Company Of Rogues: A Shocking Delight Part 15

"That sounds most uncomfortable."

"David finds it so."

David. His name is David.

"Does a visit to such a house appeal?" he asked.

"Definitely not."

"It's become quite an attraction for travelers who venture to such a remote spot, especially ladies devoted to gothic novels."

Remote, she noted.

"Remote seems more horrid than a mock castle," she said.

"Venturesome travel doesn't appeal?

"Not at all."

"Yet you don't strike me as timid."

She flashed him a look. "I'm not, but my ventures are of a different sort."

She was expecting him to ask what she meant, which would allow her to talk about trade, but instead he glanced around. "The siege forces gather. Will you be captured, or shall I find you a sensible gentleman?"

"It's not sensible to woo me?" When he didn't respond to that, she said, "I'll take a suitor, or everyone will wonder why I'm here."

"Which raises the question, why are you here?"

He was far too sharp beneath that easygoing manner. "For amus.e.m.e.nt only."

"Poor suitors," he said and moved away.

Lucy eyed the approaching hopefuls, feeling a twinge of guilt. She'd promised nothing, but she truly did wish there were a way of signaling that she did not have marriage in mind.

She realized she was again waiting for Wyvern to approach. Because of the park, but also because of something in his eyes during the previous dance. But see, he was ready to dance with a pretty, dark-haired young woman. Something about her dress and manner suggested she was married. Idiotic to be relieved by that.

He and his partner were joined by Sir Stephen and Lady Ball, other people she knew quite well. Sir Stephen had worked with Lucy's father on reforms to apprenticeship law and the b.a.l.l.s had dined at Nailer Street twice. So here was another opportunity to approach. She managed to resist, but it was becoming increasingly hard. If he wouldn't come to her, she wanted to go to him. . . .

Madness! She accepted Launceston as partner, taking comfort from it being another longways dance that would give her some moments with him. When they turned together wasn't there a meaningful expression in his eyes? Didn't his hand linger on hers for a moment, as if he was reluctant to let her move on?

Surely he must ask her for the supper dance. But he didn't. She chose Northcliff again, so dependable and so very dull.

She sat to supper with some of his friends and their partners, but they were all as dull as he, whereas Wyvern was at a merry table in Lucy's sight. The b.a.l.l.s were there, as well as Mr. Delaney and an auburn-haired woman who must be his wife.

The other couples at her table were married, and she noticed how in every case the wife seemed a shadow of her husband. She deferred to him, agreed with him, smiled proudly at his every word.

This was precisely why she could not marry. Once she was a wife, men would look to her husband for approval of her every action. Indeed, he would have the right to overrule her decisions, even if he knew nothing about business. She would be unable to make contracts without his approval, and the whole world would see it as her holy duty to devote herself to home and children and to cease meddling in men's affairs.

d.a.m.nation. Her unhappiness at her thoughts underlined the extent of the temptation. She would resist!

In the end, however, she couldn't. As supper drew to a close, she kept her attention on her own table, but plotted how to approach Wyvern's. The b.a.l.l.s provided the excuse. When she rose to put her plan into action, however, she found Wyvern had already left.

"You seem abstracted, Miss Potter," Northcliff said, chiding slightly. "Are you quite well?"

"I'm sorry. A slight headache."

"I believe we can find some fresh air on the rear terrace," he said, extending an arm.

She needed to find Wyvern, but couldn't say so, especially as her urgency was mad. It was as if she feared he would disappear forever.

She didn't see him as they returned to the ballroom, nor as they walked out onto the terrace. There was indeed fresh air, but very little s.p.a.ce, for the terrace was shallow and many others had the same idea.

Not Wyvern, however.

"How pretty the garden is," she said, for she had to say something. Unlike Aunt Mary's house this ducal residence had a garden and it was lit by colored lanterns on posts and in trees. A few people had found their way down there, perhaps with a tryst in mind.

Was Wyvern strolling the half-lit paths with some lady? Was he was committing himself to some other well-dowered catch? He'd been partnered in the supper dance with a plump woman Lucy didn't know. She'd sensed nothing special between them, but now she couldn't bear the thought. Madness, she knew, but being aware of insanity didn't seem to help.

There he was! Off to one side, shadowed by a tree, but illuminated along one side by an amber-gla.s.sed lamp.

Alone?

She watched for a moment to be sure, but yes, he was alone.

She remembered his remark about being outside a fairy circle. Despite his gloss of confidence and his apparent ease with the great, was he miserably out of place? Something about him suggested sadness, and she was powerless against that pull.

She needed to get rid of Northcliff, so she claimed a need of the ladies' room. He escorted her part of the way but then had to let her go. Once out of sight she took another direction and asked a pa.s.sing servant, "How do I get out into the garden?"

The footman looked a little taken aback. Was it not open to guests? Others were there. Even if it had been forbidden, Lucy would invade, so she insisted with a look.

"Downstairs and to the back, ma'am, then through the morning room."

Uncomfortably aware of possibly intruding into private areas, she followed a quiet corridor. Then a waft of fresh air guided her into a small room which had long doors open to the garden.

She was slightly out of breath, and paused to compose herself before going forward. That hesitation gave a small, frantic voice an opportunity to protest, to scream at her to go back, not to follow the perilous calling. However, her need was irresistible, as if she were parched and cool water flowed ahead.

She walked through the doorway and down three shallow steps onto a path. Somewhere, indeed, a fountain did play, and chamber music floated out from the house. Perfumed plants scented the night air. The couples out here were strolling along paths, but Wyvern had been off to one side. Her white gown must be catching the light from the house, so she slipped into the shadows as she made her way toward the amber lamp beneath which he'd been standing. Her slippers made no sound on the gra.s.s.

A hunter stalking prey.

She paused, half behind a large shrub, heart pounding.

This was the moment to retreat.

The last chance.

Chapter 13.

David was accustomed to danger in the dark, and quickly became aware of someone approaching surrept.i.tiously. A glance showed a pale gown and precious pearls. Not just danger, peril.

He'd come out here to gather the resolution to continue to avoid her, Susan be d.a.m.ned. He was supposed to learn more about her, was he? To coolheadedly a.s.sess if she had a flexible enough conscience to be a safe bride. Safe! During the first dance, when she'd been partnered with Nicholas, he'd wanted to s.n.a.t.c.h her and dance with her himself. By the second he'd wanted to claim her, then and there.

By the third he'd needed to pull her into his arms and hold her against all comers, perhaps even against her will. He could understand now how men in olden times had seized women by force. How irresistible it had been, despite the costs.

Paris and Helen.

Hades and Persephone.

d.a.m.nation, that's who she resembled tonight-Persephone, daughter of Spring, carried off into the harsh underworld by love-crazed Hades.

She stepped into the light. "Alone, Lord Wyvern?"

"No longer, it would seem." The amber light was doing strange things to her white gown. "A golden G.o.ddess in truth."

She was looking at him with a direct, thoughtful expression that emphasized all the ways she was wonderful and all the ways that she would be an impossible wife for him.

"When we spoke in Winsom's," she said, "and in the park, you seemed one man."

"And now I'm two?"

"And now you're a different one. One who avoids me, even dislikes me?"

"Then is it wise to be out here in the dark with me?"

Perhaps that gave her pause. "If I scream, many will come running."

He stepped forward, covering her mouth with one hand and overpowering her with his other arm, pulling her beyond the illumination of the lamp.

"And now?" he asked, blood pounding in his head at the madness of this, and at the feel of her, the scent of her. At her wide eyes.

Startled, but not afraid.

She was excited!

He let her go. Stepped away from the brink. "You see how false your sense of security was."

One gloved hand rose to hold her pearls, as if for protection, but she nodded. "I appreciate the lesson. I haven't been manhandled before and you did it so well. But if you raped me, you'd suffer for it. Unless," she added thoughtfully, "you killed me afterward. What a wonder that would be for the ton to feast on."

She was extraordinary, and not a little mad herself.

"You'd still be raped," he pointed out.

"And you'd hang."

"An earl hanged for rape? I doubt it. You should return to the house."

She let go of her pearls and flipped open a lace fan, which sent a puff of light perfume into the air. "But there are so many shadows, Lord Wyvern, which could conceal dangers. You should escort me."

"What the devil do you want, Miss Potter?"

That fan waved slowly, untroubled by coa.r.s.e language.

"Protection," she said.

"I'll follow at a distance."

"Protection from my suitors."

"Then choose one of them."

"None appeal, and I don't intend to wed. I came to Mayfair to enjoy myself, not to find a husband, and the fortune hunters are spoiling my pleasure."

"I'm a fortune hunter."

"But you've demonstrated that I don't appeal. You see?"

Like a blind man in a fog, but her light, direct manner and perhaps that waving perfumed fan was tangling his mind.

"Demonstrated how?"

"You haven't sought my hand for a dance."

"Perhaps I dangled distance like bait, hoping you'd come to me. Like this."

The fan paused. "And here I am. What now?"

He had no answer for that.

"I have a proposal."

"Miss Potter! I'm overwhelmed, but I fear we would not suit."

"Not that," she said with a soft chuckle. "You are seeking a rich bride, my lord. I'm extremely well-dowered and a.s.sumed to be seeking a t.i.tle. If you pay attentions and I smile on them, it will be seen as a fait accompli. Most of the other fortune hunters will think the case hopeless and leave me in peace."

"What do I gain by this? I am, as you said, seeking a rich bride."

"The opportunity to win me?"

"You don't intend to wed."