The Birthday Scandal (38 page)

He couldn’t help thinking that this might be the only time they would ever dance together—and to have such a special moment be gone in the blink of an eye was painful.

He tried not to watch for her as the music ended and everyone milled about the floor, changing partners for the next dance, so he was startled to see her cutting across the great hall straight toward him. “Chloe,” he said. “What—?” Too late, he realized that the Earl of Chiswick was still beside her.

Chloe brushed past Mr. Lancaster and Lady Murdoch as they left the floor. She stopped in front of Lady Fletcher, who was sitting with Lady Stone only a few feet from Lucien.

“Mama,” she said, “I’m sorry, truly I am, and I fear I’m insulting the dear duke—but I have a terrible headache and if I don’t lie down, I’m afraid I will be ill.”

She did look pale, Lucien thought, and he wouldn’t be surprised if her head really was hurting.

Lady Fletcher seemed reluctant to give up her conversation with Lady Stone, though she clucked a little over her daughter. “My dear, you’ve looked forward to this ball. Surely if you just sit somewhere for a moment you’ll be better. I’m certain Lord Chiswick will keep you company.”

Chloe looked even more ill, though Lucien wouldn’t have thought it possible. “No, Mama, I must lie down. You’ll make my apologies to the duke?”

Her voice cracked, and Lucien winced. He hadn’t even considered how difficult this moment would be for her; she was saying good-bye to her mother forever, but she wasn’t even able to say the words.

Chloe curtseyed to Chiswick. “I thank you, of course, my lord.” She put a hand to her forehead.

“Poor child,” Lady Fletcher said absently, and turned back to Lady Stone. “I’ve never known her to have a megrim before—at least not when there’s an entertainment she enjoys. You were telling me about the very strange behavior of your companion, ma’am?”

Emily tugged at Lucien’s arm. “The dancers are forming up for the next set, and you did write your name on my card. Besides, you can’t stand in the middle of the room, practically next to Father, and ogle Chloe Fletcher. People notice these things, and you’re making a cake of yourself.”

Horrified, Lucien could only stare at her.

“I mean your conviction that she set out to marry so far above herself,” Emily said impatiently. “You’re being a cork-brain if you still think she’s anything but a pawn, Lucien.”

“I thought you didn’t like her.”

“Not at first, but now…The music’s starting, so come along.”

He couldn’t concentrate on the dance, and to Emily’s obvious aggravation he kept missing his steps and messing up the turns.

He could think only of Chloe, sitting by herself out in the folly, in the dark and the chill. He wouldn’t even know until morning if Captain Hopkins had kept the assignation she had made.

Even then, he realized, he would not know for certain whether she was safe. She would just be gone—with nothing to nothing to show whether Captain Hopkins had appeared. What if someone else found her out there?

Lucien tried to dismiss that fear, for what was the likelihood someone else would come along that back lane in the dark of night and stop to visit the folly? That was the reason she had chosen the location, after all—the loneliness of the spot. Still, Lucien couldn’t quite shake the apprehension that swept over him.

And what if his instinct was right and Captain Hopkins didn’t come? How long would she sit there and wait, growing colder by the moment? What would she do when she finally gave up, as she must sooner or later? She could hardly limp back into the castle, valise in hand, and pretend that she hadn’t tried to run away.

What kind of a gentleman are you, Lucien Arden—letting a lady sit out there in the cold by herself?

He stuck out the dance because to walk off the floor in the middle would call far too much attention to his behavior. But the moment the music stopped he seized Emily’s arm. “If anyone asks about me, just say I’ve…oh, say I’m tired of dancing and I’m going to scare up a card game somewhere.”

She made a face. “I’d object, but the way you were stumbling over your feet, it’s probably for the best if you don’t make any other partner miserable tonight.” She wheeled around and collided with Gavin. “Not
you
again. Did you hear Lucien say he’d rather play cards? You should join him.”

Lucien didn’t wait to hear the answer.

All the activity was centered in the great hall tonight, so the new wing of the castle was largely empty. Even the footmen who normally manned the doors had been moved to duty in the great hall. Lucien pretended not to notice a pair of waiters carrying trays from the kitchen, because asking why they were strolling through the public rooms instead of taking the back stairs would only make his departure something to remember. For the same reason, he didn’t stop to find a greatcoat. Stepping out for a moment’s fresh air was common at a ball. But to bundle up as if he were going for a cross-country walk would draw attention.

The full moon was past, but the night was clear and the garden paths were not hard to follow despite the deep shadows cast by trees and hedges and statues. A brisk five-minute walk brought him to the folly, and he approached carefully, not wanting to frighten her.

But the folly was empty.

Lucien could not believe his eyes. He would have wagered his entire year’s allowance—pittance though it was—that Captain Hopkins would not show up. But it appeared the soldier had not only answered Chloe’s summons but had been waiting for her. She could not have been many minutes before Lucien on that lonely garden path.

She was gone, far out of his reach, and Lucien would never see her again. Now that it was too late, he was entirely clear about what he should have done. He should have thrown himself at her feet and told her he adored her. She might have laughed at him; she might even have felt pity for him. But he should have offered her the choice. Now he would never have the chance.

He flung himself down on the farthest bench from the castle, the one where just this morning he had stashed her valise. At least he knew she had been right here—kneeling beside this bench to retrieve her belongings.

His heel hit something hard, and he bent double to check the dark hollow under the bench. Just as his hand touched a leather-wrapped handle, he heard a rustle from the path—a step on the gravel.

“Captain Hopkins?” Chloe said softly. “Is that you?”

Lucien stood in the shadowed folly—and a well-named bit of architecture
that
was, he thought irritably—holding Chloe’s valise and feeling like a prize fool. She had told him she must return to her room, to leave her bed looking occupied. Maybe she had even stopped to change into something more suitable for traveling, for she wouldn’t want to trail across England in a ball dress.

And all the time he’d spent practically wailing about his lost love…What a nodcock he was!

“No,” he said. “It’s just me.”

“Lucien?” Her steps pattered quickly up the stairs to the folly. “What are you doing here?”

There was something odd about her voice. Disappointment, no doubt. “You intend to elope with the man, but even to his face you call him
Captain Hopkins
?”

“My mother still calls my father Sir George.”

“Well, you call me Lucien.”

“That’s different. We’re like partners. Why are you here, anyway?” She pulled her dark cloak more closely around her throat and settled onto the bench.

Stop stalling and just tell her.
But now that the moment was upon him, the words stuck in Lucien’s throat. A roundabout route would be better. He could hint at his feelings, testing how she reacted, before he exposed his heart entirely.

He sat down next to her. “Because even if your soldier comes, it would be a mistake for you to run off with him.”

A stray moonbeam struck her face, highlighting the tight lines between her brows. “What do you mean,
even if he comes
? Why do you think he won’t? What did he say to you? Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“Calmly, now. He—uh—he didn’t actually say anything.”

“Then—”

“I mean, he didn’t utter more than a few words—none of them to the point. And he looked unhappy, as though he was annoyed at the entire idea of eloping.”

“You’re saying you only have a
feeling
to go on?”

Lucien loosed a deep breath. He had known she’d be hard to convince. “Wait and see. He’s not coming, Chloe.”

“He has to come. I’ve gone too far now to back out.”

“No, you haven’t. We can walk back to the castle right now. You can return to the ball. All you have to do is tell your mother that a few minutes of rest cured your headache, and—”

“And I’d be right back in the mess I was in before—betrothed to your father.”

“I guess I’d forgotten that part,” Lucien admitted.

The silence drew out for a bit. “If there’s some other way, Lucien, I wish you would help me find it.”

“Sir George doesn’t seem such a bad sort. Surely if you told him you’re so miserable you thought of running away with a penniless soldier—”

“He’d lock me in my room and move up the wedding date. He hates Captain Hopkins—even mentioning his name would make my father lose all reason.”

Lucien paced the three steps across the folly’s stone floor and back. “All right. What if you were to run away with someone else?”

“You mean tell my father I’m unhappy enough to elope with—who?”

“Don’t tell your father anything. We go back to the castle right now, and we enjoy the rest of the ball.” Lucien was planning as he spoke. “Then tomorrow morning, we go for a ride—separately, of course, but we can meet up in the village and…”

Chloe’s voice sounded oddly choked. “If you’re suggesting that we run away together—you and I—Lucien, you can’t mean it.”

The plan—such as it was—did sound foolish. “Look, Chloe, I know you love Captain Hopkins. But I swear he’s not what you think he is, and you’d be miserable with him. And poor as well—don’t forget
poor
.”

She took a deep breath. “I don’t think I do. Love him, I mean. I liked him well enough, and last winter I thought I’d like to marry him. But it’s not as if I’ve missed him since. Still, I’m committed, now. And if he comes tonight…”

“He’s not coming.”

“I just…” She sounded distracted. “It’s not as though I have a great many choices.”

You can choose me.

Just as Lucien opened his mouth to assure her that he did indeed mean it—that all she had to do was say the word and he would run away with her to the ends of the earth—the scratch of gravel on the path below brought his head up.

“It’s the captain,” she whispered. She sounded terrified.

Lucien put his hand gently over her mouth.

A large shadow—no, two shadows—loomed up in the door of the folly, and the Earl of Chiswick said calmly, “I hear you went looking for a card game, Hartford. I don’t suppose you’d like to deal us in—Sir George and me?”

N
o matter who she was dancing with, Emily couldn’t seem to escape from Gavin’s cool scrutiny. How typical it was of the man to act like a dog in the manger! Apparently he didn’t want her himself, or he wouldn’t have delegated his valet to pass along messages—but he didn’t seem to think she should so much as speak to any other man.

Even his lovemaking now looked entirely different to Emily. He’d been happy enough to fulfill her fantasies—up to a point. But he’d made certain she couldn’t possibly limit his options by presenting him with any nasty consequences. The heir of the Duke of Weybridge wasn’t about to tie himself down with a scandal-plagued wife and an unwelcome baby, so he’d passed off his failure to take her virginity as a noble act of self-sacrifice.

You’re not being fair,
a little voice whispered in the back of her mind. Whatever the reason he’d sent Benson to talk to her, Gavin wasn’t avoiding her now. And he’d been protecting her by not risking a pregnancy…

He was, however, devoting a lot of attention to the Carew sisters. Why had she told him they were heiresses, anyway?

Next time she’d choose her lover more carefully. She would find someone she could enjoy without risk. And in the meantime, she was going to revel in dancing.

Young Baron Draycott presented himself as her partner for the next dance, but just as they were forming the set, Mr. Lancaster came quietly up beside her and said, “If I might have a word, Lady Emily.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have a dance left on my card, sir.”

“My loss; I should have acted earlier. But in fact…” He dropped his voice further. “This is a private matter, and a very sensitive one. It concerns Miss Fletcher.”

“Chloe?” Emily tipped her head to one side and surveyed him for a moment before turning to Draycott. “My lord, I am afraid we must miss our dance,” she said. The baron nodded, and Emily let Lancaster draw her behind a pillar. “Well? What is going on?”

“You may know that she told her mother of a headache and left the ball?”

“What of it? A shame, but—”

“I have reason to believe there was no headache. And I gather she has stolen away to one of the quiet rooms in the new wing of the castle.” He cleared his throat and whispered, “With your brother.”