Haunted Hearts (16 page)

When it came to how to deal with Miss Lyons, that was another matter. Olivia couldn’t erase from her mind’s eye the look on the woman’s face when Miss Lyons had given her invocation for the women; where Lord Quinn had appeared a man at prayer, Miss Lyons had looked like a siren setting a trap for an unknowing sailor. A clever, unkindly amused look had been on her face, and Olivia couldn’t forget she’d seen it, no matter how guileless the lady might try to appear otherwise.

Alexander, to Olivia’s relief, placed himself between her seat and that of Miss Lyons. Olivia leaned forward to the edge of the box, pretending to devote herself entirely to the performance, but had to give up the practice when both her brother and Miss Lyons continued to direct comments to her.

“You were quite well last night?” Miss Lyons asked her, a flash behind her eyes.

“Last night?” Alexander asked.

“Lord Quinn had a small gathering of friends for a midnight meal,” Miss Lyons explained.

“Including you?” Alexander demanded of Olivia. His tone said he was both surprised and not approving.

“Yes.”

“I cannot like your acquaintance with that man,” Alexander said, twisting to Miss Lyons. “Pardon my frankness, m’dear, for I know you are his friend.”

“Alexander, everything was well,” Olivia lied.

“No offense taken,” Miss Lyons said to Alexander. To Olivia, “I am glad to hear you found it all well. I zought perhaps you were taken ill. Or zat perhaps you had taken a distaste of ze company?”

Olivia gave the woman a quelling look. What was she playing at? And, really, it was a bit much that Alexander had concern etched upon his brow. Where had he been all those years when she’d really needed some brotherly support? She made no attempt to pacify Alexander and instead answered Miss Lyons with candor. “A distaste of Lord Quinn’s company? Not at all. I shall be quite pleased to be his guest again. When and as I choose.”

Alexander continued to frown. On his other side Miss Lyons, instead of seeming offended by the frosty tones, stretched out a hand in front of Alexander and patted Olivia’s own where it rested in her lap. “Oh, I am so glad. Richard… Lord Quinn, he does so enjoy when ze ladies come to fill the evening. He was a bit cross with me last night. He seemed to zink I might have said or done something out of place.” This last was said with a gentle little wrinkling between the lady’s brows, as though she were puzzled at the very idea.

Olivia would have none of that. She’d let this woman know right here and now that such playacting would not be tolerated. “I always choose exactly when I will arrive and when I will leave. It’s nothing to do with the present company whatsoever.”

Miss Lyons’s nostrils flared ever so delicately. Alexander looked bemused at Olivia, a fact she noted after a heartbeat, and therefore tried to give him a bit of a reassuring smile.

A slow, manufactured smile of her own spread over Miss Lyons’s lips, and she gave a practiced little laugh. “But of course. How you relieve my mind, Lady Stratton,” she said.

Alexander spread his frown between the two ladies, obviously perplexed. “I say, Olivia, I’d like to insist that I come along if you go to Lord Quinn’s again--”

Both ladies spoke at once.

“Nonsense.”

“You are most welcome,” Miss Lyons’s voice trailed after Olivia’s.

The women eyed at each other.

“Well, I would,” Alexander muttered, staring straight ahead as though he had suddenly decided the singer on stage was utterly compelling.

Some time passed before either lady spoke again, but then Miss Lyons shared a few desultory
on dits
with Alexander, and he visibly relaxed at the change in conversation.

“Tell me, Lord Hargood, do you know ze new gentleman who has come to town so recently? Lord Ewald?”

Olivia shifted in her chair.

“Yes, we’ve met. He’s well-enough spoken of, although time will tell, eh? He’s too new to the
ton
for whispers yet. Anyway, none seem to have followed him from abroad.”

“And you, Lady Stratton?”

Olivia thought about ignoring the woman--
why is she stirring the pot?
--but it was too reasonable a question. Alexander would find it odd if she snapped at Miss Lyons over it.

“How do you find him?” the Frenchwoman persisted.

“I couldn’t say. I have scarce made the gentleman’s acquaintance.”

“Oh, forgive my presumption,” said Miss Lyons. “I have seen you together several times, and zen the other night my lord viscount, he asked to stay at our gathering. He said to make his place setting next to yours, and I made an assumption… Oh, I do beg your pardon. I see I was mistaken. I just zought…”

Olivia’s eyes had narrowed, first at the hollow apology, and secondly because she became aware that Alexander was growing aggravated again.

“Perhaps we have some friends in common, other zan Lord Ewald?” Miss Lyons soothed.

“Perhaps.” Olivia heard the chill in her own voice.

“Zere is one man I know. He is of slender build, with dark, long hair, and a nose zat is hooked,” she said.

Olivia, relieved this description meant nothing to her, gave a little shrug. “I cannot think who I might know to match that description. Does this fellow not have a name?”

“He is no one particularly important. A fellow countryman of mine, an old friend. His name is Georges,” Miss Lyons said, watching the other woman carefully.

***

Lady Stratton revealed nothing, no flicker, no flush, no sign she knew of such a person. Lisette frowned internally. The woman had not met Georges Douzain, had not been told his name, or had suddenly learned how to hide her feelings very well.

No, not the latter.

Perhaps she, Lisette, had overplayed her hand? She’d hoped to find out at least something when the other woman was caught agitated and perhaps off-guard. It hadn’t worked, had actually failed utterly, perhaps disastrously, if Lady Stratton had any contacts she might report to…? Lisette had avoided having any whispers attached to her name so far, despite her lineage and accent, with Quinn as her finest shield. Had she just dented her own armor?

Or perhaps Lady Stratton really didn’t know anything of the traitor Georges Douzain? Perhaps Lady Stratton was merely a decoy? Or a pawn?

“Ahhh,” Lisette said slowly, another thought coming to her. Possibly she had not overplayed her hand, after all. Perhaps Lady Stratton could be further used as an unknowing participant in this game of international hide-and-seek.

“If you meet such a man, you must give me his direction, as I would so enjoy his company once again. Ah, but I have a zought! If you were to meet Georges, Georges Douzain, then you must
not
tell him I am in London. Just acquire his direction, and then I might have the great, good fun of surprising him with a visit,
n’est-ce pas
?"

“The only French person I know is you, Miss Lyons,” Lady Stratton said. She stood. “I wish to stroll,” she said her to brother, her tone sharp.

Alexander obediently stood as well, and Lisette saw he aggravated his sister by supplying an arm for each lady. She watched that lady consider dismissing Lisette’s company, but in the end Lady Stratton pressed her lips together and allowed Lord Hargood to escort them both from the box.

Lisette pondered that Lady Stratton hadn’t bowed under her brother’s suggestion that Lord Quinn’s company might not be suitable. The very pretty lady had a stubborn streak. She’d also not seemed to know of Georges Douzain. Yes, Lisette was increasingly thinking the woman was not the enemy, but only the enemy’s tool. It was time to charm, not to clash.

The threesome came across acquaintances, Hargood and Lisette chatting easily while Lady Stratton mostly looked on. Lastly they were approached by Mr. Turrell, whose mundane chatter about yesterday’s midnight meal with Lord Quinn seemed to relieve Hargood’s censure toward his sister. Lisette threw in a comment or two, and even managed to draw some commentary from Lady Stratton, who perhaps also preferred that her brother’s concerns be assuaged. Thus Lisette began mending fences with her rival.

A less pinched-looking Lady Stratton looked up, only to now flush with color and lower her eyes once more. Lord Ewald was coming directly at her, smiling a greeting.
Ah ha! What is this?
Lisette looked to Lady Stratton’s stance and saw not so much rejection as fluster. This was not the posture of a woman who had “scarce made the gentleman’s acquaintance,” but a woman who was unsure how to behave before him. Rising red in her cheeks confirmed Lisette’s speculation.
Could Lady Stratton prefer this man over Quinn?
And if so, could Ewald be used to keep the woman’s eyes from Lisette’s comfortable, convenient, and not-to-be-lost sponsor?

Lisette put on a smile and called a honeyed greeting as Lord Ewald approached.

***

Ian saw Lady Stratton’s gaze center on him, and saw her face redden, but he didn’t know how to interpret the response. She’d been aggravated with him when they’d parted last night; was he to have a cool reception?

As he stopped before her party, she offered him a little curtsy and a nod of the head--but more importantly, a direct look, which he welcomed. It seemed he was not to be whipped for yesterday’s sins.

That was all to the good--but what startled him was a sudden lack of poise on his part, an unanticipated thudding in his chest, when she further relented and gave him a tiny greeting smile.

He’d lain awake until near dawn, recalling their parting words. And then on to every word, every gesture the lady had ever made in his presence, both as the Cat and as Lady Stratton. He’d convinced himself he must have nothing more to do with her, not beyond mere politeness. He had a new life to shape, and she wasn’t the one to help him form it.

Yet when, mimicking Miss Lyons, she offered her hand, he bowed over it and saluted it with an airy kiss. Only to become aware his thumping heart now crawled up into his throat, blocking thought and breath for several beats, and he wanted nothing so much as to impossibly keep on holding her hand.

What is wrong with you, you nodcock? Yes, she’s pretty enough…more than pretty. And she’s charmingly dressed, the feathers in her hair curling near her ear and whispering “touch me, touch me…”  And I wonder if she knows her mouth is poised as if for kissing? And her smile is so warm, so…
Ian swallowed hard and gave the tiniest shake of his shoulders, rallying his thoughts.

“My lady,” he said, letting her hand go at last.

Perhaps she’d taken the little shiver as some form of rejection, for her smile faltered. The pounding in his chest became a stab, one that went straight through him, actually painful. He longed to explain himself, except what could he possibly say?

Why this school-boy idiocy?You’re years past such instant, ridiculous infatuation, you fool…

“Ewald,” Hargood said, and the two men exchanged bows, Ian’s perhaps a touch shaky. Hargood looked from his sister to Ian. “I understand you’ve already met my sister?”

“I’ve had that privilege.”

“And you’ve clearly met Miss Lyons.”

“Indeed.”

“We were just growing weary of strolling,” the latter said. “Why do you not join us in our box, Lord Ewald?”

He looked to Olivia, half-expecting to see denial in her features, but she gave a nod and pulled up another smile. It was more than encouragement to him.
Ridiculousness, foolishness, folly.
He meant to say no, but heard himself say, “Thank you, I will.”

They moved into the box just as the curtain was opening for the second act, Hargood on Miss Lyons’s right, and Ian seated between the two ladies. They shared some desultory conversation between the moments of action onstage. Good. This was good. He was behaving normally. This was all he wanted in her company. He would maintain discipline over his involuntary responses to the lady’s charms, and her smile, and her… Ian sat up straight and applied his attention to the actor on stage.

At the play’s end, Ian ignored his own counsel that he ought bid them good evening, instead keeping the threesome’s company as they moved from the theater.
Really, one must be polite
. Miss Lyons was on Hargood’s arm, and Lady Stratton walked beside Ian, keeping a not undue measure of space between them.

He was surprised when she slowed her steps, letting her brother get a little ahead. She seemed to have to make a little effort to meet his gaze. “My lord, I never thanked you for assisting me last night. You saw my distress, and you moved to aid me.”

He gave a brief nod. “Of course.”

“Not ‘of course.’ Not every man chooses to be gallant. I thank you.”

The light evening breeze again teased the three egret feathers that curled over the top of her head to nearly tickle her ear, and gave him something to gaze at other than her mouth.

“You’re welcome. My lady, will you drive with me tomorrow afternoon?” It was the side of his brain that wanted to re-explore her lips that asked the question.

Her voice was small, but he felt truly relieved--and exasperated with his relief--when she said, “Yes.”

“Come along, Olivia,” called Hargood, looking over his shoulder as he handed Miss Lyons up into his coach.

“Good evening then, Lady Stratton. Until tomorrow. At two?”

“Yes. Good evening.” She looked into his face, and for a moment it seemed she might say something more, but then her lips came together so that one corner of her mouth rose in a half-smile, a personal smile, a friend’s smile, and there was a new, not wholly unpleasant ache in the area of his sternum while she dipped him a curtsy.

She turned and allowed Hargood to hand her up, settling onto the squabs opposite Miss Lyons, while her brother settled at the other lady’s side. As their carriage rolled away, Ian waited for his own.

All the while, he named himself a great, indecisive fool--one who calculated he had best use all fifteen hours until he saw her again to buttress his too-easily-crumbled resolutions.

***

In the late evening hours, Georges looked up from his seat on a slim bed in a fourth-story bedroom in Lord Ewald’s home; the viscount had returned from the theater and had come up to quietly knock on his door.