Romance at the Royal Menagerie
Page 2
Mr. Fairgate whipped his gaze away from the cat to her. “She’s afraid? I daresay she cannot feel the terror running through her veins as I do in mine!” He trained his gaze back toward Belle and scampered back, his boots scraping through the dirt. But he crashed into the stone wall and could go no further. He swallowed hard, his face draining of color.
Francesca took slow steps, reaching out her hand toward Belle. Keeping her voice barely above a whisper, she spoke to the cat. “There now, Belle. Mr. Fairgate is an acquaintance of mine. He’ll not hurt you. You have no need to put up such a fuss.”
“Miss Hartwell—” Mr. Fairgate’s voice was a hoarse whisper.
Francesca bent down, now on eye level with the cat. “Belle, I know you aren’t feeling well right now, but we must be nice to our visitors.” She peeked over her shoulder.
Mr. Fairgate opened his mouth, but no words escaped. He clamped his teeth together, and swallowed. “Miss Hartwell, what are you doing? You’ll be killed!”
“Nonsense. Belle and I are friends, aren’t we, girl?” Francesca angled back toward the cat. Belle’s whiskers twitched as she yawned, exposing long, sharp teeth. She lowered her head and lay down on her belly, her chin resting on her paws. Francesca reached out her hand, wiggling her fingers. Belle closed her eyes partway and sniffed Francesca’s hand.
“But—” Mr. Fairgate shuffled in the dirt behind her. A small cloud of dust filtered throughout the cage.
Francesca stayed still, letting Belle continue to sniff her hand, fingers and nails. Once finished, Belle turned away and groomed her paws, her rough, pink tongue wetting her spotted fur. The cat, content to see to her own toilette, seemed no longer concerned with people in her midst.
“See? It’s all fine.” Francesca turned around and reached out her hand to Mr. Fairgate, much as she’d done to Belle. He eyed the leopard for several more seconds before peering up at Francesca. Eyes locked on her outstretched hand, he grasped it, allowing her to help him stand. Once he regained his balance and seemed not likely to faint, she released his hand.
Reluctantly.
He followed her from the cage, his hand grazing her shoulder when he stumbled. Heat sparked from his touch. If just touching her shoulder produced such a sensation, what would it be like if he touched her neck or face? Best not to dwell on that.
Francesca tugged the gate closed. That latch is fastened tight this time. If she hadn’t been there and Mr. Fairgate had been alone in the cage…
Taking in huge gulps of air, Mr. Fairgate hurried toward a visitor’s iron bench and collapsed onto the seat. His skin pale, he let out a breath as he ran his hand down his perspiring face. “I can hardly believe what just happened. That leopard nearly… You saved my life! You’re a heroine. To be commended—”
She waved a hand back and forth through the air. “Nonsense. It was… I am just able to—”
He sat forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “We must contact the newspaper. An article should be written extolling your—”
“No!” She glanced around, relieved no one else was about. She’d not meant to shout.
Mr. Fairgate spread his shaking hands. “But why?”
Stepping closer, she sat on the opposite end of the bench. “I don’t want anyone to know.” Angling her glance away from him, she shrugged. “My father could get into trouble if the wrong person found out I’d been in the cage. He could lose his position. Please…”
He touched her arm briefly. “As you wish, Miss Hartwell. I will not speak a word of this to another soul. Although it was the most heroic, amazing feat I have ever personally witnessed. Just know that I am, and will always be, in your debt.”
“I—”
A large group of people entered the Menagerie gate. Several children ran ahead, laughing and squealing, much to the dismay of the frowning adults. Mr. Fairgate, still pale and shaken, stood and tipped his hat.
“I find that I am not feeling the best at present, Miss Hartwell. My experience with the leopard… Please forgive my abrupt departure, but I’m afraid I must go.”
Francesca, concerned for Mr. Fairgate’s health, only had time to nod before the man disappeared into the crowd. She sighed. It would have been so pleasant to have had a longer conversation. Would he ever return? Or would his fright from a leopard’s near-attack keep him away?
Chapter Two
John Fairgate hurried from the Tower of London, dodging families and couples as they entered the main gate, their enthusiastic chatter a depressing reminder of his own lack of a wife and children. He squinted and lowered the brim of his hat against the rays of the bright morning sun. Lifting his hand, he signaled his driver.
The carriage rattled forward, its wheels kicking up small clouds of dust. John waited for it to stop and then climbed into it without waiting for the footman. He slumped against the seat as the carriage started off along Tower Street toward Eastcheap. What in the world had just occurred? Had it been a dream? Or had the most captivating, beautiful woman on earth just saved his life? In a most extraordinary way?
Sweat trickled down his neck into his cravat, even though the day was cool. He swallowed against a lump in his throat. How different that scenario could have been had Miss Hartwell not been there! Surely his abrupt departure might have been perceived as rude, but it could not be helped. It would not do for him to have fainted like a silly woman with the vapors. Imagine if someone had found out and told his uncle. Thankfully, no one had been there to witness the event.
His goal that day had been to enjoy a pleasant diversion of watching the wild cats at his leisure. To see them eat, groom, nap. Everything about cats was fascinating. Their size. Their fur. Their long tails and muscular builds. And claws. Sharp teeth. He closed his eyes briefly against what could have been. Oh, but for the bravery of a young woman, John would have come in quite close contact with those claws and teeth!
Having been in Scotland for several months to catalog sightings of rare birds, and spending much of his time lately at the Regent’s Park Bird Sanctuary, he’d not had the opportunity to visit the Tower in far too long. He had visited other animals at the zoo in the past, but found himself always returning to the wild cats’ area. Even though he’d had quite the fright that morning, it would not keep him from visiting the cats. And the cat-keeper’s daughter…
Meeting Miss Hartwell had been a wonderful surprise. How was it that he had never met her on previous visits? Perhaps out of concern for her father’s position, she was not often about when people were near?
And just as he’d begun to know her acquaintance better, he fell into a leopard’s lair. It was unbelievable, yet it had truly happened. To him.
But he could tell no one.
John would honor that promise to Miss Hartwell, though he longed to extol her bravery and cunning to the rest of England. Such a fascinating woman. And lovely. And those lips. Soft, full, and pink as a sunset. The desire to kiss her at first glance had nearly overwhelmed him. Never in his twenty-nine years had he experienced that.
Of all times, though, it would have been beneficial to have experienced it by now. To find that one woman who would jolt his heart into the love he so longed to find. His Uncle Cleo, the Baron of Paddington, had made it clear that John was to find a bride. Soon. With his uncle’s poor health and no other heirs, John’s time as the new baron was fast approaching.
Unfortunately. He had no wish to lose his uncle. They were and had always been close. John had spent all of his summers during his formative years with him, so he was accustomed to a baron’s way of life. But John did not desire the title. At all. His research as an ornithologist gave him pleasure. According to Uncle Cleo’s own preference, one should not do both. John sighed. Oh, how he wished it were not so.
And marriage. Soon. He’d not found a woman whom he wanted to marry yet. At least not one who would be equal to Cleo’s views of breeding and background. And one John would find attractive and enjoy pleasant conversations with.
Miss Hart
well. She was someone he would like to know better. In their short acquaintance of that morning, it was clear she was passionate about the cats, heroic enough to save a stranger from a leopard’s grasp, and it must be said that she was indeed beautiful.
Her big brown eyes. Dark hair in a bun, with a few stubborn tendrils hanging about her ears. Her impossibly tiny waist beneath curvy… assets. She looked to be not more than twenty, but her knowledge of and manner with the cats was that of someone with years of experience. Had she spent time at the zoo her entire life?
His mirth had nearly overtaken him when she’d stared at him, unblinking, for several quiet seconds. Had she fancied his appearance? Or had he something from breakfast stuck to his chin? Of course, he’d ended his laughter when she’d glared and tapped her toe.
Adorable. John grinned.
Something else, though, was her… could it be termed a gift? Her connection with that leopard was astounding. As if they communicated in an easy manner unknown to other people. She exhibited no more fear than if she were standing in front of an ordinary house cat, holding a ball of yarn for playtime.
Miss Hartwell had alluded to a talent for being able to communicate with them, hadn’t she, when she’d begged him not to tell anyone? The reason given had been concern for her father’s employment, but John had sensed something else. Some deeper reason for her not wanting anyone to know of her ability. Was she trying to hide something? Was she frightened?
The carriage stopped at his uncle’s Mayfair house and the footman jumped down. John groaned. Oh, no. Not today. Miss Jezebel Cartwright’s carriage waited in front, too. He sighed. When would the woman take the hint that John did not want to marry her? That he would never want to marry her? And yet since he’d returned home from his trip, she kept visiting, week after week, fluttering her lashes and dropping her handkerchief in front of him. To make matters worse, Uncle Cleo thought it all a fine idea and prodded John to hurry up and marry.
No. He did not love her. Truth be told, there was not even a feeling as strong as esteem. Selfish, spoiled, and rude were just three of the adjectives which described her. And to think he’d known her since they were children. Wouldn’t all those years of rebuffing her have shown her the truth?
He shook his head and stepped from the carriage, a whipping wind tugging at his hat. If he had had an interest in a woman for such a long time and it was obvious the sentiment was not returned, he certainly would have stopped trying. Miss Cartwright was stubborn.
Or stupid. Both?
Miss Hartwell’s face floated across John’s mind. Yes, she was someone who could interest him. Trouble was, Uncle Cleo would not find her the least bit suitable as a potential baroness. No family background of money, from her appearance or position, and certainly no title in her family, considering what her father did for a living. Not that John cared a whit. But it was not up to him to decide. While Uncle Cleo could not force him to marry anyone against his will, it pained John to disappoint the old man.
John was not allowed to choose a woman he found attractive as a bride, nor was he to continue with his research. Somehow, it did not sound at all appealing to give up everything he might care for in order to do something he did not.
As he stepped into the entryway, his nose twitched. Why did Miss Cartwright insist on that flowery fragrance? The scent of gardenias was so strong it threatened to peel the wallpaper. True, the wallpaper was a hideous salmon hue, but still…
Miss Cartwright glanced up when he entered. If she batted her stubby eyelashes any harder, they would fly across the room and stick to said wallpaper.
“Good afternoon, Uncle. Miss Cartwright.” John gave his coat and hat to the butler, Oliver. His uncle’s maid, Caren, sat unobtrusively in the far corner, mending some garment or other.
“Hello, Mr. Fairgate.” Miss Cartwright held out her gloved hand toward him but she stayed seated on the settee. John performed the obligatory hand kiss, nearly falling over to bend down to her level. Straightening, he sighed. He had so hoped to have a serious talk with his uncle today about his future responsibilities, to try to reason with the older man about some of the stipulations he’d put on them.
That would not happen now, however, with Miss Cartwright firmly ensconced in the room. And from all appearances, she was not leaving any time soon. A hawk could not be perched more firmly on a branch than she was on the furniture. An unexpected vision of talons emerging from Miss Cartwright’s gloved fingers brought John slight amusement. If that were the only levity in the current situation, he’d accept it.
Cleo half-heartedly waved in John’s direction. His watery blue eyes had witnessed over eight decades. The poor man didn’t have much longer on this earth. His strength was ebbing like the sea at low tide. John tried not to dwell on the fact, since he and his uncle had always been close. He’d been more of a father to John than his real father had ever been. And he longed to please the man, but giving up his ornithology research would be difficult.
And marriage to her would be horrid.
John walked to the fireplace, fully aware of Miss Cartwright watching his every move. He only knew this because she’d had the habit for years. As if she would not be able to ensnare him if she averted her gaze from his person.
Ensnare.
Trap.
Hold hostage.
Any of those would describe her behavior toward him.
How in the world was he going to not have to marry her? She’d announced years ago that they were meant to be. Uncle Cleo was delighted with the idea of them marrying, had in fact been pushing them together at every opportunity. Cleo had another reason for wanting John to marry soon. To produce an heir. John shivered. What a thought. His mind reeled at the mental picture of him… and Miss Cartwright…
Her voice, shrill as the steam circus in Bloomsbury, hurt his ears. “Why, Mr. Fairgate, you’re shivering. Have you taken ill?”
Yes. Quite. “No. I’m well, thank you.”
Miss Cartwright stood, tugging her dress down even farther to expose her cleavage. She might as well have undressed and flung herself across his bed for all the subtlety she employed. It must have been of the utmost importance to the woman to be a baroness. She wasn’t stupid, no matter his earlier thought on the subject. It had to be obvious he wasn’t interested. Apparently, that mattered not. She’d had many offers of marriage before, but apparently, only a baron would do.
This baron. I’m a lucky, lucky man.
Miss Cartwright had a goal and she was bound to achieve it. John was as determined that she not. The thought of a lifetime with her, sharing his bed with her, made him sweat. And not in an enjoyable way. Now if it were Miss Hartwell—
“—don’t you?”
“Pardon?”
Miss Cartwright frowned. “Did you not hear me?”
“I…” He rubbed the back of his neck.
“I asked if you noticed I am wearing a new dress?” She leaned forward, giving him a detailed view of the tops of her breasts.
John swallowed dryness from his throat. “Yes, well…”
Uncle Cleo chuckled. “I see you two would like to be alone.” He struggled to stand, ever weaker than the previous day.
John rushed to his side. “Uncle, please don’t think you must leave the room. This is your house, after all.”
Cleo, his back crooked with age, slowly raised his gaze to John. “But it will be yours. Soon. And…” He tilted his head toward Miss Cartwright across the room.
John sighed. Yes, the unspoken message had been received. John needed to wed and to not waste any time.
The butler stepped from the doorway to assist Cleo to his bedchamber. Poor man. John knew Cleo was ready to die. The wish was clearly stated in his faded blue eyes.
But I’m not ready to lose him!
Duty compelled John to accept his fate. Time was of the essence to settle down and become that which he did not wish to be. A baron. No longer doing his beloved research. Married to someone he loathed.
Miss Cartwright, now settled again on the settee, patted the seat next to her. “Mr. Fairgate, come and talk with me.”
Trying his utmost not to roll his eyes, he crossed the room and sat down. Today was not going as planned at all. Although meeting Miss Hartwell had been a pleasant surprise. Extremely pleasant. That lovely face. That captivating form.
Miss Cartwright leaned closer, her perfume nearly suffocating in its intensity. “You’re smiling.”
John darted a gaze toward her. “Am I?”
“You must be having enjoyable thoughts?”
He nodded. His face heated. The brief time with Miss Hartwell had affected him greatly. And it wasn’t the fact that she’d saved his life. Although that in itself had been incredible.
“And what, may I ask, are your thoughts about? Hmm?” She raised her hand, patting her hair into place. Preening as a peacock might, so sure of her beauty, there could be no possible way for John’s thoughts to be of anyone but her.
But it was Miss Hartwell’s attributes which filled his mind. So lovely. Her warm smile and kind nature. The easy way she had with the leopard. “The zoo.”
She frowned, her eyebrows pulling in together as one long, thin line. “I beg your pardon?”
He’d said the words out loud? Oh, no. By her expression, indeed he had. “That is where I was prior to arriving here.”
“But why would anyone ever want to visit that vile Tower?”
“To observe the animals, of course.”
“They smell horrid.”
He shrugged. “That bothers me not. I find them fascinating.”
Miss Cartwright’s expression was that of someone who had swallowed a rotten pear. “A waste of time and money. What are those people thinking, keeping dangerous wild animals in the city?” She picked up her fan and waved it furiously in front of her face. More gardenias came his way. Splendid.