by Darcy Burke
Damn, it was that late already? Beck really had submerged himself. “Thank you. Show him into the drawing room. I’ll run upstairs to change.”
After setting his guitar down, Beck raced up the back stairs to his chambers on the second floor and quickly changed with the assistance of his part-time valet, whom Gage had clearly sent up directly from the lower level where he served as a part-time footman.
A short time later, Beck strolled into the drawing room and smiled at his friend. “My apologies, Horace, I was caught up.”
Horace chuckled, his dark brows waggling. “I’m familiar with how that happens. How many times did you keep us waiting at school because you weren’t quite finished playing?”
“Too many to count.” Beck had heard another student play guitar shortly after arriving at Oxford and fallen in love with the sound. He’d purchased his own instrument and begged that student to teach him to play. Soon, he was on his own, picking out the most atrocious of melodies. “Shall we head to the park?”
“You said you’ve an extra mount for me?” Horace asked.
“Yes, I’m sure they’ll be out front directly, if they aren’t already.” Gage, in his exceeding efficiency, would have seen to it.
Horace slid him a cautious glance. “Do you think Lady Lavinia will be at the park?”
“Probably. I’ve seen her there a few times.” Probably? He counted on her being there. He realized she was the best thing about the park. She was so much more interesting and real than just about anyone else in Society.
“Then perhaps we shouldn’t go,” Horace said.
Beck stopped as they moved into the hall. “You don’t want to see her? I thought your introduction went well?” They’d left the rout last night and met up with Ware and a few other gentlemen at the club.
“It did. I’m just…” His neck colored a bit and he glanced away. “I’m not very skilled at this courtship business. I’m not entirely sure I’m marriage material.”
“I happen to know that Lady Lavinia isn’t entirely sure if she’s marriage material either, which is why I thought you might suit.” And yet he found himself relieved that Horace might not be interested.
Horace peered at him with sharp interest. “How is it you know so much about her?”
“We have a rather, er, unorthodox friendship.”
“I’m the last person to understand the rules of Society.” Horace shook his head. “But I do know that young, unmarried women aren’t supposed to have friends like you.”
“Which is precisely why it’s unorthodox and, er, secret. She’s an intelligent woman who deserves better than Society’s Marriage Mart has to offer.” Beck realized it sounded as though he should court her. But he never planned to court anyone. Not after that first disaster.
To his credit, Horace said nothing—maybe because he knew all the regretful details. “Well, if it’s the same to you, I’d prefer to stick to Rotten Row and leave the socializing to those with far better skill than I.”
“It’s entirely up to you. I wouldn’t even be going to the park if you weren’t here.”
“Ah, I did interrupt you, then.” Horace looked at him apologetically. “We don’t have to go.”
“Don’t be silly,” Beck said. “I don’t see you very often. Besides, Felix will be there, and he’ll be gravely disappointed if we don’t show up.”
“If you insist.”
“I insist.” Beck led him outside where their mounts waited. It didn’t take them long to ride to the park. They entered through Grosvenor Gate, and paused for a moment to navigate traffic. Beck couldn’t help but survey the crowd for Lavinia. He saw her almost immediately. She wore a spring-green frock with a matching bonnet that covered her dark red-brown locks. He didn’t worry that she’d see him or Horace at this distance.
They turned their horses toward Rotten Row and were instantly greeted by two ladies who were also on horseback, Lady Fairwell and another woman whose name Beck couldn’t remember. Lady Fairwell smiled brightly. “Good afternoon, Lord Northam. Do you recall Mrs. Goodacre?”
“Certainly.” Vaguely. “Allow me to introduce my friend, Mr. Horace Jeffries from Oxford.”
Horace inclined his head toward them. “I’m a botanist. Just in London to visit with my dear friend Northam.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Jeffries.” Lady Fairwell directed her sultry gaze toward Beck. “I haven’t seen much of you.”
Beck didn’t want to linger. “No, and I hope you won’t think us rude, but we’re on our way to Rotten Row.”
“Don’t let us keep you,” Mrs. Goodacre said with a warm smile.
Beck and Horace steered themselves toward Rotten Row, and Beck breathed a sigh of relief. Felix was waiting for them.
“What took you so bloody long?” he demanded without rancor.
Horace rode up alongside Felix. “We were stopped by a couple of women, one of whom was either Beck’s paramour or wants to be and he isn’t interested.”
“How do you know that?” Beck asked, blinking at Horace in disbelief.
“I’ve had plenty of experience with women in your orbit,” Horace said, chuckling. Felix joined him, and Horace turned to him and said, “And yours.”
Felix shouted with laughter. “You know us too well, Horace.”
“It’s a bit like the good old days at Oxford, I must say.”
Felix looked from Horace to Beck. “We should celebrate like that, then. I’ve the perfect place in mind—Madame Bisset’s.”
Horace smiled. “I think you took me there last time I was in town.”
“And if memory serves, you enjoyed yourself immensely,” Felix said.
Beck stifled a groan. Madame Bisset’s was one of London’s most elite brothels, catering to the highest echelons of Society. Beck didn’t visit often, but sometimes he was in the mood for a transaction that didn’t necessarily feel like a transaction, which was Madame Bisset’s specialty. The women treated you as if they were your personal mistresses—and they were every bit as skilled.
Normally, Beck would agree to go without a second thought, but he wasn’t in the mood. The idea of a transaction just didn’t interest him right now. He didn’t want to say that, however. His friends would ask why, and Beck didn’t have an answer. The last thing he wanted to do was dwell on that.
“Sounds like a splendid evening to me,” Horace said pleasantly. “What say you, Beck?” Since they were alone, he’d reverted to his familiar name.
He forced a smile. “Splendid.” It would be fine—he’d play cards, or chess, with whomever Madame Bisset sent him to. They were like mistresses in every way and would satisfy any whim, even if it didn’t involve sex.
They decided to race along Rotten Row, an activity for which Beck was most grateful. Riding fast would banish all the things he didn’t want to think about: Lady Fairwell, why he didn’t want to visit a brothel, and his sister Helen. Only now he was thinking of her and, more importantly, the women with the initials SW and DC. He was going to discover who they were and then he’d find a way to avenge his sister, whatever the cost.
Chapter 8
Sweet love, sweet air, sweet charity,
Her eyes, hair, gaze, bring clarity.
Love gained, love lost, but love restored.
Sweet love, sweet air, sweetly adored.
* * *
-From The Nature of Miss Rose Stewart
by The Duke of Seduction
* * *
The moment Lavinia saw the red ribbon tied to the iron railing in front of the house across the street, her heart began to beat faster. She immediately told her maid to prepare for a walk, then went to the sitting room to inform her mother she was going out.
“Perhaps I’ll go with you,” the countess said, looking toward the window that faced the small rear garden. “It’s rather fair today.”
Lavinia blinked in surprise. Her mother didn’t generally like physical exercise, unless it meant shopping or gossip. Lavinia didn’t want her along�
�not today. Not for this walk. “I won’t be gone long, and I’m just about to leave.” She’d already donned a pelisse as well as her hat and gloves and was carrying her reticule so she could put Beck’s message inside. She held her breath while waiting for her mother to respond.
Mother looked her up and down. “So you are. All right, then. Don’t wear yourself out so that you won’t want to go to the park.”
She already didn’t want to go to the park. “Yes, Mother.”
Turning hastily, Lavinia met her maid, Carrin, in the hall. “Ready.”
The footman opened the door, and Lavinia preceded Carrin out to the pavement. She waited for the maid, a soft-spoken woman five years Lavinia’s senior, to join her before turning to the left and walking toward Grosvenor Square.
“Are we going anywhere in particular, my lady?” Carrin asked.
“Not really,” Lavinia lied. “I think I’ll just let my feet guide me.” She sent Carrin a warm smile.
Once they were well enough away from the house, Lavinia pulled her spectacles from her reticule and set them on her face. She sighed happily as the sights around her came into sharp focus. Every time she put them on, she wondered why she took them off. Of course she knew why—her mother.
Carrin wouldn’t tell the countess. She thought it a travesty that Lavinia wasn’t allowed to wear them.
As they entered Grosvenor Square, Lavinia instantly found the tree. It was easy to spot, particularly since they were entering from the southwest corner. That was likely why Beck had chosen it.
The center of the square was a lovely green lawn with shrubbery and trees, and the whole was surrounded by a short, wrought iron fence. She turned to Carrin. “Let us go into the square.”
They strolled to an opening in the fence, and Lavinia led her through to a path. After they’d walked for a moment, she said to Carrin, “I believe I saw a squirrel. Wait here.”
Lavinia hurried to the tree and was glad for an adjacent shrub that partially shielded her as she walked around and found the hollow. Sticking her hand inside, she found a small bag.
Lifting it from the tree, she wondered at the contents, for it was rather heavy. She shoved her hand back into the hollow and felt around for paper, but there wasn’t anything else.
The bag had a drawstring, and she tugged it open to see what was inside. Her breath caught as soon as she realized what it was. Rather, what they were.
She pulled the first rock out and held it up, staring at the spiral and the even grooves that marked the stone. It was beautiful. And so small. She’d seen drawings of such a thing, but she didn’t have anything like it. Her fossils were all plants.
“Do you like it?”
The low, masculine voice stole across her neck, reminding her of the way his lips had caressed her there once. She turned to see Beck leaning against the tree, his gaze heavy, his lids low over his eyes.
“Where did you come from?”
“Nowhere.” He pushed away from the tree, his eyes lighting with surprise and something else she wasn’t quite sure of. Excitement maybe? No, not that strong. “You’re wearing spectacles.”
She’d forgotten. Instinctively, she lifted her hand to her face and began to take them off.
“Don’t.” He stepped toward her and took her hand in his, gently lowering it back to her side.
She stared at him, aware of his proximity in a way she never had been before. “You like them?” she asked softly.
“Very much.”
“Supposedly, they detract from my face.”
“They help you see the world in crystal clarity, and as a woman of science, you shouldn’t view it any other way. That thirst for knowledge only enhances your face—and everything else about you.”
A smile curled her lips. “Why, Lord Northam, I do believe you’re a poet.”
He put his finger to his lips, which she realized were rather supple. She really did like wearing her glasses. “Shhh. Don’t tell anyone.” He grinned, and her chest squeezed, making it a bit difficult to take a deep breath. Oh dear.
She ripped her gaze from his and looked into the bag. “What else is in here?”
“More like that one, in varying sizes. That’s probably the easiest one to find in Devon. My favorite is the largest.” He reached into the bag and pulled out a rock that was bigger than the palm of his hand. It was mostly flat with the partial skeleton of what looked to be a fish.
Lavinia gasped. “My goodness, is that real?”
“Touch it.” He placed it in her hand.
But it wasn’t enough. “Hold these,” she said, thrusting the rock and bag into his hands. Her reticule hung from her left wrist, so it wasn’t an impediment. She removed her glove, then took the stone back from him, running her bare fingers over the ridges of the fish’s bones. “This is extraordinary.”
“Watching your delight is extraordinary.”
His words slid over her like a seductive song. She fought to look at the rock instead of him. She wasn’t entirely sure what was happening here today—with him—and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
She slipped the rock into the bag, which he still held, then put her glove back on. “Thank you for sharing them with me.”
He pressed the bag into her hand. “They’re yours.”
She couldn’t help but look at him now. “You’re giving them to me?”
“I can think of no one better to possess them.”
“But they’re so special. And valuable.”
“I don’t know about the latter, but they are certainly special—to you. They’ve been sitting in a box in my study in Devon for years. I don’t remember the last time I looked at them, and that’s a shame.”
“Yes, it is.” She would look at them and touch them every day. Even now, she was burning to study them. “Have you any idea how old these must be?”
He laughed softly. “Not the faintest.”
She joined him, giggling. “It’s debatable, but suffice it to say they are very, very old.”
“Someday you will have to tell me all about this debate. But I’m afraid we are pressed for time today.”
Someday? When would that be exactly? They weren’t even supposed to be meeting. They were supposed to communicate by letter. Still, she wanted that someday. “Are you by chance going to the Kilves’ dinner tomorrow night?” Lavinia had spoken to Violet and knew he’d been invited.
“Yes. The duchess is a friend of yours, isn’t she?”
Lavinia nodded. “We met last fall.”
“So you’ll be there too?” He looked almost…relieved.
“Yes, but I had to prevail upon my father.” The countess had almost persuaded Lavinia’s father that they shouldn’t go given the scandal surrounding the Kilves and the Romseys. Lavinia had put up a good argument as to why it wasn’t really a scandal at all—nobody had been harmed, everyone was quite happy, and why wouldn’t they want to align themselves with two dukes? They’d had quite a row over it, but in the end, the earl had sided with Lavinia.
“Why?”
“My mother listens to too much gossip. There are those who think the Duke of Kilve and the Duchess of Romsey behaved badly, and of course the Duke of Romsey is typically known as the Duke of Ruin. Because his wife died, and for a long time, he was suspected of killing her. Not officially, of course.”
“Wasn’t he vindicated with regard to his wife’s death?”
“He was, but you know how vicious and unforgiving Society can be.”
“I do.” The gravity of his tone and the curl of his lip gave her pause.
“Because of your sister,” she said softly.
“Yes.” He looked away, and she knew he didn’t want to talk about it. She wouldn’t press him. Someday, she’d like to know more about her, but not today.
There it was again: someday.
“You should go,” he said. “We’ve lingered long enough, and I’m sure your maid is wondering where you are.”
He’d seen her arrive with
Carrin. Yet, he hadn’t known when she would come. “How long were you waiting for me?”
He shrugged. “Not long.”
Warmth spread through her. He’d brought her the most precious gift, and he’d waited to deliver them in person. He could very well have written a note to leave with it. Heaven knew he was quite good at that.
“I wanted to thank you for the poem you wrote for Sarah,” Lavinia said. “It’s really wonderful. She’s overjoyed with the attention.”
“I’m pleased to hear it. I only want to help.” He hastened to add, “Those who want to be helped, that is.”
She grinned. “Just so.” She hated to go, but he was right, she must. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
Her gaze settled on his, and a wave of awareness crested over her—starting at that spot on her neck and flowing through the rest of her body.
He inclined his head toward her wrist. “You should put the fossils in your reticule—if they'll fit.”
“Oh yes, I should.”
She tried to juggle both items, but Beck took the fossils while she opened her reticule, then he deposited them inside. She put her glove back on and looked up at him. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
That word—pleasure—sent another flash of anticipation over her. She made herself turn and go.
As soon as she stepped out from behind the shrub, a cool breeze rushed over her. It was as if they’d been in a private world just for them, and she’d had to leave it.
Carrin came rushing toward her. “I was beginning to grow concerned.”
“Sorry, I found some interesting rocks.” Which wasn’t a lie. She held up her reticule and jiggled the contents.
Carrin was well aware of Lavinia’s interest in rocks and dirt and science. “How lovely. Perhaps you can show me later.”
“Certainly.” Lavinia would simply show her some other things from her collection.
They walked back home in relative silence. Lavinia couldn’t shake a sense of giddiness. Beck had utterly surprised her with the fossils. They were without question the best gift she’d ever received.
