The Genuine Article

by Patricia Rice

  His frown deepened as they drew closer, and he made no apologies as he pushed his way through the onlookers. Marian clung to his arm rather than be left behind. She was beginning to think perhaps this wasn’t some innocent enter­tainment after all, judging by Reginald’s frown. She scanned the crowd for the source of their interest.

  A man in black beaver hat and tails similar to those of all the male guests stood at ease near a pillar pulling a string of colorful scarves from his coat pocket. At Marian’s ap­proach, he smiled broadly, swept off his hat, and bowed low. When he stood upright again, his hand held a bouquet of flowers he held out to her.

  Astonished, Marian looked up to see his face before ac­cepting the offering. His smile widened with her eyes.

  Michael O’Toole, the valet. Her cousin.

  * * *

  Chapter 25

  Marian clutched the bouquet of flowers and laid a re­straining hand on Reginald’s arm. She didn’t know how Mr. O’Toole had escaped the bonds holding him. There hadn’t been time for the marquess and Charles to free him. But he was her cousin, and he hadn’t run away when given the opportunity. The marquess had said Michael had his own sense of justice, and something told her that this particular cousin could not be judged by ordi­nary standards. She waited to see what he would do next.

  Casually elegant in his formal clothes, O’Toole—as she knew him—leaned against the pillar, put his hand in a pocket suspiciously large for evening wear, and produced a second bouquet of flowers. He handed them gently to Jes­sica instead of flourishing them, as if aware that any extrav­agant gestures would frighten her. Jessica made a coo of delight and eagerly shared the gift with the ladies around her.

  While part of the crowd was distracted with Jessica and her prize, O’Toole straightened, opened his coat as if to look for something inside, and a flock of doves suddenly took wing all around them, sending the majority of the on­lookers stepping backward and out of the way. Under cover of this commotion, O’Toole bowed to Lady Grace, reached into her elaborately coiffed hair, and came away with a tiny enameled box which he held out for her.

  Lady Grace released Reginald’s arm to accept the gift wonderingly, patting her hair as if to ascertain there were no further surprises to be found there. Pleased with the box itself, she made no haste to look for the opening. O’Toole solved the problem for her, snapping his fingers with a quick wave that caused the box to pop open.

  By this time, the crowd was drifting back, and they gaped and tittered while Lady Grace drew out a delicate necklace of pale sapphires. Or at least, Marian thought they were sapphires. They could have been paste and she wouldn’t know, but she couldn’t be so rude as to question a gift. Her mother smiled as if they were a treasure of dia­monds, and that was all that mattered. O’Toole bent grace­fully and kissed the lady’s hand when she thanked him.

  With a wink at Marian, he swung away from her and back to the completely amazed Jessica. Marian didn’t dare take her eyes off him to look at Reginald to see how he was taking this. The son of an earl might not appreciate having a street magician for cousin-in-law, but even Reginald would have to admit that Mr. O’Toole was a rather elegant magician. Also, a light-fingered one, she would have to re­member. Her eyes narrowed as he reached for Darley’s pockets.

  Darley, too, was suspicious of the move, and he at­tempted to step out of O’Toole’s reach. Ostrich and pea­cock feathers suddenly began erupting from the coiffures and pockets of the ladies and gentlemen all around him, and poor Darley was caught up in the excitement and the crush as the guests laughed and grabbed for the frivolous favors. Before the viscount could escape, O’Toole pro­duced a box from behind Darley’s ear, and Darley was protesting and grabbing for the prize.

  “It was intended for the lady, was it not?” O’Toole asked smoothly, bowing and presenting it to Jessica.

  “Not yet, you idiot!” Darley vehemently protested, but his gaze was anxious as Jessica took the tiny box in her fin­gers.

  When she looked up to him and offered to give the box back, Darley shook his head. “I meant to wait and do it proper,” he said stiffly. He sent an uncertain look to Marian and Reginald, then returned his attention to Jessica. “I found it in a shop, and I knew it was perfect for you, and I realized I very much wanted you to have it.” He swallowed uneasily as Jessica gazed up at him with wide blue eyes.

  O’Toole was busily distracting the crowd with gold watches appearing in ladies’ bosoms and silver coins in gentlemen’s ears.

  Relieved that he was no longer the center of attention, Darley said softly, “I know I cannot properly give it to a lady who is not my wife, but I thought... If you would think about it ... I mean, I can wait until you are ready...”

  Astonished but evidently pleased, Jessica opened the box. Nestled in the satin was a delicate ring in the shape of a silver rose with a beautifully cut diamond in its center. Not much of a talker at the best of times, Jessica could only stare wordlessly at the ring, then back to Darley until tears rimmed her eyes. Her lips tried to form the words, but noth­ing came out, and Darley hastened to reassure her.

  “You don’t have to say anything. Miss Oglethorp. Just keep it until you’re ready.” Darley closed his hand around the one holding the ring. He threw an anxious look back at Reginald. “I only just bought the damned thing. How’d he know I had it?”

  As if sensing he was being discussed behind his back, O’Toole turned around, planted a white gardenia behind Jessica’s ear to bring her quivering lip to a smile, and fi­nally turned his attention to Reginald.

  Marian noted that Jessica and Darley continued to hold hands while they watched to see what the irrepressible O’Toole would do next. She dared a hasty glance to Regi­nald’s face, but his expression was imperturbable as he met his former valet’s look.

  The gleam in her cousin’s eyes was more than mischievous, and Marian felt a nervous quiver or two of her own. She remembered quite clearly the mar­quess’s admonitions about flying houses. At this moment, she was more than convinced that Michael O’Toole could float the ballroom off the ground if he desired.

  “The lady’s necklace is too easy,” O’Toole murmured, idly producing a few coins from nowhere and juggling them back and forth while looking Reginald up and down. “She wears it now. Perhaps one more suitable to her tastes?” he asked, as if to himself.

  Reginald glanced hastily to Marian’s throat. The ruby glittered in the light of the branch of candles on the pillar. He was momentarily distracted by the creamy hills rising around it, but he blinked and focused his attention on the jewel and breathed deeply in relief.

  The gem appeared to be the genuine article. A flush of pink colored the skin beneath the jewel, and Reginald reluctantly looked away from this captivating dis­play. He turned his attention back to O’Toole in time to see the man juggle a necklace along with the coins in his hands.

  A slow rage began to rise as Reginald recognized the delicately fashioned emerald necklace he had purchased for Marian’s wedding gift. He had locked the piece up in his desk drawer as soon as it had arrived. If the blasted thief had stolen the stones from this...

  O’Toole grinned as if reading his mind. With a wave of his hands, the coins disappeared and the necklace once more lay in the box in which it had arrived. He bowed and presented it to Marian. “Your betrothed is as deceptive as I am, but his gift to you is the genuine article. He thinks to disguise the real gift with these jewels, but I think you are wise enough to discover the truth. Please accept my apologies for any distress I have caused you, my lady.”

  He sent Reginald a wicked look. “But I don’t apologize for any I have caused your betrothed. Keep him on a short rope, cuz.” He turned quickly back to the amusement of the crowd.

  Marian glanced uncertainly from the lovely emeralds in her hands to Reginald’s stoic expression. “Are they yours?” She held the box reluctantly out to him. In the general run of things, she wasn’t enamored with jewelry, but this was the most exquisitel
y wrought confection she had ever laid eyes on. She couldn’t help a second longing glance to the glittering stones.

  Reginald’s expression relaxed slightly. “I had meant to give them to you on our wedding day. I wanted you to have something of your own, and not the family heirlooms. Does it suit?”

  Marian’s eyes widened as she lowered her hand and allowed herself the pleasure of examining the necklace with more care. “It’s a piece of art,” she murmured, fascinated by the play of light on the stones. “I never thought jewelry could be so beautiful.”

  “It can never be more beautiful than your eyes right now. I have been foolish to think my collections were all the beauty I need.” Reginald closed the box in her hand, forc­ing her to look up to him.

  Marian didn’t have time to interpret the look in his eyes, only to know that it disturbed a tidal wave of sorts in her insides before an explosion of noise behind them distracted their attention.

  Puffs of smoke rose upward from the center of the crowd, and an exotic scent vaguely like that of the gardenia Jessica had been given filled the air. Reginald closed Mar­ian firmly in his embrace, pulling her back against him as the crowd stepped away in cries of astonishment. All eyes searched in vain for the elegantly garbed magician who had stood there just moments before. He had vanished into thin air.

  Reginald growled in disbelief and would have moved to search the area had not still another sight caught his eye. Closing his fingers firmly around the hand in which Marian clutched her necklace, he glanced to a figure just being an­nounced at the entrance. He stiffened and adjusted Marian to a more proper position at his side.

  Shaken by O’Toole’s disappearance, Marian gazed up at Reginald, questioning this sudden placement. Her gaze fol­lowed his to the entrance, and she sucked in a sharp breath.

  The man standing at the top of the stairs had the same proudly erect stance and arrogant features as the man at her side, only aged by years Reginald had not yet lived. Studied closer, the features were perhaps not the same. The older man’s nose was sharper and longer, his mouth thinner, but the resemblance was there just the same. Marian shivered slightly in anticipation of the scene to come. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that the new arrival was the Earl of Mellon, Reginald’s father.

  “Damn,” Reginald muttered under his breath. “Between us, we seem to have an overabundance of relations to enter­tain the crowd tonight.”

  Marian began to giggle, probably more with nervous hysteria than amusement. “If he pulls flowers out of his coat, I shall faint immediately.”

  “So shall I,” Reginald answered grimly.

  Apparently locating his prey, the earl steered a straight course toward his younger son. With whispers of scandal, the crowd eased out of his path. Not one among them re­gretted missing their suppers for this fascinating entertain­ment.

  The Earl of Mellon came to a halt before the unlucky pair. Marian gripped her bouquet and her necklace ner­vously, but he dismissed her with a glance. He reserved his glare for Reginald.

  “You will explain the chaos I found on your doorstep when I came to call.”

  Reginald remained icily aloof. “Good evening, sir. It is a pleasure to see you again, too.”

  The earl scowled. “Don’t give me that lie. You’d rather I disappeared like that other scoundrel just did. I’ll make the lady’s acquaintance, if you will, and then I will know what is going on. Not only is Devonshire’s ballroom overrun with pigeons and silly idiots and smoke, but your place is teeming with females of ill repute and a rather noisy melee of mongrels. It seems all of London has gone mad, and I would know if it is contagious.”

  Marian began to giggle again. She couldn’t help it. It was all much too improbable. Reginald looked as if he would choke. The earl—despite his harsh face—seemed fairly mazed. And she could almost hear Michael O’Toole’s laughter ringing from the rafters. The Phantom and the Ma­gician: her father’s American relations would soon set all London on its ears.

  Lady Grace arrived, and as Regi­nald struggled with all the introductions, the earl’s face softened somewhat. He bowed low over the lady’s hand.

  “Grace, it has been a thousand years. How is it we have not met in all that time?”

  Marian’s mother smiled thoughtfully. “We neither of us were much for society, sir. It is good to see you again.”

  Marian and Reginald watched in astonishment as their respective parents exchanged light badinage about her name and his title and an old argument over who should be called what. Shaking his head in astonishment, Reginald gently eased Marian away from the reunion.

  “I’m not in any hurry to return home and discover the chaos my father complains about. With any luck, Charley and your cousin will set the house back to rights without my help. Do you think we might retreat to the balcony and learn to know each other a little better?”

  Reginald’s eyes gleamed knowingly as he looked down at her, and Marian tried not to blush. She had a good idea of what he considered getting to “know” her, but they were betrothed. Wasn’t she obliged to obey his wishes?

  She glanced up at him through a curtain of lashes. “Are you certain that is wise? What if we take each other into dislike before the wedding?”

  “My lady, at the moment I am trying to calculate how I can put your whole damned family on the market and sell them as rare objects. But you, I would keep. Come along, I would see what I have won by my immeasurable patience.”

  Marian nearly ran to keep up with him as he dragged her through the ballroom rapidly filling with guests returning from supper. “Patience?” she inquired indignantly. “I have not seen you exude one iota of that virtue at any time. You have yet to win anything, sir.”

  Reginald swung open the door and pulled her out, clos­ing it firmly behind him, shutting out the noise and the peo­ple and the music. Dragging her from the light, he circled her waist with his arms. “Then I have my task cut out for me, don’t I? Where shall I start?”

  Before she could offer any of the opinions so obviously ready to burst from her lips, Reginald leaned over and caught them with his mouth.

  It was the best way in the world to silence her, and he en­joyed it immensely.

  * * *

  Chapter 26

  The sun sparkled against the bay windows of the shops as they strolled past. Marian was aware of the bustle of people around them, of the expensive fashions and laughing chatter of the society she was coming to know. She liked the aroma of meat pies emerging from the stalls on the street corner. She enjoyed the variety of objects dis­played for her perusal in the windows. But most of all, she loved walking beside this proud man who made heads turn whether he was frowning or laughing.

  He was frowning now, and she quailed a bit inside at the expression. He had arrived this afternoon quite unexpect­edly, made her excuses to her family, and appropriated her company without asking her permission.

  She had much rather be in Reginald’s company than her mother’s, but she was still rather uncertain of his moods. These past weeks had been a whirlwind of activity from which they had stolen every possible moment for themselves, but there still hadn’t been enough time. The wedding was only a week away, and the only time they’d had alone together had been measured in minutes of every day.

  Reginald hadn’t said he loved her, but Marian had never expected that. He’d given her beautiful compliments, and that had been much more than she had anticipated. He had taught her passion with their stolen kisses, and she had no fear of their wedding night.

  Her betrothed had been more than gentle, more than she had ever dared hope, while still conveying his very real desire for her. She lay in bed at night with her heart thumping in longing for his presence beside her. No, she was more than ready to be his wife. That wasn’t the reason for her qualms today.

  Her qualms had more to do with Reginald’s dangerous quiet since he had swept her from the house. O’Toole no longer worked for him as a valet, so he no longer had a servant to rid
e behind them in the curricle. They had been used to talking incessantly and holding hands when they traveled together. There had been none of that today. He had merely driven them to this street, handed the reins of his horses to some street urchin he seemed familiar with, and handed her down to the cobblestones. His grim expression was beginning to frighten her.

  Refusing to admit to fear, Marian exclaimed in delight at the display in the windows of Aristotle’s Emporium. “Look, Reginald! It looks just like a miniature of the en­trance hall of Arinmede! However did they make the stained glass so tiny? Isn’t it marvelous? The sun sets off all the colors just as it does at the manor. I’ve never seen anything so exquisite.”

  Reginald stopped stiffly in front of the window to allow her to admire the artisan’s handiwork. “Your cousin has tal­ented hands. It’s about time he applied them to something useful,” he said gruffly, not daring to touch her.

  But he didn’t refuse her hand when she slid it into his palm, Marian felt his fingers tighten around hers, and she dared turn him an expectant look. Jessica would have been terrified by his stern demeanor, but she knew Reginald had a habit of hiding himself behind that expression and his cynical attitude. And she loved the man he tried to hide. She smiled and watched his gaze grow wary.

  “Surely you don’t mean the marquess? Gavin might set a regiment of soldiers in line with a single word, but he could never make anything so exquisite as this. And if it is Michael’s doing, how do you know it? I think it would be easier to catch a leprechaun than to catch Michael.”

  “He fancies himself Irish,” Reginald hedged, not yet cer­tain how to breach his news. “That’s why he calls himself O’Toole instead of Lawrence.”

  Marian made a moue of distaste. “You need not be polite with me, you know, Reginald. It’s not as if I haven’t ques­tioned Gavin thoroughly on the subject. He is as evasive as you, but it does not take a great mind to see that Michael doesn’t believe he shares the same father as Gavin. I shall ferret out the entire story sometime, but it is of little ac­count. Their mother was married to my great-uncle or whatever when Michael was born, so his name is Lawrence no matter what he believes.”