The Danger of Desire (32 page)

“But you have not answered, Hugh. Who is she?”

Hugh took a deep breath. “Someone entirely unsuitable.” He could think of no other way of putting it. Meggs was—hell, he didn’t even know if Meggs was her real name. She didn’t trust him enough to tell him. And he couldn’t bring himself to trust the rest of his life to someone he truly knew so little.

“For
you?”
His mother’s eyebrows were flying away with astonishment.

“Yes, for me,” he scowled back. “Who did you think?”

“I don’t know,” she cast about. “A fellow officer’s sister from the country or someone like that sweet Miss Burke, now Viscountess Darling, whom you seemed to like so well, and who didn’t know anyone of consequence in London. You’ve never spoken ... Is it quite serious, then?”

“Yes. But it’s more complicated than that.”

“How so?”

As Meggs would say, it was best to lay out the bad facts. “She’s a thief. An accomplished pickpocket and picklock from the Cheapside docks.”

His mother’s hand went to cover her mouth. He had certainly surprised her. “You can’t be serious. You can’t. To want me to turn this pickpocket into a lady?”

“Not a lady, like yourself in the ton, but just generally, to help her, so she knows how ... to go on.” At his mother’s continued stare, he felt forced to explain. “She’s important to me. She’s remarkable. And I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know, she thinks you’re a ‘prime article.’ ”

“Does she? Well, I am flattered. Important and remarkable?” She looked away into the fire for a moment. “I see. Tell me, then, how long has she been ... with you?”

There would be no fooling this woman, no side-stepping of the truth. “A few weeks.”

“My dear child.” She tilted her head to the side as she regarded him. “Surely you must understand, you’re merely infatuated with her.”

“Please, Mother, I think I know the difference.”

“Do you? You who have steadfastly avoided the company of females of good family?”

“That’s not true. You spoke of Miss Burke, and yes, I will admit, I
was
a little infatuated with her. And this is different. Very different. This girl, well, she means a great deal to me.”

She asked very quietly, but deadly serious for all that, “Do you do this, this wanting to help her on in Society, for her, or for yourself?”

Oh, she was canny, his Scots mother. He was doing this for himself, in the name of helping Meggs. But truly it was for himself. It was selfish, and foolish, and nearly impossible, but he had to try. He had to see if it was possible. “She has no one else in the world to help her.”

“And it is like you to want to play her Galahad. However foolish, or misguided, it speaks well for your unselfish character.”

“Hardly unselfish. I
do
want it for myself, as well. I love her.”

“And does she love you?”

Hugh felt all the import of her question. She was not just asking about Meggs. She was asking if he knew the difference. He did. “I believe so. Not that she’d admit it.”

Her face registered another surprise. She was too much of a mother not to understand how anyone could find her son less than lovable. But she rallied. “Well,” she said with a brave smile, “if she loves you, that’s all the suitability she needs.”

“I’ve come to tell you, I’d like to make a ... an adjustment to our arrangement.”

Meggs was instantly on her guard, dropping back from the connecting door to her room and pulling on the tough veneer of the street as if it were a handy cloak. Up came the shrug, as if whatever he would say made no matter to her. “What’s it going to be then?”

“A removal to Mayfair. To Berkley Square. To my mother’s house.”

That stopped her cold. “Your mother? Whatever for?”

“She’s agreed to teach you to be a lady.”

“You want me to become a lady? Why? Ladies don’t steal things.”

He laughed. “You’d be surprised.”

She thought for a long moment before she asked, “Does your mother know what I do. Or what you do for the navy part of the government?”

“Not exactly,” he hedged. “But you and my mother are completely agreed on many subjects, one of which is that no one
sees
women, especially women of either a certain class and age. And in society, few young men see young women of good family as anything more than breasts and foolishness. That’ll be the hardest part.” He couldn’t stop himself from touching her plush, full bottom lip with the backs of his fingers. “Hardest thing I’ll ever have to do—teach you to act
foolish
.”

Meggs returned his teasing with a strangely bittersweet smile. “I just may surprise you. I fear I can be as foolish as you might need me to be.”

“I hope you will. So, you’ve done maids, and you’ve done boys, and now we need to turn you into a pretty girl. A young woman of good family.”

She made an unmistakably rude sound and crossed her hands over her bodice. “How on earth d’you plan to do
that
? And you still haven’t told me why?”

He let the second question slide and crossed to her, taking her hands in his. “With you, as in all things, it will be easy. You’ll need nothing more than a lovely dress and attractive hairdressing to change from a cygnet into a swan.”

She was not mollified by the implied compliment. “A pretty girl is a pretty girl, whether she’s covered in silk or clad only in rags. Any man with half an eye for beauty can see that.”

“Are you fishing for compliments? But it’s no great lie to tell you, you are a very pretty girl.” She was not actually conventionally pretty. She did not have the milk and roses complexion, or apple-cheeked, blond warmth of the stereotypical English beauty. Her eyes were too dark, her features were too delicate and fey to ever play the milkmaid.

“Is this another of your impossible assignments? Hedging your bets on that knighthood?”

God’s balls. “How do you know about that? It was meant to be secret.”

“Please, Captain. I’m a prime filching mort. It’s my job to find out things.”

“Hugh.” He leaned down to nuzzle meaningfully at that place at the edge of her neck. That place that made her smile, that hopefully started the sunshine raining down inside her.

“Hugh,” she agreed, becoming softer and more pliable under his attentions.

“I’m good at finding things, too. Like these lovely things.” He made a reverent obeisance to her breasts over the fabric of her bodice.

“Ah, well.” She let out a long tremulous breath. “But they’re easy enough to find.”

“True,” he kissed one peak into tight agreement through the fabric. “But you will also, no doubt, come to appreciate I am a man who understands subtleties.” He traced the rim of one finger along the sensitive underside of her breast, drew a line along the turning of her arm and up, over the white, sensitive skin at the inside of her upper arm.

She shivered under his touch and he stepped away. “I’m going to lock the door. Don’t go anywhere.”

“And where would I go?”

“Nowhere.” He smiled and kissed her. “I told you, you belong here.”

Lord, she was as nervous as a pigeon among the company of cats. The hackney was winding its way into the heart of Mayfair. Huge, terrifyingly elegant town houses rose up on either side of the street.

“Meggs, don’t fash yourself. It will be fine.” He was trying to be all relaxed and civilized today, all smooth gentleman. But his jaw was set like stone—like flint, just as the Bible said. It did not exactly bode well.

“But why—”

“Meggs. She knows all about you. And she knows all about us. And she still invited us here.”

He wasn’t going to tell her why, so she should give up trying. “I’ve never met a viscountess.”

“Then I can tell you, she is exactly the same person she was before she became a viscountess—thoughtful and charming. She was a gentleman farmer’s wife for far longer than she’s been a viscountess. She’s lovely, don’t worry.”

The thought gave little enough comfort—every man thought his mother at least part a saint, whether she was a gin whore or a viscountess. But true to his word, Viscountess Balfour was lovely. And thoughtful. And nice. The white town house on Berkley Square was large and very beautiful, but she greeted them at the door, herself, as if she had been awaiting their arrival.

“May I introduce you to my mother, the Viscountess Balfour. Mother this is my ... this is Meggs.”

“Meg, my dear, welcome.” She held out her hand, and then leaned in to kiss Meggs on the cheek. “I’m so happy to have you here. Hugh has told me all about you.”

“Oh, dear.” She gave the lady a nervous curtsy. “I had hoped to pass myself off with a greater degree of credit.”

“Nonsense! You are most welcome.” Her eyes were every bit her son’s, a blue so pale and beautiful it was shocking, but they were softer somehow than her son’s, perhaps because they were almost always creased up with a smile.

“Thank you, my lady. I’m very obliged.”

“Not at all. With Hugh’s sisters all grown up, I’d like nothing better than to have a young lady about the house and help bring her out into Society.” Hugh’s mother led them up and into a gorgeous yellow drawing room the size of a guild hall. “I’ve called for refreshment, as I’m sure you’d like something warm after your journey up from Chelsea.”

“It is not the other end of the earth, Mother.”

“No, but it is the other end of London, and the day is bitterly cold. We don’t all have your hearty constitution, Hugh. Now, Meg. What a lovely name. But we’ll have to introduce you in the world, or at least in the drawing room, as something other than just Meg, my dear. Miss ... ?”

There really wasn’t a hint of meanness in the inquiry, and Meggs thought if there had been she would have found it, so carefully was she weighing every word. But Hugh had been right—so sweet, so kind, right through to the bone kind, and lovely. Meggs didn’t want to lie. She wanted to begin as she meant to go on, with both the captain, Hugh, and his mother.

“Evans.” Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to give all the truth out at once, carte blanche, as they said, so she gave it to the smallest falsehood she could manage. “Miss Margaret Evans.”

She was inordinately conscious of the weight of his eyes on her. Would he know? Would he guess it was real, her name? He didn’t seem surprised. He merely smiled, a small, infinitesimal crinkling of his eyes only. But she had forgotten, they had already decided, her and Timmy, that using Evans was what was best for him as well, going into the navy.

“I didn’t know Captain McAlden had sisters.”

“And an older brother, too, Francis, but he is still ensconced in faraway Scotland, as are my daughters, his sisters Catriona and Elspeth, so I have no company except his poor self.” But the viscountess smiled at Hugh and held out her hand to him, so Meggs knew they shared a real affection. But of course they must. Why else would the viscountess take her on, except to please her son?

“I’m glad we’ll be able to spend some time together here before we leave for the country.”

“The country!” There she went, sounding hopeful. More than hopeful—enthusiastic.

But Hugh had spoken at the same time, and his response had been far less than enthusiastic. “The country?”

“Yes,” the viscountess confirmed, “I’d like you to come to Balfour with us for the holidays.”

“Holidays? Can’t remember when I last celebrated the Christmas holidays.” But they were both, she and the viscountess, looking at Hugh.

“Oh, I’m glad—it will be such a treat,” his mother began before he could say anything. “I will confess to a little machination, as I would very much like Hugh to come with us, but I think he would be more inclined to do so if you were to agree to come.”

Meggs felt herself poised on some kind of precarious point between mother and son, and not understanding which way the wind ought to blow. “He has been very kind to introduce you to me.”

“Yes, he has been kind to both of us because he knows how lonely I’ve been here in London without company. My husband’s family is all grown, too, and living in the country. You will meet them soon enough. But now you are come to me, we shall be wonderfully busy. We will have time to get to know one another, and then, when we go to Balfour, it will only be family and country friends. You’ll have plenty of time to find your feet, so to speak.”

“You are very kind.” Meggs couldn’t think of what else to say. “And where is Balfour?”

“Somerset,” Hugh answered. “At least two days’ drive.” His voice was dry and tight. He was not pleased at the idea.

“Have you traveled much, my dear?”

Meggs brought her attention back to the viscountess, who seemed to think her son could be managed by ignoring him. Perhaps Lady Balfour was right. Meggs had not learnt any way of managing him—even the obvious. “No. Only a little, and a very long time ago at that.”

“Then I hope this will be a treat.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I mean, Your Ladyship.”

“Ma’am is perfect—it’s what Hugh calls me, so it is of course what you shall call me, as well. Now, I do not wish to embarrass you, but I must ask you a great indulgence. I have not had the opportunity to buy clothes for a young lady in quite some time. I hope you will allow me to make you a present of a dress or two before we leave for Balfour? You must do me the great favor of making you quite the thing. I’ve been longing to steal a march on the local matrons, and we must also think of poor Hugh.”

Viscountess Balfour was every bit as smart and single minded as her son. How clever to couch her thinly veiled attempt to bring Meggs’s clothes up to snuff as a gift to her, just to save Meggs the embarrassment of worry over the funds. “Poor Hugh?”

“Why yes. Since Hugh will do nothing to give the local matrons hope for their daughters, we must take the pressure away from him by offering you as an amiable dinner companion to their sons. Do indulge me. And of course we must have a ball. A Christmas Ball.”

“A Christmas Ball?” That voice was all captain, getting sorer than a caged bear.

But the viscountess just sailed on, immune to his growling. “Really, we must call it an Advent Ball, since it will be before Christmas. Margaret must have an opportunity to dance.”