His Lady Midnight

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  “It is.” She could not lie to him about this. She would save her lies for other things, such as not telling him about the note she would leave behind when she went to catch the mail coach.

  “I have spoken with many of the masters of the ships in the Pool, but mostly when I have seen them in the taverns where Carr makes a sport of pursuing the serving wenches.”

  “Captain Hill spoke as if you have had a long acquaintance.”

  “He is a distant cousin of a friend from school, so I saw him occasionally on holidays.” Galen smiled wryly. “Hill was obnoxious even then.” He put his mouth close to her ear. “I do not wish to speak of that cur when I would rather relish this moment of holding you.”

  Phoebe agreed wholeheartedly with that, even as her heart threatened to shatter. She wanted to savor this precious moment of dancing with him because she knew how unlikely it was that she would ever savor it again. When she left Thistlewood Cottage without warning, she wondered if Galen would ever be able to forgive her.

  She knew she would never be able to forgive herself for risking this chance for love.

  Sixteen

  “They make quite the couple, don’t they?” Phoebe asked with a laugh as she watched Galen twirl the duchess carefully about the floor.

  Mrs. Lyttle chuckled. “Her Grace seems to have never gotten over her youthful attraction to handsome men.” Lowering her voice, she added, “I doubt if any woman has ever grown immune to a good-looking man. Her Grace simply has decided not to keep her admiration secret.”

  “What are two such lovely ladies doing here alone?” asked a deeper voice.

  Phoebe tensed when she looked up at Captain Hill. “We are not alone, Captain. We are having a conversation with each other.”

  His eyes widened at her sharp reply, but he said, “Then I hope you will forgive this intrusion when I ask if you would dance with me, my lady.”

  “Phoebe, you need not stand up with him,” Mrs. Lyttle whispered frantically.

  She patted Mrs. Lyttle’s hand, but her words were for Captain Hill, “Thank you for your offer, but I am enjoying my conversation here.”

  “Allow me to join in,” he said, drawing a chair forward to face them.

  “It is not a topic you would find interesting.”

  “Then allow me to speak of something we all should find intriguing.”

  Mrs. Lyttle sniffed. “You have nothing to say that I would find the least bit interesting, Captain.”

  “Quite to the contrary.” His dark eyes glittered with amusement. “You cannot be the only ones uninterested in one of the most oft-repeated rumors tonight.”

  “I do not listen to gossip,” Phoebe said. She wanted to motion for Mrs. Lyttle to get up, so they could both walk away. However, Captain Hill’s chair blocked their way.

  “Certainly you have heard what is being said about this traitor who is abducting low criminals off the ships that were meant to take them from London to where they will not be a burden upon us for the length of their transportation.”

  Phoebe snapped her fan open, hoping the motion would hide her sudden dismay. She had not guessed that anyone was speaking of that tonight. Knowing she must say something, she replied, “I did hear something about that earlier, but I paid it little attention.” She wafted her fan in front of her, hoping no hint of blush would betray her. “I came to Bath to escape the problems of London.”

  “But this tale of what has happened at the Pool is so interesting.” Captain Hill offered Mrs. Lyttle a smile. “I know you think so, Mrs. Lyttle, for I heard you speak to your husband’s friends about this very subject.”

  “It is intriguing, if it is true.” Mrs. Lyttle could not hide her regret that she had to agree with the mannerless man. “I do not know why any chap would risk his own neck for convicts.”

  Captain Hill chuckled. “Along the wharves near the Pool, it is whispered that this Robin Hood—type creature is in truth a woman. She is called Lady Midnight, because she comes with the darkness and is never seen.”

  “I have heard that name repeated over and over, but I do not believe this person who is being sought by the authorities is a woman,” Mrs. Lyttle said coolly. “No lady with even the least bit of wit about her would be found by the docks in the middle of the night. It would ring the death knell for her reputation.”

  “An interesting insight.” Captain Hill turned to Phoebe. “And do you agree, my lady?”

  She folded her hands in her lap and pasted her most simpering smile on her face. If he thought to trip her up with such a question, he was mistaken. She had learned to handle this sort of confrontation early on in her work.

  “I have heard other tales of incredible beings,” she said, borrowing Mrs. Lyttle’s chilly tone. “Incredible creatures that sailors have invented to pass the time and whose exploits are magnified by the amount of rum in a bottle. This Lady Midnight sounds as if she belongs with stories of mermaids and great cities lost beneath the waves.” She did not pause before adding, “Mrs. Lyttle, I believe that I see Lady Notell waving to us. Excuse us, Captain Hill.”

  Coming to her feet, Phoebe grasped Mrs. Lyttle’s hand. Captain Hill backpedaled so they did not run him down. Hurrying Mrs. Lyttle across the room at the best pace the shorter woman’s legs could manage, Phoebe only slowed when they were in the opposite corner.

  “Lady Notell?” asked Mrs. Lyttle rather breathlessly. “I must own that I do not know this lady.”

  “Because she does not exist.” Phoebe laughed. “I fear I told a complete banger to get us away from that scurvy pirate.”

  Mrs. Lyttle put her hand over her mouth, but her laugh bubbled out. “My lady, you betwattled him completely.”

  “I trust you will forgive me for making you a party to my falsehood.”

  “Anything to escape that—What did you call him?”

  “Scurvy pirate.” Phoebe laughed, too.

  “Such language!” Carr stopped in front of them. “I did not expect to hear such from your lips, Phoebe.”

  “No?” She had not guessed anyone could make her regret leaving the conversation with Captain Hill, but it was just possible that Carr Townsend might. “I shall struggle to be more courteous in my descriptions from this point forward.”

  “You would not be discourteous enough to deny me the chance to dance with you, would you?”

  She snapped her fan open as she had when speaking with Captain Hill. “You have a most peculiar way of asking a woman to stand up with you, Mr. Townsend.”

  “I await your answer.”

  Phoebe was about to tell him that she would not dance with him if he were the last man in England, then noticed Captain Hill coming toward them once more. Her heart thudded in fear against her chest. Even Carr Townsend was preferable to that mannerless lout who might find a way to discover the truth she hid.

  Holding out her hand, she said, “My answer is yes, I will dance with you, Mr. Townsend. If you will excuse me, Mrs. Lyttle …”

  “That old tough is going to swoon,” Carr said with an icy laugh as he led her out to the middle of the room where the revelers were gathering for the next dance. “She does not speak kindly to me.”

  “Nor you to her, I would collect, for you have not guarded your language in my presence.”

  “You do have a serpent’s tongue.” He clamped his hand over hers on his sleeve. “It amazes me that Galen has endured it this long. Although I must own, he may find its other uses worthwhile.”

  “By all that’s blue, I have never met a man in the Polite World who is so common in his manners.” Phoebe stopped, then gasped as he pulled her forward a pair of steps. She looked around the room and saw Galen talking with Mrs. Lyttle. Mrs. Lyttle’s hands waved to emphasize her words, and Phoebe saw Galen glance at where Captain Hill now stood by the back wall.

  “And what do you think of the manners of those beyond the ton?”

  “I have never met another with such low manners there either.”

  He laughed and drew
her to one side of the room. By the wall, he seated her. She started to rise, but his heavy hand on her shoulder kept her on the chair.

  “If you do not care to dance,” she said primly, “I must ask you to excuse me.”

  “Not before you answer a few questions.”

  She clasped her hands in her lap and met his mocking gaze steadily. “I will answer your questions if you will refrain from acting like a vulgar cad.”

  “You do not mince words, I see.”

  “I find they taste better in my mouth when I speak with honesty.”

  “Then I shall be as candid. I know where my brother was when you met.”

  “As I do.”

  “I would wonder why a lady such as yourself would be found near that low place.”

  “Low?” She gave him a scowl that had daunted others, save for Galen. “I believe the duke would be quite offended to hear you speak so of his lovely home.”

  “Duke?”

  “I was attending His Grace’s musicale when I first spoke with your brother.” She came to her feet and continued to glare at him. When his eyes lowered, she almost smiled. This frown seemed as effective against his blustering as it had been with others. “I do not know what tales you have been listening to, Mr. Townsend, but you need only ask Lady Casterly, for she was in attendance that evening also.”

  He slowly raised his gaze up to meet hers. Amusement filled his eyes as well as fury. She had been foolish to think she could daunt him with a single glance. “You are glib, my lady. However, you know as well as I that I did not speak of that night, but of one a fortnight later. The night you left London.”

  “Then you should say what you mean.” She turned to walk away, but again he put his hand on her shoulder.

  Prowling around her, like a cat circling a broken-winged bird, he murmured, “You and Galen may think I am easy to bamboozle, but I know that he was bound for the Little Lost Lamb in search of me.”

  “And would he have found you there?”

  “You are trying to change the subject, my lady.”

  She shook her head but did not look away. She wanted to see if Galen was through talking with Mrs. Lyttle, but she did not dare. Lowering her guard even for a moment with his brother could mean her doom. “Quite to the contrary,” she replied. “I know how Galen worries about your thoughtless actions that are bound to lead you to ruin.”

  “But he did not wait to see if I had ruined myself utterly that evening because he went with you to Thistlewood Cottage.”

  “Yes, he was kind enough one evening to offer me an escort to a friend’s house when my own carriage was stolen.”

  “Near the Little Lost Lamb?”

  Galen’s laugh prevented her from having to devise a lie. Clapping his brother on the shoulder, he asked, “What would Phoebe be doing in that disgusting place? Her pursuits center on Mayfair, Carr, and now in Bath.”

  “I find it odd, brother, that you were to meet me at the Little Lost Lamb at the same time on dits suggest you were already in residence at Thistlewood Cottage.”

  “You should know by now that rumor has a way of baffling everyone,” Galen replied. “A good use for rumor, I would say.”

  “I do not believe gossip has any good uses.” Phoebe waved her fan in front of her face.

  Galen smiled, wondering if she realized that her agitation was visible in her motions. In some ways, lovely Phoebe Brackenton was still quite unsophisticated. She was a peculiar mixture of strength and softness, pride and naïveté. In his arms, she offered an enticing promise. Her tentative touch against his chest told him that, despite her incredible beauty, she had no suspicions of the course of his thoughts when he held her in his arms. With her head on his shoulder, she could have been a child seeking consolation.

  But she was no child.

  Something that Hill had apparently taken note of, according to Mrs. Lyttle who had been distressed by the ill-mannered man asking Phoebe to dance.

  “Excuse us, Carr,” Galen said. “Phoebe promised me another dance when I was finished dancing with our hostess.”

  Carr scowled. “This evening is an utter bore.”

  “There are cards, if you wish to play.”

  “Even cards fill me with ennui. I shall have to find something else to entertain me.”

  “Miss Parkman is in need of a partner for this dance,” Phoebe said.

  Carr grumbled something under his breath, but Galen paid him no mind as he steered Phoebe back out to where another waltz was beginning. The duchess was making certain that everyone had a chance to dance intimately this evening.

  “Thank you,” Phoebe whispered with relief.

  Drawing her into his arms, he began to turn her to the music. “For asking you to dance?”

  “Of course not.”

  “You did not want to dance with me?”

  When she smiled, he delighted in the joy rushing through him like a springtide. This warmth on her face lit his fantasies when he could not sleep, too overwhelmed by his longing to hold her.

  “You know,” she said, her soft voice like a caress, “I want to dance with you. What I intended to say was that I am grateful for you intruding on my conversation with Carr. I was not sure if I could halt all his questions.”

  “Do not think of them now. Think of dancing here.”

  She laughed as he swirled her through that dance and the next. Knowing he should be a gentleman and ask other women among the duchess’s guests to dance, he did not. He wanted to hold Phoebe and have the wisps of her hair brush his face and breathe in her sweet scent. As his fingers stroked her back, she gazed up at him with the enticing smile that made him ache to press his mouth to hers.

  More than once, Galen noted Hill watching them. The blackguard even approached them once as a dance was ending. Stepping to where a quadrille was about to begin, Galen hoped Hill realized that Phoebe would not have the slaver’s company inflicted upon her again this evening.

  “You are going to have me dance my feet right through my slippers,” Phoebe said when the orchestra took a recess for a few minutes.

  “That sounds like regret.”

  She laughed again. “I have fancied every moment we have danced.”

  “Shall we sit until the orchestra returns?”

  “Yes.”

  When he turned her toward chairs along the wall, she stiffened. He was not surprised to see Hill there. She abruptly grasped his hand and drew him into an alcove on the opposite wall from the minstrels’ gallery.

  “This is cozy,” he said as he looked around the space where the only furniture was a crimson bench that matched the curve of the walls.

  “It is quiet, but we can see if anyone is lingering near the open door.”

  He took two glasses from a passing servant. Handing her one, he said, “You are a master at deception.”

  “I have learned.” Phoebe faltered, then, sitting, took a sip of wine before saying, “Just as your brother wishes to learn, Galen. He has been very focused on finding out the truth of what happened the night you were looking for him by the Little Lost Lamb.”

  “He is simply irritated that he had to find his own way home that night.”

  “Did he?”

  He tipped her face back so he could see it. “Why are you questioning me on this?”

  “Because I suspect you had your coachee send a message back to Town to have your brother retrieved from whatever place he had taken himself to that night.” She drew away from him. “That was the reason we stopped at the inn as soon as we had gone a few miles beyond London.”

  “How long have you suspected this?”

  “Since the beginning, for I would have done much the same.”

  “So why are you speaking of it only now?”

  She wrapped her arms around herself, although she wished he would wrap his around her. “I am very uneasy. Captain Hill—”

  “Do not let that cur’s boorish ways bother you.”

  “’Tis not his ways, but what he has sai
d.” She lowered her voice. “He spoke of stories along the wharves in London of Lady Midnight.”

  “Which we have already heard.”

  “But he said others were speaking of it here tonight.”

  Galen chuckled and raised his glass. “Then allow me to offer a toast to this legendary lady whose escapades have set so many tongues to wagging.”

  “This is not funny. Just as it is not funny that you may have jeopardized everything because you insist on acting as a parent for your wastrel brother.”

  “Wastrel?”

  Phoebe wanted to take back the heartless word, not because it was a lie, but because it had hurt Galen. When she started to speak, he waved her to silence.

  “I have asked you to be honest with me,” he said. “It is clear what your opinion of Carr is.”

  “He is using you, Galen.”

  “No, he simply needs my help, and, as his older brother, it is my place to offer it. Would you do any less?”

  Phoebe wanted to give him a quick answer, but she could not. Slowly shaking her head, she stared down at her wine. How could she be speaking so when she could not forget the packed bag at the back of her armoire? Her obligations were going to rip them apart more completely than any of Carr’s childish antics.

  As he offered his arm to bring her back out into the ballroom, she wanted to ask him to remain with her while they soothed the anger between them.

  The duchess peered around the edge of the alcove. “Here you are! I have been looking all over for you, my boy.”

  “What is it?” Galen’s face grew rigid. “You look distressed, Your Grace.”

  “That boy always distresses me.”

  “Boy?”

  “Your brother, my boy. This was delivered for you.” The duchess thrust a piece of paper into his hand.

  Galen opened it, then smiled it at the duchess. “It is nothing out of the ordinary.”

  “I am glad. I—Oh, pardon me.” The duchess scurried away at a pace usually unseen in a woman of her years. Her greeting to a friend reached into the alcove.

  Phoebe ignored the duchess’s voice as she watched Galen crumple the page into a ball. “Nothing out of the ordinary?” she asked. “More trouble?”