Mayhem in Bath (16 page)

Ragwort glowered from the floor by the sofa. He’d wager the last pot of honey in Bath they were lovers.

Lord Benjamin was dumbfounded by Dominic’s tale, and Hordwell looked fit to faint clear away. Polly felt she would explode with suppressed mirth, for—unlike the truth—the picture he painted didn’t have a rainwater butt in sight! Lord Benjamin recovered first, his astonishment beginning to turn to suspicion that all was not as it should be. “Well, Fortune, I must say that for someone who has been attacked by footpads, you are remarkably free of bruises.”

“Miss Peach’s timely appearance spared me,” Dominic replied, as if butter would not melt in his mouth.

Lord Benjamin’s eyes narrowed. “Why was no word sent here? Miss Peach’s uncle has been most anxious since her absence was discovered.”

Dominic turned to Hordwell. “I realize we were remiss in not advising you of the situation, sir, but in the heat of the moment, I fear it slipped both our minds. May I say, sir, that you have almost splendid lady for a niece. I doubt if a more admirable heart exists in the whole of England.” He looked at Polly as he said this, and when he saw she could barely contain herself, he earnestly pressed a handkerchief upon her. “Don’t cry, Miss Peach, for all is well now, thanks to you.”

Polly took the handkerchief and dabbed her eyes in order to hide her face. If Dominic said much more, she knew she would positively curl up! To her relief, he rose to his feet. “I trust this is explanation enough for you, Mr. Horditall?” he inquired, still looking all innocence, and then swaying again for good measure.

Hordwell nodded. “Yes, yes, of course, sir.”

“Sir, I gather you and Miss Peach are attending the ball tomorrow night?”

“Eh? Well, yes...”

Polly glanced toward the fire, where a small blue flame danced above its golden fellows. She now wanted to attend the ball after all...

Dominic spoke again. “Mr. Horditall, it would please me greatly if you would kindly regard tonight as a formal introduction, for I would very much like to pay my respects at the ball.”

Hordwell glanced at Lord Benjamin, whose face resembled a thundercloud. “Er, yes, of course. Sir Dominic.”

Dominic turned to Polly a last time. “I still cannot thank you enough for all you did tonight, Miss Peach, and if there is ever anything I can do for you, please do not hesitate to ask.”

Somehow she managed to meet his eyes without bursting. “I will bear that in mind. Sir Dominic.”

He raised her hand to his lips, then whispered so that only she could hear. “Until we meet again, Polly.” For a moment his fingers tightened over hers, then he turned to bow to the two men. A moment later he had left the house.

Polly sat where she was, feeling Lord Benjamin’s gaze upon her. She sensed he was about to probe more into what had happened, and before he could start, she suddenly got up. “I... I feel very tired now. Uncle, so with your leave I will retire.”

Hordwell was startled. “Eh? But, Polly, you haven’t had time to greet Lord Benjamin properly!”

She gave the latter a briskly apologetic smile. “Please forgive me. Lord Benjamin, but under the circumstances, I’m sure you’ll understand.” Without waiting to find out whether he understood or not, she gathered her skirts and hurried from the room.

Ragwort watched her leave. He didn’t believe a word of the footpad story. She and Dominic had commenced an affair—it was as simple as that. Oh, just
wait
until he told Bodkin how far her treachery had gone! Just wait! The brownie decided not to follow her, but remained where he was, hoping to hear the two men mention Nutmeg when they were alone. He was disappointed, for their conversation centered solely upon whether or not Dominic had just told them the whole truth, a question of intense concern to them both.

Before going upstairs, Polly slipped into the dining room to watch Dominic return to his house. She saw him walk along the wet pavement, being sure to pause occasionally as if weak, in case either Hordwell or Lord Benjamin should be spying. Polly smiled, watching until he disappeared through his front door, then she turned away from the window. A stark and irrefutable fact now was clear; she had stepped beyond the point of no return into love. But how did he feel about her? Did she dare to hope that after tonight he regarded her in a new, more favorable light, and that Georgiana was no longer quite so precious in his eyes? A wave of excitement washed over her, but it was tinged with more than a soupçon of apprehension.

Gathering her skirts, she made her way upstairs to her room.

Chapter 20

Polly was too restless to go immediately to sleep, which was hardly surprising after all that had happened. She undressed, washed, and put on her frilled nightgown, but as she sat before the mirror to brush her hair, listening to the rain dashing against the window, her thoughts returned to the ball. She was apprehensive about that too. Was her gown really suitable for such a grand occasion? What if her accessories were too fussy, too plain, or even too old-fashioned? Oh, there was nothing for it but to try everything on now!

Twisting her hair up on top of her head, and fixing it with a single pin, she stepped out of her nightgown and went to the wardrobe to take out her ball gown. It was made of spangled lavender silk exactly the same shade as her eyes, and she always wore it with her mother’s amethyst necklace and earrings. There was a spray of artificial lilies-of-the-valley for her hair and a silver-spangled reticule and ivory fan for her wrist. The final touch was a delicate silver lace shawl. But when she had put everything on, she was unhappy with her reflection. It didn’t feel right. But why didn’t it? She had always been pleased with everything before, and it was all still in pristine condition, even the little flowers in her hair, although she suddenly didn’t particularly like them or the way she wore her hair. She wanted something new, something different...

The flowers were swiftly unpinned and tossed on to the dressing table. Then she studied herself again. Were the amethysts too old-fashioned? No, she was sure not; they were very fine indeed. Was it the gown’s sleeves? They were perhaps a little plain, for it was all the rage to wear bows on them. She would purchase some suitable satin ribbon tomorrow and make some bows, but that still wouldn’t quite achieve what she wanted. There was something else. She continued to look at her reflection, twisting this way and then that, and suddenly she had one of those flashes of inspiration that every woman knows now and then. The necklace would make an excellent circlet! Yes, that was it! Deftly, she took the necklace from her throat and arranged it around her forehead. A delighted smile lit her face. It looked splendid, and once she’d made the bows for the sleeves, she would feel more than ready to face the Duke and Duchess of York. And she would hold her own with the likes of Lady Georgiana Mersenrie!

A yawn overtook her, and she knew it was time to sleep. She changed back into her nightgown, extinguished the candles, and was just about to climb into bed when she heard a solitary carriage drive into the crescent from Brock Street. The coachman flicked his whip and called out to his team, but Polly didn’t give the vehicle a second thought. She certainly would have if she’d known who was in it, and where it was going.

A little earlier, when Dominic returned to his house, he had also been too restless to sleep. Polly was on his mind, both for herself, and her insistence that there was a cat called Bodkin. Was it wrong to disbelieve her? What if there really were such a creature, and it was locked in a cupboard? This was possible, he decided, so he took a candlestick and went from room to room, calling softly. “Bodkin? Are you here? Answer me, you dratted feline!”

He had almost completed his inspection of the third floor when he heard a shuffling sound. He froze, glancing around as the candle shadows leapt over the walls of the empty bedroom he happened to be in. “Bodkin?” he said again.

There was silence, then the sound of running footsteps retreating along the passage to the landing. It certainly wasn’t a cat! The hairs on the back of Dominic’s neck prickled, and he followed cautiously. “Who’s there?” he called, so intent upon the mystery that as he stood at the top of the staircase, wondering if his quarry had gone down, up, or into one of the other rooms on the same floor, he didn’t hear the carriage draw up outside. As a consequence, when someone knocked loudly at the front door, he gave such a start that he almost dropped the candlestick.

A footman hastened from the kitchens, still buttoning his braided coat as he opened the door. He had to step quickly aside as Georgiana swept in, her midnight blue cloak parting to reveal an exceedingly décolleté damson satin gown beneath. She flung her hood back from shining dark curls to which she had again fixed a false white braid. “I must see Sir Dominic immediately,” she declared, beginning to tease off her long white evening gloves.

The footman wasn’t sure what to do, and then decided it was best to bow to her wishes. “Er, who shall I say, madam?” he inquired, helping with her cloak.

“Lady Georgiana Mersenrie, you numbskull,” she replied in a short, irritated tone.

Dominic went down the staircase. “What an unexpected honor,” he said, nodding at the footman, who withdrew thankfully.

Georgiana’s eyes filled with tears, and before Dominic knew it, she’d flung her arms around his neck and buried her face against his shoulder. “Oh, Dominic, I’m so utterly wretched!” she cried, clinging to him.

He put his hands on her little waist. “What is it? What’s happened?” he asked.

She raised her head and stretched up to put her lips briefly to his, then she drew away, her eyes lowered unhappily. “I... I feel so confused, Dominic. Seeing you again like this has put me in such a dilemma...”

He searched her face in the candlelight. “Have you and dear Algie fallen out?” he inquired shrewdly.

She flushed. “Is
that
why you think I’ve come?”

“Yes,” he replied frankly, then took her hand and led her into the library. He closed the door, placed the candlestick on the mantelpiece, and faced her. “Have you and Hightower quarreled?” he asked.

She couldn’t meet his eyes. “We did have a small disagreement,” she admitted.

“Not so small, if you’ve come running to me.”

“He was very mean.”

“In what way?”

She bit her lip a little sheepishly. ‘To be truthful, it was all something and nothing; indeed. It was mostly my fault.”

“So, he wasn’t the mean one,” Dominic observed dryly.

“Not really. I picked on him a little.”

“You do surprise me.”

She flushed again. “Don’t be horrid.”

“Georgiana, I’m merely pointing out that you and he aren’t in the least compatible. You want his title, but unfortunately the man comes with it!”

“I know; indeed I know it so well that all I could think of was you.” She subjected him to the full force of her wonderful dark eyes. “And now that I’m with you, I think choosing Algie was the most foolish thing I’ve ever done.”

Dominic’s feelings were mixed. She was saying the very thing he wished to hear, and yet... She was exquisitely beautiful, and just to look at her made his body ache, but could he believe anything she said? Could he even
like
her? For weeks she’d been making it painfully plain she’d settle for nothing less than a duke, and even today at the Pump Room she had taken spiteful pleasure in taunting him, yet now she was so wide-eyed and earnest that she all but displayed wings and a halo! Polly had called her shallow and designing, as well as the most monstrously insincere female in society, and... He paused as he realized he’d thought of the Peach’s Bank heiress by her first name. Devil take it, if he remembered correctly, he’d even
addressed
her thus!

Georgiana was perplexed by his silence. “Don’t you love me anymore?” she whispered, her voice like a warm velvet caress.

He saw tears shimmering on her lashes, and the moment of truth slid back into the mists of desire. “Oh, my dearest Georgiana...” His hands stretched toward her, and she gave another little sob as she came into his arms.

“Make love to me again, for I need you so,” she begged, pressing her wonderful body to his.

He felt control slipping away. “My darling,” he whispered, and his lips found hers in a kiss that smoldered with passion.

Someone—or something—sneezed behind them, and Dominic broke away to turn sharply, thinking a footman had entered for some reason, but no one was there—at least, no one
visible.
“Who’s there?” he demanded, feeling certain that eyes were upon him from somewhere by the door.

Having heard nothing, Georgiana looked at him in confusion. “Why are you asking that? We’re quite alone, Dominic.”

He remained intent upon the door. “Bodkin?” he called suddenly.

Georgiana blinked.
“Bodkin?”
she repeated. “Dominic, are you feeling quite well?”

“Perfectly,” he replied. To Hades with Polly Peach and her wretched cat!

Georgiana took his face in her hands and stood on tiptoe to put her parted lips to his.

He forgot the sneeze, forgot Bodkin, forgot Polly ...

The eponymous Bodkin was not present, having much earlier in the evening shinned up the drainpipe to Zuder’s skylight, where he’d immediately seen Polly’s note. But the rain had done its worst, and as he took the square of paper to read, it fell apart in his fingers. Tossing the soggy fragments aside without another thought, the brownie tried to open the skylight, but instead of opening easily as it had before, it refused to budge. He gritted his teeth to tug and push, then in a fury jumped up and down so violently that he almost tumbled back down the slippery slates. Pulling himself together, he applied himself sensibly to the problem. He didn’t intend to allow a mere roof window to keep him away from the sweet things he craved.

As luck would have it, his knife was tucked into his belt, so he used it to attack the skylight, hacking and slicing, carving and stabbing, until at last the unfortunate window gave up the struggle. The triumphant brownie gave a whoop of delight, dropped into the attic, and scampered down through the building to fall ravenously upon the goodies below. For the next hour he indulged in an orgy of gobbling. Sugary footprints, crumbs, cream, jelly, and custard soon littered everything, and there wasn’t a single dish in the shop that hadn’t been decimated in one way or another, whether by being sampled, or trodden on as the greedy brownie scrambled over the glass shelves behind the once pristine counter. It was a disgraceful exhibition by a once mild, tidy, agreeable creature, but a boggart is a boggart, and that is that.