Cupid's Mistake (Cupid Regency Romance) (21 page)

Many still believed in love as well, so Harry—Eros— had not lost much of his strength. But he was not as strong as he used to be, for he had lost his own love, and he was strongest when he loved as well as when he was loved. When the gods began to lose their power, he had quarreled with his Psyche, for she believed the gods lost their power because they had become too distant from mortals. She would think that, of course, because she had been mortal herself at one time. But then she had disappeared, and only the sound of her voice whispering
"find me, find me" had echoed in their empty house at Olympus.

She had been right, or so Hecate had confirmed. And once he found his Psyche, it would save the gods from fading into extinction, forgotten by mortals forever.

So why did he return to Psyche Hathaway? He did not know. She had the same name, though other mortal females had worn the name, too. Perhaps . . . perhaps she held some clue to the whereabouts of his own Psyche. Who knew why she might! She was a stubborn and argumentative child, and he did not see how she might hold a clue to saving the gods at all.

But if she did, he supposed he should stay to find it out. He had looked most everywhere, after all, and was weary of searching right now. He grinned. Besides, she was a funny child, and it amused him to tease her. It would be especially amusing to see how she went about healing the rift between Lord Blytheland and Cassandra Hathaway without his help.

* * * *

Something was wrong. Psyche woke up and bumped her head against the side of the coach. It was moving!

"Well, well. The Sleeping Beauty has awakened," said a soft voice.

Psyche gave a little shriek and shrank back into a comer of the coach.
"You are not Lord Blytheland!" she said, and stared at the man. He was definitely not the marquess. This man had dark hair, where Lord Blytheland had blond hair, and he was older, too.

"
No, I am not. I am Lord Crawforth. And you are . . ?"

She did not like thi
s man. There was something . . . bad about him, about the way he looked at her. She was used to seeing what people were feeling when she looked into their eyes, but she saw no feeling in this man's eyes, and it made her afraid. But it never did any good to show one's fear, her father always said, so she would not. "I have got into the wrong coach," she said firmly. "I am very sorry, but will you stop it so I may go to the right one?"

"
But you have not told me your name, little one." Psyche did not like his voice, either. He made slight hissing sounds when he talked, like a snake—or should have, for he looked at her as if he were thinking whether she should be a side dish or a main course.

"
Psyche Hathaway. There! I have told you, so you must stop the coach. Now, please."

Lord Crawforth looked thoughtful.
"No, I think I like company on my travels. You shall do very well. How old are you?"

She began to feel very afraid now.
"I do not see why I should tell you that, especially since I do not want to go with you. You shall stop this coach and I shall leave!" She stamped her foot—it was better to be angry than afraid. "If you do not, I shall scream—loudly."

His hand came up and seized her chin, forcing her to look at him. His eyes were cold, cold as ice.
"You shall do as I say. You shall indeed come with me, because I wish it. Who are you but a nobody, an insignificant thing? If you scream, I shall simply tell everyone that you are mine, that you are misbehaving. Why should they believe you, and not me?"

Psyche turned and grabbed the carriage handle, almost opening it, but Lord Crawforth pulled her roughly away. She bit him and scratched him, but he was stronger than she, and tore the ribbon from her hair and tied her hands with it.

"There now," he said, breathing heavily from his efforts. "Do be a good girl and stay still."

Psyche glared at him, refusing to cry. She wished she had left a message at home about where she had gone. At least her mother or Cassandra would have known where to start looking for her. Or Harry. She shut her eyes tightly to keep the tears from falling. She wished she hadn
't argued with Harry and told him to go away. He would have been here with her, if she had not. That would have comforted her and perhaps they would have thought of a way for her to escape.

But perhaps
. . . perhaps he had not really gone. Perhaps he was punishing her a little by not showing himself. Oh, she hoped it was so. For he was, really, her only chance to escape from Lord Crawforth. She took a deep breath.

"
Harry! Harry!" she screamed.

Immediately, Lord Crawforth
's hand clamped over her mouth. "None of that, my dear. A stupid thing to do. We have traveled quite a way from where we started, and if your Harry was near then, he certainly is not now."

She bit his hand.

"Damn you!" His hand went to her throat instead. "If you do that again, I shall throttle you, depend upon it." His fingers squeezed upon her neck to prove it. "Do you understand?"

Slowly, she nodded, and he released her. He smiled.
"That's a good girl. I like good, obedient girls. You will be good, won't you?"

Psyche did not want him to like her, for she felt somehow Lord Crawforth did not treat good girls well at all. In which case, she would try to be as bad as possible.

And hope and wish and pray that Harry would come to her.

Chapter
13

Cassandra was in the midst of untying her bonnet ribbons when her mother burst into the drawing room.
"Did Psyche return with you?" Lady Hathaway asked.

"
Why, no, Mama. I invited her to come with me to the draper's, but she refused."

Her mother
's face creased in a worried frown. "She is not in this house."

A chill went through Cassandra
's heart, but she made herself think sensibly. "Perhaps . . . perhaps she decided otherwise, and decided to follow me out?"

"
But surely she would have told someone?" her mother replied. "I thought to have her do some mending, for she is very good with fine work, but she is not in her room! I knew you were going on your errands, and so assumed she was with you." She wrung her hands and paced the room. "Oh, heavens! Your father would be away now, and I shall scold Kenneth when next I see him for making it necessary for your father to go to Cambridge."

"
Did she leave a note, or. . . or perhaps one of the servants knows?" Cassandra asked.

Lady Hathaway shook her head.
"No, I found no note. The servants do not know, either, although I suppose I could ask—"

A knock on the door took her attention, and when the door opened, Thrimble and a maid entered.

"Begging your pardon, my lady, miss, but Gwennie has just returned and has some knowledge of Miss Psyche's whereabouts," the butler said and pushed the maid forward. The girl glanced at them nervously and held out a bonnet to Lady Hathaway.

"
It's Miss Psyche's bonnet, my lady. We was goin' to Lord Blytheland's 'ouse, and her bonnet flew off acos o' the wind. She asked me to fetch it for 'er, but when I came back, she was gone." The maid hung her head and began to cry. "I looked all over for 'er, I did! But she warn't anywhere! And she wot was so kind when me brother 'ad the flux! I'm afeared somethin' turrible 'as got 'er, my lady. I ran fast as I could, so as you'd know."

"
Lord Blytheland!" Lady Hathaway exclaimed. Cassandra glanced at her mother and found her staring in astonishment at her.

"
Mama, I have no idea why she would—" A mix of dread and embarrassment crept into her. "She said she thought . . . oh, heavens!" She turned to her mother. "She said she could help—she must have gone to his house to speak to him."

Lady Hathaway groaned.
"It only needed this! And of course your father would be gone now when we need him! What could the girl have been thinking of?" The maid wailed louder, and Lady Hathaway waved an irritated hand at her. "Oh, for goodness sakes, do go away! And you, too, Thrimble."

"
Perhaps we should go to Lord Blytheland's house," Cassandra said tentatively after the maid and butler left. "It is not as if we would enter it, after all, and it is an emergency."

Lady Hathaway shook her head.
"I suppose so . . . but your father is supposed to return today. I do not know when. One of us must stay, but it is very awkward, whichever one goes—oh, what is it now?" she said when the butler returned.

Thrimble cleared his throat
"'Tis Lord Blytheland, my lady."

"
Thank goodness!" Lady Hathaway exclaimed. "Perhaps he has brought her home."

But Psyche was not with the marquess when he entered the drawing room. Lady Hathaway sank into a chair and groaned again.

Lord Blytheland strode to her side. "Ma'am, you are not well—is there something I can do to help you?"

"
My lord, have you seen Psyche?" Cassandra asked. He turned to look at her, and she felt a blush rising, but gazed at him steadily. He wore a greatcoat of many capes, dressed for travel.

"
No, I have not," he replied. "I came to make a last call upon you—I am leaving London."

"
Leaving?" The ache that sat so heavily in Cassandra's heart of late turned to pain.

"
I thought it best." Blytheland gave her a slight smile. "Country air does clear people's minds, I have heard. But come, what is this about Miss Psyche?"

"
She has disappeared," Cassandra said, and wrung her hands. "The maid who accompanied her said she went to your house, and then she was lost disappeared—I do not know! We thought perhaps you came to bring her back, but you say you never saw her. And my father is not home—he has gone to Cambridge to see to my brother's matters."

"
Then you—one of you—must come with me, and we will search for her. I have my carriage outside, but I am afraid it cannot hold more than three." He looked at Cassandra for a long moment, then transferred his gaze to Lady Hathaway.

"
Go, Cassandra," her mother said. "Someone must be here to inform your father should he come home early, and what if my poor child should return by herself, to find me gone?"

"
I would be here, Mama, for either of them."

Lady Hathaway
's lips trembled, and she put a shaking hand to her mouth. "It is not the same as having her mother—what if she should be injured? No, no, you go, Cassandra, I will stay here."

Cassandra gazed at Lord Blytheland and thought she saw hope in his eyes. She swallowed and lifted her chin. I cannot think of myself at this time, she thought. I must think of Psyche, and she must be found. She nodded.
"Very well," she said. Quickly, she pulled on the pelisse she had just taken off and hurried to the door.

When they stepped out of the house, Lord Blytheland took her hand and helped her up into the carriage. There was, indeed, not much room in it. If she pushed herself to the far edge of it, she could manage not to have her leg press against his, but to do so would have been awkward. She made herself relax and think of where Psyche might be.

"Shall we start at your house, my lord, since that was where she was seen last?" she asked as calmly as she could.

He glanced at her and nodded.
"That was my thought also. She might well have gone inside upon finding I was not there. That must be what happened, and we shall have your sister returned home in no time at all."

"
No doubt." It was a comforting thought. She should have thought of this very sensible answer to Psyche's disappearance herself, for the maid had not mentioned asking at Lord Blytheland's house to see if Psyche had slipped inside in an attempt to see him. Cassandra sighed. But then, she hadn't been thinking very clearly lately, had she?

They rode on in silence. Cassandra clasped her hands tightly in her lap, searching the crowded London streets in front of them and feeling thankful Psyche possessed a remarkable amount of bright red hair. She would be easily seen in this crowd. But though her eyes caught every spot of red possible, none of it signaled Psyche
's presence. Perhaps she was, indeed, safely in Lord Blytheland's house.

At last the marquess reined in his horses and leapt down, looping the reins upon the iron railing in front of his house.
"Wait here—I shall look inside and bring her out again." Cassandra nodded.

A minute passed, then another. It could not take that long to find Psyche, could it? Cassandra bit her lower lip and stared at her hands on her la
p, impatiently creasing and uncreasing a fold in her dress. She could not go in, of course, but the waiting was becoming intolerable.

"
Cassandra."

She looked up, expecting the marquess, and froze. There, in front of her, delicately perched on the buckboard of Lord Blytheland
's carriage, was a boy. She swallowed and felt a little dizzy. "Who . . . who are you?"

The golden-haired boy gazed at her solemnly.
"I'm Harry, Psyche's friend." His wings fluttered in an impatient manner. "She needs help, quickly. My arrows are not made for what needs to be done, so you must come, and Lord Blytheland, too."

Cassandra closed her eyes, then opened them.
"I must be imagining this."

"
No, you are not." He reached over and gave her a hard pinch. "There, you see?"

She rubbed her arm—there was, indeed, a red welt on it now, and the crescent marks of two fingernails.
"So you do exist," she said wonderingly. She gingerly reached out to touch his knee and felt cloth and warm skin. He allowed it, much like a disdainful cat allowing itself to be patted, tolerant only. She stared at his wings and the quiver of arrows on his back. "And not 'Harry'—Eros, I suppose?" she asked.

He grinned suddenly, a mischievous expression lighting his blue eyes, and she could not help being charmed by it.
"Yes. But Harry will do." He glanced impatiently at Blytheland's house. "I wish he would hurry. When he comes, tell him to go to Green Park—they are going in that direction. It's a yellow carriage, and the crest is blue with black swords crossing over a white tower."

"
Perhaps you should tell—"

"
No. I dislike being seen. You are her sister, and she is in trouble, so I have made an exception in your case."

"
Well, I do not see how you can say that! Anyone may see you now."

He grinned, and it was more mischievous than ever.
"Only you can see me at this moment. Everyone who has seen you speak to me has been thinking how odd it is that such a lovely young lady is talking to nothing at all."

If this was what Psyche
's friend usually was like, it was just as well she did not see or hear him, Cassandra thought, irritated. Harry glanced at the house again and made an impatient sound.

"
Tell him where to go. I am going back to Psyche and see what I can do." And with a flick of his wings, his shape shimmered and he disappeared.

Cassandra could almost convince herself she had imagined it all, but her arm still hurt where Harry had pinched her. And what if it were true, and she failed to act upon it, and Psyche was hurt? She could not take the chance. She glanced at the door of the marquess
's house and bit her lip. There was no time to think of proprieties now, not when her sister was in trouble. Hastily, she descended from the carriage and knocked on the door. A footman answered.

"
I am Miss Cassandra Hathaway. Tell Lord Blytheland to come—I know where my sister is, and he need not search his house if that is what he is doing," she said. "Go, quickly, tell him!" The footman nodded and left.

Only a minute passed before Lord Blytheland ran out of the house, looking distracted.
"Where?" he said tersely as he gathered up the reins.

"
Green Park. A . . . boy saw her climb into a yellow coach and it was going in that direction."

Blytheland groaned as he shook the reins.
"There must be dozens of yellow coaches going toward Green Park."

"
It has a crest—blue, with two swords and a tower."

"
Devil take it." Blytheland's face hardened, then he glanced at Cassandra.

'
Tell me!"

"
Lord Crawforth. He has . . . fast horses."

His jaw was tight and he would not look at her but stared steadily in front of him, concentrating upon his horses. There was something about Lord Crawforth he did not want to tell her, and she was sure he would not tell her no matter how she pressed him. Please let Psyche be safe, Cassandra prayed, and closed her eyes tightly. She felt a hand close over hers, and she opened her eyes to find Lord Blytheland looking at her with such warmth and kindness that she had to look away, lest the tears she felt rising inside her spill over.

"We will find her, I promise you," he said.

It was only a promise, and he had given her promises before that she did not believe. But she believed him in this now, and felt comforted.

* * * *

"
Psyche."

It was a whisper, and Psyche almost thought she had imagined it, obscured as it was amongst the rumble of coach wheels. But she opened her eyes and there he was, staring at her solemnly. She almost burst into tears of relief, but bit her lip hard to prevent it.

"Harry!" she exclaimed at last.

Lord Crawforth turned from his perusal out the window and stared at her.
"How you do persist. Stupid girl. Have I not told you your Harry cannot hear you? If you do not stop, I shall be forced to tie up your mouth as well."

Psyche shrank into her comer of the coach and Lord Crawforth smiled
pleasantly. She glanced at Harry and was glad she was not Lord Crawforth. Harry's face was stormy, and his presence seemed, oddly, too large for the coach, though he had not changed in any other way. If she had thought Harry might be dangerous when he was irritated, she had been quite right. His normal glow was pale and translucent, but now he seemed to radiate a hot, almost venomous light when he looked at Lord Crawforth. Psyche shivered. As bad as Lord Crawforth was, she was certain what punishment Harry planned for him would be worse.

But then Harry looked at Psyche, and his expression and his light softened and he smiled encouragingly at her.
"Psyche, I want you to be ill."