Jo Beverley - [Malloren 03] (31 page)

She didn’t look hurt, merely honest. “It’s not surprising. I am very young still, and what interests me does not interest you.”

She suddenly seemed a great deal more appealing. “What interests you, then? Tell me.”

“Such a charming couple.”

Elf smiled at Mrs. Dettingford, thinking that the movement of her lips must surely look more like a rictus. “Lord Walgrave and Lady Lydia?” she asked, having long since given up trying to say, “Who?”

“After his tragedy,” said the plump young woman, “it would be so fitting to see him capture the prize of the year!”

“You refer to his father’s death?”

“Of course. So sudden. Such a loss to the nation.”

“It was certainly sudden.”

“And so touching the way his son wore deep mourning for so long. But now he is emerging from the shadow of grief to claim his prize!”

Elf contemplated the satisfaction of throwing a fit and upending a large bowl of pureed fruit over Mrs. Dettingford’s head, but the silly woman was merely the most effusive of the company. Everyone was delighting at the romance in their midst—London’s premier beauty, won by its most eligible young man. One who, moreover, had been obligingly injured in some mysterious but doubtless heroic way.

Did none of them see that Lydia was unready for marriage? Did none of them wonder about a “romance” between two people who had never been observed to even speak to each other?

Elf knew she was being unfair, however.
She
knew Fort had not been in the habit of attending the sort of events where he would meet such a tender young miss. It
doubtless wasn’t obvious to others. Others hadn’t been obsessed with the man for months.

She escaped Mrs. Dettingford and moved on to another group, but found that they too were gossiping about the likely match.

Eventually she decided she had been at the picnic long enough and could leave without causing comment. She collected Chastity from an animated conversation with friends, friends who did not seem to harbor doubts about Chastity’s old scandal, thank heavens.

“Oh, I’m completely restored now by Cyn’s noble act,” said Chastity as they made their way over to their hosts to say farewell.

“But no one knows of it.”

“Elf, it’s not like you to be naive. Cyn has a title impetuously bestowed upon him by the monarch. Fort is wounded. A hundred stories are being invented to explain it, each more glorious than the next. They are both heroes, and Cyn just wants to set sail and escape!”

Elf chuckled. “Oh dear. I’ve been so absorbed in other matters, I’m out of touch. Of course, everyone wanted to talk about the heroic tryst under the beech tree.”

Chastity pulled a face. “For what it’s worth, I told him he was being a damned fool.” Then she straightened her face into a smile and thanked Lord Coalport for his kind hospitality.

“Aye, well, it’s turned out very well, Lady Raymore, I won’t deny.” He beamed at Fort and Lydia. “Everything as it should be.”

Elf was speaking to Lady Coalport, who rolled her eyes slightly. “Dear Lydia is the apple of her father’s eye. Our only daughter, you know.”

“She is very beautiful, and charming besides.”

“Yes, the poor child has every gift of the gods.”

Elf couldn’t help but chuckle at the wry tone. Now she knew the source of Lydia’s wit and wisdom. With such a mother, she surely wouldn’t be allowed to do anything rash.

That didn’t mean, however, that an engagement to marry might not be drawn up, with the betrothal to last a year or two.

So be it.

But she had one last thing she had to do.

Tonight.

Fort enjoyed Lydia’s chatter once she ceased being tongue-tied, but he felt less and less inclined to marry her. Oh perhaps in a year or two, but if he had to languish unspoken-for for years, he’d doubtless do something foolish.

If he wasn’t doing something foolish now.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Elf laugh at something Lady Coalport said. When had she ever laughed for him? Abruptly, he had an image of her in bed, laughing with him over some fanciful game.

He went so hard, he had to glance down to be sure his long waistcoat covered him decently.

He watched as Elf and Chastity strolled down to the boat. Once they had gone, the afternoon suddenly seemed a great deal less interesting.

Nonsense. He concentrated on Lydia again, wondering why he couldn’t feel any passion toward such a beautiful creature.

“Is something the matter, my lord?”

He feigned a wince. “My leg begins to pain me a little. I think I should summon my carriage and make my slow way home.”

She leaped to her feet. “Oh, of course! I will send a servant.”

In moments she returned accompanied by her parents and a footman. He said his farewells, then set about making a figure of himself by hobbling across the gardens to the road. The footman accompanied him, but so did Lydia.

That would cause talk. Were they trying to force his hand?

By the time he made it to the carriage drive, his leg was truly hurting and he wished he was home in his bed.

What mad impulse had driven him out too soon?

Then he remembered his purpose, and looked at Lydia North.

She was eying him with genuine concern. “Your coach is still not here, my lord, and I’m sure you shouldn’t be standing. Thomas, go and fetch Lord Walgrave a chair.”

The footman hurried off, and for a brief moment they were alone.

Had she deliberately arranged this moment, hoping for a declaration? He’d as good as arranged all the details with her father.

What did he want?

What should he want?

Their talk, and the sense of intelligence and kindness he’d found in her, let him ask the question.

That evening, Elf went to the opera, then on to a supper given by the Duchess of Derby.

She returned home after midnight, which was why she had arranged for Hunot to be in the mews of Malloren House at one o’clock. She met him in some clothes she’d sneaked from Cyn’s room. The breeches were rather tight in the hips and loose in the waist, but otherwise fit quite well. She was a few inches shorter than her twin, but that merely meant the sleeves of the coat hung down a bit over her hands.

Dark-skinned Hunot was almost invisible in the shadows of the mews, but she could see him shake his head. “You’ll not fool no one in a good light, milady.”

“I’m not planning to. I just thought I’d be safer if I dressed as a man.”

“With me, you could walk the streets in your shift and no one would touch you. You just like to play games, you Mallorens.”

Elf flashed him a grin. “And there, you might be right.” She led the way down to the nearby street. “It’s
not far. I just thought I’d be prudent and take a bodyguard.”

“Prudent,” he said. “Uh-uh.”

Elf chuckled, enjoying strolling through the dark streets safe from the bosky gentlemen and the hovering cutpurses.

She was completely safe, for she had Fort’s pistol in her pocket. A sheathed knife snuggled alongside the pistol, and another nestled in her right boot. And she had Hunot, who could handle a small army with his knives and his lethal hands.

She wasn’t really happy, though, for she dreaded what she was about to do.

She was going to set Fort free.

Perhaps she didn’t have him trapped, but just in case, she was going to give him his liberty.

She could have visited him during the day with Chastity as chaperone, but he was quite capable of again refusing to see her. And anyway, she couldn’t imagine having an honest talk with him during the day. No, night was their time and she had his pistol, an excuse of sorts for a clandestine visit.

In Abingdon Street, they avoided the front of Walgrave House, and headed for the back, looking for the gate Elf remembered. It still wasn’t locked and so they slipped through and down the garden.

As she’d expected, the house was quiet. Fort, still an invalid, would go to bed early, and the servants would take the chance to get a good sleep. She couldn’t be sure they’d all be in their beds, though, which added a little spice to the moment.

Elf paused to inhale the sweet smells of the dark garden, and to admit that she was enjoying this last adventure. In fact, she enjoyed adventure. The excitement was like wine—sweet and liberating.

Yes, she was very like Cyn.

Hunot was watching her, and she could see well enough to know he was smiling. “God help the man who marries you.”

“Perhaps I’ll just save any man the trouble. You stay here. Don’t worry, the worst that can happen now is that I’ll get thrown out on my ear. Prepare to catch a flying Malloren!”

He laughed as she slipped toward the house.

It was a hot night, and she was relying on there being some windows open. She’d expected to have to climb the scullery roof to get at a higher floor, but she spotted a small window there left ajar.

His servants need a firmer hand, she thought, then grimaced at the direction of her mind.

The window opened farther without squeaking, and she eased through onto the stone sink. Soon she was in the familiar kitchen.

The big room was quiet, though again a few figures slept rolled in blankets on the floor. Surely all the other servants would be in their beds. A faint meow made her look down, where she saw a familiar dark cat. She crouched to stroke behind its ears.

She daren’t speak, but she hoped it understood her apology for using it to escape, and her thanks.

At least when she rose to make her way across the kitchen, it didn’t follow. Nor did anything else happen to prevent her making her way through the servants’ quarters and up the stairs to the first floor.

It was easy from there. She knew the way to Fort’s bedroom.

Gingerly, heart beginning to race, she eased open the door to a pitch-dark room. He must be asleep. Carefully, she worked her way to the bed and touched the surface. Her wandering fingers found only a smooth surface. He wasn’t there!

Irritated, she pushed back the heavy window curtains to let in a glimmer of moonlight. Not only wasn’t Fort here, this room was unused. No water stood ready on the washstand. No towels hung on the rail.

For a horrified moment she thought he might be dead, but then sanity returned. This was not a house of recent death.

So where on earth was he?

With a woman?

Jealousy threw up that suggestion, but reason immediately quashed it. He surely was in no state to enjoy a woman, or to be traveling over town in search of one.

So, he had moved to another room.

Elf caught sight of herself in a mirror, surprised at how much like her brother she looked in his clothes. Then she remembered other images in that mirror and wondered if Fort had simply fled the memories this room held.

Fled to where? If she’d expected this problem, she would have asked Chastity.

She eased into the adjoining room, but it too was unused.

The ground floor.

She shook her head and laughed at herself. Of course, a man with a wounded leg would not use stairs if he didn’t have to.

In moments she was downstairs trying to remember her earlier explorations, and choose a likely room. She made her decision and walked boldly into his study.

Fort lay in bed, reading by candlelight.

He started and half-rose, but then relaxed back on his pillows. “Trying to terrify me to death? I thought you were Cyn.”

Elf’s heart beat so fast she feared she’d turn dizzy. “You don’t seem surprised to see me.”

He closed his book and put it aside. “I’m surprised. But with you I’ve come to expect the unexpected. To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

He was decorously clothed in a white nightshirt, and neatly tucked into the narrow bed. But his brown hair hung loose, and the reflective candleholder close to his head gave it a golden aura. A wave of love and lust engulfed Elf, threatening her mission.

Then she noticed the frame holding the bedclothes off
his leg and she just wanted to take care of him. “Does your leg still pain you?”

“Frequently. I thought Chastity took back regular reports.”

“Regular, but not detailed. I’m sorry you were shot.”

“I don’t think you were responsible. Were you?”

“Of course not!”

“With a Malloren, all things are possible.” He threw the family saying at her like a knife. Just like old times. Squabbling again.

Elf carefully extracted the pistol and put it on the desk. “I wanted to return this.”

“Thank you. You could have sent it as you sent other items, however.”

“I wanted to speak to you.”

“We spoke today.”

“In private.”

With a sigh, he spread his hands. “I am here, and you would have to sting me viciously to persuade me to move. By all means, say your piece.”

Elf sat in a chair, forcing herself not to show how much his words hurt. She’d expected this, hadn’t she? Clearly he didn’t feel the same powerful attraction that she did. To him, she was merely importunate. Doubtless he planned to marry Lady Lydia, and thought the fact that she was a sweet innocent a bonus rather than a handicap.

So be it.

“First,” she said, “I want to apologize for anything I might have done to hurt you.”

“Accepted.”

“Second”—and she looked at the scrolls, the fan, and the toy on a table by the bed—“I will bother you with no more gifts.”

He too glanced at her offerings. “Ah. They have enlivened the tedium of convalescence. Why stop now?”

“So you won’t offer for Lydia North in retaliation.”

He looked back at her then. “You do think me a shallow fellow, don’t you?”

“No!”

“No? You think I would spoil the life of a charming girl merely to hit back at you?”

Elf shook her head, trying desperately to understand. “You wouldn’t spoil her life. You’d make her a wonderful husband.”

“Are you carrying my child?”

The question caught her unawares, though she’d planned to tell him. She knew she was flushing as she said, “No.”

He leaned back, watching her from beneath lids so low they effectively blocked interpretation. “We were lucky, then.”