Vixen in Velvet (12 page)

“I don’t care about them,” Lord Lisburne said. “The road’s clearing ahead of us, and you’re going to have a driving lesson.”

T
hey had been traveling along the stretch of park road running parallel to Park Lane. Now the marquess halted the carriage under a stand of trees near the reservoir. His groom jumped down and took charge of the horses, and Lord Lisburne stepped down from the carriage and walked round to the other side. He waved to the astonished Leonie to move over. Excitement warred with anxiety as she moved into his seat.

It was still warm with the heat of his body.

Lady Gladys disappeared from Leonie’s mind.

He settled into the passenger seat, then proceeded to give her charge of the whip and the reins. This was a complicated business. One must hold the reins in both hands and they must go around the fingers in a certain way and one must hold the whip as well and one’s hands must be just so. This process left no room in her mind for anything but him and what to do with her hands.

“The seat’s tailored to me, so it’s a bit high for you,” he said. “But we’re going only a short distance. In any case, it’s good to learn how to drive any vehicle.”

“About as useful as learning to steer a yacht,” she said. “It’s not as though I’ll be having my own carriage, or joining the Four-In-Hand Club.”

“You never know,” he said. “You might be out driving with a gentleman someday, and he might faint from the heat or excessive drinking the night before or the unbearable happiness of being near you.”

“Yours is a lively imagination,” she said.

“When it comes to you, yes,” he said. “I often imagine other fellows being with you and meeting with illness or injury. Right now, for instance, I’m picturing one of my friends toppling out of his seat beside you and falling on his head in the road. Such thoughts brighten the endless hours while I await my fortnight with you.”

Her imagination came vividly awake at that moment, and the images it created sent jittery sensations up and down her spine. “I thought you were going to teach me to drive,” she said.

“You need to learn to drive and flirt at the same time,” he said.

He went on to basic principles of starting and stopping, the delicate pressure one ought to apply, the importance of keeping the horses’ heads straight, the proper use of the whip, and about ten thousand other details.

Luckily, Leonie had a head for details. Too, she’d seen other ladies drive. If they could do it, so could she. What she couldn’t do at present was shut away her feelings toward him, or erase the memory of that kiss. And now it was worse because she had gratitude to contend with as well.

“No, elbows a little closer to your hips, madame. Wrists a little bent. Yes, like that. Well, then, enough theory. All right, Vines, I think we’re ready.”

The groom stepped away from the horses and returned to his place at the back of the vehicle. At this point, Leonie realized that the only thing controlling the immense, not-very-tame-looking creatures was her hold on a few strips of leather.

Her heart sped to triple time.

“Call them to order,” Lord Lisburne said. “Pull them together. You want them at a complete stop before they start. Good. They’ll start when you say, ‘Walk on.’ Tell them in the same way you’d tell one of the shopgirls to straighten the mannequin’s bonnet. Calm, clear, firm. Confident, in short, because you know what you’re about.”

Heart thudding, Leonie checked her posture and her hands once more, then said, “Walk on.”

And they did. Slowly and calmly as though they didn’t know a complete neophyte held the ribbons.

A thrill went through her, and her chest heaved. It was all she could do not to cry. For all her life she’d wanted to do this: to be near horses, to drive or ride. But there had been too much else to learn and do. She and her sisters had been trained to be ladies, because aristocratic blood ran in their veins. Unlike ladies, though, they’d had to learn a trade as well. And before Cousin Emma had put her foot down, there had been intervals of living with Mama and Papa, and learning to live by one’s wits, on the streets of what seemed like a hundred different towns, in England and abroad.

She bit her lip and made herself concentrate, preserving outward calm, keeping her hands the way he showed her, not leaning forward, not pulling. She was distantly aware of riders and vehicles coming and going, but they might as well have been in Madagascar. Her mind was overwhelmingly occupied with her hands and the horses and the road ahead and Lord Lisburne’s low voice, quietly correcting.

“I wonder how you keep from grabbing the reins from me,” she said.

“I can’t grab the reins because I’m required to appear to have absolute confidence in whatever I do,” he said. “The animals need us to be calm as well. These are very good cattle, but even the best-trained beasts can react badly to surprises. What we don’t want is a large, powerful animal with a not over-large brain getting the idea it needs to run away.”

“Then I’d better not do anything stupid.”

“I didn’t say that,” he said. “Only think, if you do something stupid, I shall have to save you in some heroic manner. I haven’t yet had a chance to be heroic for you, Miss Noirot.”

“You saved me at the British Institution,” she said. “But then, you’re probably so busy rescuing damsels in distress that it slipped your mind.”

“You have grossly underestimated my powers of recollection,” he said. “Every moment of that encounter is branded into my memory. Not to mention you’ve a paltry idea of heroism.”

“It’s unsporting to be seducing me when I’m preoccupied with trying not to get us killed,” she said.

“Am I seducing you?” he said. “I hadn’t realized I’d got to that part yet. How amazingly clever I am. But here, pay attention. We’re coming to the Cumberland Gate.”

He was telling her how to guide the horses round the turn, in order to continue on the road westward along the park’s northern edge, when he broke off, looked up, and “Blast,” he said.

That was when the world went dark.

L
isburne had been so deeply engrossed in getting her smoothly through the vehicles, riders, and walkers clustered at the Cumberland Gate that he was only indistinctly aware of the rapidly changing atmosphere. Then he saw people running toward them from the footpaths. He looked up and swore. In an instant, the sky went from leaden grey to black, and the skies opened up.

Though the greater part of the beau monde had departed, the park was far from empty, especially today, when so many had turned out to watch the Gladys show. Stragglers in carriages and on horseback hurried to the shelter of trees or raced toward the gates and home. Heedless of horses and vehicles, pedestrians ran along the footpaths and across the road.

Meanwhile, the rain fell in blinding sheets. It beat on his hat and dripped from the brim, and it was in the process of flattening Leonie’s bonnet—because he’d been in too great a hurry when he left Maison Noirot to let Vines raise the hood.

Leonie stopped the horses without waiting for instructions, and Lisburne was reaching for the reins when a small figure burst out from a footpath, ran straight at the horses, and fell.

They shied, and Leonie cried, “Oh, no! The child!”

She threw the reins to him, and without regard for the dancing animals, leapt down from the curricle.

He got the startled horses under control, not the easy feat it ought to have been, because she darted at them to take hold of the child. She snatched up the limp little body and carried it to the side of the road to the shelter of a tree.

Leaving Vines in charge of the carriage, Lisburne went after her. The rain fell in torrents, turning the world into a blur. She was thoroughly drenched, her bonnet sagging limply on the back of her head.

“That was a stupid thing to do,” he said.

“What did you want me to do, run over her?”

“I did not want you to—blast! It’s breathing, I take it.”

“Yes, not that you—”

“Here, give it over.” He held out his hands.

“
It
is a girl.”

On closer inspection he saw that it was female, and well dressed, not a street urchin like those who roamed the parks, picking pockets. Well fed, too.

“So it is,” he said. “Give her over. She’s too heavy for you.”

Her arms must be aching because she didn’t argue about handing over her burden. He’d no sooner collected the child than its eyes opened wide, and so did its mouth. It let out a piercing wail.

“Noooooo! Let me go! Let me go! I’m wet! I’m wet!” She started pummeling him, kicking and wriggling while she screamed. She was too small to do any hurt, but it was deuced annoying. He was strongly tempted to put her down as she demanded. In the nearest puddle.

“Stop your noise,” he said. “Nobody’s hurting you.”

“I’m wet!”

“It’s raining. If you didn’t want to get wet, you oughtn’t to have run about in the rain.”

She went into a high-pitched crying fit.

“You’d better to give her back to me,” Leonie said above the uproar.

“She must weigh close to four stone,” he said. To the girl he said, “Stop your noise. You’ve no reason to take on in that ill-bred way. Nobody’s hurting you. And we’re going to give you back to whomever you belong to as soon as possible. I’m Lisburne. What’s your name?”

She went on crying, kicking, punching.

“This is tiresome,” he said.

“Vines!” he called. “Stop fooling with the hood and find the umbrella!”

Vines dug out the umbrella, delivered it, and ran back to the carriage.

“Miss Noirot, if you’d be so kind as to hold the umbrella over us, we shall set out and attempt to deliver this Satan’s spawn to its caretakers,” Lisburne said.

It was still raining, but not quite as hard as before. In any event, they were already soaked. Had a hurricane commenced, he would have set out in it to get rid of this accursed child.

“She came from one of the footpaths,” he said. Two footpaths met at the Cumberland Gate. He nodded toward one. “That one?”

“Yes,” Leonie said. “If she’d come up from behind me, I wouldn’t have seen her until she was in the road.”

She’d been paying attention, as he’d told her to do. She’d had the good sense to stop the carriage promptly. She’d panicked over the child, but she hadn’t lost her wits entirely.

On the other hand, she had panicked over the child and nearly got herself killed, rescuing the little beast. Not to mention, the beast had covered Madame’s beautiful dress in mud.

“Look at what you did,” he told the wailing child, who paid him no attention whatsoever. “You spoiled Miss Noirot’s beautiful dress.”

“Nooooo! Put me down! I’m wet!”

“I’m a dressmaker,” said Madame above the shrieking. “I’ll make another one.”

“But it won’t be the same,” he said. “It’ll be in
tomorrow’s
style. And I like this one.”

“You weren’t expecting me to wear the same dress
twice
?”

“I hate you! I want to go home! I’m wet! Let me go!” More wailing, kicking, pummeling.

Maybe he could drop her by accident.

“Oh, Lady Sarah!”

The voice turned out to belong to a sodden nursemaid hurrying toward them, carrying an enormous umbrella. “Oh, my goodness, I was at my wits’ end, you naughty child.”

“This belongs to you, I take it?” he said.

“No! No! No!” Lady Sarah screamed. “Hate you! Mean, mean witch!”

“I’m so sorry, sir,” the maid said. “I’ll take her.”

“No!” As he tried to dislodge her, Lady Sarah grabbed his neckcloth. “No! I won’t go!”

“You didn’t like me much before,” he said. “Now you can’t bear to part from me?
Women
.”

“I’m so sorry, sir.” The nurse tried to take hold of her charge, who kicked out, striking the nurse on the chin.

It took the three of them to detach the child, and then not easily. In the struggle, she kicked the umbrella out of Leonie’s hand and dislodged his hat, which fell into a puddle. When they finally got her off, she left behind a torn neckcloth, mangled lapels, and large dollops of mud. He glanced at his hat, then kicked it aside.

The servant didn’t attempt to carry her young charge, but set her on her feet. Her ladyship promptly sat down in the footpath and kicked and screamed. When the nursemaid tried to lift her up, the girl wriggled, kicked, and punched, wailing all the while.

Lisburne was about to intervene—though he wasn’t sure how to control the child except by knocking her unconscious—when Madame spoke.

“That’s quite enough, young lady,” she said in French. “You are too big a girl to carry on like a baby. Furthermore, ladies do not scream at the top of their voices and pummel their elders. You will stand up—
now
—take your nursemaid’s hand, and go along with her. It’s past your teatime. Not that you deserve tea. If I were Nurse, I should send you straight to bed, you naughty child.”

At some point in the course of this speech, the little girl became quiet.

“Up,” Leonie said, gesturing.
“Now.”

The child stared at her. Leonie regarded her expressionlessly.

Her ladyship rose and went to her nurse and took her hand.

They walked away.

L
isburne had no idea he was in a temper until it exploded. This happened as soon as the nurse and demon child were out of earshot.

He turned to Leonie, who was as wet and filthy as he was.

“What in blazes were you thinking?” he said. “You could have been trampled!”

She turned sharply toward him, and her blue eyes flashed. “So could she. In case you failed to notice, she fell—and she was out of her senses momentarily.”

“She is out of her senses permanently,” he said.

“She was terrified and she threw a fit,” she said. “Children don’t always behave logically. Mainly they behave illogically. Like some men I could mention.”

“Talk of illogical,” he said. “You’d already stopped the horses. They weren’t going anywhere. You’d only to hold them.”

“You said they didn’t like surprises!”

“And so you thought it was a good idea to run at their legs?”

“She’d already run in front of them! You were the one who told me horses have small brains. I was terrified they’d think something dangerous was at their feet. And they did! They became agitated—you saw!”