The Heart Denied (20 page)

After a long moment, she turned to look at him, her eyes aglitter, her smile strangely fierce. "Aye, Tobias, do let's ride to the clearing, indeed I shall ride all the night long if I choose...no one can stop me!"

His heart skipped a beat and then began to pound. It was the first time she had used his Christian name since the day they had met and Neville had quickly set her straight. "Very well, my lady," he said, struggling to sound calm. "But the forest is already dark and we must beware low branches. Stay just behind me."

* * *

Hearing Caroline's laughter peal for the third time, Thorne couldn't resist a glance toward the fire, where Townsend seemed to have her spellbound. Meanwhile, Miss Victoria Clifton cast doe-eyes their way and looked miserable as her mama encouraged her with urgent whispers to join them.

Feeling sorry for the girl, but at the same time finding his compassion highly suspect, Thorne sauntered up behind the high-backed brocade chairs and folded his arms nonchalantly atop the one in which Caroline sat. She immediately acknowledged him, to Townsend's obvious irritation.

"Thorne." Such a velvet voice she had, at the moment matched by her eyes. "Townsend has been telling tales on you." Smiling, she eyed Thorne through her thick lashes. "I'd never have guessed you were such a tearaway at Oxford. I'd pictured you poring endlessly over your books and papers, scarcely taking time to eat and sleep."

"He'd have done precisely that, if we had let him," Townsend broke in, staring coolly at Thorne. "But under that quiet, studious exterior, there proved something of the devil in him after all."

Thorne returned his stare. "Mark me, whatever Townsend lays at my door can be turned on himself thrice over."

Caroline glanced from one man to the other.

"Despite the ashes just heaped on my head," Townsend said with distinct diction, "I'm not quite the rake Neville would have you believe."

"I propose," Thorne said every bit as distinctly, "that neither of us further incriminates the other in the presence of the lady."

"Agreed."

Seconds ticked by in silence in their little group while other conversation carried on.

"Well, gentlemen!" Caroline stood, her eyes dancing. "I must beg your leave, I've promised Sir Kenneth a game of billiards."

Townsend rose and both men bowed, then watched Caroline's hourglass form float across the room. Miss Victoria Clifton followed her progress as well, a pout on her plump little mouth.

Thorne dropped into Caroline's vacated seat. Townsend stayed standing, his steady regard anything but cordial.

"Shall I fetch the pistols?" Thorne deadpanned. "Or might we share a smoke and conduct a mature conversation?"

With no change in his expression, Townsend took his seat again.

What in the deuce," Thorne asked coolly, taking two cigars from a slender case in his waistcoat and tossing one to his silent friend, "possessed you to invite her here?"

Townsend savagely bit off the cigar tip. "Rather a strong word, Neville...'possessed'? I ran across her at the Exchange."

"The Exchange?"

"Yes." He lit up with a piece of kindling, then held the crude match out for Thorne. "Don't you know? She's become quite involved in her late husband's business affairs."

"
There's
a shock."

"You should have seen them--clarks, merchants, tradesmen--all agog at the sight of her! Damned funny, quite a scene. At any rate, she looked so..." Townsend shook his head.

"Stunning? Ravishing?"

"I was about to say 'overjoyed to see me'...yes,
me
! And yes, I'll admit to being flattered, damned flattered, in fact. You needn't look so amused, Neville, I came to my senses soon enough, and realized she'd likely be glad to see
any
acquaintance from a happier time. But I could tell she was lonely--though 'tis hard to imagine a woman like her being anything but plagued by men--and I found myself asking before it even occurred to me that, being in mourning, she'd properly decline my invitation. But as you see, she accepted! At any rate," he added before Thorne could tease him further, "I thought your wife would be here, and that the two of them could have a pleasant visit together."

Thorne looked into the flames, then met his friend's intent gaze again. "Bear up, Townsend. I'm about to be blunt, if not downright rude."

"Fire away."

"Have you some romantic interest in Caroline?"

"Pardon?" Townsend's face flushed scarlet.

"You heard me."

Townsend flipped his cigar butt into the fire. "What, protecting the lady's honor? Or me from certain heartbreak?"

Thorne shook his head, irony twisting his mouth. "You have it all wrong, Townsend. I'm hoping you'll spare
me
."

"How so?"

"By telling me you've serious intention of courting Caroline. Tell me that, and you'll be the instrument of my salvation."

Townsend stared at him in consternation. "Salvation from what?"

Thorne closed his eyes and rubbed his eyes and rubbed them. "From my own little hell, is what."

"Christ, Neville." Townsend lowered his voice. "What's eating you?"

"Do you believe in sorcery?" Thorne looked up, and if Townsend had been about to laugh or ridicule, the torment on his friend's face must have stopped him.

"Come on, steady now." Townsend shifted to the edge of his seat, elbows resting on his knees. "God knows she looks at you as if you're her next meal," he muttered, "but has she gone so far as...has she tried to..."

"Seduce me?" Thorne shook his head. "I'm not sure. But we're repeatedly thrown in one another's path."

"Then 'tis nothing she does or says."

"No," Thorne said hesitantly, "and yes. She has a way of speaking..." He saw Townsend nod. "And a way of looking at a man, of searching him out in a crowded room. I sense that you empathize, but I think her effect on me is more profound...though the why is beyond me. And worst of all, she bloody well knows it."

"Are you in love with her?" Townsend asked quietly.

"No. God, no. Heaven help any man who is."

"And Gwynneth?"

Thorne only looked at him.

"She's at Wycliffe Hall, isn't she? Not with her aunt."

Eyes on the fire again, Thorne nodded.

Townsend sounded pained. "Is the marriage in jeopardy so soon?"

"I wish I could say 'no'...but I fear it is. My wife, you see, took the wrong vows."

His friend's blank stare begged explanation.

"You see, Radleigh forced her to leave the convent without telling her our plans. I've since realized she was gently coerced into capturing my fancy, my hand, and my purse--though not necessarily in that order. Radleigh is heavily in debt."

"Christ."

"Coincidentally, that name looms large in this farce as well," Thorne said wryly. "Someone has impressed upon my wife that any pleasure derived from marital conjugation is a 'mortal sin'. Hence she struggles against her otherwise passionate nature, and defends her position by saying she was meant for 'a higher purpose.'  Aye, her very words," he said, seeing Townsend's dumbfounded expression. "My wife is convinced she should have taken the vows of the Sisters of Saint Mary."

Townsend groaned.

"So you see why your serious intentions toward Caroline would be my redemption. She has me under some spell, Townsend. I don't know what it is, but it cuts me off at the knees, and I don't know how much longer I can resist. I'm human, for God's sake."

Townsend shook his head, looking both regretful and vexed. "I'll confess I'm attracted to Caroline, what man wouldn't be? But I'd never ask her to marry me. She's far too headstrong, and frankly, I wouldn't trust her as far as the door. You yourself said, 'heaven help any man who is in love with her'...would you wish that on me? Besides which, let's call a spade a spade--she'd very likely laugh in my face at the mere suggestion."

"I doubt that," Thorne mumbled, his hopes disintegrating.

"Oh, all right, she wouldn't laugh, she'd just look at me with those incredible eyes and smile at me with that extraordinary mouth and tell me how sweet I was for asking, but...! So, no, my friend." Townsend snorted. "I suffer no delusions that she's drawn to me. I've quite entertained her this evening, not with tales of my escapades, but of yours, since there were many in which I took part. And by God, she hung on my every word, our cool Widow Sutherland...and not because of my voice."

Thorne felt his heartbeat quicken in spite of his dismay. He'd never imagined Caroline's interest in him was more than a game of wits and wiles for her own amusement. What Townsend had just told him only worsened the situation. 

"So you see," his friend was saying, "I can't possibly pull you out of this pit into which you've fallen...and I'll lay ten to one she's good and ready to jump into it with you. She only awaits your beckoning."

"Christ, don't say that."

"It's the truth, and I think you know it. In the meantime, what of your marriage? Can you live with Gwynneth and have any true peace of mind? Are you willing to let her use your home as a nunnery?"

"She'd still manage the household well, I think."

"Oh,
there's
consolation. What of children, Neville--an heir? What of your marital rights, damn it?"

Raking a hand through his hair, Thorne gave his friend a withering look. "Do you think those things haven't occurred to me?

"Appeal for an annulment!"

"I don't want to shame her family--or mine, for that matter. Damn my stubbornness! Arthur warned me time and time again."

Townsend sat back in his seat with a sigh. "So, what will you do?"

"Beyond pouring a stiff dram of your whiskey?" Thorne managed a smile. "Deuced if I know, Townsend. Ask me again at the end of my stay."

* * *

Tiptoeing up the west hall at Wycliffe Hall, Gwynneth reminded herself she'd simply ridden later than usual, and it was no one's business but hers. Changing her pace, she glided up the thick carpet runner with her head held high, then paused before the great staircase and frowned, seeing a patch of light shining from under the library doors.

She approached stealthily and pressed an ear to one door, then slowly opened it.

A startled gasp came from the vicinity of the hearth. Gwynneth spotted the hem of a muslin wrapper between the legs of a high-backed chair.

"Who is there?"

Slippered feet touched the floor. Silhouetted in the firelight, a tall slender form arose from the chair. "'Tis I, Milady...Combs," came the soft, hesitant reply.

Indignation heated Gwynneth's blood. "What business have you in this room?"

"I beg your pardon, Milady, I was only curious to see one of its volumes. I shall go now." Combs hesitated, seeming unsure whether to replace the book on the shelf or lay it on the table nearby.

"Bring the book to me," Gwynneth said through her teeth.

"Aye, Milady." Approaching, Elaine held out the volume. Eyes blazing, Gwynneth snatched it from her.

"Keep your filthy hands off what doesn't belong to you...do you hear me, slut?"

The blood drained from Elaine's face. She swayed on her feet.

"Return to your own quarters, and do not let me see your whoring face again!"

"Aye, Milady," Elaine whispered...then fainted and fell to the floor.

On Monday the Townsend's house party took coaches into London for lunch in a popular tavern and a comedic matinee. Afterward, Thorne apologized to his hosts, saying he had pressing business in Westminster and not to expect his return before nightfall.

In Fleet Street he hired a hackney coach, which drove him through Hyde Park to the stately residence of Madame Claire.

By the time they reached the gate, Thorne was questioning his motives. Awaiting the madam in her luxurious parlor, he reminded himself he had quit this place for good and for all.

"Monsieur Adams," cooed Madame Claire's syrupy voice as she swept into the room. "Welcome. Whom are we visiting today?"

"Need you ask?" Thorne murmured. "Katy, please, if she is at leisure."

The madam shook her head, her smile at once sad and patronizing. "Katy is
malade
...ill, I am sorry to say. You must meet Jeanette, come recently from Paris. Beautiful breasts, and lips made for pleasuring a man." Her rouged mouth formed the pathetic pout of a coquette past her season. "Shall I send for her, monsieur?"

"May I inquire as the the nature of Katy's illness?"

Madame Claire elevated her chin. "She has contracted
la fievre
...an ague, monsieur. But she is receiving excellent care. You need not be concerned."

"Perhaps I could visit for a moment or two."

The proprietress shook her head. "Impossible, monsieur.
La fievre
is quite contagious, and I dare not risk the lives of my clients. Katy is
sous la quarantaine
."

Nor, Thorne realized, could he afford to bring illness into the Townsend home. Resigned, he reached into his waistcoat pocket and dug into his purse.

"Here then." He held out his closed fist to the baffled woman--who was quick enough to open her own hand.

"Monsieur Adams,"
she said with a gasp, agog at the fifty-pound note.
"C'est trop d'argent!"

"For Katy's care, I insist. And tell her..." Thorne paused, considering his words. "Tell her naught of the money. Say only that Mister Adams wishes her well and awaits her recovery. Say also that I might see her in November."

"Monsieur, I cannot thank you enough for your
générosité
!"

Thorne waved her fawning gratitude away. "Just relay my message, please."

Madame Claire nodded, her smile entirely genuine. "I shall, Monsieur Adams,
sans faute
."

"Until November, then."

* * *

Madame Claire watched her visitor exit the front gate and disappear from view, then climbed the stairs and rapped on Katy's door.

"Come in," came a glum voice.

"You might like to know," the madam said, slinking around the door and closing it behind her, "there was a
visiteur
for you. I sent him away."

"And why need he be sent away?" Katy groused, tugging the covers up to her chin. "There are women enough in this house to accommodate one little man."

"
Non, cheri
. Not
this
man." Madame Claire's smile was grim. "
Monsieur Adams
would see none but you." She dangled the fifty-pound note in front of Katy. "He kindly contributes to your keep. Quite
chanceux
, as you have refused all clients since you took 'ill.'  He will visit again in November. Perhaps when he learns your '
fièvre
' is not cured, he will open his purse again."

"You mustn't take advantage of the poor man!"

"He is anything but
pauvres
...and how else am I to support you in your idleness until the babe is born?"

Katy threw the covers back and sat up, hand on her belly. "The babe's own father has given you means to do so! In little more than a month he's handed a hundred pounds over to us, and most of it from the kindness of his heart!"

"
Oui
, but another such contribution two months hence will line the nest nicely. And when the babe is born, 'twill fetch more than enough to make up for all my trouble...especially if 'tis a boy."

"You'd be selling my own babe?" Katy whispered, horror in her wide eyes. "Why, you're no better than my mum, selling me into service here."

"But
you
were a big girl of four-and-ten, quite ready for work. This is no place to raise
un petit enfant
! Or would you have me turn the two of you out into the street? 'Twas careless of you to forget your vinegar sponge and your douche on that long day with Monsieur Adams in July," the madam said crossly, "and as you won't abide getting rid of the wee thing, you must
payez le piper
!"

Despite the nausea and weakness that plagued her nowadays, Katy snarled a reply. "Like as not, I'm God's own fool for telling you this, but 'forgetting' had naught to do with the making of this babe!"

Madame Claire's powdered eyelids folded upon themselves as her painted eyebrows arched. "What are you saying, Katherine Devlin--that you conceived this child
intentionellement
, with purpose? Is that what you are telling me?"

"Aye,"
Katy snapped, "and I'll not foul myself
or
my babe with another man's seed whilst I'm carrying!" Tears glazed her glare. "I cannot lay claim to Mister Adams' heart, but he has mine, and for that innocent thievery I
do
lay claim to his bairn! And no one, not you or the midwife or anyone else shall take it away from me, I swear it before the Almighty!"

Madame Claire sidled closer to the bed. "And what of Monsieur Adams? Has he no right to his child?"

"He...he'll never know," Katy stammered, her gaze falling to the counterpane. "Not from
these
lips, at any rate. Saints above, why should he want to be saddled with my babe? For all we know he's...he might be..."

"Married?" The madam arched her brow again. "
Oui
,
just
married, little more than a fortnight ago. Hence childless."

Katy's eyes flew to hers. "And how is it you're knowing such things?"

"One of my more prominent clients keeps me informed, in exchange for services more perverted than the usual."

"And did he tell you Mister Adams' true name?"

Madame Claire shook a finger at her. "Tsk, tsk,
cheri
, you needn't know that. But when the time comes, I think Monsieur 'Adams' will quite willingly claim the
enfant
in return for his continued anonymity...for a considerable sum of cash, of course. No hardship to him, I assure you."

"You've no proof 'tis his," Katy argued, but she looked hopeful. "Not even a halfwit would take your word alone."

"
Oui
,
cherie
, but your Monsieur Adams has a conscience, unlike most of our clients. Even so, chances are greater he will claim the child than spurn it."

"How so?" Katy demanded. "By God's own grace,
what could truly convince the man that this babe is his?"

Madame Claire smiled smugly. "By God's own grace and the ways of nature,
the babe will have its father's eyes
."

* * *

"What the devil?" Thorne muttered.

Returning to the Townsend's at twilight, he found every window of the Palladian house lit from within. Was there a ball in progress? No one had mentioned any such event.

Stepping down from the coach, Thorne saw a figure in skirts streak past the colonnade. "See if I don't!" it yelled defiantly, and then called back, "Thorne, hurry! You're on my team!" before disappearing behind the hedgerow. A larger figure in breeches dashed across the lawn to where Bernie had vanished. "Give it up, you little heathen!" shouted Townsend's voice.

"Good evening, M'lord," said the Townsend's straight-faced butler. "I have been instructed to relieve you of your waistcoat and bid you join Miss Bernice, whom I believe you shall find running for dear life in the gardens."

Thorne's mouth twitched. "Surely Miss Bernice wouldn't be overly upset if I took some refreshment first?"

The butler didn't bat an eye. "Suit yourself, M'lord, but I cannot guarantee the young lady's leniency."

Chuckling, Thorne gamely relinquished his waistcoat and tricorne. "God forbid I should spark her temper."

Thorne headed toward the next shout he heard, in the rear gardens. Light spilled from the windows to his right. At his left, the tall hedgerow blocked his view.

One minute he was walking, the next he was sprawled face-down in dewy grass. Picking himself up, he heard smothered laughter behind the hedgerow.

He sprinted to the far end of the thick growth and rounded the last shrub, then paused as he spotted a tall shadowy form in skirts creeping back toward the other end.

He closed the distance on silent, winged feet. "Think twice before knocking
me
down again, you redheaded rabble-rouser!" Grabbing the skirted figure by the waist, he swept her up under his arm.

Even before she cried out in protest, he realized his mistake.

"What the deuce did you trip me for?" he demanded, setting his captive down hastily. "I thought you were Bernie, I expect such shenanigans from her."

Caroline burst out laughing. "I'm sorry!" she gasped out, clutching her midsection. "But to see such a prig as you, lying flat on the ground and not knowing how the deuce you got there...oh, I am sorry!" Her words slid into another peal of mirth.

"Give it up Caroline, you don't sound the least bit sorry."

She sobered. "I thought you were Townsend. Bernice left me here to waylay him. I'd no idea 'twas you."

"What game is this, who's playing?"

"
Everyone
is playing, at least 'til the fog comes in off the river. 'Tis a scavenger hunt! A bird's egg is on the list. Apparently both Townsend and Bernice knew the location of a nest, but she beat him to it, shimmied right up the tree. When I saw her last, her brother was in hot pursuit."

"Indeed he was. So, now I'm a prig, am I?"

"Not only now, but most of the time," Caroline said with a wicked little smile. "Come find Bernice, she's depending on us to help finish the list."

"Very well. For Bernie I'll make an exception."

"To what?" Caroline tucked her arm comfortably into his.

"To your otherwise immediate trial."

She slowed their pace. "I'm being tried? For what?"

"Slander. You accused me of being a prig," Thorne reminded her, an edge to his otherwise pleasant tone. "You may present your supporting evidence. But I shall prove you wrong."

"Evidence?" Caroline stopped to face him. "I rely on observation, 'tis all the evidence I need."

"And what do you observe, Mistress Sutherland?"

Squinting through the dimness, Caroline saw a wry twist to his sensual mouth and a gleam in his eyes. Her pulse began to race. "Only that you always do what is proper, Lord Neville."

"Always?"

"Always."

Standing nearly toe-to-toe with him, she felt his warm breath on her face.

"Tho-orne!" called a singsong voice from somewhere beyond the house.

"Bernie," Caroline murmured.

"I should answer," Thorne muttered, his gleaming eyes on her lips. "Since I
always
do what is proper."

"Thorne!" The insistent summons was fading in the other direction.

Without warning, Thorne's head swooped down on Caroline's like a hawk on its prey, his mouth slanting over hers. Demanding entry, he gained it with a single thrust of his tongue, simultaneously drowning Caroline's protest and evoking a moan as she closed her eyes in surrender to a thorough ravishment of her mouth. Their breaths mingled, faster, harsher by the moment, until Caroline's head reeled and the ground beneath her seemed to fall away.

As abruptly as Thorne had taken hold of her, he let her go.

She swayed, then steadied herself, eyes opening wide. With one searching look, she slapped him roundly.

Thorne's smile was brief and brittle. "I rest my case, Mistress Sutherland."

* * *

"What do you mean, she left?"

Townsend sloshed some cream into his morning tea. "Took her leave. Departed. Said she'd some business in town, but she might return tomorrow. Very apologetic, very charming with her excuses." He looked hard at Thorne. "And very anxious to know
your
whereabouts before she left."

"Probably looking to bid me farewell."

Townsend barely swallowed his mouthful of tea. "Not bloody likely. What the deuce did you say to her?" He set his cup askew in the saucer. "She kept her distance after the scavenger hunt. Didn't look your way again all evening."

"You watch her closely."

"As if you don't!"

Thorne dropped into a chair. "Damnation, Townsend, are we to come to blows over the woman before the week is out? Bugger it all, get to the point."