Lady Beware (16 page)

They turned off the Mall by Carlton House, into streets filling with delivery carts and barrows where their riding needed attention. It was like moving from a magical place back to the noisy mundane, and a good thing, too. Something had threatened to spin out of control back there.

They rode, hooves clattering on cobblestones, to her front door, where he dismounted and used the knocker. The footman came out to hold Thea's horse until a groom came around. Darien came to help her down.

“I can manage,” she said, instinctively trying to avoid his touch.

“With dignity?”

“With a mounting block,” she admitted.

She could insist he hold the horse so the footman could assist her, but that would break their new agreement. When he reached up to put his hands on her waist, she didn't resist. She placed her hands on his wide shoulders as she would with any man and was brought smoothly to ground, breathlessly aware of his strength and control. She stood for a moment, face-to-face with him, body almost to body. As they had been once before.

His dark eyes were somber. “We're flint and tinder, Thea, with gunpowder stacked all around us.”

“Then free me.”

He stepped back. “I can't. I only wish we had a safe place in which to explode. Till dinner.”

He mounted his large horse so smoothly he almost flowed onto it, and then rode away as if he and the horse were one.

Explode, indeed.

But parts of her knew exactly what he meant.

Till dinner.
A part of her, most of her, wanted to plead a headache and avoid the event, but she'd made a promise, this time completely of her own free will. Nothing would permit her to break that.

The unsettling thing was that she no longer feared any dark harm Lord Darien might plan. Instead, she feared the lightness she'd encountered this morning—an ease in his company that could dissolve all the barriers she possessed. She needed every one of them to stay safe.

T
hea wanted to think about what had happened, but mornings were the duchess's time for administering her many good causes, and Thea was expected to help with record keeping and decisions. Then she was dragged into a meeting about tattoos with some eminent men from the Horse Guards.

After Waterloo, they'd believed Dare dead because of the evidence of an officer who'd seen him fall, and because he hadn't been found alive. But his body had never been found. They knew why now, but at the time they had assumed it had been stripped of identification by looters and tossed into one of the many mass graves. The agony of that had led Thea's mother to decide that all soldiers should be tattooed. Nearly everyone thought it ridiculous, but no one could ignore a duchess.

Thea plied the three generals with tea, cakes, and charm, leaving the heavy gun work to her mother.

The generals raised the subject of costs.

The duchess shot that down with a list of patrons willing to come up with the money.

General Thraves said it was unwise to put the men in mind of death.

“I don't see how death can be out of their minds,” the duchess said, “given their trade.”

“But we're at peace now,” General Ellaston said smugly.

“Then why,” asked the duchess, “have an army at all?”

Ellaston reddened. “India, Canada…”

“Do these activities not carry danger?”

“Well, of course….”

“And thus risk of death?”

“Less, your grace, much less!”

“Gentlemen, if you can assure me we will be free of major warfare for the next thirty years, I will abandon my project. But I will also ask the duke to scrutinize army spending very closely.”

The men exchanged harried glances, then assured her the project would be considered at the highest levels immediately, and fled. Thea gave in to laughter.

“Dolts,” the duchess said, picking up her neglected teacup. “Women should administer the army. We're the ones skilled at feeding, clothing, and caring for people.”

“At least we'd make sure they had boots to march in and food before a battle.”

“Don't they?” Her mother came alert.

“Only an isolated incident, I'm sure,” Thea said quickly. “And supply lines must be very difficult.”

“Challenges are made to be overcome. I was not made for a life of idleness, Thea, and nor were you. You should consider that as you choose a husband.”

Thea picked up a cream puff. “Choose one who'll be a lot of work?”

“That's not what I mean and you know it. You might be suited by a man with a cause. A Wilberforce or Ball.”

“Politics bore me, Mama. I'd much rather deal with practical problems. Hospitals for the sick and refuges for the aged.”

“Laws often lie beneath such problems, dear, and politics is all about laws. Women would do a better job there, too. I was speaking to Mrs. Beaumont. A most interesting woman. She and Beth Arden are working toward some changes in electoral policy.”

Oh, Lord. Not social revolution now.
“What changes?” Thea asked.

“To get women the vote.”

“Mother!”

“Tell me one reason why women shouldn't be allowed to vote,” her mother demanded with a new and terrifying militancy.

“We don't own property?”

“Even women who do can't vote. Ladies who are peeresses in their own right have no vote and are denied their seats in the House of Lords. What justification can there be for that?”

None, but Thea suppressed a groan at the prospect of her mother on this warpath.

She clearly didn't suppress it well enough.

“We have great privilege and power, Thea. It is our duty to use it.”

Thea agreed and escaped to go shopping with friends. Sometimes she envied Maddy, whose mother would never preach such lessons to her.

Her enjoyment of Bond Street was marred by a great deal of chatter about Caves and Darien, about Mad Marcus and Sweet Mary Wilmott. Caroline Camberley wanted to walk to Hanover Square to see the dreadful house. “I wonder if there's still blood on the steps,” she asked with a delighted shiver.

“After six years, Caroline?” Thea said. “Don't be silly.”

“Since this morning!” Caroline said. “Didn't you hear? A maid on an early errand saw it.”

A chill swept over Thea. “There's been another
murder
?”

“Well, no,” said Caroline. “Not that I've heard, anyway.”

“Then what?” Thea asked.

“A prank,” said Alesia. “A way of showing Lord Darien he's not welcome in good society.”

“He is dining at Yeovil House tonight.” Thea was driven to speak by her promise, but also by natural outrage at all this.

Three pairs of eyes stared at her.

“Thea!” Alesia gasped. “Will you have to be there?”

“Of course, and I won't mind at all.” Might as well be wholehearted. “I find Lord Darien pleasant company. And he is one of our noble veterans. He deserves better than this.”

“But…”

“He's a hero,” she swept on, and recounted some of his exploits.

“Very praiseworthy,” Caroline said without conviction.

Alesia said, “You'll have much to tell us next time we meet, won't you, Thea? But rather you than me.”

Thea seethed all the way home and sought her mother. The duchess already knew about the blood on Darien's doorstep. It was the gossip everywhere.

“So petty!”

“I wouldn't exactly call it petty, Mama.”

Her mother sighed. “No, you're right. It sets things back, but that means we must work harder. I hope you corrected any false impression.”

“As best I could. I tried to trump it with his military record.”

“Excellent.”

“I'm surprised Darien didn't mention it, though. This morning.”

Her mother stared at her. “This morning?”

Thea blushed—for no good reason. “I went riding with Cully, and we met him. Cully ran out of time, so Darien escorted me home.”

If she'd expected concern, she'd been wrong. “Excellent. That will have created exactly the right impression.”

“I'm not sure anyone saw us. Anyone in the ton, I mean.”

“Someone will have. Someone always does. Now, go and prepare for dinner, dear. You must look your prettiest.”

Thea went to her room thoughtfully.

The blood would only be from a pig or such, but she felt as if everything had become much darker. As if the reestablishment of the Cave name had moved from being a danger of embarrassment to being danger in fact.

Nonsense, of course, but she changed her mind about her dress. She'd planned to wear her red silk again, perhaps as some sort of private message to Darien, but the color was too much like blood. Instead she had Harriet find a sunshine yellow one from last year.

It was part of a brief fad last year for “country in Town” and was cut on simple, full-bodied lines with little ornamentation beyond a lacy apron. The aim had been to look as if one was about to wander out with a basket to pick wildflowers, but of course like all fashion the filmy gown would be useless for any practical activity.

It was a silly creation, but it was the antithesis of dark deeds and malicious blood. Thea completed the look with loose hair threaded with a ribbon and simple silver jewelry, bracing herself for the evening ahead.

The company would be a carefully assembled group of people with military, political, and diplomatic connections. People likely to appreciate Darien's qualities and achievements and share some of his interests. That meant, however, that she and he would be two of the youngest there, and thus they were to be partners. Her mother had decided to ignore the convention of pairing by rank.

“Darien will be one of the highest-ranking gentlemen, dear, and would end up with someone much less compatible than you.”

It showed no consideration of how she would feel, but Thea was determined to play her promised part.

D
arien was aware of Thea as soon as she entered the drawing room. He tried to talk intelligently to Lord Castlereagh about the reconstruction of France while aware of her every move. As she greeted people with easy confidence, he noted the way her yellow dress concealed her figure. It was full, and gathered into the high waistband so that he couldn't see a single curve. Even the bodice rose high, entirely covering her breasts.

Did she think dressing like a schoolgirl made her less appealing?

She arrived at him and smiled. “Lord Darien. How lovely to see you this evening.”

Her unstinting support. That's all it was. Her payment for his mercy.

They chatted for a moment and then dinner was announced. She took his arm and they processed downstairs to the dining room. “Loose hair really isn't wise, you know,” he said.

A wary look. “Why not?”

“It makes a lady look new come from bed.”

She gave him one of her heavy-artillery smiles. “Another thing a gentleman does not say to a lady.”

“Not even to warn?”

“No. In any case, you clearly don't know many ladies—in that sense. A lady braids her hair to bed, or confines it in a cap.”

He struggled with laughter. “Really? You'll do that on your wedding night?”

“We will
not
discuss my wedding night, Darien.”

“I suppose not, now it no longer will be ours.”

Her color rose, beautifully. “It never would have been ours.”

“We're arguing again. What a shame we're in company. We could kiss and make up.”

“When pigs grow wings,” she said, putting on a bright smile as they entered the glittering dining room.

He had to work to keep his smile moderate. She'd clearly been waiting to make that retort.

Thea sat to the meal pleased to have had the last word there, but still churning inside under the effect of his very inappropriate words.

Her wedding night.

It was a subject she'd thought about, wondering who her husband would be and exactly how it would spin out. She'd heard promises of pleasure and warnings of horror, but she'd never thought about what to do with her hair.

If Darien were her husband, clearly he'd want her hair loose for some reason.

Of course he wouldn't be, but if he were…?

Stars! Stop thinking about such things.
She turned to Viscount Sidmouth and asked about some renovations to his estate.

Under her parents' skillful direction, topics throughout dinner were varied and entertaining, but all comfortable for Darien. They touched on the past war frequently enough to remind everyone that his military record was excellent. No, everyone here did not instantly become his friend, but Thea could tell that many barriers were lowering.

When the ladies went to the drawing room for tea, Thea played the piano as background to gossip. She was expert enough to be able to keep track of conversation at the same time. It only touched on Darien occasionally, and no one mentioned blood or Wilmotts, but then, all the ladies knew that he was one of Sarah Yeovil's special projects.

When the gentlemen joined them—quite quickly—Thea surrendered the piano to Mrs. Poyntings and went to assist her mother in handing round more tea. They always did without servants during this time. She made sure to take Darien's and to smile as she gave it.

The best way to regard him, she decided, was as a friendly ally. Almost a brother.

“Still intact, I see,” she said.

“Only nibbled around the edges,” he agreed.

“Are you trying to tell me that men really do talk about weighty affairs during their after-dinner conclave? That it's not all horses and loose women?”

“Now that, Lady Thea, is definitely not the sort of thing a gentleman discusses with a lady.”

A spurt of genuine laughter escaped and she saw it reflected in his eyes.

She looked away. “You certainly didn't linger.”

“And deprive the ladies of their dangerous thrill? I think I'm supposed to circulate and titillate them all with terror.”

She looked back at him. “Probably. Do you need a protective escort?”

“I wish I could, but they'd detect fear and tear me apart.” He strolled off into the fray.

Thea watched for a moment, fighting a sudden true liking. This would never do. She joined two ladies who were looking titillated and attempted to present Darien as both a dashing military hero and a man tame enough to be tedious. At the same time, she observed and assessed.

The men would come around, she thought. Having spent most of his adult life in the army, Darien must be comfortable in the company of men. He had qualities they would admire.

She wouldn't say he was entirely without the ability to please women. He certainly had qualities they admired, as Mrs. Invamere and Lady Sidmouth were revealing, even with their shock and trepidation at being in the presence of a Cave. As her mother had said—her mother!—danger did lend appeal to a certain sort of man.

Foxstall's words slithered back. But perhaps Darien wasn't deliberately manipulating her. Perhaps that was simply how he was.

“Lady Thea?”

Thea started, smiled, and attempted to pick up a conversation she had completely lost track of. She'd been caught watching Darien.

Mrs. Invamere smirked. “Men like that make terrible husbands, dear. But then, no danger of that! A Debenham and a Cave.” She tittered.

“Especially as I hardly know the man,” Thea said, and instantly felt despicable.

She rose and went to join him, where he was talking to Mr. Poyntings. After a moment, she said, “There are some prints of Long Chart on the table over there. May I show them to you, Lord Darien?”

Looking quizzical, he agreed, and they strolled to a pier table where a folio of prints lay.

“Seeking to know me better?” he asked.

She colored again. “You have sharp ears.”

“Unusual after years of cannon fire. But useful.”

“I thought you might need a respite.”

“Thank you.” His eyes flickered over her. “Yellow becomes you. And red.”

Thea blushed.

“You wear pale colors too often,” he said.

“Really, Lord Darien. That's inappropriately personal.”

“I thought it was a compliment.”

“Framed in criticism.”

“But true. Do you attempt to fade into the background?”

“Don't be ridiculous.” She opened the folio brusquely and indicated the first watercolor of her Somerset home, sprawled along its rise of land, golden in sunshine. “Long Chart.”

“It looks like a coronet.”

“I suppose it does.” She turned to the next painting, which was similar but from the back, including the winding river and the lake.

“Scenery provided by nature?” he asked.

“Not entirely, but the countryside is naturally lovely.”

He turned to the next picture, a side view. “Will you mind leaving when you marry?”

“No.” As he turned another page, for the first time she noticed the strong elegance of his hands. Not flawless, not at all, but they were well shaped and the nails perfect oblongs, well cared for.

“What's your country estate like?” she asked, looking up at his profile. “Is it improved?”

“Not at all, and it could do with it.”

“The landscape?”

“Everything.” He turned to another sheet, this time to swans on the lake. “Stours Court was built during the brief reign of James the Second—a bad omen in itself—and by a poor architect. It's of a grayish brown stone with appalling proportions. As for the estate, it comprises badly harvested woodland and a bog.”

She chuckled. “It can't possibly be as bad as that.”

He smiled. “Trust me.”

That seemed to resonate in ways beyond the obvious.

She turned the next page, to a detail of the gardens. “The gardens of Stours Court?”

“Overgrown.”

“I can understand the recent neglect, but there's been over a century in which to correct structural flaws.”

He turned from the pictures to her. “No money. The second viscount stuck by the Stuarts longer than was wise. He eventually bent the knee to Queen Anne but had lost the opportunity for plum positions and favor. The third flirted with the Stuarts in 1715 and then flung his support to Hanover, but dithering hardly endeared him to the new King George. My grandfather—Devil Cave—was caught in bed with one of George the Second's mistresses before he'd tired of her. And thus it goes. The Caves are not so much marked by wickedness as by political ineptitude.”

“It's a sorry tale,” she said, but laughing.

“Isn't it?” He raised her hand and kissed it. She allowed it before remembering the room full of people nearby. Awareness of those people made it impossible to snatch her hand away.

So she drew it free gently, even coyly, as if pleased. But she said, “Remember this is playacting, Darien.”

“Is it? Then what is my role?”

“My
would-be
betrothed.”

“I would still be betrothed to you if I could. Marry me, adored one.”

Thea flipped open her fan and fluttered it. “Alas, sir, I fear you only want my dowry to restore your decrepit estates.”

“Not decrepit, precious pearl.”

She opened her eyes wide, fighting laughter. “The bog? The mangled woodlands?”

“Only mismanaged, my cherished cherub.”

“Cherub!” she spluttered.

“Seraph. More blinding than the sun.”

“Stop it.”

“It is having the desired effect.”

She looked at him sharply, instantly sobered. All calculation. She should have known.

“Your estates
are
decrepit. My mother is having you thoroughly investigated, you see. She has a report.”

“Very wise of her.”

“You aren't worried about what it says?”

He smiled wryly. “My dearest Thea, when a man has been condemned as mad and vile, when people shrink away as if he will savage them at any moment, there are no worse secrets to unveil.”

He took her hand and led her back among the party, many of whom were giving her very interested looks indeed.

She hadn't wanted to be amorously linked to the Vile Viscount, but he'd done it anyway, damn him. The talk would be all around Town tomorrow—that the Great Untouchable wasn't so untouchable anymore. That she was smitten by Vile Viscount Darien, of all people.

Thea did the only thing she could—she acted as if nothing was amiss. But when the final guest left, she had a headache.

“That went well,” her mother said, smothering a yawn. Was she truly unaware?

“I hope so,” Thea said. “I tried to be warm to Darien.”

“And very convincingly, too.”

Thea couldn't hear sarcasm. Perhaps she'd blown the whole incident up out of proportion. Because she'd been angry. Because he'd fooled her and used her. Again. And hurt her, silly creature that she was.

“We can rely on most of those people not to encourage nonsense,” the duchess said as they strolled toward their bedrooms. “Some may even steer talk of Darien into more positive streams, especially the men. But I doubt any will go out of their way to assist him. We need more active support.”

“I'm doing as much as I can,” Thea protested.

“You're doing splendidly, dear.”

The duchess came into Thea's bedroom with her. Harriet slipped away to the dressing room to give them privacy. Thea longed for peace and quiet, but she tried to pay attention.

“His attention to you may seem a little too much,” the duchess said, “and it's not fair for you to carry the burden alone. There's a limit to what I can do, as everyone knows our interest. It's time to have the Rogues take over.”

Thea remembered Darien's cold anger. His terse, “I want no help from the
Rogues
.”

“Does Darien agree?” she asked.

“Why shouldn't he?”

“That incident at school.”

Her mother waved that away. “All so long ago.” She kissed Thea. “Good night, dear. You truly were splendid, but this will allow you to enjoy your season as you deserve.”

When her mother left, Thea sighed. She was no longer sure what enjoyment meant or what she wanted, but she knew Darien would not easily accept the support of the Rogues. She was going to have to persuade him. She sat and wrote a note asking him to escort her riding early the next day.