Mayhem in Bath (22 page)

Lord Benjamin gave a mirthless smile. “You’ve been out-maneuvered, my dear, and not just here. I’ve informed your uncle that you accepted me during the
ländler
we shared so fondly; indeed I’ve seen to it that every table in the card room knows you are to be Lady Benjamin Beddem.”

She stared at him. So that was what had lain behind his lunatic smiles! “But I haven’t accepted you, and you know it!”

“Yes, but they don’t.”

“I’ll deny it.”

“And I’ll make a very public fuss; indeed I’ll blacken your character, Polly. I’ll say you received me in your bedroom, and that I stayed until dawn. I’ll let the world know we anticipated our vows.”

She was speechless with shock and dismay. Never for a moment had she imagined he would descend to such disgraceful depths! But then to her immeasurable relief, someone addressed her tormentor from behind.

“Methinks your threats and conduct are monstrous, Beddem,” Dominic said as he put a very firm hand upon Lord Benjamin’s shoulder, forcing him to turn around and face him.

Lord Benjamin’s face paled. “A private discussion between a man and his fiancée is none of your business. Fortune!” he breathed, shaking angrily free.

“It is when said fiancée clearly isn’t willing, nor even a fiancée, come to that,” Dominic replied, his glance moving quickly to Polly. “Are you all right?” She nodded, so hugely glad of his presence that she could have burst into tears. He looked at Lord Benjamin again. “My seconds will call, Beddem, for this cannot be permitted to pass unchallenged.”

Lord Benjamin’s eyes widened with dread. “Seconds? Fortune, I—”

Polly interrupted quickly. “Dominic, I would rather leave it, for whether a lady is innocent or not, she always acquires a certain notoriety if duels are fought over her.”

Dominic hesitated, and then nodded. “If that is what you wish, Miss Peach.”

Lord Benjamin’s relief was almost palpable.

Dominic looked at him in disgust. “You are a shabby excuse for a man, Beddem, and if I ever catch you forcing your disgusting attentions on Miss Peach again, I will make you sorry you were born. Remember, there is more than one way to skin a cat, even one as portly as you! Now, I suggest you return to the card room and right the wrong you’ve done this lady.”

“Go to hell. Fortune!” Lord Benjamin was momentarily defiant again.

“Either do as I say, or my seconds will call after all, whether or not Miss Peach desires to leave matters to settle,” Dominic said quietly, his voice almost lost in the general babble of the vestibule.

Lord Benjamin swallowed. “You wouldn’t go that far.”

“You think not?”

“If you imagine I’m going to make a fool of myself by taking back all I’ve said—”

“You’ll look a bigger fool with my shot in your blubber.”

Lord Benjamin’s quick little eyes searched his face. “You want her for yourself! I knew it last night!”

“Beddem, the day you
know
anything, will be the day it rains elephants.” Dominic toyed with the lace at his cuff. “Now then, what’s it to be? A timely retraction, or a cold, damp meeting on the banks of the Avon?”

Lord Benjamin hesitated, clearly knowing enough about Dominic’s prowess with a pistol to be justly alarmed. A nerve flickered at his temple, and his tongue passed over his lower lip. “Very well, I’ll retract.”

“A wise decision, to be sure.” Dominic gave him a bland smile.

Lord Benjamin flushed. “This won’t be the last of it. Fortune! I’ll make you rue the past few minutes!”

“Your threats don’t frighten me, but you would do well to remember mine.”

Lord Benjamin stepped away, casting a dark glance at Polly. “If you think this will deter me, you’re wrong. You’re mine, sweet lady, and I won’t rest until one way or another my ring is on your finger.”

Dominic’s hold upon his temper loosened. “Just leave, Beddem, before I kick your plump posterior into the middle of next week!”

Lord Benjamin lost no more time about hurrying away, swiftly disappearing into the press of people beyond the ferns.

Dominic turned quickly back to Polly. “Are you sure you’re all right, Polly?”

“Yes, I... I...” Tears filled her eyes.

He quickly pulled her into his arms, safe in the knowledge that such an act was hidden from view. “You’re safe now, Polly. He’ll have to deny everything he claimed before, and he won’t dare to blacken your name, because he knows I’ll come after him.”

“Would you do that? Go after him on my account?”

“Of course.” He smiled and touched the amethysts encircling her forehead.

“I thought...”

“Yes?”

“That you thought little of me after my foolishness in the labyrinth.”

“Is that what it was? Foolishness?” His blue eyes were quizzical.

“It’s how I imagined you saw it. What else could I think when you cut me so very cruelly here a short while ago.”

“I cut you because I saw how cozy you seemed to be with Beddem during that cursed
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immediately after which I heard him telling friends you’d accepted him.”

“It’s not true! I didn’t want to dance with him, and I certainly didn’t accept his proposal!”

“I know, because I overheard your conversation a few minutes ago. But until then, I believed it.”

“After all I’d said to you concerning my feelings toward him?”

“I fear so.” He held her gaze. “You certainly danced willingly enough with Hightower.”

“As you did with Lady Georgiana,” she replied.

“Is that why you did it? To spite me?”

She looked away.

He smiled. “You are indeed jealous, are you not,” he said softly.

“Annoyed, not jealous,” she replied, managing to meet his gaze again. She mustn’t let his rescue cloud her judgment. He still seemed too close to Georgiana for comfort.

“I don’t believe you. Miss Peach,” he murmured.

“I’m telling the truth.”

“As you were when you claimed there was a cat called Bodkin?” he asked lightly.

She flushed and glanced away again. “No doubt you find me most amusing, sir.”
But Georgiana you find fascinating
...

He put a hand to her chin and tilted her face so that she had to look directly at him. “What are you thinking?”

“I was wondering about your feelings for Lady Georgiana,” she replied honestly.

He gave a faint smile. “What feelings?” he breathed, and suddenly bent to brush his lips briefly over hers.

She put her hands to his chest to hold him away, not because she wished to, but because she was afraid he was toying with her. “If your kisses are false, please don’t...”

“Why should my kisses be false? I promised you an answer tonight, and now you have it.” Before she could say more, he kissed her again, this time drawing her into his embrace and dwelling upon the moment with a warmth that threatened to melt her soul.

She knew it was wrong to indulge in such caresses, knew he might still be amusing himself with her, but she could not help responding to him in a way no proper young lady should. He had the power to release all her inhibitions, to make her blood course wildly, and to command caution to fly with the winds. Georgiana became a distant memory. Nothing mattered except him, nothing at all.

Chapter 28

Meanwhile, the brownies of Bath were thoroughly enjoying themselves at the ball, but Ragwort was enjoying himself more than most. The unwise sipping of a convivial glass or six from the punch bowl in the tea room had resulted in his face becoming rather red and shiny, his laughter and bonhomie a little too loud, and his steps a little wobbly as he introduced Bodkin to his vast circle of acquaintances. He recounted Nutmeg’s sad tale, slurring some of the words, and as each brownie promised to do what he or she could to trace Bodkin’s missing sweetheart. Ragwort delivered such a hearty slap to their shoulders that he almost knocked several of them over.

At first Bodkin thought his companion was simply reveling in his night out, but gradually the rambunctiousness became so embarrassing that he understood what Ragwort had meant about alcohol not agreeing with him. “I say. Ragwort, don’t you think you should go easy?” he ventured, concerned.

“Nonsense! I’m having a high old time,” Ragwort replied, clouting him heartily on the back. “Don’t be so stuffy, relax a little. Here, have a glass yourself.” Grabbing the ladle from the punch bowl, he poured a very liberal measure for Bodkin, who declined in dismay.

“Er, no thank you, old chap, I fancy you’re drinking enough for both of us,” he said with a sigh.

Ragwort suddenly saw something and seized Bodkin’s arm excitedly. “Look, do you see who I see?”

“I’ve no idea,” Bodkin replied, searching every face, human and brownie, in the vicinity.

“It’s my Caraway!” breathed Ragwort, his face rapt with delight. “She’s back—Caraway’s back!”

“Where is she? I don’t know what she looks like.”

“Over there, helping herself to those meringues.”

Bodkin saw the brownie in question. She was matronly, and still very pretty, with her fur curled exactly the way Nutmeg curled hers.

“I’m going to speak to her,” Ragwort declared purposefully.

Bodkin held him back, for in his present state. Ragwort wasn’t likely to endear himself. “Will she like it if you do? I mean, you’ve never said why you and she fell out, but—”

“Oh, stuff and nonsense, I’m going to her.” Shaking himself free, Ragwort wove his way unevenly toward his former ladylove. Bodkin followed.

Caraway blinked and almost choked on her meringue. “Why, Ragwort!” she gasped, watching him sway from side to side as he beamed at her.

“When did you return?” Ragwort demanded. “Are you coming back to Royal Crescent? Have you given that scoundrel Bindweed his marching orders?” The last was added on a note of remembered resentment.

Caraway flushed. “Bindweed wasn’t a scoundrel.”

“Oh, yes, he was. He knew you were mine, but still he crept all around you, showering you with presents, and even naming his new honey after you.”

“And why shouldn’t he name the honey after me?” she replied indignantly. “It was a very charming gesture, and as for creeping around me, he was merely there for me when I was upset about you and your drinking. Look at you now—you’re three sheets to the wind, and the evening isn’t halfway through yet! Don’t you ever learn?”

Oh, dear, thought Bodkin, deciding to pour what oil he could on waters that threatened to become very troubled indeed if Ragwort continued on this particular tack. “Er, hello. Caraway, I’m Bodkin,” he said, bowing.

She looked hesitantly at him, but then bobbed a little curtsy. “Hello, Bodkin. Are you Ragwort’s friend?”

Ragwort nodded. “Yes, he is, and very fine friend, too!” Then he belatedly realized she’d spoken of the hated Bindweed in the past tense. “So Bindweed’s gone? For good?”

She gave him an arch look. “That’s for me to know, and you to find out,” she replied.

“Oh, be fair. Caraway, just tell me he’s gone,” Ragwort begged.

“Seeing you in your cups again doesn’t please me. Ragwort. I came back in the hope that you’d learned your lesson, but it’s clear you haven’t. Right now you don’t compare very well with Bindweed!”

Ragwort’s face fell. “But I’ve been very good since you left, Caraway,” he protested. “Tell her, Bodkin. Tell her I wouldn’t have any mead with you.”

“It’s true. Caraway,” Bodkin said. “I invited him to share my mead, but he said such things did not agree with him.”

She hesitated. “You wouldn’t fib to me?”

“Certainly not,” Bodkin replied earnestly.

“And this is the first time he’s gotten in this state since I left?”

“I haven’t seen him like this before,” Bodkin answered honestly, omitting to mention that he’d known Ragwort only for a day.

She drew a long breath, and then her eyes softened as she looked at Ragwort. “Well, maybe I’ll overlook this lapse,” she conceded.

Ragwort’s face brightened again. “You will? Does that mean you’re my sweetheart again?”

“Don’t rush. Ragwort, it merely means I’m prepared to speak to you again.”

“Dance with me,” he begged.

“Oh, I don’t know about that.”

“Please,” he implored.

“All right, I’ll partner you for the next
contredanse,
but only provided you behave yourself between now and then,” she said, and with that he had to be content, for she turned and pushed away through the press of humans and brownies. In a moment she’d vanished from view.

Ragwort gazed after her in rapture. For a long moment he could not move for joy, but then an unstoppable tidal wave of exultation swept over him—to say nothing of the continuing surge of rashness from the punch he’d consumed—and suddenly he felt he had to
do
something! The urge to laugh, skip, jump, and leap was too much to resist, and with a whoop of delight he bounded from the room.

Caught unawares. Bodkin stared after him in dismay. “Oh, no! Ragwort, Caraway said you had to
behave’“
he cried, then gave chase.

Ragwort was oblivious of plunging into the very misbehavior Caraway abhorred. He threaded across the octagon as fast as he could, and hastened into the ballroom, where he rushed around and around the edge of the floor until he should have been out of breath. Except that he wasn’t. He was still so overjoyed about Caraway that his energy and emotion was irrepressible. Suddenly his glance fell upon a fine arrangement of flags, one of which had a particularly long pole. His eyes lit up, and he grabbed it in order to vault in all directions, using the pole as a lever. Higher and higher he went, forgetting that the flag’s strange antics were bound to cause a stir. As the flag jerked here and there, apparently of its own volition, many ladies screamed in alarm, while others fainted clean away. Gradually the orchestra stopped playing, and there was an uneasy buzz of conversation as everyone pressed back from the seemingly possessed flag. The master of ceremonies was too startled to do anything except flap his scented handkerchief, and the Duchess of York, highly strung at the best of times, was so rigid with shock she had to be tended by her ladies, who were all of a bother themselves. The duke seemed as bemused as he had been at the review.