A Love That Never Tires (13 page)

“Hello, Kyre!” the young woman said, smiling at them both. “Miss Talbot-Martin.”

Linley smiled, too, putting on her best face. “Hello, Miss Robeson.”

“What a pretty gown you have on!” she exclaimed, tugging at the panels of Linley’s dress.

“Thank you.” Linley wanted to say something nice about Gaynor’s dress, but the whole outfit looked so ridiculous that she could not think of one positive thing to say about it.

“I know! I know!” Gaynor said, pointing at her swath of bright pink, fur-trimmed brocade. “It’s a little much, but it
is
a Lucile!”

Linley wanted to ask what a Lucile was, but she didn’t.

Patrick smiled. “I’m sure by tomorrow morning every woman in London will have orders for one exactly like it.”

“Naturally!” Gaynor said, laughing.

At the sound of the young woman’s laughter, a servant stopped to offer the trio a tray of drinks.

“Won’t you take some more champagne, Miss Talbot-Martin?” Gaynor asked, taking a glass for herself.

“No, thank you. I believe I’ve had enough for the night.”

“Some lemonade then?” she asked. Without waiting for a reply, Gaynor turned to Patrick. “Kyre, do be a gentleman and get Miss Talbot-Martin a glass of cool lemonade.”

Patrick blinked at both women, then shrugged and walked away. He was not so naïve to think that Gaynor actually cared if Linley was thirsty. Clearly, this was not about lemonade. This was about getting him out of the way for a moment. And, for once, he was all too happy to comply.

As Patrick slipped through the crowd on his fool’s errand, Gaynor turned to Linley. “Besides the Duke of Buckland and perhaps one other gentleman,” Miss Robeson explained. “Lord Kyre is the most sought after marital prize in England.”

“How fortunate for him.”

“Yes, but not so fortunate for the young ladies interested in him,” she said.

“I see how that could make things difficult.”

“And it doesn’t help that he is so nice to
everybody
.” As if Linley had only imagined the insult, Miss Robeson continued, “You see, our dear friend is the ideal husband—handsome, gracious, and quite manageable. His wife could do whatever she pleased, so long as she kept him in Henry Poole and left him to those dusty old books he loves so much.”

“I’m sure he would disagree.”

“On the contrary,” Gaynor said. “Lord Kyre is a smart man. He understands what it takes to make a marriage beneficial for both parties.”

“And what would that be?”

“Privacy,” she said. “And the good sense not to ask questions one needn’t know the answers to.”

“You mean the freedom to have affairs.”

“Oh, Miss Talbot-Martin, you are so delightfully middle class.” Gaynor laughed. “Haven’t you heard of Lady Wolstanton? She and Lord Kyre carried on quite the torrid love affair some years ago. He didn’t seem to mind that she was married.”

Patrick turned and glanced in their direction. Clearly, he knew they were discussing him. Even from thirty feet away, it was plain to see. But as quickly as he locked eyes with them, he returned his focus to the footman at his elbow.

Linley forced herself to do the same, concentrating on Miss Robeson instead. “You seem to know a great deal about his virtues.”

“And, as you can see, I know a great deal about his vices, too,” Gaynor said. “No, not his vices. His…” She paused to find the right word. “…Weaknesses. A man like that doesn’t have vices.”

Linley had to agree. Since they day she met him, she had never known Patrick to be anything other than the perfect gentleman. She could not imagine him as anything less.

But hadn’t they quarreled that very same evening? Hadn’t he confessed to being angry and jealous? Clearly he was not perfect. And, clearly, Gaynor knew him better than she did.

And it made Linley furious.

She opened her mouth to say something. She was not going to be bullied, especially not by the likes of Gaynor Robeson, no matter how rich, or pretty, or popular the woman was. Linley could out-shoot her, out-ride her, and more than likely out-smart her. In the real world, Miss Robeson did not stand a chance. But Linley had to remind herself that this was not the real world, and that Gaynor Robeson possessed an entire arsenal of the only thing that mattered here—feminine allure.

By then Patrick had returned,
sans
lemonade, and, as if sensing her victory, Gaynor took a quick sip of her champagne and handed Linley the half-empty glass.

“Kyre,” she said, holding her free hands out to him. “Dance with me!”

Linley watched Patrick lead Gaynor onto the dance floor. She had to admit they made a smart couple. Even in that ridiculous gown, Gaynor’s poise and beauty lit up the room as she laughed and spun in Patrick’s arms. But, however lovely Miss Robeson looked, no one else seemed to notice. The entire ballroom studied Linley in her black dress and red slippers.

Her heart raced and she felt flushed all over. She longed to slip into a corner and hide somewhere or to run out into the street and jump in the first motorcar she saw.

As she scanned the room, hundreds of unfamiliar faces stared back at her. But the one face she did recognize—and for once in her life wished she hadn’t—was Reginald’s. He stood with his family near the French doors.

When his eyes met hers, Linley waved. She’d been spotted. What else could she do?

Reginald crossed the dance floor and headed straight in her direction. “What are you doing here?”

“I—I came with Lord Kyre.”

“The man is taking you to ball
s
now? What is he trying to do, flaunt you?”

Linley shrugged.

Looking down at her, Reginald sighed. “At any rate, you look beautiful. I almost didn’t recognize you in these clothes.”

“Thanks,” she replied. “You look nice, too.”

“Listen, I’ve been trying like mad to raise money for your father, but I’m afraid we’re running out of time. Tonight was my last hope, and not even the Earl of Markham would commit.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean it might be over for us, Lin. Everyone is afraid there’s a war coming, and no one wants to part with their money. My own parents are tapped or they would help.” He lowered his voice and leaned in very close to her. “Between you and me, I’ve been borrowing against my inheritance for years to keep us afloat.”

Linley brought a gloved hand to her mouth. “Oh, Reginald!”

Of course, Patrick chose that exact moment to reappear. He looked at Linley’s distressed face, and then at Reginald, who looked almost as upset. “What is going on?”

She turned to him, placing her hand on his arm. “Reginald just told me that our fundraising efforts have been a failure. No one is willing to help us.”

Patrick stared hard into Reginald’s eyes. “You couldn’t raise any money?”

“Not nearly enough.”

“What about a ball?” he asked. “You haven’t tried that.”

Reginald shook his head. “We have nowhere to hold it. Mrs. Hastings’ house is not big enough, and Bedford already asked the British Museum, which refused.”

“Then I may have a place for you,” Patrick said.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

By the time Patrick’s motorcar pulled up in front of Berenice’s townhouse, Linley could barely keep her eyes open. She was not used to keeping such late hours, even if Patrick assured her two in the morning wasn’t late at all.

“Most parties don’t end until dawn,” he explained.

“That is just stupid,” Linley said. “Some people can’t sleep all day.”

“I assure you that you could if you tried.”

They both smiled, and Linley resisted the urge to take his hand. “Thank you for a wonderful night.”

“It was my pleasure.” He stepped out of the motorcar and helped her onto the pavement. “And I will see what I can do about helping your father.”

She nodded, yawning.

“Go upstairs and straight to bed,” Patrick said, poking a finger at her. “I don’t want to see any puffy eyes tomorrow when I call on you.”

“You’re calling on me?”

“If you’d like me to. I know I’m no substitute for Allard Robeson, but…”

Linley gave him a hard shove, nearly sending him toppling off the edge of the kerb. “I’m too tired to fight with you tonight,” she said. “But tomorrow I am going to punch you in the mouth!”

Patrick laughed. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Oh?” Linley grinned, putting both of her little fists in the air.

“I warn you I earned a blue in boxing at Oxford.”

Linley tilted her head. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’m pretty damned good.”

“Well, in that case!” She hopped around him, keeping her guard up.

Patrick put his fists up, showing that he knew what he was doing.

Linley, however, was not intimidated. She jabbed at him, which he dodged.

“You can’t win,” he told her.

She laughed, taunting him. “You’re nothing but a kangaroo boxer!”

Patrick’s eyebrows shot up.

Linley still circled, keeping her fists up, ready to strike at any minute.

“No hitting below the belt, now,” Patrick warned, watching her go around him.

Laughing, Linley charged at him. He grabbed her easily, wrapping his arms around hers, preventing her from punching him. They staggered backward, Patrick’s feet becoming tangled in the longer part of Linley’s skirt.

Before either could do anything to stop it, they both fell backward onto the hard stone pavement.

Linley landed on top of him, arms and legs sprawled in all directions. “Oof!”

She opened her eyes, realizing she lay level with his chest. It was a miracle one of his gold shirt studs hadn’t scratched her eyes out. And since she could still see, she raised her face up to Patrick, who looked as if he’d almost been strangled by his stiff celluloid collar.

His breath came in short, shallow puffs. Was he tired from their boxing match? Winded from their fall? Or was he breathless for a very different reason?

It was a perfect time for him to kiss her. Their faces were already so close together. Linley held her breath, waiting for it.

Patrick cleared his throat instead. “Are you hurt?”

“No…but I think my dress is ruined.” She scrambled to her feet, inspecting the damage. A long rip in the fabric exposed her stocking-clad leg.

“I’ll buy you a new one.” Patrick dusted off his black evening clothes and scooped his top hat off the ground. “In the meantime, no more boxing matches. I’m getting too old.”

“Not old,” she grinned. “Just out of practice.” Linley leaned up and kissed his cheek, wishing she were brave enough to go for the lips. “Good night, Patrick.”

***

The following morning, Patrick woke up early and drove over to Kyre House. Other than to move furniture around, he hadn’t stepped foot in the place since Georgiana’s last season. The enormous old house on Park Lane cost too much to run year around, especially since no one ever stayed there except for a few months during the spring. Patrick kept it open for as long as he could, but once Georgiana was married with a home of her own, it no longer made sense. He moved the most valuable furnishings to the attics of his country estate at Kyre—the only place he could ever call home—and threw sheets over everything else.

As he pushed open the front door that morning, a cloud of dust blew through the foyer, taking old newspaper and trash along with it. Patrick coughed. If he planned on having it ready for the Talbot-Martin’s fundraiser, he would have to hire an army to clean it.

His footsteps echoed on the parquet floor as he walked from room to room. The sheets strewn across the tables and chairs reminded him of ghosts. He pulled one away to reveal a beautiful mahogany side table. It was the one that always held fresh bouquets of flowers his stepmother insisted on having delivered every day.

He recalled the dinner parties held in the dining room. The heavy doors were pulled closed, but he could still imagine the lamplight glinting in the crystal glasses and the laughter of friends well into the early morning hours.

He walked down the long corridor that led to the carved wooden staircase. Every step groaned under his weight as he climbed his way to the upper floors. Even after their father died, Georgiana insisted on keeping everything the same as it was before. Patrick hated his stepmother’s decorating. At least on the main floor it had been restrained, but the family floors and servants quarters suffered from garish wallpaper and heavy Victorian furniture.

He pushed open the door to his father’s old bedroom. As master of the house, Patrick slept there in the years after he succeeded to the marquessate, but he always felt like an interloper. It would always be his father’s room.

The high, curtained bed still stood against the wall. As a boy, it had been the best bed in the house for jumping. Patrick and his older brother, John, could get so high their fingertips would brush the fabric of the canopy. He grinned as he climbed onto the dusty mattress for old time’s sake.

The bed sagged beneath him. Better not try jumping. With his luck, he’d go through the floor.

Rolling off the bed, he checked the rest of the rooms before heading back downstairs. The house could be ready in a week. All he really needed to fix was the ground floor—the foyer, drawing room, dining room, and the ballroom. Of course, it would cost him more than he would rather spend, but Linley was worth it.

***

“I see you’re no worse for wear,” Linley said, smiling as she joined Patrick in the drawing room. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore,” he replied.

She sank down onto the sofa beside him. “Poor darling!”

“I thought we could go for a walk in Hyde Park this afternoon,” Patrick said. “Would you like that?”

Linley smiled. “Of course.”

Berenice filed into the room, a copy of
The Sketch
in hand. “Good afternoon, Lord Kyre.”

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Hastings,” he said. “I was just asking Linley if she would like to go for a walk in Hyde Park.”

“Lovely idea,” Berenice said, easing into her favorite chaise. “Have a nice time.”

Linley turned to her. “Aren’t you coming?”

“No, I don’t think that will be necessary. I believe Lord Kyre can be trusted to behave himself as a gentleman.”