A Waltz in the Park (11 page)

“I never—”

“No.  You never.  You never danced with me.  It was always
your
image.  Your hopes, goals, and family.  Just like now.”  He stepped away from her.  “Please, go.”

“But we have to find—”

“I’ll do it myself.  Just as I always have done.”

Chapter Ten

Addy had hurried several blocks before she noticed the carriage keeping pace behind her in the dark street.  She dried her eyes, pulled her hood close and rushed on.

“Oh, do come inside,” called a familiar voice.  “If I were a villain, you’d be dead twice over.”

“Hestia!  How did you—Oh, Francis.”

“Yes.  I’m going to have to take that girl in hand.”

She allowed the coachman to assist her in, and collapsed on the bench.  “Oh, Hestia!”

The older woman reached over and tugged Addy until she switched seats and they shared a bench.  Sympathy bathed her as Hestia gently stroked her hand.  “Dreadful, was it?”

“You cannot know.”  Addy found she was past tears.  A knot of guilt and grief and anger had blocked them off.

“You’d be surprised,” Hestia sighed.  “What will you do?”

She choked the words out.  “There’s nothing to be done.”

Hestia pursed her lips.  “Do you care for him?”

“Yes!”

I mean truly care for him, Adelaide.  Not with the silly, breathless passion of a schoolgirl, but with a woman’s eye for his weaknesses and needs as well as his fine shoulders and smoldering dark eyes.”

“Yes.”

“Then there is something that can be done.  You just haven’t looked hard enough.”

Addy stared.  She’d shriveled to a wasteland of hopeless, helpless heartbreak and Hestia meant to speak in riddles?

After a moment the beautiful woman decided to take pity on her.  “You just asked him to give up something precious to him, did you not?”

A tear wormed its way past the blockage.  She nodded.

“What will you give up?” Hestia asked simply.

Addy thought about it.  For a while, the carriage rocked and the silence stretched out.  “Where are we going?” she suddenly asked.

“We’re taking you home.  The long way.  It seems you need the time.”

“Why?” she snapped.  “So I can spin around and around in a hopeless circle?”

“So you can
think
, darling.  Poor Vickers is lovely, but he’s just a man.  The chances are high that he’s unable to tell you exactly what he needs, but if you two are truly close, then I’ll wager he’s shown you a sign or two.  Now it’s your turn.  Can you show him that you’ve been paying attention?

“You don’t understand,” Addy cried.  “It’s too complicated.   Even before tonight’s fiasco, it was hopeless.  He won’t consider a respectable girl and I cannot . . .”  She stopped, her eyes gone wide.

“There it is,” Hestia said comfortably.

“But if I . . . If he . . .”  Fear, hope and her pounding heart blasted the cold knot.  “What if he will not go along with it?”

“This is real life, Adelaide, and if I’m not mistaken, real love.  Neither ever comes with a guarantee.”

“My mother had one,” she said bitterly.

“She had no such thing.  She was plagued with just as many uncertainties.  Your father might have been appalled at her behavior.  Her father might have packed her off to the Continent or a convent.”  She narrowed her eyes.  “What your mother had was
courage
.  Are you her daughter or are you not?”

Addy scowled.  “Yes!”

Hestia sat back.  “Good.”

The plan flashed in her head, fully complete, like one of her stories.  “I know what I need to do.”

“I thought you might.”

***

Weariness settled in his core and dragged at his soul.  Vickers entered Half Moon House through the back passage and detoured into the kitchen. 

“Good afternoon, Peggy,” he said, snatching up a roll from a basket on the wide plank table.

“Afternoon.”

He bit into the bread and then paused to make a face back at the girl. 

“I know, sir.  We’re all missing Callie.  Hope she’ll be back soon.”

He tossed the bun back to her.  “I do too, for your sake.”  Nodding his head toward the main section of the house, he asked, “Is she in her office?”

“No.  Front parlor.  And you’d best hurry, she’s been waitin’ on you.”

Vickers couldn’t find the energy to hurry.  Though his confrontation with Addy had left him twisted and jagged inside, he’d still gone out for the rest of the night—and most of today.  He’d burned up his grief and fury dogging the footsteps of a couple of his father’s cronies, waiting and watching.  Sooner or later, one of them would make a mistake—and he would be there. 

He’d come home just wanting to sleep for a day or three, and had not been thrilled to find the summons from Hestia.  But he’d turned around and headed out, largely because he wanted to know everything she knew about the abduction of that Russian girl.

But that wasn’t the girl on his mind as he made his way through the house.  He sighed.  Addy.  He’d been too rough on her, too quick to lay blame when she was trying to protect her family the same way he was his.  He’d stopped at her aunt’s house, but had been turned away.

He paused on the threshold of Hestia’s front parlor.  She sat near the windows, reading a letter.  When she looked up, he nodded, then entered to throw himself in the matching seat.  He scrubbed his hands over his face and looked over at her.

“Do you know where she is?  I called, but the servants said she wasn’t at home.  They were acting strangely, though.”

Hestia leaned forward.  “Why?  What do you want to say to her?”

He didn’t answer for a while.  Then he sat forward and put his head in his hands.  “I want to tell her what you told me, when first we met.  Do you remember?  You taught me how to fight him without destroying myself, but you also told me that living well would be the best revenge.”

“I’m glad you remember.”

“I heard you, but I couldn’t picture it, couldn’t understand.”

Her gaze softened in a way that few were ever privileged to see.  “And now you do?”

He nodded.  “Yes.  But I’m afraid I was . . . harsh with her.  I said things I should not have.”  The weight inside him settled on his chest.  “I’m afraid I’ve ruined things before they’ve really begun.”

She gave him a little smile and sat forward—and paused at the sound of a loud rapping upon the front door.

“Oh, dear,” she sighed.  “I’m afraid that’s for you.”

“For me?”

She stood.  “Come over to the window and see.”

He did, looking out onto Craven Street.  He cursed to see the afternoon sun gilding the edges of his father’s coach.

“He’s been waiting for over an hour.”  She placed a hand on his arm.  “You don’t have to go out there.”

She was right.  He didn’t owe the vile old man a damned thing.  Common sense told him not to engage, but instead he heeded his burning anger, the old hurts and betrayal, and he threw open the door, sidestepped around the footman in his family’s livery, and crossed over to the spot where his father leaned out of his carriage window.

“I knew you’d come running right to your whore.”

“Worried enough to track me down, Father?”

“Your fun is past, boy.  You’ve had your taste of blood, pricking me with the fates of all my past concubines, but it’s over now.”

It would never be over, especially now that he’d gotten a whiff of victory.  No, he would never give up—but he would never let his father see how much it cost him, either.

So he pasted on his most infuriating, devil-may-care smile.  “To no one’s surprise, I find I disagree with you.  I’ve not had nearly enough fun.”

“You won’t get any more out of this gambit.  The Mitford widow is vain and shallow.  Do you think she’ll help you, at her own expense?”  He laughed.  “She’s had a hint of what she’s up against and knows better than to fight it, even if you haven’t caught on, yet.”  He cast a withering glance at Half Moon House.  “You should learn to make better choices when it comes to your friends.  I have, and I want you to watch while I start to reap the benefits.”

Vickers smoldered, but suddenly Addy’s voice rang in his head. 
It’s harder to scare someone.  Then you have to know what they don’t want to hear—or make a good guess.

Instantly, it all became clear.

He shook his head, thinking quickly, all the while keeping that insouciant grin in place.  “Oh, don’t worry.  I’ll be watching.  I wouldn’t look away now for the world.  I’m about to have more fun than I’ve done in all my life.”

His father sneered.  “You’re a fool and you’ll know it soon enough.”

He laughed.  “No, Father.  That lesson will be yours to learn.  Both Marstoke and I are eager to see the moment when it all comes clear.”

“What?”  His father paled.  “What do you know of—”

“Marstoke?”  He threw back his head and looked at the sky.  “I take it back.  Perhaps I am a fool,” he mused, rubbing his chin.  “Yes, I’m a damned idiot for suffering some remnant of those old lessons in family duty—because I’m seriously considering telling you.”

“You’re bluffing,” the viscount sneered.

“Fine, then.  Goodbye, sir.”  He turned on his heel.

“Wait—Damn you, James!  Marstoke is no joking matter.  Tell me what you know, right now!”

He stared, considering.  “I’ll give you the warning you don’t deserve, if you promise to hand Mother over to my protection.”  He examined his fingernails.  “If you’re smart you’ll be halfway to the Americas by tomorrow, in any case, and she’ll only slow you down.”

“These scare tactics aren’t going to work.  I know when you’re blowing smoke.”

Vickers laughed.  “That’s a pony you’ve just won me, Father.  I told Marstoke you’d say that.”

“Told him when?  You don’t travel in his circles.” 

“Neither did you, until . .  .”  He shook his head.  “No, never mind.”

“Tell me, damn you!”

“Are we agreed about Mother?”

“Fine!  You can have the addled cow.”

He shook his head.  “Evil to the end.  Very well.  I told Marstoke so, when I handed you over to him on a silver platter.”  He rolled his eyes.  “Did you really think he needed help in setting a pigeon amongst the Queen’s women?  Or help plucking up one lone little Russian girl?  What he needed was a scapegoat—and I gave him you.  Someone dull-witted but tainted enough to believably pin the deed on.”  He snickered.  “The Home Office might be slow in putting the pieces we left together, but they’ll be along soon enough.”

His father had gone fish-eyed.  “You lie!”

He laughed.  “You may believe it if you like.  Just don’t expect me to visit you while you await trial.”  He pulled out his watch and consulted it.  “Enjoy your last day or so of freedom.”  He dropped the grin at last.  “If you run, steer clear of France, I believe they’ve had word that Marstoke might have run there, and he won’t take kindly to you escaping his net.  Goodbye, Father.”

“This isn’t over,” the old man yelled as he walked away.  “I can destroy you from abroad as easily as from across Town.”  He shouted to his driver to head for home, quickly.

Vickers turned to watch him go, stunned that it might have actually worked.  “On the contrary, I think that it finally is over.”

Dumbfounded, he stood there for several moments.  Then he turned and sprinted back inside. 

Hestia was waiting at the window.  “Did you just make that up, on the spot?”

He nodded.

Shaking her head, she laughed.  “Well, done.”

“Where is she?” he asked.

Hestia smiled.  “She’s waiting for you in Hyde Park.”

Chapter Eleven

Once committed, Addy toiled all day to see the thing done right.  She chose her location carefully, putting her team of carpenters to work at Hyde Park Corner, where she could be guaranteed not only a crowd of aristocrats, but also a large party of spectators spilling in from the junction of busy streets.

The musicians arrived mid-afternoon.  She gave them their direction then headed home to make her own preparations.

By the fashionable hour she was back, arrayed in her most exquisite blue ball gown, standing atop her newly constructed, raised dance floor, listening to the lovely strains of music competing with the noise of the traffic—and waiting.

Onlookers gathered.  Word spread.  The crowd grew.

Still, she waited.

They called questions, advice, bawdy offers and taunts.

She adjusted her newly, scandalously lowered bodice and waited.

At last a disturbance broke out on the edges of the crowd.

“Look, there!”

“On the Knightsbridge side,” someone shouted.

It was he.  He came pelting in from the intersection, staring wildly at the assembled throng.  People shouted, slapped him on the back, then parted, forming a path—and he caught sight of her.

He rushed through the open space and thrilled them all with a magnificent leap atop her dais.

“Hell and damnation, Addy.  What are you doing?”

She swept into a curtsy, graceful and magnificently low.  “I’m asking you to dance.”

He reached for her, looking chagrinned.  “No, no.  You don’t have to—”

She stayed where she was.  “But I do.”

“Stand up!”

“Not until you agree to dance with me, Mr. Vickers.”

Shouts of encouragement nearly drowned out the music. 

“Come on, Vickers, give the lady a dance!”

“No, keep her bent over, just like that!”

“Oh, very well, I’ll dance with you.  Just please get up!”

She did, keeping hold of both of his hands as he helped her to her feet.  “I’m not The Celestial any longer, James.  I’ve taken a wrong step, in spectacular and memorable fashion.  I’m not perfect—and now everyone knows it.”

Exquisite awareness beat through her every vein as he lifted a finger and smoothed her brow.  “Oh, but you are.  All your imperfections fit seamlessly with mine. 
Together
we are perfect.”

“My name will be on every gossip’s lips tonight.  My image in every scandal sheet tomorrow.”  She grinned.  “Now I’m exactly the sort of girl your father would not wish you to consort with—which I very much hope means that you will.”

His laugh touched her in secret places.  “Scandalous or not, you are the only girl I mean to consort with.”  He took her in his arms.  “The only one I mean to marry.” 

He bent over her and this kiss, so soft and warm, tasted of purpose and joy instead of indecision and doubt. 

“Will you?” he asked.

“Yes,” she whispered, and the crowd sighed.

He lifted his head.  “Let’s do it quickly.  I’ll get a special license tomorrow.”

“We’d best, or Great-Aunt Delia will have your head on a platter.”

The musicians struck up a waltz.

“Dance with me,” she whispered.

The mob fell silent as he took her hand in his and set his other at her waist.  The music drifted on the breeze and the sun shone down a benediction as he led her out.

Never had there been a dance like this.  Alone on the platform, they moved together as if they’d practiced every day of their lives.  He held her scandalously close and she pressed closer still, reveling in his scent and warmth and the incredibly safe, stimulating feel of him surrounding her.  Their feet might have been on air, so lightly they moved, so perfectly in time with each other and the swell of the music.  The traffic, the park, the crowd all faded and she was just a woman, sublimely suited to a man.

Applause broke out as the song faded.

“I promise, James, now that I am wicked too, that I’ll do anything to help you in your cause.  I’ll don a disguise or flirt with your father’s disreputable friends or bribe my way in to see your mother.  Anything that will help or ease your mind.”

He gripped her shoulders.  “Thank you for the offer, my sweet, but we may not have to worry any longer.  In fact . . .” He gazed speculatively out over the crowd, then pulled her to the edge of the dais.

They all fell silent, waiting.

“It would seem that my father, the viscount, has been implicated in crimes against the government.  If, by chance, he owes any of you money, I’d see about collecting now.  I predict he’ll be running for the nearest port any minute now.”

She covered her mouth, questioning him with a look as several men detached themselves from the group to head for the street.  “What’s happened?”

“It turns out that I can tell a story, too.”  He explained.

“James!  That was brilliant!”

He shrugged.  “You inspired me.  I admit I’m disheartened, though, that you won’t need to resort to disgraceful behavior.  If I ask nicely, will you flirt, bribe and wear a disguise, just for me?”

“Any time you ask,” she promised.  “I’m aiming to gain a new nickname, now that the old must be tossed aside.”  She nodded toward the crowd.  “I mean to give them plenty of stories to tell about me and they’ll need to call me something.”  She tilted her head.  “Do you have any ideas?”

“I quite like the sound of Mrs. Vickers.”

“Hmm . . .”  She bit her lip.  “I think I prefer . . .  the Wicked Mrs. Vickers.”

He held her tight.  “So do I.”