herself out onto the sidewalk. It was either that or throw herself onto him. As she frantically tried to open the door, he sighed and leaned past her, grazing her breast with his arm as he did so. He wordlessly opened the door, but before he could step out to help her down, she’d jumped to the ground.

  With a knowing smile, he followed her out, steadying her as he did so. She ran up the steps and into the house, not stopping until she was safely ensconced in Mrs. Seton’s parlor. She chose a seat on a lone chair, leaving him to stand. Then she cursed herself for her choice, because the dratted man chose to stand behind her, close enough that she could feel his body heat on the back of her neck.

  Thankfully, Mrs. Seton began the meeting right away. “Ladies, it is time once again to take to the field of battle, as we track the wolves to their lair. Gather your things, for we shall march.”

  Hal had a hard time not rolling his eyes at both the mixed metaphor and the look of zeal in Mrs. Seton’s unfortunately beady little eyes. But he would join their little group tonight in part because he knew just how much his presence discomposed the delicious Melanie Sutton. And, also, because he thought she might slip back to Madame Thurmond’s the moment he left her alone.

  He’d watched her thoughts play across her beautiful face in the carriage. He had a fairly good idea of what she’d been thinking, since his mind had been on the same topic, although undoubtedly much more salaciously. She was a very sensuous woman. Their kiss had been remarkable. And, of course, it had fulfilled his portion of the wager. All he had to do now was tell Francis of their encounter, collect his winnings and move on to bored widows or back to his encounters at brothels.

  But there was something about their kiss that intrigued him. There was something about Melanie Sutton that intrigued him. He wanted to keep her safe, although he had no idea how he would do that since he couldn’t be with her every moment of the day. But it was more than that. Quite simply, he wanted to keep seeing her. He would think about the implications of that later.

  Mrs. Seton and her group had finally reached their destination and Hal inwardly groaned to see they were once again outside of Dill’s. The last thing he wanted was for any of his friends to see him with this group. Fortunately, it was early enough that most of his associates would still be getting ready for a night out or being forced to attend whichever ton event was the most popular that evening.

  That was one small advantage to being there. He wasn’t in some stuffy ballroom, with his Aunt Agatha sending fresh-faced chits his way. He took his place in the back of the group, hoping the shadows would conceal his involvement.

  The group began singing a hymn. He couldn’t quite remember the words, so he simply mouthed nonsense and hoped he blended in. He had gravitated toward Melanie and stood just to the back of her, the better to study her arse. Her cloak hid most of the good parts, but he could make out the vague shape of a well-rounded bottom. How he wished she’d taken him up on the offer of further sensual exploration in the carriage. It would have meant trouble later, but it would have been heaven while it lasted.

  He could hear her singing softly. She had a sweet voice and sang with feeling. Perhaps she’d sung these songs in that Quaker church of hers. Perhaps her Mr. Parker had been standing next to her as he was now. The very thought gave him a strange feeling which absolutely could not be jealousy. And at any rate, the Quaker sot was back in Pennsylvania probably doing good deeds instead of, as Hal was now, contemplating very wicked ones.

  Though the hour was still early and not yet half past ten, Dill’s was beginning to draw a crowd. Hal backed up further into the shadows. Two young lords who’d been a few years behind him at Oxford came swaggering up the street. Both were slightly inebriated and neither had any intention of passing by Mrs. Seton’s group without comment.

  The drunker of the two was Viscount Bennington, large of stature, small of intellect. The other was Lord Vincent Bossert, son of the Earl of Halliwell. He was as pompous as his sister Gwendolyn and almost as ill-tempered.

  “What have we here?” exclaimed Bennington, puffing out his chest which highlighted his unfortunate choice of waistcoat.

  “Reformers, from the looks of it,” said Lord Vincent, unable to recognize a rhetorical question.

  “I feel like we’re in church,” continued Bennington, who began singing along loudly with the group to the obvious displeasure of Mrs. Seton.

  “But even in church they give you wine,” said Lord Vincent. “Wouldn’t get no wine from these prigs, would we?”

  “They ain’t all prigs, I’ll wager. Why, look at the chit in the back with the dark hair. She’s a bit of a looker she is. Might even be worth it to give up a drink or two if she’s my reward. What do you say, miss? Fancy a go round with me?”

  Hal tensed to step out of the darkness, when Melanie reached back and pressed a hand against his arm to stay him. He held his breath as she turned to the ill-mannered lords.

  “Good evening gentlemen,” she said, just loud enough to be heard over the singing. “I am so glad you’re joining our group. ‘Tis said sinners are the best examples of why man should not transgress. And I can tell by one look at both of you that drink does not bode well for the body. You are approaching your fortieth year, are you not?”

  Both men looked highly affronted and Hal had to stifle a laugh.

  “I’ll have you know we’re half that age,” blustered Viscount Bennington, who looked like he was finding it increasingly difficult to remain upright.

  “I think she’s having us on,” said his companion. “As if some chit in an ugly cloak could have anything to say about what we look like. She should count herself lucky that we’re even talking to her.”

  Mrs. Seton called a halt to the singing and turned to both men. “Are you ready to renounce the path of debauchery you both are on?”

  “God no,” said Bennington.

  “I’ll thank you not to blaspheme, you heathen!”

  “Heathen?” asked a perplexed Bennington.

  “I’ve heard enough from you, you old crow,” said Lord Vincent. A crowd had gathered and he motioned to a few of the men nearby.

  Hal tensed. Lord Vincent was now surrounded by a half dozen cronies. That, mixed with the spirits he’d already imbibed, would make him a brave man

  Lord Vincent swaggered up to within inches of Mrs. Seton. “Why don’t you go back to where you came from? And take your dowds with you. You don’t belong in this part of town. And it can be right dangerous for the wrong kind of people.”

  “You, sir,” said Mrs. Seton, “are a jackanapes good for nothing!”

  That made Lord Vincent’s friends laugh, which made him angry. He raised a hand as if to hit her. Hal quickly inserted himself between the damned earl’s son and the foolish reform leader.

  “There’ll be none of that,” hissed Hal. Just the thought of raising a hand to a woman made him angry. He’d like nothing more than to lay Lord Vincent out, but he was afraid that his friends would retaliate against the women if provoked. And he had no doubt Mrs. Seton would provoke them.

  Lord Vincent looked his surprise, but lowered his hand. “Kellington, what the devil are you doing here?”

  “Ensur
ing that no one makes a mistake,” said Hal, eyeing Lord Vincent and his friends.

  “I’m not the one obstructing the right of way. The do-gooders should take themselves off to a place where they have a chance of doing good. It’s certainly not here.”

  Inwardly, Hal had to agree with him. But he hated to think Lord Vincent would get his way. If it came down to it, he could take him, Bennington and perhaps one other in a fight. But he’d rather avoid it.

  For his part, Lord Vincent looked to be standing his ground. Hal hoped he could draw him away from the ladies. But, suddenly, the problem was taken out of his hands.

  “Problem, Hal?”

  Hal turned to see an amused Charles Francis walk out of Dill’s, followed by its proprietor, Conrad Patton.

  “Nothing I can’t handle, Francis,” said Hal, relieved that his friend was joining him. Francis could always be depended on in a fight. And he suspected Patton would back them, since they had to be two of his better customers.

  Lord Vincent must have sized up the odds as well. “I see you don’t believe in a fair fight,” he said to Hal.

  “On the contrary,” replied Hal. “You and your friends still outnumber us, although I confess to having the advantage in sobriety, brains and sense tonight. Normally, I usually only have the advantage in two of those things.”

  There were a few titters of laughter among the women, who no doubt felt less threatened than they did a moment ago.

  Lord Vincent looked like he still wanted to plant Hal a facer. But instead he beckoned to his friends. “I can’t believe Dill’s has gone to the dogs. We’ll take our blunt elsewhere.”

  With that, he, Bennington and their friends stumbled off down the street.

  “Sorry about the loss of business, Patton,” said Hal, when the others were gone.

  “I’ll survive,” said the owner, as the ladies began to sing once again. “If only the women could be got rid of as easily.”

  “We refuse to move from this spot,” cried Mrs. Seton with righteous indignation, breaking off the hymn.

  “Mrs. Seton,” said Melanie, as she made her way to the reform leader. “Perhaps we should conclude our protest tonight.”

  Hal was immediately suspicious as to why she would want to end the protest at such an early hour. Then he remembered her unfinished business at Madame Thurmond’s.

  “No, Miss Sutton,” he said as he guided her back to her place. “I believe Mrs. Seton is right. The night is still young and there are many more sinners to come. We should raise our voices in song. Should we not, ladies?”

  The women in the group, who’d avidly watched his confrontation with Lord Vincent, all murmured their agreement. Mrs. Seton looked suspicious of his motives. And Melanie looked disgruntled, no doubt because he’d spoiled her plans.

  Francis simply looked amused as he watched Hal take his place, smile at the reformers, then pretend to sing. The last Hal saw of him, he was chatting with Patton and laughing as they re-entered the gaming hell.

  It was all Hal could do not to laugh himself. Because the last thing he thought he’d be doing tonight was voluntarily spending more time with Mrs. Seton and her ladies.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Life as a reformer would drive a more sober man than he to drink, mused Hal as he stood in the back of Mrs. Seton’s group singing hymns outside of Madame Thurmond’s. Of course, he wasn’t actually singing them, but merely moving his lips in such a way that might fool the dour leader of their group. His goal was always to stand as far away from her and as close to Melanie as possible. Fortunately, since Mel seemed to have little more liking for the woman than he did, they both tended to congregate toward the back.

  As a group, the reformers dressed in dark clothes, no doubt because Mrs. Seton disliked anything that even hinted at gaiety. There was little levity during her meetings because Mrs. Seton saw nothing funny about sin.

  Which was odd since Hal often laughed long and hard whilst in the midst of committing it.

  The other ladies in the group weren’t quite as grim as their leader. Some had joined the protests because they were truly concerned about the rise of crime and vice. Others seemed to simply be looking for ways to fill their days.

  Hal couldn’t blame them. He’d often reflected on how lucky he was to be born male. He could choose his profession – or lack thereof. He could carry on liaisons with as many women as he wanted without harm to his reputation. Indeed, his standing among his peers was only enhanced by his activities.

  Women, however, were almost wholly dependent on men for not only the basic necessities of food, shelter and clothing, but also for how they spent their time. With few activities for them to pursue outside of the social sphere, reform work seemed to be a popular choice.

  The group generally met at Mrs. Seton’s house twice a week to plan their protests. They also wrote letters to members of Parliament and made signs. Most of Hal’s suggestions for signs were rejected by Mrs. Seton as too vulgar. That did not, however, stop him from making more suggestions.

  Hal learned quite a bit about women during the meetings. He’d never given much thought to the intellectual pursuits of ladies, other than he did his best to discourage poetry writing among his lovers. But these women took an active interest in the world and often discussed legislation that would affect the poor. Unsurprisingly, Melanie usually led the discussions, bringing a distinctly American disregard for class.

  “Really, Miss Sutton,” admonished Mrs. Seton one day, for she almost always disagreed with what Melanie had to say. It was yet one more reason for Hal to dislike the woman. “I hardly believe the sins of the lower classes can be laid at the feet of the aristocracy. The lower classes are the way they are because they are born that way. There are generations of thieves, drunkards and whores in every family.”

  “Mrs. Seton, I cannot believe a baby born into poverty is evil, any more than I can accept that one born into the aristocracy is inherently good.”

  Here, Mrs. Seton looked as affronted as Hal was amused.

  Mel continued. “Each person has a destiny and that life is shaped by his surroundings. If a child has no food unless his parents steal it, it is no wonder why children born into poverty may have a different understanding of right and wrong. That does not make their actions right, but goes a long way toward making them understandable.”

  “Rubbish!” said Mrs. Seton.

  “Actually,” said a timid woman who was the wife of a tobacco importer, “I believe Miss Sutton is on to something. I have met many of the men who work for my husband and they are a decent lot. Honest and hard-working. And on occasion I have met men from the upper classes who are his clients, many of whom I do not trust. No offense, Lord Henry.”

  “None taken, Mrs. Edmonds. My findings are similar to yours. Whether a man is trustworthy or not has nothing to do with where he was born, but everything to do with how he chooses to conduct himself.”

  “Hear, hear,” said Mrs. Seton, seemingly unaware of her hypocrisy.

  Mel could only roll her eyes.

  The group generally protested once or twice a week, usually in front of a gaming hell. Hal could have told them that their chosen hours of protest between eight and ten of the clock were too early to catch the lords most likely to be affected by their protests. Hardened gamesters would pay them no heed. But it might be possible to reach younger men, those who’d only been on the town a short while and might be in the process of losing their family fortunes at the tables. They were usually at ton events until well after midnight – a way to keep their dear mamas satisfied. It was usually only after that when they descended to the hells en masse and well-lubricated with spirits. And it was usually then that vast fortunes were lost.

  But Hal had no intention of telling that to the group because he wanted none of them to be on the streets at such a late hour, especially in the company of drunkards. They may have thought there was safety in numbers. But Hal knew it was often his presence alone that had kept the troublemake
rs at bay. The hired muscle at the hells and brothels wouldn’t think twice about making the group disperse through unsavory means. And since many of the establishments had the Watch on payroll, there would have been little to no protection for the women.

  For some reason Hal was unable to comprehend, Mrs. Seton had decided that the protests should increase to six nights a week. It was a pace many of the women found hard to sustain and their numbers began to dwindle because of it. It was now a Thursday and a mere half dozen women were at a protest outside of a brothel named Delilah’s. Hal was there because Melanie was there. And she was only there because Mrs. Seton’s heightened lunacy had given her the opportunity to pursue her own crusade for four nights in a row. She was ecstatic because she’d persuaded three women to seriously consider moving to America. It gave her lovely face an added glow.

  He wanted to kiss her right there. He wanted to do a great deal more than that. But none of it could be accomplished under the gimlet gaze of their leader.

  Instead, he stood next to Mel, breathing in her sweet scent and fantasizing about making love to her in every position he could think of. And he could think of quite a few.

  His mind was thusly engaged, so he didn’t notice the crowd that was gathering. They drew onlookers at every protest, mostly drunken lords who wanted to make a few jokes before moving on to the next part of their evening’s entertainment. Occasionally, men stood in front of them for the sole reason that further movement would induce vomiting. Occasionally, men stood in front of them and vomited.

  With Hal’s preoccupation with Melanie, he hadn’t notice the approach of four big men who looked to be bully boys charged with keeping the peace at Delilah’s. But as the singing came to a halt, he looked up to see the men’s menacing stares.