A Waltz in the Park (8 page)

Hestia set down her cup.  “I should have the information on leases in a matter of days.”  Casually, she asked, “Shall I send it via the post?”

Addy grew shy again.  “Could we—if you wouldn’t mind, as I know you are very busy—but could we meet again?”

She blinked at the tenderness in Hestia’s expression.  “I was hoping we could.”  She looked again over Addy’s shoulder and this time waved someone over.  “I’m so glad you arranged to see me, but I admit I was surprised by your choice of messenger.”

“Vickers?”  Addy strove for nonchalance.  “Yes, we met quite unexpectedly—and found that we could be of use to each other.”  Miraculously, she didn’t choke on that bit of understatement.

“Did you?”  Hestia looked quite serious.  “I am glad to hear it.  The man has precious few friends and even fewer people willing to do him a good turn.”

“Truly?”

“I’m afraid so.  He is a good man, despite what you hear about him.  I’m glad to find that you are treating him fairly.”

Addy took a great swallow of tea, hoping the heat of it would provide an excuse for her deepening flush.  “Of course.  He’s been everything kind.”

“Good.  Then I will leave him in your capable hands.”  She raised her tone.  “And here he is.  My dear Vickers, thank you for delivering Adelaide to me.  We are getting on famously, so I didn’t want to keep you waiting unnecessarily.  You can leave her to me, and I shall see her home.”

Hestia Wright was no one’s fool.  What did she know?  How had she guessed?  With that glint in her eye, Addy couldn’t help but wonder if this plan was truly meant to provide them some extra time together—or to keep her from Vickers’ company.

“Is that wise?” he asked with a frown.

Hestia paused.  “I applaud the two of you for taking such care with Adelaide’s reputation.”

They both flushed higher at that.

“Thankfully, I brought the carriage instead of my little cart.  It’s innocuous enough and I’ll sit back and take care not to be seen.”

Addy felt the weight of his gaze on her skin.  She tried valiantly not to react.  She felt Hestia was watching them closely.  “Thank you so much for your help today, Mr. Vickers.”

“I feel as if I am being summarily dismissed,” he complained.

“But darling,” Hestia chuckled.  “We merely mean to set you free.  However, we would like to use you as a go-between again, if you are amenable.”  She glanced carefully between them.  “We have a further bit of business to take care of,” she finished.

“Of course.  You know I’d do anything you asked.”

“I know you would, my friend.”

He bowed and kissed her hand.  He gave Addy a nod, which she returned.  She fought back a sense of panic and a sudden sense of loss, as just like that, he was gone.

“Now we have time to chat,” Hestia said with satisfaction.  “Tell me about your sister, won’t you?”

Chapter Six

For two days Vickers stalked restlessly through his natural territory—the shabby, fringed edges of the ton.  The young bucks noted the sharpness of his temper and gave him a wide berth. 

Vickers, in turn, gave Lady Mitford a wide berth, even as he watched her closely as she moved through the social whirl.  He told himself he was biding his time, allowing her to relax after he’d given her an obvious alarm.  He told himself he was not wild for a glimpse of Addy Stockton, that he was not nervous about seeing her again after that shattering kiss, that he was not twitchy fifty times a day, thinking about kissing her again.

Then he called himself a liar.

On the third day he cursed himself for a fool and did what he usually did when he faltered or lost focus.  He fed the dragon that lived in deep in the dungeons of his soul.  He went to see his mother.

“James!”  She brightened for a second as he entered her private parlor.  “How lovely to see you!”  The smile faded, however, as she glanced fearfully at the open door behind him.  “Your father is not about, is he?”

“No.  I made sure of it.  He has a committee meeting today that will occupy him all afternoon.”

“Good.” Still, she didn’t relax.  “The servants didn’t see you?”

“No.  Only Jeddings knows I’m here.”

Jeddings was her personal servant and the one comfort in her life.  The greatest discomfort of his own was that he could not fulfill that role for her.

“Oh, that’s fine then.”  She smiled at last again and patted his hand.

They spoke quietly of small things.  The word characterized his mother’s life, as she’d long ago learned to make herself as small and invisible to her husband as possible.

“We hosted the committee chairmen for dinner a few evenings ago.  Your father said I did well.”

He knew if he asked her, she wouldn’t be able to name the committee.  Instead he smiled broadly.  “Of course you did.  You’ve always been a wonderful hostess.”

The worried, distracted look reappeared on her face.  He tried to head it off.  “Do you remember the time you led the children’s games at the village fair?  I vow, those boys and girls had never had such a grand time.”

She didn’t respond.  Her head was cocked, listening.  “You don’t suppose your father will come home early, do you?”  She gripped his hand.

“No.  He’s committed all day.  I made sure.”  He tried again.  “Do you recall the children’s faces when you served them ices?  They could scarce contain themselves.”

“I do hope they will not release early today,” she fretted.  “He’s promised that I can go home to Shropshire, you know.  Soon.”

He sighed, knowing the visit was over.  “I hope he keeps that promise this time, Mother.  But perhaps I should be going, just in case.”

She visibly relaxed.  “Perhaps it’s best, dear, although you know I’m so sorry to see you go.”

“I know.”  He promised to come again when he could, kissed her on the cheek, and left.

On the way out, he made an obscene gesture at his father’s portrait.  A wasted motion, but at least the fires of vengeance were stoked again.

For the first time, though, they didn’t warm him.  The old urgency and need were there, but the flames left him feeling bleaker and lonelier than before.

Cursing, he turned up the collar of his coat and set out for home.

For days following her clandestine visit to Vauxhall, Addy tried to go about her normal routine while uncertainties flitted about her insides like butterflies.

Waiting was not her strong suit.  She’d had no word from Hestia, nary a glimpse of Vickers.  Nothing had been settled—and more than a few things had been stirred up; her past, her future . . . and that kiss.  Oh, that kiss lived on, haunting her quiet moments and the long hours of the night. 

She tried to distract herself and succeeded, but then she had new ideas, new plans, even some new information that might be useful—and no way to convey them.

She tried to focus instead on things she could control.  She thawed her demeanor at
tonnish
events, hoping to encourage one gentleman or another.  She started preparing information for the talk she was going to have with her relatives.  She tried to keep herself as busy as her churning mind—which led her, one day, to a bookseller and stationer’s shop, in search of paper for a project.

She had two weights of paper in hand, comparing them for sturdiness, when a girl rounded a corner too quickly and bumped her.

“Oh!”  The papers slipped from her grip.

“So, sorry, Miss!”  The girl, young and scrubbed clean but dressed in homespun, bent to help her.  She handed the sheets over and met Addy’s gaze with a significant look and a wink.

Addy stared as the girl skipped back the way she’d come, then noticed the small, folded note atop the papers in her hand.

Newman and Co. in Pall Mall.  Ask for the red gauze with chenille embroidery

The papers were abandoned and she was out the door in seconds.  She refused to allow Henry to find a hack, but set out on foot, an absurd mixture of relief and anxiety lending speed to her stride.

The linen draper’s shop was bright and airy, the merchant himself short and broad.  She asked after the fabric and he smiled.

“You obviously have exquisite taste, Miss.  Allow me to escort you to our private showroom.”  Bowing low, he led the way to a back corner and opened a door with flourish.

Vickers stood there, in the center of a tiny room shelved floor to ceiling on every wall and stuffed to the brim with gorgeous fabrics of every description.

“Ohhhh,” she breathed.  Her eyes locked with his dark, intent gaze.  “Such beautiful fabrics,” she added belatedly.

Stunning, in truth, although perhaps not up to her breathless state of enthusiasm.  But better admit to a fabric-induced excess of delight than the truth, for the room was small and once inside, she stood disturbingly close to Vickers.

“Thank you, Newman,” he said.

“Of course, sir.  Call if you need aught.”  He swung the door shut.

Leaving her alone and in intimate proximity with—Vickers’ neck cloth. 

A wonderful creation, crisply creased and intricately folded, functioning as the perfect compliment to the hard edge of his jaw and the strong angle of his cheekbones.

And the only safe place for her to look, for below sat the shoulders she’d gripped when last she saw him and atop sat that lovely, determined mouth that had plundered her own.

“Come in.”

A small round table sat in the middle of the space, partially covered in designs and swatches and accompanied by two chairs.  She took one, and he the other—and here they were again, close, isolated . . . nervous.

“Hestia charged me with a delivery.”  He handed over a large packet.

“Thank you.”  She pulled out a neat, detailed description of several rooms in London, each furnished and as inexpensive as could be had without sacrificing respectability.  The distance to Crawley from both was also marked.

“Another note with a similar report on Sussex leases will come soon.”

“Thank her for me?”

He nodded.  “I wanted a chance to talk to you, thus—”  He waved a hand.

“However did you arrange it?” she asked, taking in all the wonderful sarcenets and silks.

His mouth quirked.  “I’m the Wicked Vickers.  I know every pretty nook and cranny in London.”

She grinned.  “Then I look forward to seeing more of them.”

His half-smile faded.  “We must speak of that.”

“Yes,” she agreed eagerly.  “I’ve news!  I’ve found a way to help you.”

In the same instant he said, “We must put an official end to our agreement.”

“Wait,” they both exclaimed at once.  “What?”

“Hestia’s right.  You must take care of your reputation.  Especially if you wish to take that course,” he pointed at the packet.  “After last time . . .”

“Forget last time.  Please, listen?  I’ve finally found a way I can be of real use to you.”  Hestia’s comment about Vickers having no friends to turn to had haunted her.  “Hear me out.”

He sat back with a resigned look.

“It’s true, you scared Rosamond.  She doesn’t wish to talk to you.”  She held up a hand at his protest.  “However, she does seem inclined to talk
about
you.  She’s worried, and she’s fretting out loud.  She’s begun talking of her . . . friendship with your father.”

“To you?” he scowled.

“Yes, and I’m happy to tell you what you need to know, as long as we follow the parameters of our original agreement.”

He shook his head.  “It’s not a good idea.”

“Really?  Because she told me that a mutual acquaintance paired them together.  She didn’t say whom, but the way she spoke implied that it was someone with influence.  She agreed to spend time with your father, act as his hostess as he held entertainments, and to be sure certain of her friends became acquainted with certain of his.”

“She told me nearly as much already,” he said dismissively.  “It’s not worth the risk.”

“Perhaps she did, but I’m convinced I can persuade her to reveal more.  I have time and circumstance on my side.”

“Why?  Why would you go to such trouble?”

“Because you did me such a good turn, and you didn’t even realize it.”  She fiddled with a swatch.  “I told you how important my stories are to me?  Well, they were lost to me for a good while.  Grief killed the words and scenes and people of my inner world.  Eventually time passed and we all began to live again, but I couldn’t find them.  Then I met you—and you looked right at me.  You made it easy to be my old self again—and it all started to come back.”  She felt tears welling and hated to show such weakness, but willed him to see how serious she felt about this.  “It started with that poor young girl, then with you . . . and now they are all back!  My head is full again.  I wrote a new piece for my father—we just got word that he is delayed in Spain—he’ll be thrilled to know that I’m not so alone anymore.”

“I’m happy for you.”  His tone, as gentle as she’d ever heard from him, sent a shiver along her spine and right into her core. 

“I’d like to return the favor.  I’d like to be your friend.”

“But the risk—”

“To my reputation?  We’ve done well enough so far.”  She waved her hand. at their seclusion.

“Yes, but I trust Newman completely.  We’re safe today, but can’t come back here too often.”

“You just said you knew all the good spots.”

“There’s more.  It’s not just your reputation to consider, but mine as well.”

That gave her pause.  “Yours?”

“Yes.  What if we’re caught?  What if we were somehow compromised?  I like you well enough, Miss Stockton, but you are The Celestial—the most proper debutante on the marriage market.  I can’t marry someone like you.  It would play right into my father’s hands.”

She ignored the stab of pain his words wrought.  “I don’t think I understand.”

“I told you that scandal is my greatest weapon, yes?  He abhors it.  He hates when I drag the family name through the muck.  He also, deep down, harbors the hope that I’ll one day repent, that I’ll recall what I owe my family and step back in line.”

“Not surprising, I suppose.”

“Which means I can never take a respectable Society girl to wife.  If I do, he wins a major battle, and I lose a potentially powerful weapon against him.  I’ve never made the threat, but I don’t have to.  I keep the idea in reserve, and in the meantime, just the thought that I’d choose the wrong sort of wife keeps him up at night.”

“Yes, but how do you think to end the stalemate?” Those wonderful brows broadcast her skepticism.  “Wait until you are in need of a scandal and marry a . . . a . . .
lightskirt
?”

“In all likelihood.  I’d considered marrying one of
his
, but that didn’t turn out,” he said.  “I even briefly considered Lady Mitford, but the time isn’t right and truthfully, I need to save the threat for when I really need it.”

He was entirely serious.

Shock stole her words, but only for a moment.  “You’d go that far?”

“I’ll go to any lengths,” he answered quietly.

She stared.  “Then you truly do need a friend.”

He rose from his chair and turned away.  She didn’t think he was contemplating the lutestring.

“There’s one other consideration.”  Spinning, he speared her with a glance.  “What’s between us is not friendship.”

She searched for a denial, but all this talk of battles and compromise and marriage unsettled her even further.

“You know what I mean,” he said, low.

She stood, too, determined to be as resolute as he.  “I know.”  What he meant was currently buzzing along her every nerve, making her brave and hot and reckless.  “That kiss is in the air between us, stirring up uncertainties. 
How does he feel?  What is she thinking?  Will we do it again
?”  She advanced on him.