Edith Layton (4 page)

“Extravagantly pretty,” Leigh murmured, quite impressed. Alasdair was already striding toward her.

Her companions were a servant and a slender, pale young woman dressed in white, a color she blended into. “The invisible one must be the Swanson girl.” Leigh sighed as he followed Alasdair. “It only makes sense the charmer would be the one who saved you.”

Alasdair approached the pair, then stopped and stood silent, looking at Kate.

Leigh came up to the pale girl. “Good afternoon, Miss Swanson,” he said, and bowed.

“How do you know my name?” she asked, startled.

“You could be no other,” he said. “I’ve just come from your house, and the resemblance to your sisters is remarkable.”

There was a stunned silence at the outrageous lie.

Alasdair winced. “Forgive him,” he told Kate, his eyes on hers. “I asked for a proper introduction, and he’s obviously still working at it. Let’s dispense with that. I had to thank you again and apologize for what I said. I owe you much and wanted you to know it. Oh, give you my friend, Viscount Leigh,” he added belatedly, as he stared down at her.

She looked at him, shocked, appalled, delighted. The emotions chased across her face. Alasdair had to sternly throttle the desire to take her hand and walk down the path with her so he could watch more responses come and go on that lovely, expressive face. She stared at him as though mesmerized, and he felt an unmistakable mutual tug of attraction. Daylight couldn’t disguise the flicker of response in her widen
ing eyes. He recognized that reaction too well to mistake it.

“You don’t have to thank me,” she said, never taking her eyes from his.

“Of course I do. I wish I could do more,” he said, and meant it.

She searched for words. That surprised her. She could talk the knob off a door, her family said. But standing in the shadow of this big dark man stole her breath and froze her wits.

He’d been formidable in a darkened room, he was overwhelming in daylight. She’d thought men of his reputation needed moonlight to be seductive. She was wrong. Fit and athletic, he looked like he’d be as comfortable on a horse as in a boudoir. His black hair shone like a crow’s wing, the sunlight showed his skin smooth and clear. His mouth was firm, and she found herself fascinated by his lips. They were shapely, almost tender, at least so they looked in that angular masculine face. The sable eyes were still fathomless, only now, as she tore her gaze from his mouth, she could see those eyes had long dark lashes, and now, too, they sparkled with humor and interest, making her think he was aware of every stirring reaction to him she was trying to suppress.

She wet her lips. He watched. Her companion made little coughing sounds that turned to squeaks. Alasdair turned his head to look at her. She was nervous and frightened. It reminded him of where he was, and what he was.

Their maid bustled up, looking anxious. These two gentlemen were well-known to the servants of the socially prominent. Both wealthy, titled bachelors, she considered them dangerous to her young charges, each in their separate ways. One, because few mamas
knew him well enough to know if he had a heart. The other, because they said he didn’t, and that was why he stole so many.

She needn’t have worried. Alasdair was himself again, shocked at his own lapse. He tipped his hat. “And so I merely wanted to give you good day, Miss—Good Lord! I don’t even know your name.”

“Corbet,” Sibyl Swanson said in a tiny voice. “Kate, we must be going,” she said, and then looked agonized, realizing her rudeness to the two men.

Alasdair relieved them all, except for Kate, who stood staring at him, her eyes searching his face as she still sought something to say. “Good day,” he said, bowed, turned, and left.

He walked away so fast he didn’t hear what the littlest Swanson said to her cousin in disbelief. “You said you didn’t care if you ever saw him again. But when you did see him you looked like a sleepwalker!”

“I felt like one,” Kate said as she watched his broad back retreating. “Oh, my! Oh, drat! He’s gone! He must think I’m a fool. The man’s so imposing he just stole my wits away! No wonder he left so fast. I couldn’t think of a thing to say to keep him here.”

“Then you weren’t a fool at all,” Sibyl said. She saw her cousin’s flushed face. “And what does it matter what he thinks?”

“Oh. Yes. Right,” Kate said sadly.

“You didn’t want to stay and chat some more?” Leigh asked after he’d walked along with Alasdair for a few minutes in silence.

“No,” Alasdair said grimly. “I had to thank her, I did. If there’s ever a chance for me to do her any good, I will. But the best thing I could do, I’ve done. Which is to leave her alone.”

“Pity,” Leigh said again. “I think you’d suit. She’s unique.”

“Yes, and so am I,” Alasdair said. “Exactly.”

“Leigh!” a hearty male voice called.

They paused.

Two young gentlemen hurried up to them. “What? You, out in public, promenading in a park?” one asked Leigh. “Now there’s a wonder.”

“Unlike some gents I could name, I’ve been known to leave my house by day, even when it wasn’t on fire.” Leigh laughed. “If you’d ever been out before nightfall you’d have known it. Oh, allow me to present my friend, Sir Alasdair St. Erth. Alasdair, give you these hopeless fellows, Lords Reese and Covington.”

The men bowed to each other. The newcomers looked at Alasdair with naked curiosity. He smiled. “Excuse me, gentlemen. Have your chat, Leigh. I’ll just go on ahead, I see an old friend.”

“Fine. Go on, I’ll catch up,” Leigh said.

Alasdair strode on. He hadn’t seen anyone he knew.
His
acquaintances were the sort who came out after dark—or a heavy rain, he thought with bitter humor. He rounded the path, walked off to the side, bowed his head in thought, and waited. The sun was warm on his shoulders and neck, but he felt nothing but the chill in his heart.

Yes, he thought, she was extravagantly pretty. He was definitely attracted. But he had other business to attend to, business that required all his attention, wit, and focus. Besides, she was a decent young woman, he couldn’t court her if he wanted to. Not now, not yet, maybe not ever. ‘Pity,’ Leigh had said. No. He didn’t want that. Not for himself, certainly. And not for her. She had, after all, done him a favor. So there was an end to it.

He’d long since learned to hide his emotions. He’d learned to deny them even earlier than that. And so when Leigh caught up with him, he had his mood and expression under control again. He looked up, as though he’d only been contemplating the day.

“Old schoolmates,” Leigh said with a shrug, “but bores. And, I fear, boors. They can be counted on to have many, many children,” he added to make Alasdair laugh, because he saw more in that bland expression than his friend knew. “They saw us chatting with the Swanson chit and your rescuer. I had to laugh it off, making myself the goat, convincing them it was a case of mistaken identity on my part. They knew her, you see,” he said, as they started walking again.

Alasdair looked at him.

“Yes. The Swansons may think they’re keeping their youngest a secret, but they can’t. They’re too well connected, and they do manage to pop off the odd daughter now and then. One of Reese’s brothers actually married one, last year. So he knows the whole bloodline, even the visiting cousin. He met her when he paid a call with his unfortunate brother the other week, and can’t seem to forget her either. She’s a gentleman farmer’s daughter from Kent. Of little money and no particular account, they said wistfully, because of the little money. Still, she’s connected to half the House of Lords, so she could stay with anyone, they say, but seems to like the invisible Swanson girl. She was invited to visit with the Norths as well as the Deals, here in London. She even has a standing invitation to stay with the Scalbys. But she refused. Seems your gentle rescuer has taste as well as remarkable eyes.”

Alasdair stopped in his tracks. He wheeled around and stared at Leigh, his black eyes ablaze. “
Scalby?
She’s
related
to them?”

Leigh was taken aback. He hadn’t been thinking, just prattling, to cheer his friend. Too late, he realized his mistake. He damned himself. “Well, yes,” he said slowly. “On her mother’s side. But she’s no more kin to them than the Swansons. They’re blood, but twice or thrice removed, too. You can’t think she’s tainted because of it.”

“But close enough to be invited to stay with them,” Alasdair said urgently, his face alight. “So close enough for them to know whatever she does wherever she stays.”

Leigh’s eyes widened as he stared at his friend’s suddenly animated face. “No,” he said, as understanding set in. He slowly shook his head. “I’ll support you in many things, Alasdair, and have done too. But you can’t be thinking of making her part of…your plans. No. She’s blameless. Let her remain so.”

“So she is,” Alasdair said with triumph, “but I’m not. I’d make God or the Devil part of it if it would help.”

“But to hurt an innocent? That’s not like you.”

“I wouldn’t go that far. But far enough, Leigh, far enough to get enough rope so they can hang themselves.”

“And the girl?”

“She looks able to skip rope. That’s all she’ll have to do.”

Leigh said nothing, and kept his expression bland though he was deeply troubled. Alasdair never showed his hand. That he did now meant that his excitement overrode all his training. It was as rare as it was ominous. Leigh knew his friend well, so there was nothing more he could say. No one could argue that Alasdair didn’t deserve his revenge. And he wouldn’t listen if they did.

But there was more he could do, Leigh thought.
There was every possibility the young woman would be sent home before anything happened. Every possibility, plus another. He’d see to it.

Alasdair walked on, lusting for Katherine Corbet as he never had for any woman. All thought of her lovely face and appealing figure was forgotten. In one blinding flash she’d become infinitely more desirable to him than beauty could ever be. Revenge was more important to him than sex, after all. Or food, wealth, or health, or breathing itself.

She was fascinated with him, obviously. She could be useful.

She was only a little straw, he reasoned with dark glee, but enough to break the camel’s back. Or better yet, kindling enough to start the purifying fire he’d been building toward all these long, miserable, and dangerous years. A little straw was all he needed to start a conflagration. She wouldn’t perish in it—he’d snatch her out before she did. But it would be a fatal fire. He’d see to that.

“A
gain!” Lady Swanson asked anxiously. “What was said, how was it said, and who else was there to see or hear?”

“Ma’am,” the maid said miserably, wringing her hands, “I told you all, every bit, every scrap. I can’t remember every word nor one other, I swear. As to who saw? Anyone in the Park, I’d think.”

“It’s clear you didn’t think!” the tall blond woman sitting next to Lady Swanson boomed. “You should have taken Sibyl away the minute they appeared! Oh, get out, do!” she told the trembling maid with a wave of her hand. The maid scurried from the room.

“This is too much,” the blond woman said angrily, turning to face Lady Swanson. “Leigh
and
St. Erth? Trying to scrape up an acquaintance with
Sibyl
on their own? In the Park?” She stamped her foot, making a porcelain shepherdess on the mantel do a little jig, “I will
not
have her marrying before me, Mama. Life is hard enough as it is!”

“Before you?” another fair-haired young woman cried from her seat by the window. “What about me? You can’t allow it, Mama.”

“Ho!” another thickset blond young lady said angrily from the chair where she sat, staring at her feet.
“Allow?
Are you mad, Chloe? Much Mama has to say about it. She allowed Mercy to marry before me, didn’t she? And Mercy’s a year younger.”

“But McIntyre offered for her and wanted no one else, so Mama’s hands were tied,” Chloe said with a touch of malice. “But, Mama, you
can
do something to nip this in the bud!”

All three pairs of eyes swiveled to stare at their mother. Lady Swanson repressed a sigh. She was such a delicate-looking little woman, it was hard for people to believe she’d given birth to these three strapping young females. For herself, too, sometimes. Still, she loved all her daughters, even though there was, she admitted, perhaps a surplus of them. But though she loved, she didn’t dote. It was hard to play favorites when one had seven daughters. Impossible, when they’d been so blessedly brought up by maids and governesses, she’d never experienced intimacy with them. Until now. No hired servant could see to marrying them off.

Lady Swanson gazed at her daughters and sighed more deeply. It would cost a fortune. She had that, and had spent a great deal of it already. Which was how she and her husband had popped off the older girls. But so far these three hadn’t agreed to marry any of the gentlemen her parents offered to buy for them. And she couldn’t find it in her heart to insist on any of those who had proposed because they’d been from the bottom of the barrel. It seemed even fortune hunters had some standards these days. Or maybe it was because
the peace was finally offering some prosperity, so times weren’t as bad as they’d been when her elder girls had been wed.

She felt as bad for her daughters as for herself and her husband. She knew what marital bliss was. She and her husband loved each other and always had done. He didn’t blame her, as some men might have done, for producing no sons. And how could he object to the fact that the girls she’d borne had inherited almost everything from him? That was the problem.

Lord Swanson was a man’s man, with a face and form that suited a man. He looked hale and hearty with his big broad bones, round red face, and prominent nose. It gave him weight and character. His eyes were a nondescript color, but well opened. And he’d thick brown hair, when he’d had it. His wife had lovely blue eyes, but they were small. No one noticed because her features were so charming and delicate, as was her body. The girls had inherited her blond hair and eye shape. Everything else was a feminized version of their father. Only not
that
feminine, Lady Swanson thought, and sighed again.

Most
of her girls had got their looks from their father, that was to say. Her youngest, Sibyl, was Lady Swanson’s own image, but faded, as though the imprint had got fainter being so many times removed from her. Still, a dash of soot on Sibyl’s eyelashes, a rabbit’s foot’s worth of color on her cheeks, a wash of henna to give some depth of color for the hair, and her mama was sure she could marry her off in a second. But that second would have to wait until an hour after the last of her elder sisters’ weddings. And that might take centuries, Lady Swanson thought unhappily as she looked at her daughters’ wrath. It wasn’t a flattering expression for them. They wore it often. For some
reason, they hadn’t inherited Lord Swanson’s easygoing personality either.

But, their mother thought sadly, it must be difficult growing up to realize that though you thought you had everything all your life, when push came to shove, it turned out you had nothing a man might want in a wife—except for the money in your father’s pockets. It would sour a saint, which they were not. But they weren’t wicked children. It was just that they felt things too deeply. Things like envy, rivalry, and malice.

“Now, you know very well that Sibyl didn’t approach
them
,” she said now, to calm her daughters. “And you know even better that a mere hello in the street does
not
a courtship make.”

There was some grumbling, then Henrietta spoke up. “But why should they even bother to seek her out? After spending the morning with us, going off and trying to start a conversation with Sibyl, of all people? I mean, two of London’s most eligible men accosting
her
? What other reason could they have?”

“Goodness! I’m not sure they’re
that
eligible,” Lady Swanson said quickly. “I mean, Leigh is not a social creature and is new to us, so we don’t know much about him, really. And as for St. Erth! We know too much! His reputation and all…”

“‘And all’ won’t matter at all once he
is
married,” Chloe said, aggravation in her deep voice. “You know that.”

“Sibyl’s not of marriageable age,” Lady Swanson declared. “Or only just,” she added quickly, remembering that she’d been married even younger. “And she hasn’t been presented. Therefore,” she said on a sudden happy inspiration, “it can only be that they are trying to scrape up a closer acquaintance with you girls!”

Three pairs of eyes stared stonily at her.

“Leigh
and
St. Erth interested in us?” Chloe’s lip curled. “Odd that we didn’t see any evidence of it when they were here.”

Her mother ducked her head. She raised it and saw her daughters’ expressions. She felt a tug at her heart but steeled herself to speak with forced cheer. “They’re the best of friends. You know how men are! Maybe one was lending the other support. Perhaps he wanted to know more before he went further.”

There was a stonier silence.

Lady Swanson shrugged, and gave up trying to sugarcoat the thing. “You have excellent birth and generous dowries,” she said firmly. “Your standing in Society is irreproachable. That still matters. Leigh’s a recluse, an only child of elderly parents. Who knows what pressure may have been brought to pry him from his house and hurry him to the altar? I haven’t seen his parents in years, but they could have asked to see him settled before they die. He won’t find a better lineage to suit them than here. As for St. Erth?” She pursed her lips. This was a more difficult courtship to imagine or explain.

“He’s been abroad,” she said on a sudden inspiration. “Who knows what became of his fortune there? Maybe he needs to repair it in a hurry.”

It was a hard thing to tell hopeful young women, essentially saying it was only the blood in the veins and the gold in their dowries that could interest their suitors. But it was evidently the right thing. Her daughters mulled this over. Lady Swanson eyed them sadly as they did. Chloe’s neck was not as thick as Henrietta’s, but her nose was larger. Frances’s nose was smaller, though her shoulders were broader. They would have been
such
imposing men, their mother thought wistfully.

Still, the bright side was that each was more attractive than their older married sisters. In fact, it seemed her daughters improved in looks in age order, the younger improving over her elder every time, as though Nature had kept trying to get it right. Sibyl would be so easy to be rid of—marry off, Lady Swanson thought.

After a moment of considering their mother’s harsh explanation, her daughters looked happier and gazed at Lady Swanson with renewed interest.

“So!” their mother said gaily, seeing that. “We’ll try to make it easier for St. Erth and Leigh. We shall have another ball!”

There was a chorus of groans.

Lady Swanson looked puzzled.

“Our father’s balls are the joke of the
ton
,” Chloe said.

One of her sisters snickered.

Lady Swanson’s eyes sharpened, and there was a sudden silence. Fond she might be, but she wouldn’t have her dear husband ridiculed.

“They’re too frequent,” Henrietta explained.

Lady Swanson nibbled the tip of a finger. “Then, a musicale?”

The groans were louder this time.

“No one enjoys them,” Frances said. “Except the old ladies, and that’s only because they can catch up on their sleep.”

“Then,” her mother said patiently, “we’ll all simply have to go to every fashionable affair St. Erth and Leigh attend, to give them an opportunity to further your acquaintance.”

“You plan on taking us to gentlemen’s clubs?” Chloe sneered.

“Or to brothels, boxing matches, horse races, gam
bling hells and that nasty Hummum’s in the Strand?” Henrietta asked bitterly.

There was a silence.

“We might have a rout,” Chloe said. “A supper and dancing, nothing formal.”

There was a hum of agreement.

“And
we might want to ask Sibyl some questions,” Frances said darkly.

Sibyl’s three older sisters left her room after a fifteen-minute interrogation. They felt much better. Their sister sat staring after them, looking a little pale after all their questions and accusations.

But “no,” she’d kept saying, “I don’t know why they introduced themselves. The viscount said I looked like a Swanson, and then they both made polite conversation. That’s all.”

That was finally accepted, and obviously pleased her sisters. They left soon after, discussing plans for their rout.

“No. I do
not
feel like ‘Ella, Sit by the Cinders,’” Sibyl protested to her cousin a second after the door closed.

Kate sat in the window seat of Sibyl’s bedchamber. The Swanson girls had questioned her, too. But it was their sister they’d asked about. They hadn’t for a moment thought either man she’d met in the park had been interested in her. They didn’t consider their cousin much more than a jumped-up servant.

“I have a soft bed,” Sibyl went on, bouncing on it for emphasis. “I eat good food, and have any number of gowns. No one beats me, my sisters usually ignore me, in fact. I just have to wait until they marry before I am courted. And,” she added, before Kate could speak again, “even if I could receive gentlemen
callers, I wouldn’t want either Leigh or St. Erth. Leigh is quiet as a clam, and he never stops watching people, so who knows what he’s thinking? It makes me anxious. As for St. Erth! He’s so big, so dark…so overwhelming! I don’t even know how you managed to speak with him!”

“I didn’t,” Kate said glumly.

“Because he’s everything you said and worse. Terrifying! And Viscount Leigh? I wonder why he doesn’t just take out a scale along with his quizzing glass when he studies a person. Who’d want either of them? Apart from my sisters, of course. I’d want a comfortable husband, a man I don’t feel nervous with.”

Kate almost agreed, until she remembered that though Sir Alasdair had terrified her, it was a delicious sort of terror, like when she was a child and went swinging too high, feeling her stomach drop as she did. Then she remembered how she always begged someone to push her so she could swing that high again. And it wasn’t precisely her stomach that had reacted to him, although the region wasn’t that far from it.

She changed the subject quickly. “Thank heavens your mama told your sisters the gentlemen must have been asking about them!”

“Well, I couldn’t lie that much,” Sibyl said, “but I didn’t have to. They believed it. I can almost pity those two men. Now my sisters are going to be watching them like hawks whenever they see either one of them.”

“So they’ll arrange not to see them,” Kate said. “Those two are resourceful. And who knows? Maybe they might be interested in your sisters. I know, Sir Alasdair said he had to thank me. But who can tell what really goes on in a mind like that? At least it’s over for me. He thanked me, and that’s that.” There was wistfulness in her voice when she said it.

Sibyl heard it. “You’re the one who’s sitting by the cinders,” she said sadly.

“I’m sitting by the fireside in London now,” Kate said, forcing a smile, “and that’s something to remember!”

She told her cousin only half the truth. Because she also knew that the notorious baronet was something never to forget.

Viscount Leigh stood in his friend Alasdair’s dressing room, watching him as he raised his chin and wound a clean white neckcloth around his neck.

“I hope you purchased an extra length,” Leigh commented. “The only longer neck I’ve seen is at the Tower menagerie. But that fellow also had hooves, horns, and spots all over his back.”

“I’m spared that,” Alasdair commented as he slowly lowered his chin and settled it into his precisely tied neckcloth. “At least the spots. I manage to conceal the hooves and horns. And tail.”

“I wasn’t commenting on your resemblance to the devil. I was remembering a giraffe. But speak of the devil, why did you ask me here today?”

“I didn’t,” Alasdair said, putting his arms out as his valet held up his jacket for him. “I merely asked to see you at your leisure.”

“All I have is leisure. I’m at your service.”

“Are you?” Alasdair mused, shifting his shoulders as he got the tightly fitted jacket on. “Yes, that will do. Very good, thank you, Pierce,” he told his valet.

The man nodded, picked up the clothing his master had decided not to wear, and quietly left the room. When the door had closed behind him, Alasdair fixed his guest with a long look. “I paid an interesting call on an old friend yesterday. Now, what I’d like to know is why Viscount North felt impelled to make inquiries
into my relationship with his distant relative, Miss Corbet? Kate Corbet, the little lady we met in the Park the other day, in case you’ve forgotten.”