EscapeWithMe (4 page)

What she did know was that in just a few more years, a
bloody revolution would rip France apart, leading to the execution of Louis
XVI, who had assisted the US in its own revolution. She knew that Napoleon
Bonaparte would be making war by the end of the century, that George Washington
would become the first US president, that new cities and countries would be
founded and ocean routes explored.

Yet for all her foreknowledge, here she was, a woman in a
red dress attending a performance of
Twelfth Night
at a London theater.
No one could ever guess that she knew the histories of the world to come.

“Miss Saunders, do you spy anyone we know?” Mrs. Hayes
tapped the yellow sleeve of Milly’s dress with her fan.

“No,
madame
. At least, not anyone we want to know.”

Sam idly glanced at Ann, who was smiling at someone in the
crowd. In the direction of Ann’s gaze was a very young man, perhaps in his late
teens. He wasn’t dressed very richly, but he was very handsome and was smiling
back at Ann.

“If you would please excuse me, dear,” Mrs. Hayes said. Sam
detected reprisal in the older woman’s tone and watched as Mrs. Hayes stepped
between Ann and the young man. She said something harsh to Ann, who turned away
from the man with a frown.

Mrs. Hayes hooked elbows with Sam again. “Well now, shall we
proceed inside?”

A strict house, indeed.

The crowd was far denser in the theater lobby and the noise
level far louder. Sam looked around in wonder, taking in the sight of everyone
in their fripperies and gossipy fan-snapping. The lobby was certainly grand
with high ceilings and an abundance of candles. No wonder fires were a problem.

Mrs. Hayes and Milly murmured comments to each other and Ann
stood silently next to Sam, who felt as though she were at a sixth-grade
dance—uncomfortable and unwanted. Quite a few theater-goers had turned their
disdainful attention to her. A pair of women whispered behind their hands while
looking askance at her. A trio of ladies was downright contemptuous, as if she
were something scandalous.

The men in the crowd looked at her like a piece of meat and
something in their knowing smiles made her skin crawl. One middle-aged man with
a sizable paunch and a beauty patch next to his large nose was so obvious in
his ogling that Sam had to turn away from his licentious eyes.

“How rude,” she said. “Why is everyone staring at me?” She
gently patted her hair, wondering if the carefully arranged mass of hair piled
on top of her head had lost a pin. Worse, perhaps her neckline was far too low.
She was close to spilling out of her dress. Then again, most of the ladies in
the lobby were guilty of the same.

Mrs. Hayes placed her gloved hand on Sam’s arm. “They’re
simply—ah, curious about you, Miss Reed. Owing to their love of the theater,
many visitors are regulars and tend to know most everyone else. Come, let us
ascend to the second gallery and take our seats. It is far too warm in here for
my liking, I can tell you that.”

The four of them went upstairs, where some sort of pre-show
variety act was entertaining the crowd. Sam was squashed between Ann’s and
Milly’s enormous skirts, which were already at least twice as wide as a woman’s
real hips thanks to some ridiculous panniers. The bench had no back on which to
lean, but the corset kept her spine straight.

The play itself was awesome. The audience was surprisingly
loud, including the talkative Mrs. Hayes who offered constant commentary for
every scene, but the actors projected very well over the soft din. A change of
actresses for the role of Viola elicited much whispering concerning the
replacement of Miss Younge. When the change was announced, Sam recalled the
conversation between the tall man and the tavern keeper. Was the actress’s
absence related? Who was the tall man looking for?

As Mrs. Hayes had predicted, the actor playing the part of
Malvolio was the crowd’s favorite. He not only looked the part but his antics
had Sam laughing right from the first minute he set foot on stage.

After the final scene, an intermission was announced while
the theater rearranged the stage for the first of their after-show
performances. Milly leaned across Sam’s lap to speak to Mrs. Hayes. “Please may
we stay a little longer? Sir Andrew’s actor is to perform an afterpiece
tonight.”

“Surely Miss Reed is exhausted,” Mrs. Hayes said. “Such a
trying day it has been for her. I’m sure we shall see Mr. Edwin again another
night.” Milly pouted but didn’t argue, for which Sam was grateful. She was
nearly spent, and it had been a day far more trying than Mrs. Hayes would have
ever guessed.

They went downstairs to the lobby again, which was even more
packed than before. Everyone was gathered in huddles, either exclaiming
compliments of the performance or whispering over a juicy bit of gossip.

“Ah, I spy someone you should meet. Wait here a moment,
ladies.” Mrs. Hayes set off into the mob. Milly sighed as if bored and Ann was
yawning, but what reason was there to be bored when people-watching was so
fascinating? The mix of classes and their mutual snubbing, the amusing
pretension of the overly self-important, and best of all—the clothes.

A quick glance at a person’s clothing and perceived level of
elegance was enough to tell one class apart from another. The upper crust held
themselves differently, the ladies more demure in their gestures and the men
more gallant. Some ladies wore very simple necklaces adorned only with a tiny
cross while others wore gaudy bib-like necklaces heavy with semi-precious
materials. It was strange to see so many men dressed in pastels and flowery
embroidery, and she stared at the powdered wigs of some of the theater-goers
with morbid curiosity, wondering what kind of vermin was secretly breeding
within.

“Miss Samantha?” Milly sounded serious.

“What is it?”

“That man.” Milly nodded at the back wall of the lobby.
“He’s been staring at us and looks rather unpleasant.” Sam followed Milly’s
gaze and just as she had said, someone in the back of the lobby was staring at
them. The blood drained from Sam’s face upon recognizing the tall man from the
fruit market earlier that day. Once their eyes met, he strode toward them with
his chin down and his mouth set in a small frown.

“He’s coming this way,” Milly squeaked.

“Miss Reed,” Mrs. Hayes called in singsong. She was
returning to them with a well-dressed man in tow. “I would like you to meet
someone
very
important.” Sam’s eyes flicked back and forth between Mrs.
Hayes and the tall man, who had stopped very near to them. He stood alone
between packs of theater-goers, and a group of uppity ladies near him raked him
with cold once-overs.

“Good evening,” the well-dressed man said. Sam wrenched her
attention away from the tall man and looked at the one speaking to her.

“Good evening,” she parroted. Mrs. Hayes widened her eyes at
her and Sam realized a formal bow was required. Milly pulled her down and they
completed an awkward curtsy. “Miss Reed, you have the honor of addressing the
Marquess of Graham.”

The marquess gave her a tight-lipped, self-important smile.
He was in his late twenties and he wasn’t particularly handsome, but his face
was clean and he didn’t smell like cigar smoke or BO.

“Mrs. Hayes tells me you’ve only just arrived in London,”
the marquess said with a Scottish accent. “May I say, London is all the better
for it. You look very well indeed.” Sam looked down at her dress and then back
up at him. Was he flirting? “May I inquire as to the province from which you’ve
arrived?”

Sam looked to Mrs. Hayes for help. The woman mouthed the
correct address for a marquess. “I’m from America, your lordship,” she said.
“New York, to be specific.”

The marquess chuckled indulgently. “An American? Whatever
are you doing in England? If you don’t want us in your so-called country then
why not stay out of ours?”

“Um.” Sam certainly didn’t want to be here. She’d go back to
her own time if she could. She looked to her patroness, but just when Mrs.
Hayes would have said something, the marquess interrupted.

“Oh, are you a Loyalist, come back to the empire that gave
you your culture?”

“I am, your lordship.” It was as good an excuse as any. She
didn’t care what he believed about her.

“Ah, but forgive me. I did not mean to talk of such things. After
all, ladies as beauteous as you have neither the inclination nor capacity for
political discourse.” The marquess laughed. Amazingly, Mrs. Hayes tittered
along with him.

Sam’s jaw dropped.
What?

“A wise person would see the war from both sides. Though we
revolted, we had good cause. Why were you surprised at our anger when you made
us dependent on England for manufacturing?” The marquess’s eyes bulged.

“Now, now—” Mrs. Hayes said. The marquess cut her off.

“You dare speak to me in that manner. You are not capable of
anything more than your own vapid interests.” Two bright-red spots appeared on
his cheeks.

“Do you kiss your mother with that delusion?”

Mrs. Hayes intervened, physically stepping between Sam and
the marquess with Milly in tow. “Your lordship, this is another of my
mademoiselles
,
Miss Amelia Saunders. She is come from Hertfordshire, the daughter of a
gardener on a grand estate.”

“Your lordship.” Milly curtsied again. “Words cannot express
the gratitude I feel at the honor of an introduction to a nobleman of your
worth.” Sam’s eyebrows went up at Milly’s sudden affected accent.

The marquess seemed uncertain as to which avenue he wanted
to pursue—altercation or flirtation. He turned to Mrs. Hayes. “This is most
reprehensible, Mrs. Ha—” he began.

Milly interrupted. “Your concern for our great nation is
quite passionate, your lordship. I greatly admire the vehemence of your
patriotism.” She touched her gloved fingers to his chest. Sam almost didn’t
back down, but no good would come of escalating their argument. She lowered her
eyes and stepped back.

“The sentiment is much appreciated, Miss Saunders,” he said.
“Though not nearly as much as your uncommon beauty.” From the corner of her
eye, Sam saw Milly smile coyly.

“You are welcome to look, your lordship.” Milly stroked her
hand across her cleavage. “And touch,” she softly added.

Sam’s eyes went wide. Surely this behavior was far worse
than Ann’s earlier? She was confused by Mrs. Hayes’ smiles of encouragement.
Was it simply the man’s title that earned him Mrs. Hayes’ approval? God, and
why should she be surprised? Wealth, title and connections were everything in
this age.

“I’ve detained you too long, your lordship, and deprived
your party of your excellent company,” Mrs. Hayes said. “Though I trust you are
satisfied with the introduction?”

“I am, madam.” He left without bowing his head. Everyone
breathed a sigh of relief.

“Oh Miss Reed,” Mrs. Hayes said, flustered. “I had forgotten
the marquess’s opinion of the
revolution
,” she whispered the unpopular
word, “and hadn’t a chance to warn you.”

“I—” Sam started.

“Why, it is Mr. Whitfield,” Mrs. Hayes exclaimed. “I beg
your patience, ladies. I shall return before you can say Jack Robinson.” The
woman bustled off again. Sam attempted to take a deep breath, but her corset
prevented it. When Milly suddenly squeezed her arm, Sam almost jerked her elbow
out of Milly’s reach, too tired to be civil anymore.

Then she realized the reason for Milly’s alarm. The tall man
filled Sam’s vision, quite imposing in a plain black coat with small silver
buttons and a black unembellished vest. He wore neither face powder nor a wig.
Since he had tucked his hat under his arm, she could see that his hair was
sun-bleached rather than naturally sandy-colored. A working man.

“Madam.” Had his voice been that deep this morning? Those
bright-blue eyes raked down her body and studied the neckline of her dress for
a long five seconds. “You are
devilishly
tempting. Never have I had the
fortune to discover a woman so becoming. None here could hope to compare.” He
took a step closer, looming over her. Sam understood now the reason the ladies
carried fans.

“I recognize you, of course,” he said in a softer voice.
“You were in the market this morning. Pray tell me your name—your first name,
Miss Reed.” He had heard Mrs. Hayes calling her name. Had he heard her arguing
with the marquess?

“Samantha,” she answered breathlessly. Indeed, her corset
had never felt tighter.

“A beautiful name.” He reached for her and slid his fingers
down her arm. He brought her hand to his chest and stroked his thumb across the
backs of her fingers. “Let me introduce myself. First Lieutenant Ryder West, at
your service.” He pronounced it as
lef-tenant
, and with an unwavering
stare, he lowered his head to kiss her hand.

His tongue touched her skin just before his lips did. His
eyes slid shut as he hummed in unabashed pleasure, as if he were sinking his
teeth into a sweet, succulent fruit. She pressed her free hand against her
burning cheek. A quick glance to her companion found Milly watching their
exchange with a slack jaw. Ann stood next to Milly with high eyebrows. Ryder
brushed his lips across her fingers once more before he lifted his head.

Brian had also been very self-assured, but the man before
her exuded more than just confidence. He had a palpable aura of pure sex about
him. She could find no other word to describe his blue eyes but piercing. His
gaze was so direct, so full of promises and Sam found herself leaning toward
him, gripping his hand as tightly as he held hers. He gave her an amused,
lopsided smile. He
knew
that he was affecting her.

“What is an American woman doing in London, and—at least
initially—in the guise of a man?” His eyes roamed down her body again. “I quite
prefer you as you are now. A woman with assets such as yours should not hide
them.”