Had Gemma caught the words? He dared not peek to find out.
The crisp fabric of her gown swished, and the scent of lavender swirled in the air. Then her hands rested on his forearms. He braced himself.
“So there you are, Tavin. The real you.”
No one knew the real him. No one would like him. Or forgive him. Not even God had done that.
Tavin cleared his throat as if the act could rattle all traces of brogue and pain from his throat. “We are not discussing me. We are speaking of your folly.”
“Discussing my follies would take all afternoon.” Her hands fell. “I know you mean to frighten me by your talk of knives, and I assure you, I am horrified. That is why I wish to end this. I may not have experience with weaponry,” she said, her lips twitching, “but if I cannot serve as bait, I can do something else to help you.”
At her quirking brow, he resumed pacing. “Such as?”
“Allow me to accompany you when you call on those sources of yours—”
“Call? We do not leave calling cards, I assure you.”
“—and mayhap I will recognize my attacker among them.”
“Never.”
“I want to help you.”
“If you wish to help me, you will do what I ask. Please, for your sake. Your family’s sake. And mine.”
Her gaze cooled, but she nodded. “Very well. I will not fight you. But do not forget, I am willing to return to Hampshire at any time.”
It could not be that simple, but her eyes held no trace of mischief. She meant her words. She was willing to sacrifice her Season.
“You will return to Hampshire. But you shall have your Season first.”
“I have had it. And the cost of my thirst for new experiences was too dear.” She spit the words as if they were curses. “No, from now on I shall do what the Lord wills, not what I will.”
God’s will. He had forgotten to seek it. He shut his eyes. Lord, may Your will be for the Sovereign to be caught, for my sin to be atoned. For Gemma to be happy. But whate’er Your desire, not my will but Yours be done.
A calm gentleness settled in Tavin’s bones. With it came the assurance the Lord could redeem the situation. Tavin didn’t wish to play as her suitor, but the idea did not panic him as it had an hour ago. He would be better able to watch her.
“I will not kiss you again.” The words were too blunt, but when had he ever known how to speak well? “I should not have done that. It was improper.”
“It was a hasty gesture of relief on our parts.” Her gaze skirted her hem.
“I was relieved.” Yet more than relief inspired him.
“So.” Gemma’s gaze rose. “Are you now my besotted beau, as the Post suggests?”
“Yes. Besotted and moon-eyed.”
“One of us will be jilted quite publicly. I say it should be you.”
Teasing lilted in her tone. Did she find the notion of his escort in public...fun? A twitch tugged at his lips. “No one would question your judgment.”
“Perhaps this is forward, but if the invitation to the Hartwoods’ ball is not retracted, will you escort me?” Did she bat her eyes?
“I should be delighted.”
“And to view the Elgin Marbles? The boys would like to see them.”
“Anything.” Everything.
A flutter at the window caught his eye, indicating they were being watched, and he gestured they should return inside.
Her smile slipped. “I am to blame for all of this. All I wanted was a taste of freedom, and I caused naught but pain. I feel the ache of it deep in my soul, but there is not a thing I can do to remedy it.”
He knew precisely how she felt.
* * *
A sense of peace curled Gemma’s shoulders along with her Kashmir shawl the remainder of the afternoon. Once the boys settled for their afternoon rests, she sought out Amy, finding her in one of the morning room’s comfortable armchairs. A length of bleached linen, taut in a tambour frame, rested on her lap. “May I join you?”
“There is no need for you to ask. Pray be seated.” Amy smiled and plunked the silver needle into the linen. “Are the boys asleep?”
“They lie upon their beds, but that is all I can say.” Gemma took the padded chair across from her sister even though it was too close to the fire burning in the hearth for her comfort—but not from the temperature.
Amy’s brows furrowed. “There is no need for you to be close to the fire. Move to another chair.”
“I wish to look on you.” And this was the best way.
“Let us move to the table, then.” Amy slipped a pair of scissors into the beaded huswife alongside her collection of needles and gathered up the linen.
“No.” Gemma caught her sister’s hand. “You must stay warm. It is evident you are still unwell. And I have contributed to your illness.”
“How so?” Faint dimpling appeared in Amy’s pale cheeks.
“You are fatigued. You’ve lacked color in your cheeks for weeks now, and ’tis because I brought this trouble on you.” Hot tears stung her eyes. “You and Wyling are good to me, yet I was greedy for more. I insisted we attend the masque. I made you cry. I am so sorry.” She abandoned the chair and knelt at Amy’s feet.
“Dear Gem.” Amy’s hands were gentle on Gemma’s crown. “You know I named you, did you not?”
Gemma swiped her eyes, so as not to drip on Amy’s needlework. “No.”
“I had been reading something Italian and I thought Gemma the most wonderful name, so I convinced Mama. A gem is what you will always be to me. My precious sister.”
The urge to make a harsh noise of disagreement rumbled in Gemma’s throat, but she swallowed it down. Amy had taught her she was prized in the eyes of God, no matter her emotions. “I nevertheless regret causing such trouble by my selfishness.”
“All is well between us, sweet sister.”
Gemma rose to embrace her sister. “I do not deserve you.”
“If it relieves you, you did not make me ill.” Amy’s cheeks reddened. “That is all Wyling’s doing.”
Wyling had hurt her? Her jaw slackened. “Amy.”
“I am...increasing.”
Gemma dropped to her knees again. “A baby?” After over six years of marriage?
“At long last.” Amy was crying and laughing at the same time. “I know the subject is not fit for maiden ears, but how could I not tell you we are to be blessed by year’s end?”
“How could God’s blessings be unfit for my ears? Oh, darling.” She crushed her sister to her. “What joy.” Thank You, Lord.
“I agree.” Amy’s voice was muffled against Gemma’s shoulder.
Gemma pulled back from her sister. “Have I hurt you?”
Amy’s grin stretched over her cheeks. “I feel wonderful.”
A baby, at long last. Gemma laughed. “So do I.”
* * *
“He feels unwell.” The woman reminded Tavin of a falcon—beak nosed, her hand clutching the staircase banister like talons. Brown in hair and dress, she peered at him with small, dark eyes. “You must not weary him.”
Tavin nodded. He would do well to obey this daughter-in-law of Mr. Theophilus Grenville, for with one false word, he would be sent from the sickroom. And he needed to complete this interview.
Ascending the stairs, his fingers found the scrap of green ribbon in his pocket, his constant reminder of what had happened atop Verity Hill. Would he now learn another clue as to the identity of the Sovereign?
Gemma’s features flashed before his eyes. As ever when it did, his heart pattered hard and fast, like rain against a windowpane. Tavin shook his head, focusing on the task at hand.
Mrs. Grenville preceded him into a stale, closed-up room decorated in shades of blue. A man of some six
ty years was propped in bed against numerous pillows, a bandage wrapped about his balding head.
“Mr. Grenville?” Tavin bowed. “Thank you for seeing me.”
“My daughter-in-law tells me you are the one who found me. Knox, is it?”
“It is. I am gratified to see you sitting up. You took quite a knock on the head.”
“Might have killed me.” Outrage emanated from Grenville’s quivering limbs.
The daughter-in-law shoved past Tavin. “Do not excite yourself. The physician said to rest.” She pulled the coverlet over Mr. Grenville’s bony chest.
“I am not an invalid, Elspeth.” He scowled at her, then at Tavin. “So I owe you thanks?”
He sounded more aggrieved than appreciative, but Tavin dipped his head. “I’m relieved you are well, but I would see your attacker brought to justice. Did you observe him?”
“As he struck me on the back of the head? How is a man supposed to see that?”
No help there. “Your domino and entrée were stolen, but not your purse. Perchance the attacker targeted you because he wished to attend the Comtesse du Vertaile’s masque. Did you discuss your plans for the evening with a stranger?”
“Who are you, a Bow Street Runner?” Grenville harrumphed. “I always attend the comtesse’s masques. Everyone of consequence knows that.”
“Begging your pardon, then.”
“Do we know one another? Knox, you said.” Grenville’s eyes sparked like flint in the dim room. “I knew your mother. Lady Cassandra Stanhope, before she wed. You favor her, with your dark hair and eyes.”
Tavin’s muscles stiffened. “Yes.”
“A diamond of the first water, she was. Everyone’s tongues wagged about her, even before she ran off with that Scot.”
Hamish Knox. My father. A muscle worked in Tavin’s jaw.
“Whatever happened to her?”
Tavin swallowed hard. It was always the same when peers remembered his mother. First, they recalled her beauty and popularity. Second, her scandal. The mention of the latter was impolite, yet everyone did it, perhaps because they considered Tavin—the younger son of an eloped couple who had hidden the rest of their too-short lives in Scotland—inferior.
Invoke Kelworth. His grandmother had taught him to remind everyone of his ancestry. But Grenville was not worth the effort.
“Until their death in a carriage accident some years ago, my parents were happy, which is what concerned you, I am sure.” Tavin bowed. “Thank you for your time. Mr. Grenville, Mrs. Grenville.”
He turned on his heel, quit the musty-smelling room and left the house. Heat pounded in his temples, his fists, in his feet as he stomped down the street.
He’d received no answers from Grenville, but he had gotten a reminder. He did not belong among the so-called bon ton, and he never would. He would have to pretend a confidence he did not feel openly escorting Gemma to the Hartwoods’ ball and to view the Elgin Marbles and whatever else she wished to do while she crammed a lifetime’s entertainment into one short Season. He did not belong in London but, for her sake, he would bear it.
And looking at it that way, the prospect of bearing the weight of his dislike of society didn’t weigh as heavily on him.
In fact, it made him smile.
Chapter Fifteen
The morning after the Hartwoods’ ball, Gemma stood near the great staircase at Montague House, where the Elgin Marbles were displayed, and smiled at Tavin. “I do not know what you mean.”
“I am certain you do.” His knowing grin was utterly charming despite his teasing. “I warned you last night that you’d regret dancing half the night away, yet you wouldn’t listen. And here you are, weary already and we haven’t yet begun.”
Pity he was correct. Her feet did ache, but she’d not share such a private tidbit with him. Instead, she turned to the boys. “Are you ready to view the statues?”
“I have wanted to view them forever.” Petey nodded.
“Me, too.” Eddie said, his gloved finger at his rosy lips. “Ever and ever.”
Forever and ever, yet the pieces from the Athens Parthenon had been acquired by the British Museum only a year ago. Gemma chuckled and tucked Eddie’s hand in hers. “There are rooms upon rooms to explore.” Even though the arches of her feet protested the plan.
“Rooms upon rooms,” Tavin echoed, chuckling. The sound drew curious gazes from other museum patrons filling the halls to view Lord Elgin’s marbles.
A few female glances lingered on Tavin, and the impulse to glare at them narrowed Gemma’s eyes. As if she was jealous. A choke tickled the back of her throat. Ridiculous. She had no feelings like that for Tavin Knox.
Oh, he was handsome. She had always thought so, from the moment of their introduction. His black coat fit his muscular frame to perfection; his dark eyes twinkled, and an errant lock curled over his brow.
But he was a government operative forced to protect her, and she was a spinster aunt with a murderer pursuing her. Their relationship was an arrangement based on security. Not l—
Love? The museum grew hot. And, oh, how tight had she fastened the Pomona-green ribbon of her bonnet under her chin, anyway? Her fingers fought the urge to loosen it.
Instead, she required both hands to grasp her nephews’ fingers. Waiting at a discreet distance, the spindle-legged, young under-librarian assigned to escort them through the museum eyed the boys with suspicion, as if he did not approve of their presence. True, Wyling had needed to acquire permission to include the children this morning. But they were no trouble. Gemma smiled at them, pleased by their patience. “Another minute for Uncle Wyling to finish his conversation, and we will view the marbles and all the other treasures.”
Wyling lingered a few paces behind, conversing the price of corn with Viscount Hadley. Amy suffered under the persistent tittering of Hadley’s tiny viscountess, the phrase “young Mr. Scarcliff” repeated over and over. As if Gemma cared of him. Frances’s lost friendship, however, was another matter. She frowned.
Tavin’s gaze met hers, his brows scrunched in sympathy. “Do not listen to Lady Hadley. Remember, the Hartwoods welcomed you to their ball last night. Most of the whispers about you mention Tavin Knox, the Duke of Kelworth’s odd nephew, losing his temper and escorting you to last night’s ball.”
“Did you dance with Aunt Gem at the Hartwoods’?” Petey rocked on his heels.
“Petey.” Warmth lapped up Gemma’s cheeks.
“Alas, I do not dance.” Tavin smirked.
Of course he did not dance. He was too busy strolling about the room’s perimeter and monitoring the grounds.
Gemma had not worried about the Sovereign at the Hartwoods’. No one wore disguises. If the Sovereign had joined the party, one nod and Tavin would have trounced the villain.
Although it must be difficult for him to guard her in a heavy crowd, like now, when it seemed all of London had turned out to view the Elgin Marbles. Did she make things yet more problematic for him by being here?
The ache in Gemma’s feet sprouted to her stomach. Father, You are with me. You’ve sent Tavin to watch over us. Please protect us all.
Tavin’s brow furrowed, his gaze raking her features. “Something wrong?”
“Perhaps we should have stayed at home, away from people.”
“Stayed home for you to rest, mayhap, but if you refer to me protecting you?” He feigned a look of offense.
“Come, Aunt Gem.” Petey stood on his toes and craned his neck. “I see the preserved giraffes on the landing.”
“We must wait for Aunt Amy and Uncle Wyling.” But both boys tugged at her hands. The under-librarian’s eyes narrowed.
“We’ve waited forever.” Petey sighed.
“Ever and ever.” Eddie nodded.
Gemma willed herself not t
o grow impatient, too. Pity the under-librarian didn’t whet the boys’ appetites by informing them what they’d see, but the fellow no doubt dismissed the children as insignificant and preferred to await Wyling. She exchanged looks with Tavin.
He smiled. “While we wait, let’s look at the curiosities in that cabinet over there.”
Eddie sucked his free finger and Petey scowled, but they obediently accompanied her to peer into the display case. A few manuscripts did not hold their interest, but then Tavin gasped. “I say.”
“What?” Petey hopped to his toes. Eddie bounced. Even Gemma leaned down, but all she saw was a cluster of minerals, side by side.
Tavin made a show of squinting. “I recall a tale from my youth of the seven gemstones. By order of King Richard the Lionheart, a long-forgotten brotherhood of knights was tasked with protecting the gems from a mysterious foe while the king went on crusade, and when he returned, he would sell the gems to create an even larger army of knights.”
Smart, that Tavin. Anything to do with knights was bound to hold their attention. Gemma smiled at his foray into the world of imagination. “Is that so?”
“’Twas only a tale.”
A tale he’d just made up, jiffy-on-the-spot, no doubt. Tavin shrugged, but winked at her.
Petey blinked. “I count seven. And see, that one is purple. Is it an ameth-oh, that purple stone?”
“It is,” Gemma answered in truth.
“I say they are King Richard’s gems.” Eddie hopped.
“The knights served the king to the death.” Petey rocked from one foot to another.
“I am King Richard,” Eddie declared.
“You are not.” Petey spun. “He was the eldest, like me. And he had a beard.”
“So do I.” Eddie curled his index finger over his top lip, like a mustache. “I shave it.”
“How many days a week?” Tavin asked, looking serious.
Gemma giggled, then caught Amy’s eye. At last, Viscount and Viscountess Hadley nodded their farewells, and Amy and Wyling came alongside them, their mouths turned down in apology.
“Forgive me. We had hoped for a meeting with the Prince Regent, but he has gone to Brighton.” Wyling’s brow creased. “With the price of corn continuing to rise and men gathering in protest, this is not the time to—” He shook his head. “This is neither the time nor place for politics. Or anything else. Shall we?”
The Reluctant Guardian Page 14
