Unaccustomed to allowing anyone or anything to disturb his well-organized life, Vane flicked her a sardonic glance, wishing to put her safely in her place.
“You don’t ride in the barouche with the others, Lady Sherbourne? I would think you would wish to keep your daughter company on her first visit to Rotten Row.”
“Rest assured, my lord, I shall stay at her side every moment!” She met his sarcasm with her own, glaring at him from dark eyes. “And, from this vantage point, I can be on guard for any potential problem.”
Her pert answer grated. Why couldn’t she voice the banter polite ladies of the ton practiced? She should be like the other mothers who launched their hopeful daughters, full of charming, insincere flattery calculated to elicit his interest.
But she wasn’t.
He took a huge breath of acrid city air as he realized she had succeeded where legions of others had failed: his interest was caught, even if, he told himself, it was simply annoyance he felt.
The barouche rounded the corner from the mews just as Tildie and Sabrina descended the front steps, breaking the cord of tension that vibrated between the two, who danced their mounts so carefully around each other. Sabrina was just as she should be, clothed in a demure powder blue pelisse and poke bonnet trimmed with morning glories. Once again, he marveled at the difference between mother and daughter, then turned his horse in a tight circle to the side of the barouche.
“Good day, Your Grace … Lady Sabrina.” He made sure they were comfortably settled in the coach.
“Ah, my boy, I see you and Georgina have had time for a comfortable coze. What think you of her mount? Does it meet your high standards?”
With deliberate slowness he allowed his gaze to wander over the horse’s lines, then couldn’t resist continuing up Georgina’s body, to rest, finally, on her indignant face.
“I think he looks a killer. Not a lady’s mount at all,” he drawled. “I fear he may be too much for Lady Sherbourne to handle.”
“At last, my lord, a subject about which you obviously know nothing!” she snapped. “Shall we go?”
Sabrina looked anxiously from her mother to him, but Tildie controlled the moment immediately. “By all means, let us set out forthwith.” The barouche rattled forward, lumbering heavily over the cobblestones.
His gut tightened in anger. He gripped the reins with iron fingers, urging his horse to follow. He had allowed himself to be provoked, something that had not occurred since those first hellish months at Eton. Curling his mouth in disdain at this uncharacteristic lapse, he began a polite conversation with Tildie, completely ignoring the source of his discomfort.
But as they moved through the hustle of the city streets, his gaze slid often to Georgina … Lady Sherbourne. True to her word she remained at her daughter’s side, pointing out all the sights of the city: hawkers selling everything from a dusty mountain of potatoes heaped on the pavement, to cups of fresh “country” milk, to hothouse flowers. They passed a small girl offering large red apples from a basket. She took each out and shined it individually, holding it up hopefully to the passersby.
Lady Sherbourne reined her mount as if trying to decide, then she tilted her head, smiled and waved to the child, before hurrying to catch up with the coach. She bent to say something, very softly, to her daughter.
For the first time he saw Sabrina’s gentle smile, and a light flush rose to give healthy color to her translucent skin. From his vantage point, he could see pleasure transform Georgina’s face. Obviously she’d succeeded in distracting her daughter. The obvious love and respect the two shared was quite apparent.
Suddenly Georgina glanced up and caught him watching her, but she looked away quickly. From then on, they were both careful not to meet the other’s eyes.
Bloody hell! He was acting like a green ’un. Surely he was long past such nonsense!
Resolutely he withdrew into the icy aloof bower that had always served him well.
Fortunately, Rotten Row was well traveled this day. Dashing riders and an assortment of carriages thronged the way and proved a good distraction. He nodded to a few acquaintances and managed a brief salute to a racing rival. Then dutifully, he paused to greet the Countess Lieven and introduced his party.
She lifted her brows slightly in surprise, but otherwise greeted Tildie with her usual charm. The tale of the old Duke of Worthington marrying his deceased invalid wife’s companion had been a nine-days wonder four seasons ago, and the countess had an unusually good memory. Vane pulled away from the carriage to allow the women to converse easily across the cart path.
“Vane! Hello!”
Glancing a few paces behind, he spied Peter Amesley. The slight breeze ruffled his classically curled brown hair, but otherwise the boy’s appearance was a credit to him.
With a flick of his head, Vane beckoned him forward. When the countess’s carriage pulled away, he urged the young man up to the side of the barouche.
“Your Grace, may I present Peter, Lord Amesley, and one of my dear friends.” He gestured appropriately, “The Dowager Duchess of Worthington, Lady Georgina Sherbourne, and her daughter, Lady Sabrina.”
Peter studied Tildie curiously for a moment, then his eyes lit in a smile that had caused many a heart to flutter in the ton.
“Your Grace, may I be so bold as to tell you how delighted I am to meet the estimable ‘Tildie.’ ” He winked broadly in Vane’s direction. “You see, I was Vane’s fag at Eton, so was privy to his praise of you.”
“Of his years at school I know little, young man. We must talk. And soon.” Tildie’s voice brooked no protest.
But Vane felt he was on safe ground; Peter had been four years behind him, so had escaped knowing the worst. And, after all, this was what he had promised. He looked to Her Grace and the almost imperceptible movement of her head settled the manner.
“I’m having a small dinner party tomorrow evening, Peter. Very much en famille. Her Grace and I have much to catch up on. Join us.”
Peter was as smart as a whip and as wild as the north wind, but at heart as pleasant a friend as Vane could wish for. After a brief glance at Sabrina’s blushing countenance and a more lingering regard of Georgina, astride her roan, he nodded.
“I look forward to it. And I promise to reveal all sorts of tales about Vane for you.” With a grin he was off, mingling among the riders now choking the way.
“Well, Laurentian, I’m sure we’ll all look forward to a cozy dinner with Lord Amesley and to hearing about your school days,” Tildie declared firmly, settling a shawl over her shoulders.
“An evening discussing my boyish exploits is not my idea of entertainment,” he drawled, his words for Her Grace, but his eyes remaining sardonically on Georgina’s face.
“On the contrary, my lord, I’m sure the evening will be memorable.” Georgina’s mouth curled in a peculiarly roguish smile.
“Yes!” A soft voice intruded on their conversation. “Particularly, my lord, if your children will be joining us.”
Everyone stared in surprise at the suddenly animated Sabrina.
Noting their surprise, she glanced quickly from her mother to him. “You did say en famille, didn’t you, my lord?”
“Of course he did! I, too, look forward to seeing Lawrence and Leticia again!” Tildie, never one to beat around the bush, added her opinion. “It shall be quite the thing for all of us. Now I believe I’ve had enough excitement for one day and would like to return home.”
The return trip to St. James Square went slowly, the streets now clogged with the bustling life of the city. The roan was frisky among the carriages and horses milling past, but Georgina kept him under control. Admiration for her horsemanship grudgingly pushed its way into the other emotions she inspired in Vane, none of which he wanted to examine too closely.
Why a woman, albeit a lovel
y one, who was every bit of his thirty-five years, and who had a bold and sassy demeanor, which he’d always deplored, should stir such deep feelings was beyond his comprehension.
Lost in thought, he nearly missed a look of horror widening her eyes.
Some lout had tipped the apple girl’s basket, and was tormenting her by rolling all the apples into the street. She frantically chased first one and then another across the cobblestones, disregarding the danger.
Before Georgina could rein her mount, he dug his heels into his horse’s flanks and galloped into the fracas. Leaning over, he plucked the child from beneath the wheels of an on-coming phaeton and swung her effortlessly up before him.
He stared straight at her tormentor. “Gather up every apple,” he commanded.
Trembling in fear, the lout did what he was bid. The gathering crowd applauded wildly, nearly drowning out Georgina’s gasp of relief beside him. He set the girl, wide-eyed, on the sidewalk, and walked his mount to and fro making certain all the fruit was returned.
Georgina slid from her roan to kneel in front of the grubby child, taking her own handkerchief to wipe the little girl’s tear-streaked cheeks.
“Are you all right, child?”
“Thanks to his fine lordship,” she nodded. Suddenly she thrust two gleaming apples into Georgina’s gloved hands. “For him and you, his lady.”
Clutching the fruit basket to her skinny chest, she disappeared with flying dirt-streaked skirts into the crowd.
Sunshine shone full upon Georgina’s face, setting off golden lights in the dark hair waving against her forehead beneath her ridiculous hat. Sherry washed into her brown eyes as she gazed up at him. For the first time, he noticed that they were neither stern, nor bold, but soft.
“You saved that child’s life, Vane,” she breathed with a little catch in her voice.
He shrugged. “These street urchins are a resourceful breed. The child would have saved herself if we hadn’t been passing.”
Georgina held his gaze unabashedly. Then her lush mouth bent into a slow smile.
The thoughts Vane inspired as he stood in the foyer, biding them a correct farewell, were confusing. For the first time Georgina noticed his impeccable riding clothes—the superbly tailored black riding jacket showing off the width of his shoulders and the buckskin breeches that molded to him. His Hessians were polished to a mirror sheen, even the exertions of their ride had not dimmed their luster. He presented a magnificent picture.
But it was his demeanor that seemed so jarringly out of place. It was that feeling of distance between himself and the rest of the world that disturbed her so. It wasn’t an armor of pomposity at his own much-vaunted importance as she’d first thought. Such a man would not have taken the time nor wasted the energy on the apple girl today.
His beautiful blue eyes were cold, instead of sparkling with life under Tildie’s fulsome praise. Even Sabrina’s softer words of admiration washed over him, his disciplined features revealing nothing.
“I will send my carriage for you tomorrow at seven,” Vane murmured, clearly eager to quit their presence.
She closely watched the well-formed lines of his lips, wondering again how deeply they might curl if he ever smiled. She stared after him as the front door clicked shut.
“An odd gentleman, is he not, Mama?”
At her daughter’s gentle inquiry, she removed her riding gloves and hugged Sabrina warmly. “Yes, an odd gentleman, indeed. However, his children seem delightful. Perhaps tomorrow evening we can solicit our stern lord to allow us to play games after dinner.”
Sabrina’s bright catch of laughter struck a cord deep inside Georgina, and tears pricked behind her eyes. Anxiously scanning her daughter’s face, she saw with relief that the last lingering red spots had faded from beneath her pale skin, and her eyes were less shadowed from her illness.
“If anyone can convince him to unbend, Mama, it will be you,” Sabrina giggled.
If the man did nothing else for them, at least he had brought her darling back to life.
“I agree, child. Now rest before luncheon,” Tildie ordered, but with a slight softening of her usual crisp tones.
Blowing kisses, Sabrina traipsed lightly up the stairs.
“She is better,” Tildie declared. “It was the right decision to come here.”
Wrapping her arms about her shoulders, Georgina paced restlessly across the black and white marble squares. “So it seems. But I think you hoped to find Lord Vane more approachable.”
“What I hoped for, was to have my two dearest charges meet at last and become friends. It is an event I am devotedly determined to see happen.”
Georgina stopped and stared at her beloved Tildie, feeling the hard beat of her heart against her ribs. This woman had been the bulwark of her life for as long as she could remember. She could no more lie to her than she could fly to the moon.
“Darling Tildie, I’m sorry this isn’t turning out as you wished,” she said simply, reaching out to clasp her stepmama’s hands. “Vane and I…” struggling for words, she swallowed down a knot of pain that she should have to disappoint Tildie so. “Vane and I do not rub together well for some reason. I wish for your sake it was otherwise.”
Tildie’s gaze deepened in intensity, her shrewd eyes oddly noncommittal. “Don’t fret, dear child. I can wait to see what tomorrow brings.”
Chapter 3
On the morrow, a misting rain settled a heavy fog over the city. The day seemed to crawl by until, at last, the carriage conveyed the women to Vane’s town house, looming in the vaporous gray, its many windows glowing in the night like monstrous eyes.
Sabrina giggled nervously. Tildie, as usual, swept up to the front steps as if she were the queen herself. In the wide oak-paneled foyer, they were greeted by an imposing butler, who was every bit as stern-faced as one might expect.
Georgina wasn’t quite sure what she was feeling. She was happy that at last Sabrina seemed to be enjoying herself. Yet a vague apprehension haunted her. A footman whisked away their wraps before the butler ushered them into a spacious, yet inviting drawing room, its walls hung with a soft rose silk.
That definitely surprised her—somehow rose silk and the formidable Laurentian Wilburforce Cranston didn’t seem to go together. The butler indicated a cushioned bench with scrolled wooden sides in front of the enormous black marble fireplace, where a comfortable fire blazed. Both Tildie and Sabrina sank down, but Georgina preferred to stand, warming her hands against she knew not what.
“I shall inform Lord Vane of your arrival.”
“That won’t be necessary, Foweley.”
The commanding tone attracted all eyes to the doorway where Laurentian—Drat the man! Why couldn’t he have a normal, pronouncable name? And what did his friends call him?—stood, dressed rather formally for an evening at home, in stark black and white. A large diamond winked blue flames within the folds of his cravat.
He crossed to Tildie, taking her hand for a kiss. Sabrina blushed madly when he performed the same over her fingers. Was it Georgina’s imagination that he hesitated ever so slightly before raising her own hand to his lips?
No doubt that odd uneasiness she always experienced in Vane’s presence must have caused a little skip in her heartbeat.
“Will Lawrence and Leticia be joining us soon?” she asked politely, eager to break the lengthening silence.
“They will be brought down for dinner. Lord Amesley is a favorite of theirs,” he drawled coolly, withdrawing from her side to a spirit decanter set out on a sideboard across the room.
“After dinner, my lord, we would so enjoy spending time with the children,” she plunged ahead. “Perhaps a game of blindman’s buff?” She met the mocking curling mouth with a defiant smile. “Have you never played games, my lord?”
“Of course he has!” Tild
ie replied with spirit. “Remember when I taught you jackstraws, Laurentian?”
“It is one of my fondest memories, Tildie.” His voice was sweetened with kindness. “But I fear Lady Georgina is correct.”
His cool gaze made her feel warm, as if she was blushing.
“I’ve forgotten how to play games. Even jackstraws.”
“Jackstraws! By gad, what a novel idea!” Lord Amesley strolled into the room, laughing. “Brings back fond memories of my childhood.” He stopped in front of Sabrina and smiled down at her. “Shall we show them how it is done properly, Lady Sabrina?”
Sabrina sent his a fleeting glance, nodded quickly, and then stared fixedly at the tips of her kid slippers.
Amesley’s boyish charm cracked the air of tension that seemed to spring up, unbidden, every time Georgina was near Vane. She sighed in relief. Really, this wasn’t quite how she had envisioned London—these odd feelings that had jarred her usually jovial nature so dramatically off course.
By the time she had seated herself, out of Vane’s line of sight, Amesley was describing his school days.
“I was a bit of a portly lad,” he exclaimed with every evidence of good humor.
At this admission even Sabrina glanced up in surprise. Truth to tell it was difficult to believe there had ever been a bit of spare flesh on the tall, lean young man.
“Got teased unmercifully from the other boys when I first arrived at Eton.” A deep chuckle banished any notion that he harbored a lingering sense of injustice. “Used to stash food in my pockets to devour later. One day Delacorte found me eating a scone. Snatched it away, knocked me down, and took my store of sweets. By then a group had gathered to watch me trying to wrest them back.”
He smiled at Vane standing with one shoulder propped against the mantelpiece. “Suddenly Forry was there. Never spoken to me before; but, there he was, calmly walking into the midst of that circle of taunting boys. Never moved a muscle. Just dissected Delacorte with words. By the time he’d finished, the crowd was on my side. Delacorte was forced to return my food. He never bothered me again. Nor did anyone else.” Amesley gave one satisfied sigh and tipped a glass of brandy down his throat. “Never have known quite how Forry accomplished it.”
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