Haunted Hearts (19 page)

***

Lisette saw Lord Hargood return from outside, smelling of cheroot smoke, his back clearly up.

“What do you know of this Quinn fellow?” he demanded as he walked up to her.

“Lord Quinn?” She looked around with attention, locating Quinn in the crowd.

“Yes. Lisette, I know you like to act his hostess and all, but you have to admit the fellow’s capable of raising a whisper or two. I think he might even be a scoundrel. And I just overheard him all but proposing to my sister. He and Ewald almost came to blows over it.”

Lisette had reached out to lay a hand on Hargood’s sleeve, and at his words her fingers tightened on the cloth like talons. She searched Quinn’s darkened face across the room, his tight jaw, the way he seemed to be preoccupied as he listened to one of the other guests.

“What was your sister’s answer?” she asked, sure her expression had gone pinched.

Hargood shrugged. “Don’t think it actually came to his asking. But she ran away, red-faced and agitated.”

Lisette slowly uncurled her fingers from his arm, and pulled composure about her shoulders. “If it came to it, you do not wish her to marry Quinn?”

Hargood’s scowl deepened, but he stopped short of pronouncing no. Lisette took that as an answer all the same, especially as it aligned with her own needs. “We must see to it zat no marriage goes forward,” she announced firmly. She eyed Lord Hargood. “You will help me arrange an estrangement between zem.”

Lord Hargood lowered his chin to his chest, but once again he failed to say no.

Chapter 16

“Are you available to receive Sir Terrence, my lord?” Kellogg asked from the dining room doorway the next morning.

Ian looked up from his breakfast and nodded at once. He wiped his mouth with his napkin as Kellogg informed him, “Sir Terrence is in the morning room, my lord.”

Ian closed the door behind him as he entered, and the two men exchanged bows and greetings. Sir Terrence crossed to him, handing him a sealed letter. “That tells you all you need to know about where to deliver our friend.”

It only took a few moments to peruse the information: a time after dark tomorrow night, the name of a ship, her dock, and documents supplying a new identity for Douzain.

“Do you care to meet ‘our friend’?” Ian offered.

Sir Terrence shook his head. “Less known, best managed.”

They chatted for a few moments then, with thanks from one to the other, Sir Terrence bowed himself out. When he was gone, Ian removed the identity documents Douzain would need in his new life, put them in his coat pocket until he could stash them in the hidden and locked drawer in his library desk, but the information on time and tide, committed to memory, was in short order poked and stirred into nothing but tiny black flakes on the morning fire.

At last, Georges Douzain would be leaving London, and Ian would be an agent of the government no more.

He moved discreetly upward to the attics, timing his movements to avoid his own servants, not because he was suspicious of them but out of prudence, an old habit. Gossip was harder to come by if all seemed unchanged and unremarked.

Unfortunately, change
had
come:
Monsieur
Douzain, with his few possessions, had fled.

***

Not an hour later, Olivia watched Lord Ewald--
Ian
--as he rode away. He’d come to call, as he’d said he would last night. Her heart was a leaden weight in her breast, which sank just a little lower as she saw he’d been made to ride away through rain and wind, without a chance of warming himself at her fire or partaking of her brandy, because she’d ordered her servants to say she wasn’t at home to anyone, especially Lord Ewald.

It had cost her nothing to have Miss Lyons turned away when she’d come earlier, but refusing Ewald, despite all, made her throat thick with unshed tears. Plus part of her longed to know why he’d come; she’d given him his chance to abstain from her company.
Perhaps he doesn’t think me completely unsuitable? Or…perhaps he came to be sure our conversation was finished, his disconnect made clear?

She saw his horse stop in the street, long enough for him to look back at the house. She retreated from the window, but not before it was possible he’d seen her standing there.

Well, being caught in hoydenish behavior, gawping after him, must be the last straw; he could surely find no elegance or deportment in her behavior. She turned from the window, blinking back tears.

***

Ian saw Olivia at her window. She’d drawn back at once, but he was sure it had been her.

Others might find him odd, but despite being turned away and having no chance to say his piece, his heart rallied; she’d cared enough to look out after him.

My heart?
he asked himself as he resettled in his saddle. The rain and wind worked to be sure no part of him remained dry or comfortable, but despite it all he grinned.
Yes, my heart. It pounds, and flips, and sings, all to tell me the lady is undeniably special. To me.

Although he’d had no chance to ask her, suddenly he thought she must not have accepted Lord Quinn. Had she, she would’ve admitted Ian and told him as much.

His smile widened, no doubt making him look a fool.

He drew a rather shaky breath, letting it out slowly.

Oh, well, yes, it was probably too soon to call this spinning, vexing, energizing elation as grand a thing as love…but he didn’t care. Love could grow and expand--but it also had to start somewhere. And, ridiculously, a sad-faced woman staring out her window as she’d him sent away, encouraged him nearly as much as being admitted would have done.
And there’s an end to my indecision. By Jove, I’m glad to be done with being an idiot.

He urged his horse to a faster pace. The sooner he got home, the sooner he might learn what the Home Office operatives had learned of Georges Douzain’s present location. Once he was found and set upon the ship, then, at long last, Ian would be rid of obligation or concern for anyone but the thoroughly irresistible Lady Stratton.

Chapter 17

Not two hours later, Miss Lyons had returned to Olivia’s doorstep. Only this time she’d not accepted “no” as an answer from the butler, and had quite literally pushed her way into Olivia’s home.

Even worse, she’d brought a party with her, some dozen people Olivia scarcely recognized let alone welcomed, the two exceptions being Alexander and Lord Quinn. They’d all settled in, ordered food and drink and playing cards, and Olivia had pacified an outraged Mary Kate by saying she’d changed her mind and the guests were free to stay. Anyway, how was her butler and one footman to expel a dozen people, for pity’s sake, not least her own brother?

The sun had gone down nearly an hour ago; they’d stayed all day, and Olivia wished she’d listened to her maid after all. The only thing that kept her from rising and stating they must leave was that she knew Lord Quinn wouldn’t go with them. His gaze had been almost constantly on her since he’d arrived. She just knew he’d stay behind, and she’d be forced to try to either have the powerful Quinn physically removed by her meager staff, or else she’d have to entertain his attentions alone. She didn’t care to do either, particularly the latter.

It was a gay gathering, she had to admit that, regardless of her own tedium. Everyone else was laughing and enjoying themselves. Had it been two days earlier, she had no doubt she’d have found the present company stimulating and perhaps amusing. Only now she knew better. Days ago she’d set out to be wild, to be flamboyant, to be independent--except she’d only managed to make a sad muddle of everything.

Oh yes, she could easily slip into the fashion she thought she’d wanted; all she had to do was turn to Lord Quinn with a hint of encouragement and she knew she’d be swallowed up into his universe. Or if not him, then any of a dozen other gentlemen would do for a casual affair, or a rash debauchery, or any other kind of folly. She could join Lisette in her venture into the ancient rituals, the herb craft, the witch-like worship of nature. She could dance, and flirt, and be as forthcoming as she’d been as a child… Only she now knew she didn’t want to be or do any of those things.

What she’d really wanted, underneath the long weight and frustration of her mourning, was happiness. Simple, unfettered, uncomplicated happiness. Yes, she wanted admiration, but of the variety that wrapped around a person like a downy counterpane, constant and comforting and treasured. She wanted to know a man’s affection, the kind that thrilled even as it protected, the kind that gave your heart a home even as it offered one in return. She didn’t want sexual dalliances; she longed to be prized, to have a true bond with an honest soul. She wanted years, not moments.

And now, what she wanted most seemed the furthest from her reach.

Alone with her thoughts in a room full of people, she felt a veil of sadness fall over her, a cheerless supernatural shawl that made her part of and yet removed from the scene in which she sat. For a moment she’d touched such a man as the kind she dreamed of cherishing…and it had been she who’d turned him away today. The one that had made her realize the yearnings of her deepest heart, was the very one she’d done everything possible to repulse.

She looked up slowly, again becoming aware of where she was when she noted that the dozen-odd people had come to their feet and were calling for their cloaks. She’d been too lost to despair to know anything but relief that her guests were leaving at last, when Lord Quinn moved before her.

“Do you not go with them?” he asked, his eyes clearly hopeful she’d answer in the negative, so he might seize a moment alone with her.

She couldn’t bear it with her heart so ragged and tattered in her breast. She was afraid of her own vulnerability, afraid of what she might say or promise him, out of sheer sadness. “Of course I go,” she said at once, leaping to her feet though she’d not the faintest idea where the party proposed to venture.

With everyone bundled in coats and tumbled into one of three carriages, it was only as the party was descending upon a residence she didn’t recognize, that her question of “Who lives here?” was answered: “Lord Ewald.”

Olivia came from the coach slowly, only to stand frozen in place, beyond reluctant to enter this particular home. Her mind was decided for her when Lisette caught up her arm and pulled her forward, propelling her like an unruly puppy through the gate and to the front door. Someone had already knocked and was informing the butler that they wished to make a call.

They were issued into a morning room, standing about in groups until the butler returned to bow his master into the room.

Lord Ewald made the collective group a leg, and looked up with a questioning but calm glance around. “What is this then?”

“A traveling party,” Lisette called, pulling Olivia forward with her.

There was that in the woman’s stance which posed a dare, causing Olivia to cast Lord Ewald one desperate, beseeching look she hoped was taken as an apology before she was unable to make her eyes continuing meeting his at all.

“To where do we travel?”

Lisette gave a peal of laughter. “To here, of course! From Lady Stratton’s. We demand food and drink and entertainment, do we not?” She turned to the crowd, lifting a hand to solicit confirmation.

“Aye!” “We do!” “Of course!” came the enthusiastic responses.

Ian hesitated, his hand jingling his watch fob as he considered. He looked at the gathering, but his eyes settled on Olivia, who steadfastly watched her hands crease the pleat that was of such interest on the arm cuff of her pelisse.

Finally he replied, “Yes, of course. We shall contrive something, shall we not?” He held up a finger. “I have one request, as tomorrow promises to be a tedious day for me, with reports and figures and other such necessities with my bankers. I request we end the evening by eleven, or, lacking an ending, you promise to move on to another host at that time.”

There were groans, but after a few good-natured grumbles, it was agreed.

His home was invaded, with table surfaces ruthlessly deprived of their papers or bibelots as they were dragged from a variety of rooms to serve as card tables. Wine began to flow at once, still cool from the ascent out of the wine cellar. Whist was declared the game, the stakes fixed at a ha’penny a point, and a variety of chairs procured after the fashion of the tables. Various debates on how to assemble the teams went forth, but their host ended the discussion by insisting names must go into a hat, and he must draw his partner first. Heads were counted and it was seen they had one too many people for the sets.

“Allow me, please, not to play. Whist is not quite ze game for me,” Miss Lyons offered at once.

Alexander gaped at her, silently suggesting he knew otherwise, but before he could say as much Miss Lyons placed a finger on his lips. “
Non
, Lord Hargood, I do not mind,” she purred. “You need not be gallant by offering me your seat. Please, please, everyone, I insist you draw ze names now. It is decided, I shall sit out.”

Ink was brought and slips of paper torn, and all the names were tossed into a hat. Lord Ewald reached in, unfolded the small paper, glanced at it very briefly, and declared, “My partner shall be Lady Stratton.”

She blushed to the roots of her hair, but she moved to the chair he indicated by pulling it out for her, and murmured a very small “thank you” as he circled to sit on the opposite side of the table.

“I say,” a young man named Lord Malley cried, “I just drew Lady Stratton’s name as well.” He held up his piece of paper with a puzzled look.

Ian turned in his chair, one arm hooked over the back, and replied, “It must have been written twice. My apologies, my lord. Draw again, and you’ll see who your partner is in a trice.”

Olivia flashed Ewald a look, only to lower her eyes until Lord Malley was paired with Miss Burridge.

Lord Quinn, with his partner, a Miss Sumner, was placed at the table next to Olivia’s. He seated his partner so that his own seat was facing Olivia. His features were ordered, but his occasional glances spoke volumes about forgiveness, second chances, and a burning desire to speak with her, driving her to avoid glancing his way.