His Lady Midnight

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  Trying to sound as if she were joking, she asked, “Why should I give to you for free, Lord Townsend, what I was offered money for today?”

  “You would never be a good harlot.” His voice remained serious.

  “And why not? Miss Raymond was anxious to hire me.”

  He stroked her cheek. “She saw only your beauty, which a man would pay high to possess. However, you could not hold yourself in abeyance as a harlot must.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “They sell only their bodies. When I hold you, you offer all of yourself. With you, there is no dividing line. You must give all or nothing.” He hesitated, before adding quietly, “That is the same as you expect in return, isn’t it?”

  “Galen, I—”

  “No, don’t say it.” Coming to his feet, he offered his hand. “I think we should return to the house.”

  “We cannot pretend this conversation did not happen. Or the conversation in the parlor never took place.” She grasped his hand with both of hers. “Carr’s discovery of where I was seemed to come too easily.”

  “I know. We have many friends in Bath, for our family has visited here often since we were children.”

  “So why did he guess I was at Miss Raymond’s house?”

  “That is something I need to discover for myself.”

  She shivered, although the night was still warm. “If he happened to see me go into the house, others may have as well.”

  “He must have been outside of Bath when you were caught in the storm.”

  “This makes no sense.”

  “I agree.” He led her through the doors to the parlor, which was empty. Carr must still be ridding himself of his filthy clothes. “I intend to find out straightaway what he knows and how.”

  “And why.”

  “Why?” He faced her. “Yes, I need to know that as well. I expect he will tell me … eventually.” Taking her hands, he folded them between his and pressed them over his heart. “Mayhap you will trust me eventually as well.”

  “I do trust you.”

  “You do?” His astonishment unsettled her even more.

  Drawing her hands out of his, she whispered, “I trust you, but—”

  “You don’t trust yourself?” His smile became cool. “That is too pat an answer, I fear.”

  “’Twas your answer. Not mine.”

  “And what is your answer, Phoebe?”

  “I trust you,” she said, knowing she must be honest as she had not in so long, “but I do not trust those who would wish to halt me from helping those I help. They would take any opportunity to destroy my allies along with me.”

  “You could have asked me if I was willing to take that risk.”

  “No, I could not.” She stepped back from him, then leaned forward and steered his mouth to hers. This kiss, unlike the one in the garden, came from desperation. She wanted to savor this sweet rapture while she could. As his arms came up to enfold her, she edged away. “Good night, Galen.”

  “It could be, my dear.”

  For the length of a single heartbeat, she almost gave into the beseeching of her heart. Serendipity had brought Galen into her life, and she would be foolish to throw away this happiness he brought to her.

  But she was a fool. She had owned to that the night she first went to the Pool and paid to have Jasper’s brother freed from the ship sailing to Australia. When she rushed away out into the corridor, she heard the rattle of a glass decanter behind her in the parlor. Brandy might offer solace to Galen who had discovered she could never be his, but she had only her silly promise to help others to offer her comfort tonight.

  It no longer was enough.

  Fourteen

  The house was quiet when Phoebe walked out of her bedchamber into the twilight-lit hallway. All day, she could have believed she was the only one in Thistlewood Cottage. Even Mrs. Boyd had been subdued, going about her chores without her normal cheerful singing and prattle.

  Just as her house was on Grosvenor Square on the days after she returned from the Pool.

  Why had she never noticed how disquieting this silence was? It crawled under her skin and sent a vexing pulse along her as if someone she could not see stood too close. She was aware of everything and everyone, but her thoughts wandered and she nearly walked into a footman who was carrying an armload of blankets from the laundry to the storage chests. Apologizing, she hurried toward the front door. Her fan, tied to her wrist with a bright blue ribbon, threatened to fly away on every step.

  She could not escape the one thought that had haunted her all day. In the back of the cupboard in her bedchamber, her bag was packed with all she would need when she took the mail coach back to London tomorrow morning. The rest of her clothes would have to be returned later, because she could not pack them without revealing her plan.

  Last night had forced her to make this decision she had wanted to postpone. In Galen’s arms, she had been ready to set aside everything else to savor his touch. She could not while she was obligated to continue her work as Lady Midnight.

  The note she had received this morning from her butler Johnson had been terse, but she had learned to read the meaning in the words that seemed so commonplace. Somehow, Jasper had found out where she was. That did not surprise her, because Jasper had ways of gaining information that amazed her. However, if her assistant could learn so quickly that she was here at Thistlewood Cottage, others might as well. Then her tale of coming down from London more than a week ago would fall apart and the truth might be revealed.

  A ship was sailing out of the Pool at the beginning of next week. On it was scheduled to be a young woman who had been falsely accused of robbery by a lord when she had turned down his offer of becoming his mistress. The young woman was Jasper’s brother’s betrothed, and Jasper was desperate to rescue her.

  Although her assistant would never ask her to risk herself for this woman, Phoebe must. Jasper could have been killed during their last visit to the docks. She owed him this duty, and she did not want to fail him.

  After that … Phoebe faltered as she realized that she wanted to be done with this conspiracy. The recent days with Galen had revealed how she longed to reclaim her own life, which had been set aside after her father’s death and the beginning of her rescue work.

  All thoughts of her responsibilities vanished when Phoebe saw Carr Townsend standing alone by the door in the foyer. Dash it! Why hadn’t she paused to realize that he might be here before Galen was? Raising her chin, she kept her steps even as she crossed the foyer.

  He took her hand and bowed over it. When he would have brought her fingers to his lips, she withdrew it not too gently. He frowned, but she did not let her expression waver as she stared at the ruddy mark on his cheek, his souvenir of the milling he had suffered last night.

  “I see you are going to parade my grandmother’s rubies at the duchess’s assembly, so that everyone might know that Galen bestowed them upon you in return for whatever favors you have done for him.”

  “I have done him no favors. All the kindnesses have been from him.”

  Carr’s smile was cold. “Yes, my brother does have a weakness for blondes. I should have known he would add you to his list of conquests.”

  “You are insulting!”

  “To you or to my brother?” He laughed, but his eyes remained frigid. “Do you think a staid assembly this evening will entertain you after your exciting day yesterday?”

  Phoebe knew she must not show him how much his cruel words hurt. Keeping her chin high, she said, “I am looking forward to the opportunity to speak further with the guests who called here two evenings ago.”

  “A very polite answer that does not answer my question.”

  “I thought it did. I am looking forward to seeing friends.”

  He rubbed his fingers against his chin. “Have you given thought to the idea that you may see others tonight whom you may not wish to see?”

  “I never consider that when I prepare for a gat
hering.” She looked past him. Where was Galen? It was not like him to be late.

  “I would if I were you.”

  “You are not me.” How much more bothersome could this man be? Galen could vex her with his questions, and he could entice her away from good sense with his delicious kisses, but he was nothing like his brother who seemed to talk in circles and say nothing and yet hope to send her up to the boughs.

  “No, I was not chased by men through the streets of Bath yesterday.”

  Phoebe gasped and looked at Carr who was grinning broadly. “How do you know of that?”

  “Know of what?” asked Galen as he stepped into the foyer. He adjusted his gloves, which were as white as his cravat and breeches. His black coat was still lighter than his ebony hair.

  “We were speaking of her adventure yesterday,” Carr replied, his smile now triumphant.

  “I am sure,” Galen said, “that Phoebe would rather speak of other things.”

  “Yes.” She stepped forward. “I would like to speak of how you know what you do about—”

  Carr turned away to look out the door. “Ah, here is my carriage.” He walked out without adding anything else.

  Phoebe clenched her hands on her fan until she heard the spines creak. She released it, not wanting to break her favorite fan. “Carr is not attending the assembly?”

  “He wishes to be able to leave when he wants.” Galen’s lips grew straight. “And get himself into more of a muddle. He seems determined to get his daylights darkened here in Bath.”

  “He may get his wish. That bruise could become a black eye easily.”

  He took her hand and lifted it to his lips. She held her breath as she savored the incredible sensation of his mouth against her. His fingers ran along her cheek as he said, “You shall steal every man’s eyes tonight, for they shall wish to follow you home.”

  “What a loathsome idea!”

  “I did not intend it to be. Why, when I am with you, can’t I think of the nothing-sayings that have served me so well in the past?”

  “Mayhap because you want honesty from me, so you are honest yourself.”

  “Now that is, as my tie-mates would be quick to say, a loathsome idea. A lady is supposed to be lathered with court-promises and compliments, not the truth.”

  She put her hand on his proffered arm. “Who told you that?”

  “I would suspect a lady.”

  As she walked with him out of the house to where Tate stood by the carriage, Phoebe laughed. She truly appreciated Galen’s jesting, especially when she was so uneasy about this evening. She must not allow him to guess how she planned to sneak out of Thistlewood Cottage at dawn and go to the inn where the mail coach would be leaving for London, for he would be determined to halt her.

  She looked out the window as the carriage turned onto the road leading into the center of Bath. When her hand was taken, she faced Galen.

  “It will be fine,” he said quietly.

  “I hope you are right.”

  “On this, I believe I am.”

  She did not demur. “If rumors of what happened to me yesterday reach the Beau Monde, I will be ruined.”

  “And you will have no alibi for your work by the Pool?”

  “Yes.”

  “That is more important to you than the damage to your family’s name?”

  Putting her other hand over the one holding hers, she said, “My parents raised me to do what I thought was right unless it brought harm to someone else. To bring shame on the Brackenton name would cause distress to my father’s cousin who now holds the title. I would not wish that.”

  “I had not given that poor chap any thought.” His smile became wry. “It seems, however, you have given great thought to every aspect of this obligation you have taken upon yourself.”

  “During the past five years, I have had many times to consider the consequences of my actions.”

  The carriage bounced in a chuckhole, and Galen grimaced as his head hit the roof. Rubbing the spot that had struck the roof, he said, “Yet I suspect you are considering the consequences of someone else’s actions tonight.”

  “If Carr says anything to anyone—”

  “He gave me his word that he will not.” His smile became tight. “I know you find him irresponsible and not worthy of your trust, but he has never broken a promise to me.”

  Phoebe let her breath sift out in a sigh. “That is so good to know.”

  “But?”

  “But?”

  “I heard a ‘but’ in your voice.”

  Her fingers clenched in his hand. “If Carr knows where I was yesterday, someone else might as well.”

  “He and Sandra Raymond are very good friends.”

  “I suspect she has several very good friends.”

  Galen leaned back and smiled. “She will lose those very good friends if she prattles one’s business to another. That she spoke to Carr of this astonishes me, but she may have thought, since we are all staying at Thistlewood Cottage, he would be concerned by your disappearance.”

  “I hope that is all that it was.”

  “What else could it be?”

  Phoebe had no answer for that. When Galen changed the subject to something he had read in the newspaper that had been delivered from London this afternoon, she tried to pay attention. It was impossible to shift her thoughts away from what might happen this evening.

  Carr Townsend was a spoiled child who demanded every bit of his brother’s attention. She could not say that again to Galen, who saw taking care of his brother as his duty. How could she tell him that his obligation was absurd when he could say the same back to her?

  She watched Galen’s face as he spoke, his expression emphasizing every word, and wished this interlude was not doomed to be so fleeting. There was so much she wanted to learn about this man whose kisses fascinated her and whose wit forced her to hone her own. The idea of flinging her arms around him and pressing her mouth to his was so tempting—but she must not. She might make him suspicious with her untoward behavior, and leaving on the morrow would be even more difficult.

  “Ah, here we are,” Galen said, drawing her attention back to his words instead of to her own unsteady thoughts. “Her Grace’s house.”

  Phoebe looked out at the house that was set amidst a terraced row constructed of Bath stone, which glowed like tarnished gold in the light of the lamps hanging on either side of the door. Letting Galen hand her out, she was glad when he drew her hand into his arm and put his fingers over hers. He must be able to feel them tremble, but he said nothing as they walked up the pair of steps to the door and into the foyer.

  The house was as grand as any on Berkeley Square. Gilt decorated the newel, which was carved to match plaster vines edging the ceiling. The silk wall covering was an icy blue barely warmed by the light from the huge chandelier that dropped from the roof four floors above.

  Abruptly Phoebe tensed. The stiffening of her shoulders had become a habit since she had first come to Town in pursuit of one young man who had been wrongly accused. She was among friends who would be horrified if they ever guessed where she went when she excused herself from an assembly or a musicale.

  A footman greeted her and Galen. They followed him up a curving staircase. Even before they had reached the top of the stairs, the sound of voices wove through the melodies of violins to welcome them into the ballroom.

  Phoebe stared about the grand room. This ballroom was fancier than anything she had seen in London, because the carvings that decorated the ceiling were as intricate as the pattern woven into a rug. Two chandeliers, smaller versions of the grand one above the foyer, splashed their light over the plasterwork. The contrast of light and shadows created an ever-changing pattern as they entered the room.

  She tore her gaze from the ceiling to see musicians set in an alcove high on the wall. No minstrels’ gallery had ever been as elegantly painted with gold and rich blue. Beneath it, the guests mingled, sharing conversation and the wine that was be
ing carried about the room by footmen.

  “Lady Phoebe Brackenton, Your Grace,” Galen said as he bowed over the duchess’s time-wrinkled hand.

  “We have met,” the duchess replied and smiled at Phoebe. “At Almack’s two years ago.”

  Phoebe searched her memory as she returned the white-haired woman’s smile. The duchess was dressed in a gown as magnificent as her house and as brightly colored for it was an intense purple with a bright red sash decorated with all sorts of medallions.

  Although Phoebe could not recall meeting the duchess, she said, “You are kind to remember me, Your Grace.”

  “It is easy when I remember meeting your father as a young man about your age. He had the same twinkle in his eye as this young man.” She tapped Galen’s arm with her closed fan. “I have heard very little about you recently, my boy.”

  “I had understood that you were residing full-time here in Bath,” Galen replied.

  “But that does not mean that I do not hear the news from Town. Are you still busy watching over your brother?”

  “I find it far more delightful,” he replied, “to watch over Lady Phoebe.”

  The duchess laughed. “You are always skilled with a bon mot, young man. Is young Carr with you?”

  “He took a separate carriage.”

  “Then I shall expect to greet him soon.” She tapped him on the arm again with her fan. “Go and get Lady Phoebe some of the champagne I thought would be the best way to begin our convivial evening. I trust you will return to speak to me at least once or twice before dinner.”

  “It will be my pleasure.” He bowed his head again.

  When the older woman gave him an enthusiastic hug, Phoebe saw him wince. One of the medallions must have been pressed against the spot where the knife had cut him.

  The duchess must not have noticed because she said, “Bah, do not lather an old woman with false compliments. You would prefer to spend your time with this young lady.” She leaned toward him and whispered something Phoebe could not hear.

  Galen smiled as he drew Phoebe’s hand within his arm again. Leading her toward the middle of the room, he shook his head when she started to ask what had been so amusing. Only when they were out of earshot of their hostess did he pause. He picked up two glasses from a golden tray held out by a footman.