Lady Rogue (19 page)

"Did you know your hair shines with magenta fire in the candlelight? Such lovely tresses.  The darkest shade of brown I've ever seen.  In the shadows its nearly as dark as a raven's wing."  Even his voice drew her, rumbling with its low-pitched masculinity each time he soke.

She was  aware that his attention was being focused on her, just as avidly as she had studied him
, but she didn't answer.  His eyes were caressing,  moving from her head to her neck and lower, lingering on the rise and fall of her bosom.  How could she keep from blushing?  How dare he be so bold!  Her mouth tightened indignantly. She wanted to be angry with him. Perhaps then these other feelings would go away.

"Something is troubling you.  What?" he asked
seeing her sudden frown.

“I don’t like Peachum,” she said quickly, trying to hide her real thoughts.

“Nor do I. unfortunately there are far too many like him. And not just among thieves.” Garrick took her hand, stroking her palm with his thumb as they turned their attention back to the stage.

Act two opened with Macheath’s gang assembled in a tavern near Newgate, determined to thwart Peachum. With clever dialogue and song Macheath was arrested, sent to Newgate prison to await execution only to be freed by Lucy, the jailor’s daughter, who had also fallen in love with him.

The rascals reminded Dawn of some of her friends. There was Filch, a young pickpocket who plied his art with all the professional pride of a surgeon, Jemmy Twitcher, Crook-fingered Jack, and Ben Budge, all members of Macheath’s gang. She found herself laughing more than once over their bawdy words and antics.

“See how cleverly Gay has set eight women of the
London demimonde to satirize the ladies of high society, their dress, their manners and conversation. The names are monuments to Gay’s ingenious wit.”

The stage was like a bright oasis, each hue intensified by the brilliant can
dlelight. The air hummed with music and Dawn found herself trilling along softly. She was enjoying herself immensely. “I hope it has a happy ending,” she said at last.

“It has to end on a joyful note. A love story must end thus, you see.”
Love
, the word caused a flutter in the pit of Dawn’s stomach. It was such a potent word when he said it.

“Most operas are love stories, aren’t they?”

“Yes, because it is love that really rules our lives if we only stop to think about it.” He squeezed her hand affectionately, unleashing a maelstrom of sensations. A quiver danced down Dawn’s spine as all her senses came alive.

Oh, how she wished it were possible for her to ha
ve a happy ending but such a thing was impossible. Even so, a reckless tide of feelings surged through her.

She was afraid to answer lest her words flow out in a torrent of emotion. She dare not tell him what was in her heart. Never.

I’ve embarrassed her
, Garrick thought, taking her silence for shyness. Definitely a country girl, he thought with a smile. But in her naiveté was a great deal of charm. She was like a balm to his soul. Perhaps a young woman like Dawn Landon could soften his heart. Or had he grown too cynical? Was there hope for him? As if to seek reassurance, he entangled his fingers with hers, pressing lightly.

Dawn thrilled to the touch of his warm hand. Her blood quickened as his arm tightened possessively about her shoulder and she saw the flaring passion in his dark blue eyes. He caught and held her gaze. Their eyes conveyed the attraction without any need for words, but then the thought of Robbie rose like a wall between them and she turned away. If only she didn’t enjoy being with him so. It was one thing to pretend, another to allow herself to really care for him. Robbie. Once again she willed herself to remember her brother and the pain this man had caused him. Tears stung her eyes at the thought, and this time she managed to shield her heart and ke
ep her thoughts on the stage.             

The evening progressed
much too quickly for Garrick's liking. Act Two was concluded and the last act had begun.  What did it matter?  He hadn't seen one moment of the opera.  He had been entirely intrigued with
her
.  Indeed, he could have spent every minute of every day just looking at Dawn Landon.  Oh, how grateful he was that Margaret Pembrooke had a friend in Norfolk and that the friend had borne a daughter.  One thing he knew for certain.  He wanted very much to see her again.

“You were right. It did have a happy ending,” Dawn said as they joined the throng of people leaving the theatre. “I’m so glad tht Macheath was freed.” Somehow it gave her hope as she walked along. At least in stories love always conquered all.

"Dawn..."  Garrick found himself tongue-tied for the first time in his life.  All he could think of was how much he wanted to kiss her. That he did not was a triumph of discipline.

"Yes, Garrick?" 
She turned to him, wondering what was going to happen now that they were alone. Strange how the half-light of the street lanterns made his a stranger’s face. It made it easier for her to pretend she did not know him.

His eyes moved tenderly over her thick dark lashes, her wide eyes.  She must be at least six years younger than he.  Innocent and vulnerable. Unspoiled and unpretentious. So different from the type of woman one found in the
London social circles.  Refreshing and lovely.   Just the kind of woman he had been searching for, a woman who very possibly could share his life and his bed. What would she do if she knew what he was thinking, that he wanted to hold her in his arms and never let her go, to make love to her? He looked at her for a long moment before he spoke. "I can not tell you when I have enjoyed an evening as much as this one."

"Nor I."  She had enjoyed herself too much.  Was she playing with fire?  Should she end this dangerous game?  Tell him goodnight and never see him again? 
Though she knew the answer to be yes, she couldn’t put her feelings into words.Her emotions were in turmoil. 

"I want to see you
again and again and again....."  The words came from his heart. All this time he had been so lonely and he hadn’t even realized it until he’d looked into her green eyes and envisioned how love was meant to be.

"I...I don't know.” It was a perfect chance to tell him a permanent good-bye, but she couldn’t say the words. Instead she took the coward’s way out. “
Mrs. Pembrooke has so many things planned for me....."  She shifted her position, moving a way from him, but as she moved the material of her dress tightened against the firm flesh of her bosom, emphasizing the ample cleavage there.  She had beautiful breasts, as Garrick couldn’t help noticing.

"I know Margaret very well.  She would never deny me your company." 
Unless she could read my mind
, he thought.  Dawn’s bodice was laced in front with maroon ribbons, and his fingers trembled as he thought how much he would like to untie them.  "Tomorrow at this same time.  Vauxhall Gardens."  Compulsively he took her hand again, his fingers closing firmly around hers.  Then bending his head, he pressed his warm lips against the upturned palm of her hand. Now she couldn’t bring herself to say good-bue if she were forced to say the words.

One more time
, Dawn thought. 
What would be the harm in that
.  Perhaps she might even be able to draw him out, find out what he knew about her brother's fate. Anxious to find an excuse for her weakness, she would agree to see him again. She would go with him, for Robbie. For
Robbie
.

"Tomorrow,"  she sighed
.  There, that was that.  She'd made her decision. She ignored the voice, whispering in her ear, that knowingly said she wouldn’t change her mind even if she could.

Chapter Twenty-Six

The setting sun was a great orange disk, hovering like a coin in the sky. It was an unseasonably warm night for November without rain,
wind or fog. London had been kissed by cupid’s warm breath just to make a special evening for lovers. The weather, Garrick thought, could not have been more perfect if he had planned it. His timing was perfect. Tomorrow Vauxhall Gardens would be closing for the season.

Though the streets surounding
Vauxhall Gardens were clogged with carriages, he was in a most tranquil mood.  He was with a beautiful woman, there was a magic in the night and he had a feeling everything was going to work out just the way he intended it to.  He'd made up his mind to kiss Miss Dawn Landon. Tonight.

Vauxhall was a perfect place to begin a seduction.  The grounds were spacious, a
nd lovers could usually find a quiet place beneath the tall trees in one of the walks that led away from the bright lantern light and the noise of the orchestra.  For those who were hungry or thirsty  there was generally a vacant booth where they could enjoy a bottle of wine, a dish of tea or a glass of Vauxhall punch.  On special occasions there were fancy dress balls with dancing all through the night, something to keep in mind for future.

The contagious high spirits of those brightly dressed Londoners bound for the pleasure garden, passing by in t
he open two-wheeled curricles, and closed carriages, increased his feeling of euphoria.  Even the air had a heady intoxicating aroma.  Edging closer to Dawn's side of the carriage, he took her hand.

"I told you earlier that you look fashionably radiant, but I'll tell you again."  She was dressed in a white linen dress decorated wi
th emerald green leaf motifs, a most interesting rigid-brimmed brown capote bonnet and matching brown cloak.  I'm glad that you agreed to come.”

"So am I."  She had come so very close to telling him she had a headache, but something had compelled her to come tonight.  Well, so be it.  "I am anxious to see these famous gardens of yours."  She did not reveal to him that
this was one of her old haunts.  Let him believe she was enthralled.

"
Vauxhall Gardens is a most popular and pleasant retreat, laid out here in Lambeth in 1661.  Now it is undoubtedly as famous as the Garden of Eden."  And just as many sins had been committed here, he supposed.  Everyone from the Prince of Wales and his friends to shop boys, apprentices, pickpockets and highwaymen frequented it.  The price of admission was only a shilling, thus it attracted a myriad of social classes.  As naive as she was, he would have to keep a very keen eye on her to make certain she didn't come to harm.             

The gardens were usually crowded and tonight was no exception.  Leaving Vinnie, his carriage driver
, to search for a place to park the carriage, Garrick guided Dawn through the pleasure-loving throng of Londoners. A great crowd had congregated around a smalll building that reminded Dawn of an open temple.  It was a place she had always avoided before, for the area was well-lit by lanterns and was thus a pickpocket's lament, but now  taking hold of his arm, she was free to satisfy her curiosity.

As they strolled closer they could hear the trilling voice of a soprano who was entertaining the onlookers with an aria. Applause greeted her as she ended the song.

"Margaret tells me you have the voice of an angel.  I'd like to hear you sing sometime."

Dawn smiled demurely.  "Perhaps that can be arranged.  My music teacher comes on Wednesdays and Fridays at two in the afternoon.  Margaret, Douglass an
d I join him for a quartet."

Hand in hand they strolled along the broad gravel walks.  It was a
n unseasonably warm night. Dressed in their finery, young men and women as well as those comfortably along in years, were laughing, chattering and embracing.

"All of
London has decided to stroll tonight."  Garrick was anxious to be alone with her.  Ah well, he must not rush the moment. "Tell me all about yourself.  We've seldom spoken about you."

Dawn tensed.  "There's very little to tell.  I'm afraid yo
u would be frightfully bored."

"I want to know."

Thinking quickly she repeated the story she had heard her benefactress relate.  "Well, as Mrs. Pembrooke told you, I am from Norfolk.  I'm a country girl really."

A country girl.  He'd thought as much.  That would explain her delightful
naiveté.  "From a  small town?"  His upraised eyebrows asked her which one.

"Woodbury!"  It was a name that popped out of her mouth before she even thought. 
Dear God, let there be such a place,
she thought.

"Everyone has their own private fantasy.  Since I was a boy I've always wanted to live on a country estate.  That comes from living one's entire life in the city, I suppose.  But the grass is always greener.  I would suspect that to the contrary you always had
dreams of coming to the city."

"Yes, I've had my dreams........"  How could she reveal to him that they had all been of
him until he had spoiled them?  Love. The greatest fantasy of all.  She'd given her heart to a shadow, a man who didn't exist.  That man had proven himself to be cold, judgemental and heartless.  If he ever found out who she was, if her true identity as a "sparrow" was ever revealed he would no doubt turn on he, too.

The cro
wd promenaded the gardens in every direction.  In the distance a well-shadowed avenue of trees attracted lovers to a private place where the night air was tinged with romance. A bubbling fountain could be heard nearby.

Following the
sound, they soon reached the bank of a pond graced by a gigantic statue of Neptune with eight white sea-horses.  To the left of the god, another avenue led straight to a statue of "Fate", then on to "the Hermit" and the temple of Pythia, where a woman in the guise of a Gypsy reclined on a soft bed of hay under a straw-roofed shed.  "Palm reading,"  Garrick said.  "Would you like to have her read your future?"

The woman held out her hands, beckoning. "
Readings.  Only  sixpence. You, my fine Sir?"  The Gypsy, a comely woman with dark olive skin and black hair, eyed Garrick eagerly.

No!"  Dawn was afraid to know
the future and afraid that the woman might be able to see into her past. 

"You don't want to know what awaits you?"  Garrick shrugged his shoulders.  "You are probably wise.  Sometimes it is ultimately more interesting to be surp
rised.  Come, let's move on."

The dwelling of the
sage hermit was their next stop, but no one was permitted to enter.  They stood on the threshold, from whence they could admire the scenery--mountains, valleys, precipices, all worked in canvas and pasteboard.  The old man, with a white beard, long robe and wooden staff  looked as if he had walked straight from the Bible.  

"The stars are clear tonight.  Step forward and I will guide you to your destiny.  Will you be wealthy or doomed to poverty? Happy or meet a tragic ending?  Will there be a great love in your life or will you spend this life and eternity alone?"  He pointed at Dawn but she cautiously stepped past h
im but Garrick  moved forward.

"I know its probably foolish, but I'm curious as to what he sees ahead for me.
  Let's see just what he says." His wink was conspiratorial.

The white-haired man asked Garrick a few questions, disappeared and then in a few minutes handed Garrick a carefully copied written
prophecy of what was to come.

"It says "things are not always as they seem to be", an astute philosophy."  Garrick laughed.  "It says that I will travel to a far away country.  That I will never know true need.  Mmmm h
e also prophesizes that there is a beautiful woman, one who will join with me on my path through life. All in verses, written most colorfully."

Dawn took the paper from his hand, remembering what Arien had told her.  He had once gotten a job copying such versus by the dozen
, to be handed out by such men who pretended to be able to  tell what was about to happen.   Frauds, all of them.  With a toss of her head she crumpled the verses and threw them away.

"Why did you do that?" Cocking his head, he studied her.  She seemed to be a  young woman  of thoughtful intelligence. "Ah.....I have it.  You are the practical type.  Margaret Pembrooke has instilled your thoughts w
ith her own stoic principles."

"No one can really see into the future.  It is folly to think one can."  She'd gone to a fortune teller with her father once
, and he had promised a long life and prosperity to them both.  A week later her father was dead and she one step closer to a life on the London streets.

He threw back his head and laughed.
  "You do sound like Margaret! Egad!"

"Margaret Pembrooke has b
een very kind to me." Dawn scowled defensively.

"I'm certain
that she has."  Taking her hand, he looped it through his arm.  "I meant no offense.  Margaret is a fine woman.  One of the finest that I've ever known.  It's just that she has let a disappointment in youth color her views.  But enough.” A quartet of strolling muscians walked by and he hailed them.  "Come, play a tune.  The one about the maiden with hair like the night and eyes like the sky."

A scarlet-clothed musician stepped forward eyeing Dawn up and down.  "I would be honored."  Strumming a guitar he broke into a song about a soldier's daughter, ending with the verse:
              "Her hair hung down like waves of night,
                   They called her the fairest of fair.
              She was my fondness, my delight,
                   The lass with the long raven hair.
              On the green, green  grass she laid her head,
                   I gave her my heart and my soul.
              We made sweet love on the earth's fine bed,
                   And now I will ne'er live alone."

With a  well-practiced flourish, the musician ended his song,
and swept his feathred hat from his head as he bowed.  Garrick rewarded him with a fistful of coins, feeling immensely generous.

A
ll around them amorous couples sought secluded corners.  Taking Dawn’s hand, Garrick pulled her down upon a stone bench in front of a splashing fountain. Her beauty moved him deeply. Emotions stabbed his chest like a sharp knife.  Just like in the song he wanted to lie with her on the grass, to be alone with her. 

"Now, where were we?  Ah yes.  You were telling me about yourself.  That you come from Woodbury.  I will bless that town forever in my h
eart because it nurtured you."

Feeling the
treacherous warmth of her attraction to him, Dawn shifted slightly away.
He
was supposed to fall in love with
her
, not the other way round.

"Your parents?" he was asking.  "Are th
ey anxious for you to return?"

"No....."  Tears misted Dawn's eyes as she spoke the truth.  "My parents are de
ad."

"I'm sorry."  He felt her pai
n.  "How....how did they die?"

"An accident.  One that changed my life so very drastically.  A family is so important.  Without
loved ones, life is empty."               

She drew herself up, conscious of the tears that wet her face, but it was Robbie she was thinking of, not her mother and father.  He was the last remenant of her family
, now he was lost to her.

"Here.
"  He searched in his pocket, found a handkerchief, and dried her eyes with the end of it. It was a strangely intimate moment.  "I won't ask you any more about it if is so painful to you."

"It is....."   Strange that it was the second han
dkerchief he had given to her, she thought.  If he only had knew.  She accepted it, wiped her cheeks, then handed it back.

A
few feet away from them a musician began to  play a lute, a sad, dissonant song that was no less pleasing to the ears.  “Life is full of sadness,” the tenor sang.  “Life passes by all too quickly.  Nothing is forever.  Catch your happines where you can before the moment flies away forever.”.

"Don't look so sad.  Please........"  Garrick's voice was soft.  The next thing she knew she was in his arms.  Dawn's stomach churned in delicious anticipation of the pleasure awaiting.
  
Catch happines before it flies away
.  He could be her happiness, if only...... 
Reach out for it.  Forget about the past and begin anew.
  She could with him.

Something was happening over which she had no control. 
Her heart raced with emotion whenever he was near. It was as if they were bound by an invisible thread  that kept drawing them together.  Was there such a thing as fate?  Was it only coincidence, or was it something more?               

The moment was right, the magic of the evening mesmerized them. Wrapped in each other's arms
, they watched the water spewing from the fountain, mingling with the flecks of moonlight.  He held her so tightly, so fiercely that she could not break free.  Dawn realized that she did not want to as she buried her face in the hollow of his neck.