Wallflower (Old Maids' Club, Book 1)

by Catherine Gayle

  Oglethorpe. The bastard. Noah’s head suddenly seemed to clear. He managed to pull himself to his feet and moved closer to the wall separating them.

  “You don’t seem to be making a very good show of it, Eggerley. I’ve not seen you anywhere near the Cow.” Noah saw red. Red with funny little twinkling lights floating about in it. He swiped out to grab one of the lights, but nearly fell from the effort.

  But then another man laughed. “While you’ve been near the ape leader aplenty, but are still a far cry from collecting your wager.” The bloody wager. Noah sobered instantly. The ‘Cow’ Oglethorpe had mentioned was no cow at all, but his Tabitha. His love.

  “Not as far as you think,” Oglethorpe boasted. Noah smothered his own roar of fury before it could escape him.

  “Is that so?” Eggerley mocked. “So when should I expect the banns to be called, then?”

  “If things go according to plan, I’d expect it to happen within the week. Two at most. If you want a chance at winning, you need to get involved.”

  Noah wanted to pummel him. Both of them. He wanted to make them hurt the way he had that afternoon when Lady Tabitha told him yet again that she wouldn’t have him. Only Leith’s hand on his arm held him back from moving into the other room and taking his frustrations out with his fists. That and the fact that he was still unsteady on his feet.

  “We should go,” Leith said softly. “There’s nothing you can do right now. Not while you’re in this state.”

  Leith was right. As much as Noah hated to admit it, he was right. He allowed Leith to half carry him out of White’s and to a waiting carriage.

  Would he have to compromise Lady Tabitha and ‘allow’ himself to be caught? If he did, he’d be no better than Oglethorpe and Eggerley.

  But if he didn’t...

  ~ * ~

  The stench of vomit woke Noah the next morning, alongside a pain so severe that he thought his head would feel better if it was split in two. “What happened?”

  “Good morning, my lord,” called out his valet, Horace. “You shot the cat, I’m afraid. Drink this. It will help.”

  “What cat?” Never mind. Noah didn’t want to know. He didn’t have the energy to argue with anyone. He lifted the glass to his mouth and took a large swig, only to spit it out almost immediately. “That is vile. Are you trying to kill me?”

  “Not at all. Lady Devonport promises it is the best cure for what ails you.” Horace returned to cleaning up the mess Noah had apparently made in his sleep. “Drink all of it, or she vows she’ll have Cook make another batch.”

  Mother would, too. Noah sniffed at the concoction and his nose wrinkled of its own accord. “What is it?”

  “I can’t be sure of all the ingredients, my lord, but I saw orange juice, milk, raw eggs, blackberries, and smashed tomatoes go in with the coffee. I did see a piece of cod sitting about while Cook was preparing this, but I’m sure it couldn’t be included. I hope. I also recall the smell of burnt toast, though I can’t imagine what Cook could have done with that.”

  Looking down at the murky, chunky mixture, Noah had a few thoughts on the matter.

  “Best not to look, but just to pinch your nose and down it without delay, my lord. And next time, perhaps to avoid overdoing it with the whiskey.” Horace muttered this last beneath his breath, but loud enough that his master would be sure to hear.

  When Noah didn’t immediately comply, the valet cleared his throat. “Go on with you. You’re in dire need of a bath, and Lord Leith has already stopped by to check on you. He asked me to deliver a message.”

  “And what is that?”

  “I’ll tell you once you drink.” Horace stood waiting with his arms crossed over his chest, until Noah finally pinched his nostrils and forced the repulsive concoction down, choking. Once he’d finished, he raised the glass so his valet would continue. Horace shoved a plate in front of him. “Now break your fast. Lord Leith said you should come to his lodgings once you’ve recovered. He wants to discuss the events of last night, and there is no time to waste.”

  Noah took a few bites. The only event of last night he remembered at the moment was when he proved himself a fool by drinking to the point of oblivion.

  Because Lady Tabitha wouldn’t have him. Because she would never marry.

  Oh. Oh, no. Flashes of conversation from White’s flooded his memory. Telling Leith about kissing and touching her until he worried he might embarrass himself. Mentioning that he’d compromised her but not been caught. Things he ought never to have said to anyone.

  And then another memory crashed over him. Oglethorpe. Eggerley. The wager.

  Noah shoveled the food into his mouth as fast as he could. “Ring for my bath, Horace. We need to hurry.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The chirping birdsong of a pair of linnets warred with each other for dominance in the background. A small grouping of ladies and gentlemen promenaded past Tabitha and Lord Oglethorpe where they sat beneath a weeping willow in one of the lesser-traveled parts of Hyde Park.

  Tabitha’s skin itched all over.

  Not even so much as a swath of bare skin touched the picnic blanket upon which she sat; she was amply covered from head-to-toe, or at least as covered as the newer fashions Madame Duchesne had crafted for her would allow.

  Yet she itched.

  Lord Oglethorpe passed her a plate filled with cold meats and cheeses. “How fortuitous that the weather is so amiable today. I would have been devastated if we’d had to cancel our plans or move the picnic indoors.” The tautness of his mouth seemed to contradict his words.

  Perhaps Lord Oglethorpe’s presence was what caused her skin to crawl.

  Tabitha shook the thought from her mind. He was a fortune hunter, yes. As was Lord Devonport. But Lord Devonport’s nearness merely served to heighten her awareness of every part of her body, not make her skin feel prickly and irritated.

  Comparing the two men was almost entirely unfair, though. Tabitha could never imagine wanting Lord Oglethorpe to kiss her as Lord Devonport had done—to draw her close and touch her bared breasts. She’d thought of little else with regard to Lord Devonport in the days since he had first pulled her into his arms and stoked the long-dormant embers of her need.

  “Would you care for some sherry?” Lord Oglethorpe asked, drawing a bottle and two glasses from the lined basket beside him. “I know it is early in the day for spirits, but I thought it might be welcome against the slight chill in the air.”

  It felt almost scandalous to accept, but she couldn’t see any true harm in it. “Yes, thank you.” Tabitha took a bite of ham and tried to remember why she’d agreed to join the man for a picnic. She had more than enough other suitors at the moment to keep Father happy. There was no need to entertain the fortune hunter’s pursuit. But Oglethorpe’s invitation had come before the rest joined in the hunt.

  After accepting the glass he handed to her, Tabitha raised it, took a sip, and nearly choked on its burn. “Goodness, this is strong.” And it had a suspicious hint of brandy flavoring amidst the sweeter tones of sherry she had expected.

  “Oh, dear. I do apologize.” Lord Oglethorpe took a swallow from his own glass and grimaced. “Yes, it seems to be a rather robust batch.” He repositioned himself on the blanket, moving closer to Tabitha until his thigh brushed against hers.

  She slid away from him under the guise of readjusting her skirts, but could not mistake the lascivious manner in which he leered down the bodice of her gown as she did so. Using nimble fingers, she did up all the fastenings on her pelisse. “There seems to be a minor coolness on the breeze.”

  “Is there?” he asked. Again, he shifted until the contact between them was undeniably inappropriate, landing with his weight on her skirts so she could not remove herself without a struggle. “I was feeling rather overheated, myself.”

  The Ladies Kibblewhite and Plumridge rode into her view seated in a phaeton. “Oh, Lady Tabitha!” They waved in her direction. “Lovely to see you out today.�
�� More likely what they found lovely to see was fodder for their gossip-mongering.

  Tabitha waved in return with a pained smile as they drove past, then returned her attention to the libertine causing her more immediate concern. “My lord,” she said through gritted teeth once the dragons were out of both earshot and sight, “I should think if you are overheated, you ought to back away from my person.”

  “I merely thought to help ward off your chill,” Lord Oglethorpe said, his tone obsequious and smug. He placed a firm hand on her knee and leaned closer to her.

  Tabitha slapped his hand away and stretched to reestablish a more appropriate distance between them. “That is entirely unnecessary. Thank you for your thoughtfulness.”

  Another move and he was almost atop her. His hand returned, more forcefully, groping up the length of her thigh with thick, probing fingers. With his other hand, he grabbed hold of the back of her head and jerked her toward him, settling his mouth over hers in a repulsive kiss.

  A scream rose in her throat, but was muffled against his assault. She flailed her arms against him, but he rolled himself over her until she was trapped beneath him, moving his hands to capture and confine hers. He reeked of pipe tobacco and sweat, and the scent poured uncontrollably into her nostrils. His legs settled on either side of her as his tongue forced entry to her mouth, hard and plunging, and devoid of any tenderness.

  Tabitha whimpered. What could she do? Why wasn’t someone coming to her rescue? At least a dozen people had gone past them in the last half hour. Surely someone was there, someone could see. Couldn’t they?

  She dug her half boots into the ground beneath her and lifted herself as well as she could, but his weight held her captive. The small movement freed enough of her gown that she could move her legs; Tabitha lifted her knee in a kicking motion, connecting with his manhood.

  He rolled off her with an, “Oof,” coming from his mouth, reaching down to hold himself where she’d struck him. “You’ll regret that, you fat bitch.”

  Tabitha scrambled to her feet while she had a chance. She doubted her efforts would grant her much time. Indeed, he struggled to rise before she had decided what to do. Closing her eyes, she kicked forward, aiming her half boots at the same spot. It worked; he was writhing on the ground again almost immediately. There was no more time to debate her options. Tabitha turned and fled, before the mongrel had a chance to recover and chase after her.

  ~ * ~

  Turning from Bond Street toward Hanover Square, she finally allowed herself to slow her pace. She’d been in a near run since leaving Lord Oglethorpe behind at Hyde Park, but now she was almost home. She was safe.

  How incredibly footsore she was! She might have a blister on the bottom of one foot, but she couldn’t stop to deal with it now. For all she knew, Oglethorpe could be right behind her. Indeed, she had often turned at the sound of an oncoming carriage to be certain that wasn’t the case as she rushed along.

  This wasn’t something she could tell Father or Owen or Toby about, either. If they knew what he’d done, they’d either call him out or force her to marry Oglethorpe. Neither option appealed to her. In that regard, she was lucky no one had come to her rescue and witnessed the scene.

  The clatter of horse and carriage sounded behind her again. Tabitha’s head turned, and she immediately wished she hadn’t looked. Lord Devonport was almost upon her already, leading a team of two before his curricle.

  “Lady Tabitha?” He passed her, and then the carriage slowed and drew to a stop just in front of her. “Why are you out alone? And why are you crying?” he asked as he leapt down.

  “Crying?” Was she truly? Tabitha touched a glove to her cheek and it came away wet. “I suppose I am.”

  His eyes were bloodshot, but filled with concern. “Come. I’m taking you home.” Placing one hand in the small of her back, he grasped her arm in his other and helped her into the curricle. He hadn’t given her the opportunity to decide what she wanted. He had just acted.

  “I’m almost there,” Tabitha said feebly. “It is no trouble.” But with the aid of his team of horses, they arrived before her father’s house almost before she had raised her unconvincing objection.

  Lord Devonport tossed the reins to a groom before descending, and then he turned and lifted her down. Heat rose up the back of her neck at the touch. His hands rested on her waist for a moment once she was safely on the ground, keeping her too close to him, to his warmth. Too close to his safety. But she couldn’t pull herself away, despite the knowledge that anyone could see them.

  Finally, he removed his grip and faced Shelton Hall. “Shall we?”

  Tabitha placed her hand on his arm and allowed him to lead her inside. Livingston opened the door and took Lord Devonport’s hat.

  Lord Devonport guided her into the drawing room. “Inform Newcastle that his daughter has need of him,” he said to Livingston as they brushed past.

  “I would, my lord, but his lordship is not at home.” The butler bustled along beside them, signaling a maid for tea as he went. “Is Lady Tabitha unwell? Should I send a footman out for the doctor?”

  A doctor? Good heavens, she wasn’t ill. “No doctor is necessary, Livingston. I’m quite all right.”

  A frustrated sound, one reminiscent of a wild animal’s growl, issued from Lord Devonport. He took more care than necessary to settle her on the Grecian sofa. “Raynesford, then.” At the shake of Livingston’s head, he tried again. “Shelton? Lady Raynesford? Is no member of the family at home?”

  “No, my lord. And I have to question why you are the one to return Lady Tabitha. I expected Lord Oglethorpe to do that, since he collected her earlier for a picnic. Indeed, I did not expect her home for another hour or more.”

  Lord Devonport snapped his head around to the butler, and Tabitha could only imagine the flashing blue fire that must be in his eyes, though she did not know why such a response would be called for at present. “That is none of your concern,” he said, standing straight before the butler with command. A tremulous maid hurried in to set down the tea service and then left again before she could be stopped. “When a member from the family returns—any member—send them straight in. I’ll see to Lady Tabitha’s needs until that time.”

  “Very well, my lord. Ring if you should need anything.” Livingston folded into a deep bow, and then backed out of the room.

  With shaking hands, Lord Devonport poured out a cup of tea, adding milk and two cubes of sugar as was Tabitha’s wont, and passed it into her hands. How did he know how she took her tea?

  “Drink. It’ll calm my nerves.”

  Although sorely tempted, she refrained from pointing out how ludicrous his statement was and instead took a soothing sip. He removed a handkerchief from a pocket of his coat and gently blotted it against her cheeks. His touch was light as a feather. When he finished, he placed it in her free hand and closed her fingers over it. Then he gently untied the ribbons of her poke bonnet and freed it from her head, placing it on the occasional table next to the sofa.

  He neglected to sit, neither beside her nor across from her; instead, he paced a path through the open spaces in the drawing room, trailing an unsteady hand through his hair and glancing frequently over to her. It was as though he wanted to make sure she hadn’t disappeared in front of his very eyes. Once her cup was half-empty, he stood straight and tall before the hearth with his hands clasped firmly behind his back, staring her through with a piercing gaze—one much like he wore when he kissed her, though laced with a tinge of anger.

  “Have you calmed down enough to speak with me, Tabitha?” His voice was so soft she had to strain to make out all his words.

  Tabitha knew what he wanted to discuss. She didn’t particularly care to talk to anyone about it, but she couldn’t keep running away. Running only served to put her in harm’s way, it seemed. “Yes.”

  In two strides, he reached her side, falling to the sofa beside her and taking one of her hands earnestly into his own. “What did Ogle
thorpe do?” His words were hardly more than a strangled groan. “Has he compromised you?”

  “No!” How could he have guessed such a thing? She couldn’t let anyone think that. Not now. Not ever. Tabitha racked her mind for something she could tell him, something that wouldn’t lead to imminent disaster. Nothing readily presented itself to her mind.

  “Very well,” Lord Devonport said. He took a deep breath before continuing. “Why don’t we start at the beginning? Lord Oglethorpe took you on a picnic?”

  That would be good. If she could start there, then maybe she would have time to formulate her story in a manner which would not end up with her becoming betrothed to anyone. Though it was admittedly rather difficult to think of anything at all with Lord Devonport so near, save running her fingers through the hair he habitually mussed with his own fingers.

  “Yes. He had asked me to accompany him today more than a week ago. We went to Hyde Park, to a quiet spot in a grove of willows.”

  “You mean to a secluded area where no one could interrupt his nefarious plans,” Lord Devonport grumbled, tightening one hand into a balled fist.

  She started. Damn and blast, it seemed he already knew everything that had happened. Did he know what Lord Oglethorpe had planned? Had he watched them from some undisclosed location? He could just be playing a game with her, trying to see if she would admit the truth of the situation.

  Lord Devonport pushed himself back into his seat, putting a bit more distance between them. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have interrupted. Go on.”

  How much should she reveal? Every word felt like a dagger in her stomach, twisting and turning as she sealed her fate. “We had not been there long when he tried to kiss me.”

  Lord Devonport bolted out of his seat and halfway across the room in what appeared a single movement, knocking over an occasional table with his booted feet and punching his fist through thin air as he went. Tabitha’s eyes widened at his display of pique. She’d never seen him so animated in his displeasure. It sent tingles of awareness straight through to her toes. Would he be so distressed if she were someone else?