Kate Moore (15 page)

“But I do,” he said. He released her hand and captured her chin.

“No,” she whispered, recognizing his intention. He mustn’t kiss her. She was weak. She had laughed with him, danced with him, kissed him, how could she resist him now?

“It’s not safe is it, Susannah Bowen?” he whispered.

Warne leaned nearer. He wanted the wide mouth under his, the slim taut body closer still. He wanted the spirit she released in dance and in her free stride when she walked to be released for him. He wanted the touch of those hands, quick and light and deft.

“You are forgetting the thief,” she reminded him.

“You make me forget,” he answered, putting, his mouth to hers, taking what he wanted.

From the moment he had clasped her hand, Warne knew he was giving up the pursuit of his enemy. Maybe the whole scheme to get Miss Lacy to Vauxhall where she might tempt the thief had been no more than a ruse to get Mrs. Bowen apart from the censorious world of London ballrooms into the dark night alone with him.

Susannah tried to pull back, but Warne’s hold was unbreakable, an iron clasp. Yet not so much a clasp as a current, tugging at her, willing her to let go of her fears and reluctance. His mouth urged her to let go of her past, to plunge into the stream of feeling, letting it carry her lightly, spin her in its dizzying eddies, and wash her laughing onto some far shore.

She put her hands to the silken waistcoat, feeling his ribs with a gentle touch, and a tremor went through him.

At the touch of her hands to his ribs, Warne slanted his mouth across hers and gentled his kiss, inviting her response. And it came, reticent at first then bolder, meeting his demand as she had met his words.

The cry of a strange bird broke the stillness, and dimly he knew it for Bellaby’s signal. It came again. He broke the kiss, but could not let her go. He pressed her head to the hollow under his jaw, holding her there with the fierce new longing that possessed him.

“That’s Bellaby,” he said. “He’s found them.”

She pulled back. “We must go.”

It was too sudden. He struggled to master his breathing and his voice. “We must talk,” he said.

“No.” She stepped away from him. “This is madness.”

The bird cry came again, and he offered his hand. She shook her head. He let his hand fall, and started toward the sound, listening for her footsteps behind him. At the edge of the wood, he put out his hand to stay her and looked from the shadows to the lighted path. There was Juliet Lacy, walking alone.

To his left Susannah stepped into the path, heedless of who might be watching.

“Juliet,” she called.

The girl raised her head. “Susannah, hello. Sorry I wandered off. You must have been worried.” She stared at Warne’s coat around Susannah’s shoulders.

Warne stepped into the girl’s path. “Where is your friend?” he demanded.

She retreated a pace. “Gone,” she said.

“Gone!” Warne cried. “Bellaby,” he shouted.

Neil emerged from the shadows. “He must have come your way, Warne,” he said, coming up to them.

Warne swore. He looked at Susannah Bowen, but she was regarding her cousin.

Miss Lacy stepped up to him and placed a hand on his sleeve. “Lord Warne, you needn’t search for him. He will come to you soon.”

“Come to me?” It was incomprehensible.

“That’s his plan,” Juliet said.

“Blackmail,” said Bellaby.

“No!” protested Juliet. They all turned to look at her.

“Juliet,” Susannah said quietly. “The man is a thief. You mustn’t protect him.”

“I know what he is.”

“He cannot love you if he lets you risk ruin for his sake,” Susannah pleaded.

“It’s all right, Susannah,” the girl said. “It’s over. Shall we go back?”

Susannah nodded.

“You’d best give Lord Warne his coat,” Juliet suggested.

17

Two days after Lord Warne’s party to Vauxhall his curricle was stolen from the street in front of White’s under the very noses of the dandies in the famous window. Ann Trentfield brought the news to Evelina.

Warne’s groom had apparently been distracted by a fellow servant when suddenly a young man had climbed the box and whipped the horses into motion. The cry of the startled groom alerted Lord Warne, who had been about to leave the club, and to the astonishment of all onlookers, his lordship shed his coat and pursued the vehicle on foot. By all accounts Warne would have caught the team, which was moving recklessly against traffic, except that Lord Maitland, coming upon the scene at that moment in his own phaeton, blocked the pursuit. Several other gentlemen were then obliged to keep the two men from coming to blows.

“To run the length of the street,” said Mrs. Trentfield. “Lord, the man’s intemperate!”

Intemperate
, Susannah thought. It was just the word for him, for a man who knew the extremes of feeling. His kiss, his rage. She still did not know what had made him so, but he was the Iron Lord without doubt.

While Evelina pressed for more details of the curricle theft, Susannah kept her head bent over her embroidery and thought of Warne, frustrated again by his elusive quarry. Not two nights before she had cost him a chance to capture his thief, and now he had been thwarted again and in a public way. He must be in a fury.

“I can’t think when we’ve had a more scandalous season,” suggested Evelina.

“I don’t know, Evelina,” replied her guest. “It seems to me the really good season for scandals was ten years ago.” She turned to Susannah. “Wouldn’t you agree, Mrs. Bowen? You were in town then, weren’t you?”

Susannah nodded. “It was my come-out.”

“I thought so,” said Mrs. Trentfield. “Did you meet Bowen in town?”

“No,” said Susannah, conscious that her stitches were suddenly too tight and puckering the cloth.

“Ah,” said Mrs. Trentfield. “Evelina, did I finish telling you about Warne’s curricle? It was later recovered in the Strand. The thief left behind one of Warne’s cards, or perhaps he found it there.” She turned to Juliet. “Didn’t you meet a highwayman who gave you Warne’s card?” she asked.

Susannah looked at Juliet. The color had drained from her cousin’s cheeks, and her eyes had a lost look.

“Excuse me,” she stammered and stood and dashed for the door.

“My dear,” cried Evelina, but Juliet disappeared without turning.

“I’ll go to her,” Susannah said, rising. As she left the room, she heard Evelina confiding to Mrs. Trentfield that the nearer Juliet’s ball drew, the more on edge the girl seemed to become.

***

Susannah found Juliet’s door locked and heard the sobbing within. She tried the handle, tried pleading, and at last called, “I’ll be in my room, if you need me, Juliet.”

Juliet’s knock came an hour later. The girl entered dry-eyed, but she did not meet Susannah’s gaze. She wandered about the small room, picking up Susannah’s brush, her books, her gloves. Susannah sat at the window, stitching and waiting.

“I think I will have Eastham,” Juliet said. “He’s dashing enough for Mama, and Papa will not be displeased.” She moved from the lowboy where she had rearranged Susannah’s few possessions to the mantel where she fingered a porcelain clock.

“What about you?” Susannah asked. “Does he suit you, Juliet?”

“As well him as another,” Juliet said with a shrug. “I don’t think there is anyone in the
ton
to suit me, truly. Eastham has courage, at least he has bottom, they all say, and he’ll be proud of me because I’m pretty. We’ll get on, I suppose.”

“You could not love him?”

Juliet shook her head without looking Susannah’s way.

Susannah thrust aside her needlework and jumped to her feet. “Then don’t marry him, Juliet.” She crossed to her cousin and turned Juliet around by the shoulders. “Let’s talk to your papa. He must give you another season.”

The blue eyes opened wide but did not brighten. “It won’t matter, Susannah. I gave my heart away.” She shrugged. “Eastham is probably the only one who won’t notice. I’ll be safe with him.”

Susannah gripped her cousin’s shoulders.
Safe.
The word sounded contracted, hollow, as she had become. She thought of Juliet stepping from the carriage to meet the highwayman, unafraid, ready to give herself wholeheartedly to love. How wrong-headed Susannah’s guidance had been. She had been trying to protect her cousin from the dangers of love, rather than strengthening her to meet them.

She swallowed a lump in her throat. “There is Brentwood,” she said dryly, coaxing a brief smile from Juliet. “I was wrong, you know,” she went on. “To be safe is not enough.” It was what Warne had been telling her. And if it was too late for Susannah to embrace the dangers of love, she could still restore Juliet’s daring spirit. She took her cousin’s hands and pressed them. “It is the highwayman you love, isn’t it?”

Juliet nodded.

“Is he absolutely ineligible?”

“He won’t marry me, Susannah. Not after today. He stole Lord Warne’s carriage, you see. It’s . . . revenge he wants.” She gave a shaky sigh. “Not love, not me.”

Bright tears welled in Juliet’s eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She had given her heart, and the gift had been refused. Susannah took the weeping girl in her arms. Her throat ached. She would not let her cousin marry Eastham. She would convince her uncle to give Juliet another season.

Susannah’s opportunity to persuade Uncle John came that very evening. Evelina went to a musicale, and Juliet was allowed to remain at home to rest up for her ball. As Susannah and Juliet were having a late supper, there was a sudden commotion in the hall. They heard doors banging, and a footman stuck his head into the breakfast room.

“What is it?” Susannah asked.

“Master’s come,” said the man, who then disappeared.

Susannah and Juliet rose and went to the entry.

There was Uncle John, frowning and mopping his brow. Mr. Chettle was standing to one side, holding Uncle’s coat, swaying a bit, a foolish grin on his face. Mrs. Chettle was speaking quietly to the baron.

“Papa,” cried Juliet. “What brings you here?”

“Your ball, Daughter,” said the baron gruffly. “Wouldn’t have come otherwise.” He turned to Mrs. Chettle. “Remember, no fires after nine,” he said. “And I do not wish to see this fellow in his cups on duty again.” He shook a finger in Chettle’s face.

Though Uncle John’s first impression of his wife’s household, which he had not visited in ten years, left him out of sorts, Mrs. Chettle, Juliet, and Susannah brought him a cold collation and established him in the small anteroom where Evelina infrequently wrote letters. He gave the room’s fussy furnishings a disdainful glance, but said, “At least it’s not as hot as the everlasting fire.”

He summoned Susannah and listened to her report of Juliet’s prospects. He had heard from Brentwood, Atwell, and Eastham, and felt satisfied that each was a suitable match for his daughter. He waited only to hear which man Susannah thought Juliet meant to have.

“None,” said Susannah. She was sitting, as Uncle always liked her to do, and she wiggled her toes in her thin slippers, for the cold was numbing them.

“Speak up,” her uncle demanded, though she was perfectly sure he’d heard her.

“Uncle,” she said. “I think Juliet should have another season. She’s a lovely girl and will have more suitors next year. She need not choose one of these three gentlemen just to make a match in a few weeks. Next spring she might choose—”

“Enough. One round of this nonsense is all she gets. Do you have any idea how much her mother has spent on gowns for the girl? Or what this ball is costing me?”

“Surely, Uncle, you—”

“No. Girls have no judgment. A bit of twaddle about love, and they run off with a half-pay officer or worse, a fellow that means no good.”

Susannah stood.

“Sit down, miss,” her uncle ordered.

“No, Uncle. Juliet, though she’s young, has behaved well, and what mistakes she’s made, she’s learned from. She will be wiser next season, If there’s the least chance of her happiness, Uncle, let her have it.”

Uncle John glared at her. “Happiness? You think there’s happiness in marriage, girl? And where does that leave you, niece? What of our bargain?”

Susannah tried not to think of the cottage with its books and walks. Her rebellious spirit had the upper hand, and she gave it free rein. “I shall make my own way in the world, Uncle, but you must not let Juliet marry now.”

“Sit down,” her uncle yelled.

Susannah shook her head. “Good night, Uncle John.” She crossed to the door and opened it.

“We had a bargain, Susannah Lacy,” Uncle John shouted. “Don’t you forget it.”

Susannah stepped into the hall and pulled the door shut behind her. There stood Juliet.

Susannah watched the comprehension dawn in her cousin’s eyes.

“What happened to you that season, Susannah?” Juliet asked.

***

The next morning Susannah tried her aunt. Evelina rose early, and it was plain to Susannah that her aunt had not slept well. They sat in the sunny corner of the drawing room with shawls about their shoulders.

“What am I to do, dear?” Evelina asked. “The man’s impossible. I am so cold, I am sure I shall take ill. And what will become of Chettle?”

Susannah soothed her aunt by suggesting that Uncle John’s stay would be short.

“Thank heavens,” said Evelina. “Thank goodness the cards have been sent for Juliet’s ball, or the dreadful man might have canceled it.”

She explained that her husband had forced such economies on her that she would die of mortification when her friends arrived.

“And, Susannah dear, Lacy says he won’t have Warne, and I can’t think what I am to do. Of course I sent Warne a card, and I know he means to come. I just know Lacy will do something dreadful to embarrass us all. Would you talk to Warne, dear? Explain to him, make him see that it’s impossible for him to come?”

Again Susannah found herself calming her aunt. She offered to speak to Lord Warne as soon as he arrived at the ball. When Evelina had talked herself out of the worst of her agitation, Susannah brought up the subject of Juliet’s season.

“It has been wonderful, hasn’t it?” Evelina said. “She’s so lovely, and she has so many beaux.”

“And you have enjoyed having her with you, haven’t you, Aunt?” Susannah asked.

“Well yes, I have.”

“Wouldn’t you like her to join you again next season?”

Evelina’s expression underwent a ludicrous change. Her hand flew to her chest. “Oh no,” she cried. “You mustn’t think of it, Niece. Lacy will cut my allowance. He’ll sack Chettle. I must have my Chettle. He tells me everything.”

“Nevertheless, for Juliet’s sake, could you not make some adjustments?”

Susannah listened for a full half hour to the further consequences that would befall her poor aunt if Juliet were to spend another season in town. In the end she was obliged to give up and leave her aunt to compose herself. The only course left was to persuade Juliet to stand firm and refuse to marry any of the three safe suitors applying for her hand. Three days remained until Juliet’s ball.