Jo Beverley - [Malloren 03]

by Something Wicked

  Such a retreat was unthinkable, however, so Elf drew upon years of social training and smiled and chattered as she continued toward her host. Lord Coalport greeted them affably, so Elf supposed she was saying and doing all the right things.

  She could hardly tell when she was so rattled by fear and anger.

  She would have to go over and talk to Fort. What had possessed her to come here with his sister? Otherwise she could have ignored his existence.

  Of course, she’d never intended to ignore his existence. She’d come here to woo him, damn his black heart.

  Unless the girl moved—a likely event, to be sure!—she would have to talk to Lady Lydia. It would be a remarkably one-sided conversation, she thought with appropriate waspishness.

  She saw no point in putting it off. As soon as they could move on from the Coalports, Elf summoned every scrap of Malloren spirit, and went over to smile and chatter at Fort and his lovely companion.

  “I’m pleased to see you recovering, Walgrave.”

  Perhaps, just perhaps, he had a little trouble meeting her eyes. “Thank you, Lady Elf. Are you acquainted with Lady Lydia?”

  Elf smiled at the girl. “A little. What a lovely property your family has here.”

  The girl blushed as if she’d been paid an outrageous compliment. “Yes, it is, isn’t it?”

  “Especially now the city grows so hot and dusty.”

  “Oh yes, it is, isn’t it?”

  Elf couldn’t help herself. She flashed Fort a look of disbelief.

  He met it with a look of his own, a challenging one.

  Then she understood.

  This was a direct move to counter her persistent stinging of him. Dear God, had she pushed him into peril again?

  With a resolute breath, she sat on the bench beside Lydia, leaving Chastity to talk to Fort. He gave her a thoughtful look, as if wondering about her intentions, but then turned to talk to his sister.

  Elf smiled at her rival. “This has been your first visit to London, hasn’t it, Lady Lydia?”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “And have you enjoyed it?”

  The girl looked around. “Everyone has been most kind.”

  Elf’s competitive instincts abruptly became protective. Gemini, but the child should still be in the schoolroom! “Perhaps a little overwhelming?” she suggested gently.

  Lydia turned back, a spark of relief in her huge eyes making her even more breathtaking. “Oh, yes! Overwhelming expresses it perfectly. Everyone has been most kind, such flattering attention, but”—color rushed into her cheeks—“I will be glad to be home again.”

  Elf reached over and squeezed Lydia’s hand. She couldn’t imagine what it must be like to be just seventeen and cause a crowd to gather even when walking down the street. “Next time you come to town, you will be more at ease, I promise.”

  “I suppose so.” But Lydia looked down and fiddled with the trimming of her lovely dress.

  “You do not want to return?”

  The girl glanced up as if considering the wisdom of a frank answer. She was not at all stupid, Elf realized, just very young and appropriately shy. “I suppose it will be different if I return to London as a married lady.”

  Elf’s mouth dried. “Is that likely?”

  Lydia blushed. “A number of gentlemen have expressed their admiration.” But her glance slid betrayingly to Fort.

  Pain around Elf’s heart made it hard to breathe. She’d expected to find Lydia a pretty bird-wit quite unworthy of Fort, but she was charming, innocent, and honest. Too young, though. Surely too young. What were her parents thinking of?

  When she spoke, she felt only an honest desire to help.

  “There can be no hurry, surely. If I were you, I would enjoy the single state a little longer. I assure you, you will not lack for offers in a year or two.”

  And Lydia laughed, doing so as charmingly as she did everything else. “That’s what my mother says. But having begged to be brought to London . . . And . . .” Lydia glanced again at Fort, who appeared to have all his attention on Chastity and a gentleman who had joined them.

  Clearly it had to be spoken of openly. “Lord Walgrave is a handsome man,” Elf said.

  “Yes, he is.” But Lydia did not speak like an infatuated girl. It was a simple statement of fact.

  “And one of the most eligible men around.”

  “Indeed.”

  “He can be a pleasant companion.”

  “Oh yes. He teases me and makes me laugh.”

  Elf wanted to burst into tears. Just briefly in the cellar he’d teased her, and when they’d been shouting for help it had come to laughter, but teasing was a side of Fort she’d never really known.

  Yet it seemed it came naturally to him with Lydia.

  She knew she should wave the white flag, should surrender the field of battle. This was what she wanted for him, wasn’t it, someone who could make him joyous in season? But in her opinion, Lydia was still too young for marriage, too young to know her mind.

  She smiled at the girl who might steal the man she loved, and spoke as honestly as she could. “Let me give you some advice, my dear, unasked for as it is. You are very young. Do not rush into marriage for any reason other than the deepest devotion. But if you feel that devotion for Lord Walgrave, accept him now. I doubt he will still be available next year.”

  Lydia considered her, then said, “Thank you, Lady Elf. I think that is sound advice.”

  Elf had the horrible feeling that the girl could read the situation too well by far. No, not stupid. A treasure in fact, and if Fort could win her, she should wish him all success.

  She had done what she could and with the best of intentions, and so she excused herself and rose to mingle with the other guests, chatting to this group and that. They were all old friends and acquaintances and put no strain on her.

  The strain came entirely from the man sitting in the shady spot with a treasure by his hand, ready to be claimed. But really, she thought—despite her charitable intentions—could he seriously want to share the marriage bed with a delightful infant?

  Why, thought Fort, had he believed he could marry a mere child?

  Oh, she was beautiful almost beyond belief, and charming with it. But if he did marry her, he didn’t think he’d be able to touch her for years. And even having let years go by, he couldn’t imagine ever enjoying with Lydia the sort of wild loving he’d explored with Elf Malloren.

  Elf looked well. Perhaps a little less animated than usual, but it seemed more a matter of calm than subdued spirits. He tried to resist, but couldn’t help stealing glances at her as she walked around chatting to this person and that.

  She was wearing a different style of gown, he realized. No, not the style, the color. A stronger color, but one that suited her.

  Then he had to suppress a laugh.

  Waspish colors.

  Gads, but she’d be the death of him if he wasn’t careful.

  He’d seen her as soon as she entered the garden, as if drawn by a sixth sense. He’d promptly turned to Lydia and concentrated on her as if she were his sole hope of salvation.

  Which perhaps she was.

  What ease she had in this world . . . Dammit, he was looking at Elf again.

  Unlike Lydia, who seemed scared to leave his side.

  But that was unfair. Lydia was being kind to an invalid. Elf was eight years older, and had been raised by Rothgar to fill the position of hostess to him. She was up to anything. Lydia could be the same in time.

  Or could she? He dragged his attention back to the girl, who was talking to a young friend. Suddenly they giggled over something, hands over pretty mouths.

  A child.

  But children grow.

  Elf had been a child once. A hellion, he’d heard. She had a twin brother, after all, and from things Chastity had said it appeared that the two of them had shared adventures from birth.

  At age eight, Cyn and Elf had climbed down the ivy on the north wall of
Rothgar Abbey and been whipped by Rothgar for the crime. He was sure Lydia had never contemplated such a rash act, and equally sure that her doting parents had never needed strict discipline.

  This should be to her credit.

  He remembered “Lisette” talking about using his pistols. Yes, he believed Elf Malloren could load and fire a pistol. He was equally sure Lydia would be horrified at the mere idea. It shouldn’t matter. His wife would never need to protect herself.

  Yet the contrasts between the two women troubled him. Elf seemed like a fine sword—flexible steel, ready for action, and potentially lethal.

  Lydia made him think of a silk cushion—pretty, comfortable, and ready to conform to his every need.

  Any man of sense would prefer the cushion to the sword.

  “Do you not like Lady Elfled, my lord?” Lydia’s voice demanded his attention.

  He looked back at her. “Like? Why do you ask?”

  “You were frowning at her.”

  He made himself smile. “Perhaps the sun was in my eyes. Lady Elf is sister to my sister’s husband. We are family in a way.”

  It was clear Lydia saw the evasion in this—he’d been pleased to discover that she wasn’t dim-witted—but she did not pursue it. “We had a charming conversation.”

  “Conversation is one of Lady Elf’s chief skills.”

  “I wish it were one of mine,” said Lydia with a rueful smile that could take any man’s breath away.

  Gads, but she was astonishingly beautiful. There wouldn’t be her like in a decade. Why did he have any doubts? She would mature, and she could be taught to be stronger, taught to be sharper-tongued, taught to enjoy lovemaking in all its forms . . .

  “You are a delightful companion,” he assured her and raised her hand for a flirtatious kiss. “A chattering woman soon drives a man to drink.”

  He thought about kissing her lips. Lydia’s pretty, full, soft mouth should be tempting him. Instead, however, he could only think that she’d be shocked, hesitant, and quivering, and that it would be a devil of a bore to have to coax her into relaxing. He wished he were mobile enough to draw the girl into a secluded spot and test the theory.

  What if she turned out to be the sort who wanted the lights out, who was repulsed by intimate experiments?

  He’d set up a mistress. It was the accepted solution.

  He was looking at Elf again, remembering Lisette. Damn, but he wished Lisette had been real. He could even forgive her for wearing him down to tears if he could have her as his mistress. Trouble was, he’d not want to drag himself away to spend duty time with his lovely, quivering wife . . .

  “I think I bore you.”

  He snapped his attention back to Lydia, fearing he was actually flushing with guilt. “Not at all.”

  She didn’t look hurt, merely honest. “It’s not surprising. I am very young still, and what interests me does not interest you.”

  She suddenly seemed a great deal more appealing. “What interests you, then? Tell me.”

  “Such a charming couple.”

  Elf smiled at Mrs. Dettingford, thinking that the movement of her lips must surely look more like a rictus. “Lord Walgrave and Lady Lydia?” she asked, having long since given up trying to say, “Who?”

  “After his tragedy,” said the plump young woman, “it would be so fitting to see him capture the prize of the year!”

  “You refer to his father’s death?”

  “Of course. So sudden. Such a loss to the nation.”

  “It was certainly sudden.”

  “And so touching the way his son wore deep mourning for so long. But now he is emerging from the shadow of grief to claim his prize!”

  Elf contemplated the satisfaction of throwing a fit and upending a large bowl of pureed fruit over Mrs. Dettingford’s head, but the silly woman was merely the most effusive of the company. Everyone was delighting at the romance in their midst—London’s premier beauty, won by its most eligible young man. One who, moreover, had been obligingly injured in some mysterious but doubtless heroic way.

  Did none of them see that Lydia was unready for marriage? Did none of them wonder about a “romance” between two people who had never been observed to even speak to each other?

  Elf knew she was being unfair, however. She knew Fort had not been in the habit of attending the sort of events where he would meet such a tender young miss. It doubtless wasn’t obvious to others. Others hadn’t been obsessed with the man for months.

  She escaped Mrs. Dettingford and moved on to another group, but found that they too were gossiping about the likely match.

  Eventually she decided she had been at the picnic long enough and could leave without causing comment. She collected Chastity from an animated conversation with friends, friends who did not seem to harbor doubts about Chastity’s old scandal, thank heavens.

  “Oh, I’m completely restored now by Cyn’s noble act,” said Chastity as they made their way over to their hosts to say farewell.

  “But no one knows of it.”

  “Elf, it’s not like you to be naive. Cyn has a title impetuously bestowed upon him by the monarch. Fort is wounded. A hundred stories are being invented to explain it, each more glorious than the next. They are both heroes, and Cyn just wants to set sail and escape!”

  Elf chuckled. “Oh dear. I’ve been so absorbed in other matters, I’m out of touch. Of course, everyone wanted to talk about the heroic tryst under the beech tree.”

  Chastity pulled a face. “For what it’s worth, I told him he was being a damned fool.” Then she straightened her face into a smile and thanked Lord Coalport for his kind hospitality.

  “Aye, well, it’s turned out very well, Lady Raymore, I won’t deny.” He beamed at Fort and Lydia. “Everything as it should be.”

  Elf was speaking to Lady Coalport, who rolled her eyes slightly. “Dear Lydia is the apple of her father’s eye. Our only daughter, you know.”

  “She is very beautiful, and charming besides.”

  “Yes, the poor child has every gift of the gods.”

  Elf couldn’t help but chuckle at the wry tone. Now she knew the source of Lydia’s wit and wisdom. With such a mother, she surely wouldn’t be allowed to do anything rash.

  That didn’t mean, however, that an engagement to marry might not be drawn up, with the betrothal to last a year or two.

  So be it.

  But she had one last thing she had to do.

  Tonight.

  Fort enjoyed Lydia’s chatter once she ceased being tongue-tied, but he felt less and less inclined to marry her. Oh perhaps in a year or two, but if he had to languish unspoken-for for years, he’d doubtless do something foolish.

  If he wasn’t doing something foolish now.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Elf laugh at something Lady Coalport said. When had she ever laughed for him? Abruptly, he had an image of her in bed, laughing with him over some fanciful game.

  He went so hard, he had to glance down to be sure his long waistcoat covered him decently.

  He watched as Elf and Chastity strolled down to the boat. Once they had gone, the afternoon suddenly seemed a great deal less interesting.

  Nonsense. He concentrated on Lydia again, wondering why he couldn’t feel any passion toward such a beautiful creature.

  “Is something the matter, my lord?”

  He feigned a wince. “My leg begins to pain me a little. I think I should summon my carriage and make my slow way home.”

  She leaped to her feet. “Oh, of course! I will send a servant.”

  In moments she returned accompanied by her parents and a footman. He said his farewells, then set about making a figure of himself by hobbling across the gardens to the road. The footman accompanied him, but so did Lydia.

  That would cause talk. Were they trying to force his hand?

  By the time he made it to the carriage drive, his leg was truly hurting and he wished he was home in his bed.

  What mad impulse had driven h
im out too soon?

  Then he remembered his purpose, and looked at Lydia North.

  She was eying him with genuine concern. “Your coach is still not here, my lord, and I’m sure you shouldn’t be standing. Thomas, go and fetch Lord Walgrave a chair.”

  The footman hurried off, and for a brief moment they were alone.

  Had she deliberately arranged this moment, hoping for a declaration? He’d as good as arranged all the details with her father.

  What did he want?

  What should he want?

  Their talk, and the sense of intelligence and kindness he’d found in her, let him ask the question.

  That evening, Elf went to the opera, then on to a supper given by the Duchess of Derby.

  She returned home after midnight, which was why she had arranged for Hunot to be in the mews of Malloren House at one o’clock. She met him in some clothes she’d sneaked from Cyn’s room. The breeches were rather tight in the hips and loose in the waist, but otherwise fit quite well. She was a few inches shorter than her twin, but that merely meant the sleeves of the coat hung down a bit over her hands.

  Dark-skinned Hunot was almost invisible in the shadows of the mews, but she could see him shake his head. “You’ll not fool no one in a good light, milady.”

  “I’m not planning to. I just thought I’d be safer if I dressed as a man.”

  “With me, you could walk the streets in your shift and no one would touch you. You just like to play games, you Mallorens.”

  Elf flashed him a grin. “And there, you might be right.” She led the way down to the nearby street. “It’s not far. I just thought I’d be prudent and take a bodyguard.”

  “Prudent,” he said. “Uh-uh.”

  Elf chuckled, enjoying strolling through the dark streets safe from the bosky gentlemen and the hovering cutpurses.

  She was completely safe, for she had Fort’s pistol in her pocket. A sheathed knife snuggled alongside the pistol, and another nestled in her right boot. And she had Hunot, who could handle a small army with his knives and his lethal hands.

  She wasn’t really happy, though, for she dreaded what she was about to do.