Sari Robins - [Andersen Hall Orphanage 01]

The sounds of many feet striking pebbles invaded the pine-scented air, and a sense of panic overwhelmed Miss Lillian Kane. She had fled the ballroom in a desperate bid for relief from the jarring bodies, discordant music and the overwhelming effort of maintaining her façade as grand mistress to the Marquis of Beaumont. She did not admit to anyone that the disapproving stares and critical whispers stung at her dignity, making her feel like an overused pincushion.

Like a swarm of irate bees protecting its hive, the
established elements of polite Society were defending the pecking order, the very stability that she threatened to upset with her charade. But her choices were limited, as was her ability to break free of her past, so she would withstand the onslaught with her self-respect intact (if a bit battered). Still, a woman could only endure so much.

“I’m winning!” came a man’s shout from nearby.

It seemed the respite that she desperately needed to refurbish her social armor was under siege. Her garden sanctuary was being overrun by chirping, merry revelers, and she was not up for carousing.

Turning, she abandoned her refuge by a bubbling fountain and raced down the path in the broken shafts of moonlight, then spun left and dashed down another lane. Slipping behind a large pine tree, she prayed that the shadows would hide her until the merry party passed.

Suddenly a large, gloveless hand grasped her arm and pulled her back up against a broad chest.

“Don’t move,” a deep voice commanded from behind. “There’s a snake by your feet.”

She started, then froze, frightened enough to obey. Holding her breath, she searched the ground until she caught the outline of a coiled form at the base of the pine tree where she had taken her refuge. Beady golden slits watched her unblinkingly, and she wondered if it was poisonous. Either way, she would not welcome the encounter.

In the stillness, her rescuer’s warm breath caressed the bare skin of her shoulders, making the fine hairs of her neck stand on end. She realized that the staccato beating of her heart was not simply from fear of the snake. The man’s proximity made her
skin tingle with awareness. He was tall and smelled pleasantly of almonds, of all things. As his firm hand grasped her arm and his broad chest pressed against her shoulder blades, she was surprised by how titillating the simple contact was. She had not even seen his face, and yet inexplicably, she was stirred.

Lillian wondered who he was and what he was doing hiding out in the darkened woods. Her heart skipped a beat. He could be a thief or a madman, or worst yet, one of those actors hired for the theatrical production tonight. Steeling her spine, she pushed aside her irrational fears. The man had averted her from an unfortunate encounter with a snake and had done so without making a fuss or alerting the revelers of her presence. All in all, she could reasonably ascertain that he did not mean her harm. Nonetheless, his nearness was disconcerting and entirely improper (not that she was inclined to be prudish, but still…). She wondered if there was a way to somehow chase off the snake.

As if heeding her silent wishes, the serpent twisted, then slithered away under the brush.

Lillian let out the breath that she had been holding, and she turned just as the stranger released her arm. “Thank you. I did not see it.”

The man was brawny, and at least a head taller than she. Lillian was forced to step back to look up at him, but even then, his face was cast in shadow.

“It was not poisonous, but it would have given a nasty bite.” His deep voice held the cadence of the London streets. He wore a wooden tipstaff hanging from the band by his hip.

“You are one of the Bow Street Runners retained to save the guests from pickpockets,” she surmised.

“Police officers assist with any trouble they might find, ma’am.”

“What are you doing out here?”

“I came out to take a breather.” His rumbling tone held a hint of defensiveness.

“It seems I’m not the only one escaping the horde,” she replied lightly, trying to unruffle his feathers. She was the last person in the world to begrudge him a few moments of peace. “And I am most grateful that you were here.”

“Here is the fountain!” a male voice shouted from nearby. “You see, I was not lying. They
are
naked.”

“Shall we swim with the nymphs?” another man cried in a voice steeped in champagne and revelry.

Lillian grimaced. Cavorting in fountains was Mr. Hurt’s only means of gaining a view of exposed ladies’ flesh.

“I shall be your sea nymph, Lord Danby,” Mrs. Parsimmon cooed. Lillian just barely contained an unladylike snort. She disliked the sinuous widow, who seemed to thrive on scandal-mongering and bedding other ladies’ husbands. Lillian might not be an advocate of the marital state, but she felt that it ought to be respected, once assumed.

“I thought I saw Lillian enter the gardens,” Russell Mayburn commented. “She came this way, I was sure.”

Without thought, Lillian stepped deeper into the shadows. If she had had no desire to make her presence known before, Russell’s obsessive company made it even less appealing. His infatuation was becoming an outright embarrassment. It was appalling for him to be so determined to “free” her from his brother’s protection. Not only did Lillian not wish to be “saved” but she also disliked being a
public barb between the already fractious brothers.

“If you are looking for solitude,” the police officer whispered, “I can show you the way.”

She was obviously doing a terrible job at being inscrutable and mysterious tonight. These were some of her supporters—well, at least not her detractors. Despite the disapproval of many pillars of Society, some of the younger, “smart” set thankfully chose to welcome her. It seemed that she was a rebel behind whom many rallied as a minor means of thumbing their noses at the powers that be. That the Bow Street Runner could read her distaste so plainly shamed her. Still, he did not seem to be judging her, as so many others did. Despite herself, she was intrigued.

Tall and brawny, he seemed one with the trees around him. A slash of moonlight fell across his features. His eyes were like beacons in the darkness, golden and compelling. Her breath grew heavy and her body warm. It felt good, and she was curious enough to ignore the warning clamoring in her brain. Nodding, she turned, and he led her past an overhang of roses heady with bloom.

“Perhaps your Lillian, Lady Janus, had a rendezvous?” Mrs. Parsimmon offered with a thick drawl.

“Lillian does not have your taste for debauchery,” Russell defended. “She is the finest…”

As they wove through the trees, the voices faded away, replaced by whispering leaves.

In the silvery moonlight, Lillian studied her rescuer’s broad back. He had ebony hair, long past the collar, and he sported a black woolen cloak. His worn leather boots made little sound on the carpet of pine needles.

Lillian knew she should be on her guard, alone in the wood with an attractive stranger and not a soul to hear if she cried out. Yet, he was a police officer, one behaving perfectly well, and she felt
safe
around him. As if no harm could touch her when he was near. Silly, really, since she knew nothing of the man, yet she sensed it just the same.

They came out of the wood and happened upon a stone edifice with archways, which continued through the grounds. He stopped, waiting for her to join him. In the moonlight she could finally discern his features, causing her heart to beat even faster than when the snake had been near. A strong forehead fringed with thick black brows. Sharp cheekbones, shadowed with a shade of scruff that ended in a cleft chin. His nose was jagged, with evidence of a break or two, and topped wide, smooth lips that seemed to lure her gaze like a child to candy. His shapely mouth eased the severity from his features, making him brutishly handsome. His was a mouth to make a woman long for a lingering kiss.

Lillian mentally checked herself. She was not one to have her head so easily turned. Dillon was the only man she could even consider being involved with and that suited her just fine. It must be the surroundings, she decided. And, she had to admit, the man’s natural appeal. She wondered how aware he was of his own magnetism.

“Would you like to see something?” he asked, breaking her unbridled thoughts.

Her cheeks heated and she prayed that she had not been standing there staring at him like a ninny. She lifted a shoulder, tentative. “All right.”

He motioned for her to go deeper into the alcove. After hesitating a moment, she followed. He pointed
to a corner near the ceiling. Two small eyes stared out, and she could just barely discern the outline of a broad head and a ruff of feathers. Unbidden, her lips lifted at the corners.

“Barn owl,” he explained.

“Wise soul, hiding out in the darkness.”

“On a beautiful night like tonight she should be flying free.”

“If staying secreted is her choice, then she
is
free.”

He studied her face in the darkness. He did not move, yet inexplicably her skin warmed. Then he stepped out of the alcove into the moonlight, and she followed.

“Have you ever heard the story of why the owl is a creature of the night?”

She shook her head, diverted. “No.”

“Some say that the owl had stolen the rose, a coveted prize bestowed for beauty. Angry, the other birds punished the animal by only allowing it to come out at night.”

“I thought that it was good luck to see an owl.”

“Perhaps tonight it is.” White teeth flashed in a smile so compelling that she returned it before she realized that she had.

“What is your name?” she asked, slightly breathless.

He bowed. “Mr. Nicholas Redford, at your service, Lady Janus.”

She straightened. “I do not recall being introduced.”

“Most of London knows the lady who refused Lord Beaumont’s hand, instead to become his mistress.”

She grimaced and turned away, as her fanciful sense of security fled. He would believe her the
worst sort of lightskirt, easy pickings for an attractive man such as him. Was he even now considering how simple it was going to be to seduce her?

“I must get back to the house now, my lady,” he said, surprising her. “I have already been away from my duties for too long.” The man
was
trustworthy, and conscientious to his responsibilities, it seemed. “And although solitude is its own reward,” he continued, “it might not be such a good idea for you to remain out here alone.” There was no trace of an offer in his tone, and she was relieved. She did not need further complexity in her life, and here was a man who seemed ripe with prospects for complications.

Unfortunately, she knew that she must return to the ball as well. Dillon would be looking for her, and he relied on her as a barrier in these social contexts nearly as much as she counted on him. Nonetheless, she felt almost weighted down by the prospect. She was exhausted from the constant push-and-pull between Dillon, his father, Russell, Society, and her dreadful stepfather Kane. She felt as if she were dancing on the edge of a knife blade, ever in peril of blunder and blood.

Where was the harm in stealing a few moments more of freedom?

“Do you believe that there is danger to me here?” she stalled.

“Not on my watch. But I cannot be everywhere, my lady.”

She exhaled softly. “I suppose returning to the ball is not such a terrible fate when you consider the alternative. Owls, snakes and drunken fools.”

He smiled, and she felt it down to her toes. “Perhaps not. May I escort you, my lady?” He offered her his elbow.

“I am relying on you, Mr. Redford. I have no earthly idea where I am.”

A slight thrill shuddered through her as she took his proffered arm. He would have made a superbly noble knight in a fairy tale, she mused. For a moment she enjoyed the picture: Redford, resplendent in shining armor, charging on a stallion, lifting her up and rescuing her from the torment of drunken fools and hateful gossipmongers. She smiled to herself. In truth, there could be no happily-ever-after with Mr. Redford. Not only was the man below her in class and of a profession that would threaten her status in Society but she could never leave Dillon for him. It would destroy the marquis.

Still, she could not keep herself from covertly studying the handsome police officer. He had to be almost thirty, or so. She wondered what made him tick.

“It must be fulfilling to be a police officer,” she mused aloud. “Catching criminals, helping others, claiming rewards.” She bit her lip, hoping that she was not treading on unwelcome waters. Members of her station usually did not discuss employment satisfaction with the other classes.

He hesitated a moment before answering, “It puts bread on the table, my lady.” His voice held a tinge of discontent.

“You wish to be something other than you are?” she asked, relieved that they could speak so easily. There was something liberating about the garden’s cloak of darkness.

“Hovering behind ferns watching polite Society frolic is not the best use of my skills.”

“So what would you do instead?”

“I intend to open my own firm.”

“Enterprising,” she replied, impressed. “Using your policing skills?”

“And others I have yet to have the opportunity to utilize.”

“From where will you get your clients?”

“There is always someone in need of help, my lady.”

“Including damsels silly enough to jump before looking?”

“
Especially
damsels who jump before looking.”

They shared a smile, walking side by side in silence. Lillian appreciated how he shortened his long stride to accommodate her shorter gait.

Too soon the house drew near. Lillian found her feet slowing of their own accord; she was not quite ready to lose his engaging company and not nearly ready to return to her gilded cage. Still, this was the life she had chosen, and, considering the alternative, she could not complain.

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