The Bargain (9 page)

“Thank you for speaking with us,” Lord Alan said. “You have been very helpful.”

Clarisse moved her shoulders in a very French gesture. “I am looking for a new position,” she told him. “I am a
merveilleuse
dresser. Ariel will tell you so.”

It was the first time Clarisse had spoken her name, Ariel noticed dryly.

“I will mention it to my mother,” Lord Alan promised her.

Clarisse leaned toward him. “Is there not perhaps something in
your
household?” she murmured.

He began to shake his head.

“Could we not come to some arrangement?” she went on. “I am very, very
accommodating
.”

“I fear not,” he said, his face impassive.

“Ah.” Clarisse sat back and shrugged. “
Eh
bien
. If you would tell your mother of my situation.”

“She is a duchess,” put in Ariel, unable to resist.

“
Vraiment
?” Clarisse perked up immediately.

“I'll tell her,” promised Lord Alan, rising and obviously wondering what his mother would make of this new request.

“You will have my deepest gratitude,” responded Clarisse, standing also and leaning against him for a moment as if she were too shaken to stand.

Lord Alan righted her and then looked at Ariel, who rose and found that her own legs were unsteady. Hiding this as best she could, she moved toward the front door.

“I miss her,” said Clarisse suddenly. Her eyes filled again, and the tears spilled across her white cheeks.

Gulping back an answering sob, Ariel fled to the waiting carriage.

When Ellen and Lord Alan joined her, Ariel was huddling slightly in the corner of the seat and making a heroic effort not to cry. Lord Alan tapped the roof to signal the driver and then turned to her. “Are you all right?”

Ariel nodded.

“I did not realize it would be so…” He stopped, clearly at a loss.

“I told you Clarisse would give a performance.” In an effort to control her voice, she sounded curt, she realized.

There was a silence. Ellen's eyes were huge.

Lord Alan gave the order, and they started off. The silence lengthened until it became uncomfortable, but Ariel could not manage to make innocuous conversation after what she had heard, and Lord Alan seemed disinclined to do so as well. As they clattered through the streets of Kensington and on into more fashionable precincts of London without a word, Ariel retreated into her own thoughts. What could have been different about that day, she wondered, in contrast to all the others when her mother had sunk into a black mood? What had tipped the balance too far? And if she had been at home, as she had wished to be, could she have prevented it? This was the question that plagued her in the dark hours of the night and made it so critical that she find the truth.

When they arrived at her house once more, Ellen opened the carriage door and jumped down. Ariel tried to follow, but she found that the unsteadiness of her legs had increased during the short journey. She tripped on the uneven cobblestones and nearly fell.

“Take care,” said Lord Alan, stepping forward to take her arm. He supported her through the front door and into the parlor next to it. “Are you all right?” he repeated then.

“She's dead, and no one cares. No one!” Ariel had started shaking uncontrollably. Lifting her hands, she watched them shake as if they were something separate from her. She couldn't seem to get enough air. Her mind was racing, but there were no thoughts in it at all. A sound escaped her, part grief and part fear.

“Ariel.”

She turned to look at him, but there was something wrong with her vision. Everything was blurred; she couldn't see his face. The sound came again, as if from some external source. She put her shaking fingers to her mouth.

And then strong, muscular arms enfolded her. Her head fitted into the hollow of his shoulder as if they had been designed for each other.

“You're freezing,” he said.

Ariel burst into tears.

Alan held her, feeling the sobs shudder through her slender body and wrack her ribs, feeling the tight-strung tension that vibrated through her. His usual response to crying women was helpless distaste, and hasty retreat, but this was different. He had watched Ariel with amazement as she remained calm in an incredibly trying situation, and even managed to put logical questions to her mother's former servant. He had seen her wrestle with the feelings the dresser's story must have roused, and triumph. He had been astonished by her strength of will and her control. So he did not begrudge her a reaction now. “It's all right,” he said after a while, and immediately knew the stock phrase to be foolish and inadequate.

“I keep seeing it,” she choked out. “The… the blood.”

His grip tightened, and along with it something tightened inside.

“She didn't deserve this,” Ariel cried. She straightened within his embrace, her eyes still shimmering with tears, burning with the unfairness of it.

Meeting that impassioned gaze, Alan at last understood how important Ariel's search for information was to her. All the things he had learned about her and observed about her came together in a moment of insight—the kind of moment he waited for and prayed for in his work—that brought everything clear. In her life she had been continually shut out, he thought—not told, sent away, ostracized. Bess Harding's cruel suicide had only been the worst and most final example of the sort of pain she had endured over and over. It was no wonder she wanted an explanation.

“I must know what happened,” added Ariel fiercely. She gripped his lapels. “You have to help me.”

How well he knew that driving need for knowledge, a need that could override almost anything else. It made a kinship between them that he had never found with a woman before, never dreamed of finding. Alan was suddenly gripped by a paroxysm of sympathy and protectiveness and admiration. “I will,” he said.

Something in his tone seemed to surprise her. She looked as if she hadn't really expected him to agree, or if she had, not in such a positive, final way. “You promise?” she said, wanting further confirmation.

“My word on it,” he replied.

Ariel stared at him, examining his face, looking into his eyes. Alan was suddenly reminded of a fox kit he and Robert had once found in a thicket near their house in the country. It had been abandoned, its mother no doubt killed. It had been thin and weak and desperately in need of their help. But when they had offered some bits of food, the kit had remained wild and wary, unable to believe in succor.

Ariel gave him a tremulous smile. A last tear spilled onto her cheek and ran down it like a streak of light. “Thank you,” she said shakily.

The words seemed to reverberate in his chest, setting up an echo all out of proportion with their meaning. Alan couldn't tear his gaze from her face. Abruptly, he became aware that he still held her close. Her back was lithe and supple under his hands. Her full lips were parted and the curve of her breasts, disappearing into the bodice of her gown, was exquisite.

Ariel shifted against him, and he had to catch his breath.

This was no good, he thought. This was no part of their connection. She had said so most explicitly. He had agreed. She didn't want it. She had turned to him for help and comfort.

With a Herculean effort, he set her away from him, then moved back a step himself. It was one of the most difficult things he had ever done.

Ariel looked bewildered, then flushed bright crimson and took a backward step as well.

He couldn't stay here, Alan thought. If he remained in her presence any longer, he was going to lose his battle and go beyond a mere kiss. “I must go,” he said, and turned away before she could answer. Outside, he dismissed the carriage, needing the exertion of a brisk walk. As he strode away he wondered, Where the devil was science when he needed it?

“So, you see,” Ariel told Prospero the following day, “my cool, dignified manner was quite successful in keeping Lord Alan at a distance.”

The cat yawned, his white fangs glinting in the morning sunshine that slanted through Ariel's bedchamber window. She was sitting at the small writing desk in the corner of the room. Before her lay some papers that her mother's solicitor had sent for her to read, but she had not been able to keep her attention on them.

“Even when my composure, uh, slipped,” she continued, “he did not take advantage.”

Prospero applied his pink tongue to his front paw and then used the latter to groom one of his ears.

“He behaved like a true gentleman,” Ariel said. “He didn't even
try
to kiss me again.” She frowned. “My mother always said that there was no such thing as a true gentleman.”

Had he not wanted to kiss her again? she wondered. Perhaps he had not found it agreeable? And yet it had seemed to her quite… Ariel cut short this line of thought. Lord Alan Gresham didn't wish to kiss her, and she didn't wish him to do so. This was splendid. They were in complete agreement. She crossed her arms on her chest, and then closed her fists. They would work together, and there would be no awkward complications along the way. This was precisely what she wanted.

Ariel lowered her arms and addressed her attention to the legal papers once again. But she had gone no further than the second “herewith” before her mind wandered again. Why shouldn't he wish to kiss her? Bess had always claimed that she was designed by nature to attract such attentions—unwelcome attentions, she added hurriedly.

He had seemed to enjoy it that first time, she thought, propping her elbow on the desk and putting her chin in her hand. She remembered the way his lips had moved on hers, gently and fiercely at the same time. She wouldn't have thought it was possible to be both. And he had held her so tight, as if he would never let go. The feel of him along the length of her body had been strange and thrilling; his was so tensely muscular and…

Ariel started. It was almost as if she heard her mother's voice—inside her head—snapping at her for daydreaming. Her cheeks reddened slightly. What had she been thinking of? If Bess were here, she'd be livid.

But she wasn't, Ariel thought, and never would be again. It was still hard to believe that such a strong presence had vanished forever from the world. “Why?” she said aloud. “Why?”

“Did you speak, miss?”

Ariel started violently and whirled around to find Ellen the housemaid standing in the doorway holding a pile of clean laundry. “I thought I heard you speak,” she added apologetically.

“Uh, I was just talking to the cat,” Ariel replied, but when she indicated the place where he'd been sitting, there was nothing there.

Ellen grinned. “He's a sly one. One minute he's under your feet staring at your meal as if it's his by right, and the next he's clean gone and you can't find him for anything.”

Ariel smiled.

“What is it you call him, miss?”

“Prospero.”

“Yes, but what does it mean?”

“It's from a play,” Ariel told her. “Prospero was a great magician. He could call up storms and spirits.”

Ellen's dark eyes grew round.

“I thought he had a bit of magic about him,” Ariel added, “the way he appears and disappears.”

“But you don't think he's a spirit, miss?”

“No. He is a cat.”

After a moment, Ellen nodded. “My mother always says cats are mysterious creatures. But useful for the mice.”

Ariel nodded as well. And then a thought occurred to her, and she decided to take advantage of this opportunity. “You've been a great help here, Ellen,” she began.

“Thank you, miss.”

“Did you work for the Gresham family a long time before you came here?”

“Nigh a year.”

“Ah. And what about Hannah?”

“Oh, she's been with them forever, miss. She was…” The girl hesitated, then said, “Years and years. I'd best be getting back downstairs, miss, or she'll be wondering what's become of me.”

She had been about to say something else, Ariel thought when she was gone. But she had stopped herself, and so Hannah remained an enigma. She was determined to find out more about this superior member of her staff whose mere name made Lord Alan uneasy. She decided to go down to the kitchen, where she rarely ventured since Hannah arrived, and talk with her.

Pausing at the top of the back stairs, Ariel was surprised to hear a male voice floating up from the lower regions. She hesitated, then moved quietly down the steps toward the sound.

“No, Hannah,” the man was saying. “I've no plan to get my own digs. M'mother keeps an excellent table, so why go to the trouble?”

She had heard this voice somewhere, Ariel thought, taking another step.

“She and my father are busy with their own engagements,” he continued. “I'm as free as I would be in rooms, with nothing at all to do, and I can spend my allowance on my own entertainment.”

There was a murmur of a reply.

“Don't preach now, Hannah,” was the response. “I have a cartload of brothers who take life seriously. Well, except Sebastian. So there's no need for me to do so.”

It was Lord Robert Gresham, Ariel realized. What was he doing in her kitchen chatting with her cook?

“James is defending the empire. Randolph is doing good works. Nathaniel is upholding the family name. Alan is… er, delving into scientific mysteries. Sebastian…” He laughed. “Well, Sebastian is cutting a wide swath among the ladies. So, you see, there's no call for me to do anything at all.”

Once again, Ariel could not hear the reply.

“Marry!” exclaimed Lord Robert indignantly. “I should say not. Nathaniel is getting himself leg shackled. He has to; he's the heir. Let that be enough for you!”

Ariel had reached the final step. Now, she could hear Hannah's much quieter voice. “All of you will marry eventually,” said the older woman.

“The others may do as they please,” replied Lord Robert. “I've no intention of contemplating matrimony for years and years. When I'm forty or so, and have dwindled into a deadly dull country squire, well, then I suppose I'll find some girl and do the deed. Might as well be married; I'll be as good as dead.”

“You'll meet some nice young lady and change your mind,” said Hannah's voice placidly.

Lord Robert made a rude sound.

Ariel started to push open the kitchen door, hesitated, then, with a small grimace, bent to peer through a crack in the paneling. She could see Hannah sitting in the corner of the room, knitting. Lord Robert was at the kitchen table, a mug before him. In his elegant coat and pantaloons, he looked completely out of place in this prosaic room. Ariel straightened and put her hand to the door again.

“How's the spying getting on?” Lord Robert asked. Ariel's hand dropped to her side.

“I don't know what you mean,” answered Hannah.

“Oh, come. Mother sent you over here to get the lay of the land, find out about this Harding chit. What have you discovered?”

“I'm here to cook and oversee the household,” corrected Hannah.

Lord Robert hooted. “You, a cook? You never would cook anything at Langford House. Used to order the kitchen staff about pretty smartly, if I remember. And I do.”

Ariel abandoned her scruples about eavesdropping. This was just what she had wanted to find out.

“You and Mother must have concocted this scheme together,” he continued. “Why else would our old nanny turn up in a place like this? Come, what have you found out?”

“You behave yourself,” said Hannah mildly.

“Is she really not Alan's mistress? He's always been an odd duck, but this tops it off. What the deuce is he playing at?”

“Perhaps you should tend to your own business and leave others to theirs,” was the reply.

“But, Hannah,” said Lord Robert cajolingly, “I have no business. That's just the point. I keep myself entirely free to serve others.”

Hannah snorted.

Ariel had heard enough. She pushed the door open and walked through. “Hannah, I just wondered…” she said, then stopped and gazed at Lord Robert with a pretense of surprise.

He jumped to his feet. “Oh, er…”

“Lord Robert stopped by to pay me a visit,” said Hannah calmly. “We are old friends. I have known him since he was a boy.”

“Oh.” Ariel put all the amazement she could manage into the word.

“Right,” he said. “Family retainer, that sort of thing. Just wanted to see… to see… that everything was all right.”

“To make sure I wasn't working her to death?” Ariel couldn't resist saying.

“Eh? No, no. No question of anything like that. Didn't mean to imply…”

“Was there something, miss?” put in Hannah, rescuing him.

“I wondered if we might have roast chicken for dinner tomorrow?” replied Ariel.

Hannah met her eyes, and Ariel saw that the older woman was well aware that this was an excuse and fairly certain that Ariel had been listening for some time. “Of course, miss,” she answered. “I'll get a nice fowl at the market in the morning.”

Ariel couldn't read her look. She didn't seem angry, or particularly surprised. It was impossible to penetrate the older woman's calm reserve. But she didn't sense hostility either. “Thank you,” she said and turned to leave.

“Got to be going myself,” announced Lord Robert. “Just stopped by, you know, on my way to… er…”

Ariel glanced back over her shoulder. “You are welcome in my kitchen anytime you like, Lord Robert,” she told him. She thought she glimpsed a twinkle in Hannah's eyes in response to her sweet smile.

***

Lord Alan Gresham gazed at the overly animated crowd who filled the prince regent's largest reception room to bursting. They were rather like a flock of marauding crows, he thought, all landed in a field of ripe corn and calling raucously to one another while they gobbled as fast as they could. Only the crows were more intelligent, he added sourly. They were after sustenance, not gossip.

“It's very noisy,” commented Ariel Harding, who stood close beside him with one small white hand on his arm.

Alan looked down at her. He was still not quite certain how it had come about that he was here, in evening dress, escorting her to a Carlton House reception. He knew that when this evening party had been mentioned, he had determined that it wasn't wise for Ariel to attend. She didn't belong in a place like Carlton House. Its atmosphere encouraged just the sort of behavior he vowed to avoid, and her presence would definitely disrupt the calm, reasoned progress of his investigation. But then Ariel had been certain that the ghost would make an appearance tonight, and so eager to see it again… After that Alan's recollection was uncharacteristically muddled. And here they were, side by side, and the object of a host of curious eyes.

Ariel was certainly worth looking at, Alan admitted to himself. She was ravishing in a cloud of sea green, her skin and lips glowing against the pale fabric, the sparkle of her gaze almost effervescent. His arm felt hot where she held it, and he couldn't keep his mind from drifting to those moments when he had held her in his arms. Did she have any idea how difficult she was making his life? he wondered.

“Ah, there you are,” said a plummy voice behind them. “At your post, eh? Good, good.”

Alan turned reluctantly to face the prince, who was moving through the room surrounded by his usual retinue. “Not alone though,” the regent added. “That gel from the cupboard, ain't it?” He examined Ariel with an expert's eye, his gaze lingering in strategic areas. “Never forget a… face,” he added with an aristocratic leer.

Ariel dropped a tiny curtsy, at the same time lacing her other hand around Alan's arm and clinging to him. Alan gritted his teeth.

“Enjoyin' yourself?” the prince asked her in a suggestive voice.

“Oh, yes, Your Majesty,” replied Ariel in breathy tones that made Alan look down at her, startled. She tightened her hold on his arm. Her glossy brown curls brushed his shoulder; her breast pressed softly against his elbow.

“Alan takin' good care of you, is he?” said the monarch. He waggled his eyebrows at Alan.

“Very good care,” she answered in a way that confirmed every innuendo.

“Ah.” The prince regent's pudgy features creased in a smile. “You let me know if he doesn't, and I'll… see to it myself.”

Ariel gave him a coy look. A sound of exasperation escaped Alan.

“Now, now,” responded the regent, “I'm not poaching, m'boy, just commending your taste.” With a waggle of his fat fingers, he passed on to speak to another of his guests.

“Why did you do that?” demanded Alan in a fierce whisper.

“What?” said Ariel in her normal voice. She had released her clinging grip and was standing beside him as if nothing had happened.

“You know very well. You gave him the clear impression that—”

She looked up at him, her hazel eyes limpid and innocent. The heat of the room had lent a further glow to her cheeks, and her full lips were damnably inviting. What if she really were his mistress? Alan thought, as the prince, and probably everyone else in the room, now believed. Desire flared in him as he imagined what the night could bring under those circumstances. Those lips—all of her—would belong to him. He would watch that sea-green gown slip off her shoulders and fall to the floor. He would feel her silken skin under his fingers. He would not have to resist the impulse to…

Ariel blinked, and her lips parted slightly.

Wrenching his thoughts from these channels, Alan returned to reality, becoming aware of sidelong glances and knowing smiles from those surrounding him. That had torn it, he thought. Anyone who had missed the byplay with the prince had now been treated to the sight of him practically devouring her with his eyes. There would be no denying the rumors. Silently, he cursed the whole lot of them.