by Win Hollows
"She has a daughter?"
Lady Rothstone put down her teacup and answered slowly. "Yes. Laura Parrington. Why?"
"Oh, no reason." Rem struggled to keep his voice nonchalant. "What does she look like? The daughter, I mean."
Penelope was perplexed. She had hoped to introduce Rem to Astoria's daughter soon, but was it possible that he had already met her at the ball the night before last? "She has blonde hair and green eyes. Average height. Lovely figure. Quite stunning, actually. She is cutting a swath right through the young crowd. I predict it won't be long before..."
Remington stopped hearing what his mother was saying after the first few words. Laura Parrington. That was her name. He could hear the echoes of "Miss Parrington! Miss Parrington!" drift through his memory of the ball. Laura... His tongue formed the name without giving breath to it. It suited her perfectly. Melodic and sensual, with a bite to it- just like the woman. An image of her face upturned to his, lips parted and swollen with kisses rose in his mind. It was the moment before she had slapped him rather forcefully.
Rem mentally shook himself from his daydream. No matter. Everything would work out perfectly. He had her name.
Laura.
Now he knew exactly who he had to persuade to marry him.
Chapter 3
Three days had passed since that first ball where Laura had met the scoundrel in the garden. Three days since she had seen him or touched him or kissed him. Three miserable, abominably long days filled with nothing but social calls, parties, and pandering suitors. Even without having lived in London very long, Laura knew these were all very good things that she was supposed to be grateful for. The group of women she had managed to befriend all envied her the persistent knot of swains that seemed to congregate whenever she was in public. Laura secretly tried to foist them off on her friends without much success, but there was a good chance in Laura's mind that she might well end up kicking her beaus in the kneecaps if they didn't give her some space.
She did enjoy calling on her new friends and going shopping with her mother, but to tell the truth, Laura was becoming more and more morose with each passing day that she did not see the man from the garden again. She knew she would recognize him. She would never mistake any other man for the chiseled features of the rogue who had held her so closely. She had to remind herself over and over that he was an unprincipled brute who had taken advantage of an innocent woman just because he could.
Then, on the morning of the fourth day since her come-out, Laura received a gift. Well, more accurately, Laura received several gifts as she did every morning from gentlemen interested in courting her. But among the usual bon bons, flowers, and pendants, there was a package addressed to her with no clue as to who it was from. No name or note accompanied it. Laura sat at her dressing table and frowned at the thin package in confusion. Usually, when someone gave a gift, they wanted the person to know who had sent it, and this was doubly so with her suitors.
She unwrapped the delicate paper, careful not to tear it unduly lest she damage whatever was inside. When done, she beheld a children's book in her hands. Now that was an odd gift, to be sure. The book was very old, the lettering faded and the spine soft and creased. There was a picture of a dark-haired woman in some sort of forested area, contemplating an apple. The title read "Sleeping Beauty." Laura recognized the fairytale. But who on earth would send her such a thing? She tried to think of any conversation with her friends that would have included a reference to children's fairytales and failed.
A voice rose in her memory, dark and seductive. "You were waiting for someone to set you free from your enchantment. And though I am not a prince, I can promise I kiss well enough."
Laura gasped and dropped the book. It tumbled from her lap onto the floor, where it lay open and mocking. She stared at it, her chest working quickly to accommodate the sudden rush of adrenaline. Laura put her hand on over her erratic heartbeat, but was unable to calm her body's reaction to the knowledge.
It was from him. She was sure of it. The lack of the sender's identity only added to her certainty now. Only that scoundrel would be so outrageous as to send a gift reminding her of the moment of indiscretion they had shared. But though she still didn't know his name- he knew hers. The thought disturbed her for a moment, the feeling of being observed and toyed with acute. Then logic reasserted itself and she scoffed. Well, of course, it would be easy enough to find out who she was. She had been the only girl with blonde hair wearing a deep green dress at the event. He only had to ask someone who she was based on her description. Unfortunately, if she had tried the same tactic, she would have met with a hundred men of his description- dark hair, dark eyes, black and white attire. There would have been no point in asking after his identity. How could she describe someone whose truly identifying characteristics were his ability to make her melt into a puddle of shocking recklessness and the way his used his tongue to-
"Laura?" Lady Parrington appeared in the doorway of her room, startling her from her wayward thoughts. "Dear, are you dressed yet? Miss Hammond is waiting outside to go to the park."
Laura bent down and snatched the book from its position on the floor and held it to her quivering stomach. "I- yes, just let me get my pelisse."
"What's that?" her mother inquired, indicating the book Laura was holding to herself with a white-knuckled grip.
"Oh, just a book I'm reading. A silly book of poems. It's not very good," she lied.
Her mother frowned. "Well, don't dally. Hurry and come out to the carriage. You'll want to get there at a fashionable hour."
"Yes, mother."
When Astoria had left the room, Laura took a last look at the book and carefully placed it under the pillows on her bed, then rushed out to meet her friend in the carriage.
Hyde Park was beautiful on that particular day. The cultivated lawns and stands of trees were brightly picturesque as the sun made a rare and bold appearance to warm the neglected city of London. The drives were crowded and humming with activity as the fashionable ton paraded themselves in curricles and on horseback. Laura and Georgiana Hammond, a very pleasant young woman close to Laura's age, were on foot, strolling arm in arm to the side of the bustling pathway.
"I feel like we're choice pieces of meat trussed up and dancing in the butcher's window," Georgiana commented wryly.
Laura giggled, feeling a kinship with the vivacious brunette beside her. They had met at a soiree two nights before and had hit it off from the start. Both women were in the same position of being on the marriage mart and feeling slightly disillusioned by the process. Georgiana's dry sense of humor struck a kindred note in Laura's increasingly dismal outlook. "At least the "trussings" are pretty. I do love your hat," she said sincerely, admiring the other girl's ostrich-plumed hate that perched saucily on her hair.
"Thank you! It doesn't make me look like an overgrown peacock?"
"Of course not! You couldn't look any more fashionable if you tried," Laura told her, which was perfectly true. Georgiana's black hair and dark blue-violet eyes combined with her tall, lithe figure made her quite striking and almost as sought-after as Laura. The only difference between the two was that Georgiana had already been out last season and had already rejected all of the swains who now trailed after Laura.
The two continued to walk slowly along, heading in the direction of a less congested area of the park, garnering looks and double takes from several gentlemen as they passed. Georgiana sighed. "That's what I'm afraid of actually. You have the same dilemma as I. Don't you just wish sometimes that you were so very average looking that you knew a suitor was interested in you because of something else about you?"
Laura agreed, but said impishly, "Like money?"
Georgina laughed. "You know exactly what I mean, baggage."
Laura thought for a moment. The immediate answer that came to her mind was an emphatic 'Yes!' It would be wonderful to know that the men who pursued her so vehemently liked her for who she was on the inside and not f
or some ideal of physical beauty that would fade with time. Laura suspected that with the passage of time and the diminishing of her youthful beauty, her suitors' ardor would decrease in proportion.
And yet, a niggling voice in the back of her mind prompted the disturbing question: Would the man in the garden have kissed her so passionately if not for her looks? And would she want it otherwise?
"I am not sure," Laura finally answered honestly. "What if..." She took a deep breath, preparing for her friend's possible censure. "What if one's looks gained a person something wonderful? Something that might never have happened if not for physical attraction?"
Georgiana looked sharply over at her, a crease between her finely arched brows. Studying her closely, her friend replied, "Then it isn't real. Nothing that is based on physical attraction alone is worth having."
Laura nodded slowly, thinking of Georgiana's perspective.
Still scrutinizing her, Georgiana asked, "Did something happen, Laura? Is someone attracted to you that you are glad of?"
Laura blushed and glanced at her companion. "Perhaps."
"Oh, you must tell!" Georgiana squeezed her arm as they walked under a stand of oak trees.
Laura stammered, "I-I don't know what to say. He...Well, he kissed me," she paused. "And I think I may have liked it," she confessed, turning an even brighter shade of red. It was true. She had liked it. Laura had admitted to herself days ago, but saying it out loud to her friend made it all so much more real.
Georgiana stopped and faced her. "Laura! How delicious! Who is he? Is he dashing? Bookish? Handsome?" her friend demanded, grinning.
Laura laughed at her friend's exuberance. "He's very handsome."
"Well, who is he?"
Laura squirmed under her friend's gaze. After a very fidgety moment, she blurted, "That's the problem, actually." She looked at Georgiana sheepishly. "I don't know."
"What?" her friend shrieked, drawing frowns from a pair of stodgy-looking matrons passing by. Georgiana glared right back and then drew Laura deeper into the shadow of the trees. "What do you mean, you don't know?"
"I...well... I just don't know! He never told me his name."
Georgiana looked her pensively. "That is a problem."
"Oh, this is a disaster! What am I going to do?" Laura wailed, swatting angrily at a low-hanging branch of leaves.
"Killing London's trees won't help any," her friend commented, crossing her arms.
"He's the only man I've met so far who's the least bit interesting." Laura paused, then looked sharply at her friend. "Don't get me wrong, he's a terrible rogue, and he quite took advantage of the situation. He really isn't worth a farthing of my time." She paused again, and then raked her hands over her face. "And I don't even know his name! He knows mine. It's not fair! He has me at a disadvantage."
Georgiana held back a smile. "I agree."
"Well, what am I to do about it?"
"When did this kiss occur?" Georgiana leaned back against a dark oak tree.
"Three nights ago, at my coming-out ball," Laura said sullenly. She picked a leaf off its branch and began shredding it.
"At your first ball ever?" Georgiana laughed. "Impressive, I must say. Then again, I didn't even get to my first ball before..."
Laura immediately glanced up. "Before what?"
Her companion sighed gustily. "Never mind. Let's just say, we're even more similar than I gave us credit for."
"What happened?" Laura dropped her mutilated leaf to the ground.
"Nothing," she waved off the question. "The point is, we need to figure out who this rogue of yours is."
"I don't see how we're going to do that. I have no clue as to his identity, and there are a thousand men who could fit his description."
"Hmm. And you haven't seen him since that night?"
"No. It's so frustrating! There are no clues in the book either."
"Book?" Georgiana frowned. "What book?"
"Oh, I forgot to tell you about that," Laura admitted, turning to her. "I received a gift from him this morning. A book. But I can't ascertain his identity from it."
"Then how do you know who it's from?"
Laura blushed. "I just do."
Georgiana huffed and rolled her eyes. "Why didn't you say that before?" She levered herself away from the tree and came over to grasp Laura's hands, smiling.
Laura looked at her, perplexed. "Well, it doesn't help in figuring out who he is. I promise you, I've looked all through it. There's nothing at all that would give away who the sender is. Nothing we can use to find him"
"It doesn't matter, dear."
Laura frowned. "Of course it matters."
"It most certainly does not."
"And why should it not matter?" Laura asked suspiciously, studying the gleam in her friend's eye.
Georgiana grinned. "Because, my dear, he is going to come to you."
Rem hadn't moved from his chair in the study in over an hour, though he hadn't done any work in that entire time. He had been staring at the disturbing image in his hands, picked up from Marion's that morning. The man had encased the plate in glass for him and wrapped it in brown paper with a note that read, "I see now why it is so precious."
Rem scowled at the note, but it was not long before his eyes were inexorably drawn back to the plate. The image shown there was indeed compelling, and he had no doubt that if anyone else were to ever see it, the scandal would ruin them both completely. Taking photographs with a Daguerreotype camera was, of course, illegal, as was possessing an image from one. Rem wasn't worried about that, however. It was what the image contained on the copper plate that was damning.
Laura had set her stage well. Though the image was somewhat dark, it only enhanced the feral beauty of the garden and the enchantress that sat amongst its blooms. The moonlight illuminated Laura's fair skin, painting her a gleaming alabaster against the dusk of the plant life. Her smile contained a wealth of innuendo in her innocent face, the contrast of purity and knowledge a mystery that Rem could easily find himself pondering forever. But a few of her body's features were obscured by something else. Another image had been overlaid on top of the photographer's original intentions. Faintly, but unmistakably, a man and a woman stood in each other's arms partaking of each other passionately and unrestrainedly. They were mostly in profile, their edges blurred slightly. The woman was clearly the same as the one sitting on the bench, her hair and dress giving her away. The man held her tightly against him, taking from her a kiss that would certainly have broken any spell of enchantment. In the picture, Laura clung to him without shame, her ardor just as evident as his.
There was something uniquely strange in seeing oneself captured in a moment like this and be able to look at it later. This was no memory, no painting. It was exactly him and exactly her, forever imprinted on a small piece of thin, metallic substance.
So this was that it looked like when he kissed someone. Without conceit, he admitted he enjoyed being able to study the sight as he pleased. Just looking at Laura's slim arms gripping his shoulders and her lips under his made him aroused where he sat. Rem shifted uncomfortably, knowing there was no way to assuage the hunger that flowed through him. Only Laura could have satisfied the burning urge to have a woman in his arms. Baffling though it was, he wanted no other now. And Rem knew that, as stubborn as he was, he wouldn't substitute another woman in her place until he could have her.
Swearing, Rem pushed the plate away from him and rose from the chair, his muscles protesting from their long stint in one position. Rem wasn't sure that this wasn't a temporary madness that had accosted him. What if his spontaneous conviction that she belonged with him was simply a wild thought brought about by boredom or sexual attraction? Should he trust it at all? He thought back to the moment right before he had kissed her and his limbs relaxed somewhat. No, it was not just sexual. He definitely wanted her for other reasons as well. Her endearing amount of fury at his interruption. The way she had danced around after hurting her hand on
his cheek. Rem laughed aloud. He really was far gone if he was smiling at the thought of a woman wanting to do him bodily harm.
A memory, hazy with the tendencies of young imaginations rose in the back of his mind.
An old lady drawing near and speaking, her words perplexing to his youthful perceptions. Warm blankets, cold rain, swirling darkness. The old crone's husky laughter and kind smile. Eerie tremors of forewarning.
A woman. She had spoken of woman who would be his soulmate...
Remington groaned. Surely he wasn't considering an old gypsy woman's crazy ramblings to a child as explanation for his ridiculous infatuation with this girl.
But who knew? Perhaps she had been right. Maybe he was fated to fall in love at first sight. His parents practically had. Perhaps it ran in the family. He groaned again. That was just perfect. Falling for some girl he didn't even know, who might very well be even more boorish than the entire lot of fresh-faced debutantes milling about this season.
Well, no, he knew she wasn't that. At least not so far. In fact, he couldn't recall when he had felt more alive than when interacting with Miss Laura Parrington.
Rem plopped down again in his chair. She must have gotten his gift by now. Had she guessed who it was from? Well, she couldn't know exactly who had sent it, could she? He couldn't remember giving away anything that would identify himself when he had been in the garden with her. And she hadn't tried to contact him since. It had only been three days, but it felt like a lifetime, waiting to see her again. What should be his next move? He could attend an event she would be at, but then he would have to contend with the milieu of ravenous pups chasing at her heels.
His thoughts rushed to a halt. What if she had already let one of those moronic bunglers kiss her as he had? Or worse- what if someone like Tris got to her? Rem's hands curled into fists. The thought of his smooth-talking friends touching Laura was enough to make his blood boil.
