Amanda McCabe (15 page)

“Well, I have never been there before, so I shall rely on your guidance in making my choices,” Rosalind told her.

“You have never been to Gunter’s!” Violet cried in evident horror. “Then we must go there now, at once. You will adore it, I vow! Won’t she, Michael?”

Rosalind reluctantly turned her attention from Violet to the girl’s brother. Lord Morley gave her a wide grin, and said, “Oh, yes, we should hurry. Some pleasures, Mrs. Chase, should never be delayed.”

Before Rosalind could respond, Violet took her arm and drew her to the front door, with Lord Morley following behind. She was so caught up by the feel of his gloved hand on hers as he helped her into the carriage that she quite forgot to see if the lurking man was still there.

Gunter’s was crowded with well-dressed members of the
ton
, gorging themselves on pastries and ices and glancing about avidly to see who else was there. It was exactly as if the Portman ballroom where Rosalind had first encountered Lord Morley in London had been moved in toto to the café. All the same people were there; the same snatches of conversation floated through the sugar-scented air. Only the jeweled hair combs and feathered turbans had been replaced by bonnets here.

As Lord Morley opened the door to usher Rosalind and Violet inside, Rosalind reached up to be sure her own hat was straight. It was one of Georgina’s pieces of millinery, a tall-crowned, fashion-forward affair made of dark blue velvet and satin, with a flirtatious half veil of blue tulle. Rosalind had not been too sure of it when Georgina pressed it on her; unlike a proper bonnet or a cap, it left too much of her red hair exposed. But she had given in and worn the thing.

Now she wished more than ever for one of her own bonnets, preferably one with a concealing brim. When Michael stepped into the shop and offered an arm each to Rosalind and his sister, everyone turned to stare. A small hush fell over the café, but it was quickly dissipated, like a puff of smoke. Conversation resumed—yet people still watched. Rosalind saw Lady Clarke, who gave a tiny finger wave to Morley before leaning forward to whisper to her friends.

Rosalind stiffened her spine until she stood at her
full, not inconsiderable height, and tilted up her chin. She absolutely refused to let
anyone
, much less Lady Clarke, make her feel as if she did not belong here, on the arm of Lord Morley.

Morley himself seemed oblivious to the attention. No doubt he was accustomed to it, since it appeared to follow him wherever he went. Lady Violet, too, paid no heed, since she was too busy staring around with wide, amazed eyes.

“I believe I see a table over there by the wall,” Lord Morley said. “Shall we?”

Rosalind glanced over at the table indicated. It was just big enough for three, in a relatively quiet corner. “It seems fine,” Rosalind answered. “But do you not want to sit with one of your friends?”

A tiny, puzzled crease appeared between his velvety dark eyes. “My friends, Mrs. Chase?”

“Yes. Obviously many people here know you. I just saw Lady Clarke wave at you.”

He laughed, a rich, merry sound that caused yet another wave of attention to crest in their direction. “No, Mrs. Chase. This afternoon I want only to be with my sister—and with you.” His gaze lingered on hers, almost like a—a caress.

Rosalind felt her cheeks smolder again. Fortunately, Violet tugged at his arm then. “Michael,” she said excitedly. “May I have one of those strawberry ices now?”

Lord Morley laughed again, and led them to the vacant table. “Vi, you may have as many ices as you like, and cakes, too.”

“Truly?” Violet sighed, an utterly rapturous sound, and turned her attention to the small menu set before her.

“Anything you like.” Michael turned to smile again at Rosalind. She couldn’t help but think that he was well-named—Michael, the archangel. “And what would you care for, Mrs. Chase?”

What would she care for? Rosalind could scarcely consider cakes and pastries when he looked at her.

Indeed, she could scarcely think at all. She aimed her full attention on her gloves, tugging them slowly off her hands. She folded the pale blue kid and laid them atop the table.

“I think I shall just have some tea,” she answered. She never removed her stare from the gloves.

“Just tea? Oh, no, no, Mrs. Chase,” Morley chided teasingly. He reached out and touched her gloves, running one long, dark finger over the leather before laying his hand flat atop them. “You are at Gunter’s. They are renowned for their decadent pastries. You cannot go back to the country without at least trying one.”

Rosalind slowly raised her gaze to his. Much to her surprise, he was not smiling now. He was intent as he watched her, questioning—pleading? “Must I?” she murmured. The rich cakes seemed so very—decadent.

“I insist.” His voice was husky.

“Oh, yes, Mrs. Chase! You cannot come to Gunter’s and simply have a cup of tea. Try some marzipan,” Violet piped up. Her young voice burst whatever spell of enchantment Rosalind had fallen under, and she was able to turn away from him at last.

She still felt him watching her, though, and even as he laughed with Violet she heard the darkness, the pull of him.

She needed something cold to drink. Cold, and very strong.

Michael watched as Mrs. Chase turned away from him, turned all her attention to Violet’s prattlings. She even reached out and gently slid her gloves from beneath his hand and off the table, careful not to touch his skin.

He
felt
her, though, felt the warmth of her hand, the softness of her skin. She had the fairness of a redhead, with a few pale golden freckles sprinkled over the translucent back of her hand.

In his mind, he saw himself catch up that hand, pressing kisses to each of those tiny freckles, to the
faint blue of the veins in her slim wrist, her delicate fingers. He could almost feel her pulse throbbing beneath his lips…

Michael sat back in his chair, sucking in a deep breath of the sweet air. Even then he could not entirely escape those strange feelings, for he could smell her fresh, green-spring perfume.

He could not escape them whenever he was in her presence, for these sensations drew him in, drowned him, just as they had in her office, in the dark corridor at the Portman ball. There was just something about Mrs. Chase, something mysterious and alluring and deep. He wanted to discover what that was—he
needed
to know.

But he could not discover anything here. He would have to find a way to see her again, someplace more quiet. Yet how to persuade her to see him? She was as skittish as a new colt; she did not even want him touching her gloves. He would just have to find a way, that was all.

“Morley!” someone called out.

Michael looked back to see Sir William Beene, a fellow poet who had helped to found the Thoth Club. Will was one of his best cronies; they had spent many hours discussing literature, music, and the damnable fickleness of the muse.

Michael stood up to shake hands with Will—and then saw his friend’s gaze land on Mrs. Chase and kindle with avid interest.

“Morley, old man,” Will purred. “Won’t you introduce me to this lovely lady? It would be a great sin for you to keep her to yourself.”

And, even as he made the introductions and watched Mrs. Chase smile at Will, he had the strongest urge to plant his good friend a facer.

It was rather late when Michael returned to his own lodgings. He had gone for a drive in the park with Violet and Mrs. Chase after Gunter’s, had stayed with his sister until she went off to the theater with Aunt
Minnie. So the steps leading to his rooms were dimly lit in the gloaming, and he did not see the figure seated on the top step until he very nearly tripped over him. Michael nearly went sprawling, his foot landing on soft flesh.

“What the devil…” He automatically lifted his walking stick to defend himself, though the light, carved wood would actually be less than useless in a brawl.

“Oh, no, Morley, don’t hit me! It’s Allen Lucas.”

“Lucas?” Michael slowly lowered the stick, and peered through the gloom to see that it was indeed Mrs. Chase’s brother. “Why are you skulking about here outside my rooms?”

“I was just waiting for you,” Lucas said, scrambling to his feet. His coat and cravat were rumpled, as if he had been wearing them for too long, but he looked much better than he had after his escapade at the Portman ball. His eyes were clear, his face not so pale. He seemed as if he had grown up in only a few days. “I am going back to Cambridge, but I wanted to talk with you before I left.”

“Why couldn’t you just leave a card? There was no need for you to take up residence on the staircase.” Michael pushed his door open, and ushered the young man into his rooms. The draperies were drawn back at the windows, letting in the last dying rays of sunlight, and he went about lighting the lamps.

Lucas sat down in one of the armchairs by the fireplace, twisting his hat in his hands. When Michael finished his task, he sat down across from Lucas, and waited for the young man to state his errand.

“I wanted to talk to you about m’sister,” Lucas said, in a great rush as if to corral his courage, though Michael could not imagine why it took courage to speak of
her.
“She is not at all happy with me, you see.”

“Well, your behavior at the Portman ball
was
rather foolish. I imagine she was quite embarrassed.”

Lucas shook his head. “No, it is more than that. I have not seen our true circumstances, though heaven
knows she has tried to tell me enough times. She has always been more like a mother to me than a sister, you see. Our parents died when I was very young, and she’s always worked so hard to take care of me. I never realized
how
hard until recently. I got into some money trouble, you see, and then I stupidly went to a bank for a loan, and—well, that didn’t work out very well.”

Michael was not exactly certain why Lucas was telling him this, but he did not want the young man to stop. Michael was fascinated to hear more of Mrs. Chase, more of what she was like when she was not wearing her armor of rules and propriety. What she worked for—what she loved. What her troubles were. He nodded encouragingly at Lucas.

“So I have to go back to Cambridge and study so one day
I
can take care of
her.
But I need your help.”

“How can I possibly help? She thinks I have led you into wrong thinking and bad behavior by dismissing the rules.”

Lucas frowned, looking so deeply young and very confused. “I have told her that is not so, that I misunderstood you! That it was all my own doing. And I will tell her that again. But I think something is wrong with Rosie, something besides me and my stupidity, and I cannot discover what it is. She always has to pretend to be so strong.”

“Wrong? Is Mrs. Chase ill?” Michael said, alarmed.

“I don’t think so, but she
is
tired. How could she not be, with me, and all those girls at her school to contend with? I think—no, I
know
that there are some financial troubles, and they are mostly my own fault. Since I cannot be here with her, someone has to keep an eye on Rosie, make sure she doesn’t worry herself to death. Could
you
do it, Morley? Just for a while, until she goes back to the country.”

“Me?” Michael sat back in his chair. Of course it would be no great hardship to watch Mrs. Chase; quite the opposite. The more he saw her, the more he was fascinated by her. Yet he could not imagine that she
would welcome such attentions from him. Not yet, anyway. Not until he could persuade her of his finer qualities. “I doubt Mrs. Chase would allow me to, er, keep an eye on her.”

Lucas laughed ruefully. “She
is
dashed stubborn, it’s true. Yet I’m sure you could do it without her knowing. You like her, do you not?” There was an eagerness in Lucas’s eyes, in his entire manner.

Like? That was such a tepid word for what Michael was coming to feel for her. “I admire Mrs. Chase, yes.”

“I do not see how anyone could
not
admire Rosie! She’s a brick. If you could just look in on her while she’s in Town, take her about to museums and such. She likes dusty old places such as that. Perhaps you could even discover what is bedeviling her? There must be something besides money.”

“I could do that, if Mrs. Chase would allow me to. I confess to a liking for dusty places myself.”

Lucas gave him a relieved smile. “That is all I can ask. You are a good man, Morley, and I am sure my sister will come to see that, too. All this misunderstanding about rules and such will be as nothing once she gets to know you.”

Lucas took his leave soon after that, but Michael sat in his chair long after it was full dark, and the glow of the lamps was his only light.

Keep an eye on Mrs. Chase. Oh, yes, he could certainly do that, and keep men like his so-called friend Will Beene away from her while he did it. And he would start by inviting her to the theater tomorrow evening.

R
 osalind was deep in delicious sleep, just clinging to the edges of a half-remembered dream, when she became aware that someone was sitting at her bedside, watching her intently.

She suddenly remembered that strange man she had seen watching the house, and she sat up with a terrified gasp—only to find Georgina perched on the edge of the bed, like a morning bluebird in her sky-colored dressing gown.

“Georgie!” she screamed. “You scared me out of my wits. What are you doing here so early? You never rise before ten at the least. Is something amiss?”

“Not a thing, as far as I know. I’m sorry I woke you,” Georgina said, looking not in the least repentant. “But I thought you might want to see these, and you were sleeping ever so late. Late for you, anyway.”

Rosalind, finally able to catch her breath, noticed what Georgina held on her lap. A bouquet of white roses and a small, ribbon-tied box. “Flowers? You had to wake me especially for that?” Rosalind wondered if she was still dreaming.