Maggie MacKeever (6 page)

“So it was.” Lady Sweetbriar revealed a roguish eye. “Gracious, but he was enraptured—even if it did not last. Naturally I accepted his offer, Duke; you would have done the same, had you existed all your life in impoverished circumstances, and wished more than anything to be provided for.”

Mr. Thorne still contemplated her ladyship’s dark curls, with their jeweled crown. “I would have provided for you, Nikki. In fact, as I recall—”

“Hush!” Lady Sweetbriar attempted to look severe. “We will not talk of that. Not that I wasn’t fond of you, because I was—fonder than I have ever been of anyone else! And not that we need worry about being overheard here, because the female who lends me her countenance is long abed, and the servants are conveniently deaf. That is why I left Sweetbriar’s town-house—I was very tired of being talked about, and in my own little house I need not try to impress anyone, and may be as common as I please! I
said
it was because Rolf and I were near enough in age that if I did not do so people would talk, which in my experience they
do.
Not that I care a fig for such things, you understand!”

“I understand perfectly,” Thorne said. “You are still cross with me for taking an abrupt departure, once I saw which way the wind blew. I thought it the only prudent action. I did not imagine Reuben would be pleased to discover he had married my—”

“Friend!” supplied Lady Sweetbriar, with a twinkling wicked glance. “We will not discuss it further. No, and I shall not even scold you for leaving me to abide the consequence. You must tell me all about yourself, Duke, where you have been and what you have been doing all these years. Yes, and you must tell me also what has brought you home now! Have you been afraid to face Reuben? Or perhaps you thought he would immediately suspect I was intriguing with you?”

The late Lord Sweetbriar might well have had basis for such a suspicion, judging from the easy manner in which his widow and his brother stood entwined. Mr. Thorne lifted Lady Sweetbriar’s hands to his lips. “In Russia, when a man kisses a woman’s hand, she returns the greeting with a kiss on his brow.”

“Oh, Russia!” Lady Sweetbriar’s husky voice suggested a wish for a more personal salute. Then she looked apprehensive. “Duke, do you believe in ghosts?”

“You’ve been listening to my mooncalf of a nephew.” Since Nikki had failed to avail herself of his invitation to salute his brow, Marmaduke escorted her to one of the overstuffed chairs. “Was it because you wanted to hear about Russia that you sent that note? Rolf was very curious as to why I was going out after having just said I did not plan to—yes, and wondered who I knew in London after so many years.”

“Rolf is a looby.” With a gentle shove, Lady Sweetbriar convinced Mr. Thorne to be seated, and then took up her position on his lap. “I was anxious to see you. Miss Clough had just told me you were in town. And now you may tell me about Russia, if you please.”

“It is a barbarous country.” If Marmaduke was discomposed by having a female seated on his lap, he made no sign, indeed seemed to have settled into his unusual position very comfortably. Lest Mr. Theme’s sanguinity be overrated, however, his large number of previous conquests must be recalled, as well as the fact that this was not the first time Nikki had perched thusly. “And barbarously governed. The tsar’s father and grandfather were both murdered. The prisons are full, the people are starving, and corruption is rife. The country is filled with secret societies. Most of the officers of the Imperial Guard belong to such societies, and the source of their ideas is revolutionary France.” His arms tightened around Lady Sweetbriar. “There are rumors of a French invasion. That is why I was recalled.”

“Goodness, but you do that well!” said Nikki, some moments later, in response not to Mr. Thorne’s remarks, but his ruthless embrace. “If only Avery—” Her bemused expression changed to horror and she leaped to her feet. “Mercy! I quite forgot I am betrothed. How
can
you laugh at me, Duke? I wish you would stop! To think I have forgotten Avery for an entire half hour— it is the most mortifying thing!”

“You refine too much upon it. Your memory was overset by the shock of our reunion.” Though he had ceased to laugh, Mr. Thorne continued to look amused. “Come sit down here by me, Nikki, and tell me all about this Avery.” He patted the plump seat of a nearby chair.

Looking wistful, Lady Sweetbriar declined and took up a defensive position behind a painted tripod table with hinged top and curved feet. “You must not think that I am bamboozling Avery like I did Reuben—or at least not so
very
much! We met at a prizefight, you see, so Avery knows how it is with me. Yes, and I understand how it is with him and his museum—it is the most curious place, crammed with all manner of oddities, from marble feet to stuffed flamingoes and giraffes. Not a time do I go there that I do not see something new; the last time it was a preserved vulture’s head.”

“A preserved vulture’s head?” Mr. Thorne’s tone was most compassionate. “My poor Nikki!”

“Are you sorry for me, Duke?” Feeling suddenly shy of the only man for whom she had ever possessed a nonmonetary affection, Lady Sweetbriar could not meet his gaze. “You must not be. Avery and I will rub along together very comfortably.
He
will never make odious inferences, or be forever accusing me of nourishing evil designs! Yes, and I like Avery very well, and can’t imagine anyone I’d rather be married to, even if he is a trifle preoccupied—but on the other hand, he doesn’t mind that I must have a fortune, or that I once trod the boards—though
that
was so very long ago I think I might be forgiven it, since in the meantime I have been very good.” She paused. “At least I have
tried
very hard to be!”

Mr. Thorne thought that Lady Sweetbriar was quick to take up the cudgels in her fiancé’s defense. Perhaps
too
quick, he mused. “Are you run aground again, Nikki? You never did have the least sense of economy. Shall I help you out?”

In response to this generous offer, Lady Sweetbriar elevated her gaze from the tea cart. Her expression was not happy. “If you are going to tell me you have made your fortune in Russia, I wish you would not, because if I married Reuben when I could just as well have had you—Paugh! The notion is enough to put one devilish out of humor! As for your help, I must refuse it, though I am grateful for the offer.”

“Why must you refuse it?” Mr. Thorne left the matter of his own finances unresolved. “Do you think your Avery might take offense?”

Lady Sweetbriar looked rueful. “He
should,
certainly; but I don’t know that he
would!
I will admit that I don’t understand Avery. Not that it signifies, because I
did
understand Reuben, and it made not a jot of difference.”

“Then let me help you.” Though Mr. Thorne had long been parted from his companion, he immediately recognized the signs of a conscience grappling with guilt. “Your fiancé need never know.”

“I
would know!” Lady Sweetbriar ventured out from behind the tripod table and moved to the fireplace. Avaricious as she might be, Nikki would accept no investment in her future without giving good value in return. Even the aloof Sir Avery Clough must balk at his intended bride paying out such dividends, she thought. At least she hoped he would. “Oh Duke, you were the best of all my flirts—not that you were a
flirt,
precisely—no, no! Stay your distance! We must put all that behind us now.”

For a lady determined to forget her past, reflected Mr. Thorne, Nikki displayed a queer tendency to dwell thereupon. But he had long ago learned the futility of engaging the fair sex in argument. “As you wish,” he therefore responded, and smiled. “You are in looks, Nikki. Are those some of the family baubles you’re wearing?”

This chance remark—Mr. Thorne not yet being aware that the Sweetbriar jewels were a point of sore contention between Nikki and Rolf—reminded Lady Sweetbriar of her ill-usage. “Don’t try and bamboozle
me,
Duke: you know perfectly well that these are Sweetbriar heirlooms.” She clutched at the gems hung round her neck. “Yes, and you must know also about Reuben’s wretched will, and that he left the jewels to Rolf, because Rolf talks about little else! I give you fair warning: Rolf shan’t have them back. And it will do you no good to try and cajole me in his behalf. Oh, I recall very well that you once had the knack of getting around me—yes, and look where
that
led us! You to Russia, me to Fitzroy Square, and Reuben to an early grave.”

“Cut line, Nikki!” In protest, Mr. Thorne held up his hand. “Rolf said nothing to me about your baubles, or much of anything else except some female he wishes to wed. Her praises he sang so profusely I began to wonder why such a paragon would content herself with less than a duke. So you see your fears were for naught, Nikki.”

Had they been? wondered Lady Sweetbriar.
Did
she pose imaginary difficulties for herself?

After careful assessment of the situation, she decided she did not. Rolf was determined to reclaim the Sweetbriar jewels; she was equally determined he must not. For a year the fate of the gems had hung in the balance—but now Lady Regina Foliot sought to tip the scales. If Rolf had an ally, Nikki thought she must also—and who could better serve than Rolf’s own uncle as an agent in the enemy camp?

Thinking to persuade Marmaduke to her viewpoint, Lady Sweetbriar turned to him with her most bewitching smile. Then she uttered a little shriek. While she had been deep in cogitation, he had left his chair.

“Don’t act so blasted missish!” Mr. Thorne caught Lady Sweetbriar by the arms before she could back into the fireplace. “I’ve no intentions of making advances, Nikki.”

Looking simultaneously cautious and confused, Lady Sweetbriar frowned up into his swarthy face. “You don’t?”

“I don’t.” Mr. Thorne smiled. “Unless, that is, you want me to.”

That
was a relief, at any rate; naturally a lady affianced to one gentleman could not wish another to pay her court. Wondering how best to wheedle Duke to lend her his assistance, Nikki studied the pristine pleats of his cravat. Lest he accuse her once more of missishness, she refrained from pointing out that he still gripped her arms. She would be modest and maidenly and troubled, Nikki decided. Marmaduke would respond quickly to a lady in distress. Plaintively she raised her eyes—and surprised on his bronzed features an extremely speculative expression. It was gone in an instant, but Lady Sweetbriar knew her Duke, and she would hand over
all
the Sweetbriar jewels without a single demur if he wasn’t contemplating some sort of thimble-rig.

Lady Sweetbriar was not alone in thinking Marmaduke Thorne would serve as an excellent ally; Lady Regina Foliot came to a similar conclusion within moments of making the gentleman’s acquaintance, an event which took place at the King’s Theatre in the Haymarket. After considerable wracking of his brain in an effort to determine how best to persuade Lady Regina of his devotion, Lord Sweetbriar had hit upon the happy scheme of presenting his uncle. That Mr. Thorne had quite a way with the ladies, his nephew had already observed. He trusted that Marmaduke could wheedle Lady Regina into an acquiescent mood.

Nor had Lord Sweetbriar’s trust in his uncle been misplaced. Mr. Thorne was beguiling Lady Regina, her mother, and her sisters, with accounts of the opera as performed in St. Petersburg, with special emphasis upon the jealous stratagems of the Nymph of Dnieper, entertainment in which the ancient costumes and music of Russia were admirably displayed. Lord Sweetbriar, who had no interest even in the Mozart opera in which Mme. Catalini was currently between intervals exercising her fine voice, occupied himself with gazing upon his beloved, who was clad for the occasion in a gown of white muslin trimmed with varicolored beadwork. On her yellow curls she wore a coronet made of fine lace decorated with ribbons and flowers, on her arms long white gloves, and white satin slippers on her feet. The overall effect was angelic.

Lady Regina’s appearance in that moment was most deceptive. The source of her un-Christian sentiments—who was behaving in a very gay and animated manner that caused heads to turn toward her, and exhibiting not the least concern for the attention that she drew—was seated in an opposite box. “Your stepmama seems to be in excellent spirits,” Lady Regina murmured, with a reproachful glance at Rolf. “I must conclude that you haven’t attempted to make her understand that she must try much harder to observe the proprieties. Indeed, I know you have not, because the on-dit is that Lady Sweetbriar has been publicly embracing Sir Avery Clough. Even
you
must admit that such behavior can hardly add to her consequence. Or yours. Much as you may like your stepmama, Sweetbriar, you surely cannot sanction such indelicate behavior on the grand staircase of the British Museum!”

Had not Lord Sweetbriar been so besotted, he might have received considerable edification from Lady Regina’s opinions on romance. “Blast!” he muttered, as he transferred his gaze from the angelic Lady Regina to the opposite box, where his stepmama was one of a very convivial group. “If she’s engaging in that sort of thing, maybe she
ain’t
on the dangle for the fellow’s fortune,” he offered hopefully.

Lady Regina did not care for Lord Sweetbriar’s apparent determination to think the best of his stepmama. Lest she appear small and petty-minded, however, Regina could not voice that thought. Instead she allowed a cool expression to settle upon her features, and refrained altogether from comment. It was a very effective maneuver, one which left its victim feeling as if he’d encountered an Arctic blast.

“Talking to Nikki ain’t that easy.” Lord Sweetbriar sought to defend himself. “I don’t know what you expect me to do about her, anyway. Nikki ain’t my dependent, so I can hardly pension her off—no, and wouldn’t if I could! Dashed if I see what
you
have against Nikki. You don’t even know her. To take a dislike to someone you don’t know ain’t what I’d call fair.”