A Heartless Design (3 page)

He gained on the thief, but just as he lunged forward and actually touched the edge of the man’s coat, they reached the road. Turning suddenly, the man shoved Jem roughly, knocking him backwards. Then he ran along the roadside, vanishing around a curve further ahead.

Breathing hard, Jem scrambled up from the ground, watching in consternation.  He’d never get the thief now. Sighing painfully, his breath coming in heaves, he turned back toward the house.

He found the study a blaze of light, with the furious housemaid Ivy, Stiles, and now Bond all surveying the damage.

“Jem!” Bond cried when she saw him. “Did you get hurt?”

“No, I’m all right,” he said, leaning on the doorjamb. “Afraid I didn’t catch him, though, sir,” he added, looking at Stiles.

“Too bad,” Stiles growled, his face red. “I had a few things to say to him.” His hands clenched into fists.

“Was anything taken?” Bond asked anxiously. She swallowed, thinking the same thing as everyone else. If any sort of officials came to the house, they would question everyone, looking for an easy suspect. That was something that struck fear in any servant’s heart. For these particular servants, such an event would be tantamount to a second trial.

“He was holding something,” Ivy declared. “But I’m afraid I didn’t notice what it was. Maybe he dropped it outside?” 

Jem shook his head. “Maybe. It was dark. I think he was startled before he could get further into the house. He couldn’t have wanted anything in here, right?” He looked at Stiles for confirmation. “There’s nothing worth much money here. It’s just Miss Bering’s study.”

Stiles agreed. “He probably just broke in through here because it was the furthest room from where we were.”

“But Nero sounded the alarm,” Bond said proudly, now holding the cat in question tightly in her arms. “I’ll find an extra piece of fish for you, sir.” Nero purred loudly, his injury forgotten.

“We may be grateful for that,” Stiles said. “And there’s no need to consult the authorities. But I will inform Miss Bering when she returns. Jem,” he said, turning to the footman, “I’ll have to ask you to stay awake tonight, lad. We may have scared him off, but…”

“Aye. I’ll stay up, and I’ll walk the house every hour. Nothing will happen that I won’t hear.”

“Good. Ivy, ask Cook make up a bit of soup for the boy,” Stiles ordered. “He looks in need of a bite, after all that running.”

“Sure I will, and Bond will bring it to you.”

“I’m going to check the rest of the windows and doors,” Stiles said grimly. “And we’ll have to take steps to improve the locks. Imagine! Breaking into
this
house!” he said in mild astonishment.

“Well, they don’t know who we are.” Ivy chuckled.

Bond gasped. “But what if they do? Perhaps that’s why they chose it! They knew we wouldn’t want to make a fuss!” Nero, riled by her tension, leapt free and disappeared out of the room.

“You worry too much, Lucy,” Jem said, putting his arm around her. “I’ve been in this house for years now. No one knows what little secrets we may have, aside from our own families. It’s just a coincidence.” He looked at Stiles and Ivy over her head, warning them not to disagree and upset the girl further.

Whether or not Bond believed Jem, she relaxed slightly, and certainly didn’t mind his closeness.

“A coincidence,” Ivy said strongly, whether she believed it or not. “And if they do come back, we’ll make sure they know we’re not to be trifled with.”

The party quickly became too
much for Cordelia to tolerate. She left her aunt with their mutual friend Lord Dunham, who was quite charming enough that her own momentary absence would not be missed. She decided to go outside for a while.

Pacing through the gardens, Cordelia found herself sighing restlessly. She never really minded the London Season, but this year’s distractions were unsettling. She couldn’t put off the feeling that she was being watched…and not just by admirers.

She found a hidden grotto in the garden, the sort of den trysting lovers might hide in. But it suited her purposes as well. She desired more than anything else to be alone. The usual crowd of men had clung to her tonight, all polite and all attentive. Too attentive.

She sat on a stone bench, lost in thought. Perversely, as soon as she was truly alone, she felt a sense of melancholy wash over her. Something about the evening reminded her too much of a particular evening in the past.

In a flash, she realized what memory had been teasing her all night. She had been nineteen. On a night just like this, she received the proposal that her heart had been aching for. Her childhood sweetheart Vincent Jay had asked her father for permission, then asked her to marry him; she had erased the nervousness in his eyes with a happy, innocent kiss. That spring night was the beginning of an all too brief period of joy, one that abruptly ended in Vincent’s untimely death. Years later, the pain was still there. She couldn’t forget it. If only she could explain it to someone.

“Stop it, you goose,” she muttered to herself. She didn’t need anyone to comfort her. She had endured years of solitude; she could endure one more night. She continued to sit quietly as the sounds of people walking by rose and faded. A couple walked by, speaking in low tones. Though she could not discern any words, the intimacy of the conversation needled her, making her oddly jealous of the pair.

A gaggle of voices suddenly became louder, and a rustling of leaves brought her to her feet. It sounded as if someone had found her grotto. Then a huge shadow loomed over her.

“Oh!” Cordelia stepped away, nearly tripping on the bench behind her, and found herself staring at a tall—and devastatingly attractive—gentleman.

“Pardon me.” The man bowed slightly, looking just as surprised to see her. “I didn’t know this hiding place was occupied.”

“Are you in need of a hiding place?” she asked, finding her footing.

He smiled faintly. “I fear I am being stalked by the…mothers.” As if to emphasize his predicament, he kept his voice low. Dark eyes gleamed with amusement.

Cordelia hesitated for a second, then decided that for once, propriety could be ignored. She was old enough to sit with a man in a secluded spot if she chose. And she was curious about the newcomer. “Please join me, then. I can sympathize with the need to avoid matchmakers.” She sank slowly back onto the bench.

He sat next to her. “I’m sorry to have intruded on your privacy,” he said.

“It’s of no matter,” she said, putting out her hand, white in the dappled moonlight. He took it, bowing his head just a bit, in a polite gesture. Then they caught the voices of the matrons every bachelor in London most dreaded, much closer this time. Putting a finger to his lips, he held her to silence while they passed by.

When it was safe to speak again, Cordelia couldn’t suppress a soft laugh. It seemed that he really was just a fellow victim of the marriage mart. “You
are
being stalked, aren’t you?”

“It’s a curse.” He looked at her, and she felt the intensity of his gaze. “I think you understand the feeling of being pursued.” 

Cordelia shivered, thinking not of the dozen marriage proposals she’d received recently, but of the odd daydream she had earlier.

He had not released her hand yet, and when Cordelia shivered, he must have felt it. She withdrew her hand, not even aware that he’d exceeded the bounds of politeness by keeping hold of her so long.

“I wish they’d leave me alone,” she muttered, half to herself. He heard her comment though, saw her rub her arms to rid herself of the goosebumps that had arisen.

“Are you cold?”

“No,” she said lightly. “Well, yes. A little. It’s nothing to concern yourself with.” But he had already shrugged out of his jacket and draped it around her. Cordelia was cocooned in a comforting warmth, along with a masculine smell like leather, and perhaps sandalwood. The gesture was as intimate as it was chivalrous, and she was suddenly conscious of how much a stranger he was to her.

Casting for a safe topic, she said, “I haven’t met you at these events before.” She waved her hand to indicate the Season in general. “Do you live in London?” She tried not to notice the lines of his body, suddenly revealed now that his coat was off. She hoped the darkness hid her involuntary glance. He was worthy of a second glance, which she was determined
not
to indulge in.

“I don’t, to be truthful.” He laughed to himself, at some private joke. “Circumstances force me to travel. I have, um, one house here in London.” He paused, perhaps considering how much to tell her. “My family estate is in Cheshire. I don’t get to spend as much time there as I’d like, either. Too much time abroad.”

“I have never been out of England,” Cordelia admitted. “My father once told me he took me to Scotland when I was three, but I don’t think that counts, do you?”

“Not if you don’t remember it.” The man smiled. “You live with your father?”

Cordelia stilled. “He has passed away.”

He apologized instantly. “Forgive me. I shouldn’t have asked.” 

“How could you know? Anyway, it happened some years ago.” She didn’t need to mention that her mother was gone as well; something in his expression told her he understood.

“I suppose I should return to the house,” Cordelia said after a moment.

“Don’t go,” the gentleman said suddenly, an odd tone in his voice. 

She looked at him, searching. “Why not?”

“It’s too pleasant out to go in that hot box again. I’m not one for crowds. And I barely know anyone in there, aside from Lord Gough…and all the mothers.” 

“Then why did you come?”

Again, he smiled as if he had a secret. “I have to attend some functions. It’s expected of me.”

“You don’t seem the type to endorse the obscure dictates of polite society,” she noted, thinking that he only played at being a gentlemen. There was something rather rebellious about him.

“Perhaps not.” He looked at her again, and Cordelia suddenly felt the hiding place had somehow become a lair. His lair. He managed to corner her without moving at all. “But tell me something. Why are you here? You come to a party only to hide in the garden? I noticed you inside, in that lovely gown. You were surrounded by admirers.”

“I was tired of being around people,” Cordelia said, leaning back into the stone wall behind them.

He murmured, “Yet you invited me in.” His words seemed to wrap themselves around her, warmer than the coat he’d already lent.

“I should not have,” breathed Cordelia.

He reached toward her, slowly. Drawing her closer to him. “But you did anyway,” he said. “I may have to take advantage of that.”

Cordelia didn’t know how he got so close. Her brain was swirling in the scent of him, now stronger than before, strangely exciting. “What sort of advantage?” 

“Just a kiss,” he returned, still gazing at her, noting every flutter of her eyes.

“I do not kiss,” she said primly. Or she tried to be prim about it. She leaned away from him, preparing to return to the party. “By your own admission, you are not familiar with London society, sir, so let me tell you what they call me.
Heartless
. It’s a true description. And you’ll forgive me if I leave you now.”

He stopped her with a look. “You may leave when you return my jacket.” Was he laughing at her?

“Here, take it.” Cordelia stood up and almost flung the jacket off. He stood as well, preventing her flight. “Thank you,” she added. Her breeding would not let her be too impolite.

“Is it so unbelievable that I want to kiss you?” he asked, real curiosity in his voice.

“It is not unbelievable at all,” she retorted. “For years, I’ve put up with this kind of thing. God grant I get old and ugly quickly so it will stop.”

“God forbid. You’ve never once found a man you’ve wanted to kiss?” he continued, as if truly interested in the answer.

She paused. In truth, there were few she could remember who had stirred her even a little since her first love. The man in front of her now, though, certainly commanded her attention. “Why should you care?”

“Because you’re too lovely to be put on a shelf. You’re made for living.”  

“I suppose you are the judge of such things,” she said sourly.

“I have some experience,” he drawled. “And I can tell one thing about you already. You want to prove me wrong. So here’s your chance. One kiss, and you may flee back into the ballroom, secure in the knowledge that I am as disappointing as all the others.” His absurdly self-assured tone belied his words.

  Cordelia stood stock still. She’d never heard an offer like that before. It was not veiled in a proposal, and it had a kind of honesty about it. “All right.”

If the man was surprised at her acquiescence, he didn’t show it. “You’re game? Have a seat, then.”

“No. One does not need to sit for a single kiss.” She was very determined on that point.

“Have it your way,” he shrugged. He cupped her face in his hand, looking at the sensual curve of her lips that even her pout couldn’t erase.

“Is this a necessary step?” she asked.

“I have only one kiss to give you. I must make sure it’s well planned.” 

Cordelia caught the teasing in his voice. “Well?”

“Patience.” He bent down and laid his lips on hers. He moved his hand to the back of her neck to better control the kiss, and let his mouth linger.

Cordelia felt her resolve slip when he touched her, and when she felt his tongue tease her lower lip, she gasped at the sensation. He didn’t let her go, he only continued to brush her mouth lightly, using even his breath to titillate her.

He sensed her relative inexperience, but also her interest. He deepened the kiss, parting her mouth to dart inside with his tongue. She fluttered beneath him, her heartbeat surging.

Cordelia had never connected the word
kiss
with what was happening to her now. This was far beyond anything she’d expected. And she didn’t want it to stop.

When she felt the man’s arm slip around her waist, she knew she had to end this madness. Her hands were somehow laid flat against his chest, so she pushed him a bit. He released her instantly, but didn’t step away. An insolent smile hovered on his lips. “Heartless, you said?”