The Burdens of a Bachelor (Arrangements, Book 5)

by Rebecca Connolly

  Lady Greversham retracted her outstretched walking stick, and gave a toss of her awkwardly turbaned head, sending the beaded material of her bodice jingling. “What care you for her, Blackmoor?” she scoffed, looking at him with as much displeasure as she had Susannah.

  His glare turned harder still, his eyes ice cold. “A great deal more than I care for your presence, madam, and if I hear of you mistreating her again, I shall take a most personal offense.” His clipped and menacing tone widened Lady Greversham’s eyes, and she looked uneasy for the first time.

  Susannah did not know why his most personal offense should make anyone blanch so, but she quite enjoyed the sight.

  Lady Greversham swallowed, her complexion now pale, and she pulled her fan and began speaking to the shocked woman next to her as if nothing had happened.

  “Well,” Blackmoor said, returning his eyes back to Susannah, “now that is settled, will you dance the next with me?”

  She nodded quickly, letting him remove her at a rather fast pace. “Thank you, sir,” she murmured softly.

  “Never mind Lady Greversham,” he instructed in a surprisingly gentle voice. “I never do.”

  “And you are?”

  He almost smiled. “Lord Blackmoor, at your service,” he replied with a nod as they went into the dance. “Though you may have heard me referred to as ‘the Viscount Blackmoor’.”

  She hadn’t.

  “And how came you to be in my service, my lord?” she managed, her heart still pummeling her ribs painfully.

  “I am a friend of Kit Gerrard,” he said softly. “And I trust him implicitly. When he instructs me to act, I do so.”

  She looked back at him in surprise. “He sent you?”

  Again, the viscount’s lips quirked as if he would smile. “Technically, though he didn’t have to. I was already coming. Now, for your own sake, smile as if the harpy cannot touch you. It is a dance, not a funeral.”

  Seeing the reassurance in the man’s eyes, Susannah found herself relaxing at last, and the smile she bore was not as forced as she had anticipated. Her friends had rallied to her defense, silencing the old dragon, and now she was dancing with a particularly powerful viscount who had also taken up her cause.

  Faintly it occurred to her to wonder where Colin had been for all of that. Had he seen it? Would he have been upset by it?

  Lord Blackmoor turned her as part of the dance and her eyes caught sight of something in the corner that immediately drew her attention. Duncan and Geoffrey were bodily restraining a third man in a mask, whose shoulders heaved unsteadily, and whose vibrant blue eyes Susannah knew in an instant.

  Colin.

  Beneath his mask, his eyes clashed with hers, and they were wild and enraged. After a moment of contact, they eased into hardness, and his jaw tightened as his breathing became steadier. He straightened up, no longer fighting his friends, and he kept his eyes fixed on her. Then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded. Just once.

  She clamped down on her lips as she was turned again, away from him. He was not unmoved by what had happened, and he was not indifferent to her.

  But she could not encourage him. Not anymore. Not like this.

  Lord Blackmoor was not a talkative man, but he maintained a fairly consistent line of questioning, even if there were several breaks where nothing was said. It was not awkward, or uncomfortable, and she enjoyed not being forced to speak. He was considerate and the utmost of a gentleman, and when the dance was done, he turned her into Derek’s care with a kiss to her hand and a deep bow.

  “Fresh air?” Derek asked softly, taking her by the elbow.

  She nodded, putting a hand to her brow where a throbbing headache was beginning to form. “Please, my lord.”

  He steadied her with a hand on her back and Kate suddenly flanked her other side, and without a word, and without drawing any sort of attention, they escorted her out to the terrace and into the night air.

  Colin released a heavy breath as he saw Derek and Kate take Susannah out to the terrace. He had not been able to breathe properly for about an hour now, and this was the first time his chest did not ache with the action.

  Susannah was tormenting him with the vision of loveliness she presented, and it was all he could do to remain upright. His teeth had been grinding together so hard that his jaw throbbed as if he’d been in a particularly vicious brawl. He had not known she would be here. He would have to have a word with Tibby later, and perhaps with the others, but he knew full well that Tibby was the ringleader. She adored Susannah, it was true, and he could hardly ask her to stop liking her so readily, but this was madness.

  His eyes had been on Susannah all night, unable to look at anything else. He knew every man she danced with, every person she spoke with, noted every time she laughed. And each and every minute that passed only caused his stomach to clench more than it already had. His control was paper thin and getting thinner rapidly. He could hardly have said if he were more tempted to cause a scene by raging at her or ravishing her, but he was not coherent enough or calm enough to speak to anyone.

  And apparently it was obvious, for no one even tried to approach him.

  He did not know what Lady Greversham had said, but he had started towards her the moment she’d stopped Susannah. He remembered all too clearly the last time that creature had interacted with Susannah, and he was not about to let it happen again. Duncan and Geoff had grabbed him and pushed him back into a corner, away from the notice of most everyone, and their combined strength kept him there, though the more he watched, the more he had strained against their hold.

  When Lady Greversham had stuck her cursed walking stick out into the folds of Susannah’s dress to trip her, he’d thrashed so hard against his friends he’d nearly broken free. But Duncan’s growled command, laced with his authoritative tone from the army, had settled him enough to watch as Lord Blackmoor had saved her and then taken Susannah into the dance as if nothing had happened.

  He would owe the viscount a debt of gratitude if he’d thought the man would take it.

  Duncan and Geoff were far more sensible than he was, knowing he had not been in any kind of state to properly defend Susannah, and certainly not in a way that would help matters. He might have made things worse. And he might have done something he would have regretted.

  His breathing was calmer now, and he was regaining his now usual irritated airs as he saw Susannah enter the room once more with Kate, looking much refreshed and so beautiful he hated her. He should be going to her and whispering in her ear, making her blush with his praises, promising better things to come when they married. He should have her on his arm, declaring to everyone in attendance, including her, that she was his and his alone.

  But instead he was relegated to glaring from across rooms.

  She was not indifferent to him. She wanted him, or at least had made a good show of it. It was entirely possible that she had been lonely, simply longing for human touch of any kind, and he had been there and convenient.

  Had she ever loved him? She had never said so, not before and not since. She had been encouraging, yes, but she had never given him any expectations herself. He had assumed them all.

  Perhaps he had been mistaken in her. Perhaps she did not care for him beyond what he could offer her without commitment.

  He hated that he considered the thought. It was hardly like Susannah to be that way, he did not suspect she had the nature to be anything but sweet and charming.

  And stubborn.

  And confusing.

  And captivating.

  He ground his teeth again and took a sip of the punch he was holding, only to find it was empty. He growled and thrust it at Geoff, who still stood next to him.

  “What am I supposed to do with this?” Geoff asked with a snort.

  “I don’t care,” Colin snarled, walking towards the other end of the room.

  His arm was grabbed and he whirled to see Duncan glaring at him. “You need to pull it together, Colin. If you wan
t any sort of discretion at all, you need to mind yourself.”

  Colin inhaled and exhaled through his nose in agitation, staring at his powerful friend for a long moment. He swallowed once and nodded, then moved about the edge of the room until he was calm once more. That was not to say that the feelings fled, for he was as resentful and angry as he had been before, but he no longer wanted to tear the room apart.

  Which was just as well, for now Susannah was headed in his direction, and such was the crush of masked individuals at the time that the only way for him to escape would be to go past her.

  He clenched a fist and kept his gaze straight ahead, as if he were intent on the dance. He forced the muscles of his face to be relaxed and at ease, and curved one side of his mouth up. To anyone looking at him, he would be the very picture of an amused rake at a London soirée, more at ease in a mask than without one.

  At this moment, it was true.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Susannah stutter a step when she neared him. He nearly smirked. So she had not intended on coming to him, then. Was that supposed to make him feel better or worse?

  She took a glass from a passing footman and turned to face the window behind her, though her rigid posture told Colin everything he needed to know.

  “Are you all right?” he asked in a low voice, knowing he should have asked more gently, but not managing to find patience at the moment.

  She offered a shaky nod. “Just pretending.”

  Her voice sounded steady, despite the trembling of her hand as she sipped her drink. He turned just enough to speak to her. “So is everyone else. We all wear masks tonight.”

  She looked down at the glass she held. “Some of us wear more than one.”

  Colin stiffened at her words and his jaw tightened. Whether the words had been a barb for him or a reflection on herself, he couldn’t have said. It burned as if she had slapped him, and his fist tightened at his side. And given the way her eyes shifted, she had noticed.

  He wanted to ask her what Lady Greversham had said to her. He wanted to know how she was. He wanted her to leave and take her tempting sight and scent with her. He wanted to grab her hand and take her out to the gardens, away from the noise and the people and the moderately respectable atmosphere. He wanted her alone and in his arms. He wanted to shake her and demand to know why she wouldn’t love him. He wanted to know why he would never be good enough for her, after everything.

  He wanted…

  “Colin…” she whispered.

  He shook his head once, very firmly.

  “Please.”

  He turned finally to look at her, and he let his rage show, enough that she took a small step back.

  “Unless your feelings have changed on the topics we have previously discussed,” he clipped in a low, dangerous tone, “I do not care to hear. Have they?”

  Susannah stared at him, her eyes starting to shimmer with tears. Then she swallowed and looked down at the floor.

  Colin huffed impatiently and moved past her, his shoulder brushing hers as he did so. He ignored her fragrance, her faint sniffle, and the way his fingers itched to linger against her skirt. He pushed passed several other members of society, none of whom marked him, and he kept his gaze fixed on the doors. He was not going to stay in this stifling environment any longer.

  All these masks and costumes, all of this pretending and entertainment, he was done with all of it. He wanted what was real, something he could hold onto and trust. He was through with wishing for something that would never come, yearning for some far off dream like the foolish young boy he had once been.

  Colin stormed out of the room, yanking off his mask and tossing it aside. He nodded wordlessly when a servant asked if he wanted his carriage called and paced in the entryway while he waited for it.

  He was done with all of this madness.

  Chapter Nineteen

  "They are looking for you, Lady Hawkins-Dean. I was able to hold them off last time, but they begin to threaten me.”

  Susannah hurried through the rain, the skirts of her gown in hand. Mr. Goulding had looked very concerned, and much older than she had seen him before. She had given him what she could and he had been satisfied, compared with her usual amounts, but then he had set it aside and said those words to her. She promised that she would take care of it, and begged to hold them off as long as possible.

  He had not been pleased, but he had given her his word, and he had never treated her wrongly before.

  She had known for some time that the men she owed were looking for her; the thugs she had run into on the streets before had given her that indication. But according to Mr. Goulding, now the collectors themselves were getting involved. And if she could not give them the amounts they demanded for their patience, they would see her in a debtor’s prison and force her son into indentured servitude.

  She need not give them the full amount, he had assured her, for they knew very well the complete balance would be impossible for now. But the payment they wanted was more than she had earned at this point, considering she’d had to give some to Mr. Jacobs for her family.

  She should ask for help. A loan, perhaps, to keep herself out of prison and to keep Freddie safe. But who could she ask? Tibby was already so generous with her, to ask for more would be impossible. Colin and Kit claimed to have plenty, but considering the strain on their relationship, she could hardly ask for anything from them. And Colin would demand that she explain, and he already knew she had debts. If he knew the extent of them, and the rest of the story…

  A loud crash of thunder made her jump and she turned to cut through Hyde Park, rather than going around. The trees would provide her some shelter, though not much, considering her hat had proven useless. She needed to get home as soon as possible, she could still take whatever money that remained to Mr. Goulding. Perhaps this close to the payment requested would satisfy them until she could get more. She could go to Mrs. Randall and ask for more work, her niece was apparently worse help than she previously thought.

  But would any of it be enough? No one had dared to threaten Freddie before, and the merest hint that he should be in danger…

  She jerked at another flash of lightning and accompanying thunder. The rain picked up its intensity, sweeping sideways and pummeling her clothing and skin. Her feet were slipping in the damp grass, and she was going to do herself injury if she were not careful. The raindrops were becoming painful as they hit her, and she winced as there was another crash of lightning and thunder.

  She spotted a gazebo not far off, and hurried towards it. She did not need to be reckless, even if she did wish to be expeditious.

  She would be no good to anyone injured or worse.

  The rain picked up even more as she made her way over there, and she breathed a sigh of relief when she was at last beneath it. She removed her sopping hat and tossed it aside. Her spencer was absolutely drenched, so she unbuttoned that and removed it, wringing it and shaking it out. Then she hung it on a railing and shivered. It was a cool day, and while there was no possible way the jacket would be dry by the time she would leave, it might at least be less sopping.

  She rubbed her arms quickly, trying to restore some warmth to her, when she heard someone else arrive in the gazebo just as the rain began coming down in torrential sheets, and the wind whipped the drops around viciously. The air blew through the gazebo, drawing another shiver from her and she tucked against a pillar to attempt to shield herself more.

  She laughed a bit shakily. “It seems you’ve made it just in time,” she said, turning to the other person. “You would be swimming if you still…” She broke off with a faint gasp when she saw the person she was now sharing the gazebo with.

  Colin stared at her as if he had been struck from behind, eyes wide, mouth slightly parted, and his expression spoke of the temptation to turn and run, despite the storm.

  The thunder and lightning picked up in their volume and intensity, and Susannah felt her heart echoing them. She coul
d not look away from Colin, no matter how her heart and mind told her to. His chestnut hair was clinging to his face and dripping visibly. His cravat hung limply against his soaked linen shirt, which clung to his skin. His fine waistcoat and jacket were drenched, as were his fawn-colored breeches, while his boots were caked with mud and blades of grass.

  She realized she could not have looked any better. She felt her hair dripping on her neck, and damp tendrils stuck to her cheeks and forehead. Her green muslin, though fine and impressive usually, was now limp and faint, not to mention filthy, considering her traipse through the park. Her petticoats were clinging to her legs, and the long sleeves of her gown had become a second skin to her. She dared not look at her bodice, but thankfully, she had folded her arms across it before she had seen who it was.

  She swallowed hastily as she continued to look at Colin, and saw him do the same. His eyes left hers to take her in, as she had done with him, and her cheeks flushed as she saw his gaze darken. His lips pressed together in a thin line, and his eyes came back to hers, but he said nothing.

  He moved to one of the posts and leaned against it, eyes still trained on her, as if he were waiting for something.

  Suddenly nervous, Susannah broke eye contact and moved to the furthest part of the gazebo from him. She pushed a dripping lock of hair behind her ear with shaking fingers. Her face was warm to the touch, or perhaps her fingers were chilled. She glanced surreptitiously at Colin, who watched her still, and she looked away, swallowing again.

  She could not feel her knees at the moment, and it really was, quite suddenly, fairly warm out. She brushed at the tendrils clinging to her brow and tried to wring out some of her hair without letting any of it tumble down. That would not help matters at all. An odd coiling sensation was building somewhere in the vicinity of her stomach, yet she felt it down to her toes and in the tips of her fingers.

  She shivered again, and rubbed her arms, looking up briefly.

  Colin had not moved. He leaned against the post still, just as he had with the doorjamb at Tibby’s that day. He looked perfectly at ease for all his posture, yet there was a visible tension riding through his entire frame. His face was taut, his eyes focused, and she was not entirely sure if he were angry or callous or intrigued. She could see traces of all of them, along with something else.