Sharon Sobel (28 page)

He could not allow himself to be seduced or yet give up what remained privileged information. But under the power of her spell, he might have relented and given her anything her heart desired.

Or given in to what his heart desired.

Without moving his head, seemingly intent on the scene before him, he slanted a glance down at her. It was as he thought: she looked to have no more interest in the king than in the man she would marry. Her attention was all for him.

“Do you think we ought to warn the king’s men of the dangers of yonder cliff walls, Mr. Queensman?” she asked sweetly, but surely not innocently. How did she know he looked at her then, when he was at such pains to disguise it? “I believe him to be quite vain, and he should not like to be
showered in chalk, I should think. Luckily, it hardly seems to bother you at all.”

Ben frowned and wondered if she was once again offering to clean him off. He desperately wanted to rid himself of the chalk dust and thought about jumping into the nearby waves. Perhaps he could tempt the lady to join him there.

He sucked in his breath and resisted the impulse to sneeze.

“I am sorry, Mr. Queensman. Perhaps the chalk has settled in your ears. I asked—”

“I heard you, my lady. I hesitated because I debated which part of your address I should answer first.” Still he did not look at her.

“I believe I asked only one question, sir.”

“But implied another. Let me respond by saying the chalk bothers me a great deal, but I am quite capable of washing myself, thank you. And yes, I shall inform the king’s men of the possible dangers ahead. And certainly warn them not to fire off any shots.”

“I wonder if they would respond with the immediacy you demonstrate, Mr. Queensman. I must say, your instincts seem to be remarkably quick. I also must say how grateful I am for them.”

It was impossible not to look at her now. Ben put his arm up on the rail of the carriage and one foot on the step. It was as near as he dared get to her, and she responded by edging forward on her seat.

“They have twice come to my rescue,” she said.

“So they have. But I am not certain they would have been as keen if another lady’s safety was the issue. Under certain circumstances they are sharper than usual.”

Almost immediately, he regretted his choice of words, for Lark was too capable of thinking metaphorically. But she seemed unperturbed by his pronouncement, accepting it with the air of dead calm that had characterized so much of her behavior in recent days. Was it possible she was truly resigned to her fate, just as he was coming to believe he would not be resigned to his?

“Lady Larkspur,” he began, not altogether certain where his words might lead, “there is something I would discuss with you in private.”

Her beautiful eyes widened, and she parted her lips in wonder. Surely
she would not receive his words joyously, nor wish to just now, when they had an audience.

“You will tell me why you fear for the king’s safety? And how you came to be his guardian?”

He looked at her, bemused by her single-mindedness, when possibly he should be wondering at his own. But it was for this information she attempted to seduce him, and she wished to have her way in this as in all else.

“That is not your affair, my lady,” he said tersely.

“I am the daughter of a peer and shall soon marry another. Of course it is my business, Mr. Queensman,” she said, her haughtiness effectively disguising her disappointment. She did not attempt to disguise her emphasis on the commonness of his title.

But before he could dispute her and put her in her proper place, Lord Raeborn reminded them of his presence.

“What are you two gabbing about?” he complained. “Look! He approaches!”

Miss Hathawae was already lowering herself into a curtsy undoubtedly brutal on her aged knees. Lord Raeborn held the other side of the carriage and bowed. Ben dropped his arm from the railing and did the same. He did not know or care how the lady Larkspur would manage.

Suddenly, before them, the sounds of movement ceased. Ben raised his head, hoping to use this moment to caution the guard about proceeding on the road and remembering too late how disreputable he looked.

But he need not have worried.

The king and, indeed, all his men, were looking beyond him, to the carriage. Of course, Ben realized with a sort of pain, why would they linger on a rather ordinary man coated in chalk when they could feast instead on the delicious Lady Larkspur, who knew precisely how to flirt a man into distraction. He turned towards her and was surprised to see her, in turn, looking bemusedly at Miss Hathawae.

“My dear Betsey,” came the sonorous voice of the king, in the distinctive accent learned from no tutor. “I hoped to see you in Brighton.”

Miss Hathawae smiled. “Am I not always here, waiting on your return, your majesty?”

Ben felt no surprise at the revelation of the relationship, only that they should be so open about it. His informers had told him years ago about some ancient affair between the two, and that a young man, currently at university on the Continent, possibly was a royal by-blow. Miss Hathawae was most certainly the mother, but the reports of the young man’s florid good looks suggested something of his father.

Since the king held his other mistresses open for public scrutiny, his reticence about Miss Hathawae had seemed to disprove the relationship. Now Ben was not quite so sure.

“And who waits with you?” the king answered Miss Hathawae with a question.

“Why, several whom I believe you know, your majesty. Lord Raeborn you certainly know, as you do his young cousin, Mr. Queensman.” She paused to allow Ben and Raeborn time to bow again. “And here is Lady Larkspur, Lord Leicester’s daughter.”

“Why do you not rise, missy?” said the king on a note of some indignation.

“If you please, your majesty. My betrothed is not well. It is why she takes the air and water at Brighton. My cousin, her physician, constrains her to her chair.”

“I see. Well, Raeborn, I hope you have more luck with her than I did with an ailing wife. She looks much too pale and not plump enough; she may be a bad bargain.”

Ben heard Lark’s slipper scrape the bottom of the carriage and thought she would rise in protest. And so she might have, but for the arrival of a newcomer.

“And here is Mr. Siddons,” Miss Hathawae added seamlessly.

Gabriel Siddons’ entrance was not nearly so graceful. He walked through a hedgerow, snagging his jacket on a branch. His clothes were rumpled and damp, as if he had run a great distance, and his boots were covered in mud. Well, Ben thought ruefully, he could hardly fault the man for his appearance, for he himself looked barely presentable.

The king clearly thought the same. He looked from one to the other wordlessly, before his eyes settled on Miss Hathawae again.

“It appears the code in Brighton has become more lax during
the season of my absence, Betsey. I hope the runabouts who dwell here can manage to make themselves presentable for a dress ball at the Pavilion in two days’ time.”

“A dress ball!” Miss Hathawae clapped her hands together in joy. “Fear not, your majesty. I shall bring these gentlemen to heel.”

The king looked vastly put upon.

“So you may, but I do not include everyone in my invitation. You will come, Betsey, as will Raeborn. And Mr. Queensman, if you can manage to clean yourself up in time.”

Ben smiled and bowed in appreciation before he realized the serious omission.

“My lady would be grateful to be in attendance, your majesty,” Raeborn said, a little nervously. “After all, we are to be married shortly.”

“I would get on with it, Raeborn, for she may not last long. Not plump enough to be healthy. And I will not have the infirm at my dinner table.”

Ben could sense Lark bristling beside him, knowing she would speak her mind all too plainly to anyone but the Lord of the Realm. But the king’s authority was unanswerable, and, in any case, the little manipulator got precisely what she deserved. Ironically, her own clever masquerade was the very thing to prevent her invitation to a costume ball.

“Of course not, your majesty,” Raeborn said and bowed. Ben noticed the look of disgust he sent to his bright-eyed lady love. Of course, it was nothing next to what he eventually would reveal when he found out how he had been duped.

Gabriel Siddons cleared his throat, reminding Ben that the man still lacked an introduction. He himself saw no reason to offer one, and Lark had been effectively stifled by her indignation. Raeborn did not know Siddons, and Miss Hathawae preferred to decline the honor.

The king studied his humble subject through puffy-lidded eyes and apparently concluded he did not care to waste his time with him. Ben felt an ungentlemanly sense of pure satisfaction.

“I shall expect to see several of you,” the king repeated, emphasizing
each word, “at the Royal Pavilion in two days’ time. Mr. Queensman, I hope you may call on me this very evening.”

“As you wish, your majesty,” Ben said, and bowed very low. He felt the eyes of all the company upon him and knew he would shortly pay for this moment of favor with the explanations they all would demand. Siddons alone understood more than the rest, but he would make Ben pay with a different sort of currency.

“I do most particularly, sir,” the king said into the wind, so it became difficult to hear even his clear, decisive voice. “But now I must make haste for the Pavilion, for there are others who await me.”

Ben straightened and looked directly into the eyes of the aging rake. All the world knew of his extravagant behavior with certain young and not-so-young women and his destructive relationship with the Princess Caroline. But few, Ben mused, recognized the sadness and disappointment for what it was: the desperate search for happiness. More often than not, he felt only pity for the man who would have everything.

The king turned away and assumed a regal stance. In a moment, and in a whirlwind of white dust, his carriage was gone, quickly on its way to the extravagant palace that had cost England her rich American colonies. Perhaps it would prove the most costly pleasure palace in history.

“I am surprised his majesty did not suggest you sit in his own seat, Mr. Queensman, so he might remove himself to the baggage shelf,” Lark said tartly. She straightened her skirts about her, looking very prim. “That way, you would be certain to arrive at the Pavilion with alacrity.”

“So I would, my lady. But then, perhaps the king thought me saddled with sufficient baggage of my own.”

Lark sat quietly, and Ben, with a curious sense of disappointment, thought she did not understand his allusion. But then he saw the bright gleam in her eyes and the telltale twisting movement of her lips, usually the precursor of her barbed wit. He sat back in the cushions, steadying himself for her retort.

“’Tis a pity you are so encumbered, Mr. Queensman,” she began sweetly. “Therefore it must give you ever so much satisfaction that when you join Lord Raeborn and Miss
Hathawae at what will surely be the highlight of Brighton’s social season, your baggage will be safely stowed at Knighton’s. It should bother no one there.”

But Lady Larkspur was very wrong. It would bother him very much indeed.

“You do not propose to leave me—you will leave me alone all this evening?” Lark asked in disbelief.

“Please do not make this more difficult than it already is, dear Lark,” Janet said. “Have you not already insisted on granting me some semblance of freedom?”

“You were never my prisoner, Janet. It is horrible of you to think so.”

“You willfully misunderstand me; you know you do. But I distinctly heard you say you would not stand in the way of my meetings with Matthew. And as it is he who requests my presence, surely you cannot deny me this one evening away.”

“Might he come here instead?” Lark asked, a little desperately.

“You know he cannot. If Mr. Queensman is to be at the Pavilion, Matthew must be at the hospital. I consider it a very fine place to spend the evening.”

“Of course it must be, if you are with the man you love. A prison cell could be heaven itself under such circumstances. And now that I think on it, I shall manage quite well. I shall spend my evening in the excellent company of Colonel Wayland, as he and I seem to be the only persons without an excuse to be anywhere else.”

Janet hesitated over her ribbons and seemed confused.

“I am sorry to tell you, dear Lark, but the colonel goes with Lord Raeborn and Miss Hathawae to the king’s costume ball. Did you not see him earlier? He is dressed as Napoleon.”

Lark felt a flicker of anger. “How revolting! To flaunt the image of our enemy before the party.”

“I do not recall hearing it said the colonel owned any taste.”

“Then perhaps that is how he secured an invitation, for he and the king seem to have that in common.”

Janet laughed. “I believe you regret your lack of an invitation for no better reason than that you wished to see the Oriental
chambers for yourself and then report on them to all the family.”

“No,” said Lark with genuine sadness. “It is not why I wished to be included. I should have liked to be at a ball again, to dance and to dress beautifully, and to stay out until the dawn.”

“You would not have been able to dance,” Janet dutifully reminded her.

Lark looked at her friend ruefully, fully comprehending how her excellent plan for salvation and revenge had ultimately proved reckless and futile. “But perhaps such would have been my disguise for the evening,” she said. “I would have attended as a young girl in good health and spirits, imagining myself a desirable match for the most handsome of men. I would flirt and dance and move quite freely among the others. As a guise it would have been considered quite remarkable. And utterly convincing.”

“Why should it not? You are a young girl in good health and spirits.”

Lark shook her head, wondering if she would ever again be happy.

“But Mr. Queensman would certainly be amazed. Your instant recovery would prove quite a blow to his self-assurance.”

Lark of course knew perfectly well that he would not be at all amazed, having seen through her disguise almost at once. But she very much desired to surprise him and wondered what he might do if she approached him on her own two feet and demanded a dance. She remembered the dreadful evening of Hindley Moore’s defection, when she danced with Ben Queensman for the first and only time, and wondered if the sensation of his body moving alongside hers would prove potent enough to last a lifetime.