Dangerous to Love (33 page)

Not entirely baseless. Mary Donovan, he would allow—was that her name? He took issue with Mrs. Carla What’s-her-name. The only Carla he knew was the madam of a bawdy house and was old enough to be his grandmother. As for the Indian girl, he had merely rescued her from a brutal husband. There had never been anything between them.

Faithless.
Now that was going too far. He understood about fidelity in marriage. His own father had been an example to him, which was more than could be said of Serena’s father if rumor was to be believed. If Serena had been any kind of a wife to him, she would have had more fidelity than she knew what to do with. He would have
given her fidelity every night of the week, and twice on Sundays. Maybe thrice.

If anyone was faithless, it was that beau of hers. He had stood there gawking like a half-wit when Amelia turned the full force of her charm upon him, and all the while Serena’s teeth were chattering like castanets. Hadley hadn’t had the presence of mind even to throw his coat over the shivering girl. Julian had wanted to throttle the man. And this was the paragon Serena had held up to him?

Good lord, in Trevor Hadley, she had nothing to crow about. Julian had done a little investigation of the gentleman. Mr. Hadley made his money from the sheep he farmed in the wilds of Wales. He hated society life and had only been persuaded by his dragon of a mother to come to town to find himself a wife—a docile, biddable wife who would breed the next generation of Hadleys just as his prize ewes produced his next crop of lambs. How Hadley had been taken in by Serena was beyond his comprehension. Docile? Biddable? He could almost feel sorry for the poor misguided poltroon.

His mouth twisted in a humorless smile. The things he admired in Serena would make poor Mr. Hadley take to his heels. He couldn’t believe that she meant to waste herself on such a man. What would she find to do on a sheep farm in Wales? Englishwomen of gentle birth, when they were not producing the next generation of their replicas, were mere ornaments to be displayed. Hadley would hardly let her take a hand in his business enterprises. In the New World, things were different. Husbands and wives worked together to tame the vast wilderness and carve out a place for themselves. South Carolina was a young, vigorous colony. Women of Serena’s stamp were its life-blood. And if anyone could prevail in the New World, Serena could. A lady, no, a
woman capable of risking her life in the stinking sewers of London would not cavil at a few mosquitoes or the sweltering heat of a Carolina summer.

It wasn’t all work, of course. When the harvests were in, planters and their families repaired to Charles Town. In Charles Town, Serena would—

Suddenly recognizing the direction his thoughts were taking, he flung himself from the bed and went to stand by the window. Jaw clenched, he stared out blindly, only vaguely aware of the press of vehicles below as patrons came and went through the front doors of his club. In Serena’s eyes, he would always be the gamester who could never aspire to kiss the hem of her gown. Which was just as well, he told himself savagely, because the day he kissed the hem of any woman’s gown was the day he would admit himself to an insane asylum.

I thought I was in love with you. I thought I was in love with you.
Her words drummed inside his head. If he had believed that .  .  . He squelched the thought before it was complete. Past tense! He and Serena were past tense, and an ocean of regret could not wash out his mistrust of her.

J
eremy Ward’s comforting prediction that the scene between Julian and Serena would be soon forgotten proved too optimistic. Within twenty-four hours, not only was the tale told a hundred times over—in gentlemen’s clubs, in coffeehouses, in drawing rooms, in ballrooms—but with each telling the story became juicier and much more lurid.

Catherine Ward heard it first at her levee. She was feeling rather gratified at the crush of people who filled her little boudoir that particular Thursday afternoon. Lady Kirkland was present, as was her ladyship’s bosom friend, Lady Trenton, and other notable members of the ton. This was something of a triumph for Catherine, and she wondered why she was being suddenly taken up by so many fashionables of the first rank. Before the room had emptied of all but her most constant admirer, Lord Charles, she had received a spate of invitations to routs, ridottos, balls and, most splendid of all, to a house party at the Kirklands’ place in Kent.

“Charles,” she exclaimed, clapping her hands, “this is like a dream come true. You see what this means, don’t you?”

“Oh yes, I see what this means. Do you?” For a moment, Catherine faltered beneath that somnolent stare. Then she shook her head and crowed with delight. “What this means is that Serena and Letty may enlarge their circle of acquaintances, you know, meet more eligible gentlemen.” Catherine never put a guard on her tongue when she was with Lord Charles. They had
known each other since they were children and she was as comfortable with him as she would have been with her own brother. “Then perhaps we shall see the last of Mr. Hadley. Oh, not that there is anything wrong with Mr. Hadley, you understand. It’s simply that he is wrong for Serena.”

Lord Charles rose to his feet and Catherine stared up at him as he came to tower over her. He wasn’t as handsome as her own husband, but he was very pleasant to look upon. At one time, she had tried to play matchmaker, hoping his eye would alight on Serena or Letty. He was a most eligible bachelor, well breeched and heir to his father, the Marquess of Danham. Lord Charles evaded all her efforts to marry him off, and she knew why. He was an incorrigible rake, devoted to a succession of mistresses, and he had never bothered to hide it from her. Nor did she like him any the less for it.

“What is it, Charles? What did I say to amuse you?”

“How set are you on frustrating this match between Serena and Mr. Hadley?”

She dimpled. “You won’t tell Jeremy?”

“He would be the last person in whom I would confide.”

She glanced up at him quickly, but there was nothing to be read in his expression. Smiling confidingly, she said, “I’m utterly opposed to it. Mr. Hadley is very nice in his own way, but he won’t do for Serena. That girl needs to be taken out of herself, you know, live a little more recklessly. I would be far happier if she found someone .  .  . well .  .  . someone like you, Charles.”

“How fascinating,” he drawled. “Then your happiness should be complete.”

For one irrational moment, she thought he was implying he had offered for Serena, and her heart did the oddest flip-flop inside her chest. It was the satirical smile that
brought her to her senses. “All right, out with it,” she said, laughing up at him. “What is it you know that I don’t know?”

“Julian Raynor,” he replied gently. “I had it from my valet that Raynor’s mistress came upon him last night as he was—shall we say, ‘embracing’ Serena?—and Lady Amelia toppled the poor girl into the lily pond in a fit of jealousy.”

“Oh no!”

His eyes searched her face. “Do I detect a note of pique?”

“What?”

“You and Raynor. At one time, as I remember, he paid you assiduous court.”

He sounded jealous, and she looked at him with an arch smile. Flirting with him, she said, “Julian is very hard to resist when he decides to charm a lady.” Her smile faded before the sudden ferocity in his expression.

“I’m warning you, Catherine, I won’t let you go to him. If you leave Jeremy for any man, that man will be me. I’ve invested too much in you to lose you now.”

For a moment or two, she could not make sense of what he was saying. When his meaning registered, her face flushed scarlet and she sprang to her feet. “Invested in me?” She threw the words back at him. “I thought you helped me, helped us, because you were our friend.”

“I’m not talking about money. I’m talking about us. There is something between us. There always has been. You know
it
too.”

There had been something between them once, but that was a long time ago. As a young girl, she had been infatuated with him, not that he had known of it. Even then, he’d had an eye for loose women. When he had gone off to university and Jeremy Ward had come into her life, she had got over her infatuation.

When he made to take her in his arms, she backed away from him. “I love my husband,” she said desperately. “I thought you knew it.”

She thought for a moment that he would disregard her words, but he swung away from her and stood gazing out the window. When he turned back to face her, she saw with some relief that his habitual satirical smile was in place.

“Sooner or later,” he said, “something like this was bound to happen. I am, am I not, an unconscionable rake, and you are a beautiful, desirable woman?”

His expression, his whole demeanor invited her to laugh with him. She laughed uncertainly. “And I should have expected it,” she said.

“Friends?” He said the word whimsically.

“Always,” she responded, trying to control her breathing.

His recovery was more rapid than hers. As if there had been nothing between them, he returned to their former topic of conversation. “It’s not surprising that all of London is beating a path to your door. They hope to be in their boxes when the curtain goes up on the next act between Serena and Raynor. It’s better than a cockfight, don’t you know, and it would not surprise me if wagers were being laid all over town, right at this moment, on the outcome.”

Lord Charles was correct. In the Cocoa-Tree Chocolate Shop, the odds were ten to one in favor of Lady Amelia establishing herself as Raynor’s next flirt. In White’s Coffee Shop, where a different version of the night’s events was circulating, the odds were three to one that Serena Ward would give Mr. Hadley his conge, having surprised him in
flagrante delicto
with the worldly widow. In the St. James Coffee House, where the rumor was closer to the
truth, the odds were even on Julian offering Serena Ward the position of wife before a fortnight was out.

Clive Ward thought it all a huge joke and, knowing his sister better than most, judiciously put down his blunt with every confidence that he would collect a packet.

At first, Mr. Hadley was flattered. The story he heard was that Lady Amelia and Serena Ward had come to blows over none other than himself. Further reflection sobered him. If the story ever got back to his mother, there would be no containing her tongue. The lady he married must be above reproach, or he would never hear the end of it. Serena had better tread carefully, and so he would tell her, tactfully, diplomatically, but indisputably the first chance he got.

Jeremy Ward was not so tolerant as his younger brother. When the rumors reached his ears, he cut short his business with Lord Choate and made directly for Julian’s gaming house. Major Raynor, he was told, was not at home, but had gone off to Kensington on some unspecified business.

Meanwhile, ignorant of all this rampant speculation, Serena was spending the afternoon with Letty and her two young nephews on a fishing expedition. Now that River-view was rented, the boys were missing some of their former pastimes and Serena made it a point to do interesting things with them. This was no sacrifice since she enjoyed her young nephews. Today, she was especially glad to be with them for she knew they would allow her little time for brooding.

They did not go far from home, but walked the banks of the Thames, downstream, till they came to the grounds of the old Savoy Palace. Here, under Flynn’s instructions, they set up their fishing poles and laid out their picnic.

“You’ll never catch no fish ’ere,” Flynn said in an aside to Serena. He gestured to the many small sailing boats
that bobbed on the river. “It’s too bleeding busy and we’re too late in the day.”

“That’s not the point. It’s an outing. We are here to enjoy ourselves.”

As anticipated, the fishing was uneventful, but no one was disappointed, least of all the boys. Flynn’s resourcefulness was unending. Before Robert and Francis had tired of one game, he was onto the next. His knowledge of local history was inexhaustible, and after they had eaten he went off with the boys to explore the nearby ruins. Meanwhile Serena and Letty had been assigned, much to their nephews’ glee, to women’s work.

They were packing the picnic things, and had stopped to admire a particularly fine yacht out in the middle of the river. They did not hear the approach of horses along the bridle path. It was only when they heard voices raised in salute that they realized they were not alone.

Serena was the first to recognize the two young bucks. She had caught sight of their grinning faces at the scene of her humiliation the night before, when Julian had dragged her from the lily pond.

“You are the chit from Ranelagh,” one mocked.

“So that’s the filly on which my blunt is riding,” said the other.

Serena felt a stab of fear. Rising slowly, never taking her eyes from them, she spoke in an undertone to Letty. “Don’t run. Walk. Find Flynn and bring him here.”

All the color ran out of Letty’s face. She had taken only a step or two, when one of the riders dug in his spurs and came forward, cutting off her retreat.