Still, Dory had been insistent that they depart Lady Covington’s ball “before the night was too old and too far gone” and when Harry refused, Dory had accused him of attempting to ruin her fun. And her life. And a good number of other things as well.
Harry, in turn, had accused Dory of keeping secrets, not just from him but from her brother, Frost, as well. He had, of course, also mentioned the teal blue and deep green sequins he was constantly finding on her clothing as of late, clothing that was otherwise pale and appropriate for an unwed lady her age.
Dory had insisted that she was working on a gown with her maid, which Harry had pointed out was laughable because Dory was not only abysmal at needlework, but Frost would never allow such a thing! All of his sisters wore creations by the renowned modiste, Madame LaVallier, and would hardly do something so menial as making their own gowns. Dory, as expected, had screeched in indignation and called Harry a less-than-ladylike name.
Again, Harry had insisted that if Dory had no secrets, then she would tell him why she so ardently wished to venture to Dionysus. She argued that he clearly didn’t trust her in the least and that what she did with her own time was her own business. He had pointed out the fallacy of her argument since she was still a young woman under her brother’s control. Oh, and his control too, of course, since they were pretending to court and he could be viewed as acting on her brother’s behalf.
That had been the final straw and Dory had thrown her fan at Harry, followed by her dance card. That second one had annoyed him. When the card hit him, the card itself hadn’t hurt, but the tiny pencil attached to it had. Well, a little bit anyway. It had also injured his pride, though – more than a little in this case.
Thus, Harry and Dory had argued. Again. In Lord and Lady Covington’s hallway. Where anyone could have stumbled upon them going at each other like screeching cats. And where anyone could have pointed out that both sides had valid points, even though neither one was willing to give an inch.
Thus, it was not an argument either of them could win.
Not without some concessions and neither was willing to give in. Not in the least.
Tonight’s argument was also a variation on the same theme that they had been arguing about for just over two weeks now, going back to the night Dory had first called Harry grouchy.
Dory desired to do something inappropriate for reasons she would not articulate. Harry said no and asked her to be reasonable. She called him old and boring. He retorted that she was young and impetuous. They fought. She stormed out. The same scenario over and over again.
It was becoming tiresome.
Their disagreements also hurt Harry more than he had expected, especially as Harry had believed his friendship with Dory was unshakable. True, they were probably not destined to wed, at least not now, but they knew each other’s deepest secrets – or they had once. That had to count for something, did it not? Apparently not, at least not as far as Dory Tillsbury was concerned.
Funny how things changed in a year.
A year ago, Harry also would have been chasing after Dory in an instant, hot on her trail to make sure she did not come to harm. But that was before Lady Radcliffe’s ball a little over a fortnight ago when Dory had first called Harry “boring” and “stuffy.” Not to mention “old,” of course. No, one couldn’t forget that insult either. Especially not a man like Harry who remembered almost everything.
Something had fractured between Dory and Harry that night, and Harry had a feeling that fracture could not be undone. At least not until Dory revealed her secrets and not until after Harry recovered a bit from the surprising sting of hurt he had felt at her harsh words, indicating that perhaps he did have a heart after all.
Normally, Harry would have already been chasing Dory through Lady Covington’s hallways – he was an infamous Bow Street Runner, after all – and trailing her all the way to her new destination. Normally. But not tonight.
Tonight, Harry had let Dory go, knowing that there were other Runners about and one of them would see her leave without him and pick up her tail. It was a standing order these days.
Once Harry had determined that Dory was hiding something from both him and her family, he had made certain a Runner trailed her at all times, even if he was with her. The Runners might not follow her into a ball or the theater, especially if Harry was going to be there, but when she went sneaking about, which she had been doing rather frequently as of late, then someone was there to tail her. Usually, it was Harry. Mostly because he did not wish to be pummeled into a bloody pulp by Frost, who had implied that Dory’s safety was Harry’s personal responsibility.
Tonight, however, Harry didn’t have the energy to trail after a pretty and energetic young thing like Dory. Especially since Dory wanted nothing to do with him just then.
Maybe she was right. Maybe he was getting old. Maybe he already was old. No “getting” about it.
In the end, it didn’t matter. What mattered was Dory and what sort of mischief she was getting into. Potentially dangerous mischief.
He could also very well guess what her secret was, though he would need hard proof to be certain. After all, deducing such a thing didn’t take exemplary detective skills. One simply had to look at Dory and watch. Observe.
Harry could tell by the way Dory looked at him – or rather no longer looked at him – that she was falling in love with another man. Her eyes were often soft and dreamy, and, had Harry been a different sort of man, he might have assumed she was developing true and tender feelings for him.
However, Harry wasn’t that sort and he also remembered very clearly the flush that used to develop on Dory’s pretty face and the enchanting sparkle that came into her eyes when she looked at him. That had, of course, been last year. Last Season – back when she had fancied herself in love with him and him? Well, he had fancied himself “in like” with her. It had never been more than that, at least on his part. Nor would it have ever been. He wasn’t a man of grand passions, nor would anyone mistake him for one. He simply wasn’t capable of them.
Harry had tried to be, though. For Dory, he had tried. And failed miserably.
Instead, his failed attempts at true romance had simply proven that Harry was rather the protective sort and looking after women like Dory was second nature to him. That was his true skill. It certainly wasn’t seducing those same women. At that, unfortunately, he was a complete and utter failure.
Often times, women, especially young women who were only just out in Society, mistook that need to protect for a type of love or maybe even lust. If those women deigned to talk to him at all, which was rare. But Dory had talked to him. In fact, she had done more than talk. To that end, a year ago, Harry had almost convinced himself he was in love with Dory.
Almost. Because it seemed like such a good idea. It seemed like such a tempting idea.
Tempting because he could finally marry. He could have a wife of quality, one who liked him and enjoyed his company just as he did hers.
More than that, he would not have to be lonely any longer. Not that he was lonely, of course. He wasn’t. But he did sometimes wish for more steady companionship, as anyone would after walking the Earth alone for so long.
Except that in the end, Harry wasn’t in love with Dory. Nor was she in love with him. Merely infatuated. Both of them had been.
Now, though, it seemed as if another man had captured Dory’s fancy and that man, whoever he was? Well, that man was different in some way – perhaps even truly special – especially if the misty look of longing in Dory’s eyes was any indication. The unknown man also likely had a connection to Dionysus, the one place Dory continually spoke of with what almost sounded like desperate longing in her voice.
That, Harry had surmised almost from the first, was Dory’s secret. She was meeting someone, likely an inappropriate gentleman, at Dionysus. A man she probably thought herself in love with. Possibly even believed that he was in love with her, too.
Again, it did not take
an investigative genius to figure that out.
And maybe they were in love. Truly in love. After all, it wasn’t as if Dory was in love with Harry any longer. Assuming she ever had been.
Which was why Harry hadn’t tried to stop Dory from leaving the ball. If he had learned nothing else over the last year, he had learned that, despite her ladylike veneer, Lady Dory Tillsbury was still a hellion deep inside, a true force of nature unto herself, and to try to stop her when she was on a mission of any sort was the height of foolishness. Especially if a man wished to keep all of his private areas in good working order. Dory was still Frost’s sister, after all, and she was hardly a meek thing, no matter what most of Society believed about her.
Instead, Harry would allow one of the other Runners to follow her tonight and report back in the morning. That way, if there were bad news to deliver to Frost, it would come from someone else and not Harry. Again, that way, he had a much better chance of keeping his body parts all intact if something should go amiss.
So rather than chase after Dory, Harry now took the time to peruse the ballroom, looking for signs of trouble as he always did. Not that there ever was any, of course, at least not at this level of so-called “Polite Society.” Lord and Lady Covington – or rather Sebastian and Jane since they were Harry’s good friends – were hardly the sort to invite trouble into their home and, really, Harry was far too suspicious for his own good. But Harry was who he was and at his core, he was a Runner.
He had been working for Bow Street since he’d been a mere sixteen years old. He was now six and thirty. Meaning he had been chasing criminals for twenty years. A very long time.
That realization made him sigh with annoyance.
Dory was right. He was old.
He was also most likely boring, too, though Harry knew he could be charming when the need arose and often was. Or at least he liked to think he was. Then again, given his lack of appropriate female companionship as of late, perhaps he was no longer as charming as he wished to believe. Elderly ladies and young misses found him delightful. Women of his own age or at least marriageable age who were not already wed or otherwise entangled? Not nearly so much.
Harry was also still extremely suspicious, no matter his surroundings, so when he noticed a strikingly beautiful young woman surveying the ballroom with shrewd, calculating eyes as if she was on the hunt, he could not help but go on alert.
The mystery woman was different than the other ladies here and again, one did not have to be a Runner to deduce that. She…well, for lack of a better word, she sparkled and it wasn’t simply because of the rather gauche display of diamonds encircling her throat, not to mention dangling from her ears. No, it was her eyes and her smile that caught his eye. They sparkled in a way Harry had not seen before. Still innocent and yet…somehow not. Both fresh and innocent but also weary and jaded at the same time.
Harry also had no idea who she was, and he knew everyone there was to know in London. Or just about everyone. After all, that was his job. And, had he seen this woman before? He would have remembered. There was no question.
The mystery woman was brilliant and beautiful, like the rarest and most precious of gems. Her pale lavender gown was cut low enough to be suggestive while still retaining a hint of innocence and the color set off her thick, champagne blonde hair to perfection. Her body was all lush curves and creamy skin, and she possessed full breasts so stunning that a man might lose himself in them if he wasn’t careful.
This woman looked like a butterfly amongst moths. She truly did.
And damn it all, but her appearance should not have been the first thing Harry noticed about her! At least not after he realized she was a stranger.
He should have noticed how her eyes swept the room as she searched for her prey, for upon closer inspection, it was clear to Harry that she was looking for someone. Truthfully, all the unwed ladies here were looking for someone, and the paleness of this woman’s gown marked her as an unwed lady, though her delightful curves indicated she was hardly a schoolroom miss. However, this woman was very different from all of the other women here seeking a husband.
There was a glint in this lady’s eyes that hinted at a greater purpose. Harry recognized it immediately. She also wore a look of complete and utter determination like a shield. She was obviously looking for a specific someone, most likely an unwed gentleman with both a title and nearly unlimited wealth. Again, one did not need to be a skilled detective to deduce that much.
Then Harry watched her bite her lip in uncertainty and all thoughts of what sort of mischief she might be up to vanished from his head. Instead, all he could do was wonder how her lips would taste – especially beneath his.
After Dory’s comments regarding his age and his lack of interest in her physically, Harry had begun to wonder if he was nearly dead. Given the way his body was responding so wildly to just a glimpse of this woman, he was fairly certain he was alive and well. Especially one particular part of his anatomy.
None of this was like him and Harry wondered for a moment if he was becoming ill.
He liked women. He flirted with them. Occasionally, he seduced them. But he was never, ever stopped speechless in his tracks by one of them. It simply didn’t happen. Which made him wonder why it was happening now.
Illness? Or suspicion? Harry’s money was on suspicion.
Slowly, the mystery woman wove her way amongst Sebastian and Jane’s guests, her eyes still scanning the crowd as she moved. She spoke to only a few people, so Harry surmised that she was most likely new to London, though she had probably made her come-out some time ago given her obviously advanced age. When she was finally cornered by Lady Darby near the refreshment table, Harry also surmised that the mystery woman likely hailed from Cumbria, as Lady Darby – a woman he knew to be from a prominent family in Cumbria – did not venture to London often and yet, she seemed to be the one introducing this enchanting but unknown creature to members of the ton.
Harry could not discern what color the lady’s eyes were, but they weren’t any sort of traditional color. He could tell that much. Recognizing eye color from a distance was one of his specialties, after all. He also could not tell exactly what sort of game she was playing, at least not yet, though he was certain he would figure it out. Though it might take some time. Normally, those with nefarious purposes in mind were singularly focused on the task before them. This lady was not. If anything, she seemed a bit distracted and more than a little worried.
Scatterbrained and potentially flighty, if he had to sum up her actions in only a few words. And yet, there was a refined elegance and intelligence to her that was in direct conflict with her actions. Almost as if she was two different people and not truly comfortable with either persona.
Still, the mystery woman did her best to pretend she felt at home in this enormous and likely overwhelming ballroom, laughing and sipping at her champagne while speaking with those people that Lady Darby waved over to greet them. The unknown lady continued to scan the room as she did so, but now, it was more in a rather haphazard way than when she had first entered. As if she was distracted. Or didn’t want to be doing whatever it was she had been engaged in earlier.
A kidnapped lady, perhaps? No, that was foolish and Harry knew better as he quickly dismissed the idea. If nothing else, if a lady of note had gone missing from Cumbria, someone would have made Bow Street aware. Especially since kidnapped young ladies were often brought to London for nefarious purposes that Harry didn’t want to think of just now.
The left him to ponder other options regarding her identity and her purpose for being here.
A woman in reduced circumstances attempting to wiggle her way into Society? Possibly, though she looked wealthy enough and, even from a distance, Harry judged her diamonds to be real and not glass imitations.
Searching for a man she had selected from Debrett’s to become her husband? That was more likely, but tonight’s guest list was hardly rife with eligible bachelors. In fact, eligible an
d titled men were a bit thin on the ground at the moment, as many in the ton were still making their way back to London after a string of unexpected and completely untraditional spring house parties.
Unless, of course, the man she was seeking was here in Town after all, and she had somehow known his whereabouts for this evening. Possibly revealed in that morning’s edition of The Town Tattler.
Or, Harry thought to himself irritably, she could simply be a young lady new to town and uncertain about moving in such high social circles. The possibility that she is up to no good is remote. Not everyone is a criminal.
Still, Harry could not shake his initial suspicions and plucked a glass of champagne off a footman’s tray before he slowly began to make his way to where the unknown woman and Lady Darby now stood chatting with Lady Julia Sinclair, the Duchess of Radcliffe. It was fortunate, was it not, that Harry counted the duchess among his closest friends? Harry certainly thought so. After all, Julia was the Bloody Duke’s sister and Harry had helped to save her life once. If he hinted that he would like an introduction to the mystery lady, she would no doubt provide one – even if he was not quite of the same social standing as Lady Darby and this unknown woman. Such trivial matters, including his station in life, did not bother his friends in the least. Thankfully.
But what did matter to them – and to Harry as well – was their safety and the safety of their friends. And just then, Harry could not say for certain that this unknown woman was safe to be around. That was reason enough to seek an introduction. He would simply have to confess to Julia the real reason for his interest at another time. Right now, Harry had to make certain his friends were safe.
Even if she was not out to harm his friends, Harry could not allow this lady to freely roam the ballrooms of London seeking…well, whatever it was that she was seeking. Not without thoroughly investigating her first. Or at the very least, without learning her name. Because it was evident – at least to him – that she was up to something.
A Lady for the Taking Page 2
