Mayhem in Bath (19 page)

“You aren’t in my bad books, sir; indeed you aren’t in any book at all.”

“I see.” He glanced at the empty space beside her. “May I?”

“By all means,” she replied, but as he sat, she rose to leave.

His fingers immediately shot out to restrain her. “Tell me what I’ve done, Polly,” he repeated.

“Unhand me,” she said coldly, trying to pull free.

His grip was firm. ‘Tell me,” he insisted.

Reluctantly, she sat again. “You haven’t done anything of which I am aware.”

“I know an untruth when I hear it,” he said. “I’m clearly in the kennel for something or other, because when we parted last night, I seem to recall you were most amiable toward me.”

His words presented her with an excuse, and she seized it. “That’s the point, sir, I fear I may have been a little forward, and today I’m rectifying the lapse.”

“Indeed? Well, that could easily have been done without the extreme of running away to hide! All you had to do was accord me a civil nod as you continued to walk by.”

“I... I didn’t think.”

“No, because you’re still not telling me the truth.” He put a gloved hand to her chin, forcing her to look at him. “What’s happened, Polly? Why were we friends yesterday, but not today?” As her lips pressed mutinously together, he tweaked her chin. “Don’t I deserve your honesty?”

She pulled away from him, deciding to tell him a little of the truth. “Very well, it concerns Lady Georgiana,” she said. That was the true bit.

“Georgiana? In what way?”

Now to be sparing with the full truth. “I had a very disagreeable encounter with her this morning in Milsom Street, and since she is clearly your
raison d’être,
I thought it best to give you a wide berth from now on. I wouldn’t wish to give her any further excuse for proving what a
chienne
she is.” It was a secondary reason, not the main one at all.

“Georgiana doesn’t choose my friends, Polly,
I
do.”

“Mayhap you should tell
her
that.”

He smiled and leaned an arm on the back of the seat, so that his hand rested directly behind her. “Polly, I assure you that Lady Georgiana Mersenrie and I are a thing of the past.”

It was such a monstrous lie that Polly laughed aloud. “You don’t really expect me to believe that, do you?”

“Well, I suppose it doesn’t really matter whether you do or not; indeed it is none of your concern at all, but nevertheless I wish you to understand that I am no longer intent upon winning Georgiana.”

She couldn’t help a disbelieving laugh. “Well, untruths slip easily from your tongue, I’ll grant you that.”

“Meaning what, exactly?” he inquired, a cooler light entering his eyes.

“Meaning that I don’t believe you—indeed I know you to be lying!”

His expression was now quite chill. “I’m not in the habit of lying. Miss Peach,” he said in a rather clipped tone.

“Nor am I, sir. Oh, have done with pretense. Sir Dominic. I heard her carriage arrive at your door last night, and in the middle of the night I saw her leaving. She may cling to the Marquess of Hightower’s arm in public, but
you
are the one she visits in private!”

He tapped his riding crop rather irritably against his boots. “So that’s it—the Peach’s Bank heiress is jealous!”

Outraged color suffused Polly’s cheeks, and she leaped to her feet. “How
dare
you!” she cried, and glanced quickly away as some departing visitors passed by. The argument by the bench could not be mistaken, and the little group of people hurried out, stifling embarrassed giggles.

Dominic waited until they’d gone, then got up as well. “I dare because it’s so! You’re jealous. Why else would you be behaving like this?”

“Perhaps because you are endeavoring to gull me, sirrah!”

“Gull you? And why, pray, would I do that?”

She didn’t answer; indeed she didn’t know what to say, for there seemed no reason for him to attempt to draw the wool over her eyes. She just knew he was.

A lady and gentleman passed by, and Dominic waited until they’d gone before replying. “You really are an aggravating creature, aren’t you? One day you’re excellent and witty company, the next you have solid bone between the ears!”

“Don’t speak to me like this!” she cried.

“I’ll speak to you however I choose!” he answered angrily.

She struck him. It was an action so bitter and instinctive that she hardly knew she’d done it until he caught her wrist to prevent her from repeating the process.

He looked furiously into her eyes. “That’s twice you’ve presumed to strike me, Miss Peach. Pray do not let there be a third time, or I may forget I’m a gentleman,” he breathed.

“A gentleman is something you are not, sirrah!” she replied, close to tears.

“Since you’ve given this dog such a bad name, you may as well see what happens when he lives up to it,” he said, suddenly taking her by the waist and pulling her toward him.

There was nothing she could do to prevent him from subjecting her to the most intimate kisses and caresses she’d ever known. His lips moved over hers with relentless passion, and his hands roamed her body as if they were both in a feather bed, not the maze at Sydney Garden Vauxhall! Her anger dissolved into new confusion, and her skin felt warm and tingling as the blood quickened through her veins. To her dismay she began to submit to him. There was nothing she could do—or wished to do—to prevent her body from sinking against his, or to stop her lips becoming soft and pliable.

For a long moment he pressed her to him, but then released her. His face was flushed and his eyes dark. “Now what madam? Do you still deny jealousy? Do you think my kisses are false? Or could they be true? Mm? I will leave you to ponder the puzzle, the answer to which I may or may not choose to unveil to you tonight at the ball.” Turning on his heel, he left her.

Polly was so shaken that she had to sit down. A maelstrom of emotion still whirled within, and she was trembling from head to toe. Her lips seemed bruised yet wonderfully warm, her breasts felt as if his fingers still cradled them, and her whole being felt enriched. She was truly alive for the first time ever.

It was some time before she was able to leave the labyrinth. She saw no sign of Dominic, for which she did not know whether to be thankful or not. She was hardly aware of the long walk back to Royal Crescent; indeed she was in something of a daze. People, streets, traffic, all passed in a blur. Common sense told her that she must make herself remember how long Georgiana had been with him during the night, and leave Bath today as planned; but wild abandon told her to stay, to go to the ball, to pray Dominic would give her the answer she craved...

Victory went to wild abandon. After all, she now had a room at the hotel and didn’t have to stay beneath Lord Benjamin’s roof another night. She could attend the ball with her uncle and him, then return to the hotel afterward.
Please let Dominic’s kisses have been true. Please ...

Dominic had already ridden back to the crescent. He was seated at his writing desk, quill poised above a fresh sheet of paper. Polly’s fragrance still seemed to cling to him, and myriad emotions crossed his face as he thought what to put in a letter he knew he must write. He couldn’t believe he’d behaved as he had in the labyrinth, nor could he believe how aroused he’d become. He dipped the quill in the ink, and began to write.

October 30th, 1800. Royal Crescent. My dearest Georgiana ...

Chapter 24

Bodkin made himself visible to Polly the moment she entered 1 Royal Crescent, and the footman—not Giles—had retreated below stairs again. Ragwort was with Bodkin, but he did not appear to her because he was too shy, as well as too set in his ways.

Polly was so astonished to see Bodkin that she dropped her reticule. He ran to pick it up and hand it back to her a little sheepishly. “I’ve been a very silly brownie. Miss Polly,” he confessed. “You
were
my friend all along. I know that now.”

“Silly? I prefer to describe you as boneheaded and downright wicked,” she declared, thinking of his antics, especially at the review.

Both his head and his tail hung low. “But I really did think you’d betrayed me. Miss Polly,” he explained, shuffling his feet.

“You should have known me better than that.”

“Yes, Miss Polly.”

She softened a little. “I suppose this change of heart means you found my note?”

“Well, I found it, but I couldn’t read it because the rain had ruined the paper.”

“Then, why—?”

He interrupted, gesturing toward the empty air beside him. “My friend Ragwort told me. He’s the brownie of this house.”

She was startled to realize there was someone else present. “Er, how do you do, Ragwort,” she said.

“How do you do, Miss Polly,” replied Ragwort’s disembodied voice.

Bodkin explained. “It was Ragwort in the dining room this morning, not me, and he told me what you said. I’m sorry I turned against you. Miss Polly, but when I saw you leaving here with your uncle yesterday, I really did think you supported what he’d done.”

“I would never do that. Anyway, he didn’t do anything to Nutmeg, Bodkin, nor did Lord Benjamin.”

“That’s where we think you’re wrong,” Bodkin replied, but at that moment a footman emerged from the kitchen stairs with a tray, upon which was a newly replenished decanter of cognac for Hordwell in the library. Bodkin promptly disappeared, and Polly pretended to be searching for something in her reticule.

As the footman went into the library, she whispered to the brownies. “We can’t talk here—let’s go to my room. We’ll be more private there.” Without waiting for them to reply, she hurried up the staircase.

A minute later, they were all three seated on her bed, although Ragwort’s presence was shown only as a dent in the coverlet. Polly told them what her uncle had told her, and then she looked at them. “Now then, that’s my uncle’s version of events. Why do you think I’m wrong to believe him?”

The brownies produced the belt buckle, but didn’t immediately say where they’d found it. “I wasn’t sure if it was Nutmeg’s at first, but I’m certain now,” Bodkin finished.

Polly examined it by touch, for she couldn’t see it. “So it
could
belong to someone else?” she ventured hopefully, for that would mean her uncle hadn’t lied to her.

“If it isn’t hers, whose is it? All the brownies on the crescent will vouch they don’t recognize it.”

All the brownies on the crescent. Were the situation not so serious, Polly would have smiled. The moment of reflective humor faded. “Bodkin, even if it
is
Nutmeg’s buckle, where is she now? On your own admission you haven’t found any other trace of her.” She paused. “You haven’t said where you found it.”

Bodkin glanced unhappily at Ragwort, for neither of them wished to divulge something they were sure would upset her.

“Well?” Polly prompted.

Bodkin cleared his throat. “We, er, we found it in Sir Dominic’s bedroom, and there isn’t supposed to be a brownie in that house. The last one was Ragwort’s sweetheart. Caraway.”

“She wasn’t my sweetheart!” cried Ragwort indignantly.

“Oh, yes, she
was,
and I’d hazard you wish she
still
was,” Bodkin retorted.

Polly hardly heard them arguing. A pang of dismay had struck her on learning where the buckle had been found. “Does that mean you think that Sir Dominic, has control of Nutmeg?”

Ragwort answered. “Forgive me. Miss Polly, for I know you and he are lovers, but—”

“Sir Dominic Fortune and I are
not
lovers!” she interrupted hotly.

He flinched at her vehemence. “All right, please forget I said it, but last night, I really did think ... Put it this way. I was by the library sofa last night, and I watched you both very closely. You certainly seemed like lovers.”

“Well, we aren’t, nor will we ever be.” She colored nevertheless.

There had been a sweethearts’ tiff. Ragwort thought. “As you say. Miss Polly,” he murmured, catching Bodkin’s eye and pulling a disbelieving face.

Bodkin looked at Polly. “Anyway, the fact that we found the buckle in Sir Dominic’s bedroom may or may not implicate him. It could have lain there since Lord Benjamin occupied the room, but it has to be said that we know Nutmeg isn’t in
this
house, and if her buckle was in Sir Dominic’s bedroom ...” He spread his hands sadly.

“I really don’t think Sir Dominic would be involved in something like this,” Polly said, aware of leaping to his defense.

Bodkin tactfully changed the subject. “Ragwort told me what Lord Benjamin did and said at breakfast.”

She bit her lip and gazed steadfastly at the foot of the bed. “I wish Lord Benjamin would accept that I will never marry him. I don’t care if my uncle is my guardian or not, I simply refuse to become Lady Benjamin Beddem!”

“Lord Benjamin will never back down while the duns press him at every turn. He needs your fortune. Miss Polly. You really shouldn’t be staying in his house, you know,” Bodkin added.

“I was foolish enough to let my uncle prevail, but then Lord Benjamin came back earlier than expected. Anyway, I intend to go to the ball tonight, and that’s the only reason I haven’t already left for Horditall. I saw no point in remaining in Bath while you were being so obstinate, but I’ll stay on if you wish, to help you look for Nutmeg.”

“You can’t stay beneath Lord Benjamin’s roof!” the brownies cried together.

Polly smiled. “No. I’ve taken a room at the Sydney Hotel for tonight, and will go there after the ball. I may be able to secure it for longer.” Oh, how glad she was to have taken that room. She didn’t want to leave Bath until her dealings with Dominic had been resolved, nor—now that she and Bodkin were friends again—did she want to go until the search for Nutmeg was either successful or called off.

Bodkin looked intently at her. “If you wish to avoid Lord Benjamin’s wandering hands. Miss Polly, I think it’s best if you return to Horditall without delay. Don’t even go to the ball tonight, just leave now. I have Ragwort to help me find Nutmeg.”

“I must go to the ball, and anyway, I’d feel dreadful at Horditall, knowing you were searching for Nutmeg.”