The Wolfe Wager (18 page)

Before she could change her mind, Vanessa hurried to the ground floor. She had not wanted to ring for Quigley to come to her room, because that might draw Aunt Carolyn’s attention. She had no worries about Eveline noticing anything. Her friend was lost in her mooning for the earl. An announcement must be imminent.

Quigley came across the foyer to meet her. He gravely accepted the letter. As he looked at the address, his face remained serene, save for a tic near his left eye.

“Please have it delivered as soon as possible,” she said as calmly as if she wrote to the Regent daily.

“I shall endeavor to do so.”

Vanessa watched the butler walk away, the tails of his somber livery fluttering like raven wings. Despair weighed on her as she went to the stairs. She had hoped she would never reach this desperate point. After this, there was nothing more she could do in England. A quake of fear ached across her shoulders as she gripped the mahogany bannister. If she could not get help in her homeland, she would have to go to France, despite the dangers of the war.

The twist of the doorbell jangled through the foyer. Vanessa continued up the stairs. Most likely, it was Lord Greybrooke giving Eveline a look-in as he did every afternoon.

Her feet faltered as she heard Lord Brickendon greeting the butler. Turning, she looked at his smile, which pulled her back into the enchanting web of dazzling seduction he had spun at the theater. She had heard nothing from him in the week since that night.

Aunt Carolyn had been distraught at his failure to call, but, for the first time, Vanessa had not been happy that she had succeeded in sending a gentleman from her side. She had been ambivalent, a very strange sensation. She had been disappointed to hear nothing from the handsome viscount, but she had reminded herself that she had no time for the dalliances he was reputed to enjoy. She must think only of Corey. Staring down at him, she could not. Her head was filled with thoughts of his lips so deliciously close to hers.

As Lord Brickendon handed his beaver to Quigley and brushed dust from the sleeve of his brown riding coat, indecision soldered her feet to the riser. She thought of his fingers on her skin, offering an invitation, but letting her make the choice. That choice had been denied her by other men who thought only of overmastering her heart. She had known exactly what they wanted. With the viscount she had no idea, and that was unsettling.

Both men gazed expectantly up the stairs, but she was unable to move. The words battering her lips she would not speak, for they were sure to embarrass her. She could well imagine Lord Brickendon’s amusement if she demanded that he explain his intentions. No doubt, he would tell her she had made hers clear, and he had, too. Perhaps he had, but she remained all at sea.

Quigley shifted uneasily, then said, in a stentorian voice, “My lady, Lord Brickendon is calling. May I say that you are in?”

Vanessa heard a low laugh and saw the viscount trying to hide his mirth. The silliness of their situation shattered the paralysis holding her to the stair. How empty her garret must be to act like this! She descended and held out her hand to the viscount. He bowed over it, and she was shocked anew by the ravage of disappointment when he did not bring it to his lips.

“I am about to enjoy a ride in the Park,” he said as Quigley moved away. “I thought, if you have nothing else planned, my lady, you might accept my invitation to ride together.”

“I would like that. Very much.” When she heard how breathless her voice sounded, she said quickly, “I am sure Eveline would be pleased to join us.”

“Yes, do ask Miss Clarke.” For once, his mocking smile had disappeared, and a genuine one had taken its place.

Vanessa abruptly realized the viscount still had possession of her fingers. His other hand covered them, and her vacillation vanished. She wanted to go on this ride to learn more about Lord Brickendon, whose smile had filled her thoughts every day and whose touch decorated her dreams each night.

Maybe this ride would give her the answer to settle her unsettled heart.

Aunt Carolyn gave permission for the ride, cautioning them not to become separated in the press of carriages and riders. Although they were riding earlier than the fashionable hour of five, the Park would be filled with those seeking to enjoy the fresh air and the fresh poker-talk.

“Go and change into something suitable, Vanessa,” urged Aunt Carolyn. “Lord Brickendon and I shall have a nice chat.”

Vanessa hesitated, knowing exactly the course their conversation would take. Lord Brickendon smiled as Aunt Carolyn shooed her out. His eye closed in a lazy wink when Vanessa glanced back to discover her aunt motioning for him to help himself to a cup of the chatter-water she had waiting for her callers.

She had no time to worry about what her aunt might say to Lord Brickendon, because Eveline urged her to hurry and get into her riding habit while she did the same. Amazed, Vanessa asked, “How did you know about the invitation?”

“I saw Lord Brickendon arrive.” Eveline’s smile was as bright as her hair. “Why else would he call in his riding clothes?”

“They are also proper attire for calls.”

“True, but I cannot imagine Lord Brickendon paying a normal call. Can you?”

Laughing, Vanessa went into her room. She rang for Leale, but began to unhook her gown herself. She must hurry. Leaving the viscount to Aunt Carolyn’s matchmaking any longer than necessary was sure to cause trouble for her. Nor, she had to own with a soft smile, did she want to waste even a moment of the time they could have together at the Park.

Her abigail popped out of the dressing room, Vanessa’s red habit in her hands. The older woman’s face was grim.

“Leale! Is something wrong?”

“You know quite well.”

“If I knew quite well, there would be no need to ask.” She settled the voluminous habit around her and waited for Leale to hook it into place. When her abigail remained by the bed, Vanessa faced her. “Leale, please tell me.”

Leale pointed a thin finger at the writing table. Atop it sat an open bottle of ink and writing paper next to the sealing wax. Vanessa berated herself. She had been a perfect block not to hide the incriminating items before she took the letter to Quigley.

“Lady Mansfield told you to stop trying to find your brother,” Leale stated with every ounce of her outrage. “You have not heeded her.”

“I know.”

“If she discovers this, she will be heart-shattered.”

Keeping her hands on the back of her habit, so it did not slip off, she asked carefully, “If?”

With a weary shake of her head, Leale said, “My lady, I have been with you since you were a chip, and I know you for the hoyden you once were. Yet never have I known you to disregard another’s feelings.” Going to the table, she picked up a sheet of paper and crushed it. “This
must
stop, or I shall have no choice but to apprise Lady Mansfield of your disobedience.”

“There will be no more letters.”

“Can I believe that?”

“I shall swear that on anything you deem holy.”

“And I believe you. I know you shall come to accept the truth.”

Tears flowed into Vanessa’s eyes. She wanted to be honest with Leale. If the missive to the Prince Regent gained her nothing, there would be no need for any more letters. She shivered, and Leale hastily closed up the back of the habit. The thick material would not halt this cold, because it came from her frightened heart.

Hurrying down the stairs, Vanessa noted that Lord Brickendon looked no worse for his conversation with Aunt Carolyn. Greeting Eveline warmly, Lord Brickendon thanked Quigley when the butler handed him his hat. Warm air and sunlight washed into the house when the butler opened the door.

Vanessa shoved aside her doldrums when she saw her favorite mount, a spirited white gelding, waiting. Settling her small whip in her hand, she watched as the viscount tossed Eveline up into the saddle of her horse.

Seeing his horse next to her gelding, she said, “I trust Maestro took no injury from the stone.”

“None, and he is anxious to be away to the Park.” Lord Brickendon helped her up onto the mounting block. With their eyes even, she saw how his crinkled with mirth.

“As anxious as his master?”

He chuckled. “I am always amused by your aunt’s hospitality, my lady.”

Deciding it would be wiser not to vent her curiosity about what he meant, Vanessa nodded when he asked if she was ready to mount. His wide hands caught her at the waist, their warmth oozing through her riding habit to tingle along her skin. He did not release her when she sat in the saddle.

“All set?” he asked.

“Yes.” Her head spun with the force of the longing whirling through her. The gentle strength of his hands at her waist, the firmness of his chest against her leg, the soft stroke of his breath across her face as she looked down at him swept her away into fantasies of him holding her even closer.

“Shall we go then?”

Vanessa blinked, torn by his question from her dreams and thrown back into the commonplace world. He flashed her a smile and turned to mount his horse with the ease of a man long accustomed to riding. Abashed by her thoughts, she rode after the others, hoping no one had noticed her silly reaction to nothing.

Vanessa had no need to worry, for the viscount and Eveline set too rapid a pace for talking. The scent of early summer greenery mixed with dust from the road as they went deeper into the Park. Their pace did not slow, not even to greet friends. If those friends were astonished to see the viscount in her and Eveline’s company, they had the decency to hide it.

When Vanessa heard even more rapid hoofbeats, she frowned. What leather-head was taking the bridle path at such a speed? Her eyes widened as she recognized the dark-haired man who drew his horse to a stop in front of them.

Lord Greybrooke smiled as he tipped his hat to them. The buttons on his stylish, black coat shone in the sunlight. “Ross, my friend, you are a fortunate man to have the company of the two loveliest ladies in this fair land.”

“And you have none,” Lord Brickendon answered. “If I was even an inch of a gentleman, I would ask you to join us in our ride.”

“But you would as lief be a top-rate profligate.” His grin negated his demure hit. “I am so pleased to chance meeting you like this, Eveline.” He gulped and said, “I mean Miss Clarke.”

“You need not pretend on my behalf,” Vanessa answered with a laugh. “Anyone, who sees eyes glowing as Eveline’s do when they meet yours, can guess you enjoy more than a causal friendship.”

The earl squeezed Vanessa’s hand swiftly. “You truly are in good pax with my dear Eveline. I am so indebted to you for allowing her to stay with you so we might have these weeks to become better acquainted.”

“Will you ride with us along the Row, Edward?” Lord Brickendon asked.

Lord Greybrooke turned to Eveline. “If I may.”

She said, “Of course you may … Edward.” She smiled shyly.

Vanessa waited for Eveline or the earl to urge their horses ahead, but they continued to look at each other as if they had just discovered the solution to a rare alchemistic riddle. When Lord Brickendon tapped her shoulder and motioned with his head for her to follow him, Vanessa paused only long enough to do the same to Eveline. She looked back to be positive the spell between the two had broken long enough for them to recall themselves.

Laughing, as she rode with the viscount from sunlight to shadow beneath the trees, Vanessa teased, “You can hide your romantic side no longer, my lord. There was no surprise on Lord Greybrooke’s face when he
chanced
upon us. You two had planned this outing before you called, didn’t you? No wonder you were in such a rush to reach the Park.”

He grimaced. “Spare giving me a mouthful of moonshine. The truth is that I broke Greybrooke’s nose during a raucous game when we were in short pants. I felt such remorse I vowed to do anything he wished in return. For years, he has let that pledge lie quiescent. Last night, at Brooke’s, he had the audacity to recall it.” With an emoted sigh, he put his hand over his heart and said, “There was nothing a dashing knight could do but honor his promise.”

“You could have refrained from breaking his boltsprit in the first place.”

“True, but then what excuse would I have had to bring those two together?”

“The truth?”

“Which is?”

“That you wish happiness for your friend?”

Shaking his head, he said, “If giving up his free ways is what he wants, who am I to tell Edward he is a ninnyhammer?”

“So you believe marriage is the province of ninnyhammers?”

“Don’t you?”

Vanessa faltered on her quick retort, not wanting to tell him that she had given the matter little thought. That would necessitate revealing the truth that her search for her brother precluded any thoughts of her own future. Yet lying to him was abhorrent. From the beginning, Lord Brickendon had treated her with an honesty no other man had offered.

“Marriage is right for Eveline and Lord Greybrooke,” she hedged.

“Let’s hope their sentiments are not infectious.”

His answer was so dolorous, Vanessa laughed as they continued along Rotten Row. With no worry of carriages, for only the king and his family could drive down this
Route du Roi
, she let her horse have its head. The gentle pace suited her and the lazy breath of the breeze teasing her hair. Beside her, Lord Brickendon was silent, but there was no discomfort in the lack of conversation.

When a childish shriek broke into their contented quiet, Vanessa’s first thought was exasperation. Then she chuckled.

Lord Brickendon asked, “Will you share what amuses you, my lady?”

She almost told him that she would as lief not, but heard herself saying, “I was bothered by a child’s cry intruding on our ride.”

“Then I must strive to rectify that.” He slapped his hand against the black’s flank.

Perplexed, she put her horse to a trot to follow. He drew in his mount by a stone wall along the Serpentine. When he peered over it, he dismounted. He lifted her from the saddle, his broad hands spanning her waist with ease. The lightning pulse raced through her again, but she had scant time to savor it. Setting her on the ground, he smiled as he slowly withdrew his hands.