My Runaway Heart (9 page)

"Very well, then, if he's all these fine things,
what does Lord Giles say to
yer
plans to wed? Not
that it's any of my business, mind ye, but my dear mistress and her welfare is
my affair."

"Well . . ." Lindsay paused, not wanting to
admit that Jared was as unaware of her fond hopes as she was determined to make
them become reality. "He wouldn't have agreed to meet me last night if his
intentions weren't honorable. What true gentleman would risk dire censure from
his peers by misleading me? After all, you said he did swear."

"Aye, he did, and I believed him. But he's won a
notorious reputation for himself, lass."

"No more than jealous gossip, Matilda, surely, and
I refuse to believe it. And Jared made no move toward me last night that was
anything but gentlemanly and respectable."

As Matilda sighed and looked away, Lindsay didn't
elaborate further, her face grown quite warm as more memories flooded upon
her—Jared unfastening her cloak, his fingers grazing her breasts. Jared
caressing the ale from her chin. And there was another vision that came to her,
more sensation than memory, making her cheeks flame hotter.

A sensation of power . . . power and searing possession
in a kiss so dark and hungry that she felt her breath falter, her hands fisting
in the white linen of her nightgown. Oh, Lord, had Jared really—

"All right, lass,
yer
secret is safe with me, but for one week, no longer."

Lindsay blinked, wrenched back rudely to reality. "One—one
week?" she echoed, confused.

"
Aye,
and no more. If
Lord Giles's intentions are as honorable as ye say, and he's willing to escort
ye
about the city with no proper chaperone, then I expect he'll
soon be making a formal proposal to Lady Penney about taking ye for his wife.
Mayhap this very morning he's even posted a letter to Sir Randolph asking for
yer
hand in God's holy matrimony—to my mind a prudent thing
to do, given last night."

With that Matilda rose from the chair and bustled to
the door, leaving Lindsay so stunned that she merely stared after her.

"Back to bed with ye, miss, and finish
yer
willow bark tea," came a final admonishment right
before Matilda disappeared into the hall. "I'll call for a bath so ye can
wash the last of that stench from
yer
hair."

Lindsay barely heard her, her head pounding twice as
hard.

One week.

One week to show Jared she was as bold and
adventuresome as he could hope for in a bride—and surely last night she had
impressed upon him that she wasn't like most other marriageable young women in
London for the Season. Would any of them have dared venture out late at night
to see more of the city? Dared to enter a place called Tom's Cellar and down
enough ale to—

Lindsay didn't finish the thought, her stomach lurching
so crazily that she knew she was going to be sick. She barely made it to the
chamber pot . . . so much for Matilda's willow bark tea making her feel any
better. When she was done she collapsed upon the bed, wondering weakly how she
might contact Jared.

Except she had no idea where in the West End he
resided, the realization striking her with fresh intensity that she really knew
so little about him. Only that he was an
earl
and a
spy who found some solace in raucous places like Tom's Cellar—making Lindsay
groan and roll over onto her side, away from the blinding morning sunlight
streaming through the windows.

Yet she indistinctly remembered him saying something
about India—yes, she was almost certain of it, the fuzzy memory becoming more
focused. Something about Calcutta and pineapples and sweet cherry brandy, and
then he had . . .

"Lindsay, are you awake? Oh, my dear girl, such
wonderful news! Wonderful news!"

Groaning to herself, Lindsay sat up just as Aunt
Winifred burst into the room in a flurry of pink silk, her two Welsh corgis,
Primrose and Ignatius, as sturdy as sausages, trotting obediently in her wake.

"I thought it would never come—what a dreadful
slight that would have been—but my dear friend Lady
Sefton
didn't fail me. Look!"

As Aunt Winifred excitedly waved an ivory-colored card,
Lindsay forced a smile even though she felt her spirits sinking. "A
letter, Aunt Winnie?" she asked stupidly, knowing better but wishing all
the same that Primrose and Ignatius might transform themselves from docile pets
into frenzied hounds with a penchant for chewing paper.

"A letter? Of course not, dear child, it's a
voucher of admission to
Almack's
! We'll be attending
a ball there this very night! Oh, this is wonderful. Olympia will be so
pleased. Only the very best
sort are
invited to join
by the Lady Patronesses—you won't fail to make an excellent match now!"

As Aunt Winifred hurried across the room and flung open
the doors to the wardrobe, Lindsay's smile faded, the prospect of another ball,
especially this one, making her head doubly ache.

A few weeks ago she might have jumped with delight at
the invitation, but
Almack's
, well known as the
shrine of the socially unblemished, was hardly a place where she might find
Jared. With his blighted reputation, no matter how unjustly earned, she doubted
that he would make it past the hallowed front portal. Yet she could always hope
. . .

"Oh, my, yes, this blue silk will be perfect!"
Aunt Winifred spun back to the bed, her kind gray eyes misted with tears as she
clasped the gown to her ample bosom. "If I'd had a daughter, I would have
wished such an honor for her. But that you're my beloved brother Randolph's
child and my own dear niece, ah, such a happy day."

Lindsay swallowed hard at her aunt's sincerity,
suddenly thinking herself a bit of a traitor to be feeling so ungrateful. "It
will be a lovely evening, Aunt Winnie. Truly, I can't wait."

"
Aye,
and
yer
bath can't wait, either," Matilda announced
briskly from the doorway. "The water's nice and steaming,
miss
. Up with ye now, before it grows cool."

"Yes, while I must write to Olympia at once."
Handing the evening gown to Matilda, Aunt Winifred cooed to her dogs. "Come
along, my sweet darlings. Oh, so much to do!"

Lindsay collapsed back onto the pillows to stare numbly
at the frilly chintz canopy as soon as her aunt was gone, but that didn't
prevent her from stiffening when she heard Matilda clucking her tongue.

"So that might make two letters posted today to
Cornwall," the old Scotswoman appeared to say more to herself than to
Lindsay, Matilda's slightly bowed back to the bed as she returned the gown to
the wardrobe. "One to Sir Randolph and one to his wife. Aye, mayhap this
whole tangle will unravel itself in a few days' time and not a week, and we'll
have a fine spring wedding to plan. If not, well, I suppose my mistress will be
writing another letter once she learns . . ."

Lindsay found her heart beating wildly when Matilda
fell to clucking again and she lunged from the bed, not wanting to hear any
more.

Nor would she consider for a moment that one week
wouldn't be enough time to convince Jared that she could be the bride of his
dreams. She threw her fringed shawl around her shoulders, her chin
rising
a notch. "Oh, no, my lord, I've finally found you
and I'm not going to lose you now."

"I'm sorry, miss, did ye say something?"

Lindsay didn't answer, her footsteps determined as she
flew down the hall thinking of pineapples and cherry brandy and a kiss that
made her heart want to leap from her breast.

Chapter 8

"Please, my lords, no, I simply can't dance
another step."

Lindsay extricated herself as gracefully as possible
from a quintet of disappointed-looking gentlemen, the English country dance she'd
just endured barely ended before she and her winded partner, Lord
Sotherby
, had been surrounded. And Lord
Sotherby
had even wanted her to dance with him again, although the poor snowy-haired
fellow, nearly three times her age, had wheezed and puffed so wretchedly that
she had feared he might expire on the dance floor.

"Oh, Lord."

Lindsay veered sharply, ducking into the throng
surrounding the refreshment table as she spied Lord Ambrose Lamb heading her
way. No wonder she was beginning to feel as if she were caught in a maze! There
seemed to be no escape from the constant attention,
Almack's
proving as much a trial as she had imagined, and with no immediate relief in
sight.

Grabbing a small glass of lemonade and retiring to the
shadows under the musician's gallery, Lindsay glanced across the huge assembly
room to where Aunt Winifred sat conversing merrily with Maria, Lady
Sefton
, the Patroness who had granted them a voucher,
Matilda sitting patiently behind them. Her beaming aunt was clearly in her
glory, the night as much a triumph for her as she had enthused during the
carriage ride to King Street that it would be for Lindsay.

But it had become more a torture than anything else,
Lindsay thought with a sigh, feeling the same traitorous twinge that she found
it so difficult to enjoy herself even for Aunt Winifred's sake. Truly an almost
unbearable torture since her fears had been confirmed about Jared.

Almack's
had clearly turned
its back upon him; she had been looking for him all evening, but to no avail.
And within moments the clock would strike eleven; no one would be allowed to
join the assembly after that hour, which meant she had no hope of seeing him
tonight, no hope of thanking him for the night before and arranging another
rendezvous—

"Ah, Lindsay, there you are!"

As Lord Ambrose bore down upon her, she quickly emptied
the tiny goblet so she might press it into his hand and ask him to bring her
another, then effect a hasty escape. But frustration filled her when she saw he
carried two brimming glasses of lemonade, though she somehow forced a sunny smile.

"How gracious of you, my lord."

"Yes, well, I thought you might enjoy something
refreshing after so many dances—though I'd have liked that more of them were
with me, I must admit."

The earnest expression on Lord Ambrose's face reminding
her uncomfortably of the other night, Lindsay decided to skip over his wistful
comment altogether as she accepted one of the glasses. "This lemonade is
lovely, don't you think?" She took a tiny sip, no more, her stomach still
feeling a bit uncertain. "So much tastier than ale."

"Ale?"

She nodded, suddenly resolute that if she couldn't
escape him, perhaps she could shock him into leaving her in peace. "Oh,
yes, we drank quite a bit of ale at home in Cornwall, especially me. But my
stepmother has warned me that too much could make me broad as a house one day."

"Oh, no, Lindsay, I doubt that would ever happen.
You're so beautiful—"

"Ah, but heftiness runs in my family, I fear."
She cast a meaningful look in her aunt's direction, Lord Ambrose's eyes growing
wide as he followed her gaze. "Yes, and you should see my father—such a
pity, really. If he isn't trussed, his stomach nearly touches his knees—"

"I say, Ambrose!"

Startled by the interruption, Lindsay remained silent
as Peter Bench, Lord
Bridley
, another of the young
men who had plagued her for dances all evening, came running up to them to
elbow Lord Ambrose in the ribs. A tall, lanky fellow known for his booming
voice, he laughed and loosed it upon them.

"Dashed if I haven't just heard the news! You'll
never believe it—oh, forgive me, Miss Somerset."

Her curiosity piqued, she inclined her head. "What
news, my lord?"

"Actually, I fear it's nothing that would interest
a young lady like
yourself
, Miss Somerset." Lord
Bridley
ran his hand through a shock of unruly brown hair
and glanced excitedly back at his friend. "But there's going to be a mill
this very night at
Offley's
—"

"
Offley's
?"

This time both men looked at Lindsay, Peter Bench
appearing perturbed that he had been interrupted.

"A sporting hotel on Henrietta Street near Covent
Garden."

"Ah." She gave a light shrug as if to say the
location meant nothing to her, and took another sip of lemonade as Lord
Bridley
continued with barely contained excitement.

"It could be the match of the decade, Tom
Cribb
and some young upstart from Wales! Everyone's going
to be there—look!"

Lindsay did look, her eyes widening as formally dressed
gentlemen began to leave the ballroom in droves. Some even whooped and called
out wagers to their friends as they ran down the steps to the street while
young damsels,
wives
and Lady Patronesses clustered in
disgruntled groups.

"Well, are you coming, man?"

"By Jove, wouldn't miss it for the world!"

Lindsay jumped as Lord Ambrose grabbed her hand and
planted a clumsy kiss on her white-gloved fingers.

"I'm sorry, Lindsay—deuced abrupt, but there it
is. I know we'll see each other again."

She had no time to respond as Peter Bench slapped his
friend heartily on the back, the two breaking into boyish grins as they seemed
to forget her and half ran from the ballroom. But within the next instant she
had virtually forgotten them, her mind racing as she spied Aunt Winifred
bustling toward her, Matilda in tow.

"Oh, my dear child, such a disgrace!" Aunt
Winifred's fan fluttered at double time, and her round face was flushed with
indignation. "How could such a thing spoil your lovely evening? A boxing
match! Barbaric! Ridiculous! Oh, my, and look, all the men are leaving—"