Lord Perfect (13 page)
This man, who did not love her, had sorted out her
finances, guided her to precisely the sort of home she'd hoped for,
and advised her how to make and save money. He'd even taken London
apart for her, as though it were a mechanical toy, and shown her how
it worked.
The carriage stopped. She was not ready to part from him
but she had no excuse to stay.
"Thank you," she said, and
laughed a little. "Two paltry words, not a fraction of what I
feel. If only I were Shakespeare. But I am not.
Thank
you
must do all the work of reams of
clever verse."
She meant the words to do all the work.
But her spirits had lifted, and for a moment anything
was possible, and so she dared to lean toward him and lightly kiss
him on the cheek.
He turned his head at that moment, and then his mouth
was moving over hers and his hand was curling round the back of her
neck, and she was on her way to perdition.
BENEDICT SHOULD NOT have turned his head. He should not
have sought those plum-ripe lips.
But he had, and the instant his mouth touched hers, his
famous self-control unraveled.
He grasped the back of her neck and drew her closer and
kissed her as he'd wanted to do from the first moment he saw her.
He felt her stiffen, and
No
danger
, some distant part of his brain
assured him. She would thrust him away, and probably slap him for
good measure.
She did not thrust him away.
Her body abruptly went all soft and pliant, and her
mouth moved under his, answering. Her silken hair tickled the back of
his hand, begging to twine about his fingers. The scent of her skin
stole inside him like a dangerous vapor, and the longing to which
he'd refused to yield came to wild life inside him.
His body remembered the feel of hers when he carried
her, the easy way she fit in his arms, the soft curves tucked against
his hard frame. His body had craved more, and it had cost him an
effort, later, to speak without revealing the depths of his
frustration.
But that was before. This was now, and all he cared
about was now. He cupped her face and drank deeply. He tasted dreams
and youth and longing—a taste like a night of too much wine, a
taste like too many lonely nights.
Of course he wasn't drunk or lonely and he knew better
than to yearn for his youth and its dreams, its passions. All that
was behind him. Years behind. Lost.
He should have recognized the danger then, understood
what was stirring to life within him, and stopped.
But he was past the moment of logical thinking. He was
unable to recognize that what he tasted was danger, and so he failed
to understand why it called more insistently than common sense. He
understood only that this tasted like a woman and smelled like a
woman and felt like a woman— and she was a forbidden woman, all
the more irresistible.
Her hands stole up his coat and caught hold of the
fabric. He felt her fists on his chest, and his heart thundered with
excitement, like a boy's when a girl first says yes. He brought his
hands to her jaw, to untie the bonnet. He pushed it from her head. He
dragged his hands through her hair, and the glossy curls coiled about
his fingers as he'd wanted, and they were softer and silkier than
he'd imagined. Everything about her was more than a man could
imagine, and he wanted more.
He crushed her against him and deepened the kiss, to
find the secret taste of her. He let his hands rove over her back and
down to her waist, but as he slid them over her breasts, she broke
away.
She pushed him from her with surprising strength. "No!
Enough!" She turned away and picked up her bonnet from the
carriage floor. "Oh, this is very bad."
She shoved it on her head and hastily
tied the ribbons. "This was
unforgivably
stupid. What is wrong with me? I cannot believe—What an
idiot
.
I was supposed to kick you or tread on your foot. I vow, one would
think I had never learnt a thing about men. This was a terrible
mistake
!"
He found his voice and some vestige of his mind. "Yes,
it was," he said.
He collected his famous composure and helped her out of
the carriage.
The perfect gentleman, as always.
"Good-bye," he said.
She hurried away without answering. In the next instant,
she'd vanished into the night.
He swore once, under his breath, then set himself to
gathering the shattered pieces of what used to be his perfectly
regulated world.
Chapter 6
Friday 5 October
TO AVOID FURTHER INVOLVING THE UNDER-footman in the
secret, Peregrine had made a post office of sorts by prying loose
some bricks near the back garden gate. There either Olivia or an
accomplice deposited her letters and collected Peregrine's. Though
she was a girl, she moved about London far more freely than Peregrine
did.
Unlike him, she did not have servants watching her
constantly. She made any number of detours to and from school, none
of which she remembered to mention to her mother, and all of which
horrified and fascinated him.
He squeezed into the shrubbery, where he would not be
seen, and opened the letter.
Queen Square
Thursday 4 October
My Lord,
Farewell!
The Time has come for me to Depart upon my Quest.
"No," Peregrine said. "
No
."
He had written two long letters to
her, explaining what was wrong with her Idea about finding Edmund
DeLucey's treasure. First and foremost, young ladies—and she
was
a lady
by birth, and must never forget this—did not set off on jaunts
unaccompanied. Second, she must consider the grief she would cause
her mother, who was an agreeable, sensible, and intelligent parent,
unlike some. He had written third, fourth, fifth, and sixth points,
too—a complete waste of ink.
"I might as well have written to the head of Young
Memnon," Peregrine muttered.
Be assured, sir, that I have read
and thought about
Every Word
you
have written to me. However
, Matters
Have Reached a
Crisis.
We moved to Queen Square on Monday. Our new Lodgings are more than
comfortable, and I for one am glad to put a distance between my home
and St. Sepulchre's Workhouse. Yet Mama grows more
Unhappy
every day. I fear she is
Sickening, the Victim of a
Wasting
Disease.
She pretends to eat and sleep,
but it is all a
Sham,
for she grows pale and thin. I am glad Papa is not alive to see it,
because he would be
Heartsick.
Even you must agree that I have
Not a Moment To Lose
but must set out
AT
ONCE.
Rest assured that I have
taken your words To Heart and shall not make this Journey
Alone.
Sir Olivia travels with her
Trusty Squire, Nat Diggerby. His uncle drives a cart to market on
Mondays and Fridays. We have arranged to meet him tomorrow at the
Hyde Park Corner Tollgate. He will take us as far as Hounslow. A Wise
Plan, you must agree
.
"No, I don't, you idiot girl,"
Peregrine said. "What becomes of you after Hounslow—if you
get that far? Do you never stop to think that your
Squire
Diggerby might be taking you to his 'uncle' the pimp or his 'aunt'
the brothel keeper?"
Peregrine could hardly believe she was so naive, given
how much else she knew. He supposed the deficiency was on account of
never having attended public school, where boys learned, along with
Greek and Latin, all they needed to know about pimps, bawds, and
prostitutes.
He hadn't time to fill in the gap in
her education. The impulsive creature was leaving
today
.
He had to stop her.
BATHSHEBA GAVE UP waiting for Lord Lisle after half an
hour. Evidently she'd misunderstood his schedule. She'd thought he'd
said he was leaving on Saturday for Scotland. He must have said
Friday, and she had only half-listened, her mind elsewhere.
She could not recall whether he'd said good-bye. But why
should a boy of thirteen think it necessary to take any special leave
of his drawing teacher? His uncle had taken polite leave already, a
few days after their last encounter. His secretary had written a
courteous thank-you letter, enclosing payment for the remaining
lessons.
She gathered her belongings, closed up the classroom,
and set out for home: a new home, thanks to Lord Rath-bourne…
whom she'd never see again.
He would keep away, and she was safe now, quite safe.
Also bored and out of sorts…
…
until some hours later, when she was taking the
table linens out of the cupboard and found the letter Olivia had left
for her.
