Her cousin laughed.
Kate sobered. “The more I think about it, the more frightened I get,” she said with total honesty. “It was a very stupid thing for me to have done—for us to even think of doing. If I’d been caught there with him, it would have been dreadful. He’d have despised me. With reason. But I’d have never allowed him to offer for me to save my reputation. That would be absurd.
“And you know?” Kate mused, remembering that dark face and the chilling look that had come into those obsidian eyes when he thought she was about to do the same thing Lady Eleanora had tried. “Even after only a few minutes in his company, I begin to realize I actually may have done him a great disservice. Eleanora Wretton might have been the perfect mate for him.”
“But she’s crafty,” Sibyl gasped, “and cold. And she has no principles, or morals—at least where her own comfort and desires are concerned.”
“Exactly,” Kate said.
3
It was a rare spring afternoon that came as a surprise after a damp, misty morning, the kind of tender day that sent poets scrambling to their inkwells and more realistic Londoners rushing to get their hats to go outdoors.
Two gentlemen of fashion came out of the Swanson town house that afternoon, the day after the Swanson ball. Only years of breeding prevented them from being jammed together in the doorway as each tried to be the first one out. Only decades of careful tuition kept them from hurtling down the stair to the pavement once they’d actually sorted things out and stepped outside. It had nothing to do with the weather.
“Hours wasted in that cramped parlor!” Alasdair said in disgust, straightening his shoulders and shaking out his sleeves as though he’d been bound in a box.
“Only a half hour, and it was a large room,” his friend Leigh commented.
“It felt like eternity in a coffin,” Alasdair said. “And not for a minute did they let on they’d yet another daughter, much less a visiting country cousin. I couldn’t bring up the subject. It’s obvious she wasn’t supposed to present herself to company. And I didn’t want anyone to know I’d been alone with Eleanora Wretton, much less saved from her clutches. I sat and smiled until my face ached, but didn’t get a chance to see my savior, to thank her. I hinted my head off. Much good it did me.”
He walked on, muttering. “All they kept doing was praising those three lumpkins of theirs. Who sat staring at me as though they were going to toss a coin to see who got to gnaw at my bones or grind them to make bread. God. Poor old Swanson. I even pity the wife, though she didn’t stop talking, beaming at her ill-begotten lot as if they were fairy princesses. Those girls look like ogresses, damned if they don’t. I almost expected to hear one of them mutter ‘fi-fi-fo-fum.’ And I’m not even considered prime husband material, not really. You must have felt like a lamb patty.”
“I’m used to it,” Leigh said blithely. His friend didn’t react to this outrageous remark by so much as a smile, or laugh at his conceit. It was simply true. Fair-haired, slight of build, and of medium height, the viscount’s face was pleasant, but his remarkably intelligent gray eyes lifted it from the ordinary. He might be overlooked in a crowd, but he never overlooked anything, which was why he’d been a vital link in His Majesty’s service during the war. Brilliant as he was reclusive, and unfailingly polite, he was a man who made up his own mind, which was why he never faltered in his friendship with the baronet St. Erth.
“They’ve given up on me,” Leigh explained. “It was you they were sighting today. You’re new, rich, unattached, and untried. What did you expect?”
“A chance to thank the young woman. She did me a service, and I repaid her with an accusation.”
“That’s all?” the viscount asked, idly swinging his walking stick. “Their footmen say she’s pretty as she can stare.”
Alasdair’s dark head turned, and he gave his friend a darker look. Leigh shrugged. “My footman made the acquaintance of theirs and asked a few questions for me. It turns out that the Swansons keep her as company for their youngest daughter, but never take her into society. Their older girls don’t like competition, for some reason.”
“You might have mentioned it sooner. We could have avoided this interminable morning.”
“But there was always the chance they’d let her appear, with the youngest.”
“No,” Alasdair said in annoyance. “Their butler says they don’t dare show their youngest because they know she’ll be snapped up. This would shame her unmarried elders, and their wailing would be heard cross the channel. So they’re keeping the young one back until they can bounce off the others.”
Now Leigh shot his friend a keen look.
Alasdair shrugged. “My butler happened to meet theirs.”
“But you came here this morning anyway?”
“Like you. In hopes I’d find out more myself.”
“The country cousin is a nobody,” Leigh said thoughtfully.
“So I heard, too.”
They turned east in unison without a word of consultation. As the park gates came into sight, the viscount turned his head to look at his friend, his eyes bright with laughter.
Alasdair’s own eyes sparkled. “I heard she was in the habit of going to the park in the morning. As you did, of course.”
“The footmen, especially the one with spots, waxed rhapsodic over her looks,” Leigh said. “I confess my interest’s whetted. I can’t wait to see her for myself. I knew there had to be a reason you were so intent on thanking the chit personally. She’s that attractive?”
Alasdair shrugged. “Hard to remember, I was so distracted last night, one surprise after another.”
His friend remained silent. He knew Alasdair better than that.
“Curling hair, a charming smile,” Alasdair went on casually, as though he hadn’t seen her face in his thoughts all night. “But I was so grateful for her being there I’d probably say that about a Gorgon. It’s not her looks that interest me, it’s a debt I owe.”
“Of course,” Leigh agreed too amiably. “But the park will be crammed with females. If you don’t remember her, how will you find her?”
“I’ll look for a young woman in a pink gown, wearing a yellow straw bonnet with a paper rose on it. If that doesn’t do it, I’ll look for her companions, a thin pale girl with no eyebrows, accompanied by a maid-servant in blue. A half guinea more and I’d have the exact number of their teeth. Swanson’s housemaids feel underpaid, too.”
Leigh chuckled. “Why in the world did you roust me up this morning, saying you needed me today? You could find a needle in a haystack at midnight with your eyes closed. I wish you’d been about my business rather than your own when I was working on the Continent. The War Office would have been thrilled with you.”
“They were, sometimes,” Alasdair said. “But spare me the bouquets. I’m not so patriotic. It’s just that now and then in the course of my own peculiar investigations, while straining through the slime, I chanced upon a particularly nasty tidbit that could be of use to His Majesty. Whenever that happened I passed it on—or went a bit further, if they asked me nicely enough.”
Leigh stared at him, all laughter gone from his eyes. “So I thought,—later. Lord, you’re good.”
“The point is that I’m bad,” Alasdair said seriously. “That’s why I need you today. Wait. Ah. Good.” He stopped walking as he spied a well-dressed elderly couple approaching.
Alasdair swept off his high beaver hat as they neared. Leigh did the same.
The old gentleman paused. He looked irresolute, then stricken. He finally removed his hat, his frail hand trembling. His wife stood stiff as a poker, looking anywhere but at the two gentlemen who had greeted him. The old man put his hat back on and, looking miserable, resumed walking. His wife looked triumphant as she marched away at his side.
“There you are,” Alasdair said with grim satisfaction, clapping his hat back on. “What’s a proper browbeaten gent to do when confronted by a rakeshame? Worse, when the rascal’s
accompanied by a good man? I made poor Bryce come to a moral decision. He can tell his lady he could hardly ignore you. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have greeted them. But you had to be shown. Proper ladies and gentlemen don’t acknowledge me.”
“But at the ball last night…” Leigh began.
Alasdair cut him off with a laugh. “I live, I breathe, my income comes in with the regularity of my wicked heartbeat, so I’m acceptable at the Swansons’. In certain circles, I’ll never be. I can find the girl, but in doing so I risk ruining her reputation. So make yourself most in sight and stand by me, please.”
“The Bryces are ancient, their opinions antique,” Leigh said angrily. “Your reputation’s no worse than many men’s.”
Alasdair looked at his friend and arced one black brow.
“The Wretton woman wanted you,” Leigh argued.
Alasdair smiled, bitterly. “My name’s bad. But hers will be worse if she doesn’t change it promptly, and legally. No matter what she said, I doubt she was strictly alone last night in that desperate endeavor. And I’m not just talking about her brother.”
“But you’re not carrying someone else’s babe,” Leigh protested, “A man can change…”
“Don’t sound like a matchmaking mama, please,” Alasdair said brusquely. His broad shoulders went up as though he felt a chill wind at his back as he stalked on through the warm bright afternoon. “The Bible-pounders are right. A man can’t change any more than a leopard can. I can paint over the spots but, believe me, they’re there. I’ve done things. Whether I regret them, deny them, or do them in future or not, doesn’t change what has been done. The past is. Some things stain the soul. Some things are irremediable. I’ve a bad name. I deserve it. Have done. I just want to find a young woman who did me a favor and thank her without harming her. Will you help me?”
“Of course,” Leigh said. “But I believe your past haunts you more than it could ever hurt anyone else.”
“Then be glad your heart’s innocent enough to think that. Let’s look, shall we?”
His friend held his tongue. There was a lot to look at. The park paths were filled, every bench occupied, even the grass was strewn with people enjoying the day. Saunterers, idlers, ladies, gentlemen, and resting workers, the park was crowded with blissful-looking adults, tumbling children, and frolicking dogs.
“Whatever else our Regent does wrong, this is very right,” Alasdair commented. “I may regret his onion domes and gilded kitchens, but at least he keeps creating new green spaces for recreation. I’ve always thought it was our parks and not our politics that saved us from the ax. If the French aristocracy had built more than Versailles or let the peasants in to gambol as much as Louis did, they might have kept their king and their heads, too. Is there anything more democratic than a park on such a day?”
It certainly appeared democratic, but a more careful look showed the classes behaving differently. It was a warm day for spring. Workingmen had their sleeves rolled up, their shirts open at the neck. Gentlemen wore their jackets unbuttoned, but their necks were still covered and would remain so in public even if it were steaming, or they were. Ladies, luckier because fashion called for almost transparent gowns, idly flapped their fans as they strolled. Ordinary women tugged at their necklines and kilted their skirts. Alasdair smiled at a saucy milkmaid when he saw her lay down her yoke and milk pails. She winked at him, plumped her considerable self down on the grass, hiked her skirts to her knees, and tilted her chin up to the sky.
Leigh also eyed that white flesh as it came into view. “We’ll be a nation of cooked lobsters by evening,” he said dryly.
“But sometimes the pain is worth the pleasure, however momentary,” Alasdair said. He grimaced. “Yes, I know. A singularly poor example, coming from me.”
“There’s a pink gown,” Leigh said quickly.
“On a female shaped like the tree she’s standing under,” Alasdair sighed. “Use your quizzing glass.”
“You didn’t say she was shapely.”
“I’m saying it now. There’s a straw bonnet! No, look what’s under it. Blast, is the chit here at all?”
“Patience,” Leigh said. “This path goes all the way round the Serpentine. Shall we? What shade of pink?”
“What do you mean?” Alasdair asked, frowning.
“There are different hues of pink—rose, apricot, coral, and salmon pink, petunia…” Leigh said patiently, “Petal, dawn, blush, and tulip…”
“Tulip, is it? Very apt. I never knew you were such a tulip of the ton,” Alasdair said in amazement. “How do you know all those ridiculous names for colors?”
“It happens a flirt of mine modeled gowns for Madame Celeste. She often talked about fashion.”
“And, obviously you didn’t see her for her conversation,” Alasdair said sardonically. “Flirt, is it now? What a nice euphemism. I’ll bet you spent a pretty penny for the right to a ‘flirt’ of an evening.”
His friend looked away, his lean cheeks taking on one of the shades they were discussing.
“But what else can a fellow do?” Alasdair went on. “Doesn’t it get to be a bore, though? The only women worth both looking at and talking to are either married to others or want to marry you. At least, that’s how I’ve found it. And I won’t indulge in liaisons with married women.”
“So moral, then?” Leigh asked with a smile.
“Not in the least. Sinning is not the same as cheating. I abhor a cheat.”
“And you don’t want to marry?”
“If a female considers me eligible, she’s not looking at more than my title and bank account. I’d rather do it the honest way and pay for a quick”—he grinned—“‘flirt.’”
“And love?”
“Curious question coming from you,” Alasdair countered. “We’re of an age. I’ve been gone from England for months, and I don’t see any rings on your finger or through your nose.”
Leigh’s face grew a gentle smile. “Haven’t succumbed, I’m afraid. Oh, I thought I had a time or two. But that’s the point. I thought. I’ve been told that when one loves, thinking is not possible.”
“Probably,” Alasdair commented, “that must be why there are so many stupid people in the world.”
They laughed aloud. They’d been noticed by every woman in their path, but their full-bodied laughter made those who hadn’t seen them turn to look.
“There,” Alasdair said with satisfaction. “If we’d kept on, we’d have walked right into her.”
She and her companions had turned at the sound of his laughter. She stopped in her tracks when she saw him. He stilled, too, looking at her as she gazed at him. Shadows had made her elusively charming. Daylight showed her to be vividly so. The simple rose-colored gown she wore showed her neat figure to perfection, but was too obviously homemade to be fashionable. But she transcended fashion. She wasn’t beautiful, not in the current style of imposing women with long necks and aquiline noses. Better than fashionable, she was unique, and very appealing.
She had delicate, even features, clear white skin, and a pretty, curving mouth. But he’d have known her by her eyes even though he hadn’t seen their color before. They were clear, fully opened, tilted, the color of coffee shot with gold. Flyaway brows arched over those dazzling eyes. Shining coffee-colored curls escaped from under her bonnet and coiled around her forehead and neck. The sunlight sparked gold in those twining tendrils.
“Extravagantly pretty,” Leigh murmured, quite impressed. Alasdair was already striding toward her.
Her companions were a servant and a slender, pale young woman dressed in white, a color she blended into. “The invisible one must be the Swanson girl.” Leigh sighed as he followed Alasdair. “It only makes sense the charmer would be the one who saved you.”
Alasdair approached the pair, then stopped and stood silent, looking at Kate.
Leigh came up to the pale girl. “Good afternoon, Miss Swanson,” he said, and bowed.
“How do you know my name?”
she asked, startled.
“You could be no other,” he said. “I’ve just come from your house, and the resemblance to your sisters is remarkable.”
There was a stunned silence at the outrageous lie.
Alasdair winced. “Forgive him,” he told Kate, his eyes on hers. “I asked for a proper introduction, and he’s obviously still working at it. Let’s dispense with that. I had to thank you again and apologize for what I said. I owe you much and wanted you to know it. Oh, give you my friend, Viscount Leigh,” he added belatedly, as he stared down at her.
She looked at him, shocked, appalled, delighted. The emotions chased across her face. Alasdair had to sternly throttle the desire to take her hand and walk down the path with her so he could watch more responses come and go on that lovely, expressive face. She stared at him as though mesmerized, and he felt an unmistakable mutual tug of attraction. Daylight couldn’t disguise the flicker of response in her widening eyes. He recognized that reaction too well to mistake it.
“You don’t have to thank me,” she said, never taking her eyes from his.
“Of course I do. I wish I could do more,” he said, and meant it.
She searched for words. That surprised her. She could talk the knob off a door, her family said. But standing in the shadow of this big dark man stole her breath and froze her wits.
He’d been formidable in a darkened room, he was overwhelming in daylight. She’d thought men of his reputation needed moonlight to be seductive. She was wrong. Fit and athletic, he looked like he’d be as comfortable on a horse as in a boudoir. His black hair shone like a crow’s wing, the sunlight showed his skin smooth and clear. His mouth was firm, and she found herself fascinated by his lips. They were shapely, almost tender, at least so they looked in that angular masculine face. The sable eyes were still fathomless, only now, as she tore her gaze from his mouth, she could see those eyes had long dark lashes, and now, too, they sparkled with humor and interest, making her think he was aware of every stirring reaction to him she was trying to suppress.
Edith Layton Page 4
