Love’s Betrayal (29 page)

“I hope to.” LaTournay frowned. “Here comes Lady Forester.”

“How can you sound morose? Delia Forester is a sensible recipient of your passions—safely married, husband away much of the time, and ever so willing!” Pringle elbowed LaTournay in the ribs. “Why the sudden loss of interest?”

“I would obtain a wife of my own.” Leaving his friend to absorb this information, LaTournay stepped forward and bowed to Lady Forester.

“A wife!” Pringle's exclamation reached his ears.

“Thank you for the dance, Miss Talbot.” Mr. Pringle bowed. His blond hair gleamed in the candlelight, and mischief twinkled in his blue eyes. Georgette sat down as he turned to Marianne and asked, “Will you honor me once more?”

The girl fairly leaped to her feet. “Oh yes!” She took his extended hand and let him lead her to the floor.

Georgette was thankful to be rid of the arrogant fellow. The tales he told of Mr. LaTournay's exploits with married women verified her worst fears. To make things worse, she could not draw breath without feeling as if a knife pierced her side. She should never have accepted Pringle's invitation to dance a reel.

She searched the room for her mother only to observe Mr. LaTournay talking with a dark-haired woman who laid a possessive hand upon his arm and gazed into his eyes with evident desire. How shameless! Jealousy scorched Georgette's heart. The one man who expressed interest in her just had to be the town lothario.

Turning her face away, she started around the perimeter of the crowded room. The pain increased with every step. To grip her rib cage and pant would be ill bred, but etiquette began to seem trivial compared to the agony in her torso. She was suffocating, possibly dying, and no one noticed. Finding a seat behind a potted tree, she toppled into it and wished for oblivion. She pressed one fist against her teeth and the other into her side. Tears burned her cheeks.

“Miss Talbot, allow me to help you.”

“Please!” Her sanity reached out and clung to the quiet voice.

“Can you rise? Lean against my arm, and I shall take you to a drawing room where you can lie down.”

The voice gave her courage. She nodded. The room swirled around her in waves of color, music, and conversation. Leaning heavily on her rescuer's arm, she concentrated on remaining conscious. They passed through a doorway, and the party's commotion receded. “We are nearly there,” the man said just as Georgette's legs buckled. After a moment's scuffle with her recalcitrant hoops and yards of fabric, he lifted her in his arms. She peered up at a familiar bearded face.

Mr. LaTournay was as strong as he looked, and his musky cologne filled her senses. “My mother,” she whimpered into his shoulder, feeling strangely secure.

“I shall bring her to you. Here we are.” His shoulder shoved against a door. Carefully, he maneuvered Georgette's hoops through the doorway.

As awareness returned, panic rose. What did he intend to do with her? “It is dark in here!” She pushed weakly at his chest.

He stopped. “Can you stand while I light candles?”

Although she was not sure, she nodded. He lowered her feet to the floor, discreetly tugged the ruffles down to conceal her petticoats, then left her swaying in the doorway. Georgette closed her eyes and fought to remain upright. Soft light filled the room.

“Come, rest here, and I shall go in search of your mother.”

Blindly, she reached for him and leaned into his strength, letting him guide her to a settee. Bending to lie down was agony. Once she lay flat, her grip on his coat lapel relaxed. He stepped back, and her hoop sprang up. Without looking, he dropped a large cushion atop the billowing fabric. It settled unsteadily on her legs.

Georgette wanted to die. He tucked a pillow behind her head. Feeling a soft handkerchief upon her tear-dampened cheek, she reached up to take it from him.

“Better?” He was a hovering shadow, composed and reassuring.

“Yes. I can breathe more easily now,” she said. “Mum insists that my waist be as small as Juliette's, but I am fatter than my sister.” As soon as the words escaped, she wished to take them back. Of all things, she did not wish to bring the man's attention to her figure.

“Perhaps it would be wise to loosen your stays.”

Her eyes flew open and his face came into focus. No longer shadowy and comforting, he was again evil incarnate. She pressed both hands to her bosom. “My mother will help me!”

“Of course. I shall return directly.” He backed away.

Had she misjudged him? No one could be entirely evil, after all. “Thank you, Mr. LaTournay,” she said as he opened the door.

“It is my pleasure to serve you.”

Her heart thudded against her concealing hands. When he was gone, the last of her composure disintegrated. It was too painful to sob, but more tears scalded her cheeks.

“Whatever do you see in the wench? Her nose looks like a little blob, and her mouth is immense like a—”

“—a frog wearing lip rouge,” LaTournay said in unison with Pringle. “She says she has the face of a pug dog.” He swirled the coffee in his cup.

Pringle guffawed. “She even has the mournful brown eyes!” His brows lifted. “Tell you what—give her a bauble or two, entice her into the garden during the next dance, and take your fill of those smooth white shoulders. Then you can forget her and return to normal. What do you say?”

LaTournay leaned both elbows on the coffeehouse's marred tabletop and fingered the corners of a newspaper. “Why did you dance with her again?”

“You mean after you warned me off? You needn't look murderous. 'Twas all for you, my friend.”

LaTournay said nothing.

Pringle spouted profanities, half laughing. “'Tis the truth. Granted, I tried the garden tactic myself, but she complained of her side hurting. I left the field open for you to play the gallant rescuer—a part you bungled, if I read the ensuing scenes correctly. Whatever did you say to her?”

“Nothing untoward. I have only to approach, and she blanches as if I were a death's head.”

“Hmm. No doubt your reputation precedes you. It is all over the city that you prefer to dally with married women. Everyone knows of your torrid affair with Delia Forester.” His grin reached from ear to ear. “So I bent Miss Talbot's ear with a few embellished tales of your libidinous exploits. You should have seen her blush, you satyr!”

“Sincere appreciation for the character endorsement,” LaTournay said. “No wonder she panicked when I attempted to help her.”

“Women find rakish men exciting. Once she discovers your wealth, she will be eager clay in your hands.”

“I find it difficult to believe that her father has failed to inform her of my financial standing.”

Pringle flung his hands up in surrender. “Very well. I promise to keep my hands off until you have tired of her. Satisfied? My sights are set on richer game— Grenville's daughter. My government job is not paying as well as I expected, so I might have to sacrifice pleasure for the present and take the matrimonial plunge.”

“Your government job?”

Pringle glanced up and down the long table to make sure no one was listening. “A colonel in Boston—old friend of the family—asked me to check out the situation here in New York and carry messages.”

“I see.”

“It is infuriating what these Whigs do while the governor is gone, and they think they can get away with it.” His expression turned serious. “I need solid information about plans and munitions, about who can be trusted to support us.”

“I just arrived in town.”

“What use are you?” Only half joking, Pringle sat back on the bench and drained his cup. “Tell me if you hear anything. The occupation and embargo of Boston have nearly destroyed the Pringle shipping business, and Whig associates are making it impossible for my father to recoup his losses. I am in worse straits than Talbot, since I have no daughter to sell off to a susceptible dupe. He would have to pay me to take her off his hands.”

“Miss Talbot probably does not know how to spin, weave, or cook,” LaTournay mused, “but she could learn.”

Pringle shook his head. “The maid is passing fair, but I have seen far better. And if you think Talbot will let you wed her without first defrauding you of a considerable sum, you are a greater fool than even I realized.”

“She is far from plain,” LaTournay's voice rasped.

Pringle cleared his throat. “Worst thing is to get attached to a woman. Forget about her. Think of her as an angler—her charms are the lure, and she fishes for any rich man who will take the bait. You must be like the wise old trout: Steal the bait and avoid the hook. Oldest game in the world.”

“Far from attempting to lure me, Miss Talbot would banish me if she had the power. She has depth, Pringle, a sagacity and sincerity one rarely encounters in a woman.”

Pringle snorted and thumped a fist on the tabletop. “Same old story. Desire overrides reason. The deceitful woman will demand all and give nothing, and when you have given all, she will take it and run, leaving you with that barbed hook in your heart forevermore.”

“So you prefer to play hunter rather than hunted. Unlucky Miss Marianne Grenville,” LaTournay said.

“She is just a woman with a rich father. I shall give her a few babies to occupy her mind, then start enjoying life again. Who are you to criticize? At least Miss Grenville does not belong to another man.”

The dregs of LaTournay's cup were bitter.

How long wilt thou forget me, O L
ORD
? for ever? how long wilt thou hide thy face from me?

P
SALM
13:1

H
earing the bell ring, followed by voices in the front hallway, Georgette rushed from her room to peer over the edge of the dark stair landing. Mr. LaTournay handed his hat and cane to Biddy. Morning sunlight poured through a leaded window above the entry door, bathing him in a pool of brilliance.

A few locks of loose hair dangled around his cheekbones, giving him an unkempt appearance. By contrast, his brown wool coat fitted his rangy build perfectly, its simple lines displaying quality.

Snorting and woofing, Caramel descended the stairs in a wild rush. LaTournay bent to greet him. “Ah, the diligent watchdog,” he said, rubbing Caramel's sides while the dog fawned about his boots. LaTournay looked up—Georgette had no time to hide. The corners of his dark eyes crinkled, and he lifted a hand in silent salute. She tried to smile back.

“Mr. Talbot will see you. This way, sir.” Biddy showed him into the study. He ducked his head to enter.

“Has insanity taken over this entire city?” Georgette heard her father ask after the usual greetings. “It is no longer safe to walk the streets.”

“I am certain this unrest will soon pass and the streets will be safe once more,” Mr. LaTournay said.

“I pray you have come to me with an offer, LaTournay—”

The door closed, ending Georgette's eavesdropping. Hope and dread warred within her pounding heart. “Help me, Lord.” The feeble prayer was the best she could do.