A Not So Respectable Gentleman?

by Diane Gaston

  Her smile was his response. He took her hand and led her to the dance floor.

  Drew turned to Charlotte. ‘Shall we join them?’

  Charlotte glanced uncertainly at Mariel. ‘Are you engaged for this dance, Mariel? I cannot just leave you.’

  ‘Of course you can!’ Mariel shooed her off, but Charlotte was reluctant to go.

  Leo stepped forwards. ‘I will keep Mariel company.’

  Charlotte and Drew hurried to join Mary and Amesby.

  Mariel turned to Leo, knowing her complexion was bright. She told herself her anticipation had only to do with the banknote. ‘Did you get it?’

  Leo grinned. ‘We did. It went without a hitch.’

  She felt dizzy. ‘I want to hear all the details. And we have to plan a way for you to give it to me. And I must have a safe place for it, as well—’

  Leo took her hand. ‘Time enough for that later. Will you dance with me?’

  Mariel was ready to dance for joy—with Leo.

  He closed his fingers around hers and led her to the gathering dancers, joining three other couples looking for a fourth. The other couples were as young as she and Leo had been when they’d fallen in love. The young people exchanged dismayed glances.

  Leo laughed. ‘Do not fear. We shall keep up.’

  The music started and the figures were called. Mariel and Leo danced as if they, too, were young and full of gaiety. Twirling, skipping, performing the figures with as much enthusiasm as their younger partners.

  They spoke little. What could they say where others could overhear? It did not matter. Mariel was almost too happy to speak. Leo had rescued her. She’d thought she was doomed to marry Kellford, but she was free! Leo had set her free.

  They came together for a moment, and Leo asked, ‘Where is Kellford?’

  The dance parted them for a moment, before she could answer. ‘He begged off. He did not say why. I wondered if he had become ill...or something.’

  They parted again.

  When they joined hands, Leo answered, his voice a monotone. ‘He was well enough last I saw him.’

  Mariel understood. They’d not injured him.

  When Leo came close again, his eyes smiled. ‘Of course, he was a bit tied up at the time.’

  She laughed and put even more energy into the dance.

  At its end she was out of breath.

  ‘Shall I get you something to drink?’ Leo asked.

  ‘Please.’ It felt marvellous to be on easy terms with him.

  He walked her back to Charlotte, who seemed to take no special notice of her dancing with Leo.

  His brother joined them and greeted Mariel warmly. ‘You look lovely tonight, Mariel.’

  She flushed with the compliment. ‘Thank you, Your Grace.’

  He made a face. ‘I remember pulling your pigtails. It feels silly for you to call me your Grace. Nicholas will do.’

  The Fitzmanning Miscellany, as others called them, always made her feel as if she were one of them, an honour few experienced. When Leo left for the Continent, she let herself grow distant from them, rarely seeing even Charlotte, who’d been her very best friend. The reminders of Leo had been too painful. Now being among them again felt like being with family, a feeling she did not have when she was with her own parents.

  She could not be more content.

  * * *

  Leo handed Mariel a glass of champagne and sipped one for himself. A moment later Brenner and Justine joined them, along with Mary and Amesby. The Miscellany and their friends were together again, all except Annalise and her husband Ned, but they rarely attended functions like this.

  It seemed wholly familiar to Leo to be with them all again, talking and laughing. Mariel’s presence reminded him of earlier days, when he and she would pass each other secret glances across ballroom floors and eventually contrive to be alone.

  Other guests were tossing less-than-approving looks at them, and more than once Leo heard the word miscellany spoken. This, too, was familiar. He knew how these conversations went. Scandalous family, someone would say. Another would gesture his way. The bastard son.

  Not the duke. Not the duke’s brother. Not the earl. The bastard son. Soon the whispers would be about all the scandalous things he was said to have done. His flight to the Continent merely fuelled what they wished to believe of a bastard—the worst.

  They did not know the worst, however. They did not know how many times Leo had been tested in the last two years, how much violence he’d been engaged in, how hard he’d fought to stand on his own and succeed.

  He was no longer a mere member of the Fitzmanning Miscellany, no longer merely the bastard son. He had changed. He was separate from this privileged ballroom set. He was his own man.

  But he danced and talked with the others as if time had not altered a thing. He watched Mariel smile and laugh, the cares lifted off her shoulders. She looked as if she were in her element. At ease with all these people who scorned him.

  He had danced only one dance with her. Society dictated no more than two dances with the same partner. Break that rule and tongues would wag. In the past she’d always insisted they behave with utmost propriety. She had always been careful not to blemish her family name. In private, though, they’d shared many kisses, many embraces.

  Today Leo cared nothing about what these toplofty people would think of him, but he’d play their game for Mariel’s sake.

  And he’d have his second dance with her. He’d make certain it was a waltz.

  Eventually the two of them were left standing alone while the others had paired up for a mazurka, a new, fast, Russian dance brought to England by the Duke of Devonshire.

  Leo seized the opportunity. ‘Would you like to get some air?’ he asked her.

  The ballroom was stifling. No one would look askance if he escorted her to the open doors leading to the veranda, an unusual feature in a Mayfair town house.

  Her gaze lifted to his. ‘I would like that.’

  She took Leo’s arm and he led her through the open doors. Once they would have contrived to find the darkest spot in the garden where Leo could hold her in his arms and kiss her beautiful lips. This time he led her to a place on the veranda out of earshot of the other strolling couples.

  ‘We can speak freely here,’ he said.

  She grasped his arm. ‘Tell me what happened? I am perishing from curiosity.’

  Her touch inflamed him, but he remained controlled. ‘We trailed him until we had the opportunity to seize him and steal the paper.’

  ‘Did he see who you were?’

  He shook his head. ‘We were disguised and masked. We didn’t speak. There was no way he could identify us. The whole business was over in an instant.’

  She released a pent-up breath. ‘I do not know how I can ever thank you, Leo. It was a brave and foolhardy thing to do.’

  This was more foolhardy.

  The night breeze loosened a lock of her hair. He reached over and brushed the wayward curl off her forehead. ‘I owed you that...and more.’

  Looking into her eyes was like diving into a warm, sensuous pool, plunging deeper and deeper to the yearning in his soul. His hands slid to her arms, holding her in place, not an embrace, but tethering himself to her. She licked her lips and his grip tightened, bringing her inches closer, so close he could feel her breath on his face.

  She sighed. ‘I am so grateful to you.’

  His fingers tightened around her arms.

  ‘So grateful,’ she repeated.

  He wished time could be erased, that two years could vanish, that all he had done in that time period would not stand like a wall between them. All he wanted now was to take possession of her lips, to taste her sweetness once again.

  ‘Mariel,’ he murmured.
/>
  She rose on tiptoe.

  Slowly, as if desire alone controlled him, he bowed his head and touched his lips to hers. Sheer will restrained him lest the violence of his emotions erupt, the grief for all the kisses lost in two years. She quivered in his grasp and wound her arms around his neck, pressing her lips to his with a hunger that matched his own.

  With a low moan, he responded, parting her lips, tasting her tongue, pressing against her.

  His entire body was afire, like the gas lamps in the trees at Vauxhall. Before, he’d been in darkness; now all was light. They were again among the stars.

  Laughter sounded nearby. Another couple ascended the steps from the garden to the veranda and would soon pass near them.

  He pulled away, his body still throbbing for her. They moved even deeper into the shadows.

  ‘Forgive me for that.’ He still held her arm.

  ‘Forgive you?’ her voice was breathless.

  ‘So much has changed,’ he managed to say. ‘I should not have done that.’

  A line creased her forehead. ‘Why did you, then?’

  Why? Because it had been impossible to resist her. ‘I was caught up in...remembering.’ The ache of still wanting her pierced his insides.

  ‘Has so much changed?’ she whispered.

  ‘I have changed.’ He’d turned away from everything that was familiar to her and entered a world of which she could not be part. ‘I am not the same man. I’ve...I’ve lived a very different life these last two years and I cannot go back to what once was.’

  ‘I see.’ All expression fled her face. ‘Well. I should be glad, then, that you thought to come to my aid.’ Her tone was biting. ‘We must plan a time for you to give me the paper, though.’ She pulled away from his grasp. ‘After that your job will be done.’

  He set his jaw, detesting the loss of camaraderie between them and battling a need to possess her lips once more.

  ‘I do not wish to meet in the park again,’ she went on. Was she afraid to be alone with him, afraid of another moment like this one? ‘Meet me at Hatchards Bookshop at eleven o’clock tomorrow. I will be browsing through the novels.’

  ‘Hatchards at eleven,’ he repeated.

  ‘And take me back to my mother, please.’

  He nodded. It was for the best he not mislead her. The life he had chosen, exciting to him, would certainly be censured by her world. He might be willing to take risks to achieve what he wanted, but he refused to place her in any more jeopardy.

  He still wanted her, though.

  But it was too late.

  * * *

  Lord Kellford stepped out from where he’d concealed himself near the door and watched Mariel and Fitzmanning leave the veranda.

  He had decided to attend the ball after all. No sooner had he arrived than he’d seen Mariel walking through the doors to the veranda with Fitzmanning. He’d followed them, but was unable to move close enough to make out more than a word or two of what they said to each other, not enough to glean what had transpired between them.

  Was the chit cuckolding him with the likes of Fitzmanning? A mere bastard son? She’d soon regret it if she were. He’d be no man’s laughingstock.

  Then the word paper had wafted over the wind and it all became clear.

  The chit had humbugged him.

  Kellford could see it all in his mind’s eye. She’d convinced Fitzmanning to steal the paper, Kellford was certain of it. That was why she contrived the meeting in the park. Everyone knew she was a great friend of the Fitzmanning Miscellany; she’d chosen its most disreputable member to do her dirty work. One of his brothers had probably been the cohort.

  Fitzmanning. The bloody prig. Sticking up his nose about a mere frisk with a serving girl, as if anyone cared a whit about what happened to a tavern maid. Fitzmanning had taken a dislike to him ever since that time. A tavern maid, for devil’s sake! Where did that compare to the robbery of a peer? The man’s hypocrisy was not to be outdone.

  Nor was Mariel’s deceit. One thing was certain. She would not be allowed any contact with the Fitzmannings after the wedding.

  And he would show her what happened to chits who aspired to outwit him. She thought she could stop this wedding? Deprive him of his fortune? Let her try.

  She did not know the lengths he was willing to go to ensure she would never dare to thwart him again.

  Kellford glanced through the doorway. Making certain no one saw him, he made his way to the hall, collected his hat from the footman and departed.

  Chapter Ten

  Near the time the ball would end, a waltz was announced. Leo crossed the ballroom to where Mariel sat at her mother’s side.

  He extended his hand to her. ‘This dance, Miss Covendale?’

  Her mother waved her on. ‘Oh, do dance, Mariel. Try to have some enjoyment even though dear Kellford is not here.’

  Mariel flashed him a wounded look, increasing his guilt for kissing her.

  But he could not resist dancing with her one more time, sharing again with her that unspoken passion, that undeniable and impossible kinship between them.

  They joined the circle of dancers. He bowed to her curtsy and placed his hands at her waist. She hesitated before resting her hands on his shoulders. As at Vauxhall they twirled through the dance, the circle turning like a colourful wheel on its axle.

  His gaze remained steadily on her, but it took several turns around the ballroom before she met his eye. So many emotions were visible in her ginger eyes. Anger. Confusion. Wariness. Need. He ought to be ashamed at himself for putting her through such discomfort.

  One last time.

  In many ways he had become the man he’d thought she had rejected, but it had freed him to become a man he could respect. They could not find their way back to each other.

  When the dance was over they stood a moment longer, still caught in each other’s eyes. It was Leo who moved his hands first. Mariel blinked rapidly before dropping hers off his shoulders. He walked her back to her mother and bowed. They’d not spoken a word the whole time.

  After one more dance, which Leo sat out, the ball was over. A few moments later he was out on the pavement, waiting for the Duke of Manning’s carriage, still several carriages behind in the queue. The cool evening air was welcome. Leo needed cooling off after his waltz with Mariel.

  He still felt the light pressure of her fingers on his shoulders, still saw the struggle of emotion in her eyes. She was not unaffected by him. Her response to his kiss proved that. He could seduce her, he supposed, if he wished it, but seduction would be unconscionable. One thing was certain: he needed to keep control of himself whenever near her.

  Like tomorrow at Hatchards.

  While his brother engaged in conversation with other gentlemen, Leo paced the pavement, thinking of Mariel.

  She’d fallen in love with a man who wanted to raise horses on his family estate and rear his children in his family home. Now he’d cast off the chains that bound him to the past and carved out his own future through daring and risky investment. The riskier the better. He mixed with tradesmen who were little more than smugglers. He befriended men who defied government barriers to find ways to increase a profit. Many of his dealings were clandestine. This was not a life for her.

  In only two years she would be wealthy and would be able to assume control of her life. He did not wish to jeopardise that for her, not when independence was what he most wanted for his own life.

  His brother walked up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘What troubles you, Leo?’

  Nicholas gazed at him with intense concern. Would his brother never stop being protective?

  ‘Nothing troubles me,’ he responded. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘You were pacing.’ Nicholas leaned forwards for emphasis. ‘What
happened at the ball? Your whole demeanour changed. At the beginning you seemed almost happy. Then something changed.’

  Had Leo been that transparent? He must be more careful.

  ‘I merely grew bored,’ he lied.

  Nicholas did not look reassured.

  Their carriage arrived and both climbed in.

  Leo took advantage of the distraction. ‘You were in demand tonight. What was of such importance that everyone needed to speak to the duke about it?’

  Nicholas hesitated a moment before answering, as if he knew Leo was merely changing the subject. ‘There is a great controversy afoot. Ireland’s in an uproar with riots and other discord. Wellington favours concessions to the Irish and Lords is divided on whether to grant the concessions or to oppose anything to do with Catholic Emancipation.’

  Leo well understood why the Irish would despise another country controlling them.

  He asked Nicholas more questions about the matter. They managed to travel the entire distance without his brother turning the topic back to Leo’s behaviour at the ball.

  * * *

  The next morning after breakfast Mariel dressed to go out, but this time a plain brown walking dress would do, one she’d worn countless times. She had Penny merely pin up her hair and cover it with a lace cap. A simple bonnet would go over the cap.

  Leo’s kiss had unsettled her. Or rather her response to it had done so. It was so clear that she remained as vulnerable to him as ever. It had been devastating to her when he pulled away and apologised for it, calling it a mistake.

  For a brief moment it had seemed like two years had vanished, but she’d misread him. He no longer wanted her.

  She steeled herself. She’d survived the two years without Leo; she could survive another two years, inherit her money and be free of any man’s influence.

  That was her plan. No more kisses. No more giddy schoolgirl infatuation. No more pretending happiness lay in partnership with a man, or comfort in a man’s arms.

  Even if those arms were Leo’s.

  There was a knock at her bedchamber door. ‘A caller, miss,’ Edward, the footman, announced from the hallway.