Lady Reluctant

by Maggie Osborne

  She was still brooding about not seeing him before she fled the house as she stepped from the carriage in front of her favorite dry-goods shop in Bond Street. With Mouton a step behind her, Blu wandered among the street crowds, attempting to think only of the elegant displays filling the shop windows.

  When they reached the street corner, Mouton stepped up beside her and touched Blu’s arm. His dark face was fierce, his eyes as hard as twin blades.

  “Someone follows you,” he signaled with his hands.

  “I know.” She peered through the passing carriages and wagons to the other side of the street, seeking the face that lately seemed always to follow behind. “Drop back and circle around,” she instructed.

  Continuing to wander, pretending to examine the shop goods, she waited for Mouton. For several weeks she had been aware of being followed. As the tail never approached her and as she had learned a lesson with Lady Katherine’s pickpocket, she made no effort to confront her shadow. He seemed harmless enough, content merely to observe from a distance. The why of it puzzled her.

  For a time she had wondered if Thomas were behind it. But she rejected the notion, as Thomas had only to inquire to Cecile if he wished to learn her schedule or whereabouts. Next, she suspected Lady Katherine, speculating that Lady Katherine might wish an account of her time outside the house. But the tail followed when Lady Katherine was present as well. Finally, as no other explanation served, she decided one of her admirers must have hired a tag to dog her steps in expectation of discovering a rival.

  Of the available explanations, this seemed the most likely. But it didn’t quite fit. The shadow had appeared shortly after Lady Katherine’s first preseason dinner, before Blu had collected any avowed admirers. Moreover, all London Town knew a dozen young rakes vied for her attention and gossiped that she showed no particular favor to any. A man would have to be a buffle cank not to know he had rivals for her interest and who they were.

  When Mouton reappeared at her side, she tilted her head and lifted a questioning eyebrow.

  “He vanished,” Mouton signed, his face angry.

  “Then he saw us separate,” Blu said, thinking aloud. “Which means he recognizes you.”

  “I don’t like this. How long has the man followed you?”

  “Long enough that I know he’s harmless.” She confided her notion about an admirer seeking to learn of a rival.

  “Perhaps,” Mouton signaled. But he obviously was not convinced. His black eyes scanned the crowds moving around them. “Don’t leave the house again without me.”

  “I can take care of myself,” she said, tossing her hat.

  “We will not argue. I go with you.”

  “Cecile needs you.”

  He stared down at her, his expression fierce and intractable. Sighing, she turned into a shop door, leaving him to stand guard outside, his fearsome appearance discouraging those who would have entered.

  ~ ~ ~

  Thomas stood behind Cecile’s chair and scanned the ballroom floor, his search ending when he found Blusette. For a moment their gaze met and held above the heads of the dancers, then she returned her attention to Lord Whitesall, flirting outrageously as they dipped and swayed to the music.

  Lord Whitesall’s hand opened across the small of her back; he clasped her fingertips. Thomas watched and his own hands tightened on the back of Cecile’s chair. Two dots of pink appeared on Blu’s cheeks. She gazed into Whitesall’s besotted stare with a coquettish glance, then gracefully turned under his arm, her shoulder brushing Whitesall’s chest. The heat of jealousy squeezed Thomas’s body.

  He knew that in a moment Cecile would insist he dance with Blu, the only woman in society who eschewed a dance card. And Blu would accept him as a favor to Cecile. He genuinely did not know which was worse, watching her dance with other men or dancing with her himself, touching her, inhaling the fragrance of her perfume.

  Thomas passed a hand over his face. Hundreds of candles flamed in the hall. The ball was crowded with swirling silk gowns and brocade coats. Of a sudden he craved the cold breeze off the Channel, longing to be standing at the wheel of his ship and preparing for battle.

  Instead, he reluctantly presented himself before the Dowager Duchess, Her Grace the lady Jemima, bowed before her then led her onto the floor. Immediately, his eyes sought Blu’s dark hair and the glittering bauble she had fixed in her curls.

  He did not comprehend what was happening to him. He who had never considered a woman necessary to his happiness and content spent nine tenths of every day tormented by thoughts of Blusette Morgan. He dreamed of thrashing any man who looked at her or dared to touch her, and dreamed of chastising her for flirting and encouraging them. At the same time he longed to tenderly hold her and cherish each tiny freckle sprinkling her nose. He wanted to punish her for tormenting him; he wanted to possess her.

  The conflicting emotions baffled and angered him and mixed with feelings of guilt whenever he gazed into Cecile’s trusting smile.

  After returning the Dowager to her seat against the wall, he raised his head and skipped a glance across the floor, locating Blu near the door. That ass, Humphershire, was approaching her. Surely she had better taste than to grant Humphershire a dance.

  It was said Humphershire had invested in Captain March’s venture, which had failed to profit significantly. If club gossip could be credited, Humphershire’s frustration had erupted in political terms. It was claimed he had played a major role in the hanging of two pirates, and a half-dozen articles condemning sea plunder were attributed to him. Frowning, Thomas watched the man close the distance between himself and Blusette.

  When Blu noticed Lord Milton Humphershire, the hackles rose on the back of her neck. In her opinion, he was a man who would have fared well on Morgan’s Mound or perhaps on Tortuga. Oh, he was dressed better than men like Mole and the Spaniard, and Lord Humphershire moved easily in society, but beneath the droop of his eyelids flickered malevolent cunning. As he bowed before her, his sly gaze missed nothing. But unlike her other admirers, Humphershire regarded her with a hint of insolence, a suggestion of contempt.

  “I understand you disregard your card, Miss Morgan—a deliciously scandalous gesture. As you are therefore not bespoke, may I claim the pleasure of this dance?”

  There was nothing amiss with the words. But his tone carried a curl of mockery. She disliked his tone, his manner, his looks. His gaze on her body was like a reptile sliding over her skin.

  “I think not, my lord.”

  He stiffened. “I would advise you to reconsider,” he said, speaking in a low voice. His eyes glittered. “Though you may not know it yet, I can assure you it is in your best interest to please me:

  Btu straightened, then her eyes widened as he boldly fixed a gaze on her breast as if she were a whore displaying herself for his choosing. She sensed his appraisal was intended to cut her to size, to remind her of the difference in their status. Angry heat flooded her cheeks and blood pounded in her temples. No true gentleman leered down a lady’s bodice. It was not to be tolerated.

  She moved swiftly, almost without thought, responding viscerally and decisively as she would have done had she spied a snake coiled and ready to strike.

  In one smooth motion, she stepped tight against him, clasped him by the shoulders for leverage, then brought her knee up hard between his legs. When she released him, Lord Humphershire screamed and fell with a satisfactory thud to the dance floor where he curled into a ball, his gloved hands clasped to his groin.

  “Perhaps you should think about pleasing me,” she said, bending near his ear. Her lip curled. “Scum is still scum regardless of where it washes up.”

  Instantly Thomas materialized at her side, clasping her by the elbow. “Good God,” he said, blinking down at Lord Humphershire then at Blu. A wide smile curved his beautiful mouth and his eyes flickered with grim pleasure beneath an arched brow.

  “He leered at my breasts,” Blu explained. Uneasily, she glanced at the crowd
who had gathered in a circle to stare in scandalized horror at Lord Humphershire. It occurred to Blu that she might not have handled the situation in the proper manner. Perhaps there was a proscribed procedure for such offenses that did not require crushing a man’s privates. “I think we should trig it,” she murmured to Thomas from the corner of her lips.

  He bowed, smiled, then curled her fingers around his arm and led her onto the dance floor through the path that opened for them. Every eye followed. Behind them, someone helped Lord Humphershire to his feet.

  “I wonder if even you can survive this scandal,” Thomas murmured as she turned under his arm in time to the music, passing within inches of his body. She moved away from him, spread her skirts and bowed.

  When she raised her fingertips and stepped near him again, she whispered loudly. “Humphershire is a pox-faced son of a diseased dock whore. May that rat dropping rot in a hell of his own making!” She tossed her curls.

  Thomas laughed. In actual fact, he couldn’t blame Humphershire. Her breasts were magnificent.

  ~ ~ ~

  Lady Katherine gradually became aware a hush had fallen across the card room. Glancing up from her hand, she noticed heads bending in whispers that swept the room like a hot breeze. It seemed to her that glances in her direction followed hard on the heels of the whispers. After playing out her hand—badly—she excused herself from the table and, seemingly by accident, drifted toward Lady Peter, whose arrival had caused the eruption of hushed voices and covert glances.

  She sank into the chair next to Lady Peter and fanned her throat with an idle gesture. “Are they still dancing?” she inquired. “Or have they broken for supper?” It was almost midnight, the supper hour.

  “Oh my dear, then you don’t know,” Lady Peter exclaimed, feigning surprise. Her small eyes gleamed with malicious pleasure.

  “Know what?” By long habit Lady Katherine kept her voice light, but she steeled herself for the worst. Of course Lady Peter’s news concerned Blusette. Part of her had awaited and dreaded this moment from the first.

  “My dear, your strange niece attacked Lord Milton Humphershire,” Lady Peter announced grandly, carefully watching Katherine’s expression. As did everyone in the room.

  Her face went blank. Disbelief stretched her eyes. “What?”

  Lady Peter mounted a pretense of sympathy. “I’m afraid it’s true, Madame. Lady Adelaide, who witnessed the entire incident, told Lady Thomshire who told Lady Beth that your niece attacked His Lordship for absolutely no reason. She knocked him to the floor, then she kicked him in the... ah... let us just say she kicked him. Lady Beth is certain of it. Lord Humphershire had to be assisted to his feet and led away. Lady Milton says he vomited twice in the foyer.”

  “She... she... Oh my God,” Lady Katherine whispered.

  Not in her wildest nightmares had she imagined Blusette would attack a lord of the realm, that she would knock an English lord to the floor, then kick him! Good God. The scandal would be ruinous. And Lord Humphershire, of all people. The man was a pompous, self-important; vengeful little man. It was whispered he squashed reputations for the sheer malicious pleasure of it. A more odious man could scarcely be found.

  “Naturally, your niece will be censured for this unspeakable performance.” Lady Peter sniffed. “One can’t countenance this sort of outrage at one’s events.”

  Lady Katherine straightened and her pale features tightened. She fixed a stare on Lady Peter’s happily satisfied smile. “What did Lord Humphershire do to elicit the need for my niece to protect herself?”

  Lady Peter’s eyebrows shot upward. “Why, nothing at all. She attacked him without provocation. Undoubtedly she planned everything in advance, a new sensation to call further attention to herself. But this time she went too far. Now the creature will receive her comeuppance.”

  She could not tolerate Lady Peter’s malicious pleasure in Blusette’s disgrace. Lady Katherine’s glove came up and cracked across Lady Peter’s rouged cheek. Both women stared at each other in shock.

  She had not planned to slap Lady Peter, had not imagined herself capable of striking another person. By doing so she had created a second scandal. Remarkably, Katherine did not care. She would care later; she would pace her chamber and wring her hands and groan. But right now, at this moment, she felt nothing but vindication.

  “You nasty old piece of baggage, I will not have you speaking in that tone about my niece!” Standing, she squared her shoulders and glared down her nose at Lady Peter. Her chin and head stiffened imperiously. Her voice rang across the hushed card room. “If Blusette struck Lord Humphershire, it was because he offended her and richly deserved a thrashing. I applaud her action. If our men cannot or will not protect us, we must protect ourselves. I must congratulate my niece on possessing the wit and the courage to defend her honor.”

  Lifting her head high, her cheeks flaming, Lady Katherine regally swept from the silent room.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Explain yourself at once!” Lady Katherine demanded the moment they entered the doors of Grosvenor House. Storming into the drawing room, she tore off her cloak and threw it at Mr. Apple, then rounded on Blusette. “What on earth possessed you?” Throwing out her hands, she shouted after Mr. Apple before Blusette could answer. “Bring us chocolate!”

  “I think wine might better serve,” Cecile suggested. Wringing her hands, she glanced at the others, then turned a worried gaze back on her mother.

  “Whisky,” Aunt Tremble ordered, having the last word. “The situation demands strong spirits. Bring us whisky, Mr. Apple. Bring the decanter.”

  Blu sat on the settee, still wearing her evening cloak. She folded her hands tightly against her lap. She had known Lady Katherine’s reaction would be unpleasant, but she hadn’t imagined it would be this bad. Her Ladyship was in a rage. When Mr. Apple served the whisky, Lady Katherine tossed back a glass as if she swallowed water, then thrust out her tumbler for more. Blu ground her teeth and dropped her gaze to her own untouched drink.

  “We’re ruined, of course,” Lady Katherine said, pacing up and down the drawing room. “The only thing that might—and I stress might—save you, is that the Duke of Dewbury had the presence of mind to lead you immediately to the dance floor. His acceptance may be enough to smooth things over. Eventually.” She tasted another swallow of the whisky, glared at the tumbler in her shaking hand. “Whatever were you thinking? To push a man to the floor and kick him?”

  “I didn’t kick him,” Blu murmured. “I kneed him in the balls and he fell down.”

  “You... oh God!”

  Aunt Tremble fanned herself furiously, attempting to ward off a faint. She managed a dim smile. “Why did you do that, dear?”

  “Because he was leering down my bodice, staring at my breasts as if I were... as if I were a whore!”

  Cecile gasped and lifted her head. “Then you were quite right to do as you did,” she insisted loyally.

  Blu looked at Lady Katherine. “You said no lady allows a gentleman to take liberties. No gentleman offends a lady by remarking her parts. I believed I was defending my honor.”

  “A lady defends her honor by turning her back and walking away. By requesting protection from her escort. If the very worst happened, a lady might raise her voice. A lady never, never resorts to physical violence! What must I say for you to understand the obvious?”

  “Now, Katherine,” Aunt Tremble interrupted. Actually, she was enjoying the uproar immensely, sorry only that she had not been present to witness the actual event. “You know Lord Humphershire. The man is a pig. Many is the time I have wished to strike him myself!”

  “Tremble!” They all stared at her.

  Aunt Tremble raised tiny wrinkled fists and jabbed the air. “Yes, I have decided. I shall strike him the next time I see him for offending our Blusette.” The brave words made her swoon, and she clapped an ammonia-soaked handkerchief to her nose, trying to look fierce above the ruffled edges.

  “Mama,’ Cecile sai
d, rolling nearer the fire. “I overheard Lady Amberly telling someone that you slapped Lady Peter’s face. Surely that cannot be true?”

  “What?” Blu stared at Cecile, then swung to see Lady Katherine’s throat and cheeks flush with crimson. No, such a thing was impossible, unthinkable.

  “I, too, heard that bit of gossip,” Aunt Tremble confirmed from beneath the folds of her handkerchief. “Do tell us, Katherine. Did you slap Lady Peter?”

  “I... Oh lord, I... yes.”

  “Excellent,” Aunt Tremble crowed. “Lady Peter is another creature whom I have always wanted to strike.” Her little fist stirred the air.

  “Tremble, you have gone quite mad. Put aside that whisky at once.”

  Cecile’s mouth dropped and whisky spilled across her ball gown. “I didn’t believe it! I mentioned it only to change the subject. Mama! Did you actually...?”

  Lady Katherine winced at the look of astonishment on their faces, then her gaze settled on Blu. “Lady Peter told me about Lord Humphershire—she told everyone—and she was taking such unspeakable pleasure in Blusette’s disgrace.” Anger mounted in her eyes, constricting her features. “She dared suggest Blusette had contrived the entire incident merely to call attention to herself.”

  “You struck Lady Peter on my behalf?” Blu whispered.

  “Make no mistake, Blusette. I am furious with you. What you did and what you forced me to do is indefensible! You have raised a scandal that will haunt our names and will not soon be forgotten, if ever! I cannot forgive you. If we are ostracized and cut from the lists, you are solely to blame.” Hands fluttering in agitation, she swept toward the door. “I am too beset to continue this conversation.”

  “She struck Lady Peter on my behalf,” Blu marveled, staring at the door Lady Katherine slammed behind her. “Bloody hell!” A dazed smile curved her lips.

  ~ ~ ~

  The number of cards left at Lady Paget’s door dwindled markedly and the flow of invitations slowed to a trickle as London society balanced the scandal against a consuming curiosity to learn what the wild and outrageous Miss Morgan might do next. Drawing rooms buzzed and the tale became distorted and magnified until it bore little correspondence to the truth. Gossips insisted Blusette had clawed Lord Humphershire’s eyes and permanently disfigured him after she had crippled him as a man; they insisted Lady Katherine had engaged in a hair-pulling spectacle with Lady Peter. Nothing as deliciously titillating had arisen in years and no one could discuss anything else.