by Brenda Hiatt
And so what if she was? If Noel had done nothing else for her, he had shown her how much happier she could be when she was herself— playing chess, arguing politics . . . kissing him.
No! That part was not her. It couldn't be. Studious Rowena Riverstone, a wanton? Absurd. It was simply an error in judgement, nothing more.
But he had praised her latest essay —even if he had no idea she had written it. She picked up the Political Register, which she'd had Matthilda bring with her breakfast tray, the meal upon it still untouched.
Noel had said this was MRR's best essay yet, she remembered with a reluctant smile. Reading over it, she had to agree. She must work harder in future to convey her own opinions, as they could clearly hold their own against those of the other contributors, learned men all.
Turning the page, her eye fell on a small, boxed notice at the bottom which she had not noticed in yesterday's quick perusal.
To MRR: The PR has 16 letters to forward. Please advise where we may send or deposit them for your convenient retrieval.—WC
Rowena frowned. Sixteen letters, for her? It had never occurred to her that people might write to MRR— though it should have, since she had written to Mr. Richards after reading his treatise. Sixteen letters! What might they say? And how could she obtain them without disclosing her identity?
She read the notice again. Send or deposit. Presumably she could choose a location, they could leave the letters there, and she could retrieve them later, with no one the wiser. But what location?
Green Park was just across Picadilly from Hardwyck Hall. She recalled a large, lichen-covered rock near the entrance, with a small stand of trees nearby. Perhaps the letters could be left behind that rock? They would be at the mercy of the elements, but the weather was fine just now. If she retrieved them within hours of their being left, they should not be damaged.
Her decision made, she went to the writing desk for paper and pen and wrote a quick letter requesting that the letters be deposited by that rock by noon tomorrow. She folded it, addressed it as she did her essays, then rang for Matthilda.
"Help me into the yellow round dress, please," she said when the maid appeared. "It's time I went downstairs."
Once she was dressed, she picked up the letter she'd just written and handed it to Matthilda. "Post this for me as soon as possible. Do as you did Monday —tell no one what you are doing, and return as quickly as possible."
"Yes, Miss." Though Matthilda looked curious, just as she had on Monday, she asked no questions. She took the letter and left.
That brief flurry of excitement over, Rowena returned to her earlier brooding, but found she did not feel so hopeless as she had before. The thought of those letters and what might be in them lifted her spirits somewhat. Perhaps it was even possible that she and Noel could come to some sort of understanding.
Still, the idea of facing him after last night made her flush with anticipated embarrassment. What could she possibly say to him? What might he say to her? Aside from the way they had parted, he had seen her naked.
Before leaving the room, she donned her spectacles. Pearl should not mind, since her gift underscored her bookishness. Besides, being unable to see clearly made her feel vunerable, and she already felt quite vulnerable enough.
CHAPTER 16
Lester Richards summoned a smile for Miss Riverstone when she entered the parlor. Last night he had let his temper get the better of his judgement, but once it cooled he realized that he could still make use of the girl, oddity that she was.
She was already sympathetic to the Spencean cause. With some flattery, she might be induced to get the information he needed from her brother. Or, he might convince her to give him specifics on Paxton's movements and motives, should she discover them.
For either purpose, he needed her trust.
"Miss Riverstone," he exclaimed, rising as she entered. "You look particularly lovely today." She did not, of course, wearing those damned spectacles again, not to mention the freckles marring her face. "I hope you will forgive my churlishness last night."
As he'd hoped, she moved at once to sit by him, ignoring Paxton, who had also risen at her entrance. "Thank you, Mr. Richards. But I thought you remarkably polite, given the circumstances."
He must have hid his anger better than he'd realized. Habit was a useful thing, he reflected.
"I am relieved to hear it," he said with perfect truth. "Dare I hope you will allow me a dance this evening, in that case?" A plain, bookish sort like Miss Riverstone should be absurdly easy to charm.
"Certainly," she responded with a smile.
Lady Hardwyck then called her attention to the other callers, including that insufferable pup Galloway who persisted in pursuing her. When she finally met Paxton's eye, Richards noticed that her color rose and that she quickly glanced away. Paxton seemed similarly affected, though he concealed it better.
So, the wind lay that way, did it? So much the better. It would make the chit excellent bait to lure Paxton to his doom, once Richards had what he needed from her. Then, he could rid himself of two problems at one stroke.
* * *
Noel kept his expression rigidly neutral. He would have avoided this encounter entirely if he did not feel an obligation to keep both Richards and Rowena under observation. Facing enemy fire would have been preferable, however.
He had watched as Rowena accepted compliments from Richards, fighting down a ridiculous urge to call the man out on the spot. Not only had he said nothing to reasonably provoke such a response, but any openly hostile action toward Richards on his part would certainly endanger his mission.
He could not see Rowena again without remembering —all too vividly! —how she had felt in his arms last night, how lovely she looked unclothed. It was all he could do to disguise his physical reaction to that memory.
When she spoke with Galloway and his cousin, it did not cause Noel the same pang of jealousy— probably because she had not been protecting either of them when she pretended to want him last night. If she had been pretending. Surely such an innocent could not counterfeit her body's responses so convincingly?
When she finally turned toward Noel, her reluctance was obvious. "Mr. Paxton." She coolly inclined her head, though her heightened color revealed her disquiet.
"Miss Riverstone," he responded just as coolly. When he tried to hold her gaze she flinched away, turning back to Richards at her side.
Damn him.
He did not, of course, believe that Rowena had any romantic inclinations toward Richards. She simply admired his mind —and, if he was who Noel thought he was, he was certainly crafty enough. Soon, he hoped to have the necessary proof . . .
Smiling fixedly at Lady Hardwyck as she chatted with the others, Noel felt sudden doubt. Was it possible that he was blinding himself to evidence that might point to other suspects simply because he so badly wanted Richards to be a villain? Surely not. Surely he was more objective, more professional, than that.
Now, however, he wondered. Rowena Riverstone clouded his thinking. She had done so almost from the first evening he met her. What if he were now pursing phantasms because of it?
All he had on Richards so far was an unusual turn of phrase, and the circumstantial evidence of his gaming with certain men. Suppose his trap for the essayist did not work? He would be no further ahead than he was now. He needed more.
It was sheer torture pretending interest in the chatter around him as he waited for Richards to take his leave. When he finally did, Noel waited only a moment or two before rising himself.
"Pray excuse me, Lady Hardwyck," he said, resolutely refusing to glance Rowena's way. "I have business to attend."
"Or course," his hostess responded. She cast a curious look at Rowena, but Noel would not follow her gaze. "We will see you tonight, then."
He bowed his assent and headed up to his chamber to retrieve his hat and inform Kemp of his plans. There was one person who should have information on Richards' whereabouts dur
ing the war, solidifying his case against the man—or destroying it. He would discover where Richards' father might be and arrange an interview.
* * *
Rowena was finding this ball to be a vastly different experience from her first, the week before. This time she knew well over half of the attendees —and could recognize them, as she was wearing her spectacles.
Pearl had frowned when she'd come down for dinner with her eyeglasses on, but then had shrugged. "I suppose you've made most of the first impressions you're likely to by now, and I couldn't very well expect you to go about half-blind indefinitely. You've been a good sport, Rowena."
"Could I do less, after all you've done for me?" she had responded.
At the moment, however, Rowena wondered whether introducing her to Noel Paxton counterbalanced all the good Pearl had done. Judging by the wretched feeling in the pit of her stomach when he entered the ballroom, she thought perhaps it did.
Meeting his eyes across the room for only the briefest instant brought all the wanton feelings from last night flooding back, just as seeing him in the parlor this afternoon had done. Now, though she could not bring herself to look his way again, her entire being was focused on Noel, half a room away. She felt his eyes upon her like a physical caress —or was she only imagining that?
Her dance card was nearly full, but she had left the waltzes open, using the excuse that she was yet too unskilled at that dance. She knew, however, that she was secretly hoping Noel might claim those dances as he had before— unlikely as it seemed, given the constraint between them now.
"Good evening, Rowena," Lady Marcus greeted her just then, giving her a welcome excuse to turn her back to Noel, who was moving slowly in her direction. "Are those spectacles new? They're really quite becoming."
Rowena had to laugh at Quinn's diplomacy. "Thank you, but no. I've worn them most of my life, and only left them off earlier at Pearl's insistence. It's much nicer to be able to see, however."
"My, that was courageous of you, I must say. I imagine it was rather distressing not to be able to see things clearly, especially with so many strangers about."
"Yes, it was, rather. But a novel experience nonetheless. If nothing else, it forced me to give my full attention to whoever I happened to be speaking with, as I could not recognize anyone more than a few paces away."
Now, however, she could see people all too clearly— including Noel, who had just moved past them to exchange greetings with her brother. Rowena's heart did an odd little flip at the sight of his handsome profile.
Quinn was chuckling. "That explains why the gentlemen were all so taken with you. They love nothing more than a woman who will give them her undivided attention, I have noticed."
"A lesson I will try to remember," Rowena said lightly. "I see my brother over there. If you will excuse me, I need to speak with him before the dancing begins."
By the time she reached Nelson, Noel had moved on, to her relief —and disappointment. He was now speaking with the Melks sisters. Securing dances, no doubt.
"Ro! There you are. Any progress?" Nelson greeted her eagerly.
Hastily, she pulled her attention back to her brother. Noel's movements were nothing to her, after all.
"Yes indeed. Substantial progress," she replied. "You are no longer in debt to Mr. Richards." She pulled his vouchers from her book-shaped reticule and handed them to him.
He took them, his mouth dropping open in surprise. "How the devil did you persuade him?" His eyes widened in alarm. "You didn't do anything— improper, did you, Ro? I told you Richards is a crack shot. I'd as soon not be obliged to call him out to defend your honor."
Rowena choked on a laugh that was almost a sob, remembering just how improper she'd been— though not with Lester Richards. "Of course not, Nelson. How can you ask?" She would not blush. "I wiped out your debt with a wager of my own, if you must know."
His eyes widened even further. "You played Richards at cards —and won?"
"Not cards. Chess." That memory still had the power to make her smile.
Nelson stared at her a moment longer, then began to laugh. "And I always said you were wasting your time at that game. Damned if you didn't find a way to make it pay off!" He clapped her on the shoulder as he might a man. "You're too clever by half, Ro, but for once I'm dashed grateful for it."
"Clever. Yes." She had apparently exhausted all her cleverness on that chess match with Richards, judging by her behavior for the remainder of last evening. "At any rate, you no longer need worry about passing along any information to Richards and endangering your position at the Home Office." Curiosity about that still nagged at her.
Her brother gave her an awkward hug, then quickly released her, glancing about in some embarrassment. "You're the best sister a fellow could want, Ro. I'm glad you're here in London —and glad you've become such a success. I expect I'll have some buck calling on me one day soon, asking for your hand. Who'd have thought it?"
"I don't think you need worry about that just yet," she said, coloring despite her best efforts.
"Won't be long, mark my words. And don't sell yourself short, Ro. You deserve all the happiness a woman can have."
He left her then, to go in search of a card game at one of the tables set up in the alcoves. Rowena stared after him sadly. Whether she deserved happiness or not, she had ruined her best chance at it with her actions last night.
Again, she involuntarily picked Noel Paxton out of the crowd. She might have been truly happy with him, she realized, despite their differences. Ironic that she had not seen it until now, when she had given him a thorough disgust for her.
"The dancing is about to begin." Mr. Richards' voice snapped her out of her mournful reverie. "I believe the first is mine?"
She turned, forcing a smile to her lips. "I am flattered you remembered," she said. Then, realizing this might be her best opportunity for a private word with him, she lowered her voice. "Before we are separated by the dance, there is something I must tell you, Mr. Richards."
All day she had wavered between her duty to the common man and what Noel might see as a betrayal. But had he not betrayed her already? He had claimed to care for her, but today he had demonstrated his indifference. Painful as it was to contemplate, it appeared that he really had only hoped to learn the identity of the essayist from her.
Suddenly she remembered those sixteen letters she hoped to retrieve tomorrow. What might be in them? Was it possible one would be from Noel? If so, would she dare to somehow reply?
Mr. Richards was watching her expectantly, so she put that matter from her mind for the moment. Taking a deep breath, she continued.
"I know who you really are— but I fear Mr. Paxton suspects you as well. You must be on your guard against him."
"Who I really am?" His dark brown eyes bored into hers with an intensity that made her shiver. Almost, she would have called it sinister —but that was absurd, of course. "And how came you by this knowledge, Miss Riverstone?"
"It was a matter of deduction," she explained. "Your convictions, with which I am well aquainted through your writings, as well as something Mr. Paxton said. And, of course, there was the matter of the jewels."
He blinked, breaking the intensity of his gaze. "Of course," he said slowly. "Your mother's jewels . . . stolen from Lady Mountheath. You will want them back, of course."
Rowena frowned uncertainly. "Yes, as I said last night, I appreciated—"
"The music is beginning. Later we shall discuss their return, shall we? It occurs to me that you may have something I want as well." With that cryptic comment, he led her into the opening dance.
Mechanically going through the movements of the minuet, Rowena's mind worked furiously. Mr. Richards spoke as though he had not already returned the jewels to her, the very night they were taken from the Mountheath house. Could she have been mistaken? But he had admitted just now that he was the Saint, hadn't he?
Glancing down the line of dancers, she saw Noel partnering A
ugusta Melks. He turned his head just then and their eyes met before she could look away. She felt an instant connection, a communion, mind to mind —and then it was gone as another dancer blocked her line of sight. When she could see him again, he was not looking her way.
Shaken, she had to concentrate to avoid losing her place in the dance. Surely she had imagined that link between them? A few kisses and one evening of wanton caressing could not forge such a thing —could it?
But no, it was more than that. She remembered their chess games, their conversations, both of them taking enjoyment in disputing each other's views. They had far more in common than she had been willing to admit, despite their differing opinions on some issues.
She turned to face Mr. Richards again, and his gaze was overtly admiring. Rowena knew she should be flattered —the man was her longtime idol, after all— but instead she felt uncomfortable, even vaguely repelled. He was almost old enough to be her father, and she couldn't help remembering his patronizing comments at yesterday's picnic.
No, she did not feel the rapport with Mr. Richards that she felt with Noel Paxton, despite her endorsement of his opinions. Most of his opinions. Not the ones pertaining to women, of course.
"Shall we go to the refreshment table?" he suggested at the close of the dance. "That will give us an opportunity for conversation."
"I fear I am engaged for the next dance with Mr. Thatcher," she said with feigned regret. In fact, she felt more relief than regret —and chided herself for it. Surely she did not think Noel was right, that Mr. Richards was somehow dangerous?
Mr. Thatcher appeared at her elbow then, and Mr. Richards bowed. "Of course. Later, then."
"Odd fellow, Richards," Mr. Thatcher said as he led her back to the floor. "Radical sort. Did he say anything to upset you, Miss Riverstone?"
She realized she must have let some part of her sudden distaste for her erstwhile idol to show in her expression and quickly summoned a smile. "No, of course not. He merely wished me to sit out a dance with him."
