A Love That Never Tires (8 page)

Patrick hoped she could forgive him. He knew if he were in her position, he’d feel cheated. If she didn’t forgive him, he’d certainly understand. But still, he could hope…

“Would you mind if we skipped the dance altogether and found a quiet spot in the drawing room next door?”

Linley thought for a moment what Berenice might say, and then pushed it out of her mind. She was not going to start changing her ways just because one old woman would think it improper behavior.

Patrick took her through two large double doors. Guests from the ballroom spilled into the elegant drawing room, marveling at the collection of fine art hanging on the walls. Footmen passed through with trays of champagne. Almost every giltwood chair was occupied by someone seeking to catch their breath from the excitement next door.

This was no place for quiet conversation. Searching for an alternative, he led her through another doorway, and into what looked to be a study. In the corner sat a chesterfield sofa. Patrick gestured for Linley to take a seat.

“This is much better,” he said, sinking down beside her. He was careful not to sit too close in case someone should discover their hiding place and assume the worst.
 

Linley smoothed her skirts and turned toward him. “I don’t think I care for balls very much. They aren’t nearly as fun as everyone makes them out to be.”

“No, they aren’t.”

“Thank goodness I’ll only be here for a month,” she continued. “I’m not sure how many more of these I could stand.”

Patrick eased back against the arm of the sofa, allowing himself a better view of her shadowed features in the dim light of the room. “And where are you off to after this?”

“I don’t know. Papa hopes his knighthood will bring more attention to our work. More attention means more money, and we are sorely in need of funds. As it stands right now, we may be out of a job unless a considerable amount of money is raised.”

“So why not have a fundraiser?” he asked. “If the Robesons can do it for the National Portrait Gallery, I don’t see why you can’t do it on behalf of the British Museum.”

Linley thought for a moment. “To have a benefit we’d need somewhere to hold it. Cousin Berenice’s house is nowhere near large enough.”

“I would say you could have it at Kyre House, but the place has been shut up for years. I stay at my club whenever I’m in town.”

“That’s very kind of you to offer, all the same,” she said. “I will be sure to pass the idea along to my father. He may not have thought about a fundraising ball.”

“Do let me know if I can help. I should like to repay the kindness you showed me.”

Linley sat forward. “I showed you a kindness? When?”

In Morocco,” he answered. “I know the ‘bored young aristocrat’ bit sounds very cliché, but that is exactly what I was. You shook me up, Linley. For the first time in a long time, I saw the world as a fresh, exciting place ready to be explored.”

“I did all that?”

Patrick laughed. “All that and more. Let me do the same for you. Let me show you around London.”

“You know,” she said, mulling the idea over, “I still have not been to the British Museum...”

“Then you are long overdue. Let’s go tomorrow.”

Linley could hardly wait that long. She hoped for weeks that her father would take her, but with his busy schedule, he hadn’t found the time. If she kept waiting, she might never get to go.

Before she could answer, a group of young men and women flew into the room, spilling a bottle of champagne all over the carpet in the process. If Linley didn’t know better, she’d think they were drunk, but Berenice had assured her that no one ever helped themselves to more than one or two glasses in a night.

“Oh, bugger!” one of the young men said, stumbling. The unruly party didn’t seem to notice Linley and Patrick. They only stared at the carpet, which fizzled as the champagne soaked in.

From the doorway, someone turned the switch, filling the room with light. It was Gaynor, and she blinked for a few moments at the couple in the corner, seeing them for the first time. “Lord Kyre…” she cleared her throat. “And Miss Talbot-Martin.”

Every eye in the room turned in their direction, and Linley felt her face grow warm. She resisted the urge to look down at the floor or up at the ceiling, and instead focused on Patrick, praying he would say something.

Anything.

Other than Linley’s heartbeat, the only sound in the room came from the champagne sputtering between the threads of the carpet at their feet.

Gaynor stepped across the wet floor. “Kyre, don’t you think it’s a little soon to be corrupting our new friend?” she asked, reaching down and taking Linley by the hand. As the young woman led her to the doorway, she whispered in Linley’s ear. “You’re lucky it was only us who wandered in.”

With that, the door closed in Linley’s face.

***

On the other side of the wall, Patrick eased back into the sofa. If he was caught, he might as well own up to it. One thing his father taught him: if you’re man enough to make a mistake, you had better be man enough to admit it. “You should send for someone to clean up that mess,” he said, pointing to the dark spot on the carpet.

Gaynor crossed her arms over her chest. “One mess at a time, please.”

“Surely you aren’t upset.”

“Upset?” she asked. “Do you know what would have happened if someone discovered you? Someone other than me?”

Patrick rose to his feet, ignoring the group of young men and women whose evening he’d just ruined. “Nothing would happen because nothing did happen. Miss Talbot-Martin and I were having a very nice conversation before you barged in.”

“Please.” Gaynor stomped her foot. “Mama would die if there was a scandal in her house. And I would personally murder you if you ruined my season!”

Barely holding back his smile, he studied the faces across from him in the room. All of them he recognized—Nigel Chapman, Lord Littlecote, Lady Caroline Cantner, Lord Birkby, and Madeline Chalmers. None of them were married, and he certainly saw no chaperones. “It looks like no one is in danger of ruining your season but you, Gaynor. Now, I wonder what your mother will have to say about her carpet?”

And with that, he turned and walked out of the room.

CHAPTER TEN

Linley was never the sort of girl to fret over her looks, but by the time Patrick arrived, she must have tried on everything in her wardrobe. A quick glance at the clock told her she’d already kept him waiting for fifteen minutes, and she didn’t even need Berenice to remind her how rude that was.

“I’ll just have to go in this,” she said, turning in the mirror. She could see Clare’s face in the reflection, brows knitted. “What? Is it that bad?”

“You look fine, miss.”

Linley set her hands on her hips. “Then why are you making that face?”

The maid sighed and stepped forward to adjust the trim on one of the blue frock’s sleeves. It wasn’t the outfit that made her frown, no one could argue that it didn’t fit perfectly, but the nervous young woman inside it couldn’t see that—and it showed. “I’ve never met a marquess before, but I don’t care if he’s the Prince of Wales, he doesn’t deserve you.”

“Clare, don’t be ridiculous,” Linley said, pinning the matching blue hat into place. “He isn’t a marquess to me. He’s Patrick. And he’s just a friend, so don’t go getting any wild ideas in that head of yours.”

“You certainly don’t make such a fuss about yourself when Mr. Bourne or Mr. Gwynne pay calls.”

“That is different. I’ve known them all my life,” she explained, reaching for her gloves on the dressing table. “Patrick is a new friend, and I want to make a good impression.”

She pulled them on and made her way downstairs to the drawing room, where no doubt Patrick had already grown tired of waiting and left. To her surprise, he was still there, sitting in an armchair by the fireplace, looking almost as nervous as she did.

“I apologize for keeping you waiting.”

Patrick turned at the sound of her voice and rose to his feet a little faster than necessary. “Not at all,” he said. “I have a sister, remember? I am used to it.”

A snort from the other side of the room drew Linley’s attention away from Patrick’s superbly tailored blue suit. Gathered around a chintz sofa stood Archie, Schoville, and Reginald.

“Oh good Lord,” Linley said. “What are all of you doing here?”

Reginald cleared his throat, his eyes never leaving Patrick, causing Linley to thank God then and there that looks did not kill. “When your father mentioned someone was taking you to the Museum, we decided we’d better meet this chap.”

“Well, are you satisfied?” she asked.

All three of them shrugged.

Linley looked over at Patrick. “Can we please be on our way before I am any more humiliated?”

“Of course,” he said. “But we cannot leave without Mrs. Hastings.” When Linley opened her mouth to question him, he continued, “She is, after all, your chaperone.”

Patrick hoped that would appease her security detail for the time being. Surely they could find no fault in Linley’s going out completely chaperoned.

***

The British Museum was as imposing a building as Linley ever saw. The enormous columned façade loomed behind the wrought iron fence separating it from the tree-lined street. Her heart raced as she stepped through the gates. This building and everything it stood for was Linley’s sole purpose in life.

Patrick reached out and touched her arm. “Are you going to faint?”

Unable to utter a sound, she nodded.

He chuckled, tightening his support of her as they climbed the limestone steps leading to the colonnade and the entryway beyond.

Inside, the museum was no less intimidating. Its high, coffered ceiling and polished marble floor seemed to stretch on endlessly. Linley craned her neck to study the intricate paintwork above her head, marveling at the time it must have taken artists to complete each design.

“How beautiful,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Patrick looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time himself. “Yes, it is,” he said. “I haven’t been here since I was a boy.”

Ignoring their reverie, Berenice walked over to a stand of souvenir postcards and museum brochures. She thumbed through the pamphlets and inquired of the salesperson about the exhibits, nodding her head as he explained the different rooms. Satisfied with the young man’s answer, she returned to the spot where Patrick and Linley stood.

“I believe the Roman Gallery is to our left,” she told them. “Why don’t we begin there?”

Linley and Patrick followed, thinking it as good a place to start as any. As they crossed the entrance hall, Linley noticed a group of young women and their mothers walking only a few steps behind.

“We’re being followed,” she whispered. Patrick started to turn and look, but she grabbed his arm to stop him. “Just keep walking and pretend we don’t notice.”

An oblivious Berenice led them into the Roman Gallery, a room dedicated to Roman antiquities discovered in Britain and beyond. One entire side held portrait-sculptures of famous Romans. Linley recognized the faces of Julius Caesar, Marcus Aurelius, and the Emperors Claudius, Tiberius, and Nero right away.

She walked the line of Roman rulers, admiring the artistry of their likenesses. In front of a bust of Marcus Aurelius, she paused to lean toward his marble face. “
It is not death that a man should fear, but he should fear never beginning to live.
”

Patrick stood beside her, also studying the old man’s features. “Pardon?”

“Marcus Aurelius,” she explained. “Haven’t you ever read his
Meditations
?”

“No, but I’ve read
Julius Caesar
,” he grinned and pointed to the time-weathered bust a few feet down the row, then clasped his hands to his heart. “
Et tu, Brute?
”

Linley shook her head, laughing. “You are not nearly as clever as you think you are.” She started to tease him more, but her attention drifted back to the group of women huddling in a far corner, watching her. “Do you know them?”

Patrick glanced toward the ladies. “No, I don’t think so.”

“I’ll bet they know you.”

“I’m sure they do,” he replied, taking her by the arm. “Last I heard, I was the third most eligible bachelor in England.”

“Only number three?” Linley asked, grinning as he led her through the rest of the Roman Gallery.

The next rooms housed works of the Greco-Roman style, including statues and busts from the private collection of Charles Townley, acquired by the museum after his death. In an alcove between the first and second Greco-Roman rooms, Townley’s sculpture of Venus stood, naked except for a swath of cloth draped around her legs.

“This is actually a copy of the statue of Phryne at Delphi,” Linley explained as she stopped to admire the woman. “Phryne was a Grecian courtesan noted for her extraordinary beauty. It is said she once went to trial, but at the sight of her bare breasts, the judges acquitted her.”

Patrick stepped forward to study the statue’s shapely figure, enjoying the sight of her splendid breasts and graceful hips. “How fascinating.”

“If you like Venus, then you should see Clytie,” Linley said, pulling him over to the bust of a voluptuous beauty seeming to rise out of a circle of leaves. Only a thin veil of fabric covered her breasts.

Patrick admired her, as well. “She appears so soft that I could run my hands across her.”

Thank God Berenice didn’t hear him say that! Linley blushed at the thought of Patrick running his hands across any woman’s breasts—especially her own poor excuses for ones.

As if he could read her mind, Patrick glanced down at her flushed face and smiled a long, slow smile.

Turning away from him, struggling to find something else to talk about, she asked, “Have you seen Berenice?”

“No.”

“Perhaps we should go find her.”

Patrick shrugged his shoulders, not in the least concerned about Linley’s chaperone.

They wandered through the rest of the Greek and Roman antiquities in search of the woman. Finally, they found her talking to a museum attendant, waving her hands in the air at the frazzled young man.