An Improper Suitor

by Monica Fairview

  ‘Can’t it wait a while?’ she asked.

  Julia raised her hand to her temple and tried to look as if a lancing pain was driving through her head. ‘I’m sorry. But the lights, and the crowd …’

  ‘Why don’t you take Aunt Viola with you?’

  ‘She’s in the middle of a card game,’ said Julia, ‘you know how she hates to be interrupted.’

  Lady Bullfinch snorted, sending Julia a piercing glance. ‘Very well. Try to get some rest.’

  Julia nodded.

  As soon as they were safely back on the dance floor, she pressed on through the crowds to the door. By the time she was at the entrance, her toes felt as though they had gone through a clothes press. Her feet had been trodden on more times than she could tell, and the thin silk material of her slippers offered no protection.

  She started as a black shadow detached itself from the shadows by the wall and came in her direction. She let out a breath of relief when she realized it was Lionel. He had abandoned his white and black disguise.

  ‘You should be more cautious,’ he said. ‘What if it was Neave?’

  ‘He’s after different prey, don’t you think?’

  He gripped her suddenly and, drawing her back toward the shadows, crushed his mouth to hers. There was nothing lover-like in the kiss. It pinned her down, a moth caught in the light. She struggled to free herself, but his iron arms held her in place.

  Abruptly, the kiss changed. His lips softened and began to move, exploring. She stopped struggling, shocked by the tides of sensation churning through her. Her arms reached up to lock his head down, pulling him closer. She could no longer breathe, but she didn’t care. She just wanted the sensations to continue.

  He pulled away, gently.

  She uttered an incoherent protest. She was tired of being pushed away, just as she was starting to enjoy herself.

  ‘Hush,’ he whispered, a silencing finger to her lips. He indicated with his head.

  She looked to the right. It was Neave. He had just passed her by, and was now descending the steps. He was wearing a bright red cloak, but had removed his domino. She could tell from his stiff back that he was on the alert, searching for something. Perhaps he had noticed that she had left and come to investigate.

  ‘I’m sorry for my unimaginative attempt to conceal you,’ he said, ruefully, running his finger through his hair. ‘I couldn’t think of anything else on the spur of the moment.’

  She was glad it was dark because so much heat rushed to her face, she must have looked like lobster. So he hadn’t kissed her in an overwhelming moment of passion, after all. And she, foolish as she was, had practically thrown herself at him, yet again.

  ‘I hope you’ll use your imagination next time,’ she hissed. ‘I could have been completely compromised.’

  He grinned. ‘It wouldn’t have been the first time,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry, I would have offered for you again.’

  ‘I hardly think that’s funny.’

  He shrugged, still grinning. ‘I doubt that many could have known you, with that domino covering your eyes.’

  In the confusion of the kiss she had forgotten about the mask.

  She ignored him and peered into the street. ‘I wonder where Lord Medlow is?’

  As if on cue, a carriage drew up. The door opened and Lord Medlow’s head emerged. She took a deep breath.

  ‘Well, here goes,’ she said. She turned to Lionel, reluctant to leave him. ‘I wish you luck.’

  He nodded. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll bring her to you safely.’

  He handed her into the carriage, his hand lingering on hers. She clung to it, suddenly afraid, wondering if something terrible was about to happen.

  By the time she had settled into her seat enough to look out of the window, he had disappeared once more into the shadows.

  The ride through the darkness was uneventful. After a brief attempt at small talk, Lord Neville abandoned any attempt at conversation. She could hardly blame him. His daughter’s future was at stake.

  He had brought along Amelia’s maid, Hannah, to lend some propriety to the situation. Beyond an initial greeting, Hannah said nothing. She seemed subdued. No doubt she had been under a great deal of pressure, even blamed for her mistress’ elopement. Julia tried to engage Hannah in conversation, but under Lord Medlow’s withering eye the maid faltered so badly that Julia was obliged to give up.

  They left the lamplight of London behind and moved into an area where the buildings were large and squat and lights were few and far between. The carriage moved rapidly, unhampered by traffic. A halfhearted moon peered periodically from behind the clouds, giving her a brief glimpse of her surroundings, then disappearing again.

  It was essential that they arrive at the inn before the others. The agreement was that they would stop at the inn at the East India Docks, supposedly to arrange for a fresh pair. Amelia’s father would open the carriage door when they arrived, intercepting the fleeing couple.

  That is, if Neave had not discovered already that his coachman was Lionel. And had not found out that the carriage was heading out to the docks instead of north.

  She had never liked that part of the plan. She was sure Neave was bound to look out of the window at some point.

  But Lionel had argued that Neave would keep the curtains drawn, not wanting Amelia to be recognized. And that a man intent on an elopement would have no reason to suspect foul play.

  Yet even while worry gnawed at her that something would happen to Lionel, she still found herself revisiting that unexpected kiss. She relived the myriad sensations it stirred in her, over and over. It was no longer possible to dismiss the longing in her, the need that had broken open the shell that had enveloped her. She could no more control it than she could control her heartbeat or stop her breathing.

  She wanted nothing else but to be held by him, to caress him, to move her lips across his skin, to feel his fingers touching her, his body against hers.

  I thought myself immune to the temptations offered by rakes like Lionel, but I was very mistaken. Even worse, she revelled in it. All sense of perspective was gone. She finally understood what her grandmother called those carnal urges that will drive a woman to forget everything. A strange urgency gripped her by the throat and demanded to be satisfied.

  She knew he did not love her. That he had no intention of marrying her. And to think that when Grannie threatened to marry me to Lionel, it had seemed like the worst thing that could happen to me! Even more strange, I actually had the opportunity to marry him, and I tossed it away without a second thought.

  She would no longer deny it. She loved Lionel. And even if it was too late to marry him, even if she had let that chance slip away, she would not deny herself the pleasure she could find in his arms. She would not live her life without at least once experiencing the joys of love.

  She knew Grannie would give her blessing. Perhaps that was what she had intended all along. To give Julia a chance to come out from behind her protective wall and enjoy what life had to offer.

  Tonight, if they stayed at the inn, which was likely, the stage was set. It would be a simple matter to creep into his room and overcome any reluctance he may have.

  But first he would have to return to her safely.

  They took refreshments in the private parlour. Lord Medlow behaved as though there was no one in the room. His gaze was distant, and from time to time he ground his teeth, grating them so hard she grew certain they would break.

  She wished he would start up some conversation. Any trivial chit chat would do. But his closed face did not invite trivialities, and she dared not intrude on a complete stranger at such a delicate moment. Hannah sat completely still in a corner. She was tempted to engage her in a whispered conversation, but again held back.

  The silence in the room stretched onwards, the quiet outside the inn unbroken. The taproom provided the only source of noise, though there were only a few scattered men enjoying a glass of ale and a meal. She found herse
lf straining to overhear their conversation, but they were too far away to make out anything.

  She folded her hands one way. Folded them another way. If she had brought a book she could have kept herself occupied.

  Anxiety gripped her. Suppose Neave happened to look out of the window? Suppose he had discovered his coachman gone right at the beginning? Suppose Lionel was lying bleeding on some deserted street, blood flowing from a head wound?

  She could stand her speculation no longer. She rose and went to the mantel to examine the clock there. Not interesting. She picked it up, looked at it closely, put it down again. She moved slowly to examine a painting of a fox hunt hanging on the wall, then a painting of an Indiaman riding the waves.

  Lord Medlow’s eyes bore holes into her back.

  She returned to her seat, arranged her gown around her very carefully.

  At last the clatter of carriage wheels reached her ears. She jumped up.

  ‘Stay out of sight for the moment,’ commanded Lord Medlow.

  She went to the parlour window and opened it. It overlooked the courtyard where the carriage stood.

  Neave opened the door of the carriage.

  ‘What the devil’s going on?’ he said to the coachman. ‘Why have you stopped here? What is this wretched place?’

  Lord Medlow stepped forward. ‘I believe my daughter is with you.’

  Neave’s eyes opened wide. Under the pale light, his face turned ghostly white. He threw a desperate look around him. Lionel stepped forward, bringing his face into the light. Benny did the same.

  Neave was surrounded.

  A cry came from inside the coach. Amelia appeared in the doorway. Everyone turned towards her. ‘Look out!’ she said. ‘He’s armed.’

  In the split second during which their attention turned towards her, he had whipped out his pistol.

  ‘Nobody move, or I’ll shoot her,’ he said, pointing the muzzle at Amelia. He backed up steadily towards the inn.

  Lionel, who had started to move stealthily towards him, came to a standstill. The three men stood immobile in the courtyard, dark statues under the grim light.

  Neave continued to sidle towards the building. Julia expected him to make a sprint for the alleyway beyond the inn, where a number of warehouses were located. Her mind raced frantically, wondering what she could do to foil his escape.

  The static courtyard suddenly sprang into action. Lionel, who was closest to Neave, rashly tried to throw himself at Neave. The pistol went off.

  Julia started to run out, to see if Lionel had been wounded. But she did not have time to see if the shot had found a mark. Now that the pistol was empty, the courtyard turned into a blur of figures converging on Neave.

  The window was suddenly wrenched from her hand, and Neave hauled himself inside. Hannah screamed. Remembering his knife on the day he had tried to abduct her, Julia jumped aside quickly just as he reached out to grab her. She knew he would use her as a shield.

  Her mind cleared as everything seemed to slow down. She tore off her paisley shawl and threw it at him, making sure to cover his face. She gripped the two ends as hard as she could as he struggled to break free. He pulled at it aggressively. She would not be able to hold him for long.

  She signalled to Hannah, who was by the fireplace. The poker was in plain sight. She nodded towards it. She did not want to alert him by speaking.

  Hannah looked at the poker uncertainly. Julia gritted her teeth. In a few seconds more, Neave would be free. His strength was superior to hers, and the delicate material of the shawl was ready to give.

  Hannah picked up the poker.

  ‘Hannah! Now!’ she shouted, knowing he was about to get away. Hannah crept closer and raised it. She hesitated.

  The edge of the shawl was torn from Julia’s hands. She dived for the poker, wrested it out of Hannah’s hands, and with a quick movement brought it down on to Neave. He saw it coming and raised his arm. But it slipped through, striking him on the corner of the forehead.

  He collapsed to the ground.

  Benny crashed through the window, hurling himself at the falling Neave. They fell to the ground together.

  Lionel was next. But he came slowly. He placed one leg over the window frame, then the other. As he swung his leg over the sill, a trickle of blood travelled down the wall below the frame.

  There was plenty of time for him to observe that Neave was on the ground, with Benny struggling to rise up.

  ‘Thank God, Benny,’ said Lionel. ‘You got him.’

  Lord Medlow appeared in the doorway, completely out of breath. He shut the door behind him. ‘You shan’t get away, Neave—’ He spotted Neave on the floor, with Benny on top of him. ‘Well done, Benedict,’ he said.

  Benny rose and straightened his clothes. ‘Actually, I had nothing to do with it at all. It was all Miss Swifton’s doing.’

  The two men’s eyes went to the poker in Julia’s hand.

  ‘Good God!’ said Lord Medlow. ‘I never thought I’d see the day when I would be bested by a female.’

  Amelia’s head appeared through the window. ‘You got him!’ she said, beaming at Julia. ‘I knew you would do it as soon as I saw him heading for the window. Isn’t she wonderful?’ she asked the assembled company.

  Lionel gave a groan and fell back on to the first armchair he could find. ‘Sorry, ladies. I know this is hardly polite—’

  Julia flew across the room. ‘Someone fetch the doctor,’ she said, noticing in some distant part of her mind that she sounded like her grandmother. But she could not just let them stand around while Lionel bled to death. ‘And he needs to be bandaged.’

  Lord Medlow opened the door and bellowed for the innkeeper. A flurry of movement brought a large, red-faced woman into the room, whom the innkeeper introduced as Mrs Taddle, his wife. She was followed by two maids carrying white sheets and water.

  Lionel’s face had turned a pasty white, the colour of porridge. His lips were pressed close together, and Julia knew he was struggling not to cry out in pain. She slipped her fingers into his. ‘Hold on,’ she whispered, her face close to his. ‘You’ll be up and about in no time.’

  His eyes opened and stared straight into hers. He made a feeble attempt to smile.

  ‘You can’t keep your hands away from me, can you?’ he murmured.

  She smiled back. ‘And whose fault is that?’ she said, teasingly.

  His smile widened, and he closed his eyes again. Mrs Taddle was cleaning the wound, inspecting it with experienced eyes. ‘It’s nought but a surface scratch,’ she said. ‘Nothing to worry about. The bullet’s not lodged inside. He’s just lost a bit of blood. Makes ’em weak.’

  She heaved a sigh of relief. ‘Are you certain?’ she asked.

  ‘As certain as I am my name’s Mary,’ she said, cheerfully. ‘My first husband was a soldier, God rest his soul,’ she said. ‘I followed the drum with him for three years. I know what a bad wound looks like, and this isn’t it.’

  She raised her red face from her task to throw her a shrewd glance. ‘Don’t worry, lass,’ she said. ‘He’ll survive to marry you.’

  Heat rushed to her face. She dropped his hand like a hot kettle and moved back. His eyes opened. They were full of laughter.

  ‘You should have told her you have already turned me down,’ he remarked.

  Julia stepped away quickly. She cast a look around to see if any of the others had heard. Fortunately, no one paid them any attention.

  Lord Medlow had left the room.

  Benny was busy tying Neave’s hands and feet with a piece of cord the innkeeper had given him. A bruise on his chin was turning scarlet and purple.

  Amelia sat in an armchair, staring down at Neave. Her neat gold curls were in disarray, and her whole body drooped. A very wilted flower.

  Julia’s heart went out to her. Nobody had given her a thought. Her father had not even paused to talk to her or to ask her if she had been harmed in any way.

  She could only imagine the pain
and humiliation Amelia must be going through. All caused by Julia’s betrayal. She would never speak to Julia again, once she knew.

  Julia brought a chair from the table and placed it next to Amelia’s. Amelia smiled up at her, a pale, thin smile. A large red mark stained her left cheek.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Julia. ‘About Neave.’ She wasn’t quite ready yet to tell Amelia the truth.

  She shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. She coloured and looked down at her hands. ‘I’m grateful to you for putting a stop to it. I was unbelievably foolish. I don’t know how I’ll ever look Papa in the face again.’

  ‘But Neave—’ ‘Neave?’ She examined the prone figure on the ground. ‘It didn’t take long for me to find out I’d made a mistake.’ She settled back in her chair, clearly ready to give Julia an account of the whole ride.

  Julia was tired. The events of the evening were beginning to take their toll. She would have preferred to wait until the next day to hear what Amelia had to say. But she had brought the situation upon her friend. Besides, she was curious to know what Neave had done to turn Amelia against him.

  ‘It wasn’t at all romantic,’ said Amelia, wrinkling her nose in aversion. ‘He’d been drinking, and he’d brought a bottle of brandy with him. He kept taking sips of it, which wasn’t at all nice. I expected him to be poetic or something. But he wasn’t. Just sat there drinking.’

  She paused, reliving her disillusionment. ‘Then he asked me if I’d brought the money. I’d brought everything I could, but I couldn’t lay my hands on any more because I didn’t want anyone to be suspicious.’ She looked towards the doorway from which her father had left. ‘I get a quarterly allowance, you know. But I’d spent a lot of it already on ribbons and hats and things. I don’t know what he expected.’ She shook her head. ‘He opened my reticule and counted out the money, which took ages because he kept dropping it. When he finished he sort of snarled and tossed it straight at me. There were coins everywhere.’

  She made a gesture of disgust. ‘That’s when he changed completely. “You foolish chit,” he said. “How do you think we’re going to make it to the border?” And then he struck me, hard, against the jaw.’ Amelia put her hand to her bruise. ‘It hurt.’ She paused and looked at Julia. ‘That had never happened to me. Nobody ever hit me, you know.’