by Jo Beverley
She was gloved, but still she started.
Looking firmly at the choir, she moved her left hand into her lap, covering it with her right. How had her hand ended up so far to the left, almost between them?
When she’d regained her calm she flickered a glance sideways. Darien’s hands were also in his lap and he seemed intent on the choir. She focused every sense there herself until the performance ended with a high chord that held for so long Thea feared her mind would shatter, taking all sense and restraint with it.
When silence settled, she applauded with everyone else. All around her people shifted and began to talk as if nothing extraordinary had happened. She, however, felt cracked and in danger of falling apart if she didn’t escape.
Lady Wraybourne announced the entertainments available during the intermission—refreshments in one room, cards in another, a lecture on the island of St. Helena, where Napoleon was imprisoned.
As Thea rose with everyone else, he spoke. “You enjoyed that, Lady Theodosia?”
He wasn’t talking about music.
“Choirboys sound like angels, don’t they, my lord? The soloist was exquisite.”
“But soon he and the rest will become coarse men. Alas that we no longer create castrati.”
She gave him a flat look. “Another subject no longer referred to in polite society.”
“We poor, wicked Italians. There’s no hope for us, is there?”
His eyes were wicked, and hot temptation came off him like a wave. Her weakness had encouraged him. Heaven knows what he’d do next. No private discussions tonight, that was certain. How could she bear ever to be alone with him again?
Thea pushed past him and attached herself to Maddy, Cully, and some other young people. They were going to the refreshment room, and a cool drink was just what she needed. A cool drink and freedom from a Cave. She didn’t look back and could only pray that he would not attempt to follow her.
Chapter 14
Darien let his prey go. He needed time to regain control. Music had always been his weakness, and tonight he’d found himself wondering what his life would have been like if he’d been sent to a choir school. It was an absurd thought. His father would never have considered it, and he doubted any cathedral choir would admit a Cave.
His mother? She’d ignored her children as soon as they’d escaped her womb.
She had sung, however. Not to him. No lullabies from Maddalena D’Auria. But she sang arias in the ballroom for an invisible audience. The only clear memory he had of her was her desperate, soaring voice. Perhaps the cruelest act his father had ever committed was to forbid his wife to perform.
Darien shook away fruitless memories. By some miracle Frank had survived mother, father, and brothers with spirit intact, and now he wanted to marry the woman he loved. It was Darien’s job to make that possible. By another impulsive move, he’d gained entrée here. Now he must milk the opportunity dry.
Excellent luck that Fred Kyle be present. Perhaps fate was on his side after all.
That would be nice, because there’d been blood on his step again this morning. It had been cleaned up early, but the persistence worried him. What would be tried next?
He strolled through the rooms, exchanging nods and words with anyone who’d meet his eye, but he found it damned uncomfortable. At the rout, he’d had Van’s support. Van and his extraordinary wife, Maria. It had been their idea and their insistence, and they’d paid the price in being ignored. In some alchemical way, however, they’d created the illusion that they were an exclusive trio with all others mere outsiders.
The plan had been to go on to the theater, where anyone was welcome for the price of admission. He should have stayed with that, but on seeing Lady Theodosia and hearing her destination, he’d acted on impulse. Again.
But now he’d let his shield escape and soon his isolation would become obvious. Clinging to the duke and duchess wouldn’t serve. He needed some other support.
As if summoned, a friendly voice said, “Canem, what are you doing in London?”
Friendly, but he didn’t recognize the speaker’s voice.
He turned and after a moment realized that the tall, dark, intelligent man in civilian dress was Major George Hawkinville. He had a smiling russet-haired lady on his arm, and the lady wore spectacular jewels. Interesting. Last seen, Hawkinville, like himself, had been living on his officer’s pay.
“Being pricked by ice, mostly,” Darien said in answer, as if they were old friends, but what the devil was going on? He’d met Hawk Hawkinville about four times, and only because he was a close friend of Van’s. Ah. Van had alerted the troops, had he?
Hawkinville laughed. “I’m not surprised. But give them time. Allow me to present my wife. My dear, Viscount Darien.”
Darien bowed to the lady, who curtsied, smiling without a hint of reservation.
“You’re out, then,” Darien said to Hawkinville.
“Once Napoleon was done for there was no reason to stay and I had responsibilities at home. The same for you, I assume.”
“Yes.”
“Always pegged you as army for life,” Hawkinville said with genuine curiosity.
“And I might well have been had my father and older brother not died.”
“Ah, yes. The Wrath of God.”
He said it so lightly.
“That one cartoon certainly lingers in people’s minds,” Darien said, hearing bitterness creep in.
Hawkinville might have apologized, which would have made matters worse, but another couple joined them. Colonel Lethbridge, still in uniform, was accompanied by his thin, fashionably dressed, middle-aged wife. Her smile looked as if it were forced out by torture. Even so, she was there, and Lethbridge had no connection to Van that Darien knew about.
Then blue caught the corner of Darien’s eye and Captain Matt Foxstall of the hussars joined the group. “Not much entertainment in church music, is there?” he said with his lopsided smile. His lower jaw was twisted to the right, and a heavy mustache couldn’t disguise it.
What in Hades was he doing at an event like this? Or in London at all?
Captain Matt Foxstall had been a fellow captain with Canem Cave for four years, and they’d been comrades in arms, if not exactly friends. They shared some tastes in war and women, and could trust one another to have their backs in any fight.
Their comradeship had fractured recently, however. First Darien had made major, then he’d inherited the title. Foxstall had resented both. To make matters worse, in peacetime advancement was hard without the money to buy a higher rank, and Foxstall didn’t have it.
Darien had last seen Foxstall in Lancashire when he’d left the regiment, and he’d known then that he was a powder keg. Foxstall needed bloody action as much as he needed food and drink, and if it didn’t come naturally, he’d create it.
After introductions, Darien asked, “Has the regiment come south, then?”
“Not yet, but we’re ordered to India. I’m here to speed up some administrative matters.”
“India, eh?” Lethbridge said. “Plenty of opportunities there. Was there myself with Wellington. Wellesley then, of course.”
“A most insalubrious climate,” his wife said. “I was unable to accompany my husband.”
“What a shame,” said Hawk’s young wife. “Such fascinating customs and art. The Duchess of St. Raven has some remarkable Indian artifacts, and in fact her parents have returned there.”
Talk swirled around India until the Hawkinvilles and Lethbridges moved on.
“How did you get through these sacred portals?” Darien asked Foxstall.
“Met Kyle and angled for an invitation. You?”
So easy, if one wasn’t a Cave.
“The Duchess of Yeovil.”
“Flying high. Good for you, not but what there’s muttering in the ranks.”
“I’m not surprised. Why are you here, though? I wouldn’t have thought the music to your taste.”
“Someone sa
id the food was good,” Foxstall said. “Didn’t know it’d be choirboys and everyone expected to listen. But having paid the piper, let’s find the reward.”
Darien went with him, but Foxstall was a handicap. He was acceptable here, but the military men, the ones Darien needed for support, might have reservations. Foxstall, for all his fighting prowess, was not the sort of man you wanted to introduce to susceptible ladies. Despite his looks, he attracted them and he had no conscience about how he used them.
Surely he’d show some sense at home and in high circles, however.
They entered the supper room to find, indeed, a bountiful supper table—whole fish, roasted birds, pies, pasties, cheeses, and a mouthwatering selection of cakes, jellies, and fruit dishes.
“Think of the times we were scrounging for vegetables and glad of a meat bone,” Foxstall said, grabbing a slice of cold veal pie. “So eat, drink, and be merry.”
“For tomorrow we die?”
Foxstall bellowed with laughter.
Three young officers looked across the table and then said, almost in unison, “Canem!”
“I say, sir,” said Cully Debenham, bright-eyed. “Be honored if you’d join our table for supper. You too, sir,” he said to Foxstall, but with less enthusiasm.
The other young lieutenants, Marchampton and Farrow, echoed the invitation. It was positively embarrassing, but Darien needed impeccable company.
They joined the others in gathering plates of food to take back to whatever ladies they were partnering. After supper, he’d track down Lady Theodosia and insist she partner him for the second half of the performance. It wouldn’t do to give the impression that the Debenhams were backing off.
No need. As he followed the younger men through the chattering tables, he saw her waiting with three other young blossoms of the ton. Her eyes met his, and clearly if she’d had her way, he’d have been stuffed and roasted, too.
There had been three gentlemen to four ladies, he noted. Given Lady Theodosia’s rush to escape him, she would be the odd one out. If not for Foxstall, his arrival would have restored balance and paired him with his quarry without effort.
Damn Foxstall.
Thea had been alerted to danger when Miriam Mosely gasped, “Oh, no!”
Following Miriam’s stare, she’d seen Cully, Marchampton, and Farrow in smiling conversation with Darien and a strapping hussar officer.
“They won’t bring him here, will they?” Miriam whispered. “Mother told me to avoid being introduced to him at all costs.”
“Don’t worry. Maddy and I have both encountered him and survived.”
“But…”
“I wonder who the other one is,” Maddy said, frankly ogling. “I hope he joins us.”
“He’s ugly,” Delle Bosanquet said.
Maddy put on a superior air. “Nobly wounded in war, Delle.”
For once, Thea was in agreement with her cousin. The poor man could never have been handsome, for his features were lumpy and his skin coarse, but he’d clearly received a terrible wound across his lower face. The dark slash of it cut down his cheek to his mouth, and the whole of his lower jaw was awry.
She could also see why Maddy was interested. Apart from his size, this man could be the Corsair. Nothing to do with the power of the mind. It was all physical—a kind of animal vigor.
As the men approached, Thea realized there’d be five men to four women. But no. Miriam had slipped away. Now they were an awkward five to three.
“Here’s Canem Cave,” Cully announced as if he’d towed home a prize. “Lord Darien now, of course. And Captain Foxstall. Dog and Fox. Always together!”
Darien’s face was so unreadable that Thea knew he was concealing a reaction. Lord! Cully had just called him Dog. She braced for some outburst, but he put his plate of food in the center of the table as the other men did, then politely waited for March, Cully, and Farrow to claim their seats.
Foxstall didn’t. He sat next to Maddy and Maddy smiled. Marchampton, tight-lipped, took the seat on Maddy’s other side. The poor man was desperately in love with Maddy and she treated him abominably. Farrow was Delle’s partner, so he took the chair between her and Thea. One chair remained, between Foxstall, now putting food on Maddy’s plate, and Thea, who had decided he was a boor.
Cully gestured to the empty chair, saying, “There you are, sir,” and Darien sat.
Cully captured a chair from another table and inserted it on Delle’s other side. Neither a sister nor cousin would thrill him, but Thea would much rather not have had to eat her supper with her nemesis by her side. She would certainly have preferred not to have to face the disgusting sight of Maddy making a scandal of herself over “Fox,” as she was already calling him.
“Were you at Waterloo, Fox?” Maddy cooed.
She couldn’t have forgotten that poor Marchampton and Farrow had missed the great battle. Like so many regiments, with Napoleon apparently defeated, theirs had been shipped to the war in Canada and they still gnashed their teeth over it.
At the first gap in Foxstall’s boasting, Thea asked Farrow about the march from Spain into France in 1814, and dragged conversation from there to the Peninsular Campaign.
She did it for her own reasons, but soon she was fascinated. Before 1815 she’d paid little attention to the details of war. After Waterloo, she hadn’t been able to bear mention of it. Because of Dare’s experience, she’d assumed any soldier’s memories would be grim, but clearly that wasn’t so.
“Weren’t you involved in the Muniz affair, Canem?” Marchampton asked, eyes bright. “Lord, I remember the fuss about that.”
“Rollicking grand affair,” Captain Foxstall declared. He was definitely a man who liked to be the center of attention. “Couldn’t do anything official so we acted on our own.”
Cully demanded details and Foxstall supplied them. Something to do with an unauthorized liberation of a Spanish town made more difficult because of the behavior of Spanish troops that were supposed to be allies.
“I’m surprised you got off scot-free.” March directed his comment to Darien.
“Nothing anyone could do,” Darien said, sipping wine. “Unlike the affair of the ten pigs. That almost had me court-martialed.”
He told a story of the capture of some pigs from a German regiment, which led to similar stories from the rest. All the ladies were suitably admiring of their heroes, but did Maddy have to press up against Foxstall quite like that?
But then Darien laughed. Thea blinked, realizing how different he seemed. Was he drunk? She didn’t think his glass had been refilled more than once. He might be drunk simply on friendly company after so much hostility. More than friendly. Cully and March in particular seemed to regard him as a god.
“…when you and Demon Vandeimen escaped the whole French army,” Cully was saying, his plate of food scarcely touched.
“Not the whole of it,” Darien corrected, lips quirking.
“A division, at least. Mad Dog and Demon, and not a man lost.”
“And a chest of French gold acquired!” March declared. “Wish I’d been there.”
“We were only there by accident ourselves,” Darien pointed out, “and would much rather not have been. That was a mistake on my part, and but for Vandeimen’s arrival, might have been disastrous. As it was, the gold saved my skin and the men’s feet.”
“The men’s feet?” Thea asked.
“It purchased a boatload of boots.” She didn’t know what he saw in her face, but the mask slid back into place. “You don’t approve of war exploits, Lady Theodosia?”
She dug her fork into a forgotten pastry. “I don’t know enough to approve or disapprove, my lord, but it’s shocking that our soldiers had to go to such lengths to get supplies.”
“Someone wrote that an army marches on its belly, but that tends to slip the attention of those in power. Half the army fought Waterloo hungry.”
“That’s appalling. Something should be done.”
“Really?�
�� He looked cynical, but Maddy said, “Oh, Thea, not another cause!” She looked around the men. “She and Aunt Sarah are always scurrying around trying to assist returning soldiers.”
“And your contribution, Miss Debenham?” Darien asked.
Maddy actually flushed. “I amuse them!” She turned to Foxstall. “Don’t I, sir?”
He raised her hand and kissed it. “Delightfully, Miss Debenham.”
Maddy blushed in a way Thea knew all too well. Not a friend of Darien’s, Maddy, please!
“Are all you gentlemen fixed in Town for the season?” Thea asked.
“Seems so,” Cully said despondently. How men could long for military action she didn’t know.
“Not me,” Foxstall said. “We’re off to India before summer’s out.”
“That’s most unfortunate,” Maddy said with a pout.
He still had her hand. “Marry me, Miss Debenham, and I’ll forsake the houris.”
Maddy laughed, everyone smiled, but Thea noticed what very red lips Foxstall had, lurking beneath his dark mustache. She truly did not like or trust this man.
“Well?” he demanded, reminding her of Darien demanding his bargain.
Even Maddy looked taken aback. She laughed. “I’m quite incapable of making any decision so quickly, Captain.”
“Then I can only gather English rosebuds while I may.”
Loose red lips smiling. Eyes sliding down to the posy of pink buds between Maddy’s breasts. Maddy immediately pulled one free and offered it. He took it, kissed it, and tucked it inside his braided jacket close to his heart.
Thea’s teeth were gritted and so, she thought, were March’s. She glanced at Darien, silently berating him for bringing this wolf among them. She might pity Foxstall’s deformity, but every instinct said he was a rake. A very dangerous rake, well beyond Maddy’s usual playing fields.
Chapter 15
Lady Wraybourne’s butler broke an awkward silence with the announcement of the second choir performance. As they all rose, Thea looked for a chance to separate Maddy from her fox, but Maddy had a firm link to his arm. At least Marchampton stuck close.
