Fascination -and- Charmed (35 page)

They galloped side by side, spurring the horses on to greater speed.

“What exactly is it that Mortimer and Pincham plan?” Arran cried. “Finish the story.”

“Gladly. Melony spoke of Mortimer hiding in the pavilion at the Muirs’ place tonight. And Mortimer agreed that it would be a perfect spot for ...” Calum’s voice trailed away.

“For ...?” Arran prompted. His breath jammed in his throat.

“Soiling the goods. Putting any paternity in question. Initiation and ruination, my friend.”

“How very grand it all is,” Grace whispered to Melony behind the red painted fan that went so well with the satin gown Kennedy had contrived to fit to Grace’s small figure.

They sat on little ivory-colored tapestry chairs in the last row assembled in the Muirs’ elegant green drawing room. The company was richly dressed. Everywhere Grace looked, jewels flashed and the colors of the ladies’ dresses made a brilliant collage amid the gentlemen’s mostly dark evening dress.

“I do think Madame Constanza may have an almond caught in her throat, don’t you?” Melony remarked, hunching her shoulders above the daringly low neckline of her magenta gros des Indes, and speaking behind her own delicate ivory fan.

Grace rolled in her lips and willed herself not to laugh aloud. The soprano, who had been singing for a very long time, did indeed sound as if something wobbled in her throat, rather like the little bobbling ball that produced birdlike sounds in a water whistle.

“What do you think of Sir Walter Scott?” Melony asked.

On Grace’s other side, Mama, who was sitting with the Reverend Mr. Felix Bastion, leaned to frown absolutely ferociously at Grace.

Grace smiled demurely and looked straight ahead at the florid-faced, straining Madame Constanza. The Reverend Bastion had hung on Mama’s every word from the moment they’d been introduced. He was, according to Lady Cuthbert, “a nonentity. A widower with a small living in some godforsaken place in Somerset. However, he is very respectable.” Lady Cuthbert, openly annoyed with Sir Mortimer for refusing to escort them to the musicale, had been contentious all evening.

Respectable
was the only word Grace had heard and noted. Let Mama enjoy whatever brief attentions came her way.

“He is puffy-faced and sickly-looking,” Grace murmured to Melony, speaking of Sir Walter Scott. “His eyes are shrunken to little slits. He and his wife both appear to be ailing.”

“I understand it is the pressure of preparing for the royal visit,” Melony said, also looking straight ahead. “This room is horribly hot. We could excuse ourselves and find some lemonade.”

“Would that not be considered rude?”

“Not at all. Lean on me and use your fan vigorously. If we are questioned, we shall say you were overcome by the vapors and that I am conducting you to find some fresh air.”

Grace did not like deceit, but she longed for a little peace and a place to be cool. “Very well.” She inclined her head to Mama. “Melony and I are going to find some lemonade. I am overheated.”

Mama tutted and returned her attention to the singer.

WIth her hand through Melony’s elbow, Grace allowed herself to be led past Lady Cuthbert—whose tutting sounded exactly like Mama’s—and from the room.

“Whew,” Melony said as soon as a footman closed the drawing room doors behind them. “I thought I should
die
in there.”

“Mm. I don’t care for the soprano, but I am looking forward to some of the other music later on.”

“That won’t be for
ages,
”
Melony said, starting downstairs. “There’ll be an intermission. Then they will serve refreshments. That will take
forever.
Do let’s go out into the gardens.”

“I thought you said we should go for lemonade.”

“And so we shall. Later. For now I think I may just
die
if I do not get out of this house for a while.”

Grace was certain they should do no such thing, but she seemed to have no choice but to follow Melony down flight after flight until they reached the ground floor.

“Surely it is not wise for us to venture forth—alone?”

“Nonsense. Don’t be such a cuckoo.”

At french doors that opened from a small parlor onto a terrace, Grace stopped. “Really, Melony, I should prefer to have lemonade now.”

“Oh—” Melony closed her mouth and considered. “Very well. We shall compromise. I’ll go with you for lemonade.
Then
you’ll come with me outside. It will be so very exciting.”

“Exciting?” Grace echoed dubiously.

“Absolutely. We shall be like two jolly boys on a lark. I know of a place I can take you where no one ever goes.”

That did not sound at all appealing to Grace.

“It isn’t far. And you will have a most exhilarating time there, I promise you.”

“I believe I am tired.”

Melony caught her hand. “Lemonade will refresh you, and then we shall go. Lovely gardens with an elegant white marble pagoda beside a small lake. At night it will be beautiful—and wonderfully tragic by moonlight. Of course, if you are afraid of adventure, then—”

“Like a temple to the moon,” Grace said, imagining the picture. “How romantic.”

“Very.”

“Moonlight on water is so lovely.”

“Ah, you have experienced moonlight on water many times,” Melony said.

“Never,” Grace told her. “But I have imagined it.”

“Then you must see it for yourself one day, but I quite understand if you are afraid at present.” Grace peered through glass panes and said firmly,

“I have changed my mind. Take me now.”

Once they were outside, dew on the grass quickly soaked Grace’s red satin slippers and the feet of her lace stockings.

“Hurry,” Melony cried when they were beyond a wall that separated the formal part of the Muirs’ garden from an area choked with trees. “Quickly. We must not take too long.”

“I’m coming,” Grace said unhappily. Her lust for adventure had rapidly sped away, and now she wished she had stood fast and refused to come outside.

“Ooh, this is so thrilling,” Melony said in hushed tones, running ahead of Grace. The trees were so close that the two women had to dodge between trunks. Dense foliage closed out the moon.

“It’s very dark,” Grace said, after almost bumping into a jagged stump. “How much farther is the lake?”

“Not far at all.” Melony found Grace’s hand in the darkness and held on tightly. “See? The water’s ahead. You can see it shimmer.”

Almost as soon as Melony mentioned the water, they were upon it.

“So black,” Grace said. Her heart knocked hard. “Like swelling ink. It looks very deep.”

“They say it is,” Melony responded. “Very deep and filled with the bones of forsaken lovers.”

“Oh!” Grace tried to tug away.

“Silly,” Melony said, laughing. “I’m only joking. There’s the pavilion.”

Grace stood still, pulling Melony to a stop beside her. “It’s
beautiful.
Absolutely glorious. So mysterious. I’ve never seen anything so wonderful.”

“Yes, yes, yes. We must hurry. If we don’t get back before the intermission, we’ll be missed. You do still want to see it up close?”

“Of course.” Shedding her fear, Grace flew around the edge of the lake with Melony toward the little white gem of a building. Its dome and the four miniature minarets at its corners shone like freshly frozen pond ice in the moon’s light.

Three curving steps led to a narrow entrance. “The door’s open,” Melony said, hanging back for the first time. “Shall we go in?”

“We certainly shall.” Grace relished the thought of being able to remind Melony that in the end, she, Grace, had been the brave member of their expedition.

“I don’t believe I can go first,” Melony whispered.

“Well, I believe I can,” Grace said, releasing Melony’s hand and marching upward toward the black opening into the building. “Come along. If you were a man, I should call you jinglebrains. There is nothing to fear.”

“Of course not,” Melony said from behind.

Grace entered the pavilion and drew in a hushed breath. Inside, beams of white light as thin as threads crisscrossed the darkness from tiny holes in the dome. The beams caught glittering speckles in the marble walls.

“Come on, do, Melony. This is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.”

A crash brought a shriek to her lips. “Melony!” Grace whirled around. “Melony! Where are you?”

There was no reply.

She took a few steps and stopped. The entrance no longer showed as an oblong in white walls. Running, Grace reached the place where she thought the doorway had been—and found it.

Closed.

Closed and apparently jammed.

“Melony! The door’s stuck. Help me!”

A scratching sound sent her whirling around. She pressed her back to the wall. “What is it? Who’s there?”

It was probably a
rat.
“Melony!”

“Hush, Grace.”

A man’s voice spoke very nearby.

Fingers sought her face.

Grace screamed.

“Hush, Grace,” he repeated. “It’s all right. You’re safe with me.”

She closed her eyes and almost collapsed with relief. “Sir Mortimer. Thank goodness it’s you.”

A man ought to make a habit of having himself a virgin from time to time.

Exhilarating, Mortimer decided, resting his hands about Grace’s neck, her slender, unsuspecting neck.

“The door must have blown shut,” she said. Her face was a pale blur touched by pinpoints of light from the holes in the dome. “Quickly, Sir Mortimer, we must open it.”

“We will,” he told her, ensuring that his voice remained warm. “We will.”

She stepped away, and he made no attempt to stop her. “Poor Melony will be out of her mind with worry. Melony! Melony, it’s all right.”

After several seconds, she turned, and he heard her fumbling with the door. “It ... it is really stuck,” she said.

Smiling, he fingered the key in his waistcoat pocket. “Let me try.” Settling a hand on her cool shoulder, he reached around and made a satisfactorily loud noise rattling the handle. “Dash me, the thing won’t open. Melony! Melony, are you out there?”

“Perhaps she can’t hear us.”

“Unlikely.” This must be handled exactly as he and Melony had planned.

“She must have gone for help.”

“You don’t know Melony as I do. Highly strung creature. This will have frightened her. Mark my words, she’ll go home to get me.”

Grace faced him once more. “Oh.” He stood so close, she automatically settled her hands on his chest and looked up into his face. “But you are not at home. You are here.”

“Melony doesn’t know that, does she?”

“I suppose not.”

“So she will go home, discover I’m not there, and then try to decide what to do next.”

“Oh, my.”

“Oh, my indeed. She will not go back to the company for fear of Theodora’s—and your mama’s—wrath at her for bringing you out here.”

Grace’s fingers curled on his chest. “So what will she do?”

“I’m afraid she may take a very long time deciding what to do at all. We shall just have to find our own way out.”

“Why
are
you here?”

He’d been prepared for the question. “I felt a pang of guilt for not accompanying Theodora, so I decided to come on over. Popped along the gardens from Arran’s place. Used a route we knew as boys. Got this far and decided to put off the awful musicale a bit longer. I was wandering. What more can I tell you?”

“I’m very glad you were wandering.”

She sounded so sincere, he almost laughed aloud. “Y’know, if I remember correctly, there’s a trap thing above the door. To let more air in during the heat of summer. Opens inward on hinges from the bottom.”

Grace clutched his waistcoat lapels. “Can we open it and get out?”

“Possibly. Although I can’t think how to reach the thing. There’s nothing to stand on in here.” Marble benches lined walls on three sides of the pavilion; there were no other furnishings. “I recall getting shut in here with Arran when we were boys. If memory serves, he stood on my
shoulders and made it out through that trap, but ...”

“
I
shall do it.”

Mortimer swallowed a chuckle. “Course not. Wouldn’t hear of it, m’dear.”

“Well, you’re going to have to hear of it.” She
moved beside him and peered upward. “I’m not terribly heavy. If you were to sort of curl over and lean against the door, I could step upon your back.”

“I absolutely forbid it,” he said, and crossed his arms.

Grace caught at his sleeve and tried to shake him.
“
Please.
It is so frightening ... not being with you, but the thought of not being able to get out for goodness knows how long.”

“I’m certain Melony will do something by morning.”

“
Morning!
”

“Hm. Perhaps that is too long to wait. I could lift you to sit upon my shoulder. That should be relatively safe.”

“Do it.” Grace faced the door and spread her arms. “We shall do this very well together.”

Oh, very well indeed.

Mortimer clasped Grace’s tiny waist and felt a deep surge of heat in his loins. “Here we go. We must be very careful.” He hoisted her easily to sit on his left shoulder. “Can you reach it?”

“I ... Yes! Yes, here it is.” She strained, searching for the catch. “It’s ... Oh, dear, I think it opens from the top.”

“Then we shall give it up.” He tightened his grip on her waist.

“No! Help me stand on your shoulder. I shall reach it easily then.”

“Are you certain you—”

“Absolutely certain.” With one hand on the door and the other firmly anchored in his hair, she shifted. “Steady me. I’m really very nimble.”

Yes ... This was working even better than he had dared hope.

Grace weighed so little—yet was so femininely shaped. His hands slid down over her hips, and blood began to pump, hot and hard, in his veins. Then she was hitching up her skirts and scrambling upward. Mortimer assisted until she stood upon his shoulder and reached for the top of the trap.

He held her ankles.

She stretched farther. “I think I feel a bolt.”