by Amanda Scott
He was seated at one of the faro tables, and he seemed to be completely engrossed in his game, though he looked up cheerfully enough when she approached him.
“I hope you will not think me a complete spoilsport, sir, but my head is beginning to ache dreadfully, and I think I should like to go home,” she said quietly.
A gleam of mockery appeared briefly in his eyes. “Not fearful of a scold, are you, dear coz?”
“Of course not,” she retorted. “You heard him yourself. He said I was to make the decision.” She smiled at him then, forcing herself to remain calm, knowing that for a reason she could not fathom she had come close to snapping at him like a fishwife. “He was right about one thing, you know. I have been overdoing it of late. An early night will do me a great deal of good.”
“It would no doubt do all of us a deal of good,” he said, folding his hand and nodding farewell to the others at the table. “Come along, then. ’Tis against my nature to be so accommodating, but if you insist upon it, it shall be my pleasure to see you safely back to Charles Street. Will you ride with me tomorrow?”
“Of course,” she replied, glad he had not protested more about taking her home. Her head was beginning to pound.
At home there was still no sign of Ravenwood, and she realized she was disappointed. He had not come to her bed for several nights now, and she missed him. Sometimes, when she returned from a night’s carousing, she would find him in his bookroom reading, and they would share a small glass of brandy in front of the fire while she told him about her evening, before going upstairs together. She looked forward to these quiet times, but even more did she look forward to what followed them, for Ravenwood was a gentle, experienced lover who seemed to delight in their lovemaking. There was nothing sleepy or lazy about the man then, she thought now, wistfully. But, of course, it was too much to expect that he would have returned home so early.
She went upstairs to find Meg Hardy awaiting her, and was forced to endure a scold before being tucked up with a posset and a cold compress to her head. Ravenwood had still not returned home when Meg took away the cloth and the empty cup, and Cicely curled up in the bed, feeling lonely and rather neglected, and drifted into sleep.
The next morning she felt quite herself again and perfectly ready to ride in Hyde Park with her cousin. She was a bit surprised, however, when she discovered one of Ravenwood’s grooms standing on the flagway, the reins of his gelding in one hand and those of the little mare Ravenwood had provided for her use in the other. Sir Conrad stood with him. Cicely approached the groom.
“What is it, Nat?” she asked.
“Beggin’ yer pardon, m’lady, but the master give orders,” he said, touching his forelock.
“What orders are those, if you please?”
“I’m t’ ride ahind of ye, m’lady.”
She glanced up at her cousin, who favored her with a mocking smile. “He was waiting here when I arrived, sweet coz. Seems the master thinks you have need of a guardian angel.”
“Well, I don’t. You may return to the stables, Nat. I don’t need you today.”
“Please, m’lady. ’Tis as much as my place be worth an I go back now.”
She stared at him, but he seemed to believe the truth of his words. Sir Conrad’s smile was beginning to annoy her. She glared at him. “We’ll just see about this,” she said, turning on her heel and reentering the house. According to Wigan, the master had not come downstairs yet, so she hurried up to his dressing room, entering without so much as a tap at the door. “If you please, my lord!” she began angrily. Then she fell silent, realizing it would do no good at the moment to continue.
He was seated at his dressing table, engaged in the careful arrangement of his hair, and he did not so much as glance at her until he had finished. His valet had turned one scandalized look upon her at her entrance, and then he, too, had returned his attention to the task at hand. At last Ravenwood set down his brush and turned to face her.
“You may leave us, Pavenham,” he said quietly. “What is it, my dear?”
Cicely restrained herself only until the door was shut behind Pavenham before turning upon him furiously. “You know perfectly well what it is, my lord! Why have you set Nat to spy upon me?”
“Dear me, is that what I have done? Won’t you sit down? You’ll wear yourself out with so much agitation.”
“No, thank you!” she snapped. “And you have not answered my question, sir. Why have you ordered poor Nat to attend me like a Cerberus?”
Real humor lit his eyes. “Once again I must admire the aptness of your mythological allusions, Cilly, though I can safely assure you that Nat won’t eat Sir Conrad. Nevertheless, I’m afraid you must take him with you.”
“You have never insisted upon such an escort before, my lord, and I have ridden several times with my cousin.”
“I had not realized it, however.”
“But you knew when I rode with the Earl of Faringdon!”
“The cases are different.”
“And when I rode with Roger Carrisbrooke in his carriage.”
“Again, a different case entirely.”
“And Lord Toby?”
“Likewise.”
She paused, regarding him quizzically. He met her gaze with placid good humor. “I see,” she said slowly. “It is Conrad. He is my cousin, sir. You’ve no reason not to trust him.”
“I have not indicated a lack of trust.”
“Then what?”
Ravenwood sighed. “I told you at the outset that I would countenance this play for freedom only until I could see a reason to stop it, Cilly. There has been some talk. Nothing important yet, but talk nevertheless. You see, of late the two of us have so seldom been seen together that people are beginning to wonder if something is amiss. Therefore I must ask that you take a little more care not to be seen quite so often, alone, with other men.”
She bit her lip self-consciously. It was true that the only place she had gone with him recently had been the dinner at Uffington House. It had seemed as though their paths just never met. More often than not she had made plans for an evening before he mentioned that he would like her company, and she had never felt that she could cry off once she had given her word to go with someone else. Ruefully she put her hand upon his shoulder.
“Perhaps we might contrive to be seen together more often, Gilbert.”
He smiled. “Perhaps.”
“Yes, well, after all, Mama and Papa and the girls arrive tomorrow, and then there will be the princess’s wedding and Almack’s first assembly. You know we must attend those events together. And then there is Brittany’s ball the week following. I daresay we shall not find it so difficult, after all.”
“And tonight, Cilly? I had thought I might take you to that play you missed seeing last week. And then to the Clarendon for dinner afterward. What would you say to that?”
“Well, Conrad did suggest that we might return to Hougham’s tonight. But I confess, sir,” she added hastily when he began to turn away, “I should much prefer the play. I … I found I did not care particularly for the gaming house.”
“Did you not, my dear?”
“No, and anyway, I daresay Conrad won’t mind if I cry off. Good gracious,” she added with a guilty laugh. “I’ve left him standing in the street with no one but Nat to keep him company. You will agree that I must leave you, sir.”
“Will I, indeed?”
“Indeed, yes,” she chuckled. “Why, you are the same man who said it would be an ill fate to be left with only a coachman for company, and Nat is not nearly so lofty a companion as Tom Coachman must be.”
He smiled at that. “Piqued, repiqued, and capotted, I think. Run along, my dear.”
She found Sir Conrad waiting none too patiently in the street below, but he said nothing when he helped her to mount. They rode on ahead of Nat and had gone some distance before her escort remarked, “I see you were outgunned, coz.”
“He said people are beginning to t
alk,” she said with a smile. “One could not expect him to like that.”
“No, of course not, but it’s just my damned luck that they should put off their talking until my arrival on the scene.”
Though she could not know whether he had intended it so or not, his words sank deep. She had not considered it before, but now that he had put the thought into her mind, she remembered that Ravenwood had agreed that she did not need an escort with any of his close friends. It was odd. At least, as he pointed out, the timing was odd.
So lost in her own thoughts was she that it took a moment before she realized Sir Conrad was saying his own mother had been the latest victim of the robbers plaguing the area.
“What! Did you say Aunt was robbed? When?”
“Last night. I blame myself for it. She had asked that I accompany her to her party, but I had other plans, as you know. Had I known, however, that she meant to take a chair, I’d certainly have insisted upon the coach at least. She said she was merely going from Mount Street into Grosvenor Square, however, and could not conceive why she should roust the coachman and footmen out for such a short journey. On her way home, the ruffians overpowered her chairmen and took both her money and jewels.”
“How frightened she must have been!”
“Not a bit of it,” he chuckled. “Said she’d like to have their heads for washing.”
Cicely smiled but found it difficult to imagine how he could see any humor whatsoever in such a situation. “You will call in the Runners, of course.”
“No. Why should I? They’ve little interest beyond catching the thieves, and they’ve had precious little success in that direction of late. Only one or two very small fish.”
“But how will you find her jewels again if you do not tell someone they have been stolen?”
“Ah, but that’s the point, don’t you see? The Runners are interested only in the reward, just as friend Townsend pointed out only last night. And the reward is given only for seeing the thief hanged. Nothing is said about recovering the goods, and more often than not they are never recovered. But Mama was wearing a very distinctive set of rubies, so if they haven’t been removed from their settings already, I think I know a way to get them back.”
“How?”
“A fellow I know of, named of George Vaughan. Not a Runner, but the next best thing to it. A member of the Bow Street Foot Patrol who wants to become a Runner. Motivation of the highest sort to make a name for himself in high places. And he can make that name by recovering the goods when others fail to do so. He knows what he is about, too. He’s already recovered stolen property in more than one case. As a matter of fact, I’ve been given to understand that he is in a way to recovering the Ribbesford emeralds.”
Cicely repeated that conversation to Ravenwood over a delicious dinner at the Clarendon Hotel that evening after the play, adding, “Do you not think it would be wise for them to call in the Runners, Gilbert?”
“’Tis not my decision to make, I’m thankful to say.”
“Well, it seems odd to me,” observed Cicely, helping herself to another slice of succulent roast beef. “Why would he prefer a mere member of the foot patrol to an experienced Runner?”
Ravenwood lifted his quizzing glass to peer curiously at a dish presented for his inspection, then shook his head. The dish was promptly removed. “I daresay he knows what he is about if his primary goal is the recovery of his mother’s rubies,” he said. “He’s quite right when he notes that the Runners are mostly interested in capturing the thief. The reward, after all, is forty pounds. Of course,” he added, thoughtfully swirling the dark red liquid in his wineglass, “one may quite properly offer a reward to a Runner for the recovery of the goods as well.”
Cicely looked at him, thinking she had detected an odd note in his voice, but he only looked thoughtful. Then, catching her eye upon him, he smiled and changed the subject by asking her if she had enjoyed the play. The topic proved a felicitous one, occupying them through the rest of their dinner. In the carriage, on the way back to Charles Street, they observed a companionable silence, and Cicely found herself wondering why they had not done this sort of thing more often.
There would be little time for it in the weeks ahead, she thought almost sadly. Her family was arriving the following day, and with the princess’s wedding and the opening assembly at Almack’s, the Season would be in full swing at last. Already invitations were piling up in the Sevres basket on the side table in the front hall. It was all she could do to keep up with them from day to day. As if it had not been hectic enough these past weeks, she thought as they turned into Charles Street.
When they entered the house, Cicely began to move automatically toward the bookroom, but Ravenwood stopped her, a gleam of unmistakable intent in his eye.
“Go upstairs, Cilly. Meg Hardy is waiting up for you.”
A tiny thrill shot up her spine at the caressing note in his voice. “Very well, sir,” she murmured, her words seeming to catch low in her throat.
Meg was indeed waiting and expressed approval over her mistress’s good sense in returning whilst she might still have time for a proper sleep. Cicely merely smiled at her, rejecting the simple nightdress she presented in favor of a low-cut lacy dressing gown that fastened with two sets of narrow lavender ribbons.
Meg chuckled. “Like that, is it?” Cicely blushed and her henchwoman shook her head. “I’ll tell that Betty to let you sleep late in the morning,” she said.
“Thank you, Meg,” Cicely replied pointedly. “You may go to bed now.”
“You’ll want that fire stirred up a bit, Miss Cicely.”
“I’ll tend it myself, then. Go to bed, Meg.”
Still shaking her head in undisguised amusement, Meg extinguished all the tapers but the one nearest the bed, then took herself off as ordered. With one eye alert for movement from the adjoining room, Cicely knelt in front of the tile-framed fireplace and used a poker with an experienced hand. The coals crackled and a sparking flame jumped to life. She stirred a bit more, then set a small log from the woodbasket carefully in place.
The low chuckle from behind startled her. She had become so engrossed in her task that she had forgotten to keep watch for his arrival.
“You should not creep up on a person like that, sir,” she scolded, looking up at him.
“I didn’t want to disturb so entrancing a scene,” he replied, holding out a hand to help her to her feet. She rose to face him, warmth from behind attesting to the fact that the flames had suddenly taken hold of the new log. Then warmth crept into her face when she realized her husband’s gaze was traveling downward, taking in her appearance.
“I like that thing you’re wearing,” he said softly as his smoldering eyes met hers. “’Tis a most attractive dress, my dear.”
“By the look of you, my lord, I fear I shall not be wearing it long,” she whispered, her eyes downcast. She saw his hand move to the first tie, then looked up into his eyes again, only to gasp as the ribbons parted and his fingers caressed her smooth skin. The second tie parted but a moment later. Still she kept her eyes on his face. His own gaze drifted lower now, following the movement of his hands upon her silken body.
A low moan escaped her when those warm hands moved across her breasts and upward to slide the garment from her shoulders. With a hushing sound it slithered down her bare legs to the Aubusson carpet. His own brocaded dressing gown soon followed, and Cicely found herself scooped unceremoniously into his arms. He carried her to the bed and laid her down upon it, pulling the quilts up over them as he slid in beside her. There was a brief pause while he extinguished the lone candle. Then, exploringly, his lips met hers, and while the fire crackled, casting a golden glow across the room and setting shadows dancing on the pale walls, they made love together, gently, slowly, deliciously, letting their passion build as they rediscovered each other’s secret pleasures until that passion reached new and unsuspected heights. When it was over, they lay in each other’s arms and watched the dyin
g embers together. Cicely’s last waking thought was that a world wherein one might find such safety and security as she felt at that moment must surely be a magical place.
11
WHEN SHE AWOKE THE following morning, he was gone, as usual, and Cicely felt momentarily bereft until she remembered that today was the day her family would arrive in Town. Since the duchess always traveled by easy stages, she knew they would have passed the night no farther away than Harlow, and would not be surprised to learn that they had been as close as Epping. As she discovered shortly after noon, the latter was indeed the case. A note, informing her that the duchess was in residence at Malmesbury House, was delivered by a pageboy wearing the Malmesbury green livery.
Without pausing to do more than find a cashmere shawl to fling about her shoulders, she ordered the carriage and, after a journey of but a quarter hour, was set down in front of the huge ducal mansion, which, together with its grounds, occupied an entire city block in the center of Mayfair. Hurrying up the broad stone steps to the colonnade with its high, pedimented portico, she flung open the front door herself, without waiting to make use of the crested brass knocker, and rushed up the grand, swooping staircase to her mother’s favorite drawing room, on the first floor. There she found them all, the duchess, Brittany, Arabella, Alicia, and Amalie. Flinging her arms around each one in turn, she grinned, hugged, and kissed them much as though, observed the duchess faintly, she had never expected to lay eyes upon them again.
Amalie was dancing with excitement. “Cicely! Miss Fellows said she will take me to the Tower this year. And we will drive in Richmond Park and even make an excursion to Hampton Court. She says it will be educational, but I want to see the Maze!”
“To be sure, love, and you will like it exceedingly,” Brittany laughed. “But don’t shout at poor Cicely. You will deafen her.”
Arabella and Alicia made their greetings, too, and there was much excited chatter until Miss Fellows appeared briefly a few moments later to whisk the younger girls off to the schoolroom, whereupon the duchess said wearily that she knew Cicely and Brittany would wish to have a comfortable coze.
