Laura Kinsale (11 page)

Louisa gave Tess an odd little smile. “Tuesdays and Thursdays. How invigorating. Perhaps some morning I will join you.”

Tess bit back the quick protest that sprang to her lips. “Please do,” she said. What difference would it make now? Gryf would never come back to meet her again. She had forfeited his friendship by showing herself the most brazen creature alive. Innocent Zoe Mayland’s crime was nothing compared to the rush of passion Tess had shown in the park. Nothing to what she still felt, for the imprint of his body against hers was yet vivid, the place where his fingers had touched her still warm.

In the midst of the covey of gentle young ladies, Tess felt suddenly so alone that she had to look quickly down at her sketchbook to hide the tears that sprang to her eyes. The others shrank in horror from a man’s caress, while she had found an incalculable joy in it. What was more, she knew that she would find that same joy again, if she were given the chance.

However, it was not likely that the man who could bring her such pleasure would ever want to see her again.

T
hursday morning, Tess went to the park, even though a chilly, misting rain clung to the trees and made the scene miserable. The dismal tone of the day echoed the misery she’d felt herself, tossing in her bed at night or sitting primly with her cousins while her mind played over and over those moments on the shady path and the cold parting afterward. On this gray morning, the park was a different place: the new leaves hung dull and limp, and the open green was a stretch of foggy desolation.

He will not be there, she told herself. He said that he would not come.

But still, she looked for him.

Her heart leaped into her throat as she neared their meeting place. A figure on horseback waited, shrouded by mist. With a little cry of gladness, Tess urged her mount into a canter. “Good morning,” she called, in a voice breathless with delighted relief. “Hullo!”

The outline of the waiting figure solidified. Tess hesitated, slowing instinctively as she realized the other’s horse was not black, but dappled gray. In her enthusiasm, she put the color change down to an illusion
caused by the mist, until a calm, feminine voice floated over the dewy ground.

“Lady Tess? It is Louisa Grant-Hastings. I’ve come to ride with you.”

Tess reined up. Louisa! Bitter disappointment swept over her. Tess had never for a moment expected the other girl to act on her polite offer, and particularly not on a dreary day such as this. Her horse dropped to a walk, and she covered the last yards to Miss Grant-Hastings reluctantly.

“Good morning,” Tess said again, with considerably less hospitality. “I wasn’t expecting you to come so soon.”

“Weren’t you?” Louisa asked, tilting her head so that her plumed cap of green velvet nodded curiously. “It seems you were expecting
someone.
”

“Oh no,” Tess lied. “It’s just that so few people are out on a day like this—I was glad to see anyone.”

Louisa turned her horse to walk down the wide green.

“Then you won’t mind if I accompany you. Are there usually more people out at this time of day?”

Tess, out of civility, was forced to follow and answer the question. “Not many.”

“You always ride alone?”

“With my groom,” Tess said quickly.

Louisa half-turned, showing a sly smile. “My cousin Gryphon asked me to give you a message.”

Tess looked up, her insides twisting.

“Oh yes,” Louisa said calmly. “I’m well-aware that you meet him here. It is a very foolish thing to do, Lady Collier. I’m sure your aunt would not approve.”

“Thank you for your concern.” Tess allowed the coldness that she felt toward Miss Grant-Hastings to creep into her voice. “I’ve done nothing of which my aunt would disapprove.”

“I don’t agree, Lady Tess. I may call you Lady Tess, may I not?”

“It seems that you already do,” Tess said.

“How gracious you are,” the other girl said pleasantly. “Please call me Louisa. Perhaps I can ride with you regularly, for I really do feel that Lady Wynthrop would think it most inappropriate for you to be riding with my cousin without a proper female attendant.”

Tess pressed her lips together, holding back a sharp reply.

“In fact,” Louisa went on, “I have convinced my cousin of that very thing. He is new to London, you know—as you are—and he isn’t quite clear on exactly what is acceptable. He is now in complete agreement with me that these clandestine meetings are most unwise.”

“Clandestine!” Tess protested. “I never met your cousin in secret! We have always—” She stopped, encountering Louisa’s interested gaze. “My groom is always with me when I ride,” Tess finished lamely.

They went along in silence for a moment, before Louisa said, almost timidly, “Perhaps there is something you should know, Lady Tess.”

Tess looked at her, surprised by the uncharacteristic hesitation. Louisa’s beautiful face was angelic—a little too angelic, Tess thought acidly.

“My cousin—dear Gryphon—has declared himself to me.”

The shock almost betrayed Tess. Her whole heart and lungs seemed to constrict, making it hard to breathe. She swallowed, and said the first thing that came into her head. “But I thought—Lord Falken…”

“Oh, my dear, you don’t think I ever set my sights to
that
dizzy height, do you? Lord Falken is a great one for the ladies, you know. I would be too foolish if I were to think anything of
his
attentions. I think I shall be very
happy with my own sweet cousin, though Lord Falken may have all the rank and wealth in the world.”

These sentiments ran so counter to Tess’s every conclusion about Miss Grant-Hastings that she could not even summon a response. Gryf and Louisa…the anguished impossibility of it whirled in her head. Surely it had been only two nights ago at the Gosfords’ party that she had seen Louisa clinging to Lord Falken. They had held a long, low conversation in the privacy of a secluded corner; Tess had noticed, because Mr. Eliot made one of his caustic remarks about them. When the couple broke up, Falken came away with a thunderous frown, which darkened his face and was gone almost instantly as he approached Tess, smiling his usual lazy smile.

Suppose that was when Louisa had told him this news? Suppose that was why he had looked so angry with her, and Louisa so white and unnaturally controlled. They had stayed apart the rest of the evening. Tess had noticed that, too, because Falken had spent the entire time being excessively solicitous toward her. She had not liked it, because she did not like Falken, with his languid air and hard eyes. She remembered wishing that he would patch up his quarrel with Louisa and go away.

It seemed that they would never patch it up now.

“Wouldn’t you like to know the message my dear Gryphon sent you?” Louisa asked sweetly. “He is so kind, he thinks of everyone but himself…he said to tell you that he regrets he cannot see you again, and that he wished you every happiness in your future life.”

Tess summoned all her courage, and said in a numbed voice, “Tell him…thank you. I hope you will be very happy.”

“Oh, I know we shall!” Louisa said with a sigh. “He
is all I’ve ever dreamed about…I have loved him since I was a child. We pledged ourselves when I was nine, and he fourteen—a silly thing, as children will do. I hardly dared hope that he would truly wait for me—he’s been in the West Indies for so long. When I saw him again, I knew at once that I loved him still.”

“I-I see,” Tess said. “How wonderful for you.”

So he had been pledged all along. A stab of pain tore at her heart. She had never had a chance! It had not been her rank; it hadn’t been her money, as she had been so sure. He had simply loved someone else for years. She couldn’t even say she had been deceived; he had never offered more than friendship; he had even encouraged her to accept another man’s proposal. It was not his fault if she had been so stupid as to let that friendship grow into something more in her own mind.

Now that she looked back, all the pieces fell into place—his blockade running, his sudden appearance in London, everything made sense. He must have been accumulating money, so that he would have something to offer his chosen bride. Anyone could see that Louisa would not be inexpensive in her needs. He had cared enough for her to risk his life at the blockade, over and over again, so that he could dress Louisa in the silk and satin that she loved. Tess felt a sudden surge of rage at Louisa, who would let him do such a thing. But then, perhaps she hadn’t known. She had said the West Indies: perhaps she believed that. He would have wanted to save her the anxiety of knowing the truth.

And his kiss…the very thought of it made Tess cringe inwardly. She had all but forced him to kiss her, offering herself in the park like a street girl. All the time, he had been thinking of Louisa.

All the time, he had loved someone else.

A little hiccough, almost a sob, escaped Tess. She cov
ered it with an awkward cough and turned to her companion. “I’m sorry, I think it’s too damp for me to stay out longer. I must go home.”

“Oh, of course!” Louisa was all concern. “Go at once. Please don’t let me detain you. I thank you for allowing me to accompany you, Lady Tess. Despite the weather, it has been a
very
pleasant ride.”

It was two days later when Stephen Eliot proposed to Tess. She sat and listened to him in the same dull dream that she had walked in since she had met Louisa in the park. He read her no poems, though he did kiss her hand, very gently, as if she might break beneath his touch. There was no trace of the cynic in him, none of the acerbic wit that had grown familiar over the past months. He was quiet, and earnest, and infinitely more serious than she had ever seen him before.

She said that she must think about it.

Larice was full of the news. She was certain that Tess would accept—who would not? Tess heard her cousin whisper it to old friends and new, to mild acquaintances. To Miss Grant-Hastings. Louisa took Tess aside and wished her all the best. Tess did not bother to say that she had not yet accepted the proposal. She was sure that she would, eventually. It was a minor delay; just that she had not quite been able to say yes to him, so soon after losing what she had never had.

And then Gryf came to call.

He came alone in the morning, when Tess was the only one awake. She sat up from picking listlessly at her breakfast and looked in shock at the butler who brought the news.

“Shall I say you are not risen yet, my lady?”

Tess set down her teacup. “No,” she said slowly. “No. I will see him in the library.”

She rose from the table with care, her heart thundering in miserable excitement. He had come. Louisa would have told him, and he would be offering his good wishes. He must. On what grounds could he object to Stephen Eliot now, when he never had any solid accusations before? What a child she had been, to hope that it was jealousy that had prompted his dislike of the other man.

What a fool.

He was standing by the window, his back turned to her as she entered. Sunlight caught golden fire in his hair as he looked up. She could not see his face for the glare from the window. With feigned calm, she crossed the room and sat down.

“Hullo,” he said softly, keeping his silhouetted position near the window.

“Good morning.” Tess was surprised at how naturally the words came out.

He seemed at a loss then; he stood without speaking. Finally he shifted, and took a step toward her. “I want to apologize.”

She said evenly, “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“In the park…” He hesitated, turned suddenly back to face the window. “I wronged you very much.”

His choice of subject was confusing. Tess stared down at her hands in her lap. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. A long silence fell between them, and at last she added, “I understand that you are to be congratulated.”

He swung around, and she saw his face clearly for the first time. “Congratulated?”

His surprise was patent. Tess suddenly felt the ground fall away from beneath her feet. “Are you not—engaged?”

He made a sound of incredulity. “Of course not. Engaged to whom?”

“To—your cousin,” Tess said, in a very small voice.

“Louisa?”

Tess nodded.

“Did she tell you that?”

“She said you had declared yourself.”

“Declared myself…” He spun on his heel and strode to the window, then whirled and came back, much closer than before. “Damn her. What the devil does she think she’ll gain with a story like that?”

A tendril of warmth had begun to curl in Tess’s middle. It grew, and became a steady flame. “You’re not engaged.”

“Certainly not. It’s
your
intentions that I’ve come to talk about.”

“Are you speaking of Mr. Eliot?” she asked cheerfully.

“Yes,” he said, and the grim look in his gray eyes washed the newfound gaiety from hers. “Louisa said you would marry him.”

Tess knew not why—perhaps to have revenge for the misery of the past few days—but she said, “Perhaps I shall.”

“You cannot.”

The blunt command brought an instinctive resistance. “I don’t see why I can’t, if I please. He has offered for me.”

He took a deep breath, and let it slowly out again. “I know you think it none of my affair, but I can’t stand by and let you do this.”

Tess smiled, thoroughly enjoying his frustration. He had to care—he must, at least a little. “Then you will have to tell me exactly why I shouldn’t marry Mr. Eliot,” she said, with a trace of smugness.

“There are…reasons.”

“What are they?”

He strode back to the window and looked down on the street below. Tess watched his profile lovingly, taking pleasure in every line and plane, every movement of his tall, well-muscled form. He frowned, then shook his head. His lips curved into a sour smile, as if some secret irony had occurred to him. “I don’t believe this.”

“It shouldn’t be so hard to believe. I must marry; I promised my father, and I rather like Mr. Eliot.”

He leaned against the windowsill. “That’s hardly reason enough to live with the man the rest of your life.”

Tess stood up indignantly. His tastes were obviously very different from hers: he urged her to accept the most preposterous clodpole, disliked a perfectly acceptable gentleman, and dismissed her own judgment out of hand. “I suppose you think I should have accepted Mr. Bottomshaw on no firmer grounds?” she asked haughtily.

He reacted to her coolness with a quick burst of anger. “He’d certainly be better than Stephen Eliot!”

“I don’t agree.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Tess narrowed her eyes. “Oh, I think I do, Captain—or Mr. Everett, or whatever you’d like to call yourself. I will marry whomever I please, whenever I choose to do it, and if I choose to become Mrs. Stephen Eliot, then I most certainly shall.”

“No.”

Just like that. No. Tess sputtered, and her voice rose threateningly. “How dare you?” At his stubborn frown, her voice gained more furious volume. “How dare you? Who in the world do you suggest I marry, then? I have to marry someone, and I won’t have Jeremiah Bottomshaw!”