His Lady Midnight

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  Handing one to her, he said, “The duchess is renowned for her plainspeaking, so, no doubt, she feared she might offend you with her words.”

  “I do not offend easily. I have heard the basest of language in … London.” She glanced about, hoping that if anyone was listening to their conversation, her hesitation would not be noted.

  “No one is heeding us,” Galen said. He touched his left side gingerly. “They are all too busy sharing the latest on dits from Town.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Still tender, and the duchess is as effusive as a doting grandmother.”

  She recognized that offhand tone. He did not want to discuss his injury. That was all for the good, because she had other questions for him. “Will you tell me what the duchess said?”

  “Of course.”

  Phoebe waited, but he did not add more. Seeing how his eyes glistened, she asked, “Well?”

  “It was little more than she congratulated me for choosing you as a companion rather than Carr.”

  “She is plainspeaking.”

  “As you would like to be.”

  She shook her head. “To the contrary, I find that words often provide the very shield one needs to hide the truth.” She hesitated before going on. “You said it was little more than congratulations. What little more?”

  “You are as curious as a kitten tonight, aren’t you?” Laughing, he tapped his glass against hers.

  Its single crystal note caught the attention of the other guests around them. Before Phoebe could ask another question, two men and a woman she did not know began to talk with Galen. He acted as if they were the best of friends, but she noted how he glanced at her as if gauging her reaction.

  She wanted to accuse him of drawing them into others’ conversations just when she was asking something he clearly did not intend to share. Galen had always been candid with her, hadn’t he?

  She no longer was certain, but she was sure that she was unsettled by the idea that this might not be the first secret he had kept from her. She had put her life and the lives of those she sought to help in Galen Townsend’s hands. She even had dared to trust him with her heart. If he did not prove worthy of that trust, she might have traded everything she had worked to save for his kisses.

  Fifteen

  Mrs. Lyttle smiled as she looked across the crowded ballroom to where the duchess continued to welcome her guests. “I am so glad you and Lord Townsend accepted the duchess’s invitation. I was saying to Mr. Lyttle just a few moments ago that it is pleasant to have new faces amid our small version of the Polite World in Bath.”

  “If one does not accept a duchess’s invitation, one needs a very good reason,” Phoebe replied with a laugh.

  “You may not be surprised that Lord and Lady Windham sent their regrets for this evening’s gathering, Lady Phoebe. They have a very good reason.”

  “I am sorry to hear that Lady Windham is not well, but I am happy for her and her husband.” She tried not to look past Mrs. Lyttle to discover where Galen had gone. He had excused himself almost an hour ago. Nothing he had said when he took his leave had suggested that he would be gone this long.

  “You are very kind.”

  “I could see they were very happy with the tidings.” She kept her smile from faltering. Where was Galen?

  “Are you having a pleasant visit here in Bath?”

  “Yes, very.” Would not Galen have told her if he had intended to take his leave of the duchess’s party?

  “I had expected to see you at the Pump Room yesterday,” Mrs. Lyttle continued.

  “I was quite busy yesterday. Mayhap on the morrow.” Phoebe faltered. Lies were falling too readily from her lips. She would not be in Bath tomorrow if all went as she planned and she was able to take the mail coach to London.

  When another woman began talking with Mrs. Lyttle about Lady Windham’s delightful news of providing her husband with an heir, Phoebe excused herself. She wandered around the room, pausing only if no one seemed anxious to engage her in conversation. The whole of Bath must be crowded into this vast room that seemed so full. To find Galen amidst this assembly might be impossible.

  The tenor of the conversation altered when the doors were opened and the guests were invited to dinner in another grand chamber, this one painted a vibrant crimson. Phoebe hung back as others poured through the doorway.

  “Not hungry?” The mocking tone was too familiar.

  She did not smile as she saw Carr’s grin. The aroma of rum coming from him warned that he had been drinking something other than the duchess’s wine. “Do not let me keep you from your meal,” she said curtly.

  “You shall not. I will enjoy everything that the duchess has to offer.” He gestured to a maid. Smiling as he took a glass of wine from the tray she held out to him, he winked at the young woman. He tweaked her cheek and smiled more broadly as she rushed away, giggling.

  When Carr arched a single brow at her, Phoebe did not retort. He was quite obviously determined to unsettle her. She wanted to tell him that he was too late. Galen’s absence had upset her greatly already.

  Carr’s eyes slitted at the very moment a hand cupped her elbow. Her reaction rather than Carr’s told her who stood behind her. Galen’s casual touch flooded her with the longing to lean back and let his arms envelop her.

  If Carr spoke before he stamped away with a frown, his words did not reach her ears, which were filled with the sound of her own racing pulse. She turned to Galen. When he held out his arm, she slowly slid her hand up his sleeve to the crook of his elbow. His smile widened in tempo with her touch. As his fingers swept along her cheek, he murmured her name.

  Phoebe was tilting her mouth up for his kiss, but she froze when a jovial laugh from across the room struck her like a facer. How could she forget that so many people could be witnessing everything she and Galen did? Lowering her eyes, she asked herself how she could crave his caresses when she should be furious that he had left her with no explanation.

  “Shall we join the others?” Galen asked, no emotion coloring his voice.

  Phoebe met his gaze and saw the odd hollow expression in them. It was as if he had seen something that unnerved him to his very bones. Shuddering, she bit back all her questions as they went into the garish dining room, which must be as big as the one in the Royal Pavilion. Small tables were scattered around the room. As the other guests found their seats, she was relieved they were not sitting with Carr, who was wearing his most superior smile as he held court at the duchess’s table.

  Her relief became dismay when she realized she and Galen were sharing a table with the Lyttles. Being at a table with strangers would have allowed her to ask the questions that plagued her. However, she should be grateful. The Lyttles had a way of dominating all conversation, so there would be no chance for her to betray her plans for the morrow.

  Galen seated her and spoke a greeting to the Lyttles. As he discussed with them the gossip that had been shared throughout the evening, Phoebe simply smiled. She could keep that expression on her face as long as she said nothing.

  When the duchess came to the table to speak with Mr. Lyttle about the games of chance she wished her guests to play later in the evening, Phoebe asked softly, “What is bothering you, Galen? You look as if your thoughts are thousands of miles away.”

  “’Tis better that mine are far away rather than yours are focused on issues that lead thousands of miles away.”

  She put her hand over his. “I am not jesting, Galen. You vanished, and then you reappeared. What is amiss?”

  Galen was astonished anew how easily Phoebe read every nuance of his emotions. He wished he could do the same with her, but she had become so accustomed to deception that she guarded every expression and word. Yet she was the most honest woman he had ever met. Even the duchess with her outspoken ways still played the coquette. Phoebe was straightforward on everything, save for her midnight adventures.

  He said nothing as bowls of steaming vegetable soup
were placed in front of them. He lifted his spoon before he replied, “I would like to tell you that everything is perfect.”

  “I would like to hear you say that.”

  He leaned toward her. “Would you like to hear me say that everything is perfect as long as you are here with me? That nothing can be wrong when we are together?”

  She smiled. “As I told you before, you are wasting your nothing-sayings on me, Galen.”

  “I would not say so.”

  When she looked quickly away, he was astonished to see a gentle flush climbing her cheeks. Pleasure? Or could it be amazement at his words? Why was she surprised? How could she not know how much he wanted her?

  “Do not be sad.” She placed her fingers lightly on his sleeve. “I could not tolerate it if you were sad tonight.” Again she looked away.

  He tipped her face back toward him and saw the longing in her eyes. Craving to hold her pierced him more fiercely than any weapon. “I have to own that I cannot be sad in your company.”

  “Odd that you say that, for you have seemed vexed more than once in my company.”

  He touched her cheek lightly, fighting his yearning to run his fingers along it. “Being vexed is quite different than being sad.”

  “Where did you go?” she asked.

  “To get Carr.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  By Jove, that was not the reaction he had expected. He had thought she would be exasperated that he had brought her here, then gone to find out what was delaying Carr. Now he was the one who should not be surprised, he told himself. From the beginning, she had known that Carr found himself in trouble far too often.

  “Townsend,” said Lyttle, saving Galen from having to answer Phoebe, “if I may say so, you are an odd suitor.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Mr. Lyttle,” chided his wife, “you should not tease Lord Townsend like that.”

  “Not tease him how, Mrs. Lyttle?”

  “On how he courts Lady Phoebe, Mr. Lyttle.”

  “I meant only, Mrs. Lyttle, that when I was a young man with my eye set on a pretty lass, I would not have left her to wander about the ballroom alone.”

  Mrs. Lyttle wagged her finger at her husband. “You should not say such things when Lady Phoebe is here to hear them.”

  “Mrs. Lyttle, you should not scold me before the rest of gathering,” Mr. Lyttle said.

  “I am trying only to bring a smile to these two young people, Mrs. Lyttle.”

  “They might smile if they had a chance to speak, Mr. Lyttle.”

  Phoebe could not keep from smiling. She had become so immersed in all the trouble stalking her that she had forgotten why she liked spending time with the Lyttles. These little brangles were as entertaining for their friends as they were for the couple who had been married almost ten years.

  When Galen choked back a laugh, she bent to take a sip of her soup before her own laugh burst forth. She put down her spoon as the conversation continued on the other side of the table. If the food was delicious or made of the coarsest sawdust, she could not tell, for everything was tasteless while she saw that shadow of sorrow in Galen’s eyes. Even the dessert had no flavor. She noticed that Galen was not eating either. He toyed with his fruit and cake as she realized she was doing with the ruby necklace.

  “Good evening, Townsend, Lyttle, ladies.”

  A dark-haired stranger stood behind Galen’s chair. The man was dressed in an eye-blurringly brilliant blue waistcoat over pale breeches. His dark green cravat was fastened with a tastelessly large gold and diamond stickpin.

  Galen’s face contorted with disgust as he stood. When he spoke, she was sure she had never heard such loathing in his voice. “What are you doing here, Hill? I thought the duchess had better sense than to open her door to a blackguard like you!”

  “I am welcome here among the Polite World in Bath, even though I did not inherit a fortune and a title.”

  “No, you chose to make your money in the trade of flesh!”

  “As you well know, the trade in slaves is now illegal, thanks to shortsighted fools like your father.”

  Galen smiled. “Yes, thanks to men of good conscience like my father.” His smile remained, but his face hardened. “I doubt if something as simple as a law has stopped your trips to Africa and the Indies for slaves.”

  Captain Hill placed his hand on the back of Phoebe’s chair. When she drew away from his fingers, horrified that he might be involved in ripping people from their homes and families forever, she put her hand on her stomach. She did not want to be ill during the duchess’s soiree, but she was sickened by the idea that Captain Hill was perpetrating a crime more appalling than sending people to Botany Bay for stealing a few shillings. She hoped Galen would find a way to end this conversation without delay.

  Her hopes were for naught, she realized, when Captain Hill chuckled. “Now, Townsend, you know my ship’s manifest has never been questioned.”

  “No?” Galen retorted with an icy laugh. “Is your memory as dull as your wit, Hill?”

  “Never, I should have said, except for that one unfortunate incident you witnessed in London.” His fury was revealed by his too-tight smile. “Of course, you know all the details of that. One of your cronies confiscated my cargo. No loss. Profits are higher than ever.”

  “Your cronies?” asked Phoebe before she could halt herself. She had not guessed that Galen had any connections on the docks of London. That he was familiar with ships and their captains was unsettling because he had not mentioned that.

  Galen put his hand over hers. “Do not waste your attentions on this conveyancer.”

  Captain Hill smiled as he picked up her other hand and bowed over it. “Enough of this talk of business, Townsend. Aren’t you going to introduce me to your lovely lady?”

  “Lady Phoebe Brackenton,” Galen said as he drew her hand out of Captain Hill’s, “this poor excuse for a human being is Captain Paul Hill, smuggler and slaver. Watch that he does not relieve you of your baubles even as we speak. Good evening, Hill.” He turned his back on Captain Hill and asked, “Would you help me put an end to this, Phoebe, by standing up with me?”

  Captain Hill scowled. His thatch of black hair matched the dark emotions in his squinting eyes. As she came to her feet, she tried to avoid his sleeve. Despite his expensive clothes, he could not shake the stench of his ship. She glanced at Mr. Lyttle who also had come to his feet as she did. He had edged to stand between his wife and Captain Hill, telling her that Galen’s abhorrence of this man was shared by Mr. Lyttle.

  When Galen led her back through the doorway to the ballroom where the musicians continued to play, Phoebe knew Captain Hill was staring at them. She looked back and shuddered. Captain Hill was staring at her. A flush burned on her cheeks.

  “Pay him no mind,” Galen murmured.

  “How can I pay him no mind when he is standing in the doorway and watching us?”

  He drew her across the floor, letting other couples block them from Captain Hill’s gaze. “I am sorry, Phoebe. I had not guessed that he would be here.”

  “He keeps staring.”

  “Do not look at him.” His finger tipped her chin back toward him. “He is simply envious of me tonight.”

  “I doubt if Captain Hill feels anything as tepid as envy.”

  “You are worrying about something that does not matter.”

  She could not keep from looking back at the doorway. “If he sails into the Pool, do you think it is possible that he might recognize … that is …?”

  Galen’s chuckle was cool. “I thought it would be wise not to give him time to consider the possibility that he might have seen you previously.” He drew her into his arms and whirled her about the floor to the melody of the waltz. He lowered his voice as he bent toward her as if to whisper court-promises in her ear. “How often did you encounter the masters of the ships you harvested?”

  “Never.”

  “Then you are fearing him for no reason. After all, h
e does not sail any farther than America.”

  She smiled. “Thank you for reminding me of that.”

  “Should I thank you as well for reminding me how much I delight in holding you close?”

  “You are welcome, but I must own I don’t forget that.” Her fingers slipped up through his hair. “Galen, be honest with me.”

  “About Carr?”

  “Yes.” She wanted to add among other things, but it might be simpler to deal with one crisis at a time. She had to take care how she asked him about his connections to the ships that sailed from the Pool. He was her best ally now, and she must not insult him with demands that he explain why he never mentioned those connections before.

  “I thought he should be reminded that he would be unwise to forget how much the duchess wished to speak with him.”

  “She seems quite fond of him.”

  “Her son attended school with Carr, so she has known him since he was a lad.” He chuckled. “She has told me more than once how much Carr reminds her of her own son and heir. From the tales I have heard, I would say her estimation was quite accurate.”

  “And she seems quite fond of you.”

  “Now that I am thinking about it, I do believe she is the lady who told me that I could not make a mistake by filling a lady’s ear with court-promises.” He drew her even closer.

  She wanted to rest her head against his shoulder and let the music swirl them into enchantment. Even though her heart pleaded with her to forget everything but this moment of delight, she had to know the truth.

  “Galen, your comments to Captain Hill suggest that you are very familiar with ships and their captains,” she said.

  “The Townsend family has some interest in shipping. We are investors in several lines.”

  She pulled back to stare at him. “You never mentioned that before.”

  “It did not seem relevant.”

  “Relevant?” She lowered her voice when some of the other dancers stared at her.

  Galen pulled her back into his arms and into the pattern of the waltz. “Phoebe, I have not lied to you, if that is what you fear.”